#(I also struggle with tone letters)
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Also reading victor's twitter replies rn and I adore his formal-y style of responding aaa
If you're talking to him and he's writing (which I've decided he does with a chalkboard) you get snippets and only the necessary words but if you get a letter it's super formal even if nobody else's letters are
yeah!! he will write you a letter with the prettiest vocabulary ever and mean every word
#the talk box#i like imagining he tones it back a bit for like. emil and andrew and norton#so they don't struggle as much with the words#but he still manages to keep the formalities and ougg#i think despite everything norton would really like a letter and would keep it on his desk as a sentiment#andrew would just. fucking cry (/pos) and emil would Also be super happy#ghhh they're so
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So, want to know why Voodoo is sometimes called Vodun these days?
It's because of Nasal Vowels!
But first - technically, Voodoo and Vodun (and Vodou and VudĂș) are different things. Vodun is a West African religion, while Voodoo is a Louisiana descendant (with a lot of other influences, from West Africa, the Americas, and Europe). The other descendant religions throughout North and South America have slight variations in spelling, pronunciation, and differences of belief.
Now that we've got that out of the way, back to spelling!
Nasal vowels are a really common thing in languages. French has them. Sanskrit had them. A lot of West African languages have them. A lot of languages of the Americas have them. Basically, you say a word like you're going to say an 'n' after the vowel, and then ... don't. Your nose lets air move through it, and the vowel sounds different than a non-nasal vowel.
They're a pretty simple thing. But the Latin alphabet SUCKS at showing them.
So it's an 'every language for itself' situation. Every language has a different way of showing you if a vowel is nasal.
Turtle Island (North American Indigenous) languages often use an ogonek (Ä
, Ä, ÄŻ, Ç«, Ćł). Sanskrit and its descendants tend to use an anusvara (à€
à€) or candrabindu (à€
à€), both usually written in Latin as 'áč.' The IPA and some languages use a tilde (ĂŁ, áșœ, Ä©, Ă”, Ć©). French and West African languages tend to use an 'n.'
You can distinguish this 'n' from the normal 'n' that's a consonant because it doesn't have a vowel after it (but does have one in front of it). It's either word ending, or followed by a consonant.
'Vodun' is pronounced 'voh-dÔÔ' ('vo-dáčč,' with a high tone on the 'dĆ©' that we aren't dealing with here).
English speakers have no way to indicate a nasal vowel at all. Usually they're ignored when we're absorbing other people's words. So 'vodun' was spelled 'vodoo' or 'vodou' and the variant form 'vudun' was spelled 'voudou' or 'voodoo.'
-
You can also remember about nasal vowels when reading about Orisha (ĂrĂŹáčŁĂ ) - Yoruba dieties that show up on Tumblr reasonably often.
'á»lá»run' is pronounced 'aw-law-rÔÔ' (Éâ§lÉâ§rĆ©)
'á»ÌrĂșnmĂŹlĂ ' is pronounced 'aw-rÔÔ-mee-lah' (ÉÌâ§ráččâ§mĂŹâ§lĂ )
'áčąĂ ngĂł' is pronounced 'shĂŁh-goh' (ÊĂŁÌâ§gĂł)
etc.
-
I am sharing this because nasal vowels are cool, and because I remember being confused when I first saw the word 'Vodun.'
"How badly did we mangle that word to get 'Voodoo'?" I thought.
But in this case we didn't! English just doesn't have a way to show nasal vowels, and we aren't likely to guess that an 'n' is part of a vowel sound.
#linguistics#lexicography#you guys#there are SO MANY ways to indicate a nasal vowel#this is just a few#it is so confusing when doing comparative linguistics#my brain wants to insist separate letters HAVE to be separate sounds#they Can Not be part of the vowel#(I also struggle with tone letters)
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it took me by soap-rise
contents ౚৠâ k. bakugo x fem reader. 4k words â fluff. cursing. slightly suggestive. â of course your public nuisance no. 1 has to hog your favorite shower stall the day you forget your body wash in it.
Katsuki was honestly starting to suspect he wasnât your type.Â
Which one, was something heâd never even bother to consider. Heâs ripped up more confession letters than he can count after three years. Graduation was just around the corner and he still hates social media, but even he knows how popular he is on it because of his classmates whining about it all the damn time. He knows heâs well-liked, and itâs not just his ego talking.
Genuinely it's a thought that would never occur to him, if only Eyebags wasnât lounging around you all the time, casting annoyingly cocky glances at him as he taps your shoulder and leans in to whisper whatever the fuck it is in your ear whenever he passes by the two of you.
Not that he cared.Â
Two, when Dunce Face dared you to say who you thought was the most attractive guy during a game of truth or dare in the common room last year, while he pretended to be disinterested when he very much in fact was not, you had offhandedly answered with that half-nâ-half bastardâs name, who could not be more polar opposite to him.
Again, he really couldnât give less of a fuck.Â
Not like heâs been thinking about it since then. Totally. Not.
Katsuki also hasnât been thinking about how it should be him whispering in your ear instead of that purple haired extra, the endless list of things he could say to make you squirm and blush in your seat.Â
Of course, that doesnât happen because youâre too busy arguing with him, like usual, about the new group project Aizawa just assigned. Something about reconnecting with their roots before graduating. With you two as partners, much to the amusement of your classmates.
âWe should work on the script first!â You insist while he leans back in his chair, observing you get more and more worked up.
It should be irritating as hell, your hand gestures, your matter of fact tone, but whatâs really bothering him is that itâs not. Heâs not sure when that started happening.
âItâs better to prepare the interview questions weâre going to ask our parents when we visit each other's homes.â
He snorts. âWhat are we, some ditzy news report crew? Weâre not gonna waste time doing that, we should just visit your place first, then mine and get it over with.â
You spin away from him before he can open his mouth again, and raise your hand.Â
Aizawa slowly turns to you with a sigh, already knowing what youâre about to ask.
âNo.â
âBut Mr. Aizawa!âÂ
Eyebags casts an amused glance in both of your directions, and Katsuki scoffs.Â
No way in hell was he letting you switch and downgrade to an extra like him.Â
âWhat, youâre chickening out?â
You ignore him. âCan I please switch partners?â
âNo,â Aizawa deadpans.
âButââ
âNo. One more word from either of you and youâre getting zeroes.â
The both of your mouths snap shut, and you glare at each other.
âWhen youâre a pro, you donât always get to choose who you team up with.âÂ
Aizawa rubs his temples.Â
âAnd youâre supposed to be my top ranking students. Youâre not first years anymore, so act like it.â
You hang your head. Like a scolded puppy, Katsuki notes.Â
âYes Mr. Aizawa.â
From the corner of his eye, you flip him off under your desk and his lips canât help but twitch. Does he really still piss you off that much after all this time?Â
Without hesitation, Katsuki flips you off back.
âFucking teacherâs pet.ïżœïżœïżœ He mouths with a smirk.
âAsshole.â You mouth back.
Aizawa sighs again, throwing a pointed look at Sero and Denki who are struggling, and failing, to hold back their giggles behind you.Â
This was going to be a long week.
Itâs the day after the group project was assigned, and youâre still reeling from the fact that out of everybody you had to get paired up with, of course it had to be your crush.Â
Hey Siri, does it make you a masochist if for the past three years you've been in love with a guy thatâs laser-focused on his personal development and has zero interest in dating anyone other than his career, ever?Â
Are you a masochist if you kind of find that kind of hot?
Just when you were starting to make a pros and cons list with Mina the night before to try and ick yourself out, too. But even that was getting increasingly hard to do.
His growth was undeniable, and you curse at him for being almost as mature as he was attractive now. Â
Well, towards everybody except you.Â
Three steps away from the door to your room, you freeze in place as your brain stops your usual ramblings of the blond boy to register two alarming facts.
One, the bottle of body wash you usually use was not in your hand like you thought it was.
Two, it was in fact, still in the shower stall you left it in.
Pink house slippers slap against the floorâs carpeting as you race back to the showers with a death-like grip on your towel.
Youâre slightly out of breath as you clutch the doorway of the showers, and just as quickly as you enter you find yourself exiting lightning fast at double the speed, nearly launching yourself against the wall of the hall outside.Â
With your heart racing uncontrollably, tips of too familiar blond hair disappear into the stall you were in moments ago.
Too familiar, for your liking.Â
But that strong jawline you caught a glimpse of was unmistakable.
Your irritating classmate slash crush you were trying to get rid of was taking up your shower stall.
Okay technically it wasnât yours but it was the one you used everyday, each morning and night. Youâd claimed it when you first stepped foot in it at the beginning of your first year.Â
So basically, it was yours.Â
And you definitely donât remember that bastard ever using it until today.
A screech jolts you from your thoughts. He must have turned the water on, which you can hear, but strangely there was no steam wafting out at all.Â
The realization creeps up on you like the sound of running water that trickles down and echoes throughout the room.
Hold on.
What was this idiot doing taking a cold shower at four in the morning?
The all too familiar soothing scent of cherry blossom fills the chilly air, and your eyebrows furrow even more in confusion.Â
And was that your fucking body wash heâs using?
You take a deep breath. Okay, calm down. Heâs bigger than you, probably stronger too, that stupid gym freak, not to mention taller than you.Â
But your fingers were still itching to whip out your quirk and shoot a moonbeam at his crotch.
Because why the fuck was he using your LâOccitane Cherry Blossom Bath and Shower Gel?
Trying to sneak a glance to confirm your suspicions, the obvious shadow of Bakugo is visible through the glass, and you duck back into the hallway.Â
Oh my god, it is him.Â
Taking a cold shower in the morning like a crazy person. Although you hate to admit it, that would explain his perfect skin. Everyday you wake up and see his flawless face, you go to bed praying that he gets a blemish.
The shower turns off, and you let out the breath you were holding. Confrontation wasnât your strong suit, but when it came to your possessions, you werenât about to be a doormat.Â
You cross your fingers and pray that heâs wearing clothes.
âBakugo! Come out here, we need to talk.â
He snorts, already recognizing the chiding voice about to round the corner, and turns. âPicking a fight with me outside of class? Thought you had more self-respect than thaââ
Bakugo is then sharply cut off.
By you hurling into his very naked, very bare chest.
He forces his eyes to not linger on the dip of your collarbone, and as he looks down on you he sees you struggling to do the same in his direction.
You accidentally make contact with his eyes.
The rare, amused look on his face sends something strange and hot down your spine, and you force yourself to turn away so sharply you think you dislocated your neck.
Bakugo smirks. âWasnât nearly this focused when we were working on our project.âÂ
An embarrassing noise escapes from your mouth, and his lips curve ever so slightly on his handsome face at the sound.Â
Heâs never seen you this flustered before.
Itâs kind of cute, he admits this time.
Despite your clearly humiliated state, you point an impressively steady finger at the object in his hands.Â
âThatâs um, thatâs mine.â You awkwardly clutch your towel tighter, suddenly feeling very naked in his presence. Seriously, why didnât you put a shirt on before coming back?
His eyebrow raises and he lifts the bottle slightly. âThis?â
âYeah?â
âUh-huh,â he says disbelievingly. âDonât see your name on it.â
You sigh in exasperation, did he always have to be so uncooperative with you? âItâs mine, okay? Just give it back.â
Bakugo's eyes narrow as he studies you. Like youâre a puzzle piece heâs trying to make sense of.
And as much as you hate to admit it, the focused look on his face was annoyingly attractive.Â
âThatâs funny.âÂ
You open your mouth, your patience is on the last straw and youâre about to yell back âwhat is?â and snatch the bottle out of his hands when he smirks, holding it high out of your reach above his head with his bicep, still gleaming with water from his shower.Â
âBecause this is mine.â
You blink at the water falls from his raised arm onto your nose, not registering what youâre hearing. Looking away from the pink translucent bottle above your head, your eyes meet his again.
âWhat?â
âYou heard me the first time.â
You canât help but stare at him incredulously.
âI donât think I did.â Confusion could not be clearer than glass in your voice.Â
âYouâYou use LâOccitane?â
He averts his eyes from the droplet that falls from your still wet hair and rolls down what skin you have exposed, disappearing into your thankfully tightly wrapped towel.
âDude. You are so not cherry blossom bath and shower gel material.â
He snorts. âFuck is that supposed to mean.â
âI donât know! I thought youâd use like, Dove MenCare or five in one.â
âFive in one? Are you stupid?â
âApparently! ButâOh my god can you stop flexing your biceps for one fucking second.â You groan. âIâm trying to have a serious conversation with you.â
âWhy were you looking?âÂ
âI canât help it! Theyâre distracting me andââ You clap your hands over your mouth, glancing at his slightly amused expression with horrified eyes.
âDistracting you?â His voice is low, and you curse at the way your stomach flip-flops.Â
âUm.â Fuck. Where did that even come from? âI meant, uh.â
âTrying to take it back now?â He smirks. âCoward.â
âI am not a coward!â You glare at him. âAnd Iâm not feeding into your ego.â
âYou just admitted you were staring at my biceps and thinking about what body wash I would use.â
Okay, so youâre just digging yourself a deeper grave. Your cheeks are warmer than the shower you took earlier, and you canât even deny it.
âCreep.â
You huff. âOkay fine, Iâm a creep. Just give me my body wash back.â
âTold you,â he starts walking away, towel still wrapped around his waist. You pointedly look away towards the wall. âItâs mine, dipshit.â
âWhaââ You whip your head around just as he disappears behind the corner, too tired and irritated to even chase after him, and with a sigh you walk into the shower room, heading for the stall you used earlier.Â
Your eyes widen as you stare at it in embarrassment.Â
There your bottle of cherry blossom body wash sits, untouched in the shower caddy.Â
As you head back to your dorm room, the body wash safely clutched in your hand, you wonder.
Was it too late to call in sick for today?
Aizawa did not in fact let you call in sick, and you're painfully reminded of everything that happened in the morning as you complain to Hitoshi about it. Your best friend snickers as students file into the cafeteria behind his seat. Â
âYouâre so stupid.â
You take the opportunity to shove a sweet roll into his open mouth. âShut up! Iâm going to pretend like it never happened.â
Hitoshi snorts, taking the bread out of his mouth. âGood luck with that. But hey,â He leans in with a mischievous grin, and you glare daggers at him. âIsnât this the most progress youâve made since you started liking him since, what, first year entrance exams?â
Your jaw drops. âExcuse me?â
He takes his sweet time eating the roll in his hand instead of elaborating, like the petty asshole he's always been. Your fingers tap impatiently on the table of the cafeteria as you wait while he chews.
