#if my writing has made people feel things

[astonmartingf]

HE LOVES ME, HE LOVES ME NOT ; MSC47

childhood friends to lovers! mick schumacher x verstappen!reader . . . when push comes to shove, you would never admit to having a crush on mick as you grew older. this however ends up with you convincing yourself that he would never love you outside the platonic relationship you built through the years, despite all evidence pointing to the obvious— he loves you, but you think not.

amgf this has been plaguing my mind, and after writing atrocious angst (ybom) i'm here to write a palate cleanser on my mind 😔 i also chose to write this instead of study for a chemistry exam, i keep making the wrong decisions but seeing as i made this was it so wrong??? i think not. enjoy like always 👍

yourusername

liked by mickschumacher, maxverstappen1, and 76,863 others

yourusername some things never change 🐻

view comments...

user1 and now what? what are we?????

user2 awww baby mick and baby yn are adorable

user3 the way yn is more attached to mick than max

user4 i remember in an interview where jos said when he couldn't find yn he'd look for mick since he was a tall boy

user5 wait where? when was this?

user6 in an old interview, idk when but it was with michael as well

user7 they're actually so adorable, oh my gosh

mickschumacher terrorizing the earth, one forest at a time, here's to more hikes in the future 💖

yourusername you bet i'll be there, it's scary how we aren't sick of each other yet

mickschumacher i mean it's you, why would i be sick of you?

yourusername as you should!!! i'm great to be with

maxverstappen1 mick is just too kind to kick you out

yourusername you're jealous we kicked you out!

user8 they're actually all that's in my head

user9 how are they not dating????

user10 because people of different sex can be friends?

user11 i get the shipping but they're good as friends so why?

user12 i mean they look good together, it's just wishful thinking

user13 oh imagine having a good looking childhood friend and not dating them, ofc they've been friends for so long wtf

user14 i mean, they are a good match so, leave people alone for shipping them

user15 they may be a good match but it's still weird so idgaf you're wrong

mickschumacher

liked by yourusername and 726,947 others

mickschumacher with the feel of your hand on mine 🐇

view comments...

user16 oh gosh please help them realize what they're made for each other

user17 i was so convinced they're just friends but then mick pulls shit like this

user18 i can't keep on defending you if you do this???? boy?

yourusername if you hadn't held my hand then and there i would've flown away

mickschumacher okay that's exaggerating, but as if i'd let that happen

yourusername because it was so strong, you were holding my hand tightly

mickschumacher are you complaining or thanking me?

yourusername thank you mick 🫡 you're the bestest friend ever

user19 they're actually driving me insane

user20 even the wind ships them

user21 don't you think that's the universe making a sign to both of you?

user22 "as if i'd let that happen" okay mick, wtfffff why is he doing this?

user23 they can't keep doing this and just pulling the best friend card at the end, they need to hold responsibility for us

liked by maxverstappen1

user24 bro max liked????

user25 what does he know? wym??? max oomf, why are you liking this comment?

user26 max is tired of their bullshit i know

user27 if max is tired we can be of help, i for one am volunteering out of the goodness of my heart and not because of my nosy ass

user28 okay yn and mick you can share it with the class

yourusername

liked by gina_schumacher, victoriaverstappen, and 86,047 others

yourusername a week of mick 🐻

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user29 yn is with mick instead of being at a grand prix????

user30 you're telling me they're just friends? shut up actually

user31 i'm deluding myself and saying they're dating

user32 they're so cute (they're driving me crazy 😮‍💨😩😭😀😊🥹😠)

mickschumacher thank you for watching me hase

yourusername ofc!!!! i am your number one fan bärchen 💖

maxverstappen1 is this the important thing you have going on?

yourusername yes it is, it's not like you won or smth

maxverstappen1 wow... am i going to have to steal you from mick now?

yourusername bold of you to assume i would leave mick

user33 they're actually insane wtgfhfjg

yourusername uploaded a new story

[look, it's a bear!] [jk it's my boyfriend hehehehe]

view replies to your story...

user34 OH NOOOO

user35 is this MICK? hello? mick stand up??!

user36 what about mick 🥹

user37 a soft launch out of nowhere? wth????

user38 this is mick? it's Mick isn't it? please tell me tkzusbdkajdj I NEED TO KNOW!NNN

mickschumacher you're evil hase, what have you done

i want to have you to myself a little longer, is that so wrong 😠

mickschumacher i don't think anyone can have me like you do

YEAH!! that's right, i love you bärchen 💖

mickschumacher i love you hase 💖

#f1 smau #f1 fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #mick schumacher smau #mick schumacher fluff #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher imagine

[thegnomelord]

if you write a thing about the creaming the zussy i will kiss ur boots

The boots better be shining when you're done.

How To Cure Zombies 101

CW:NSFW MDNI, crackfic obv PiV sex, TLOU Clicker trans Ghost, Top Male Reader, established relationship, happy ending, dub-con because Simon consented before he got bit but reader is apprehensive, zombie sex (does it count as necro?) how does this work? idk porn logic. Don't ask me how this happened, i hope this doesn't become what my blog becomes known for.

When the Cordyceps spread across the planet and turned millions of people into shambling mushroom infested undead, the world ended.

When Simon got bitten. . . your world ended.

You still remember it like it had been yesterday; He came back bloody, an empty look in his eyes as he showed you the bite on his arm. Your hands shook as he wrapped them around the grip of the gun and aimed it at his head. You both ended up on the floor with you crying into his chest, unable to pull the trigger.

You remember the resigned look in his eyes when he had agreed to let you do whatever you needed to him to cure him, but both of you knew there was no way, what made you immune to the fungus was as mysterious to the rest of the world as it was for you. His lips had been burning hot when he laid a soft kiss on your forehead, the last sense of warmth you've felt since the docs took him to where they kept the infected for study, your heart leaving with him.

And now?

Now the scientists that have been prodding you like a lab rat since Simon got bitten nearly a year ago say they have a way to bring his mind back, to get Simon back.

And the way to do it?

"So let me get this straight?" You begin, your voice tense, your body even tenser. "You want me to fuck the corpse of my lover? And that will cure him?"

That. You're not sure how the eggheads arrived to this conclusion, frankly all of their scientific jargons had flown over your head. All you understood was that the man you had fallen since the first time you met him could be brought back.

You sincerely hope you won't make some type of super fungus through this.

Words can't describe what you feel as you look at Simon's (is it even Simon?) bound body writhing on the gyno chair, naked and bare to you. You doubt you even know what you feel, hope and fear simultaneously curling in your stomach— You hadn't had the courage to look at him ever since the scientists took him away; The harsh laboratory lights make it easy to see the mycelium filling his veins beneath the ashy pale skin, mushroom caps growing beneath his pecs and across all other scars he has. Red and yellow mushrooms have eaten away his nose and spread out to follow the contours of his face, growing in a way that makes the mushroom caps blend together into a skull shape.

Your heart aches when you see his eyes haven't been eaten away yet, the once deep brown turned milky white and staring lifelessly past you, thrashing about in the bindings, rotten teeth gnawing on the ball gag in his mouth, small hisses and malformed muffled clicks echoing through the room.

You try to look down and you stop at his stomach, forcing yourself to breathe in and out slowly because your heart is beating so fast it feels like you'll have a panic attack. You have no idea if this will work and doing this to Simon only to find out it's as useless as all your previous attempts to cure him. . . you're sure it would break you. Closing your eyes and counting to ten you will yourself to focus, your eyes opening slowly and following the trail of little mushroom caps down to his groin.

It's not what you expected., but it's. . . a lot; Mushroom caps have replaced the lips of his cunt, similar to the hard growths on his head but these look thinner and longer, almost like flower petals framing his cunt, bright red at the corners and getting progressively lighter as it nears his hole. A sort of morbid curiosity compels you to reach out brushing your fingertips against the caps. They're surprisingly softer than you had expected, smooth and slick with some kind of slime. You can't help but notice how a longer stalked mushroom grows from what had been his clit.

You jerk your hand back when a second brush of your fingers makes his body to jerk back and attempt to fight against the restraints, more angry clicks vibrating his throat.

But you also notice a kind of… sweet scent in the air and it's coming from him. Cautiously you brush against the caps again, slowly dipping your fingers under to touch the gills underneath. You keep your hand where it is when he thrashes again, but you're certain that smell is stronger now, and you catch the glimpse of clear viscous slick slowly leak from his hole.

Carefully you push a finger into his hole in an attempt to stretch him out. Logically you know that he probably doesn't feel it, but it feels wrong to just stick your cock in him; He's cold. You know he's dead but you had held out some hope that he would be warmer, that there would be some signs of life despite how stupid that sounds.

He's dry right now, but more of that clear fluid seeps around your fingers and lubes the way as you experimentally push your finger all the way up to the last knuckle, and you felt his muscles flutter around you, clenching down as if trying to draw you in deeper. His head continued to thrash around, no change in the feral behavior, but you still try to be gentle, pushing one then two fingers in and slowly scissoring him open.

You pull your fingers out when his hole has relaxed enough to let you easily slide your fingers in and out, and he's produced enough slick to completely drench your hand. You try to look at him as you press your cock against his fluttering hole, but the sight of his milky eyes almost makes you soft on the spot so you screw your eyes closed and slowly slide in.

Despite how cold and wet his cunt is, you haven't felt anyone's touch, even your own, since he got infected, and a part of you feels disgusted at how a bit of pleasure traces up your spine. He continues to hiss and click as you bottom out, his hips bucking wildly you have to press them down. You set a slower pace than you're used to, keeping your thrusts even and consistent, afraid to tear anything but your fear is seemingly misplaced. He's so much wetter than he'd ever get before he got infected, slick wetly squelching as you bottom out over and over again, clicks and snarls accompanying every move you make.

You're ashamed to say you don't last long. Fuck, is he tight you've been ignoring your body for so long that when you accidentally brush against the stalk growing from his clit and his cunt suddenly tightens up like a vice you cum on the spot, your hips doing little minute twitches as you empty so much of your cum in his cunt that your balls hurt. You pull out just as slowly, both of your mixed fluids leaking out and almost getting caught by the soft mushrooms framing his hole.

You muster up the courage to look him in the eyes, and your heart breaks when his lifeless eyes blindly stare back at you.

You feel like a fool when the first time doesn't work, he's still just a body pupated by a fungus. And you feel like an even bigger fool when you agree to do this a second time.

But the third time. . .

You don't know if it's just wishful thinking but he seems more. . . alert. His head always follows you when you approach him but now his milky eyes almost seem to be looking at your face instead of staring straight through you. He's strangely still on the chair, teeth gnawing on the ball gag but he doesn't try to get out of the restraints.

He doesn't screech when you gently caress the soft outer mushroom caps framing his cunt, instead his chest vibrates with more deep clicks. Nor does he start to wildly writhe on the chair when you slowly sink a finger into his cunt, finding it's already wet with slick. If anything he almost seems to chase(more like stumble) after the sensation, his hips doing small little movements to push your finger deeper into him.

Emboldened by childish hope you do something you hadn't before and reach with your other hand to slowly trace the long stalk of the clitshroom (not a term you coined), before rubbing the base of the cap like you would your own cock.

You nearly jump out of your skin when the gentle pressure of your fingers makes him buck into your hands and let out an ear-piercing screech that the gag has trouble muffling. You pull your hands away and that worsens the problem, the shrieking turning into literal chest rumbling snarls as Simon starts to struggle against the bindings.

Panic rushing down your system you put your hands were they were, gently stroking the 2 inch long mushroom growing from his clit. His hips buck up to chase after your hand, the snarls reverting back into shrieks, but as you stroke him longer they gradually die down to low pitched clicks and whistles. You're stumped; the clicks sound a lot like a cat's puff, his hole fluttering and clenching around your fingers as you slowly push them inside.

He's warmer now, not quite how he was before, but not cold as a corpse either. You know that you've gone completely mad by the fact he starts to gyrate his hips— grinding down just as you get knuckles deep so your fingers can brush against the sensitive spots inside him — makes your mind think that it's a bit of your Simon coming back.

You shake your head and pull your hands away, taking hold of his trembling thighs. You're greeted with another deep snarl but he quiets down immediately when you start to slowly push into him. He feels even tighter now, and you watch how his head falls back on the headrest, a long series of low clicks and whistles squirming past the gag.

His hips move to meet your slow thrusts, tight warm walls squeezing down every time you attempt to pull out just like he used to do. And that thought has your body increasing the pace automatically, your balls slapping against his ass, every sharp thrust hitting something spongy inside him and drawing out a sharp click, the rough pace leaving you panting.

Mindlessly you look up, too caught up in the moment remembering how Simon loved eye contact to remember the situation you're in.

He's looking straight at you.

You halt mid thrust, the low hiss he lets out falling on deaf ears as you tilt your head to the side. You're not insane, his eyes follow you. They're still milky, but they don't look through you. He's looking at you.

Another rough clicking sound leaves him and he thrusts his hips down against yours with enough strength to bruise, almost impatient. Despite how stupid it is you reach out and quickly unbuckle the gag with trembling fingers. "Si?" You say, unable to hide the hope in your voice. "Are you there?" You lean over him, looking hopefully into his eyes. "Do you remember me?"

His jaw moves like he's munching on a survivor, but all that leaves his mouth are more clicks and rough grunts.

Fuck. You are a fool.

A sob tears through your chest before you can stop it, ducking your head down to lay it on his chest. You're unable to keep the fresh tears from falling on him, watering the damned mushrooms that had taken him from you. You can't stop the sobs from coming, your back bowed and shoulders shaking as you cry just as much as the day you first lost him.

His chest vibrates with another long series of clicks and whistles, just pouring salt on the gaping would in your chest.

Your name rights through the room.

It's scratchy, rough, almost incomprehensible to your ears, but it's your name.

You look up so quickly you almost snap his neck. "Simon?" You whisper, staying in him even as you feel yourself soften. "Are you in there?" You slowly reach out to hold his face, careful not to cut your hands on the sharp mushroom caps along his cheeks.

He looks at you back, jaw moving still, but he doesn't try to bite the flesh of your palms despite your hands being right there. "Ckckck-" He clicks, pupils going from pinpricks to blown out, "Ckckrkck- Mo- ckck-ve." He manages, a thrust of his hips accompanying the order.

Your heart leaps to your throat and you can do nothing but follow it, sliding one hand down to dig your nails into his thigh, looming over him as you pull out until only the head is inside and them slam into him that there's an audible clap of skin on skin as you bottom out. A half shriek half click half "Yes!" escapes him as he throws his head back, slack jawed.

A whole range of noises escapes him as you hammer into him with all you've got, one hand remaining always on his face. You can feel him getting hotter the longer you pound into him, body shaking as each thrust nails his sensitive spot. He gets progressively tighter and tighter as you fuck into him, and you let go of his thigh to carefully strike along the long shaft of the clitshroom.

He shrieks at the top of his lungs and his cunt clenches down on you like a vice, fluttering around you and gripping your cock like it doesn't want you to pull out. It pulls you into an orgasm,

"Simon?" You whisper, staying in him even as you feel yourself soften. He's too silent compared to how vocal he had been a few moments ago. "Are you in there?"

His head rolls a bit, peering at you through through his lashes, tongue moving heavily in his mouth and lips twitching up into a soft of barely-there grin. "Cckck- l- ckckc- love- ckrk-you -ckkckrkckck-"

Taglist: @dead-end-stuff

#gnome correspondence #cod mw2 #x reader #male reader #top male reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x male reader #the last of us cod au #the last of us #trans character #idk how this happened #Clicker Simon Ghost Riley

[spncvr]

HIII I kinda suck at writing so maybe you could take my idea and use your amazing writing skills and make something of it? (Only if you want ofc!!) hear me out yk how Spencer rambles about random facts and everything at the bau imagine if he had a partner (was a profiler as well) and that knew a lot about musics or movies and would ramble about it to him?

Ignore this if it sounds stupid 😭

rambles | s. reid

summary: you talk a lot, spencer doesn't mind.

pairing: spencer reid x reader

warnings: okay so idk if this counts as gn!reader?? but reader wears a dress lol. drinking, and again my terrible english,, lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: hey beautiful!! this deffo does not sound stupid i had fun writing it but this is so bad im sorry i didn't do u justice *crying emoji* also im so sorry this took me forever to finish LMAOOO

masterlist

YOU CAN FEEL it.

In your spine, in your ears. The song’s quiet but it had you in its grip, tight and firm—music’s always been like that to you. It didn’t matter if it was Hendrix, Queen or even Chopin; it has always been the one thing to make you stop dead at your feet. It’s a feeling you can’t quite put your finger on. There wasn’t a word in the English language that could possibly describe how it made you feel. Perhaps, you think humorously, you ought to learn another language, or two. 

You’re wearing this dress. This sweet, white silk thing that sweeps against your knees each time you take a step. The taste of expensive wine sits against your lips, lingering. The glass rests idly around your hand and your grip is careful. Expensive red wine and a cheap dress don't usually mix well together. 

“You okay?” 

You smile, teeth and all. Spencer who’s found his place next to you, furrows his eyebrows worry painted against his soft features. He looks tired. But he’s here, with the rest of the team; he always is.

“Fine,” you say, blasé. “You, Dr. Reid?”

His eyebrows raise slightly, “Yeah, fine.” then, “nice dress.” It’s a small whisper. 

You brush your tongue against the wine on your lips. The comment catches you off guard—especially when he’s dressed like this and looks at you like that. So, all that leaves your wine-stained lips is a small: “Oh.” then, because you remember your manners you say, “Thank you.”

The song changes, and Spencer smiles, “The songs—” he says “they’re nice.”

“I—” You stop yourself from rambling because really, they’re more than nice. It’s Elle Fitzgerald. She’s—Her voice, her instrument is clear as a bell, with diction that’s almost impossible to misunderstand. Her rhythm is— well it’s, you can set her as the metronome for her own band. Which, well, isn’t exactly easy to do. The way she’s able to scoop and bend her pitches with such precision is, beyond, nice. So the song, really it’s, more than nice, it’s a masterpiece it’s—

“Uh, yeah, s’nice.” you pause, “More than nice, really.”

Spencer smiles, amused, “More than nice?” he echoes.

You clear your throat, “It— yeah. I mean, it’s Fitzgerald, you know…”

“I don’t know,” he says simply.

Figures, you think. “No, yeah. She’s, like, got this tone in her voice, you know? And it’s like she’s the one leading the band— with the rhythm, I mean. As in like, instead of the drummer, which isn’t exactly easy to do. You know, actually, some people say she — she’s got the voice of an angel. Or something along the lines; can’t really remember and—” you pause, slightly embarrassed at how much you’ve been talking.

“Er, sorry,” you mumble sheepishly. The edge of your shoes had suddenly become increasingly interesting. “didn’t mean to go on a tangent.”

Spencer kisses his teeth, and you look up to find him grinning. “No, uh,” he scratches the edge of his eyebrow. “You don’t need to apologize for talking about something you like.” He seems to think about his next words as he brushes his hand against your arm. It sends a shiver that lingers longer than the touch itself. Spencer Reid could be so cruel sometimes. 

“I love listening to you talk.”