After what seems like an eternity, Hitoshi finally swallows.Â
âI mean, youâve never really made a move on him this whole time. Kind of just been a spectator, like a creep.â
Warmth rushes up your neck as youâre reminded of what Bakugo called you yesterday. Creep.
âI canât help it! The only time we ever speak is during class projects, and even then weâre always arguing. I just donât know what to say to him.â
âI know.â Hitoshi raises an eyebrow. âWoop woop. 3Aâs own live little romcom.â
âIâm gonna kill you.â
âOkay, but after I finish this soup.â He blows on his steaming spoon, and pauses as a thought occurs to him.Â
âIf he didnât like it though, he wouldâve told you by now.âÂ
You canât help but perk up at that. âYou really think so?â
âYeah.â He spoons the soup into his mouth. âOh. This is good, why didnât you get any when we were in line?â
â...The red color reminded me of his eyes too much.â
Hitoshi sighs.Â
âFor your birthday, Iâm going to admit you to a mental hospital.â
âItâs not that bad!â You insist and he snorts derisively.Â
The both of you know youâre lying.
The ride to Katsukiâs house after class is awkwardly silent.
Your folks conveniently went out of town to visit some relatives youâve never even heard of yesterday, so the both of you were left with no choice but to interview his parents only.
The train is almost full, and every seat in the car is taken except one.
âIâm standing.âÂ
Katsuki grabs onto the handle above his head, a silent signal for you to take the only seat left and watches with barely concealed amusement in his eyes as you hurry to sit in front of him without a word other than a small âthanks.â So skittish today.
Heâs not sure if he likes it though. You being quiet around him.Â
Youâve said less than two sentences to him since this morning, and he almost misses your snappy quips.
Almost.
He hides a sly grin. Itâs all his fault youâre acting like this, and he's going to enjoy it while it lasts.
Youâre putting your earbuds on, and just before you put the left one in, he snatches it out of your hands and puts it in his ear.
Your eyes widen cutely, too stunned to speak.
"Just don't play anything shitty." He turns his attention back to his phone, ignoring all the smoochy faces the group chat's sent him about you as he sends his mom a quick text to tell her you two are on the way.
With a shy nod, which he can't help but note is so unlike you, you scroll down on your own phone and click on a playlist.
Katsuki's eyes widen in surprise not even five seconds in.
The instrumentals, those vocals. He knows this song.
He loves this song.
"You listen to Pierce the Veil?"
You blink up at him. "Yeah. I do."
He can't help it. The edge of his lips twitch as he recalls what you said to him yesterday, and he mimics your exact tone.
"Dude. You are so not post-hardcore alt rock material."
The expression on your face is priceless.
Katsuki never uses his damn phone camera but he almost wants to snap a picture right there and then.
Except of course, you do the unexpected.
You giggle at him.
He can't help but feel a little proud. Take that, stupid fucking Eyebags.
"I guess you're right," you laugh behind your hand. "Jirou recommended me some songs last year and I've been a fan ever since."
"Then what's your favorite lyric by them?"
"Oh my god." The grin on your lips spreads a warm, sweet feeling across his chest, like strawberry jam on hot toast. "You're one of those people that see someone wearing a band shirt and go 'Oh you like them? Name five of their songs.'"
He scoffs. "I do not."
"You totally do."
Katsuki rolls his eyes. "You trying to distract me from the fact you're a fake fan?"
You fake a little gasp. "Me? Never." There's a thoughtful hum that comes from your lips, and he observes you as you take a moment to think.
"My favorite lyric has to be 'been counting the stars and scars, how Iâm becoming a work of art.'"
The Divine Zero. Fuck, he loved that song too.
"Huh. Guess you know your shit."
You huff proudly, so similar to a dog happily wagging its tail that he resists the urge to pat your head. "Of course! What's your favorite lyric?"
He smirks, staring directly into your eyes.
"Iâm gonna tear out the thread one by one from your skin till your bones feel embarrassed by all the attention."
Your lips fall into a flustered 'o' shape and you turn away when he finishes, nodding. "That's, uh, that's a good one too."
He bites back a laugh as you hurriedly switch playlists, and a familiar R&B tune starts singing in his ear instead.
Mitsukiâs face greets the two of you as she opens the door.
âKatsuki! You're here earlyâoh!"
She spots you.Â
âYouâre one of those cute maid girls from last yearâs cultural festival!"Â
Your cheeks flush as you remember. That stupid day when Denkiâs suggestion finally won the class vote. She was visiting for Bakugoâs role as an oni in the haunted house, and happened to stop by the maid cafe in the class where you and the rest of the girls were working. âYes maâam.â
âI didnât know you were Katsukiâs girlfriend.â
âWhat?â Your mouth drops. âOh, Iâm notââ
âYou brat! You never told me you were going out with a sweet, pretty girl like this.â Mitsuki scolds in her sonâs direction. Your cheeks grow warm as your curious eyes canât resist trailing over to see his reaction.
"She's not my girlfriend, Ma."
Oh my god, was he blushing?
Mitsuki sighs in disappointment. His crimson eyes meet your widened ones for a split second, then he's brushing past the both of you and heading inside the house.
His mother smiles at you apologetically. "Sorry about him, his puberty came late."
You can't help but snort. "It's okay Mrs. Bakugo, I'm used to it."
"I heard that!" A yell comes from down the stairs.
Mitsuki and you share a mischievous glance, and she ushers you inside. You take off your shoes and look around.
So this is where Bakugo grew up.
There's the smell of green tea in the air, and was that a vanilla candle burning somewhere? Framed photos of Bakugo with his parents are on the wall as you walk into the living room, and you can't help but coo at the one where his chubby baby cheeks are smeared in frosting while he blows out a candle shaped like the number three.
The interview flies by in a breeze. You do most of the asking.
Okay, youâre the one asking all of the interview questions. A warm mug of steaming green tea is placed next to you on the coffee table from your cross-legged position on a cushion.
Bakugo sits next to you, unnervingly silent ever since his mom's outburst from before, as he types up his motherâs and occasionally his fatherâs responses on his laptop.
Itâs funny, the way you think he doesnât notice your shivers.
"Ma." He glances up from the keyboard. "Do you need to turn the AC up so damn high all the time?"
Mitsuki rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her tea. "It's warm in here!"
He sighs, eyes flicking over to you, and starts getting up from his spot on the floor.
You stare at the hand he holds out to you. And with great interest, so do Masaru and Mitsuki, who mutters something to him that you better be her daughter-in-law within the next three years.
"Come on," Bakugo says gruffly, tugging you to stand.
You stumble a bit as you walk through the hallway with him and up the first few stairs. "Where are we going...?"
"My room. To get you a fucking jacket."
âNo, I donât need itâ!â You're cut off with a sneeze.
He groans, and shrugs off the black fleece-lined one he's wearing and bringing you into him by tightly wrapping it around your shoulders.
âWhy donât you ever listen to me?â He grumbles. He's so close you can see how unfairly long his lashes are, and you're not sure if it's the sheer nervous adrenaline from him being so near or the scowl in his voice but you giggle, feeling bold.
âItâs sexy to see you prove me wrong.â
His eyes widen, and he quickly recovers.
âYouâre so fucking weird.â Thereâs an unmistakable fondness you catch in his voice as he says that, and you shiver this time for a different reason.Â
"Your jacket's too big on me." You flop your newly acquired sweater paws in his face.
âShut up.â Bakugo snorts as he zips it up for you in one smooth motion. âFucking baby.âÂ
âYou're the baby!" You retort. "I saw your pictures on the wall."
There's a groan from him. "No you didnât.â
"What, they're cute! I'm gonna send one to the class group chat."
Bakugo shoots a glare at you, and you teasingly wiggle your phone screen in his face. "Don't you dare."
"Hmm, okay I won't. Only if you do something for me first."
He smirks. "Fine, what do you want?" Bakugo leans closer to you, and your cheeks burn hot. "A kiss?"
You were not expecting that.
The way your eyes linger hopefully on his mouth looks like he's right. "Um."
"Um?" He huffs a laugh with his face hovering in front of yours. Bakugo's hot breath teases your lips, and you can't think.
Fuck it, you don't even care if he's just joking anymore. If this is your only chance, you're going to take it.
"Yes."
Bakugo cocks his head to the side, irritating to the very end even when you're on the brink of giving in. "Yes what?"
Your eyes squeeze shut as you blurt out, and you can almost hear Hitoshi cheering in the distance.
"YesIwantyoutokissme!"
"Fucking finally." Your eyes flutter open at his murmur, what did he mean by that? But you don't get to spend another second thinking about it because suddenly his soft lips are on yours and your heart skips a beat as you realize Bakugo is kissing you.
It's feels almost scarily natural to lean into his touch, like a gravitational pull getting stronger and stronger the longer you're near him, and you wonder why you didn't sooner. You numbly acknowledge the growing sweatiness of your palms as your nose bumps against his gently.
His comforting hands cup the back of your head, tangling his calloused fingers in your hair as he guides your mouth against his. A delicious little sound escapes from you the moment you break away from him and it only makes him want to close the gap between you again with more hunger, and he nips at your bottom lip like a starved man.
"Knew you always liked me, by the way." Bakugo gives you a wolfish grin, as the both of you pull back for air, leaving a trail of saliva still connected to your lips in your wake. He slyly glances at your dazed self sideways, flashing you a rare sight of his canines.
"Was just waiting for you to stop being such a damn pussy about it."
#it took me by surpriseee the hatred in his eyess#yâall fw lâoccitane cherry blossom bath and shower gel#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugo x reader#mha x reader#bakugo fluff#bakugo oneshot#bnha x reader#mha oneshot#not this being the first mouth to mouth kiss iâve ever written here lmfaoooo#idk ig physical intimacy means sm more to me than just kissing#but it seems fitting here so#enjoy <3#it might be bc iâm asian and pda seems weird to me LMFAO
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kick in the right direction
pairing: football player!seungcheol x mascot!reader
genre: fluff, university au
w/c: 0.9k
summary: seungcheol is the star football player in your university but he becomes a bumbling mess in front of you.
warnings: none, you do get hit by a ball though
a/n: i have decided to start writing fics for seventeen too because i just love them way way too much <3 also disclaimer this post used to be under my old url httphannie <3
Seungcheol doesnât know what to say. He usually has an explanation for his actions. There doesnât seem to be anything coming to his mind when he sees you on the ground. The problem with being the star player on the football team was the amount of trust his coach put on him. As well as the thought that they needed to win every game, that wasnât a problem though because Choi Seungcheol was a beast when he was in game mode. His aim was the best on the whole team, heâd never missed a goal.Â
Obviously today was an off day.
âYouâre staring, Cheol.â Jeonghan gives him a hearty slap on the back. âYou really like our school mascot donât you?â All Seungcheol can do is nod, watching as Seungkwan helps you up.
He really wants to go over and say sorry for nearly knocking you out with his kick but he canât. Not because he doesnât want to but because he simply canât. Itâs stupid really. Choi Seungcheol, star player of the football team, canât say two words when heâs faced with you. Heâs tried speaking to you. Once after a game, not the best choice because heâd become so nervous he spilt his water bottle all over you. Even after you told him it was fine he was still stuttering his words. Another time heâd managed to catch you walking down the hallway. The moment you smiled and said âhiâ his mind blanked. No words could come out of his mouth and he stood there gaping like a goldfish.
Talking to girls was easy for Seungcheol. He could give them a smile and theyâd be fawning all over him. You were different. There isnât one time heâs had a full conversation with you with nothing embarrassing happening. Heâd stumble over his words or nothing would come out of his mouth. The only thing that kept him from giving up was the fact you would grin every time he came up to you and he didnât like giving up.
âOf course I like her!â Seungcheol runs a hand through his hair. âI just don't know what to do?â
âYou could ask her out.â
âI canât!âÂ
His friend arches an eyebrow, clearly puzzled. "What do you mean you can't ask her out? Like you're scared, or you don't know how to, because those two are completely different things." Jeonghan's tone is gentle but probing, urging Seungcheol to confront the root of his hesitation.
âThatâs not it. Iâve got everything planned out. I know what to say and I know where I want to bring her to. Thereâs a whole plan in my notebook, itâs coloured in and everything!â
âThen whatâs the problem?â
Seungcheol fiddles with the hem of his shirt. âWhenever I go up to her to ask her out my throat closes and I canât find the right words. Or when I try to even write my confession, my hand freezes and no letters can be written. Itâs even worse because I manage to make a fool of myself whenever Iâm in front of her!â He kicks the football away.
Jeonghan sighs, staring at Seungcheol as he aimed a perfect kick to the goal. The boy was completely enamoured by you. Practically the whole school knew about his crush on you. Everyone was just waiting for the day the both of you would come in hand in hand.Â
//
âY/n, oh my god! Are you okay?â Seungkwan was shaking you by your shoulders. You rub your head. That football was really hard. Who knew air could hurt you? âHow many fingers am I holding up?â He waves three fingers around and your eyes struggle to adjust to his trembling hand.
âCalm down. I just got hit in the head, I donât have a concussion or anything.â You just know thereâs going to be a huge bump on your forehead tomorrow. âItâs partly Stuartâs fault.â You pat the dragon costume you had on. The fuzzy green body was heavy and the long swishy tail at the back was quite annoying to lug around.
"Why are you blaming our mascot? Stuart did nothing wrong," Seungkwan interjects, shooting a pointed glare at Seungcheol. "Star player my ass." He mutters under his breath, clearly unimpressed.
âHey, donât blame him. Iâm sure it was an accident.â You give Seungcheol a little smile and an âokayâ sign to tell him everything was fine.Â
âI canât believe you like that dumbass, he canât string two sentences together when heâs in front of you.â Seungkwan helps you up, handing you Stuartâs head. You dust off the dirt on your costume.Â
What was there not to like about Choi Seungcheol? He was popular, athletic, smart and talented in everything. Not to mention he was the literal definition of eye candy. There hadnât been many occasions where you two had met. Heâd always stutter helplessly or his cheeks would resemble a fire truck, which was very endearing. It was quite funny seeing him stumble over his words whenever he tried to ask you out.