Your dress ends up wine-stained, anyway.

as usual my inbox is always open for requests (or just to talk lol) but it will take 192374 years to actually finish it,, reblogs are soo appreciated !! (u guys r always so kind idk why im asking for them) so is feedback btw!! (despretely in need of some)

#c can’t write #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x fem!reader #hurt/comfort #fluff #angst #flangst #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid blurb

[alllgator-blood]

ohhhhg ky god i LOVE how u write shamura's non-binaryness ,,,, sorry if that sounds weird but it's EXACTLY what i think abt my own identity too. i am not a boy or a girl i am just tha darkness between stars and the last beats of a dying heart

(i also love kallamar having 'too much gender' bc ,,, same also KEBEKRYDJSYEJ)

I finished this yesterday but Home Stuff was happening and I couldn't post it, ANYWAY- WOW THE WHOLE TRANSGENDER GANG HAS ARRIVED! And...specifically the pre-injury versions because I just am tired of drawing bandages! I'm actually really happy you liked how I wrote shamura's gender explanation thing because like...I've always gotten euphoria from things that aren't other people, but felt like it was a weird thing to do? I made a joke comic about it forever ago where my gender envy was stuff like john carpenter's the thing, the collector from darkest dungeon, and the mystery flesh pit monster. So having a freaky eldritch spider cult leader be canonically nonbinary and having their gender be respected by the other characters was like a dream come true for me, ESPECIALLy since there's enough wiggle room to make my own interpretation of what they are. If anyone can see themself in the way I write these guys then tbh that's all I could ever hope for, so I'm really grateful you let me know your thoughts!!

My hc's for the family is definitely shamura being voidpunk, kallamar being genderfluid, and leshy is just a Dude. A Funny Little Guy. Idek why I strongly feel like he's transmasc but it's probably the fact I grew up with a transmasc younger brother who's also a little shit lmao--

#cotl #cult of the lamb #shamura #leshy #kallamar

[cometkenji]

killshot, baby

Pairing: Aaron Hotch x Doctor!Fem!reader Cw: Fluff (for real this time), LONGING (this is literally 9k words of pure yearning idek how I did that), mentions of blood, Hotch gets shot, Jack being adorable, Jack gets injured too :(, no explicit age gap, this is just rlly cute idk it's sweet I love Hotch so much I need him Summary: When you get hired as the BAU's stand-by medic, the team leader ends up being the hardest part of your job. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby! She's always fat coded, but like usual she's not described here. Just know a chubby person was imagined when writing this <3 WC: 9k (Hotch is the love of my life I could go on about him forever) This is definitely not medically accurate, please just enjoy for the sake of the story. I LOVE HOTCH I WANNA SMOOCH HIM

As weird as it was, band aids were the thing you remembered most from your childhood. You grew up as a canvas for any sort of scrape, cut, or bruise. Any wound that made your parents feel mildly worried to utterly terrified were ones that decorated your body frequently. You never tried to assign any meaning to why you became a doctor, simply crediting it as your call to the profession - to people. If you had to, though, your consistently bruised adolescent body is the best root cause you could think of. It seemed only right that the kid who couldn’t keep her skin in tact would grow to love helping others. You liked to think that’s how you kept your head an average size. Your bosses and co-workers had raved about your abilities no matter the job you took, and after a while you had to start prioritizing keeping your humility. You had started as just a kid with bruises. 

You tended to ground yourself with those same memories in times like this. For as long as you’d worked in the hospital, you held some disdain for agents. You saw many federal ones, being so close to the HQ for divisions like Behavioral Analysis, but some locals swung by too. You’d had far too many experiences of them being snappy, demanding, and usually inconsiderate to the team of people trying to save someone. You understood the individuals you were committed to helping often got there by doing monstrous things, but demanding to talk to someone when they were bleeding out and half-conscious always forced your tongue between your teeth in an effort to stay respectful. Especially now, pushing a stretcher with 3 other workers while trying to shake off the feds trailing after him. You recognized them, Agents Rossi and Hotchner, if you remembered correctly. 

“We’ll need to talk to him immediately.” The man - Rossi, you assumed, seeing as he was going gray and had less of a charge fueling his steps - spoke quickly as the two men followed your team.

“Be here when he’s out of surgery.” You didn’t bother to look back, trying to convey your annoyance and praying they got the hint. 

“He’s killed three women and has another one hostage. We don’t have time.” The other one piped up, easily keeping pace with you.

Abandoning your previous strategy, you let your team push the man into the operating room, shutting the door behind them and whipping around to face the duo. “I understand that, sir, believe me.” You were more elevated than you would have liked, years of unease unfortunately slipping through your efforts to withhold them. “But whatever happened when you found him left him barely breathing. You can’t speak to a corpse. You’ll have your time when he’s stable. Go do your job and let me do mine.” You tensed your calves planning to turn around, but quickly felt the guilt catch up to you. “I’ll call you if he wakes up.”

“If?” 

You sighed. You hated profilers. “I’ll call you.” 

“Call the headquarters.” He was scribbling down a number on the back of a hospital business card. “Ask for Agent Hotch. We’ll be waiting.” You nodded your head once, taking the card from his hands. He started walking away as he thanked you. “We appreciate it.” Sure.

–

The surgery to save the man had been a trip and half. One of the bullets had internally ricocheted, and the other two were lodged next to crucial arteries. You praised your mother for giving you steady hands as you inched them out of him. It took you and your team six hours and fifteen minutes to get his heartbeat steady, you estimated he’d be knocked out all night. You should call, you thought. You had no idea how late these people worked but they were more than likely expecting to talk tonight and you didn’t know if that’d be possible. You fished the card out of your pocket, his handwriting was impressively neat for how fast he’d written the number. You heard the line ring twice before someone picked up. 

“This is Penelope Garcia with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, who am I speaking to?”

“Uh- I’m Dr. L/n down at Quantico Med. I’m looking for Agent Hotch?” Your words tilted up at the end of your sentence. The casual nature of his shortened name left a weird feeling in your mouth after you said it. “I have an update on a patient he was asking after.”

“Is this about an unsub?” 

“A what?” She lacked professionalism. You wondered briefly if he had just given you the phone number of an employee.

“I’m sorry-” she laughed slightly. “Is this about a suspect? Hotch told me someone might be calling.”

“Um - yeah it’s about a suspect. He was brought in earlier. Is Agent Hotch there? I’m sorry ma’am but I've been in an operating room for the past 6 hours and I want to go home.” You hoped she’d respect your honesty, you really didn’t have the patience to explain yourself to someone new. 

She chuckled. “I got you honey, I’ll page you over.” The line went dead for a second before the ringing resumed. Please be quick, you prayed, get me out of this fucking hospital.

“Hotchner.” His voice was rougher over the phone. You guessed the long hours started to weigh on him by this time of night. You always felt it the most around this time, too.

“Hi, sir. This is Dr. L/n from the hospital. We managed to stabilize your guy, but it’s unlikely he’ll be up before tomorrow. I know it was assumed he’d be awake tonight but it took longer to operate than expected.” Your guys put 3 bullets in him, so sorry for the inconvenience. “I’ll be here all day tomorrow. You can come by at any time and I’ll let you in.”

“Are you positive we can’t talk to him tonight? I understand the situation is difficult but this case is extremely time sensitive. I’m sure that’s not lost on you.” You cursed the man for not being more condescending in his delivery. Thinking of the poor person either trapped or dead right now due to the guy you just saved made you sick. 

“I know.” Fucking hell. “I can wake him up.” A quarter dose of adrenaline works wonders. “Be here in fifteen minutes. You won’t have much time to talk to him.”

“Thank you.” He hung up. You put your head in your hands. Just a little kid with bruises.

– 

The layout of the BAU made you envious of the workers here. You’re sure they’d dealt with atrocities beyond what the average person could stomach, but you also worked within the belly of the beast and man were those hospital hallways claustrophobic. The daylight shone beautifully through the large windows, and you asked yourself if you’d be able to cope with all the paperwork in exchange for a feel like this. There weren’t any front desks, nowhere to sign in, so you sat in one of the chairs by the door and waited to see if something would happen. You had been specifically requested to visit the building , a note signed ‘Strauss’ being left with the hospital secretary. You didn’t like being called on by a stranger, it made you nervous beyond belief. You’re sure anyone walking by assumed you were being charged with something. Sweating like a sinner in church.

“Dr. L/n?” A woman was standing near you, having completely avoided your eyesight until now. “I’m the board supervisor, Erin Strauss. Thank you for coming.” The woman was nice enough, but she seemed rigid, clearly confident in her authority. She led you to her office and gestured to the chair facing her desk.

“I’ll cut right to the chase.” She smoothed her pencil skirt as she sat down. “The BAU is seeking a stand-by medic and I’d like to offer you the position. You’re revered highly by your previous places of employment and your current boss has only good things to say. Along with a personal reference by an employee of mine, you’re certainly a person of interest. You’d be working interchangeably with three other individuals, however you would be the first one called when needed.”

That is definitely not what you were expecting. You were almost immediately ready to turn down the offer. You didn’t work well with cops. You worked well in a hospital, going into the field to patch the wounds of both good and evil was a less than appealing deal to you. 

“You’d be on call while you worked your current position at Quantico Medical, when you’re at home you can remain there, but you’ll be flying with the rest of the team when they leave. You will be entered into a federal database, and employed as a stand-in for hospitals near you when working abroad.” She went on to explain you’d be paid salary, and when you heard just how much you could add to your monthly income by doing this, you took it. You were doing fine, you definitely didn’t need the financial boost, but you had family that could use it. Your niece had been close to turning down college because of the cost, so some extra money could really set her up. 

“Excellent. You’ll start your field training next Monday.” She was shuffling papers into a hefty stack as she talked. “Come back when you’ve finished this and I’ll arrange a team meeting.” The stack was even heavier than you expected when you picked it up. It was far too early to be regretting your decision. 

–

The first day of training had been easy enough. You weren’t an agent, so you avoided having to learn weapons or combat. It generally consisted of learning efficiency, along with how to work properly with agents and the expected etiquette when dealing with an unsub. You had met the team only once by now. Everyone had been nice - Garcia especially - but aside from her nobody had been particularly welcoming. The conditions of your job were a bit strange, basically capitalizing on the what ifs that came with the FBI title, and that created a bit of distance between you and the rest of the team. They questioned the necessity of you, they’d survived this long without a stand-by medic with them, why did they need one now?

Above any disregard for those in law enforcement sat your stubbornness. You knew they were on the fence about you, the most logical thing for you to do now would be attend every session required of you and prove yourself through pure accomplishment. Easy in theory, much harder to execute when Aaron Hotch is the one you’re learning from. He was a good teacher - you’d give him that - he had a confidence to him that easily dominated a room, attracted eyes in a way other men couldn’t manage. You’d ignored the initial stir in your stomach when meeting him in favor of attempting to scold him and his partner. Now, it was much harder to quell the slight pound in your head or the sweat on your palms. He was just standing up front, lecturing on the importance of a team, but his attire was the only thing able to break through the haze in your mind. Every time he’d shown up at the hospital, he’d donned a suit, a slightly baggy blazer worked incredibly well as a shield to your curiosity. That had clearly changed, as he shed the overcoat when talking to the class, having just a white button up adorn his torso. You took notice of the rolled up sleeves, clearing your throat quietly to snap yourself back into focus. You had the intention of snuffing out this little thing of yours but were a living contradiction at this point, setting on the goal of avoidance while barely ignoring the sight of the veins on his arms. You pondered the thought of sleeping with some man at a bar just to get this out of your system, but remembered how little projecting attraction onto someone else helps a situation. In other words, you were probably fucked.

– 

The first mission you worked with the team had you flying to a tiny Georgia town to investigate a string of bodies being found in ransacked homes. It seemed to be a simple motive, robbery turned to murder, but the team was called down to help once the kill count hit five. You had been expecting a long commercial flight, figuring you’d need to invest in a good neck pillow and some aspirin. Nobody had bothered to inform you the Bureau utilized private air travel, or that you’d be flying in one with people you’d known for two weeks. You’re sure you looked a little out of place, looking around the plane without being obvious you were doing it and adjusting to the sight of couches on planes. The others, having had this privilege for years now, took their respective seats. You had been nervous about that, unfortunately. The unsure feeling of where to sit reminding you painfully of high school cafeterias and inferior reputations. The only open seat happened to be right next to the man you’d been ducking away from the past two weeks. Lovely. He took a moment to look at you when you sat. You were prepared to talk to him, but for now you busied yourself with rummaging through your bag looking for nothing and pretending not to see him in your peripherals.

“Do you get sick on planes?” He seemed to have a deeper motive when he asked, like you saying yes would solve a puzzle in his head.

“Not really.” You’d only been on a plane a handful of times. “Turbulence can make me nervous, but I think that’s fairly normal.” You thought momentarily that perhaps he would blame your obvious anxiety on that instead of his proximity to you. He was a profiler, you’re sure he picked up on tells for nerves you weren’t even aware you had, but maybe he’d write it off. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem…” He trailed off for a moment, looking over your face to try and categorize your expression. “I don’t know, lost?” He smiled, light and easy, and you realized he was trying to reach out to you. The comfortability in the gesture made your head spin. It was like a shot of morphine, enveloping your body in a dull elation - an escape. You wanted that comfortability, wanted him to feel weightless around you. There had been a certain tension between the two of you since you started. He was warmer than the rest, but also more awkward. Your first real interaction had been an outburst, and it left you hesitant to talk to him. 

You chuckled at his remark. “No I -” You shook your head as you spoke, as if shaking off his accusation. “Nobody told me about the jet. You’d think exclusive aircraft would be in the job predecessor.”

He nodded in agreement, holding a slight upturn on his lips. “Yes, you would.” He glances away to check the time, looking back to you quickly like you were his homebase. “Strauss has a habit of getting ahead of herself. Plus, we’re all pretty used to it by now. I have to remind her sometimes that normal provisions don’t have a TI.”

“I’m sure.” It was clear she’d worked with the unit for a while. “Even if they did, though, they’d never find another Garcia.” You thought of the woman, bright and sparkly and incredibly good at her job. “You guys are lucky to have her.”

He stared at you, losing a hint of the lightheartedness and letting a wave of genuinity intertwine with it. “You have her too, Y/n.” His eyes were like a trap, rich pools of honey just begging to tug you down in. “You’re a member of this team. Don’t think your newness makes you inferior to anyone else on it. We’re lucky to have you too.”

Fuck, you were whipped. “I really appreciate that, sir.”

He smiled, shaking his head and waving you off. “Don’t with the sir, please. It’s bad enough when Garcia does it. You can call me Aaron.” Not even the other team members called him that, a thought that seemed to strike you both simultaneously. “Or Hotch, whatever you prefer.”

You just looked at him, letting a smile rouse your lips and trying your hardest not to let the effect he had on you reach your face. “Ok.”

–

The first case had been good training wheels, simply tending to a vic who needed stitches and getting a feel for the life of a field agent. You’d been adjusting nicely to it, quickly getting used to working random hospitals and waiting to be needed on an active crime scene. The others had warmed up to you tremendously after getting back, opening their circle for one more, and you couldn’t be more grateful. A team like this was something you’d wanted for a while, growing more and more unsatisfied with the callous ER workspace by the day. Ironically, there was much more life in jobs dealing with murder. He had also been warming up to you. The two of you hit the status of work-place friends nearly instantly. The endearing encounter on the plane simmered inside you for a while. The memory of it prompting you to keep talking to him, always searching for a fix of the painkiller you’d felt that day. 

You weren’t a profiler, but you were unfathomably infatuated, leading you to never miss his tone getting softer with you, or any one of his touches that lingered for just a second too long. It just barely bypassed the line of friendship, but you never lost sight of that linear barrier, so it was incredibly prevalent to you when he breached it. You scoffed at the idea of any reciprocity, brushing off every remark made by a coworker or the one horrific time you heard JJ refer to the two of you as ‘mom and dad.’ This wasn’t a plausible thing. This was a stupid workplace crush that was more of a hindrance than anything. The growing closeness between you and him would have it’s effects properly restrained to the confines of your head, only permitted to express themselves once you were away from the man. It was an odd dynamic, but Aaron wasn’t an obvious guy, so trying to define the edges of you two would only draw attention to the fact you had been looking at all. No thank you.

“Shit.” The team was sitting around the table going over their files. You were mainly there for support, as you were never a part of the lead up to the catch, the chase. You heard Hotch mumble the exclamation under his breath and looked over to see the trouble. He was looking down at his phone, jaw resting between his thumb and pointer finger. You got up and moved to sit next to him, the motion virtually ignored by everyone else as they continued searching for connections.

“Everything ok?” You mumbled to him, trying not to disturb your friends who were nearly nose-deep in their files. 

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Jack’s sitter canceled. I wanted to stay here to go over the latest crime scene but I guess I’ll have to raincheck.” The killings of your latest unsub had been increasing. You knew the collective stress that was starting to boil within the team. Him going home would only slow them down, a horrible addition to a killer that was speeding up. 

You volunteered your night away before you even got a chance to think about it. 

“I can watch him.” 

Surprise was apparent in the raise of his eyebrows. “I appreciate it, but I couldn’t ask that of you.

You’re fairly certain you would do anything he asked of you, but the nobility of the man in this case almost made you roll your eyes. “No, please. I offered and I would love to. I’m not helping anyone just sitting here, and you leaving would slow them down. You know what to look for here, I don’t. I don’t want another girl going missing just cause your sitter flaked. I can do it.”

He seemed mildly speechless. “I -” He paused, trying to find the wording he wanted. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll send you the address, if you’re sure.” He looked at you with more adoration than you’d ever had directed at you, so intense your eyes instinctively ducked down. “Thank you, Y/n.” He was so touched by the action it made you slightly sad to think about. Had no one ever helped him? Maybe you were raised weird, this seemed hardly beyond common decency to you. 

“What are friends for?” He exhaled a slight laugh in gratuitous agreement, but you saw the glimmer of his eyes dull slightly. The notion surely reflected in your own eyes as the words burned your tongue. Friends.

–

Jack was a delight. A well mannered, clearly well raised kid. Parts of his dad shined so vibrantly in him that you’re sure you’d be able to pick him out of a crowd based on mannerisms alone. Hotch had called Jack’s daycare, verifying your identity and giving you the ok to go pick him up. He seemed quiet on the way home, but rushed to give you a tour of the house, and excitedly led you to his line up of toy trains once you’d entered the place. There was a shift between you and Hotch that happened when you gave the offer. A shift that was now only just settling in you. This was his house. His space, his stuff, his place of security. He’d invited you into it, gave you permission to enter it, to exist within it, and it was strangely intoxicating. He was intoxicating, and you realized quickly how much you ached for the permanence of it. You’d made Jack dinner, played for a bit, went out for ice cream per his pleading, and wished him a peaceful goodnight when his bedtime rolled around. He’d dubbed you his ‘best babysitter ever’ and you knew as soon as the words hit your ears that you’d be watching him again. You’re sure situations like today popped up frequently for Hotch, you could be a valuable asset to him when you had free time. He would be saving money too. No need to pay a sitter when you were being paid by the Bureau every second you were there. Aaron had gotten home a few minutes past one, utterly exhausted and uncharacteristically apologetic. He was sorry for being gone so long, making you stay so late, everything and anything the man could apologize for was pouring out of his mouth. He’d welcomed you to stay, but his hair was messy from messing with it all night, and he’d ditched the suit jacket for a gray long sleeve. You’d wanted to take the opportunity, wanted to bask in the safety of him for as long as he’d allow it, but those restrained thoughts were clawing the walls of your skull with a vigor unlike anything you’d felt before. It would be abhorrent to dream about the man while in the confines of his home. You couldn’t do that - you wouldn’t. You brushed off any apology he could conjure and let him escort you out the door. His hand was on your lower back, and his voice was low from the siphoning nature of the day. 