âWhy donât you just ask him out? You already know he likes you, not that he makes it the most obvious thing in the world.âÂ
âBut isn't it just the cutest thing when he tries to ask me out but heâs a stuttering blushing mess?â You giggle when you catch sight of the pout Seungcheol has on his face. âI hope he asks me out soon though, I canât wait to finally go on a date with him.âÂ
The smile you shoot at Seungcheol has him tripping over his feet, face planting into the ground. Suppressing your laughter behind your hand, you watch as he hurriedly picks himself up, only to see his teammates rolling on the floor with amusement.
âHow long are you even willing to wait?â
âAs long as it takes.â
#choi seungcheol#seungcheol x reader#seungcheol fluff#scoups x reader#seventeen x reader#svt x reader#choi seungcheol x reader#seventeen imagines#seventeen fluff#seventeen scenarios#svt imagines#svt fluff#seungcheol imagines#scoups fluff#scoups imagines#scoups x you#seventeen scoups#seventeen#seungcheol scenarios
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Completely Yours â Miguel OâHara
pairing: Miguel OâHara x f!reader
warnings: non, itâs a good old fashioned hurt/comfort fic đ
an: I had a lot of fun writing this, thereâs nothing more comforting than a story where your love being in danger makes you realize youâre in love. anyway I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think âš
masterlist
ââ-
âUgh, Miguel, youâre brooding too loudly over there.â You groan, pausing the video playing on your tablet and looking at the tall man pacing on his platform.
Itâs easy for anyone who knows you to hear the lack of annoyance in your tone, and rather the concern laced within each syllable. As far as friendships go, the one you have with Miguel is the most meaningful one youâve had with anyone. Thereâs a sense of home and protection that falls between both of you whenever youâre together, at least on your side of things. You know thereâs nothing he wouldnât do for you, and the same applies to you; he might be taller, stronger, and smarter but youâd protect him with your bare hands if necessary. The fact that you have a ridiculous and hopeless crush on him doesnât help.
Setting the tablet down, you stand up and shoot a web towards the freakishly ominous platform before hauling yourself upwards. âDid they cancel your telenovela, hot stuff?â
Miguelâs back is turned to you, and he glances at you over his shoulder when you make your way towards him. âItâs more complicated than that.â He sighs and steps aside, gesturing towards the big screen in front of him.
âNo internet connection up here.â You say solemnly; from where you stand you can tell the blinking letters on the screen are an error message âa failed code, but youâre not about to tell Miguel that. It would undermine his surprise when you whip out some smart rhetoric in a moment of need. âTragic.â
âNo, smartass, Iâm trying to improve our algorithm, but I canât figure it out how to do it yet.â Miguelâs eyes scan the screen, his hands placed on his hips and his weight settled on his right leg. You shift your eyes from his back to the error message and smile.
âCan I try?â You ask, concealing the mischief that possesses your body at the idea of getting under Miguelâs skin. âMaybe I can fix it.â
The fact that your grump of a friend steps aside to let you take a look at the code speaks on his stress. Heâs tired, you can tell, the shadow under his eyes is darker today; he most likely didnât sleep trying to get this to work. You shouldnât make fun of it, you know that, and making a joke is not going to help fix this. But you also need you friend to relax before he gets a neck spasm. Miguel is grumpier than usual when his neck hurts.
You step close to the screen and analyze the code, itâs impossible to know whatâs wrong at a glance âthis isnât your forteâ but you pretend to. Biting your tongue to keep from laughing you tilt your head and hum. âI see whatâs wrong.â
âWhat?â The sliver of hope in Miguelâs voice tempts you to abort mission and leave him alone. But who would you be if you didnât annoy him?
âThere is not a single legible word in this mess, babe.â You shake your head and place your hands on your hips as he always does. âNo wonder your computerâs struggling, this is gibberish.â
âI thought youââ Miguel groans and covers his face with his hands staring up at the ceiling. âPor que yo? Por que yo? Por que yo?â
Naturally you start laughing, arms around you stomach when it begins to hurt. âHonestly, itâs on you. Crazy that you didnât see it coming, baby.â The endearment falls easily off your tongue, all of them do, you gave up hiding how smitten you are a long time ago. Itâs not like Miguel is ever going to act on it or make things weird. No matter how much it hurts you on the inside, this is a one-sided thing youâve gotten used to.
Miguel turns to look at you, clear annoyance in the pinch of his eyebrows before it lessens when you smile at him. He sighs in defeat, shaking his head at you. âWhy do I even let you come here?â
âOh, come on.â You smile stepping closer to the edge of the platform and shooting a web at each opposing wall. âYou were so stressed; Iâm trying to get you to relax.â Making sure both webs are safely attached, you jump on the makeshift tightrope finding your balance at once.
Miguelâs amused, you can tell by the way his eyes seem to catch on your actions before he goes back to his computer. âThis isnât a game, the algorithmââ
âIs not as serious as you think either, try to relax. You should join my yoga class.â You shrug, jumping up and down on the rope before it snaps. Having seen it coming you shoot a web at the ceiling and catch yourself at the same time Miguelâs red webs pull you back to the platform and towards him.
âCuidado.â
His eyes lock on yours, vexed at first before the shift into something softer when your arms go around him. You press your cheek on his chest, trying to push your affection onto him, let him know how appreciated he is. You hope the nano-tech allows it. âSorry.â You mutter, voice muffled.
Miguelâs arms go around you and he holds you to him; you resist melting into his hold. âItâs okay, you were right.â
Those three words are enough to make you step back and look up at him, smirk on your face. âWhat was that?â
He chuckles under his breath and looks away. âThereâs no way Iâm repeating that.â
Youâre about to say something else when you hear someone call from the labâs floor âMIGUEL!!â
A chorus of voices follow the initial call, all coming from the labâs entrance, and youâre quick to jump down and greet the three teenagers that walk in. âCareful guys, heâs moody today.â You warn with a smile.
âSame as always then?â Gwen says before all four of you giggle.
âThisâll cheer you up!â Pavitr says, before messing with his watch and sending something Miguelâs way. âAnother mission complete.â
âSo you did your job.â Miguel says once the platformâs closer to the ground. âCongratulations, hereâs another one.â
Lyla pops up in front of Milesâ face and fixes her pink glasses. âNew anomaly on earth 55. Itâs a Vulture variant, Gwen takes point.â
âWhy is she always the leader?â Miles complains, gesturing towards Gwen.
But the teenager ignores him and nods once, a determined look on her face before Lyla blinks away. âLetâs go.â
âWait just one more thing.â Pavitr says, stopping Gwen and Miles on their tracks. âI have a question!â
âWeâre full of answers.â You shrug before Miguel can shut down the kid. âAsk away.â
âIs there a monarchy on earth 928? It seems too futuristic to have one. Please tell me they got rid of it.â
âOther than the one in here?â You ask, a smile on your face as mischief makes another grand appearance.
Miguel mutters your name in warning, almost as if thinking youâd reveal the details of Miguelâs earth to the young Spider-Man. It makes you throw your hands up in mock surrender. âWhat? There is a monarchy here! I mean after allâŠâ
Miguel turns to look at you, eyebrow raised and an unamused look on his face. The teenagers wait expectantly as well, until you open your mouth.
âYouâre the king of my heart.â
Everyone groans at your bad joke, and you throw your head back laughing. Resorting to humor to let out all the feelings you have for the one you love, pathetic but necessary. Miguel sighs and turns back to his computer, but youâre almost sure heâs holding back a smile.
âDonât you have work to do?â Miguel calls over his shoulder, arching a menacing eyebrow at the teenagers. Itâs enough to make them scramble out of his lab, pushing each other to get to the entrance faster.
âGet ready,â Miguel then tells you. His mask covers his face once more, and you mourn not seeing his handsome face anymore. âAnomaly on earth 7832, youâre coming with me.â
âYou got it baby.â You smile brightly, hopping onto the platform again and putting your mask back on.
âCome on.â Miguel huffs, but his tone is lighter than before. The hug helped, you smile in triumph though he canât see it.
---
âThe anomaly is a goblin variantâ Miguel explains once the two of you make it out of the portal. âWe need to take him away from this dimension.â
As you look at the buildings around you, shiny and modern, Miguel keeps briefing you on the matter at hand. The Goblin is going to Oscorp, thinking he can have his revenge on those who wronged him. However, this Oscorp hasnât wronged him, it might have before but the goblin from this dimension already took many lives years ago. Miguel needs your camouflage, as youâre the only Spider-Man with this power other than Miles âthough youâd rather have his venom powers instead, theyâre so much cooler.
âI need you to trail him.â Miguel turns to look at you and places a hand on your shoulder. âLyla will track him for you, and I wonât be far behind. Just stop him before he gets there and⊠be careful.â The last two words are said with emphasis, and it makes you smile. He worries so much; it gives away just how much his heart feels.
âCarefulâs my middle name, handsome.â You blow him a kiss before you swing yourself off the building.
âOh really, most of your records might disagree.â Miguel tells you on your watch and you can hear that cocky smile on his face.
âI hope you caught my kiss.â You ignore his jab, smiling under your mask as you swing yourself upwards and let go, doing a flip mid-air and shooting another web. âLyla, am I close to our guy yet?â
âClosing in.â Her voice comes from your watch. âThree blocks.â
âBetter turn invisible.â Miguelâs voice follows, itâs more agitated that before which you know means heâs trailing after you. Though youâre not nervous, a sense of relief washes over you at the knowledge that heâs close. âAnd no more talking, this is a stealth operation.â
âSure thing, baby cakes.â You agree, âCatch you in a bit.â You make sure youâre camouflaged one block before you intercept the anomaly, staying silent, and focused on the mission. That is, until you pass a lilac and orange storefront. âOh that milkshake place closed last year! Can we go back, later. Please.â
Your voice is merely a gasp, but Miguelâs chastises you. âY/Nâ
âIâm gonna take it as a yes.â You shrug before going silent once more.
You spot the Goblin when you turn the corner of the last block. Heâs green and wears a yellow hood on his head, his glider looks a lot like wings with green lights on the bottom. The anomaly is heading for a window, to break into the building mode likely but your donât let him.
Shooting a new web and launching yourself upwards, you kick his glider to destabilize him and miss his shot. Heâs definitely confused at what happened and even more so when you shoot two webs at his feet and pull. âIâve engaged the anomaly, where are you?â You ask Miguel, showing yourself to your opponent so he can follow you to the rooftop.
The Goblin is faster than you, especially with his high-tech glider âyouâve never seen one so advancedâ and he snatches you from the edge of the building then proceeds to throw you on the rooftopâs floor.
âHow rude.â You shake your head at him, camouflaging again and slipping underneath the floating board heâs perched on. You shoot your webs at the blue ventilation system, knowing it will overheat it until it explodes before a series of red ropes latch onto the equipment and pull it away from the Goblinâs feet.
You roll to your right to avoid his body falling on top of you, at the same time an explosion goes off in your vicinity. Miguel stands there, as the gliderâs smoke clears behind him, head cocked to the side. âIâm here.â He states when you stop camouflaging.
âYou know, you really have to work on your one liners.â You shake your head. âMiss me? Wouldâve been a much cooler thing to say.â
Neither of you can do anything else as suddenly six explosives are thrown both your ways. In a second, you shoot your webs are them, pulsing the shooter three times to change the webâs pattern and create a net-like trap you throw to your left. âExcuse me, we were having a moment here?â
The empty parking lot on the neighboring building shudders at the explosion and thatâs when the Goblin attacks.
You try to put up a fight, and so does Miguel but the Goblin stronger than you. Though you manage to get some good punches in, his are stronger and knock the air out of you. Heâs fast, too fast for one person to catch up with him, and even with you and Miguel running yourselves ragged, itâs hard to keep up. His bombs run out eventually âyou kept throwing them to the empty parking lot, which worsened his moodâ and you can focus on keeping Goblin still. The issue is, that no matter how many webs you shoot at his limbs, he snaps them easily before going back to exchanging punches with Miguel.
You try to pin his arms one more time, but he sends you backwards with a kick to your stomach.
You scream one of Miguelâs most common expletives, frustrated with yet another failed plan. âOkay. Babe, I have an idea, but you gotta help me out.â You tell Miguel, voice breathless, as he struggles with the anomaly.
âTell me.â He grunts, trying to keep Goblin from escaping the rooftop, if he reaches the door and gets inside there would be too many people to look after.
âI hold him still and you bite him; I think itâs the only way to cage him.â
When you see Miguel nod, you get to work. You begin by shooting webs to the side of the buildings, much like you did back at Miguelâs lab, before attaching them to the Goblinâs body. His arms and legs are next, which you manage to hold down by circling him until theyâre tight enough that he canât move. Miguel uses his red webs to hold him too, and the front of his mask disappears showing his teeth as he approaches the anomaly. But the Goblinâs stronger than anything youâve fought before and in mere seconds snaps one web, then another, until suddenly and with an ear piercing scream heâs free and sending a well-placed blow to your chest that leaves you breathless.
Youâre out of webs thanks to your plan as he stands before you âto finish the job youâre sureâ but itâs hard to focus on anything other than your shortness of breath. Miguelâs voice is muffled when it reaches you as he tackles the Goblin, grabbing at his neck with his claws. You take the opportunity to take off your mask, gasping for air and trying to get your rising panic in check. It barely lasts though, because the anomaly gets away, slipping through Miguelâs clutches, and going back to you. His green claw snatches you from the floor, making you grunt in pain as he jumps to the other building. Next thing you know, the Goblin lets go of you between the two buildings and your stomach drops. You activate your web-shooters in the hopes that even the smallest bit of web can help you but it isnât your lucky day. Your body is in free-fall and the wind mutes the words coming out of Miguelâs mouth.
All you manage to hear is his scream, a desperate sound, followed by him diving to rescue you without hesitation. You can sense how his mind goes over the million ways he can grab and not injure you. Not even his bright-red webs can help you, heâd snap your back in two or detach a limb. But he will help you, youâre sure of that. You see him get momentum from the building in front of you before he dives in your direction, arms tight to his sides to gain speed. Once youâre within reach, his arms go around you, enveloping you completely before he turns around so his body receives the impact as you crash through a glass window on the opposite building.
âGo get him.â You groan, body limp on top of his.