“Thank you, again.” He looked at you. “You’re a lifesaver.” You’d expected to hear some humor in his voice. The start of banter between friends, a casual appreciation for a job well done, but there wasn’t any. He sounded rough, slightly beat down, his eyes filled with a sincerity all aimed at you. A blend of pure adoration and a deeper level of dedication. Was this a commitment? What kind?

Heat bubbled in your stomach as you made eye contact. “Please.” You shook your head slightly. “Jack’s an angel. You’re clearly as good at this as you are profiling.” You nodded in the vague direction of Jack’s bedroom as you referenced the kid. “It was my pleasure. I’d love to do it again, if you’ll let me.” 

He sighed out a small laugh and broke your gaze for a moment, looking back to you as he spoke. “I’d like that.”

–

You’d seen Jack a multitude of times after that. Aaron was never particularly fond of asking you, claiming that he appreciated the gesture but it was mainly Jack’s begging that made him cave. That, and your persistence. You liked Jack a lot, and more selfishly, you liked being around Aaron’s stuff. It was a little creepy, yes, but you felt better acquainted with him after being around his things. An energetic type of understanding, the type that deepened a connection without words. He was needed late tonight, and as much as you hated denying an offer to see Jack, you had priorities at the hospital. The previous sitter wasn’t able to watch him, so she gave a personal recommendation, and Jack got stuck with a stranger. You thought about him while working, probing and patching people half-focused with the desire to be elsewhere. You’d felt mildly guilty about it, but it’s not like it altered your work, so you figured it was harmless. 

You wondered slightly if you manifested the event you were watching play out. You watched in pure disbelief as a sobbing Jack was being carried into the ER by a flustered blonde woman. There was blood staining the right sleeve of his shirt, pouring out of his skin in a surplus and completely soaking through the material. A jagged piece of glass was standing at attention in his wrist, having sliced through the fabric like butter. He was marked ‘urgent,’ who knows if the shard had hit an artery or where the glass had come from. 

Most other doctors were busy, either operating or tending to patients. You’d walked to the front desk, remaining as calm as your racing heart would let you, and told the secretary to assign the case to you. “I know this one. Let me take him.” She just nodded, marking your name down as the primary doctor and allowing you to take him back. 

Walking up to the blonde woman, you assumed this had been the new babysitter. She was a wreck, trying to explain what happened through her own hysteria while simultaneously having her words drowned out by the crying child. “It’s ok, ma’am.” You’d reassured her, obviously she hadn’t intended the injury. “Let me take him, I’m a friend of his father.” You saw the calmness dilate her eyes, making itself apparent in the relaxation of her tense shoulders. You removed the bleeding boy from her arms, holding him against you and cooing at him the way you would a baby. You took him to a stretcher a few feet away and laid him down, ensuring his wounded arm stayed flat in an attempt to slow the blood. He was on the brink of passing out, his body not having nearly enough energy for the sobbing on top of losing vital fluid. “Jack.” You addressed him directly, two more doctors aiding your transfer to an examination room. “I need you to stay with me, buddy. Just a little longer, I promise. You’re gonna be just fine.” You pushed with one hand, caressing his non-injured arm to emphasize your affection. “Just a little longer.” You looked at him in between looking forward to keep the stretcher straight, seeing that same adoration from his father’s eyes mirrored in his. You felt protective, realizing you cared for the Hotchners much more than you let yourself believe. Little kid with bruises, you skimmed through your origins in your mind in an attempt to center your focus. Just a little kid with bruises.

Two hours later, Jack was stitched up and sleeping soundly. You knew his sitter had called Hotch, probably as soon as something happened, and were not surprised to find him idle in a waiting room chair. He was leaned forward, head in his hands and knee bouncing violently. He heard footsteps getting closer, a feeling within him recognizing them as yours, and he looked up. His eyes were teary, tired. The look of a concerned father.

“How is he?” You’d never witnessed this type of worry in him, heard the amount of desperation in his voice.

You smiled lightly as a predecessor to Jack’s wellbeing. “He’s fine. Glass missed his arteries. We had him patched up in around an hour and a half. Gave him a lollipop and a light sedative to get him to rest. He should be all set to go in the morning.” 

He sighed, and the amount of stress that audibly left his body made you feel a little lighter from where you stood. “Thank God.”

“Hey man, give us a little credit.” You joked, relieved when you heard the slight laugh come from his downturned head. Pity laugh, probably, but it was a cherished sound nonetheless. 

“You have full credit, Y/n.” He shook his head, raising it to look at you. “Quite the hero.”

You almost physically recoiled from the term, rushing to correct him while maintaining the lighthearted nature. “Definitely not.” You rejected the praise. “Just doing my job. I’m glad I could help him.”

He leaned back in his chair, relaxing for a second before he planned to stand up. “Noble.” He chuckled. “But you helped my son. That’s about as heroic as it gets to me, doc.”

Blood rushed to your ears at your professional title being used so affectionately. “Go check on your kid, Hotch.” You waved back towards the direction of Jack, knowing that even though he was asleep, he’d want to see him anyway. You also hoped the slight distraction would draw his attention away from your increasingly flustered state. “You’ll have plenty of time to praise me.” You weren’t entirely sure you’d wanted the sentence to exit your mouth, but it was too late to bite your tongue.

He raised his eyebrows so slightly that you scolded yourself for having noticed. Such a minuscule action that seemed to move mountains within your brain. “Oh?”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes at your own remark. “I’m walking away. You know what I meant.”

“Mhm.” He smiled, nodding his head dramatically and rising from his seat. “Just name a time and place, doc. I’ll do good on that promise.”

You went momentarily braindead, hoping your eyes weren’t giving away the less than work appropriate feeling pumping through your veins. You stared baffled at him for what was definitely a millisecond too long before giving a half-shocked, half-flattered laugh and gesturing him away. “Say that when you’re not obviously sleep deprived and delirious and maybe we can arrange it.” The last thing you heard was him, laughing the way you do when you’re very serious but desperately trying to pass it off as a joke. You knew it well, having done it almost every time you were around him since you started. Comfortable, witty retorts between  friends. “Have a good night, Aaron.” 

Aaron, he thought. He’d remember that.

– 

That had been the second shift between the two of you. Felt immediately by both parties and tossing you both into the deep end of whatever you’d been building with him. He’d been much more touchy, seemingly subconscious on his part but noticed by every part of your body, mind, and soul. You thought about what it could mean, then sunk even further into your incoherent mind when realizing just how subconscious the actions really were. He was just drawn to you. You had viscerally fought that conclusion as it came to you but it genuinely could not be anything else. He was touching you more because - whether on the surface or deeper down - he just wanted to, and that fact was wrecking you. You were so fucking into him that it hurt. Hurt to look at him or be in his home watching Jack or have his knee pressed against yours in the back of car during a team outing. It all hurt because he wasn’t yours. He seemed into you, too. Of course, you didn’t know to what extent. You worried maybe he hadn’t said anything yet because he simply didn’t like you enough, and that hurt more than any other factor. It was a foolish notion - one you would have abandoned instantly had you peeked inside his head - but alas, no such luck.

He’d been more relaxed, too. The two of you reaching a point in your relationship you hadn’t ever let yourself dream about. He was funny, achieving that lightness around you that you’d wanted from the start. He’d gotten riskier, amping up the dial on his remarks a bit. Starting with those like the hospital, ending with ones that made you have to take a breather in the room where they kept the coffee. It hadn’t gone unnoticed, per say, but the others were certainly ignorant to the true depth of the change. You simply couldn’t measure it by witnessing, you had to feel it. And fuck were you feeling it. 

A week or so after Jack’s ER visit, you’d asked after him. You didn’t know if the regret was immediate, but it flooded through you quickly. Aaron got nervous, shifty, like you’d touched a live wire of his and he now had to patch it up before it blew. You got concerned, asking if something happened with his stitches or if Jack was now showing some sort of trauma response to the event. Was that even plausible? You weren’t sure, PTSD wasn’t exactly your strong suit. However, he quickly stated that wasn’t the case, noting that Jack was actually in perfect health and had been relentless about wanting you over for dinner.

“He’s grateful.” Hotch was smiling with paternal reluctance, proud of his son for having such good morals but also uncomfortable with the possibility of rejection he was facing. “He wants to see you, say thank you for “saving his life.” He emphasized the last bit in a sarcastic tone, both of you knowing his life hadn’t been in danger but also knowing that fact wouldn’t deter the boy from considering you some type of guardian angel. “Would you be up for it?” If you hadn’t been so focused on snuffing out the heat rushing to your face, you would have seen that same heat reflected in a slight pink across his cheeks. 

“Definitely.” You smiled at the thought of the boy bugging his dad about getting you to the house. “When were you thinking?”

“Saturday night?” Both of you were scheduled to be off that day, and you found yourself begging whatever merciful being would listen to not have some lead to chase that day. “He’ll want the day to prepare.” He chuckled.

“Oh no.” You joked. Prepare? You couldn’t even begin to imagine what that meant. “Well, I am extremely curious to find out what an eight year old boy has to prepare for. How about seven? Would that be good?”

Aaron felt his palms start to sweat. He’d never actually been around his house when you’d been there, only seeing you on your way out. “That’s perfect.”

“Great.” You smiled, checking the time and realizing you needed to get going to the hospital. “I’m looking forward to it.” You nodded slightly as one last confirmation and headed out, suppressing a giddy smile while trying to force yourself into a headspace you could work in. 

In the meantime, Aaron watched you walk off from where he’d been perched on your desk, entirely oblivious to the man watching the scene.

“As I live and breathe.” Rossi had crept up on him, not spooking him but rather suspending him in a state of immeasurable embarrassment. “Aaron Hotcher has a crush.” The man held his shoulder, patting him there like a father witnessing his son get his first girlfriend. “She’s a good one. Quite the eye you got, Aaron.” Then he was gone, walking away with Aaron’s dignity clasped in his hands. Closing his eyes in pure mortification, Hotch simply thanked God that nobody else was around for that and walked away with the intention of fusing to his office chair to avoid ever looking at Rossi again. At least you’d said yes, he thought. He didn’t know how he’d cope with his friend watching him swing and miss.

–

The daylight seemed to be anticipating this more than you were, hours passing by like minutes until eventually the sun woke you up on Saturday morning. It was blazing through the cracks in your blinds, settling in slim lines across your floor, as light and gentle as snow. You’d been rehearsing your poker face in preparation for tonight. Writing safety manuals for any ungodly situation that could happen, everything from a fire to Aaron gaining the ability to read your mind and unearthing what you really thought about him. You were so happy that Jack held you in such high esteem, but your hands were shaking at the thought of sitting down with him and his father and acting like it wasn’t the dynamic you fucking dreamt about. You knew it was a good sign of compatibility if someone’s cat liked you - did their child liking you mean the same thing? You hoped Jack’s seemingly innate approval of you gave you at least a couple brownie points. Aaron had called you a hero. Swiftly ignoring the memory of what he’d said after he called you a hero, you pulled out your phone. You and him didn’t really speak outside of work and babysitting schedules, but you were pacing around your room and needed something to give you a semblance of structure, a reassurance - even if it was just for the time. You texted, asking if you were still on for tonight, then went to go make breakfast and inevitably pace some more. He’d gotten back to you about twenty minutes later, confirming the time and giving details of how excited Jack was about it. You smiled at that, praying tonight would be as smooth as humanly possible and you could walk away with an ounce of emotional control. You set an intention, this wouldn’t deepen your feelings for Aaron. Was it a pointless goal? Yes. Was it also highly unlikely to prove true? Yes. But the loose plan you worked around the resolution almost completely extinguished the anxiety that had been blazing for hours now. It would be fine, you thought. Completely and utterly fine. 

The same words were looping through your thoughts when you got to his front door. Casual - but still minorly more dressed up than he’d seen you. You’d put a little extra effort into your appearance, mainly to pass the time if you were honest, and you walked in with mild confidence fueling your steps. You did your best not to ogle him, he was in an attire that was already threatening to unravel the safety net of the goal you set. You were used to the suits hidden beneath blazers you cursed the existence of, maybe a snippet of his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves late at night. Now, though, he sported a simple black tee, more comfortable than you’d ever seen him. Domesticity was practically oozing from the entire situation. You felt the pieces slip into place as Jack ran up behind him, and you almost cried with how badly you wanted this feeling to be your normal. 

“Hey, buddy.” You laughed as he hugged you, reciprocating the act as well as you could from the multiple feet you had on his height. “How’s the arm?”

He raised up his wrist, now gauze free and proudly showed off the scar there. You played up the genuine admiration you felt for him. “That’s a pretty gnarly scar.” He nodded in response, probably feeling cool for the evidence he handled such an injury. “I don’t want to see you back in my operating room, you hear me? Scared the life out of us.” The scolding was playful, and he giggled at your words.

Aaron huffed in agreement, cocking his head to the side slightly. “You can say that again.” Jack looked between you two, smiling and seemingly thinking something neither of you could decipher. To break the moment of silence, Aaron patted his shoulder. “Why don’t you tell her what’s on the menu, buddy?”

He told you, and you hummed along to his words, commenting that it sounded delicious and actually meaning it. He ran away a second later - presumably back to whatever he’d been doing before you got there - and left you and Aaron alone. Venturing into the kitchen, you saw multiple pans and pots sitting neatly on the stove, table set and ready to be utilized. Everything was being kept warm, and you finally gained an appetite after having wrestled with nerves all day. 

“Do you want a drink?” He asked it while entering the kitchen, pausing to look at you. 

“Please.” You were desperate to calm yourself, eager to subdue the shaking of your hands. “Do you have any wine?” You weren’t the biggest fan, but you couldn’t think of a drink more fitting for the evening.

He nodded slightly. “Red or white?”

“White.”

He chuckled. “Thought so.” It was quiet, more to himself than you as he was already walking away from you when he said it. He’d thought about what kind of wine you liked, you thought. He’d thought about you. He pulled two wine glasses down from the cupboard, then walked over to the fridge. He reached above it, barely having to stretch, and pulled an uncorked bottle from the storage up there. You felt your legs tense looking at how tall he was, how sure he was of his actions. Jesus. It’s been five minutes and you were crumbling. You watched his hands as he uncorked the bottle, reading the label and realizing the brand.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Seems a little fancy for a dinner.”

He laughed under his breath as he finished pouring the glasses, walking back over to sit next to you on the island stools. “You’re a guest of honor.” He placed yours in front of you. “I thought it was fitting.” 

You searched, but couldn’t find the humor in his tone. You raised your eyebrows slightly. “Am I?” It was sarcastic, you needed to stop the heat in your stomach from spreading. “I didn’t know doing your job earned such a title.”

He was drinking as you spoke, finishing his sip before joking back. “You’re a doctor.” He said. “I thought you knew that better than anyone.”

You sucked air through your teeth as if wounded by his words. “Touche.” You took a sip of your drink, relishing the taste. Damn, he didn’t come to play. He laughed, and you set your glass back down. “Ok, I have to know.” He drew his attention to you. “What the hell did Jack need the day to prepare for?” The question had been on your mind since he asked you.

He took a drink, chuckling with a mouthful then swallowing so he could reply. “He actually helped cook most of this.” He nodded towards the stove full of different dishes. “That was what he needed the day for. Time for trial and error.”

You grinned at the thought of Jack and Aaron spending the day in aprons, making sure everything turned out perfect. “That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He looked back towards Jack, coloring in the living room, close enough to see but far enough to miss your discussions. “He gets nervous around you.”

That surprised you. “Why on Earth would he be nervous around me?” You took your turn looking at the boy, an idea hitting you and making you feel sick. “Wait, I didn’t do something did I?”

He looked back at you, smiling. “No, no. Nothing like that. He gets nervous because he likes you. He knows who you are to me, too, so he wants to make a good impression.”

Your mind latched onto that sentence and played it like a broken record, bouncing between your ears over and over. “Oh?” Your lips were curling up at the corners, eyebrows furrowing as you got ready to hold him to that statement. “And who might I be to you, Aaron?”

Fuck. He’d let that slip past his lips without even thinking about it. So used to being in the confidential company of his son. Good thing he used to be a lawyer and could lie his ass off. “Most of his sitters aren’t also my coworkers.” He delivered it the smoothest way he could, smiling and drinking to hopefully exude a false comfortability that he certainly wasn’t feeling.

“Mhm.” You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to look sarcastic but in truth downplaying the sting you felt. What if this had been one-sided all along? You hadn’t prepped a safety guide for that.

Luckily, Jack came sprinting into the kitchen a second later, pleading with his father to eat now. Clinging to his leg and declaring how hunger was killing him by the second, dramatically threatening to wither away before your very eyes. You both shared a look, agreeing silently to put the kid out of his misery. The instinctual nature of the act hit you like a bolt of lightning. Both of you so in tune it was comical. The dinner had been lovely, and you reminded yourself to encourage Jack to keep up his cooking hobby. Maybe you could foster a professional chef. You’d talked with them both, light and the happiest you’d felt in a while. There it was, you realized. That weightless feeling you wanted to give him. You felt it in yourself too, and you could only pray it was because he felt it first. When dinner concluded, you’d help clean up while Jack resumed his coloring. His bedtime was soon, and you didn’t want him to spend his last hour washing pans. He was nearly delirious by the time 9:00 graced the clock, tired from the preparation of the day and needing to get to sleep. He’d given you a hug goodnight, thanked you for coming like the gentleman he was, and that was the last you saw of him. The rest of your time there was spent on the couch with Aaron, you both held a second glass of wine, and you noticed it manifest in the blush on his face. He was gorgeous, and you were staring. You know your eyes went to his lips a couple times as he spoke, low and rougher as the time ushered more light out of the sky. You saw his eyes slip down a few times too, this sort of unspoken, agonizing rule of look don’t touch. He’d walked you to the door, thanked you for your attendance, and then you were leaving. Sitting in your car, warm on the inside from both his presence and the anger you felt at yourself for not just kissing him. You were so incredibly needy for this - for him, and that fact just sat with you, like a raincloud constantly in a state of downpour, never letting you forget the pure fucking craving you had for him.

–

You think the start of your blackout was Morgan’s panicked voice over the speaker. You’d been stationed in your typical hut, equipped with medical gear and waiting on someone to need you. It was almost never your team in need of service, typically you were tending to an injured hostage or sometimes the unsub themselves, but never your friends. Your breath had been baited since you’d heard the gun go off. You knew the case was dealing with an aggressive attacker, you’d been expecting a fight, but nothing is ever more excruciating than waiting to hear who the shot was meant for. Derek crying out your name followed by a “get in here. Hotch is down, we need you in here.” had you ready to run the soles of your shoes down to dust just to make it in time. In time. God, in time for what? You’d ran past Emily and Rossi hauling out the unsub, anger evident in their treatment of him. How bad was it? How bad had he got him to have them acting like that?