Your lack of comment on your position is enough to worry Miguel. He was expecting something that would make him roll his eyes and hold back a smile as he always does when heâs with you. If you wanted some alone time, you couldâve asked, big guy. Woah, take me out to dinner first, handsome. He can hear it so clearly in his mind that your silence at present causes a wave of anxiety to rise in his sternum.
âYouâre hurt.â Miguel states, voice strained as he lies you down gently on the floor.
âIâve seen worse.â You shake your head. âGo find him, Iâll catch up.â Itâs a blatant lie, and you know Miguel can tell. He can see youâre barely awake, how youâve turned a shade closer to grey, how clammy your forehead looks and a quick glance at your abdomen confirms his first guess. He thinks at once, internal bleeding.
He talks to Lyla through his watch but you canât make out a single world after the systemâs name because youâre trying really hard to concentrate on breathing. Since when do you have to think about breathing? Youâre suddenly bathed in tangerine light as a portal opens behind Miguel, and though heâs still in a hurry to get you back to the Society, he takes his time as he picks you up.
The movement is gentle but you still whine in pain, a string of curses flying past your lips. âHow do I say motherfucker in Spanish?â You ask Miguel as your eyes fall closed.
âItâll be over soon. Just look at me, okay?â His voice is tight yet calm despite the disastrous turn the missionâs taken. âDonât close your eyes, you have to stay awake.â
You open them weakly âitâs so hard to stay awake all of a suddenâ and look at his illuminated profile. His chiseled jaw, beautiful but so tense youâre sure heâll crack a tooth. Youâre in pain, slowly feeling like youâre fading away into nothing, but you canât bear to see Miguel so stressed.
âHey,â You whisper, and he looks down, his expression softening. âItâs Guasha right?â
âWhat?â Miguel looks so confused youâd laugh if it didnât hurt to breathe.
âThe secret to your cheekbones, babe.â You mumble.
Miguel squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, not annoyed but something else you canât figure out. âAs if Iâd tell you.â He tells you, rolling his eyes at you in that fond way of his.
He steps through the portal and a moment later youâre back at the society, spidermen walking left and right to their own dimensions and missions. Miguelâs quick to bring you to the med-bay, at least thatâs where you assume you are until you pass out.
It turns out, you were put under so the Spider-Medics could operate on you. Everythingâs fine, they reassure you when you wake with a start, a couple of needles pricking your skin. Your eyes search for a familiar tall figure, brooding, handsome, the light of your eyes, but you canât find it. So, you let the doctors run their tests and give you their diagnostics without another word. It takes a whole day for you body to heal and feel better, all while waiting for Miguel to show up.
He doesnât. Not once.
Once youâre dispatched with an all clear and a lollypop, you immediately open a portal back home. Thereâs no use going to see Miguel at his lab. If he doesnât want to see you, thatâs fine. You get it, you ruined his mission and heâs gorgeously pacing in front of his many computer screens. But thereâs also the gentle way heâd spoken to you, the look heâd given you before you passed out⊠No, itâs just childish wistful thinking. Youâre the last person he'd like to see at the moment. Youâre sure of that.
When you get home, youâre quick to turn on the radio and sync it to the police channel. Maybe chasing some bad guys will clear your head, take your mind away from the heartache threatening to consume you âitâs even worse than your previously broken ribs. But you shower and change back into your suit and no such luck; not even a small robbery to stop. With nothing else to do, you go up the fire escape and to the rooftop just in time to see the sun set in the horizon. It bathes your New York in orange; itâs not nearly as modern as Miguelâs but itâs loud and fun regardless.
âOne would think that after that fall, youâd avoid heights for a while.â Miguelâs voice comes from somewhere behind you but it doesnât startle you.
âOccupational hazard.â Is all you say, staring ahead as your heart aches in more ways than one; for your own feelings and his likely regret of bringing you along to Earth 7832. âIâm sorry.â
âWhy are you sorry?â
You refuse to look at him, guilt eating you up from the inside out. âMiguel, I ruined your mission.â
âYou didnât.â Miguel sighs. âWhy would you think that?â
You huff, then look down at your hands and twist your gloved fingers. âI know youâre mad, donât lie to me.â
You hear him approach you, his footfalls getting closer before he places something next to you. You look to your right and see it, the lilac paper cup with the orange logo and white straw. What? You take it in your hand and examine it in the sun. âIs this?â
âThey closed a year ago, right?â
You turn then, and the sight of Miguel standing there increases your yearning tenfold. Heâs bathed in orange light from the sunset, it casts sharp shadows on one side of his face as the wind tousles some rogue strands of his hair. It should be illegal really, to be so beautiful you bring people to tears.
The worst thing is that heâs not mad, you can tell by the way his jaw isnât tense like a day ago. His brows are relaxed, and his eyes scan your face as if drinking you in. It makes your eyes tear up, much to his shock. If heâs not been angry at you, then he didnât go to see you because he doesnât care. You thought you were good friends, despite him trying to conceal it; heâs let you hang out with him all the time, never once has kicked you out of his lab, has taken you with him to multiple missions. YetâŠ
âYou left.â You murmur tearily.
Miguel sighs and sits next to you, his back to the sun and his hands falling between his legs. His shoulder hunch, as he shakes his head. âDo you know how close you were toâŠâ
âThey said everything was fine.â
âYou almost died.â Miguelâs voice isnât loud but the pain with which he murmurs those three words make you grimace.
âOh.â
Miguel shakes his head. âI was scared to lose you.â His right hand reaches for yours and you take it, moving the milkshake to your other side to scoot closer to him. âI might be strong, but not when it comes to seeing you in pain.â
âAnd after that?â You turn to face him, big fat tears fall down your cheeks, and Miguel wipes them away, setting your skin on fire and comforting you at the same time. âYou still didnât come. I thought weââ
âI was thinking.â He tells you softly, a hushed confession.
âOf course you were.â Even though youâre confused by his words, a grin makes its way to your face. Heâs ridiculous. âAbout what? the multiverse perishing âcause of the bad guy we let escape?â
Miguel shakes his head before holding your chin between his thumb and index finger âThe fact I was so overtaken by fear when you got hurt I could barely think; that I canât live without you; that Iâm completely yours without even knowing when it happened.â
âYouâre mine?â You question, eyes widening in surprise, heartbeat raising at the same time as your hopes with his words. âYou meanââ
âThat I love you?â He chuckles at your expression, his eyes looking at yours fondly; âAccording to Lyla, everyone knows I do but you. I thought the milkshake would give it away.â
âMiguel, I thought I was the obvious one. Iâm always ââ
âYou were, baby, you wereâ Miguelâs hand slowly moves to your cheek, eclipsing it in size as your body lights up at the endearment. âI was hesitant but Iâm not anymore.â
âSo you got me a milkshake.â You smile, widely this time as you move even closer to him. Damn this man and his acts of service love language.
âI would get you whatever you want, you know that.â Miguelâs voice drops to a whisper at your proximity, his hold on your cheek pulling you closer to his face.
âAnd you looove me.â You tease him, brushing your nose tenderly against his; thereâs nothing youâve wanted more than to shower him with all the affection you have for him. It turns out you have a chance to do it after all.
He rolls his eyes with nothing but adoration, and love. âNever stood a chance.â
âWish it didnât take falling to my death to tell me, hot stuff.â You murmur, brushing your lips against his, drunk with your feelings and the idea of loving him freely, no jokes needed. âYouâre the one that bites out of both of us.â
Miguel chuckles and you lean close, closing the gap between you and kissing his lips like youâve dreamed of for a long while. Your hands move to his hair as you pull him closer and a noise gets caught in the back of Miguelâs throat. His own hand on your cheek tilts your face to the side before his tongue brushes your bottom lip to open you up to him. Thereâs no testing the waters, no hesitation. No, this is something youâve clearly wanted for a long time and after the events from yesterdayâs mission thereâs no way youâre delaying this anymore. You sigh into his mouth, intoxicated in the best way from the taste of him, coffee and something sweet that makes you gravitate even closer to him.
Youâre left dizzy and happy beyond words when you part, your lips chasing his for a moment before you press your forehead against Miguelâs.
âHermosa,â Miguel murmurs. You can feel his eyes on you as he ghosts his lips across your chin, your cheek and jaw, as your mouth shifts to a grin. No one but you knows your moody vampire is so loving.
You move to sit on his lap, your side to his front, smiling widely at the content look you find on his face when you look up. Completely unguarded, for you.
âOkay moment of truth.â You announce, reaching over and taking the paper up in your hands. Your hands cover your face as soon as you take a sip, the creamy chocolate taste coating your mouth and releasing endorphins to your system.
âWhat?â Miguel asks, his protective mode rising to the surface for a moment before you smile. It makes him shake his head.
âOhmygod, I missed this so much!â You cry out, taking another sip and sighing in content. âMight have to pop by and get another one every now and then.â
âIf thereâs another mission there maybe,â Miguel concedes, arms going around your waist to pull closer. âMaybe.â
âYou did it though.â You remind him, cheek resting on his chest, making your words come out muffled.
âIâm in charge,â He shrugs, self-assured smile clear in his tone.
âYouâre no fun.â You sink against his chest, breathing him in and taking in his warmth. Until a memory flashes in your mind, making you light up and look at him again. âWAIT. Was that a joke earlier?â
â-
*por que yo? (why me?)
*hermosa (beautiful)
*cuidado (careful)
#miguel oâhara fic#miguel oâhara#miguel oâhara fanfiction#miguel oâhara x fem!reader#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel spiderverse#miguel oâhara fluff#miguel oâhara x you#miguel ohara#miguel oâhara angst#miguel oâhara across the spider verse
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somewhere in northern italy | đđșđđ đđđđđđđđ.
synopsis. park sunghoon hates oranges, he always has. the tangy citrusy tingles he's so not fond of it. he also hates you, the living embodiment of an orange: cheery, full of life, and well, round. why should he be bothered by it though? all he has to do is work hard to get into his dream university. but the thing is, he really needs a specific recommendation letter for it. something which he can only get from your father. and hypothetically speaking, he can't just ask for it, so he does you 'a favor for a favor'; he fake dates you on your trip home for summer break and surprise surprise your family owns the biggest orange farm in the country.
or where, sunghoon falls for the one thing he has hated all his life.
word count. 1.6k (teaser) full fic: est 10k-15k? maybe more?
meet the cast. park sunghoon who has an obsession of taking photos with fem!reader who loves being photographed.
genre. fake dating AUUUU!!!! ANDDD enemies to lovers!!!(for hoon), frenemies to lovers(for you), fluff, crackkkk, nsfw, suggestive, sunghoon getting cockblocked all the damn time, set in lombardy, northern italy. popular x unpopular but it's mildly mentioned. sunghoon thinks you are a spoiled brat, a very very studious and upright sunghoon. oh and did you know? orange, orange and orange (sunghoons nightmare) rich girlie and old money reader, sunghoon is gobsmacked at reader's house, parents..(do i really need to add?) and the orange farm.
warnings. allusions as to reader being daddy's princess and being sheltered and hoon struggling every day with oranges and painting a good image of himself to get that letter. nsfw warnings will be added in the full fic. (also no it's not a chubby reader)
RELEASE DATE. TBD
written so far. 15%
author's noteïč â. ïč had this random ass idea while having orange juice yesterday ksjksj. taglist is open for this as well as the permanent one, just let me know and i'll add you asap! not sure if this' good enough kindly bear with me. PLS DONT LET THIS FLOP I REALLY LOVE THIS BABY àČ„â âżâ àČ„
ê°â N O W P L A Y I N G. â ê± cruel summer by taylor swift, one kiss by calvin harris & dua lipa, karma by taylor swift, me by taylor swift, call it what you want by taylor swift, blinding lights by the weekend, fireworks by katy perry
"you wanna go down to the lake?" sunghoon looks up to find you at the door, more like peeping in from outside. his hands stopping mid-air with his spongebob boxers in hand, in the middle of unpacking what was left of his luggage. he moves at the speed of light, shoving them back in before you can notice the print. but too late you already saw it well, "you wear spongebob?" your laugh tickles his insides and it feels weird how he seems to like it.
no, he did not want to go out right now. after that stressful breakfast in the garden he just wants to fall face first into your fluffy mattress and sleep it out under your silk comforter. but something about your laugh makes him intrigued, would going down to the lake with you show him more of this side of yours? now this would probably be the seventh time he has wondered of how prettily you laugh. the curve of your eyes and the faint dimples on your cheeks his favourite things. oh? he picked favourites already it's weird, he thinks.
"yeah, let's go. just lemme change my shirt real quick," disappearing into the bathroom before you have the chance to speak. though when he steps back into the room,"your taste is funny," his spongebob boxers hang at the tip of your index finger as you look closely at the design. "put that back!" he scolds, choking on his spit while he rushing over.
"why? don't tell me you haven't washed it? now that's really bad hoonie," the tone of your voice teases his nerves but honestly he's used to it, more precisely he doesn't hate it as much as he thought he did.
"y/n," he warns, albeit not seriously and you can see it.
"baby," in a sweet little smile, (one that has sunghoon's hate for you faltering in the slightest each time you put it on) you correct him,"remember?" my fake boyfriend, mouthing out through a sly grin.
it's like an immediate que for him to give it up, he's not gonna win against you. when he used to see you around the university, mingling amidst a crowd of people every single time, he always thought you'd hold nothing against him. in his eyes you were a hollow image, nothing worth it. perhaps he was wrong, for so far you have him tight in a grip, he can't seem to find something to properly hate. that is if he takes the oranges out the picture.
he sighs in resignation,"come on, let's go, baby." happy? his brows rising in a question, softening up at your smile getting wider with a swift nod.
he relaxed too soon.
"was this really necessary?" the palm of his hand slides around your wrist as you walk down the steps of your italian chateau. supporting your heel clad feet and gesturing at the big beige floppy beach hat sitting atop your head. "absolutely! it's my fa- dad!" sunghoon's head snaps at that, immediately turning to look at the pitch of your voice going higher. the real deal, your father still seated in the garden with a newspaper in his hands and dear lord, a glass of orange juice.
it's embarrassing to be seen with you like that, he was gonna say. but oh well, nevermind.
"i see you have your favorite hat on, going somewhere with sunghoon?" your dad asks smiling warmly at your pair. it makes sunghoon scared, aren't dads supposed to hate boyfriends? is he being bamboozled by your family? will he be preyed upon later when you are not there to see? as if it was possible, your entire family though really welcoming of him are a bunch of weirdos, who the fuck let's their precious daughter share her room with her boyfriend they've met for the first time?
when he agreed to fake date you he didn't know he'd have to put on such a detailed act. there's literally no restrictions for you in the house. you do whatever you want, when ever you want. and that includes taking him everywhere you go, because apparently your parents know him as the boyfriend who loves you so much that he can't let you be alone at any time. shouldn't that be a red flag though? he can't with this anymore, just over a day in and he's convinced he can't make it make sense anymore, it's a white towel, he can only go with the flow.
"yes he really wanted to go down to the lake," what me? when? sunghoon's eyes wander in a panic while you smile as if you weren't just lying through your teeth. smile sunghoon smile, just fucking smile, he reminds himself wondering if he should maybe say something, maybe not?,"didn't you, baby?" the little nudge of your elbow against him tells him that he should, oh god its difficult to learn when to do what.
"yeah the weather seems really good," he says, a slight tremor in his voice, internally facepalming himself. he has one job, and he's failing even that.
"hm, true," the acknowledgement from your father helps calm his nerves a bit but it runs on high again at his next words,"be back before lunch though, your brother and sister in law will be home soon. it's been so long since we last ate together," you have a brother? why wasn't he informed about this? is the universe playing a game with him? as if your parents weren't enough, now he has to impress more people. he can do this, for the sake of his recommendation letter he has to do it.
"yes dad! love you," sunghoon waits like a lone statue as you leave his side to press a kiss to your father's cheek. grabbing him by the arm and dragging him away the moment he opens his mouth to bid your father. at this rate you'll ruin it for him before he can ruin it himself. "slowdown, fluffy. i'll fall at this speed," he tries but it's to no avail, he should have known by now, no one can control you.
the walk down to the lake is quieter than he expected, no bickering or fighting. you show him around the small streets and shops on the way, telling him little stories back from your childhood. sometimes stopping at a spot,"so pretty, can you take a picture of me here?" and it's already the fourth time. he doesn't mind though, on the contrary he finds himself enjoying it. it's not everyday he gets to roam around the streets of italy with the perfect weather.
it doesn't take long for you both to reach the deck on the far left. following your lead, he sits down on the edge beside you, legs hanging low over the cold water and your shoes placed on one side. you sit close, arms brushing each other, little finger atop one another. your hair flowing with the wind swipes against his face when you turn the other way, a subtle hint of sweet (you guessed it) orange tingling his smell buds. instead of grimacing his life off, he leans closer for another whiff of it. "sunghoon!" retracting immediately when you turn back to him.
"hm?" a feeling so out of this world, a haze lost in his mind. your words sound blurry and your extravagant hat looks so pretty on you. he almost feels like he has to capture this. "i asked how you like it? weren't you listening? what're you thinking?" and he does, taking out his phone and clicking a candid. he can't believe he now has a photo of you in his gallery that he's taken on his own accord. he's been doing many weird things lately,"it's really pretty," so so many weird things.
"hey fluffy i've been wondering about something," he speaks again, looking away to try to ignore tiny little fluttering butterflies in his stomach.
"what is it?"
"haven't you ever dated before, why do your parents seem so excited to see you have a boyfriend?" there he asked it, the biggest mystery he can't stop thinking about from the moment he set foot in your palace of a house. if it's your first then maybe that would somewhat explain their behaviour, not that it would become normal altogether, just kind of justifiable that he won't be put on the rack. that he's truly welcomed and he's safe.
"not really, no one ever met my standards," your answer throws him off. what?
"does that mean i do?" he tests the water, cautious above all yet his tone still comes off as one of tease.
"yes, except one," he eyes turn to you at that, pupils dilated with curiosity for the one thing stopping him from the title of 'perfect for you' as your parents claimed. meeting his eyes in a lock of contact, you give him a small smile. hands moving over to his white button up, fingers tracing his collar and undone buttons watching his adam's apple bob in a hard gulp as his brown orbs follow your movements, sweat building up at the close proximity when you both lock eyes again,"you don't really like me," sunghoon immediately looks away, a stab of reality, he was actually anticipating something he could change. really park sunghoon? remember you don't like her?
"am i wrong?" you laugh leaning forward to have a look at his face.
"i never said that," sunghoon clears his throat, turning back, suddenly gaining a surge of confidence. park sunghoon what???
TAGLIST ( open. ) @s00buwu @luvyev @deobitifull @nottkwiwin @enhyven @crysieberry @eneiyri @sovlidago @fertiliezedtoesw @laylasmother @pockyyasii @ladyartemesia @kaispulshies @nctislifue @capri-cuntz @sweetjaemss @parksunghoonsgf @ariadores @asteria-wood @laurradoesloveu @en-dream @304files
#SO EXCITED BUT NERVOUS TO SHARE THIS KSJSKH#enhypen imagines#enhypen smut#enhypen oneshots#enhypen fluff#enhypen sunghoon imagines#sunghoon smut#enhypen headcanons#enhypen reactions#enhypen drabbles#enhypen hyung line#enhypen heeseung imagines#enhypen jake imagines#enhypen jay imagines
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david & angel headcanons đșđŒ
"oh angel.. my angel..."
david and angel are always touching each other's hands. especially angel who uses them to fidget when they're struggling to focus
angel doesn't usually call david "david" unless they're angry
david doesn't call angel by their name either
angel loves playing with david's hair
their song is perfect by ed sheeran (duhh)
angel likes to straddle david, like sitting on his hips with their hands on his chest and david likes it too
angel stands on their tippie toes to kiss david on the forehead and david thinks itâs endearing as shit
david loves resting his head on angel's chest almost as much as he loves their head on his
angel is the second oldest of five siblings and they all love david
angel's parents love david even more. they gave him the paternal relationship that he's been missing since his dad died even though he can't really tell them everything about him
angel used to have an eat1ng dis0rder. they are recovered but they sometimes still struggle with eating. david is always there to help him (rubbing their back, feeding them, encouraging them, distracting them etc.)
angel paints their nails often and david always picks the colour. he's very particular about it as well, making sure they don't use the same colour as last time and that the colour compliments their skin tone
they cut each other's hair at home
angel gets the biggest smile on their face whenever david introduces them as his mate
they are both ticklish so they chase each other around the house tickling each other (david uses it to get angel out of bed, angel uses it because they think they're hilarious)
angel is hands down the funniest person david knows
david never sleeps well if angel is away from home. if they haven't called him before bed, he doesn't sleep at all
angel is highkey obsessed with david. they always look for him in a crowd, they're always texting him, always talking or thinking about him
angel sing-songs "daveyyyy" whenever he's working or cooking and they're coming to bother him
david is lowkey obsessed with angel. he's also always talking to or about them, thinking about them, and spinning his wedding band around his finger when he misses them
whenever angel needs reassurance, david would always give it to them with the softest voice ever heard from him
david's love language is gift giving (and physical touch) and angel expects a new trinket or something from him at least three times a month
angel's love language is physical touch (and words of affirmation) and they just always know when he needs a pick-me-up cuddle or pep talk
angel writes david mini-love letters every few days and slip them in his jacket pocket
david introduced angel to his dad's grave after their one year anniversary. they both cried a lot
angel is such a crybaby when it comes to david being nice to them
when they argue, it's used to always be about david being unnecessarily rude and angel being invasive
now, they can argue about literally anything if they're heated enough
angel starts acting like david when they're fighting or just angry in general and two davids having an argument doesn't usually end well
their arguments end up as screaming matches more often than not but they don't really say things they don't mean anymore
they make up as soon as there's the slightest silence
"what are we arguing about again?" "i don't remember. want ice cream?"
the serious arguments aren't usually screaming battles, they do generally speak to each other calmly and respectfully when they're genuinely concerned about an issue
they have never slept separately (one in the bed, one on the couch) even when they're angry at each other
they don't go to sleep angry (at each other or otherwise)
angel got david flowers first in the relationship (they get each other flowers but david does it more)
angel has every single flower david has gotten them dried in a several scrapbooks
angel used to be simultaneously worried about being too much to handle and not enough for anyone in their life. the feeling eventually faded because they see the way david looked and continues to look at them
david thrives off of knowing how flustered he makes angel with no effort (he looks into their eyes for a second too long and their face flushes/they smile nervously and turn away)
angel does like working out with david a lot of the time though they have a lower endurance than david does so he helps them through their sets (david is their number one supporter)
david can tell when angel is in a bad mood within seconds, he can just feel it
during the solstice is one of the rare moments where angel will cook for david (they just spend the whole day taking care of him and cuddling him)
david covers angelâs face for them when they yawn in public. he also does it when they make questionable faces or if they start crying around other people, heâll cover their face for them. (he does it so often that angel doesnât think to do those things on their own anymore when davidâs not around)
david never hesitates to pull angel closer whenever they flinch even a little
david always needing to slap angelâs ass before either of them leave to go anywhere (he slaps it hella hard if theyâre caught off guard and taps it if theyâre just moving to another room)
angel acts overly sweet and cringy to david on purpose in public to embarrass/annoy him (david does it to them in private so they feel how embarrassing it is)Â
-angel holds and tugs onto davidâs sleeves absentmindedly a lot (not for his attention most of the time just because theyâre comfortable)Â
whenever david says something âgirlyâ or âonline terminologyâ, angel always says âsomeone cooked here đ€šâ. (it was them, they cooked here)
angel shaves david's face for him when they have a little extra time in the morning
david shaves whatever part of angel's body they usually shave as well
they love waking up at the same time in the morning because getting ready together is the best part of their day
they love showering together, not even sexually they just like being close to each other at all times
david often says "love you too" without the "i" just to piss angel off
david squeezes angel's cheeks all the time
angel thinks a jealous david is the funniest thing in the world because he's literally just sulking in a corner
david thinks a jealous angel is sexy because he thinks they're hot when they're mad
angel gets more jealous than david but only slightly. they know their man is hot and they see the looks his gets
they have resorted to straight up making out with him in public just to stake their claim. david is a freak and enjoys it
david sees angel talking to someone that's not him and he starts pouting (glaring). angel teases him about it all the time and he just grumbles into their neck
angel used to be a (contemporary) dancer and they do dramatically exaggerative revamps of their old routines in front of david to be funny (he laughs every time)
angel flexes being a shaw all the time, david flexes just being married
whenever angel is unable to play their favourite games for whatever reason, david will play it for them
they both spend an egregious amount of money on each other (especially with their wedding gifts to each other)
david never lets angel pay for anything if it's not a gift for him (angel hasn't touched a bill in five years)
angel gives their little siblings a lot of money all the time and when asked why, they say "i have a husband, i don't need it"
#redacted audio#redacted asmr#redactedverse#redacted david#redacted angel#redacted headcanons#redacted fluff#i got word count blocked again đ#gavin and freelancer headcanons are next!#kae's headcanons
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icantbelieveiletyougetaway.
joost klein x f! reader
tags: dead dove do not eat, f! reader, non-famous! reader, reader really needs to see a therapist, established friendship, theyâre so in love with each other it hurts but canât admit it, joost just wants to be her everything, angst, hurt, comfort, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.
word count: 4,156.
warnings: very brief allusion to drugging, heavy and frequent references to SA, violence, vague mentions of non-specific mental illness, rpf.
notes: in my head this takes place in 2021-2022 when joost had that really short, almost buzzcut like hair? like the wachtmuziek era. also, very sorry this is late!! itâs still only been half-proofread and iâm not even sure i like how i wrote the ending but here she is anyway. i love her and i hope you do too đ.
ââ ââ
â° â
â ââ
with shaking hands, you fumbled around the bathroom floor to find your phone. your chest was heaving, the cries that you struggled to keep quiet were getting all caught up in your throat as you fought meekly through the nausea. you wiped at your face again, desperate to clear your vision and leaving behind a mixture of tears, snot, and smeared mascara on the back of your hand.
the room itself was dark, barely lit up by a singular dim, yellow light, though despite the shadows you could still see how everything was spinning. you couldnât remember how many drinks youâd had â it hadnât felt like a lot, you werenât a lightweight by any means but you didnât know how else to explain the state you were in. you couldnât stand up even if you wanted to, your legs strangely numb to the touch and the pounding in your head made staying on the floor all the more appealing anyway.
face down on the grimey, tiled floor you found your phone laying just underneath the sink. you ignored the low battery warning as you swiped through your contacts, squinting through your tears at the screen as if it would actually help you see any better. you were only looking out for one name; the third out of the four that were listed under the letter âJâ, and the only name to have an emoji next to it.
over the sound of the heavy, techno bass that seemed to shake the walls and the buzz of a hundred different people all talking amongst each other, you heard the line start to dial. it didnât make sense to call him out of everyone else that could possibly help you; he was infamously known for never picking up the phone. it was ironic for someone so notoriously attached to their screens, his face typically glued to either his phone or his ipad.
but still, you hadnât so much as thought twice about it as you clicked on his contact and then the call button. With your head tilted back against the wall and your knees curled up tightly against your chest, you prayed to any god listening that by some miracle, he wouldnât be busy.
âhallo?â
you let out a whimper at the mere sound of his voice, a small, pathetic noise that quickly turned into a cry that you didnât bother to stifle. he called out your name for a second time, though now in a tone that was much softer than the one before it.
âiâm sorry, i know itâs late.â you paused to take a breath, your voice having cracked like glass as you spoke. âbut i need your help. i donâtâŠjoost, i donât know what to do.â
âitâs okay, just take a big breath for me.â for just a moment you heard shuffling around on the other end of the line. with each of his footsteps the background noise grew quieter until it disappeared completely, following the sound of a door being shut. âwhere are you?â
âiâm atâŠiâm at this house but i uh, i really donât wanna be here anymore. do you think you couldâŠcan you just come get me, please? iâm sorry.â
over the sound of a drum and bass beat that played so obnoxiously loud, you struggled to catch all the whispers from joostâs side of the phone call. there was another voice there, that much you could hear, and you struggled to place it despite how familiar it sounded. you tried to concentrate on the faint muttering, straining your ears to hear it over the song that blared just below you.
but then you jumped when the banging started. a sudden flurry of fists pounding against the wood and making the bathroom door rattle within its hinges. from the deep laughs that followed, chances were it was just a group of guys trying to be funny, probably thinking it was one of their friends getting lucky on the other side. and yet still, you found yourself gasping for breath as you choked back fresh tears, all the blood that ran through your veins turning cold.