The scene was bloody. Your brain switching off and forcing you into autopilot as you registered the pool of Hotch’s blood that Morgan was kneeling in. He was putting pressure on the wound, an attempt to stop the bleeding but it was flowing like a river. He wouldn’t make it to the hospital like this, you realized. He wouldn’t make it to the fucking hospital. You were holding his life in between your hands right now, the slightest tremor could sever that chord and you were feeling the pressure hard. Aaron was leaned against the wall, slumping down slightly which was only making the bleeding increase under the internal pressure. 

You looked at Morgan, putting on the bravest face you could muster and effectively seizing control of the situation. “Morgan.” You got his attention quickly. “On three I need you to lift him away from the wall. I need to check for an exit wound.” He just nodded, doing exactly as you’d told him when you reached three. You checked the area, finding an exit wound in nearly the same spot. It’d been a straight line. You sighed in relief. Thank fucking God. “Ok, Morgan, I need you to put pressure on the wound on his back. I’m going to stitch the front to give us the time we need for the hospital drive but I need you to hold it. You got me?” 

He nodded once. “I got it.” He moved his hand from the front to the back, Aaron wincing at the switch.

You took out the numbing cream from your pack, knowing it wouldn’t do much for a gushing bullet wound but hoping it would at least quell the sting of a needle. You took out the needle, threading it with hands frighteningly stagnant as the adrenaline gave you tunnel vision. You had to save him. “Aaron.” You looked at him as you prepped his skin for the procedure. “I’m gonna need to double stitch this, and it’s gonna hurt like hell. I need you to stay with me.” 

The man just nodded, exhaling in exhaustion. “Do it.”

You worked as quickly as possible, gaining hope as you listened to the ambulance approach. “There you go.” You said under your breath, at this point you couldn’t tell if you were reassuring him or yourself.  You looked to Morgan, who was still sealing the other injury. “Help me get him up. Keep your hand on there. These stitches are gonna give us twenty minutes tops. Hold his shoulders straight and walk quickly.” You counted again, both of you rising when you hit three, taking the man with you. The walk to the ambulance was the longest of your life. Aaron was clinging to his consciousness but you knew he was losing grip. Finally getting him to the stretcher and slamming the doors was a relief like nothing else. There was no time to debate anyone else going, you rushed him in and sat right down beside him, taking off almost immediately after. The bleeding had slowed, and your hand took the place of Morgan’s on his back. Since he was laying down, his full weight was on it, and you felt the circulation lessen more and more as it remained there. You couldn’t care less, you’d let the blood drain from your entire arm if it meant Aaron’s survival. He hadn’t passed out, which you thought was miraculous, simply walked the line of decently delirious. Groaning under his breath at every slight bump in the road. 

“Why am I always having to save you Hotchner men?” You knew now wasn’t the time to be humorous, but you would have done anything to deviate from the tears in your eyes, the ball in your throat. You finally understood why it was frowned upon to date coworkers - it should be illegal to care this much. 

“I don’t know, honey.” The pet name was the kicker, allowing a tear to break the dam and roll down your cheek as he chuckled. “You seem to be pretty damn good at it, though.” You laughed too, fighting the devastation you felt at the sight of him with the fact that he was clearly well enough to still be joking. “I should have kissed you when you came for dinner.”

Fuck. “Aaron, now is not the time.” You chuckled slightly as more tears fell. This is absurd.

“I know but-” He flinched as the ambulance hit another bump. Almost there. “I might as well say it now.” You wondered if there was genuinely something wrong with him. “You’ve been all I can think about since the moment-'' He paused to breathe slightly in exertion, you giving a disapproving look as his confession took it’s toll. “since the moment you started, you know that?”

“You are dying! Please, for the love of God, Aaron. Use this energy to prevent that from happening.” Your scolding was dramatic, but your actual concern shone brightly through your ruse of sarcasm. 

“Exactly.” He was being equally as sarcastic. How on Earth did he manage this with a rapidly declining life force. “Give a dying man a chance. How unfortunate would it be if the last thing I hear before I go out is the woman of my dreams rejecting me?”

“Jesus Christ.” You shook your head in pure amazement. This was by far the most goal oriented man you’d ever met. “I’ll let you take me out if you shut the hell up and save your energy.” He smiled, letting his head hit the reclined back of the stretcher. “After you get better.” You added, reminding him that his recovery took priority. “Deal?”

“Deal.” This was probably the most insufferable man you’d ever met. “Such a good motivator.”

Scratch that. Most insufferable man ever.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotch #x reader #x chubby reader #a fat reader #x plus size reader #aaron hotcher x chubby reader #aaron hotch x fat reader #aaron hotchner x plus size reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotch x you #fluff #fluff fanfic #comet: AH

[6ix9inewiturmom]

Secretly crushing- Matt and Chris Sturniolo

Summary: You and chris are dating, matt has secretly liked you, you secretly like matt, and chris asks you about it, you try your best to deny it, but chris can see right through you and lets you have one little night with matt ;)

Warnings: Angst, Smut, oral (fem receiving), candaulesism (watching people have sex in front of you: i think this is the correct term) p in v, unprotected sex, degrading, threesome ish?, picture taking, praising, cream pie, Dom!matt!Dom!chris!Sub!reader, use of Y/N, squirting, multiple orgasms, begging, “sir” kink, picture taking, OVERALL FILTHY AS FUCK

A/N: I HAD SM FUN WRITING THIS!! this is my first attempt at writing something like this!! be kind pls

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The triplets and I have been friends since about 8th grade, I met Matt in science class, then met the other two, and became inseparable. were all 20 now, living in LA together. about a year ago Chris and I started dating. It has been absolutely amazing, we go out once a week on a date night, and he always puts me first, and the sex? oh, that's heavenly. I've always been closer to Matt rather than Chris, but I can't deny that I've always had a thing for Matt and Chris, when the boys and I hit high school, I could never pick between the two of them. all of my friends would always tell me 'If you had to pick between Matt and Chris who would you pick?' I could never answer that because deep down, I wanted them both, but I was happily with Chris.

Today the Triplets invited me to do a blind deaf and mute challenge for their channel, except because there was 4 of us one of us would have to be blind and deaf.

“MATT I WANNA BE BLIND” chris exclaimed

“Okay to solve this issue, i’ll be blind and deaf, chris can be blind, matt you can be mute, and nick can be deaf, is that okay?” i say standing in the middle of matt and chris as they argue about who’s who.

“i mean i have no issue being any of them” nick throws his hands up in defense.

“alright that works for me” chris shrugs his shoulders and smiles at me.

the fans knew about mine and chris’ relationship because chris and i was accidentally spotted on nicks live stream cuddling and kissing on the couch while he was on instagram doing a Space Camp promo, it was a rough adjustment, i was getting a lot of hate, but after a couple months people just kind of accepted it.

“So since we all got our parts we’re gonna get ready to bake cupcakes” nick explained to the camera.

i grabbed my Airpods Max’s and a bandana.

“i’m suprised you didn’t grab that cute silk blindfold you’ve made me keep in my underwear drawer” chris says behind me helping me put the bandana over my eyes.

“CHRISTOPHER” i use my hand and slap his arm.

i put my airpods on and start blasting my music. nick and i are jumping around singing the same song as our spotify’s we’re linked so we could listen together.

“NEVER HAD A BITCH LIKE ME IN YA LIFE” nick and i said in unison

“OKAY IS EVERYONE READY” i say screaming as i can’t hear or see shit hoping someone can guide me in the right direction of what the hell to do.

“she obviously can’t hear how loud she is” chris says in attempt to look at the camera but looking in the complete opposite direction of the camera.

i feel a pair of hands touch my shoulders and guide me through the kitchen because apparently i was standing out of frame. i assumed it was Chris, though chris never has this firm of a grip on my shoulders.

“THANK YOU BABY” i scream looking upwards trying to thank chris for helping me.

“what’d i do” chris looks around in confusion

“OH MY GOD NICK I LOVE THIS FUCKING SONGGGGG” i lean over and start shaking my ass thinking it’s chris “THROW SOME MO” not realizing it’s matt, he gets wide eyed, and his cheeks brighten up with a light shade of pink, but in his favor you can’t see it because his bandana is covering his cheeks. i feel someone grab and yank me away

“Y/N WATCH WHERE YOUR SHAKING YOUR ASS” nick screams holding my shoulders

“WHAT” i scream back

“YES Y/N” nick yells back at me, not being able to hear what i said

“OKAY CHRIS GRAB THE EGGS” Nick screams across the kitchen and i accidentally walk out of frame again, and the second i walk out of frame i feel the same grip on my waist this time guiding me back into frame. “IM SORRY CHRIS” i scream up at who i think is chris.

“MATT WHY DOES Y/N KEEP YELLING STUFF AT ME” chris says trying to ask matt for help “and where are they eggs” he walks around in practical circles

matt rolls his eyes and he walks to the refrigerator and grabs the carton of eggs for Chris and hands them to him.

“OKAY CHRIS OPEN THE EGGS AND CRACK THEM” nick tells right in chris’ ear

“HEY JACKASS I CAN HEAR YOU, YOU DONT GOT TO START YELLING WITH YA MOUTH” chris yells towards nick.

matt pushes chris out of the way and starts trying to tell nick to be quiet because of how close their neighbors are, me being blind and deaf i’m just chilling and dancing around to the songs that are playing.

“I WANNA HELP” i try to find my way to the kitchen island by holding my hands out infront of me making my way over to where the ingredients are.

matt is pointing at me and doing mixing motions with his hands trying to get nick to tell chris that i wanna help.

“WHAT ABOUT Y/N MATT” nick frustratingly yells. “OH OH CHRIS YOUR GIRLFRIEND WANTS TO HELP” he continues

“here Y/N” chris attempts to hand me the whisk and accidentally hands me the whisk with the dirty side facing me, i grab the whisk from the top.

“EW YOU HANDED ME THIS SHIT WITH THE EGG ALL OVER IT” i yell.

“OKAY Y/N I LOVE YOU BUT SHUT THE FUCK UP” chris yells back at me.

i grab the whisk and start mixing the eggs together at the best of my blind ability’s.

“okay matt’s telling at me to lower my tone so chris try to get Y/N to put a 1/2 cup of oil in the pan” nicks voice softens.

i drop the whisk in the bowl “I GIVE UP THIS SHIT IS NASTY” in my attempt to walk to the paper towels i walk over and almost hit the fridge but matt grabs my hips and leads me to the paper towel and hands me one. but again, being blind and deaf i had no earthly sense of who it was grabbing my hips.

“CHRIS STOP STOP” nick slapping chris’ arm to get him to stop pouring the oil into the bowl.

“OKAY NOW CUT OR RIP THE BAG OPEN AND POUR THE BAG INTO THE BOWL” nick screams again in Chris’ ear

“YOU THINK YOU THE SHIT?” i start yelling “YOU NOT EVEN THE FART” i continue singing along to the ice spice song blasting in my headphones, obviously in my own world, i start dancing around in the kitchen

“YES Y/N YOURE EATING THIS SHIT UP” nick exclaimed hyping me up “OH SHIT CHRIS STOP MIXING SO HARD WAIT LET Y/N DO IT” nick yells again grabbing the whisk and walking towards me and leading me to the bowl. i place the whisk into the bowl carefully and start mixing how i normally would and i feel matt (assuming its nick this time) grab my hand and slow my movements down.

“OKAY ITS MIXED UP NOW” nick once again yelling “NOW MATT IS GONNA POUR IT BECAUSE I DONT TRUST YOU GUYS TO POUR IT IN THE CUPCAKE SHEET” yelling in chris’ ear he throws his hands in the air.

“matt swear im gonna kill em, keeps yelling in my ear like a fucking animal” chris looks around at this point just talking to himself.

“OKAY WERE GONNA TAKE OUR STUFF OFF AND PUT THESE IN THE OVEN AND WELL BE BACK” nick yells before taking off his headphones, and tapping me letting me know to take off my headphones and bandana.

“nick you gotta stop yelling, you too Y/N” looking at me smiling

“i can’t hear or see, i was in my own world half the time” i say smiling back at him

“okay it says they gotta cook for 25 minutes” matt says reading the box to nick.

as the cupcakes are cooking we’re all in the kitchen cleaning it up from the mess we all made laughing at shit we did without realizing it, talking about how bad these cupcakes could turn out.

Chris pulls the cupcakes out of the oven and places them on the stove and we’re all looking at them admitting they look a little weird but still edible.

“okay we didn’t do HORRIBLE” chris admitted to the camera.

“i mean we definitely could have absolutely fucked these up so badly” i say laughing softly.

“WELL anyways that’s it for today’s wednesdays video! i hope you guys enjoyed it and we’ll see you guys on friday!” nick says before walking over and clicking the red button and ended the recording.

“so who’s editing, cause i don’t feel like it” nick comes back around to the kitchen island.

“yeah no i’m good, last time i edited i saw clips on tiktok over the poor editing i did” matt laughed

“i will” chris groans and walks to the camera grabs the SD card

“come on Y/N, i can go edit this and you can watch Gossip girl for the 50th time” chris smiled gabbing my hand and leading me to his bedroom.

“Y/N YOURE SO REAL FOR REWATCHING THAT” nick yells from downstairs causing me to giggle softly.

“okay ma, just lay down i got the rest” chris says in a soft loving tone with a smile on his face

as i lay down i turn on the tv to gossip girl and just lay down in the comfort of Chris’ room as he sits and gets on the laptop on his desk and begins to rewatch and edit the video with the occasional laughter.

“Y/N what the fuck is this” chris’ voice goes cold almost.

i get up off the bed looking a little confused “what are you talking about baby?”

he rewinds the video a little to see me grinding up on matt singing along to throw some mo “this isnt even the first either, you and matt flirted the WHOLE video, we can’t even fucking post this now, because of your dumbass” his voice raises

“chris, you do realize i couldn’t see or fucking hear right?” i turn to look at him who’s once loving eyes now filled with rage.

“yeah but don’t you think you should have KNOWN my touch?” he raised his voice. “in matter of fact” he starts and fast forwards the video “look at his hands, look at how they hold your waist, if you think that’s it hold on there’s more” he sarcastically says. “HERE, when you’re whisking his hands are GRIPPING on yours and you don’t even stop him” he stand off his gaming chair looking down at me.

“Chris i don’t know what you’re so pissed off for, i do understand we can’t post this now, but you’re mad because i couldn’t see or hear ANYTHING? me and matt are JUST friends chris” i say looking up in his eyes. deep down i knew i was lying, ive always loved matt more then a friend but watching these videos knowing it was matt now? i can’t help but feel a little turned on, i know it was wrong of me but damn.

“Y/N don’t lie, i see the way you look at matt sometimes, i’ve seen it since we were younger, but i thought maybe i had a chance, you can’t lie to me about how you feel about him” his voice stays in a deeper tone almost a hurt tone, but knowing chris he’s not gonna get all mushy with me.

“Chris what the hell are you even talking about?” i run my fingers through my hair.

“okay since you’re playing stupid, leave. i don’t care where the hell you go, just go away from me” his voice now in anger pointing at the door.

i press my lips together and nod before grabbing my belongings from his nightstand and slamming his door and walking downstairs.

“WOAH Y/N where are you going and why did you just slam Chris’ door?” nick questions.

i let out a sigh “he thought when matt was guiding me through the kitchen being BLIND AND DEAF, was me and him flirting, and when i accidentally starting throwing it back on him, BUT-“ i was cut off by nick

“OKAY FOR ONE, it wasn’t flirting, and for two, you didn’t mean it, you were blind and deaf, why is he so mad, i mean we can just cut those parts out, it’s not totally ruined” nick says in an attempt to justify my actions, matt was so deeply invested in his phone i doubt he even heard the conversation.

“well whatever, i’m out of here, i love you guys!” i say walking out of the front door carefully shutting it and making my way to the car.

i back out of the driveway and turn my music on to distract me of my thoughts but my mind clouds with thoughts of the way matt’s hands felt on my body, the way he grabbed my waist, the way i accidentally threw it back on matt. why was i thinking like that? my thighs subconsciously clenched together. god i knew it was wrong. but here i am, getting turned on over a man who is my best friend and my boyfriend’s brother. but he had this glow to him, it was addictive.

𝜗𝜚 The next day 𝜗𝜚

i didn’t really sleep much last night, i was anxious, horny, mad, all of the feelings in one. i lay in bed watching movies when my Phone pings, i turn it over to see a message from chris.

Owen 💍

Come over tonight, and wear something easy to take off.

is he for real? make up sex isn’t gonna fix anything.

Y/N

Chris? really? make up sex?

Owen 💍

Nah nah just trust me ma, you’re gonna love it.

Y/N

Okay okay i’ll see you at 6

what did he have planned?? but alas i accepted, i sighed and went to the bathroom and turned on my shower to wash my hair, and shave… for whatever reason. chris didn’t care about what i looked like but something definitely told me that i should shave.

6 o clock rolled around faster then i knew it. i did my makeup, curled my hair and threw on a tight, short, skirt and a white crop top with a matching black lacy lingerie set underneath it all.

i grab my purse and phone and drive over to chris’ shared house with his brothers. as soon as i get there i use my spare key and open the locked door, to find the living room empty, assuming they’re all in their separate rooms. i slowly make my way to chris’ room and knock a couple times.

“Chris.. it’s me” i softly say into the door.

“come in” he yells softly from the other side of the door.

i walk into the room and find matt and chris sitting on his bed looking at chris’ phone, i’m a little confused but i thought he wanted to have a sit down talk with me and matt about stuff considering how last night went.

“so Y/N” chris stands up making his way towards me “i want to first start off by saying you look amazing” he comes closer to me talking in almost a whisper while brushing his fingers tips on my cheek making me shiver.

i lean my head down “thank you” i softly smile.

“no talking” his voice gets sturn “im gonna be doing all the talking and you’re gonna listen like the good girl i know you can be” his eyes fill with lust.

i nod “yes sir” i bite my lip softly

“you’re such a good girl for me” he smiles.

“now since you want to be a little slut and try to flaunt around my brother… you’re gonna be treated like a slut and let Matt fuck you like one” he smirks.

“w-what..?” my eyes widen.

“you heard me. i’m gonna watch matt fuck you like the little whore you are” he spits holding my jaw between his thumb and pointer finger.

“understand?” he says gazing down at me.

“y-yes sir” i nod nervously.

“such a good listener for me yeah?” he smiles placing a soft kiss on my lips.

“now strip and show matt what kind of whore you are” he says and walking to his gaming chair sitting down manspreading.

i walk over towards matt who’s sitting on the edge of the bed, i smiling devilishly pulling the shirt over my head and throwing it on the floor and pulling my skirt down leaving me exposed in nothing but my lingerie set.

“you can touch her, no need to be shy now matt” chris spits adjusting himself in the chair.

matt grabs my hips pulling me closer to him harshly and admiring my figure before him, running his fingers up and down my waist slightly running his fingers over my clothed nipples which hardened over his touch.

“you’re so fucking sexy” matt says in a husk whisper.