âschatje? did you hear me?â
you could only hum back in response.
âi said i need you to send me your location, okay? and then iâll come get you, i promise.â
it was the moment you figured out how to do so that your phone finally gave up on you. after hitting send, the little map displaying your whereabouts popping up in yours and joostâs text chain, your screen began to freeze. in a moment of panic you managed to choke out that you were locked away in a bathroom before it all went black, leaving you to stare at the taunting dead battery symbol.
you werenât oblivious to the irony of it all. in a house crammed full of people, perhaps even a few too many than it was built to hold, you felt alone. just a few minutes ago that was all you wanted, to be by yourself, but now it left you with a ringing in your ears. the absence of joostâs voice was enough to throw you inside what felt like a black hole, where time seemed to slow the longer you waited for him.
you found a brief comfort in watching the time pass on the old, analog clock that hung high on the wall opposite you; you figured it was a better thing to focus on besides the sharp ache between your legs. it helped keep you distracted from the way everything just hurt now, whatever it was that was in your system already starting to wear off. without it numbing you to the pain of it all, you could feel the headache brewing behind your eyes and the sting of your split lip.
with each minute that dragged by, the slow, high-pitched tick of the clock echoing inside your ears, your mind began to slip further and further away. every time that you closed your eyes you could see it happening all over again; you could feel his hands back on you, ripping at your clothes and bruising your skin.
all the tears that you had only just managed to blink away came rushing back, continuing to decorate your face with more long, dark streaks of black. surely, this was going to be the thing to finally break you. there would never be any redemption or recovery for you â heâd get to live the rest of his life without burden whilst this was bound to be the death of you.
the more you unravelled, the more erratic your cries grew with hiccups racking your body and a deep burning in your eyes. for once you found yourself grateful for the musicâs mind-numbing volume, though somehow it still wasnât enough to mask the sound of a soft tapping against the bathroom door. like a coward you froze, failing to answer back before you heard your own name being yelled out to you, followed by a harsher knock.
âhey itâs me, itâs joost. can you open the door please?â
as you steadily climbed to your feet, using the edge of the sink to help push you up, your knees began to shake. they threatened to buckle out from under you with every step that you took, each limp towards the door sending a short stabbing pain up to your abdomen. the sensation made you wince, your jaw clenched and a grip on the door handle so strong that it turned your knuckles white.
it was almost sardonic how despite being in a house so loud, everything went quiet as soon as that door swung open. the music never stopped nor did anyone dare to change its volume, but all joost could hear was his own heartbeat thumping in his ears as his eyes met yours. all he could do was swallow, pushing down the bile that was quickly rising up his throat.
even in the low, warm light of the bathroom, he could see the streaked mascara that painted your face and the bloodied lip that was still trickling down your chin. your favourite shirt, the one that he himself had bought you, was torn and just about hanging off your shoulders. it exposed a trail of black and blue spots that started along your shoulder and went all the way down your arms, a couple even dotted down your legs.
joost uttered your name, his voice barely audible over the music downstairs. the corners of your frown twitched, your bottom lip quivering as you shook your head, already answering the question he hadnât even asked yet. from where you stood he could see you shaking, your knees weak and barely holding you up right. he didnât hesitate to pull you into him, an arm locking around your waist as his hand found the back of your head, keeping you hidden in his chest.
âjesus christ, what happened to you?â
you couldnât speak, couldnât find the right words to even try and explain what it was you had gone through. you could only weep into the fabric of joostâs jacket, so exhausted and overwhelmed that you didnât have the strength to hold yourself together in front of him. but it was more than enough of an answer for joost who just held you tighter the harder you cried, fighting back tears of his own.
pulling away as gently as he could, joost still kept you in his grasp. his hands cupped either side of your jaw, calloused thumbs wiping away stray-fallen tears as his eyes danced over your face. with a gaze so intense, you could see his eyes growing sadder the longer he looked you over in the dull light of the bathroom.
âi left stunts outside â heâs still in the car. we couldâŠwe should go to the hospital.â
âno!â your own dramatic change in tone caught even you off guard. you couldnât help it, you were panicking now, pulling joost back by his sleeve as he tried to guide you out of the bathroom. the action made you wobble and almost trip over your own feet, flinching at the sudden cramp you felt deep in your stomach. joostâs grip on you hardened, not nearly enough to hurt but enough to keep you from falling back and hitting your head on the sink. ânot tonight. please, i just wanna go home. iâll be fine.â
âyou can barely fucking stand, schatje. you need help.â
âthen i promise iâll go in the morning! but right now i just really need you to take me home, okay? iâm begging you.â
perhaps if joost had a little bit more of a backbone and wasnât so hopelessly head over fucking heels for you, he wouldâve had the courage to say no. he would have been able to look you in the eye and still say that he was going to get you to a doctor, whether you wanted to go or not. but no matter how much he wanted to, how much he hated what you were asking of him, he couldnât. feeling you trembling in his hands and hearing the fear that shook your voice meant there was longer a single thing that joost wouldnât do for you.
you were his best friend just as much as he was yours, regardless of all the very non-platonic things the two of you had done together over the years. as far as you were concerned it was just something that youâd do sometimes, only ever as friends. there were never any conversations about it the next morning, never any acknowledgment for what it was you had done the night before; it was almost like it never happened until it would undoubtedly happen again. you always liked it like that though â as long as it meant that you never had to think about how you really felt.
joost, on the other hand, was painfully aware of what he felt about your situation, about you. it was never just sex for him, not even once, and he wanted to talk about it. and he tried to, a couple of times, spending the first few mornings after trying to coax you back into bed just so he could hold you skin-to-skin for a little while longer. but you never wanted to stay and you never wanted to talk about it, either, so joost stopped. he let it become another pain he had to live with and spent each day telling himself that he was okay with that.
it was with only a slight hesitation that he nodded before standing back up straight, slipping his big black jacket off his arms and draping the material gently over your shoulders.
you let joost take on most of your weight as you leaned into his side, letting him guide you back through the house as you focused on just trying to make it down the stairs without tripping. to say that the place was packed was an understatement. people were crammed into every room like sardines, dancing and grinding against each other with stiff, swinging jaws. you hadnât even heard what it was that had been said over the music, its volume still just as loud and disorienting as it had been when you first arrived.
but joost had heard every word, somehow, despite the sound of his own song polluting the room. it made him freeze on the spot, pulling you to a stop right along with him as he slowly turned to face the group of guys that were standing just in front of the front door. you felt your throat start to close at the sight of him amongst them, standing front and centre with a sick grin plastered across his face, his eyes darting between you and joost.
âwhat did you just say?â
it might have been the gruff, nauseating voice that you recognised, or maybe it was those ring-heavy hands of his that you could still feel pressed into your skin. you didnât know, and it didnât matter, because you knew it was him.
âi said good luck with that one, dude. she doesnât go down easy; kept trying to fight me the whole time.â his stare then fell from joost onto you, his tongue gliding over his bottom lip as he looked you up and down. âbut we still had our fun though, didnât we schat?â
the crack of joostâs knuckles colliding with his jaw was something you heard before you saw it; the thud of him hitting the ground following soon after. a chorus of screams and cheers rang painfully in your ears as you watched a small circle quickly form around you. anyone that could still see straight had either ran from the fight or pushed forward to get a better view of it, their phones held high and already recording.
âbet that made you feel like a man, huh? forcing yourself on a girl half your size. you piece of fucking shit, i should fucking kill you!â
in all the years youâd known him, you had never seen joost like that before; his voice low and angry as his shouts drowned out the music. he hadnât waited for him to get back up before throwing another punch, the sharp crunch of his noise breaking making you wince and your eyes water.
you went to step forward, your hands already reaching out to grab joostâs arm when one of his friends pounced. a shriek was ripped out from you when a fist struck joost right across the cheek, knocking him into you hard enough to almost send you both tumbling to the floor. any chance for you to try and intervene again vanished when you were pushed back before you could get close enough, joost quickly shoving you behind him as he swung for the other guy.
a strong pair of arms wrapped your middle and pulled you further back as you cried for them all to stop, keeping you locked against their chest no matter how hard you thrashed. distance was put between you and the fight when you were picked up and half-dragged out the door, joostâs blond hair disappearing from sight amongst the growing crowd around him.
the bitter air of the early morning stole your breath, your chest tight and aching as the cold consumed you. small flakes of snow drifted down from the paleing sky, dusting each rooftop and the old, cracked pavements in a thin layer of white. still, there were a handful of people gathered on the houseâs front stairs, clad in various leather and latex, that only stood and watched as you were hauled away from the party.
âget the fuck off me! weâve gotta go back, we canât just leave him! stuntje, please!â
your feet only met the floor again once you were next to stuntâs car, safely across the street. even from there, you could hear the childish chanting of âfight! fight! fight!â and the occasional glass break from inside.
âmartijn -â
â- stay here; iâm gonna go get him.â
you werenât allowed to argue, so you just did what you were told. for four minutes you sat waiting in the back of the car with the heaters on full blast and still shivering as you nestled yourself deeper into joostâs jacket. after another minute you saw them heading back your way, their pace fast as they slipped past the last few people that loitered on the steps. in the glow of the streetlights you could just about make out the soft shade of purple that was joostâs eye, and the deep scowl that contorted stuntjeâs face.
neither of them spoke as they joined you in the car but for joost, you never really gave him the chance to. his seatbelt hadnât even clicked into place yet before you were turning away from him, desperate to pretend that he wasnât there burning holes into the side of your head. if joost knew that you could see him staring from the corner of your eye, he didnât care. if anything, he probably wouldâve hoped that it might have made you look back at him, because then that at least wouldâve been something.
but seeing joost storm out of that house with a violet eye and raw knuckles, having just risked everything for you without a second thought, it scared you more than you wanted to admit. he was only supposed to come find you, and bring you back home. you never wanted a fight, never wanted joost to wind up with a black eye over you. so no, you couldnât look at him â couldnât even talk to him, either.
except your silent treatment didn't last very long, did it? it couldnât, because joost wasnât going to let you get away with it this time. for as long as he had known you, you always had this habit of internalising what you felt and shutting down. it never mattered what it was you were going through, you just wouldnât talk about it.
this time though, he wasnât going to let you disappear in on yourself again, and he wasnât going to let you shut him out, either.
as soon as the car came to a stop, joost was up and already outside your car door. with a sweet smile, gentle hands were pulling you up and slowly helping you onto your feet before you had the chance to protest. there was a part of you that wanted to, now too proud to admit that you still needed his help. already, he had done more than enough, even too much, for you.
still, you didnât dare to fight it â or him, rather. besides a small goodbye to stuntje, no words were spoken as he slipped an arm under your knees and pulled you up to his chest. it was like that, that he carried you up the three flights of stairs of your building, glancing down at you every so often with soft, worried eyes. it was miraculous how he managed to open your front door with you still in his arms, his very own key to your home dangling from the clip on his jeans.
it wasnât long before the soft leather of your sofa was dipping underneath your weight, its cushion beneath you feeling cold against the bruised flesh of your thigh. joost left you for only a second, just to switch on a couple of the lamps you had dotted around and to dig out your old first aid kit from the bathroom.
you still werenât really looking at him, not even as he perched on the edge of your coffee table and carefully took your jaw in his hold. the brush of the alcohol wipes along the small cuts that marked your face stung and made you wince, your nose scrunching up at the pain. a string of quiet apologies followed as joost concentrated on cleaning you up, wiping away each and every smear of blood and smudged makeup.
the longer that you sat there whilst joost devoted all of his time and energy to you, the more teary-eyed you felt yourself becoming again. it felt almostâŠforeign to feel so loved after everything, like you were still somehow worth saving. there was no way that you could possibly deserve it â nothing you couldâve done to deserve having someone adore you so unconditionally without earning it.
and yet here he was, your joost, doing anything and everything to try and help, and you couldnât even fucking look at him.
the only thing you could do was cry. the way you clutched your mouth did little to muffle the sounds of your distress and it drew back his attention after he turned away only to throw out all of the dirty, used wipes. it was the guilt that was doing this to you, the guilt of knowing that you were the reason why joost now had a black eye. that joost had risked his whole career by starting that fight, and you had been the one to punish him for it.
a warm hand squeezed your knee as another tucked fallen strands of hair behind your ear. it took a few tries of quietly calling out your name to finally get you to meet his eyes, but eventually you got there. nothing could have prepared you for just how sick he looked, the bags under his eyes seeming considerably darker than before and a deep frown tugging at the corners of his lips.
âiâm sorry i did this. i never shouldâve gone with him, i know i shouldnât have because i know that i know better but i still went and i shouldâve done something more, i couldâve hit him harder or yelled, and iâm sorry i called you because your eye, that was me, that was my fault and iâm sorry, iâm sorry, i -â
with your face pressed flat against his chest, his sudden embrace almost swallowing you whole, you couldnât find the rest of your slurred, blubbering words. somehow, at some point, joost manoeuvred you both onto the sofa and with his arms around you, kept you curled up against his side. a few fingers moved up the back of your neck to scratch your scalp as others held onto your hip.
it was the only thing he could think to do to shut you up, to calm you down enough to take big, slow breaths, in and out.
he didnât have it in him to let you finish that sentence.
delicate reassurances were mumbled into your hair, quiet âyouâre okayââs and faint âit wasnât your faultââs becoming mantras that helped soothe the pain in your chest. you wanted to believe him and knew that you didnât. you knew that as the deep baritone of his whispers slowly lulled you to sleep, youâd wake up with that pain still very much there.
but joost wasnât going to stop trying anytime soon, noor was he going anywhere. it was one of the few things youâd actually let him do for you, making himself a home on your sofa whenever you would have one of your episodes. heâd sleep there, eat there, work there. sometimes joost would spend entire weeks of his life in your living room just so that he could know for sure you were still alive and breathing.
he was the only thing offering you the slightest bit of comfort. you could feel his fingers running through your hair as you curled up even further into his side, his voice still low in your ear. it was becoming to struggle just to keep your eyes open, but you knew that he wouldnât mind.
you could fall asleep just to wake up with that same ache in your heart still there, but joost would still be there too. for now, that was all you needed.