“t-thank you” i smile at matt.

“nu uh stop talking. you’re only gonna speak when i ask a question, got it?” matt’s eyes darken with lust.

“y-yes sir?” i questioned him not knowing if that’s what i say, i know chris likes it but considering i don’t know how matt is, im nervous.

“you treat him how you treat me Y/N” chris speaks from a couple feet away admiring how i react under matt’s touch.

i nod softly returning my eyes back to matt still gazing at my figure under his fingers. he wraps his arms around my back to unclip my bra letting it fall off my shoulders, his eyes widen slightly at my bare breast as his lower lip goes between his teeth.

his lips attached to my breast taking my hard nipplr between his teeth sucking harshly making my head go back and a soft whimper escape my lips as he massages one breast and his lips around the other occasionally kissing my nipple and switching breast.

chris’ eyes never leave me watching me come undone from his brothers touch. “you’re such a whore Y/N” chris speaks under his breath.

matt detached his lips from my breasts and uses his hands to rip my underwear off my legs and picking me up and throwing me on the bed letting a whimper fall from my lips at his harshness. he adjusts himself between my legs and comes up to face me and places a harsh hungry kiss on my lips swiping his tongue over my bottom lip almost begging for entry. as soon as my mouth open slightly he uses his tongue to explore my mouth fighting my own tongue for dominance he obviously won. his hand creeps down to rub his fingers through my wet folds of my pussy and letting a soft groan to escape from his mouth at my own wetness.

“so fucking wet for me yeah?” he says smirking into my lips.

he stands up using his hands to grab my ankles yanking me to the edge of the bed and immediately attacking my pussy with his mouth leaving open mouthed kissed on my clit.

“M-Matt, so fuc-fucking good” i moan out struggling to get a full sentence out of my mouth.

chris chuckles from across the room in a mocking manner. matt continues to flick his tongue over my clit now using his middle finger to enter my aching hole and curling it upward leaving me a moaning mess with just his mouth and fingers. he whines into my pussy “you have the sweetest fucking pussy”

i moan in response as he adds his ring finger in me as his cold rings hit the entry of my hole over and over again. my hands goes down to run his fingers through his hair.

“did he say you could touch him Y/N?” chris stands up from his seat walking to the other side of the bed and grabbing my wrist to pin them over my head.

i violently shake my head as my legs begin shaking and my cervixs contracts around matt’s fingers.

“Y/N i asked you a question” he says sternly looking at me. “did he say you could touch him?” he spits looking down at my fucked out face.

“N-no s-sir” i stutter out in a whimper. “cl-close” i scream out.

“beg” matt mumbles against me.

“i-i can’t” my eyes roll back into my head with moans spilling out of me.

“beg him Y/N, or you’re not cumming the rest of the night, and believe me, you’re in for a LONG night” chris says smirking still holding my wrists pent above my head.

“p-please s-sir, i’m so, so close” i whimper out.

“beg harder” matt’s head lifts up looking down at me while his fingers plunge into my at a ungodly speed curling them upwards hitting my spot sending me over the edge.

“please” i repeat a couple times “i-ill be- good” my back arches off the bed.

“cum” matt harshly says, which is all it took to send me into a euphoric orgasm as my cum drips out of me and onto his fingers.

chris let’s go of my wrists smiling down at me with nothing but lust in his eyes as my eyes trail from his eyes down to matt who’s undressing himself pulling his sweatpants and underwear down in one swift motion letting his hard needy cock to spring up and hit his stomach, he was pretty close to chris’ size but matt had so much more girth to his.

“you like what you see?” matt taunts.

i nod with a smile on my lips.

“get on all fours” matt’s once smile turns into a smirk looking up at chris who’s also smirking over at matt.

i flip over with my ass flaunting in the air and using my elbows for support and speeding my thighs and legs apart slightly for matt.

matt rummaged through chris’ bedside table for a condom but was quickly stopped by chris.

“no since she wants to act like a whore, you can fuck her like one and fuck her raw” matt smirks over at Chris’ comment and walks towards the edge of the bed and using his cock and slapping my pussy harshly with it letting a loud whine from me.

“someone’s sensitive” matt chuckles taunting me as his slides his tip up and down my soaping wet folds.

he slides just the tip in at first before inching his way in allowing me to adjust to his size as he bottoms out letting a groan escape from his lips and a screech from my lips come out.

“fuck she’s so tight” he groans and mumbles out.

chris smirks walking backwards till his back hits the wall crossing his arms watching matt fuck himself into me.

he starts thrusting in and out pulling out except for the tip and thrusting hard bottoming out each time before thrusting faster and harder.

“Matt” i moan out dragging out the ‘t’ of his name.

his left hand grabs my wrist wrist cuffing them behind my back using his right hand to push my head into the mattress containing his pace in and out of me.

“C-close” i muffle out in the sheets

“no, you’re gonna hold it” matt sternly replied.

“p-please” tears of pleasure form in my eyes as i whimper and scream.

“hold it” he forces my head deeper in the mattress

“c-ca-“ i was cut off by my orgasm gushing out of me squirting all over his cock and thighs leaving a puddle beneath me.

“that was incredibly hot Y/N but, you’re in deep shit now” matt pulls out flipping me back over my back staring down at my glistening red sensitive pussy.

chris shoots matt a smirk and walks over to his dresser ruffles through it pulling out my pink vibrator i use on occasion with chris or when chris is on tour, and throwing it to matt.

matt immediately turns it on the highest setting and placing it on my sensitive clit and pushes himself in me giving me no time to adjust.

matt forces my knees to my chest spreading them open to allow room for the vibrator on me, thrusting heavily in me kissing my cervix with his tip.

i’m a moaning mess beneath him as chris comes around placing his hands on either side of my head.

“is it too much princess?” he taunts smirking.

i nod vigorously as a response as screams and moans escape from me while matt continues to pound himself into my grunting with each thrust.

“this is what happens when you don’t listen Y/N” matt growls down at me as i can feel another orgasm approaching in my core as i tighten around matt again. chris stands up a little and pulls his phone out and opens his camera to get a picture of my fucked out expressions with my mascara pouring down my cheeks and lipstick stains down my chin as he smiles at his phone.

“are you close?” matt removed his hand from my knee still holding the vibrator against my clit, he used his hand to hold my throat softly squeezing my neck on the sides making me see more then just stars now.

“NO” i scream out but my trembling legs gave me away as my cervix spasms around his cock thrusting in me.

“are you close” his grip on my throat tightens as he moves the vibrator around my clit making my eyes roll back and my back arching off the bed.

“NO” i scream out again with more tears falling from my eyes from the overstimulation and pleasure.

“i don’t believe you” he spits smirking at me.

“Fu-fuck” my voice shakes and my throat becomes dry “C-CLOSE” i horsily scream out.

“i know you are baby, come on, cum on my cock” matt’s voice becomes softer as my legs shake and i contract around his cock squirting once again on his torso, cock, and the bed.

his thrusts become sloppier throwing the vibrator on the bed somewhere else as he thrusts in me a couple more times before coating my pink walls white with his cum as he pulls out slowly watching his cum come out of my hole smiling at me.

“are you okay” Chris and matt said in unison smiling at me and back at eachother.

“y-yes” i said out of breath.

chris and matt chuckles.

“i’ll change the sheets” matt says helping me off the bed placing me down on the floor making sure i don’t fall over.

“i’ll go run her a shower real quick” chris comes over towards me picking me up bridal style and carrying me to the shower.

“i-im sorry i never told you ab-“ i start.

“don’t worry about it ma i promise, me and matt are fine, me and you are even better i promise you that” he says kissing my lips softly before putting me in the shower and helping me shower.

“i love you” i say smiling at him as he massages my scalp.

“i love you most” he smiles back at me rinsing my hair out.

we finish showering after putting on some of chris’ clothes on me then making our way back to chris’ room as matt finishes changing the sheets smiling at me.

“i can’t believe you got her to squirt before me” chris chuckles breaking the silence.

“YOUVE NEVER GOTTEN HER TO DO THAT?” matt’s eyes widen as a smile peaks from his lips.

“nope” me and chris said together.

we all laugh softly “wait where’s nick? i really don’t want to explain this to him…” my voice trails off.

“well after chris came to me with a proposal about all this we made him go to a friends house for the night, and told him that i was also going to a friends house so he wouldn’t get suspicious” matt says kind of laughing at himself.

“well then can we all watch a movie together?” i smile at both chris and matt

“of course we can” chris chimed in making his way to the bed and placing me in the middle of the bed as matt is on one side and chris on the other turning on the TV putting on Gossip girl for me.

“i never understood the plot of this fucking show” matt says looking over at chris then back at me who already fell asleep. “and she’s out” matt says smiling

“this is typical Y/N” chris says laughing “i just roll with it” he adds turning back to the TV, and slowly both of them fell asleep with me in between both of them peacefully.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A/N pt 2: SO I GOT SO CARRIED AWAY WITH THIS I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THIS AND ENJOYED IT AS MUCH AS I DID WRITING IT!! i love you all and tysm for over 400 followers!! 🩷🩷

XOXO

gabs 💋

#Spotify #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo

[fire-lizard-ro]

Aventurine angst/comfort

CW: spoilers for 2.1, Aventurine’s real name, talk of death/genocide, deep seated trauma, trying to heal from trauma, Aventurine's past, talk of slavery (his time as a slave), self loathing, esteem issues, talk of ego and sense of self, identity crisis???, a bit of a character study I think, meandering around because I cannot structure my thoughts whoopsie, there was a single Projecting Moment oops my b

Long post, so buckle up. I might add more later ehe-

No mentioned gender for reader.

Writing under the cut (SFW):

I had the sudden realization that Aven probably doesn’t know as much about the culture he lost as he’d like. Or at least as he’d secretly like to know. For years he was preoccupied with surviving and putting on a mask seared so deep into his ego that he might have forgotten those wishes were even there. But when the dust has settled, and his job is done? Once he’s “slipped the collar” and found his freedom? There’s… a lot less external noise to distract him from the noise inside.

It's just like he said. You must first fool yourself in order to fool everyone else. Aventurine must have tried his damnedest to forget the silly little wishes of Kakavasha. Those wishes needed to be buried in the dirt along with his name. They could never come true, so what was the use of having them in the first place? But that doesn’t stop the heart from yearning for the things it lost.

The longer he’s away from the stage, that place full of dazzling lights where it was always all eyes on him and he was always the circus act of balancing on a tight rope- always gambling on the knife’s edge between life and death… The more Kakavasha seems to remember what he used to dream of. It’s like the slow trickle of water from a crack in the tank.

Once he’s with you and he’s comfortable enough to tell you about his story… Once he’s given time to really trust you. The tank breaks and it’s like he’s a fish out of water, all of his “self” exposed under your gaze. It’s terrifying. But at the same time… healing. You’re his safe space. He’s never needed anyone to save him- that’s not what you are. You’re not some savior swooping in to save their damsel in distress. Sure, maybe it would have been nice had there been someone there for him back when he was just a scared child who had just lost everything he’d ever loved. But he fought, tooth and nail, for what he has now. Clawed his way out of the bodies that littered his past and wiped the blood from his mouth in order to finally gain his freedom. He doesn’t need someone to save him. Doesn’t need someone to fix him. But he loves you because you’re there to hold his hand while he finds his way to the end of the tunnel.

Nowadays he feels more Kakavasha and less like Aventurine. It's a struggle, because he doesn’t know if he should be Kakavasha.

Kakavasha was the name of the coward scared boy who could only run when his sister told him to run. Kakavasha was the name of a boy who lost everything and it was his fault. Kakavasha was the name of a boy made slave who was only seen as a pretty face and a tool it was all he was good for. Kakavasha was the name of a boy who could do nothing to save anyone all because of this damned blessing curse favor. Kakavasha was the name of a failure.

But he also didn't know if he was allowed to be Kakavasha.

Kakavasha was also a child who was untainted by the greed of life.

Kakavasha was an innocent child who knew how to trust people.

Kakavasha was allowed to want and to have. Kakavasha was loved.

Could he ever be loved? Having done what he'd done? Been what he'd been? Been who he'd been?

Was he Aventurine? Or was he Kakavasha?

Who was he, really?

Back then it was so noisy. He just wanted to cover his ears to shut out the screams and the voices of the people who wanted to use him and the chants of those who wanted to kill him-

But now all the noise was inside and he couldn't just cover his ears. It wouldn't help. It wouldn't stop these thoughts from running rampant in his head.

Sometimes it felt like Kavasha was a lifetime ago, detached from Aventurine when his mask he always wore took hold of him again. Both a helper and a jailer. He couldn't stop himself from falling into old habits.

But sometimes Kakavasha was all he could be. Remembering what his sister's smile looked like and how his mother's lullabies sounded and how his father's hugs felt.

Remembering how those last hugs felt and those last goodbyes weren't supposed to come so soon.

Remembering what it felt like to be chained up like some unruly pet dog and what it felt like to kill a man.

Remembering what how it felt to bury his past and his name and his family and everything else he ever loved and become a new person.

Remembering what it felt like and what it took to become Aventurine.

With time, your encouragement and support, and some self reflection (and likely some therapy)... He slowly allows himself these things.

But it gets worse before it gets better.

He learned how to hate himself long before he had the notion that he could love himself.

He learned to love others before he learned to love himself.

He gives away all the love he cannot give himself. To you

(There's the projection help- THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE FUCKING HOUSE-)

With time he learns that he is not the sum of his actions. He can be loved. He IS loved.

You help him find what things researchers have managed to scrounge up from the remains of his people's home- from Sigonia. What they recorded even while they were still around. He sifts through painful memories to find the good ones. Remembers the once forgotten feeling of his people's language in his mouth. Teaches you all the curse words first just for fun but doesn't tell you what they actually mean. Gives you a nickname in that pretty mother tongue of his. Murmurs stories and sweet nothings in your ears while you fall asleep on his chest, the rumble of his voice and the beating of his heart lulling you to sleep.

You help him regain some of what he lost. You stayed and weathered the storm with him. You didn't leave and you made him realize with eyes wide open that you love him. That he's worthy of being loved by you. That being worthy was never even a question in the first place.

And he can never thank you enough for it.

His shoulder to lean on, his hand to hold, his ear to listen.

He is Kakavasha and he loves you.

#Roro writes #Aventurine #hsr Aventurine #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x gn reader #hsr x gn reader #aventurine x gn reader

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Datura Pt 11

Summary: Returning to the Mountain brings up a lot of feelings and Reader tries and fails to keep them all bottled up.

Content Warnings: SMUT (I told you it would come eventually ;) ), a lot of dirty talk, suggestiveness, a little light bondage if you squint, as well as alcohol consumption and drug use.

Author's Note: I apparently have a lot of feelings about sitting in Rhys's lap, 'cause I wrote this Vamp!Rhys fic and this in the same week. I was gonna end it on an angsty note, but the miscommunication trope makes me want to rip my hair out, so I made it fluffy instead (they're adults they can TALK TO EACH OTHER like adults). Anyway, hope ya'll enjoy! As always, let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List, and thank you to everyone who likes, comments and reblogs, ya'll make me want to keep writing <3

Previous chapter/ Master list

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The music is a heavy pulse in your skull, drowning out all thought as the lights flash and flare overhead like dozens of fireworks in time to the beat. Your hips sway, flimsy excuse of a dress clinging to your thighs as you twirl and spin in time to the beat. Dozens of hands pass you a long, keep you spinning and spinning until the lights glitter like stars overhead. You throw your head back and laugh at the way they glitter and stretch along your quickly blurring vision.

Someone passes you another cup and you tip the contents back in one gulp, savoring the burn, relishing in the way it fills your empty stomach. You’ve lost count of how many glasses you’ve had, lost count of where the empty ones go as you move along with the crowd, let the press of bodies move you like an ebbing tide.

A cigarette gets passed your way, the violet smoke filtering in hazy rings around people’s heads like halos. Do you smoke? You can’t remember. Can’t think about why you should care at all as you bring it to your lips and inhale deeply, letting the mirthroot take hold.

This is the most fun you’ve had in weeks, it’s the first time you allow yourself complete unbridled freedom. There is nothing to worry about here but following the music and the flow of drink as the mirthroot makes your body loose and limber.

Strong hands settle on your hips as you take another drag, eyes closed, savoring the burn. You sway your hips under the grip, pushing your body back into the firm planes of the male behind you. You don’t have the presence of mind to be mortified, to think about the way you’re grinding on a stranger in the middle of this crowd of people. 

Warm breath frames your neck, skittering over the golden collar still encircling your throat. “I think you’ve had enough, Darling.”

Mate. Mate. Mate. The words dance around the bargain mark on your ribs, heat flaring in your chest that has nothing to do with the fae wine or the mirthroot and everything to do with the fact that when you’d been dragged back into your cell, it had been empty. Empty and had smelled like her. And you’d thrown yourself against the battered door, claws slashing across the worn iron until they shattered from your fingertips, until you splattered blood across the unyielding iron, dark mist filling the cell until it nearly sucked the air from the room. You don’t know how or why the door held, why your nails couldn’t cut through the strange marks etched into the door; the only thing that was clear is that in retaliation for leaving, your fault or not, she’d taken Rhys and had left you alone in the dark. Days passed without word, without food, until the guards had come and thrown you into a room with the order to bathe and change and be ready in an hour and you complied only with the intent to go right into the Throne Room to rip her throat out with your teeth. But Rhys hadn’t been at her side when you arrived either, hadn’t been a face in the crowd as Amarantha declared to the court that you had slain the twins sent from Hybern for attacking their Queen. The crowd that days ago had been laughing at your plight as you’d been made to kneel on the floor like an animal was now cheering you on like a hero. Fickle and spineless; Amarantha said jump and they asked how high without question or reason. She’d left you to their whims after that and the wine had started flowing and you’d needed to calm the panic and rage swelling like a storm beneath your skin and had reached for one. One had somehow turned into two and then three and you’d lost count after that, lost yourself in the blissful emptiness and tried to forget how powerless you really were in all of this.

You turn in his arms and though he remains standing where he is, there’s suddenly six of him spinning in dizzying circles and you have to grip onto his shoulders to keep yourself on your feet.

“Easy,” he says, his grip on your hips firm.

You’ve forgotten just how big he is compared to you, how much of you he can fit in his hands. You're too far gone to stop yourself from wondering how those hands would feel beneath your dress, on your thighs, spreading you open…

“Easy,” he says again, nostrils flaring like he scents the effect he has on you like this.

Your hands feel like they're drifting through soup as you reach out to brush your hand through his hair. He’s clean too, skin healed, the clothes new and finely pressed. There is no lingering scent of incense, though you’re pretty sure the mirthroot you smell is on your skin and not his, he remains wholly jasmine and citrus. Nothing of her on him.

“You’re ok?” The words slur out of you, sound muffled and distant even as they come out your mouth. You need him to tell you he’s ok, that she didn’t hurt him, that he got called away for something, anything. He does other things for her, he brought in Tamlin all those weeks ago, he has other roles, but you don’t know how to make the words come out against the fog that rolls through your head. “You’re ok?”

“I’m ok,” he says with a nod. “Let’s get you some water.”

You shake your head. Water is somewhere near the tables and lounge chairs in the corner, somewhere she might be lurking, waiting for you to slip up, waiting for her chance to steal him again and you can’t have that. “Want to dance.” Want to dance and drink and forget; want to smoke and move and let the music erase everything that is happening around you so that the only thing that matters is the two of you. It’s an added bonus that if he dances with you then that means he keeps his hands on you, has an excuse to keep touching you. Gods you want more of that!

“Water first,” he says, giving you a little nudge backwards.

The move makes the world spin again and you giggle as you let yourself fall into it. 

“Wow, you’re really drunk,” he says as he hauls you against his chest and half carries half drags you through the crowd.

“You’re strong,” you giggle. You can feel the muscles in his arms and chest tighten as he moves you around, his fingertips digging deliciously in your hips. 

It’s by sheer force of Rhys’s will that you end up in a chair with a glass of water, that you take a single sip of and make a face. “Gross. Want more wine.”

A servant automatically appears with a glass beside you, but before you can grab it, or spill it given the way your limbs flop around, he snatches it off the tray. “Water first.”

You stick out your lower lip. “Why are you being so mean to me?”

He takes a drink out of the cup and suddenly the most exciting thing in the world is watching how his throat works when he swallows and the way the wine stains his lips. “‘Cause it’s fun,” he retorts.

You manage to get another sip of water down before you accidentally catch the glass on the edge of the table and spill it everywhere. “Fuck me,” you say dejectedly. In your state your first thought is to use your skirts to try and dry up the mess, but there’s not enough of them, the sheer fabric barely covering the tops of your thighs. 

“You have impeccable manners,” he says as he reaches for your hands to stop you from flashing the whole room as you try and wiggle the dress up enough to use it as a napkin. With a snap of his fingers the mess cleans itself. 

“Ooooohhh neat,” you run a finger over the dry table. “Can you teach me to do that?”

You’re too drunk to notice your mistake, but he says, “If you had any powers left, sure,” a little louder than necessary to cover you.

“Right,” you slur as you try to stand on shaky legs. “Well water was good, we dance now.”

He remains a firm wall between you and the dance floor. “Unless you can absorb water through your skin, you didn’t actually drink anything.”

“Had a sip.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Meanie,” you hiss.

“You’re very cute when you’re drunk,” he teases and the grin he gives you makes you want to stretch up on your toes and kiss him right there. 

“You’re very kissable when you smile,” you return.

Rhys huffs a laugh and you think you might do just about anything to get him to laugh again. 

“I’m always very kissable,” he retorts. “It’s part of my charm.”

“So make part of your charm dancing with me,” you press.

He grabs your hand like he might do just that, but instead, spins around you to claim an empty couch and pulls you down to sit in his lap so fast the world flips and twirls in a blur of pulsing colors that makes you squeeze your eyes shut. The wine rises up in your throat, threatening to come back out in a rush and you curl into his chest trying to find a way to make it stop.

“I think this is better.”

You squeeze your temples with your palms. “Make my brain stop spinning,” you whine. Maybe he’s right, maybe dancing is a bad idea. 

Besides, he’s still touching you like this. More than touching actually. You’re situated in his lap, knees bracketing his hips, chest to chest, no collar around his throat to stop you if you wanted to put your lips to his neck. There’s not even a scar or bruise to indicate that it had been there, nothing but smooth, bronze skin and the teasing peak of his tattoos beneath his collar.

You brace yourself against his shoulders as the world stops spinning, suddenly very aware of how high your skirt is riding up and how strong the muscles in his thighs are between your legs.

He brings his hands to hold your hips again and you thank the Mother that you’re not so drunk that you’ve lost your inhibitions completely because the only thought in your head right now is how it would feel to grind yourself down on him.

“You’re very drunk,” he says lowly, his own gaze locked on the space between your bodies like he’s drinking in the way your thighs look around him.

“So?”

“So it would be wrong,” he retorts.

“What?” You move your hands to the back of the couch behind him, chest brushing his. There’s barely any straps to your top, the neckline a deep v that leaves your cleavage on display and you don’t miss the way his gaze tracks it as you lean in. “What would be wrong?”

He runs his tongue over his lower lip, staring and something stirs deep inside you. Claim. Claim. Claim. He is your mate and you want him to touch you, kiss you, claim you. 

It’s the thought that makes you pause for a brief moment. Does he know your mates? Does he feel this growing need? This incessant longing beating from your rib cage that needs to be touched and held and claimed so deeply you forget what it felt like to be anything else? Is that the bond? Or the wine? 

“Doing all the things I’ve been thinking about since the moment I had my lips on yours,” he says, voice barely a whisper, gaze still transfixed on your body.

You preen under the heat in his gaze, press your chest a little more firmly into his so that you can be nose to nose with him. The wine has certainly made you more brazen. “What kinds of things, Rhys?”

The hands holding your hips tighten, fingertips kneading the soft flesh hard enough to bruise and yet your whole body turns molten at that touch. It’s the delicious line between pain and pleasure, and after days and days of cold emptiness, the heat it sparks through your body is more addictive than any wine or drug you can consume here.

“Want this dress off you for starters,” he murmurs, full lips drifting down to dust over the straps clinging to your shoulders. 

His words conjure an image in your mind of him leaning forward, pulling the straps down with his teeth, baring the full expanse of your body to him. You shiver under the mental image, hips rocking down against him.

“Want to mark every bit of you I can reach, so that no one dares touch you,” he continues, teeth scraping over your shoulder. “So that everyone knows your mine.”

His.  The possession in his tone really does you in, heat building in your lower belly as you grind yourself down against the growing bulge in his pants. The scrape against your core makes your mouth drop open, groan falling from your parted lips. It would be so easy to come undone from this alone.

“Only mine,” he emphasizes, sucking a mark where your neck meets your shoulder, visible beneath that damned collar you can’t take off.

“Rhys,” you whimper, releasing your grip on the back of the couch to drag your hands through his dark hair. “Please.”

His lips move along your throat, teeth scraping your skin before sucking another mark into your sensitive flesh. He’s taking his time, just as he promised all those weeks ago on Calanmai. “Want to know what little noises you’d make for me, how you’d fall apart in my hands…”

You drag your hand from his hair, reaching for the straps of your dress to pull them down for him, hoping to spur him further into action, but he finally releases his grip on your hips to stop you. 

“None of that, Darling,” he tuts. “It comes off when I say it does.”

To that point, when you try to rock your hips against him again, it's his glittering, obsidian power that pins you in place, a slither of darkness twining around your hips to hold you there, utterly at his mercy.

He chuckles when you whimper and pout, lower lip sticking out, tears welling up in your eyes, because it’s not fair that he’s this close, that he’s just a hair breadth away from where you need him most and he knows it. He can smell it on you, see it on every line in your face, and yet he won’t move to help you.

“Please, Rhys, please,” you beg. The need for him is unbearable, your whole body burning like it’s on fire, the only relief is the contact with his body. Your mate so close to where you need him most.

“Hogging the woman of the hour, are we?” 

You hadn’t heard any approaching footsteps over the pounding of the base against the rock, the sudden appearance making you flinch as Rhys throws a warning snarl over your shoulder. It only makes the red headed male approaching chuckle as he comes to stand directly behind you. The cedar and cinnamon smell of him reminds you of curling up under a warm wool blanket next to a fireplace with your favorite book about vampires, something you like to do in nice Autumn weather.

Slender fingers drag up your spine, and in your delirious state, it makes you arch your back as you shiver under it.

“Eris,” Rhys purrs, but there’s an edge in his tone as he watches you move under another male’s ministrations. The sliver of his power around your waist tightens, the shadows slipping under your skirts to writhe against your flushed skin. He allows you to jerk forward, hips rocking right into the obvious sign of his own arousal, and your eyes roll back into your head at the contact.

“I can name a dozen males who would kill for a chance to be where you are right now, Rhysand,” Eris returns.

“I don’t share,” Rhys says and cauldron that’s all it takes for you to place your lips against his throat. He hums his approval as you scrape your teeth against his skin, hands threading into your hair as you nip and bite and use your tongue to cool any pain you cause him. 

Eris plops himself down in the seat next to Rhys, long arms thrown over the back of the couch as he makes himself comfortable. 

You can’t bring yourself to care about the audience as you nip at the underside of his jaw. He tilts his head back for you so you can reach more of him unhindered and you sink a little lower down on his lap chasing any friction you can find before the shadows tighten and still your movements again.

“Bastard,” you growl into his throat, but he merely turns his attention to the male next to him. 

“You didn’t respond to my message,” Eris hisses. A glass of wine appears in his hand and he takes a slow drink. To any onlookers he’s merely enjoying the party with the High Lord and his nightly entertainment. 

“What message?” 

“Shit.” This conversation is becoming sobering, despite your best efforts to tune out the other male and focus solely on the pleasure just out of reach. All night long you’d been able to forget.

Eris gives you a sidelong glance that might have made you squirm under the intensity if Rhys hadn’t shifted beneath you to get a better look at the other male, hips brushing up against your center in a move that is definitely intentional. 

“The one I gave her,” Eris snarls.

“This is the first I’ve seen her in days,” Rhys retorts, a hand stroking through your hair. “You know how to get in contact with me.”

Eris glances around at the dancers that move past for refreshments as he takes another drink. Only when they’re gone does he say, “So you didn’t tell her to kill the twins?”

You stop moving; stop thinking about Rhys’s body as the image of Dagdan and Brannagh’s mangled bodies flash across your mind. You’re suddenly a lot more sober than you had been moment ago.

Rhys brushes a mental hand against your mind and you flinch, head still tender from the beating it had taken trying to keep your cousins out. “Darling?”

The concern in his tone makes shame burn its way through your lungs. At the littlest thing he’s dropping everything to make sure you’re ok, and yet here you are, with no idea where he’s been or what he’s been through and you’re grinding in his lap like a horny teenager. What kind of mate are you?

“No I didn’t,” Rhys says to Eris, even as he makes another tender stroke against your mind, asking to be let in. “But I’m sure she had her reasons.”

“Do you think we can use it to our advantage?” Eris asks.

You don’t deserve how gentle he is with you, but you can’t stop yourself from lowering your shields just enough to let him in. He should know just how much of a monster you’re capable of being before he gets too close. 

“Will you show me?” He asks and you open the doorway into the memory, keeping the conversation you’d had with Tamlin about him, the realization of what he is to you, out of reach. He deserves better than that.

Rhys strokes his hands in your hair as he watches the memory unfold, your body shaking in his grip as all that blood and gore comes into view. When it’s over, he closes the door in your mind and clicks the lock into place for you. “It’s over. You’re safe. You did what you had to do to survive, there is no shame in that.”

You press your face into his shoulder to hide the tears brimming in your eyes. You’re an ugly crier when you’re tipsy and you know if you start, you won’t stop.

“I think it’ll bring Hybern here quicker,” Rhys says to Eris, as he drags the fingers in your hair down to trace your spine. To an onlooker, he’s still playing with you, only the two of you know how often he’s traced these shapes into your skin when you wake up screaming in the dungeons. “Which can be played to our advantage if we’re careful.”

Eris takes another sip of wine, mulling it over.

“If Hybern can be convinced that our queen is acting out of her own agenda instead of his, he may just do our work for us.”

“A dangerous game,” Eris frowns.

“It always is,” Rhys returns.

It’s astounding how calm and level headed he can remain, always centered, even while everyone else rages and panics around him. How are you supposed to be his equal? To his calm there is only your spinning thoughts and unchecked temper. Everything makes you want to claw and rage and smash things; aren’t mates supposed to balance each other out? What do you bring him other than another mess to sort through?

“Well if you’re not going to share her, I’ll leave you to it,” Eris says as he downs his cup and stands, making a show of stretching, tight shirt rising up to expose the toned line of his abs to a passing cluster of male and female dancers.

Rhys chuckles at that, sliding a little lower into the couch, as he says, “She’s all mine.”

Is this all the conversation they can have? A few passing whispers? A few half-veiled hopes at a plan? Fifty years of juggling court masks and gathering allies and pushing pieces into place in the shadows while everyone else parties around them? It’s such a contrast to the world you’re used to that you can’t help but feel small inside it. 

It’s only when he’s gone that Rhys asks, “Are you ok?”

“I thought being drunk was supposed to make me feel less depressed,” you grumble into his shirt because he’s pleasantly warm and you can’t bring your body to move from where you’re pressed into his chest.

“I think you passed over the threshold for that a couple drinks ago,” he replies.

“Take me back to the blissful void,” you whine.

“Well enough people have seen you here with me, I think we can slip away and get you into bed without causing a scene now.”

He’d pulled you over here on purpose, removing the shield of the crowd so people would see you with him, see you cutting loose, and when you disappeared they’d think he’d taken you to bed and not wonder if there was anything more to it, because his reputation was enough. That mask was so encompassing it could shield you too.

Rhys winnows you away and you can’t tell what end is up anymore, not until he sets you square in the center of a bed with black silk sheets. His room, as dust covered and bare as it had been the last time.

You groan as you fall back into the pillows, all the wine threatening to come up again as you try to keep yourself upright. This position allows you to feel just how wet you are between your legs, making you stop squeezing your eyes shut to look at the damp spot you’d left on Rhys’s pants. Not that he seems to notice as he peels off his jacket and starts unbuttoning his shirt, getting comfortable for the night, even as shame makes your cheeks turn bright red. What is wrong with you?

“You need a bucket over there?” He asks.

You need to drink until you can forget what you’ve been doing all night. How are you supposed to look at him now?

You hear the clink of his belt coming off before he climbs into the bed next to you and you force yourself not to open your eyes and look at what he’s wearing to bed, because you’ve made a fool of yourself enough for one night.

“That last drink was a mistake,” you lie, because what else are you supposed to say?

His body is warm as he lays down beside you. “You played your part well,” Rhys encourages. “No one will think twice about where you’ve gone.”

You’re an idiot, but you’re not quite sober enough to think better of it as you ask, “Is that all this is? A game?”

Rhys uses a bit of his power to snuff the candles out, bathing the room in utter darkness. “It’s necessary-”

You roll onto your side, finally daring to look at him, as best you can in the dark anyway. “But is that all you want it to be?” You press. 

He’d been laying with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, but at your words he rolls over too, so you’re once again nose to nose, practically sharing a breath.

“Wanting anything is dangerous, Y/N.”

“So all that you said earlier, about wanting me, that was just for show? This is just a mask?”

“It keeps you safe,” he says so low it's almost a growl.

“But it’s not what you want?”

“I can’t…” he shakes his head. “I can’t. The things I love have a tendency to be taken from me, I cannot want anything other than to get out of here.”

Your eyes sting and you’re glad for the dark, glad that it hides the tears welling up in your eyes. “I can play this part, if that’s what we need to fulfill this bargain,” it’s a concentrated effort to keep your voice steady, but you mean it. If this is all it will be, then you will have to find a way to live with it, because at least your mate will be alive. And maybe, if Amarantha sees anything like what you two had been doing tonight, then maybe she’d direct that anger at you instead of him. You could find a way to use it to protect him, the same way he’d used it for you.

He’s your mate, whatever you have to do to make sure he survives, you’ll do it. Even if it tears you apart inside.

“But please, just tell me that it’s not real, that you don’t really want me, so that I can prepare, so that I don’t overstep. The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable.”

His pause feels like it spans an hour, the silence ticking away like a clock in the darkness. “I…”

You stamp down the hope flaring in your chest, it’ll be easier to deal with if he is up front that he doesn’t see you as anything but a means to an end. “What do you want, Rhys?”

He growls, the sound skittering across your bones as he throws an arm around your waist and crashes his lips against yours. “You,” he says into your mind. “I want you in any way you’ll have me.”

The ink on your chest warms, feels strangely like it’s glowing beneath your skin as the solid weight of him settles on top of you, pushing you into the mattress. You're a tangle of limbs and teeth, as he kisses you like it might be his only chance to.

You drag your hands down the sharp contours of his spine, memorizing the feel of him beneath your fingertips as his tongue slides behind your teeth to taste you. This is far better than any drug, no amount of mirthroot could ever make you feel this high.

“You’re ok with this?” He pants into your lips, finally coming up for air.

“More than ok,” you confirm and that’s all it takes for him to start sliding the straps off your dress, pulling the tight fitting bodice slowly from your body. The chill in the air is only a momentary discomfort before his hands and lips chase it away as he follows the fabric down your body.

Thank the Mother for the privacy of the room, that you hadn’t managed to get your top off like you’d tried to do in the throne room, because the noise you let out when he gets his mouth around your nipple is embarrassingly loud, whole body flushed crimson. You clamp your hand over your mouth when he does the same move on your other breast, or at least you try to, that slithering ether of power snags your wrist and pins it above your head before you can cut off the noise.

“None of that,” he hums into your skin, teeth scraping your skin. “Want to hear you.”

Cauldron he’ll be the death of you! 

It’s his power that whisks the glamor away from the bargain mark so he can run his lips over the ink, tracing the flower petals and vines. “We should make more bargains, you look so pretty with all this ink.”

You huff a laugh as you scrape your nails through his hair, making a mess of it. “What kinds of bargains?”

He kisses lower, pulling the dress down towards your hips, following it again. “That you’ll let me taste you like this once a day for the rest of eternity,” he suggests as he lifts your hips to get the dress lower.

“I’m not wasting a bargain on that,” you huff, though you’re embarrassed to admit the way the suggestion makes heat pool in your core.

“You’re right, twice a day is more practical,” he says as he slips both the dress and your underthings off in one fell swoop. Strong arms wrap around your hips as he settles himself between your legs and you barely have time to draw a shaky breath before he’s running his tongue up your center.

“I-” all thought and argument eddies from your mind as your body arches under his ministrations. 

“More than that, perhaps?” He teases, adding a finger to the mix, even as his tongue swirls through your quickly budding arousal.

Your hand in his hair tightens, pulling his hair as you try and guide him deeper. “Rhys,” you whimper. He feels so good; so perfect. Nothing else would ever compare; he’s barely touched you and you’re fully ready to come apart already.

He adds a second finger, stretching you out as his tongue flicks over your clit, the combination making your head spin. You screw your eyes shut as your body tightens, muscles taut as a bow string as your pleasure builds too fast to prepare for. He might still be talking nonsense about bargains but you genuinely can’t hear a word he says against the white noise tearing through your head.

Mate. Mate. Mate. It’s right where the flower-what did he say it was called? Datura?-sits over your heart that you feel the bond between your souls, like a tether of glittering starlight. It’s been there, faint before, just enough of a tether to let you feel a bit of him at the other end, but now it thrums with his power, like it’s searching for your own. A call like the one he’d sent out on Calanmai, and you can’t tell if he’s testing to see if you know it’s there, or if it’s you pulling on it, begging to be closer to him as your high crashes over you.

Rhys kisses his way back up your body, lips damp with your arousal. “You know?” 

The disbelief in his tone brings you back to reality. Your shields had been down and you’d just…

You push yourself up on your elbows. “You knew?” You counter.

He brushes his lips over the bargain mark again, distracting himself from looking into your eyes as he says, “I suspected, before Calanmai, but afterwards, when I saw you for real, not just as a dream, it clicked.”

“You’d been dreaming about me?”