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Write one where Paige & reader get into a heated argument lots of angst happy ending
From Ashes to Affection ; Paige Bueckers ïčâą
êŁà§ â summary | you and paige were known for your self-deprecating jokes towards one another, but after tension builds and threatens to boil over, will your relationship spoil or will you manage to save it?
wc ; 662
â warnings | swearing , arguments , lots of angst but w a happy ending (yay) massive tw : self deprecating joke about anxiety
my master list ăâĄ
a/n : ooof I feel like I havenât been writing as much angst lately so it was very fun to write ! enjoy âĄÌ
After a long week of final exams and nights filled with books sprawled across your desk, you took the opportunity to spend the eve of the incoming weekend with your girlfriend Paige.
Your differing schedules and commitments had left tension to build for weeks, simmering beneath the surface until it finally boiled over. It started with a harmless comment, a joke that was meant to be lighthearted, but it was taken the wrong way, triggering a chain reaction of hurtful words and unspoken frustrations.Â
Paige knew how much you struggled with your anxiety, it was something that had plagued you for a majority of your life. You two had always made self-deprecating jokes at one another, the atmosphere was light and loving, giving you hope that maybe you were moving past the rough patch of your relationship. All untilâŠ
âWell thank god having bad anxiety isn't an olympic sport because you'd definitely have a gold medal.â
You felt your heart sink, you felt tears threatening to spill out of your eyes, due to the shock at the words the blonde had just said.
"I can't believe you would say that, Paige," you said, your voice filled with hurt. "I thought you knew me better than that."
Paige's expression hardened, her own hurt turning into anger. "Maybe I don't know you as well as I thought," she retorted, her words cutting like a knife.
The argument escalated quickly, both of you saying things you didn't mean, words fueled by hurt and anger. Before you knew it, Paige was storming out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the shattered remains of your relationship.
You packed a bag, leaving your promise ring on the bedside of the blondes bedside table, and headed towards your best friends house in order to calm down.Â
Days turned into weeks, and despite your best efforts, the rift between you and Paige only seemed to grow wider. You missed her more than words could say, missed the way she would smile at you, the way she would hold you close when you needed comfort. But you couldn't bring yourself to reach out to her, to try and mend what was broken.
And then, one day, you received a letter from Paige. In it, she poured her heart out, apologizing for her part in the argument, for the hurtful things she had said. She admitted that she missed you, missed the way things used to be between you.
Torn between anger and longing, you found yourself faced with a choice. Could you find it in your heart to forgive Paige, to try and rebuild the trust that had been shattered? Or was it too late for the two of you, the damage done irreparable?
With a heavy heart, you penned a response to Paige, laying bare your own feelings and fears. You admitted that you missed her too, missed the way things used to be. But you also expressed your doubts, your fear that history would only repeat itself if you were to reconcile.
Weeks passed, and as the days turned into months, you found yourself thinking more and more about Paige, about the possibility of a future together. And then, one day, you received another letter from Paige, this time with a different tone, a tone of hope and determination.
"I understand if you can't forgive me, can't trust me again," Paige wrote. "But I want you to know that I'm willing to do whatever it takes to earn back your trust, to prove to you that I've changed. Please, Y/N, give me a chance to make things right between us."
Tears welled up in your eyes as you read Paige's words, words filled with sincerity and love. And in that moment, you knew that despite everything, you still loved her too. Taking a deep breath, you picked up your pen and began to write, ready to take the first step towards healing and forgiveness.
sorry for the short post my loves !! ive been super burnt out from writing and have been suffering from writers block so I hope y'all enjoyed this one <3 as always, thank u sm for reading !
#wlw#wlw imagine#wcbb#my hcs#paige bueckers#paige bueckers x reader#headcannons#wcbb x reader#uconn wbb#paige buckets#uconn vs iowa#angst#positive mental attitude#mental health#anxi4ty
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15 - Epistulae ad Lucilium
Aaron Hotchner x fem!professor!reader Genre: fluff... I think? Summary: Late at night, Aaron struggles to comfort his inconsolable son, Jack. Desperate, he turns to a book and a plush, gifts from you, which momentarily soothe Jack. However, work interrupts as another case calls him away, deepening the rift with his family. At the FBI, the team investigates a series of murders rooted in something up your alley. Warnings: DAD HOTCH DAD HOTCH DAD HOTCH, Haley being mad at him, CM case in detail. Word Count: 9.8k Dado's Corner: Not only did the brilliant mind of @c-losur3 inspired the "dad Hotch" part, but she also gave birth to Aaron "You sound exactly like her" Hotchner. Show her some love! This entire chapter is written from Aaron's POV. Fun fact: when he's with Jack, heâs simply Aaron. But the moment the phone rings, he shifts back into being Hotch. fun, right?
masterlist
It was late into the night, and the house was quiet... save for the soft hum of the baby monitor and Jackâs persistent cries echoing through the walls.
Aaron paced back and forth, cradling his crying son against his chest, his heart sinking a little more with each sob. He had tried everything - rocking Jack, singing lullabies in a low, soothing voice, even walking him in circles around the room. But nothing worked. Jack's cries, relentless and heartbreaking, filled the quiet house.
Jack was inconsolable.
Hotch was no stranger to pressure. He had faced down killers, stared into the eyes of danger, but this? This was different. This was Jack, and the stakes felt infinitely higher.
He had held off on trying this one last thing, but now, he had no choice. He paused, glancing at the small bookshelf in the corner of the room. Â There, among the rows of childrenâs books, sat one that he hadnât reached for yet tonight. His eyes settled on the small brown plushie sitting nearby that had arrived months ago in a giant cardboard box - your gift.
It had been an unexpected surprise, that day. A package too big for the porch had appeared, and if it hadnât been for the Croatian postage stamp, Hotch mightâve thought it was a mistake. But no, he knew it was from you. You had mentioned in one of your letters that you were off to Croatia for a teaching stint, and he'd expected maybe a postcard or a quick note, but instead, there was this - a large package filled with something quirky, something that was so... you.
When Haley had seen it sitting by the door, sheâd raised her eyebrows, eyeing the box with suspicion. âWhat on earth is that?â
Hotch had smiled faintly, already guessing. âItâs from her.â
Opening the package had been an experience in itself. Nestled inside was the plushie - a strange-looking creature Haley hadnât immediately recognized. Her brow had furrowed as she picked it up, holding it at arm's length. "Is this... a brown skunk?" she had asked, her tone teetering between amusement and confusion.
But Aaron had found it endearing, charming in that odd, thoughtful way. Attached to the plushie's tag was one of your signature sticky notes, written in your unmistakable blue ink. It read:
"Hi Jack, meet your new friend, the pine marten. I read that humans are the greatest threat to the European pine marten, hope you can prove them wrong. He's a cool guy! He is also the national animal of Croatia (a privilege reserved for a select few). P.S. Here's your first word in Croatian: Kuna. It means marten."
Aaron had smiled at the note, his heart warming as he imagined you carefully writing out those words, taking the time to craft something special for his son. The gift was thoughtful, filled with meaning, as all your gestures were.
But that wasnât all. Beneath the plush toy lay a small book, its cover adorned with a cartoonish pine marten embarking on what looked like an adventure. There was another sticky note stuck to the front:
"To Jack's parents: Hereâs a complimentary book with the pine martenâs adventures. Youâll find translations in English, but I encourage you to try reading it in Croatian. Aaron, if you ever actually attempt it, give me a call. Iâm always up for a comedy show."
Haley had chuckled at that, shaking her head. âI always wonder how she comes up with these ideasâŠâ
Aaron, flipping through the book, hadnât replied, too caught up in your careful handiwork. Each page was thoughtfully illustrated, with colorful hand-lettering in the margins. You had even drawn little pine martens on the sticky notes, making it seem as if they were the ones doing the translating. Youâd put so much thought into it that he could feel it in every page he turned.
And somehow, since the day Jack was born, that pine marten plushie had become his favorite - maybe he could feel the love and care that came with it, the way only children could.
Now, as he grabbed the toy and the book, a small glimmer of hope sparked in his chest. Jackâs cries had softened just a bit when he saw the plush marten.
Maybe this would work. It had to.
Aaron sat down in the creaking rocking chair, gently cradling Jack against his chest as he carefully opened the familiar book. The title, "Male Pustolovine Kune Borove", made him smirk as soon as he saw it, the memory of his first attempt at reading it aloud bringing an amused warmth to his chest. The way he had butchered the pronunciation was miserably laughable, even to him. He was certain you had picked it just for that reason, knowing full well heâd struggle, probably just to get a good laugh out of him.
And, knowing you, he was probably right.
"Alright, buddy," He murmured softly, his voice a low and soothing balm as he turned the first page. "Letâs see what Kuna is up to tonight."
Jackâs tiny fingers instinctively reached out for the plush pine marten, gripping it tightly as he nestled deeper into his fatherâs arms. The gentle rocking and familiar sound of Aaronâs voice seemed to finally calm the little boy, his sobs quieting, his body softening against Hotchâs steady frame. As he read, Aaronâs hand gently brushed through Jackâs soft hair, soothing him further with each tender stroke.
âYou know, buddy,â He murmured, more to himself than anyone, his heart swelling with affection, âthe person who gave you this book is very special to me, sheâs one of the most amazing people I know. Of course," he added with a soft chuckle, âyou come first. But sheâs right up there.â
Jack, too young to understand the words, let out a soft sigh, comforted by the warmth of his fatherâs embrace and the gentle rhythm of the story. As Aaron continued to read, his thoughts inevitably drifted back to you. They always did, especially in quiet moments like this. It felt natural, comforting even, to talk to Jack about you - someone who meant so much to him, yet had been far away for so long. Aaron had always wanted you to meet Jack, and speaking about you made it feel as if, somehow, it brought you closer to him, closer to them.
âDid you know,â he whispered in a conspiratorial tone, âsheâs accepted a teaching position in Quantico? She couldâve gone anywhere, but sheâs coming here. Closer to us. Youâll get to meet her soon.â
A small smile crept across his face as he thought about the letters youâd sent over the years. âDon't look at me like this, buddy, I liked getting her letters, even if she does like to make things difficult for me sometimes,â he said, glancing at the Croatian text in front of him with an amused sigh. âBut I don't think I'm going to miss them, not at all. Not when sheâll be close enough to just⊠be here. And trust me, Jack, youâre going to love her, just like I do.â
Jack stirred slightly, his little hands gripping the pine marten even tighter, as if he already knew who his father was talking about.
He chuckled softly, glancing down at the beloved plush toy in his sonâs arms. âYou know, youâre inseparable from that pine marten all because of her,â Aaron said, his voice filled with warmth. âAnd here I am, reading you this story in Croatian... because of her too.â
He paused for a moment, watching as Jackâs eyelids began to droop, his tiny body relaxed against him. He couldnât help the swell of love that filled him as he kissed his sonâs forehead, a small smile tugging at his lips.
âYouâll meet her soon, Jack,â He whispered, his voice soft and full of affection. âAnd when she holds you for the first time, I need you to do me a favor, alright buddy? You have to avenge me,â he said with a playful glint in his eye. âBecause sheâs never going to miss a chance to mess with me. So, when youâre in her arms, you give her a look - like this,â Aaron made his best serious âHotchâ face, one of his famous stoic expressions. âMake her think youâre onto her.â
Aaron chuckled softly, the sound barely above a whisper in the quiet nursery, but then he leaned in closer to Jack, his voice dropping to a playful, conspiratorial tone. âAnd listen, buddy,â he whispered, âif she ever starts saying words that sound like âHegelâ or âPlato,â you go ahead and start crying, just like you did earlier. Alright?â He smiled, brushing a gentle hand over Jackâs soft hair. âIn the Hotchner household, weâre lawyers, little man. We donât have time for all that abstract philosophy,â he teased, his grin widening. âYou just make it clear to her, no funny business, okay?â
Jack sighed contentedly in his arms, his tiny fingers clutching the pine marten as he drifted off to sleep. He kissed his forehead once more, the weight of the day finally beginning to melt away as he continued to read, the warmth of the moment enveloping them both.
Just then, Haley appeared in the doorway, her hair tousled from sleep and her eyes filled with frustration. "Aaron, is he still crying?" she asked, though her tone softened when she saw Aaron  sitting with Jack and the plush marten in his lap. "Are you reading him the brown skunk story again?" she asked, her voice a mix of exasperation and disbelief.
Aaron, too tired to defend himself, simply nodded. âItâs the only thing that works.â
Haley leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching them with a half-smile. âDoes it put Jack to sleep, or you, Aaron?â
Before he could respond, his phone buzzed on the side table. The noise cut through the soft moment like a knife, pulling him back into reality. He knew what it meant before he even looked at the screen.
Another case.
Haleyâs smile faded instantly, replaced by a familiar frustration that heâd seen in her eyes too many times before. She straightened up, her voice rising just a bit. âAre you serious? Itâs the middle of the night, Aaron. Youâve barely been home, and now youâre leaving again?â
Hotch rubbed his forehead, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He didnât want to go, not tonight. But he had no choice. âIâm sorry,â he said softly, already reaching for his phone. âItâs a new case.â
Haley let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head as she turned to leave the room. "Of course it is," she muttered, her words fading into the stillness as her footsteps echoed down the hall, each step a progressively quieter reminder of the growing distance between them.
Hotch's heart clenched, a sharp ache spreading through him as he stood frozen, watching her retreat.
The nursery felt unnaturally heavier now, the excessive silence thick and oppressive.
He looked down toward Jack, who was still nested peacefully in his arms, his tiny chest rising and falling in the soft, rhythmic cadence of sleep. The gentle glow of the nightlight bathed his sonâs face in warmth, casting a tender light over the innocence of his slumber.
The small pine marten, nestled against Jack's cheek, stared back at Hotch with its beady, lifeless eyes, but it seemed to carry a weight of its own, its presence a reminder of the thoughtfulness and care that had come with it, a symbol of the love that lingered even in absence. Jack's fingers clutched the toy tightly, as if it were the one constant in a world where his fatherâs presence was becoming less and less frequent.
Haley's words, bitter and sharp, lingered in the air like a distant storm, a shadow that refused to leave. And as Hotch stood there, caught between the quiet of his sonâs peaceful sleep and the echo of Haleyâs retreat, he couldnât help but feel the vastness of everything slipping through his fingers.
He wanted nothing more than to stay here, to hold his son and be present. But the buzzing of his phone on the side table pulled him back to reality. With a heavy sigh, he glanced down at the screen. His heart sank even further.