Another kiss on your heated skin, body relaxing under his touch. “For decades,” he whispers. “And I told myself that it was enough, that I’d leave it there, where you were safe and far away from all of this, but then there were whispers in the court about at a weapon Hybern was looking for. The more she had me look into it, the more my dreams started making sense, the better I could see you.”

You brush your fingers through the hair falling over his eyes, prompting him to finally look at you. “When she narrowed down that you were in Spring, she started sending me out on Calanmia to look for you, thinking it might mask all her hunters with those coming to the party. It was my only chance to reach you and I had every intention to get you to leave Spring.”

He catches your hand and presses a kiss to your fingertips. “I never meant to let you see me, but you were so scared and she decided to come out herself for the first time in years and I panicked. I couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen if she got her hands on you first.”

Your eyes sting at the confession. Your selfless mate, who through all these years of trauma, had still been willing to let you go without ever getting to see you if it meant you didn’t end up here.

“I swore that I’d do everything in my power to get you out, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay away, no matter how much I tried to. You needed me and I… I need you.”

You’re not entirely sure how useful you’ve been to him in all of this, but you let him speak anyway. 

“Not just this,” he says, gesturing to your bodies. “But for all of it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I don’t want you to think you’re stuck with me,” he says. “It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”

You sit up as best you can around the weight of him over you so you can grip his face. “I’m not stuck with you. I’m choosing you. I want you, Rhys.”

The disbelief in his eyes makes your heart ache and you lean forward to gently kiss the tip of his nose. “Not just for this,” you repeat, gesturing to your bodies as he had done. “Though it is amazing.”

He grins at that.

“And not just this,” you drag his hand over the ink on your chest. “But for whatever is beyond this. When it’s all over, when we’ve won and we’ve got her stupid head on a pike, I want to explore whatever comes next with you.”

He kisses you then, eagerly, a little less frantic than before, but with no less desire, the taste of your arousal still faint on his swollen lips. You lean back into the mattress, pulling him down with you. 

“I know this whole thing is twisted and terrifying, but I want to walk with you through it. Together.”

“Together,” he confirms as you wrap your legs around his waist.

A new bargain mark zaps across your skin, over your palm, where your hands are intertwined, a twin to the one on his own hand. 

“I still think I made an excellent bargain offer,” he says as you tug at the waistband of his boxers.

“You’re insufferable, Rhysand,” you laugh.

“I think the word you’re thinking of is insatiable,” he counters as he lines himself up with your entrance.

“That too,” you reply as you arch your back, the tip of his cock gliding through your arousal. It’s a little more of stretch than you're used to, but the line between pain and pleasure blurs as he slowly rocks his hips into yours, taking his time to let you adjust. He really will ruin anyone else for you, not that you’ll ever want anything other than this from here on out.

“Darling,” he purrs, or tries to, the groan he lets out as he fully seats himself inside you makes shivers run up your spine. “You have no idea how insatiable I can be.”

You rock your hips, prompting him to move, to match your rhythm, to fill and take and claim you as your body has been begging him to all night long. “I think you should show me.”

The laugh he lets out sounds more like a growl as he picks up his pace, one hand braced against the headboard to give him more leverage as he slides nearly out of you and slams back in. You cling to his shoulders, nails gliding over his sweat-dampened skin for leverage, his name a whimper on your lips.

The bond between you glitters, swells with all the affection and desire he feels for you as he shoots in down to you. For all the pain and trouble it had caused, you think you still you might have come out earlier on Calanmai, just to feel this sooner. 

You whimper his name again and again as your high once again draws closer, your body white hot. 

“I’ve got you,” he says in your ear and judging by the frantic rutting of his hips you know he’ll be right there with you. Together in this, as you will be in the rest of it. You let yourself fall, unrestrained, as pleasure washes over you, your mate giving a shout as he follows close behind. The two of you topple into the sheets, clinging to each other as you catch your breath.

“You ok?” He asks as you cling tightly to him, even as your body relaxes.

You nuzzle your face into his chest. “I’m with my mate, how could I not be?” Whatever tomorrow holds, whatever dangers lie ahead, you can rest knowing that you’ll be together for it.

------------------------------------------

Tag List: @mariahoedt, @lovelydove, @twsssmlmaa, @sleepylunarwolf, @judig92, @willowpains, @daughterofthemoons-stuff, @annnaaaaaa88, @myheartfollower, @uniquecolorwizard, @eternallyelvish, @waytoomanyteenagefeels, @lovemesomevesey, @localfangirl09, @isa1b2h3, @starswholistenanddreamsanswered, @slytherintaco, @iluvewman-blog, @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife, @kitsunetori, @lilah-asteria, @dianxiaxie, @msoldier

#rhysand x reader #Rhys x reader #rhysand x reader smut #Rhys smut #acotar smut #acotar rhys #acotar fic #my writing #my fanfic #datura fic #acotar fluf #UTM!rhys #UTM!Rhys x reader #UTM!Rhys smut

[endcant]

save a bastion for queer culture in a famously hateful city

i’ll try to write a shorter and sweeter post about this later, but for now i will just beg at length.

there is a town near me called Murfreesboro where at various points they have banned or attempted to ban public homosexuality, drag, and pride flags. for a time their county’s youth incarceration rate was 48% (contrasted with the rest of the state at 5%) due to corruption in their local courts system. every juvenile case that made it to the wrong judge resulted in the child being sent to jail, because the county commissioner thought it’d be “cool” if the jail was a “profit center” (yes these are his actual words). these are just a few examples but suffice it to say, this is a very difficult place to grow up, especially for LGBT kids.

despite all of this difficulty, the area has a remarkable alternative music scene with a few small venues where queer people and young people who don’t fit in elsewhere can genuinely have fun and feel safe for the night. despite the city’s reputation, queer people in the broader area flock to the town for raves and DIY shows. in this area, music culture is intertwined with queer culture and leftist efforts to a much greater degree than i’m used to as somebody from the middle of california.

i really admire the venues and event organizers that cultivate a safe spaces like this in a place where it is decidedly unsafe for queer people, and where the youth are constantly in danger of having their lives ruined for totally arbitrary reasons.

this is why it breaks my heart that murfreesboro is trying to shut down a venue called The Graveyard Gallery. the graveyard gallery is a place where a ton of events are constantly held for lgbt, furry, and alternative communities. it is one of very few alternative places in the broader nashville area where i have felt really, truly safe and welcome as a person of color.

most recently, The Graveyard Gallery has come under attack for attempting to hold a Trans Day of Visibility punk show, with the apt title “Trans Day of Vengeance”. Conservative media, both local and national, directed the attention of their audiences towards this event, calling it “tone deaf” to have it on easter, and to have it sort-of-kind-of-close-to-but-not-quite-on the anniversary of the shooting in nashville. All of this, of course, ignoring that the date for TDoV was set in 2009, and that this was a small DIY punk show that really bore no threat to anybody. the show had to be canceled because of credible death threats, so it didn’t even happen, but that hasn’t appeased anybody.

in the wake of this, murfreesboro’s fire marshal has suddenly decided that the building is not acceptable for occupancy and it has to close immediately and for the forseeable future. people can claim it’s unrelated, but i’ve known people to have their businesses suddenly declined by fire marshals due to sheer bigotry before, and shitty towns will just use their fire marshal to bankrupt small business owners that they don’t like. i do not speak for the owners of the gallery on this front, but i personally believe that these things are related.

all this is to say, the graveyard gallery needs to raise money for their legal fees over this matter. this venue is very important to a lot of people, and may be even more important now that the city’s music scene is in the crosshairs of massive conservative media companies.

if you can donate please do, and if you can share this, please do that as well.

thank you for taking the time to read my post. i know there’s a lot going on in the world, but music venues are where people here gather, and music venues are often also a place where people organize to make meaningful change and promote causes that i know most of you would approve of. music is at the heart of this community, and the venues are where the music lives.

#mine

[deafsignifcantother]

the baby

♥ summary: almost loosely based off of this by @ukor02. I made Alastor a main character and her main bestie because of course I did. This is really just a small little writing thing I did at 4am. ♥ relationship: no direct romance really, just some cute stuff between Lucifer and reader. ♥ word count: 1.6 ♥ notes: no childbirth mentioning and this is written like just as summaries of the situation tbh. almost like a bullet point format without the bullet points

You wanted to give your baby a chance to get into Heaven, even if it meant they'd leave without you. Hell is no place for a child. Both you and Charlie knew that.

.

"What a pleasant surprise," you sign to Alastor when you see that damn smiling demon right outside your hotel room.

He laughs; aw, you're describing his arrival as pleasant. Did he make a good impression on you when you saw him last when he introduced himself in person in Pride Sign Language? You never seemed to have paid any mind to him, giving one motion signs as responses whenever he tried starting a conversation. But even when you interacted with him like that, he couldn't help but wonder why you always looked at him with your sweet, shy gaze. It's not on purpose, which is the worst part.

Pleasant, you called it a pleasant surprise.

"It's good to see you too, my dear!" He signs, bowing a bit and pushing past you into your room. "What have you been up to?"

What an obnoxious question.

You close the door, squeezing the doorknob tightly. This is going to be a long evening. When you turn back to Alastor, he's in your living room examining the decor, your random art pieces taped to the walls and organized together, though not concisely.

He waves his hands. "I love what you've done with the place."

"I've been bored." You sign with a slight nod to yourself. It's awfully isolating, which is obvious. Still, it has never hit you as hard as it does now as you watch another person walk through your chambers.

"I'm glad I can be in your company then." His smile widens, and the static he emits gets heavier. His ear twitched a bit, which you noticed but tried not to directly look at. Was it a good or bad thing?

"But it's often relieving to be alone," you start and look him up and down.

"You're quite used to being alone, aren't you?"

Your lips tighten, your hands stiff, and you are unable to finish your sentence. Absentmindedly, you rest them on your plump, pregnant belly. Alastor does his best not to let his eyes draw down to analyze it. Still, his head tilts, even just a little. He hates looking at your hands when you touch your stomach. Did his mother hold her belly like that when he was inside of hers?

"Don't you have others to talk to?"

"They're out on their little journeys, you know them."

"Of course."

Alas, he lets his eyes trail down to your stomach. It's not quite full, but it's obvious enough to gain attention from others. Charlie will put her hands on it every day, waiting for the baby to show its presence. She can feel the heartbeat, and so can you and Vaggie, though everybody else can't feel a thing. Alastor refuses to put a hand on your stomach. Life is precious and loud, and the few who were never human understand that differently than the others.

"I wanted to check in on the baby."

A twitch of your eyebrow makes his smile widen.

"Why?"

.

The day before, Lucifer arrived.

You try on your best clothes, laying them flat against your front, looking at your belly in the mirror. For the king, should you try to hide it or show it proudly? He has a daughter, but does that affect his thoughts about Hellborn pregnancies? Gosh, what do you have to worry about? So stupid.

With the other people, your new friends, you stood with your head proud.

He swirled with the dragons and hugged his daughter as if he hadn't seen her for years. What a kind man, unusually kind. His eyes... Those soft, precious eyes. And when they landed on you, your heart almost stopped. He looked at you as if you were an angel. When his lips started to move, the smile you didn't even know you wore faded.

Charlie put her hand on his shoulder and whispered something to him. And there came Alastor, saving the day.

"The idiotic king was just telling you how happy he is for you." With the signs came the grinding of his teeth.

Lucifer approached, his cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. He addressed Alastor with aggressive hesitance. 'Tell her...' he said.

Charlie smiled excitedly, Nifty kept nodding, and Sir Pentious's eyes started tearing up.

Alastor grimaced. "He's asking if he could feel your stomach."

As always, you've put a thorn in the flow of interactions.

Still, you put on a smile. "Of course."

And there you stood, the King of Hell's hands gently holding you. You could feel the cold of his touch even through the fabric of your shirt. The heartbeat vibrated through both your body and his. The baby was alive and well; you could tell through the pure glee that spread across his face. Beyond your tiny ounce of worry, you knew he'd find hope within your baby.

Alastor watched with a terribly strained smile.

.

"Why?" You ask again when he doesn't answer. "What's with the sudden worry?"

"Worry? No, no." Alastor waves you off. "More like..."

You watch with interest as he trails off, a vulnerability you love.

He squints his eyes and clenches his fists, but only for a moment. His lack of vocabulary kills him. "...Intrigue."

You crack a smirk. "Are you finally gonna feel my stomach?"

Another pause. Alastor considers it, but all he can imagine is his claws accidentally drawing blood.

"No."

"That's okay." Again, your hands rest on your stomach.

.

Alastor has been watching it grow, but so has Lucifer. Charlie's father scarcely visits, and you've convinced yourself it's to see you. Every time he enters the hotel, he asks how you are. He tries to lift his hands to sign but finds no words forming. A language was created in his world, and he has yet to learn how to learn it.

Whenever he presses his hands against your belly, he can feel the liveliness of the soul forming inside you, and he can feel your appreciation at his care.

Begrudgingly, he always has to ask Alastor for advice on communicating with you. Alastor always has a cocky smirk when he teaches.

Charlie has to ask Alastor for help, too, but more willingly. Alastor raises his chin and squares shoulders when people ask him for help. Charlie went to him for help on a conversation you knew she was going to start with you:

"You're not going to stay here for the battle."

"I know." There was no argument on your behalf. Charlie's cheeks still went pink.

"But I have to figure out where it's safest for you. Alastor told me Cannibal Town, but uhh... Maybe not."

"They'll all be here anyway. Maybe they'll distract the angels from going over there."

Her bright eyes widen a bit. "Do you think so?"

"I can stay over there, even if they try to eat me." They won't, and even if they try, they know Alastor would end their lives, don't they?

She fiddles with her fingers before lifting them up again. "I suppose..."

She's so quickly convinced it's cute. You're right, though, of course. Cannibal Town might be the safest place, specifically under the hands of Rosie, who Alastor had previously told you would be more than willing to help you. You can imagine her smile at seeing your belly, twice the size as when Alastor first told you about her. Unbeknownst to Charlie, he's been planning this for a while.

Your stress for their safety irks you more than you expected.

You place a hand on Charlie's, lifting your other one. "I'll be okay."

Before you left for Cannibal Town, you met Lucifer once again, a more loving side of him. He cradled your head and held the back of your neck as he did. His cold body felt like warmth to you. He whispered things to you; you could only tell from how his breath constantly brushed against your ear in sing-songy waves. Was he singing to you? A lullaby? He pulled away and finally signed to you. "You're going to be a great mom."

A moment before, Alastor finally put his hands on your belly. His hands were warm. Like Lucifer, he was whispering to himself, holding silent words from you. In another life, you'd imagine they were prayers. At that moment, only an instinct, you put your hands on his, and he allowed it.

The stress of their safety worsened when they were left alone in Cannibal Town without a word of winning or losing.

The winning of Hell was all you wanted to focus on when you noticed the contractions getting worse, spaced out in purposeful ways. Oh goodness, you found yourself thinking, oh my God.

What if Lucifer dies on the same day your child is born?

But after the battle, he was right there to cradle the baby in his arms, his heavenly grasp relaxing the tiny baby. The rest of the group sat in your room, Sir Pentious absent, tears in their eyes at both the birth and the death.

Beyond Lucifer's cradling, Husk was the only one who touched your child that day. He placed his furry paw against the baby, feeling the body heat that they admitted. Life could be beautiful, he decided.

Vaggie's sense of revenge deepened. She sacrificed Heaven to save a child, and now she's even more than willing to kill her sisters to save yours.

While Charlie stares at your baby with tears, Alastor smiles warmly at you. He knew you could do it: birth something beautiful and worth protecting.

Your eyes are locked on Lucifer. He's an amazing, supportive dad to Charlie, and your heart begins to swell. Your heartbeat increases, and a blush weakly forms on your already flushed face. His rough hands hold a forgiving softness. He's beautiful.

#x deaf reader #hazbin hotel #x reader #lucifer #alastor #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel x reader

[stevenkwlim]

The night before Watcher's big Announcement

4/18/24; no spoilers here. Just a bit of reflection.

12 years ago, I started blogging on this Tumblr page to capture my feelings and where I was at. Even though so much has changed, it also feels like nothing at all has changed. Back then, I was a kid from Ohio just trying to make a living off YouTube. At the time, I didn't even know how to operate a camera, how to act on screen, or even how to edit a video. But I knew that I loved the process of making videos, and that propelled me day by day.

When I started making YouTube videos in 2012, I gave myself 4 years before I'd call it quits. 4 years to make a living or I'd reconsider and find a different career path. Looking back, I didn't realize how close I cut it. But it really wasn't until 3 years in that I made a hit. And I thank God every day because it was some combination of luck, hard work. and divine intervention that somehow someway led me to work at BuzzFeed, create Worth It, meet Ryan and Shane, launch Watcher, and well.. the rest is history.

That being said, I'm at a crossroads here again. Tomorrow is kind of a big day for me and our team. It's nerve-wracking to take risks at this stage of my career and company's life. Who knows where things will go? Will we succeed or will we fall flat on our face? I truly don't know. But no matter what, I just wanted to take this time to dwell in a place of gratitude. Thank you to all the people who have supported my career, team Watcher, and the shows we make. I can't believe this is my job that I get to wake up and do every single day. Speaking of job, thank you to my team at Watcher, I love you and am so grateful for all of you. I can't believe how hard you all work day in and day out to make the beautiful videos and shows that we do. Thank you to my wife, thank you to my family and friends, thank you to our investors/mentors, and thank you to God.

For some reason this journal entry came out like an acceptance speech at the People's Choice Awards. Whoops. I honestly don't even know what I wanted to get across when I started writing but that's it for now. Tomorrow's a big day and I don't know what this means for myself or for Watcher's. But what I do know is that it's been the best five years of my life building Watcher and I thank God every day for that.

See you on the other side,

Steven

[whenyouwishuponastar7]

Hi everyone!

I have to address something that has gone on and is currently occurring. This is the last thing I want to do because I have spent eight years in different fandoms and avoided as much drama as possible. I want no part in it. I want to enjoy my time here.

Unfortunately, this is no longer drama. This is about an individual harming people, their mental health, their safe spaces, their enjoyment of fandom, their favorite ship, and their writing. This is about an individual who chooses bigotry over friendship and will align themselves with bad people for popularity.

And they don’t care who they harm by doing it.

This person made my life a living hell for over five months. It started in August, but things took a turn in October. I was finally free of them in late February because that is when a fandom event ended that tied me to them.

During this event, this person stressed me out to the point of tears. They made passive-aggressive remarks about various things, which made me feel insecure about my fic and writing. They unexpectedly changed their medium and didn’t talk to me about it before they did; I admit I was taken aback, hurt, and short with them. I apologized and took accountability the following day.

From then on, I tried to be as supportive, kind and understanding as possible.

I was “pushy” in December and January because this person had not produced a single finished piece of their art, which would total ten pieces. I knew it was too late in January to get a pinch hitter, and I don’t care that I asked a few times how it was going when I had nothing. I handed them a completed fic on August 28th. They had nothing until mid-January (and almost didn’t make it to this deadline) but didn’t start the bulk of their work until late January 22nd and finished (except polishing and watermarking) on the 26th.

Final submissions were on January 31st.

It took them four days to do what they hadn’t done in five months. I asked if they needed an extension, and we got one because they were not done by the final submission day. I had watched another writer’s artist drop out at the last minute, and mods said they couldn’t find anyone to pinch-hit for them.

This experience was a bad one. I can’t express how shitty it felt. I didn’t write for three months during it, and the fics I’ve written since then aren’t very good. I also have watched my readership disappear—getting the hits and kudos I did before October stopped.

I had a feeling this individual might have been involved if they were talking about me, but I thought I was being paranoid. I still may be, but since this has all happened, I have started to regain readers. I find that interesting.

Anyway! This whole thing ended, and it was bitter for me. I don’t have any more enjoyment in this fandom. I love my ship, but I currently have no desire to write them. I’ve been depressed and I’m scarred from fandom events. This person took away my joy when I only wanted to participate in a fandom event with my friends and have fun.

Because fandom is supposed to be fun, it’s not supposed to do this to people. It’s insane that it does this to people, and I never wanted to be involved in this bullshit.

This person has gone on to enjoy other fandom events, write and produce art, and seems to be doing fine.

Through small but interesting events, I started to learn about this individual’s ‘perspective’ on the entire thing with me. And, hoo boy, it was a fucking ride.

I am still shocked, amazed, flabbergasted and kinda pissed off about how this person lied about me. Everything they said was a complete lie. They shared my DMs via screenshots out of context, warped what we were talking about to play the victim and get sympathy, and flat-out lied numerous times. I have been accused of forcing them to do things during the event when I have screenshot proof that never happened.

For everything this individual accused me of, I provided screenshots to tell the fucking truth.

Two people have told me the same phrasing: they made me out to be a monster.

A monster.

If anyone knows me, my character, they know I’m not a goddamn monster. I try to keep my head down, stay in my lane, play in my sandbox corner, enjoy my ships, and have fun with my friends.

To be called a monster or to have someone say, ‘you’re nothing like they made you out to be,’ is the most surreal moment of my adult life.

This is fiction, fandom; it’s not real, and not everyone makes a living off it. It’s a hobby, and it’s supposed to be enjoyable. Once we step away from our computers and phones, no one knows us as so and so, writer or artist of Ship. Meanwhile, this person is making me out to be the worst human being alive, and it is absolute insanity to learn how deep it goes.

The twists and turns, the lies, the complete lack of reality, the delusion. It’s creepy and disturbing. And, through finding all of this out, I pieced together a pattern of behavior that this individual has:

When you do something they don’t like, they distance themselves, become cold and passive-aggressive, and hold themselves above you. You are no longer of use to them. They dangle their friendship and attention on a lure, hoping you’ll bite, only to throw you back under.

Please understand that this is a dangerous thing—this is not fandom drama—this is a dangerous individual, and the person with whom they choose to spend their time speaks volumes.

I will not share names or screenshots. Screenshots have been shared with the right people, and I will not make it a public spectacle. I also choose to protect the privacy of my friends and others involved in this, of which there are many.

I have been accused of forcing this individual to do things, hating them and their work, being extremely pushy and stressing them out, and that my server was unwelcoming and the people in it were unkind, and various other things. Small things that didn’t mean anything to me were taken extremely personally and made into more lies to make this person a victim.

Such as my preferred formatting for posting my fic links on tumblr. They did not respect it, even though I attempted to respect their formatting for posting their art numerous times earlier, but I was told not to stress about it and, you guessed it—accused of forcing them to change things behind my back. Again, screenshots have been given to the right people.

This individual can delete everything, but we have our proof, as we have been gathering it. We will not publicly share anything, but if this individual decides to, we have the evidence to back it all up.

There were so many creepy and fucked up things that happened. I can’t list them without getting too personal, but please understand this person does not belong in our fandom.

They chase popular people, especially artists, to ‘collect’ them and lie to and manipulate their friends for sympathy. Their friends need to step away and see the light because they are being used—it’s not a real friendship. It is transactional.

And you should be offended. They will cast you aside when you’re useless to them, too.

If I seem mad, it’s because I am. I have been dealing with this since August, when I realized that many of their comments were strange. I didn’t know those were red flags at the time. This individual pretends to be friendly and claims to be ‘the nice one’ when things go wrong so they can keep their reputation. Interactions with them might seem harmless, but looking at them with a different scope makes them something far different.

Don’t ignore red flags or gut instincts.

This is my story, and it is not told exactly how I wish I could tell it. But I know this individual has hurt numerous other people. I was going to make this post without the ability to reblog, but I am leaving it open for now.

If you want to add your story, as I suspect many of you know who I am speaking of, please do. I ask that you avoid telling anyone else’s stories for them unless you have permission. Protect each other.

This stupid shit unites us. I’m not afraid anymore because I’m sick of watching my friends get hurt again and again.

This individual has befriended a known bully and transphobic person. I won’t speak any further on this because it is not my story, but please bear in mind that they chose a TERF over trans friends. And we know what they say about association.

Blindsided victims of this individual are not at fault for this person’s actions.

See something, say something. Terfs and bullies can GET FUCKED.

Share your story.

#whenyouwishuponastar personal #harringrove #fandom discourse #terf #fuck terfs and fuck anyone who befriends them #PROTECT EACH OTHER'S PRIVACY! #genuinely cannot believe I am writing this at my big old age about someone at their big old age #nonsense and fucking insanity

[fuglyjeans]

Idk how to articulate this but after listening to ttpd I just feel like Taylor Swift needs therapy so bad. She's like if Britney had internalized everything and become a workaholic instead of shaving her head.

I mean this so sincerely. It's like she has a trauma response to the concept of honest self-reflection. A thought may cross her mind like "maybe I do use my jet more than necessary" or "maybe some of the criticism I recieve is valid" and then the 2009 VMAs and Snakegate flash before her eyes, knock her on her ass and all she can feel is furious spite. She'll keep writing songs like Mad Woman and Who's Afraid Of Little Old Me because she has a white-knuckle deathgrip on her own celebrity persona after nearly 20 years defending it. She'll sing "I'll sue you if you step on my lawn" with an eyeroll-- as if she didn't do that exact thing last month.

I guess her teenage fans won't get this, but it's bizarre that a 34 year old adult would leave a 6 year relationship and not have any ideas about her own culpability in its not working out-- there's no "we were just different people who didn't work together in the end", "we both made mistakes", no graceful goodbye for the person who once inspired Invisible String and Cowboy Like Me and Lover. He's simply the smallest man who ever lived, he was a cage and a prison cell and nothing more. "Burn all your past lives" is right.

I don't say this to sling shit at her. I was once a 13 year old girl on a swingset beside my sister, barefoot, singing Picture To Burn to the blue summer sky. I still treasure my copy of Debut, with its dented up plastic case and the lyric booklet missing (it was gifted to me that way.)

I say this all because I think it's fucking weird and twisted and TRAGIC that she doesn't believe in therapy unless she can film herself crying in the session for a Netflix camera crew.

#ttpd spoilers #the swiftcourse #I SAID I WOULDNT GET SUCKED IN TO THE DISCOURSE BUT HERE I AM #hopefully the last post i make

[ovaryacted]

I saw the messages I got sent in my inbox, thank you guys for letting me know about the plagiarism, I appreciate it really.

Obviously I feel for the OP and I truly do hope that they feel comforted in knowing that there are people who believe them. I genuinely can’t imagine what it’s like to have 20k words worth of something you made stolen like that. I’m heartbroken and angry for them and the fact that it happened twice is so…

At least on my end, I’m angry because Fae (@/kennedyswhore, @/hoeromi) is someone I interacted with frequently, and not only was she someone that inspired me artistically, but she was also someone I considered a friend. I’m just angry about it, and it pisses me off more that people who put so much energy and time into creating something gets stolen from them and gets claimed as someone else’s work with more viability. It’s sick. Please block those pages, she has a few other ones too she uses to stalk other accounts so be on the lookout for things that may be copied over too.

Don’t fucking steal from other people. Just don’t fucking do it seriously. It’s cruel, it’s awful, and you’re a low-life good for nothing bitch if you’re willing to sit down in front of your computer to copy and paste someone else’s work and call it your own. It’s things like that that only result in writers leaving this hellsite and stop posting their writing all together. Fuck you if you do this. If you lack the creative ability to make your own shit, at least live in your truth, cause doing stuff like this is just pathetic.

And of course, if anyone ever EVER finds something that sounds remotely like my stuff, either on here or on any ai chatbot spaces, please let me know. Writers and creators work so damn hard to put out original stuff others want to enjoy for free, so much energy into their work just to have it stolen from them. If you plagiarize, I hope you jump headfirst into fucking traffic.

#don’t plagiarize #don’t steal #don’t be a fucking loser #because eventually there will be no more writers for you to copy off of #you’re actually demented in the fucking head if you do this

[firefly--bright]

punctured tires and sunsets.

jean kirstein x reader, modern a.u. , roadtrip headcanons!

requested by ; @jeanscremebrulee

a/n ; this kinda just turned into an unofficial fic :') i LOVED writing it tho!! thank you so much for the request :D also! there's alot of mentions of jeans music taste in this fic so here's a playlist I made with songs I think he listens to :) I know it's too late to say this but happy jean bday day to you guys <3 he's so find I won't him so bad

warnings ; none!

taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @hopeless-anti-romantic , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes .

main masterlist ✿ enter my taglist ! ✿

• obnoxious packer. he has ALL the snacks because he has always been used to packing alot of snacks because of...reasons (ahem, sasha) but he also packs alot in general. not in an anxious way, he just likes the volume, it makes him feel like he has everything he needs (he doesn't). he has the most useless shit in there but would 100% forget to pack his underwear.

• best believe he has a really amazing playlist lined up. he asked you to join a collab one a couple days before the trip just so you two could have premium music playing on the day of :)

• I have this headcanon/trope that none of his plans ever go right for him...like he plans stuff to the t but they always end up going awry from the midway mark and this is no exception. the plan was to reach his mother's houss by dinner time, so that the two of you + his mom could unwind with a glass of wine before going to bed after a hearty dinner that jean was sure she was planning to make for you both. while on the way to her place though, there's a really pretty beach that jean has been wanting to show you ever since the beginning, so the two of you would make a pitstop just around sunset time so that the weather wouldn't be too hot and you'd get to see the pretty sky with him, you'd spend a bit of time there, and after the sun sets, you'd resume driving. his mom's house wasn't that far from there, thankfully, so it would've taken an hour or less to reach.

• things actually are surprisingly going according to plan!! until the tire punctures and you two have to wait for help to arrive. thankfully it's only noon at this point, and jean thinks you'll still be able to make it to the beach and see the sunset after getting help. and you're also helping him maintain his cool by telling him that it's not as if you're on a time sensitive mission or anything; you two can take your time since you're just going to meet his mom for the long weekend

• it does help him quite a bit!! the road is extremely empty since it's not one that's taken often, people usually take the highway too much resulting in traffic, but this road is direct and jean discovered it his first year of college

• so you wait :) everytime jean calls the mechanic, he tells him there's been a "delay", and someone will be there shortly. meanwhile, you two share the sandwiches you had packed and decide to spend the time talking and playing some music. the sandwiches are balanced on the front of his car over a picnic blanket, along with some redbull and your prefered drink that he had packed for the way.

• he has a mouthful of sandwich when you're telling him a funny story about your childhood friends, and he chokes on the sandwich as he tries to not laugh. you have to pat his back in between laughs of your own so that he doesn't inhale the food and die.

• the playlist plays on a loop, the weather is surprisingly not too hot, with the occasional wind blowing in your face reminding you that nature isnt that cruel. the two of you add more songs and you have to surpress a smirk when you add like,,, 2000's pop songs. lady gaga, taylor Swift's older songs, Katy Perry, imagine dragons, all that

• jean, on the other hand, adds songs that he wants to slow dance with you to. everytime he tries to be romantic at home and pull you in for a dance, you two are reminded how cramped the room is, and you have to try not to step on his feet. the last time the two of you tried to dance together in your living room, he ended up stubbing his toe and falling on you because of it :') and then he tried to brush it off by saying that that was his plan from the beginning, and it resulted to a week's worth of teasing from you everytime he tried to walk near the same table

• so now that you have all of this empty space, he adds cute cheesy songs with the intention of pulling you in, disregarding your complaints of you not knowing how to dance.

• it's a nice mix of songs that make you want to twerk and/or reminisce the times the songs you added were popular, and slow dancing with giggles in between. both of you get to do what you want in the end, the playlist being put on shuffle.

• jean and you scream sing hot n cold by Katy Perry, shouting in eachother's faces as if you're an old married couple bickering, acting out the music video in some bits. and then after the song finishes, the next song just so happens to be more than a woman by the bee gees (ofcourse)

• let me set the scene : the two of you are holding your drinks in your hand, taking a sip after singing the song to eachother, laughing, he takes a sip of his redbull that he has to stop himself from wincing because of it being warm and not chilled. and then more than a woman comes on, and his eyes light up mid-sip as he turns to face you almost immediately. you do the same, you brows shooting up and a knowing look on your face.

• "you know the rules,* he says, placing the redbull on the car, taking your hand in his and pulling you in softly. "of I step on your toe, it-" " you won't. spin," he says, pulling apart from you a little so you had the space to do it. he tells you about how his mother used to play this song every Sunday while making pancakes for him on slow mornings, and she'd make a passing comment about how she'd have loved to dance to the song on her wedding day if she had the chance. jean told you that he had made a mental promise that he would dance with his future partner on his wedding day to the song, and it only added to his love for the song.

• you had to refrain yourself from kissing him senseless after he told you about it, instead opting for a hum with a wide and soft smile, resting your forehead on the crook of his shoulder.

• ANYWAY, the two of your spend the time like that, dancing and talking while the music plays in the background. the hours pass by fairly easily, munching on the snacks you had packed

• jean does get a little ansty near the 6 o clock mark. not only had the mechanic promised to be here by now, the time to reach the beach was running out :( he'd already called his mom and told her that they probably wouldnt make it in time for dinner, so somewhere deep down he kinda knew that you two wouldn't be able to catch the sunset anyway.

• noticing his disappointment, you spoke up after he called his mother. she understood, of course, told him it was fine and she'd wait up for you two anyway, with the same meal she had planned.

• "we still have the blankets we packed for the picnic. and the pillows, too." you say. jean sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "i know, I'm sorry, we had to pack that for no reas-" "no, I mean, we can pop open the trunk and set it up. the sun is going to set on this side," you say, pointing your thumb out, taking a step towards him and taking a hold of his hand, rubbing circles on the back of his palm. "we can still watch the sunset. i know its not what you wanted to show me, but it's alright, I don't mind. i got to spend time with you, anyway, and besides, we can try to catch it while coming back home." you tell him.

• his shoulder relax and his eyes soften immediately, pecking your lips and agreeing with you. and so it's settled; you two open the trunk and set up the blanket and pillows so you could sit comfortably, your phone playing the songs still, albeit softly. you pop open another energy drink for him and then one for yourself, he stretches his limbs before settling in with you.

• it's beautiful. the sun sets with your head on his shoulder and his pride is too inflated to admit that this was far prettier than watching the same scene at the beach, although he knows it's mostly because of you being there with him. he occasionally lays kisses on the crown of your head with you humming along to the songs.

• the mechanic arrives just as it starts getting dark, before too much panic settling in the both of you about the lack of light. he replaces the tire, jean pays (obviously he does), and you two continue driving. thankfully, it's not that bad, and despite the caffeine in your body, you doze home with the blanket wrapped around your shoulders and your knees pulled up to your chest.

• jean glances at you from time to time, and everytime a song he knows you'd like comes on, he gently kisses the back of your hand :)

• you two reach far later than expected, he has to wake you up softly, greeting you with a kiss. he doesn't let you touch any of the luggage, preferring to haul the bag himself. not that it's hard for him. after eating the meal his mother made, he promptly falls asleep on the couch as you and his mom talk with the promised glass of wine on the floor.

(his mother leaves to get the bottle for a refill, coming back to your eyes closed, your back against the couch, your face turned towards jean. she obviously takes a picture to put in her photo album.)

#jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirschstein x reader #aot #jean kirstein x you #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #jean kirschtein #modern au

[loveyourownsmiilee]

Hello :) I’m not used to asking questions on here but I’m just curious and I coupdn’t stop myself. How do you think they can turn this whole season the way so it has nothing to do with Buddie. Because since the first episode of season 7 they’ve been writing their lines with kind of a deeper meaning, in a way that can be understood like a foreshadowing in them going canon (like the whole jealousy plot where Buck is still so obviously confused to what/who he wanted, Tommy’s „MY attention?”, the coming out scene when Buck says he’s relieved and he looks anything but). I have my clown shoes on and I don’t see how they can end this season without giving us a hint at Buddie (my guess is Buck will have some kind of feelings realisation about Eddie) but knowing what they did to couch theory and other times where they crushed shippers hopes showing only their friendship and nothing more I’m trying to brace myself for another dissapointment. Like, we are all just so sure about Buddie, but what if the writers throw another curveball at us? And what could that curveball possibly be? Anyways, hope you have a nice day! 😊

Hello! Thank you for taking the time to send me a question! I’m always happy to answer 🥰

Here’s the thing, the last two seasons were all weird bc we had another show runner who point blank made it clear she wasn’t on board with Buddie being romantic in any way. She legit called that will reveal scene platonic and said it’s normal for best friends bc her mother and her female best friend did the same thing. She was allergic to queer people. We have the return of show runner who was the original show runner. He was always pro Buddie even if he never point blank said so. This man killed off Shannon bc he knew the fans were angry with her for leaving her child. He liked a tweet that said Shannon was Eddie’s beard. He’s been proactively and consistently sharing Buddie content before the season even started. Also talking about how much he enjoys Buck and Eddie’a dynamic and is going to try to hit that in every episode. The first episode was very much a reintroduction and what did they do? They showed Buck, Eddie, and Christopher as a whole ass family unit. They made it clear to everyone tuning in that those three are a family together.

Now I think the reason Eddie is soooo heavily intertwined with Buck’s scenes is bc it’s intentional. I also am under the impression, as I’ve said many times recently, that Tim not only spoke to Oliver earlier in the season about his plans, but also Ryan. There’s a deliberate reason as to why Oliver and Ryan are actively promoting this season together. I will die on this hill that Ryan is fully aware. And we had that confirmed when Lou pretty much said it was originally supposed to be Tommy and Eddie but things didn’t work out. So what that actually tells me is that Tim has plans to make BOTH Buck and Eddie queer. And he’s going with Buck first but will eventually get to Eddie. They already planted massive seeds in 7.05 by bringing up religious guilt and all that talk about Eddie’s Catholicism. It’s happening and that is a far better way to tell Eddie’s story than him being kissed by a man randomly. So I just, idk even with this new interest in Buck and Tommy, I truly don’t think it’s something that will divert the writers and show runner from their original plans, I should hope not. They can’t dismiss 6 years of development for a new love interest especially when said love interest is a literal copy of Eddie. So I don’t think they’ll switch gears and I think we’re on the same page as to what is coming up for them. Literally the fact that they made Buck bi confirms to me that Buddie is inevitable.

#juju answers #sopphiex #buddie #tommy kinard #911 speculation