âHotchner,â he answered, his voice clipped with resignation.
As JJ's voice filled his ear with grim details of the new case, the weight of Haleyâs words pressed even harder against his chest. It was the same cycle, always the same. Each time he left, Jack would wake up alone, Haley would grow more distant, and the gap between his family and his job would widen. His guilt gnawed at him, a relentless ache that never truly subsided.
But he couldnât ignore the call.
He never could.
---
Hotch arrived at the FBI building late, his mind still replaying the scene at home, the way Haley had looked at him with a mix of frustration and defeat. The team was already gathered in the briefing room, the fluorescent lights too harsh for the late hour.
He still felt the pull from the nursery, the warmth of Jackâs small body against his chest. But now, here, the weight of duty replaced it. He had to push it aside, at least for now.
âWeâve got six confirmed victims so far,â JJ began, her voice level but laced with tension. âBut the local police didnât connect the dots until the sixth victim. The MO keeps changing with each murder, which is why it slipped through the cracks for so long.â
Hotchâs jaw tightened, his mind snapping to the present. âThe unsub might be experimenting. They could be evolving, trying to find their signature. OrâŠâ he paused, considering the alternative, âwe could be dealing with someone whoâs familiar with different methods, someone who knows how to disguise their work.â
Gideon crossed his arms, his expression unreadable but intense, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. âWhatâs the timeline?â
JJ scanned her notes, her brow furrowed. âThe first victim was found three months ago. Then the second and third within two weeks of each other. But the real concern is the escalation. Victims four through six were found in the past ten days.â
Hotch's mind raced through the details.
Three months.
Three months of missed opportunities. Every minute wasted in connecting the dots couldâve been a life saved. The guilt returned in a wave, a reminder of every moment he hadnât been there, both at work and at home. He shook the thought off, burying it as deep as he could for now.
He had to focus.
âThereâs no clear pattern in terms of location or victim profile,â JJ added, her voice quieter now.
âThat suggests escalation,â Morgan said, stepping forward and leaning against the desk, his arms folded across his chest. âThe unsubâs confidence is growing. Theyâre moving faster.â
Reid, who had been staring at the evidence board in silence, finally spoke up, his voice thoughtful and measured. âChanging MOs could mean weâre dealing with someone new to killing - experimenting with different methods. But,â he hesitated, âit could also mean thereâs a purpose behind each change. The way the kills are evolving might have a deeper meaning.â
Hotch took a breath, grounding himself in the task at hand. âGideon, Prentiss, Morgan,â he said, his voice taking on its usual command, though there was a subtle edge of weariness to it. âHead to the latest crime scene, we need fresh eyes on it. JJ, Reid, and I will meet with the local authorities and review their files. Reid, I want you to start working on the geographical profile, see if thereâs any consistency in the locations.â
The team moved with purpose, their steps quick and deliberate as they gathered their bags and made for the door. But Hotch lingered, just for a heartbeat longer, rooted in place as a familiar heaviness settled in his chest. The guilt wrapped itself around him like a tightening vine, threading through his thoughts with every passing second.
It wasnât just the weight of the case that pressed down on him - it was the aching truth that once again, he had chosen this, chosen the relentless pursuit of justice over the quiet, fleeting moments with his son.
He pushed the thought away as best as he could, but the ache remained, a constant reminder of everything he was losing while trying to save others.
---
There was nothing quite like the hollow hum of a six-hour flight to clear his mind, though the thoughts clung to him stubbornly at first, like shadows he couldn't shake.
As the plane crossed the first timezone, the weight of realization settled in: he would never be the husband Haley deserved, not in the way she needed.
By the time they passed the second timezone, another truth pressed against him like a bruise: he would never be the father he wished to be, not enough to erase the empty spaces he left behind.
But it was during the third stretch, as the world below darkened and the hum of the plane grew louder, that he understood the final piece of the puzzle. If he let these thoughts consume him, if he lingered too long in the ache of what he couldnât be, he would lose the only thing left to him: his ability to be good at this, at the one thing that demanded his whole being.
As the plane descended, Hotch leaned back in his seat, exhaling slowly. He couldnât afford to dwell on the cracks forming in his personal life, not now, not with a case like this waiting for him. The moment the wheels hit the tarmac, the emotional turbulence heâd been wrestling with needed to be packed away, stored in a corner of his mind that he could no longer afford to visit.
He was good at compartmentalizing, too good.
By the time he, JJ, and Reid stepped into the stifling heat of the local precinct, Hotch had already shifted fully into his role, his mind sharpening, refocusing on the case that had now become his only priority. The quiet turmoil of his personal life faded, replaced by the pressure of a killer they were struggling to catch.
The exhausted police chief approached them, his face haggard from sleepless nights and the mounting pressure of a case that had spiraled out of control. "Weâve been spinning our wheels on this one," the chief admitted, his voice weary.
He motioned to the evidence board, where the victims' photos were tacked haphazardly, a mess of lives lost without a clear thread linking them. âIt wasnât until the sixth victim that we started connecting the dots, and by then, we were already behind. These murders donât make sense together.â
Hotch approached the board, his eyes moving methodically from one image to the next. The crime scene photos were brutal: faces frozen in death, bodies contorted, each one telling a different story. He took a deep breath and gestured toward the chief. âWhat have you got so far?â
The chiefâs sigh was heavy. âEvery victim is different. Male, female, different ethnicities, different ages. The methods vary too: strangulation, stabbing, blunt force trauma. Itâs like weâre dealing with multiple killers, but we know thatâs not the case. Thereâs something linking them, but we canât find it.â
Reid was already pacing, his eyes flicking from the board to the map on the wall. His mind churned as he analyzed and reanalyzed the positions of the bodies and the evidence scattered before him. His hands traced invisible connections between the dots as he muttered to himself, sorting through the details that still felt elusive.
Hotch turned to Reid, his tone even but commanding. âReid, what are you thinking?â
Reid didnât tear his eyes from the board, his voice steady but quick as he processed the flood of information. âAt first glance, it seems chaotic. The changing MOs, the lack of a clear victim profile - it all suggests disorganization. ButâŠâ He paused, picking up the file of the third victim, and his brow furrowed. âThereâs hesitation here. The killer hesitated during the third murder. This wasnât just random. This murder feels⊠intentional. Like the unsub was evolving or refining something.â
JJ moved closer, her gaze scanning the file Reid held up. âIntentional how?â she asked, her voice edged with the need to understand.
Reid pointed to the victimâs wounds. âLook at the pattern of injuries. The cuts are precise, controlled. The unsub took their time with this one. This isnât just about killing, itâs about making a statement. Itâs as if thereâs a theme here.â
Hotch, his instincts alert, zeroed in on Reidâs theory. âA theme?â
Reid nodded, grabbing the other files and spreading them across the table like pieces of a fractured puzzle. âThe first victim,â Reid began, pointing to the photo of a middle-aged man found in an alley, his body aged prematurely, his face drained of life. âTime. He was killed slowly, methodically.â
Hotch continued, understanding that the young doctor was onto something, âHis watch was broken, and the time stopped at exactly midnight. He was forced to watch it happen, minute by minute. The unsub was playing with the concept of time, as if controlling it.â
Reid nodded and swiftly moved to the second victim, a young woman found posed in front of a mirror, her body displayed almost like a work of art. âThe second victim represents virtue. She was strangled, but the way she was posed afterward - like a Madonna figure - suggests the unsub was making a comment on purity or morality. The unsub didnât just kill her, they transformed her into a symbol.â
JJ glanced at the photo, her brows knitting together. âSo, the killerâs trying to send a message?â
Reidâs voice picked up momentum, his eyes gleaming as he continued to unravel the pattern. âExactly. The third victim, itâs the theme of friendship. He was stabbed multiple times, but the placement of the wounds shows care. Almost like the unsub was reluctant at first, then deliberately chose each strike. This murder represents betrayal, the wounds symbolizing a broken bond.â
Hotchâs gaze darkened as he took in the significance of each murder. âWhat about the fourth victim?â
Reid flipped through the files, landing on a young man found at a cemetery, his body arranged as if in sleep, with his hands folded over his chest like a corpse in a casket. âThe fourth victim represents death itself. He was already dressed in funeral attire when he was killed. The unsub buried him halfway in a grave that had already been dug, leaving him in a liminal state, neither fully alive nor fully dead.â
JJâs breath hitched slightly at the thought. âThe unsubâs not just killing. Theyâre staging these murders to symbolize something deeper.â
Hotchâs jaw clenched as he processed the unfolding realization. âAnd the fifth victim? Religion?â
Reid nodded, pulling up the photo of a woman found in a church, her body draped across the altar, surrounded by religious symbols. âShe was killed in the church, posed like a martyr. The unsubâs making a statement about faith, morality, and sacrifice. Itâs almost ritualistic.â
Hotchâs gaze sharpened. âAnd the sixth? Freedom?â
Reid picked up the most recent file, the image of a man found in a wide, open field, his body scattered with wounds, as if he had been tortured for hours. âHe was bound at first, kept restrained for days, but when he was finally killed, it was in an open field. The unsub let him go, only to take that freedom away in the end. Itâs the ultimate act of control - giving the victim a taste of freedom, then ripping it away.â
JJ stared at the crime scene photos, her expression shifting from confusion to horror. âSo, the unsub isnât just experimenting with methods. Theyâre following some kind of philosophical framework, each murder connected to a larger theme.â
The word âphilosophicalâ hit Hotch like a trigger, and instantly, his mind began to drift. It was as if that word had become synonymous with you.
He barely registered the rest of JJ's sentence because the moment she mentioned philosophy, his thoughts were no longer in the room.
They were with you.
Over the years, it had become an automatic reflex. Any time the conversation veered toward deep concepts, philosophical debates, or ancient texts, his mind would latch onto memories of your voice, your insights. You were the one who could crack these kinds of cases almost effortlessly. The way you connected with these abstract ideas, how you always found the hidden thread - he could practically hear your voice explaining it, guiding him.
He missed you in moments like this, missed working by your side.
The cases felt heavier without your presence.
Especially now, with you back in Quantico, just within reach but not close enough. It made his itch for your partnership even more acute, more frustrating. You were always the one who could decode the intricacies of a mind like this. He craved your insight, your steady presence, the way you challenged him and calmed him all at once.
He could almost picture you now, sitting at your desk, flipping through files with that slight furrow in your brow as you connected the dots others couldnât. This case felt like it was made for you, and the itch to call you, to have your insight cut through the confusion like a knife, gnawed at him.
It was more than just missing your professional brilliance, it was the familiar rhythm the two of you had shared, the way you could pick up on each otherâs unspoken thoughts with a glance. You had always been in sync, a partnership that felt more like second nature than work.
His gaze stayed fixed on the board, but his mind was far from the room. "Focus on the first victim," he said, his voice low but more urgent than before. "The first kill is usually the most significant. What can you tell us about the theme of time?"
Even as the words left his lips, the thought tugged at him - he needed to call you. You would see what they were missing. And, truthfully, he just wanted to hear your voice again.
But he couldn't.
Not yet.
You were likely teaching, and the last thing he wanted to do was disturb you in the middle of class. Even though it was morning in D.C. and he knew your lessons wouldnât start until the early afternoon, he could picture exactly what you were doing.
If he knew you well - and he did - youâd be hunched over your desk right now, a double espresso halfway emptied beside you, scribbling down notes for your upcoming lesson. Schemes, summaries, diagrams, anything that would help your students grasp the material. Every scribble was made with the same care and thought you always gave, just like the book you had gifted Jack.
He could see you clearly, writing as fast as you could, racing to keep up with the faster pace of your mind. On topics that especially interested you, your hand would move so quickly that the gel blue ink of your pen would smudge across the page. That was the only imperfection in your otherwise meticulous notes. But to him, even that smudge was a detail he cherished. It was another way you showed your heart and passion, pouring yourself into every word.
He couldn't interrupt that.
Not now. But the urge still lingered, and the longing to share this case with you, to hear your insight, gnawed at him with every passing second.
His attention snapped back to the present as Reidâs voice filled the room, his philosophical lecture flowing uninterrupted. Hotch hadnât even noticed that Prentiss, Morgan, and Gideon had returned from the crime scene, now quietly listening to Reidâs ideas.
âTime, philosophically speaking, is a concept that has been debated for centuries,â Reid began, his voice steady and thoughtful. âKant believed time was a construct of the mind, a way for humans to make sense of their experiences. Augustine argued that time is divided into past, present, and future, but none truly exist in the same moment-â
Before Reid could continue, Morgan cut in, shaking his head with a half-smile. âSlow down there, professor. Not all of us are ready for a PhD lecture on time.â
The brief moment of levity brought a faint smile to Hotchâs lips - barely there, just a twitch - but enough for Gideon to catch. It wasnât the first time Hotch had heard this kind of deep dive into philosophical musings, and the memory was enough to stir something inside him.
You, again.
He could almost hear your voice over Reidâs, see you pacing, effortlessly turning philosophical debates into a practical narrative. There had always been an energy between the two of you, a mental chess game where each new idea or concept clicked together in a way that made even the most abstract notions understandable,at least to those who could keep up.
Across the room, Gideon noticed the change in Hotch's expression, the subtle flicker of something unspoken. He raised an eyebrow knowingly, understanding exactly where Hotchâs thoughts had wandered. He had seen this look before way too often now.
Hotch quickly noticed Gideonâs silent observation, his smile fading as his face hardened back into its usual stoic mask. He stepped toward Reid, signaling him to wrap it up, the professionalism sliding effortlessly back into place. As he passed Reid, he muttered just low enough for him to hear, âYou sound just like her.â
Reid paused mid-thought, blinking in confusion. âHer who?â
Hotch didnât answer.
The room seemed to still for a moment, the tension subtly thickening as the rest of the team exchanged glances. It wasnât hard to guess who Hotch was referring to. Even though you were never part of the team, your presence lingered in moments like this, your intellect, your connection to him.
Everyone in the room knew it.
Before Reid could press the question any further, Hotchâs phone buzzed again, the sound cutting sharply through the quiet. The vibration echoed ominously against the table, pulling everyoneâs attention. Hotch glanced down at the screen, his expression immediately hardening as he read the message.
âAnother body,â he said, the grimness in his voice pulling the room back to the brutal reality of their work. His earlier thoughts of you were now pushed to the background, swallowed by the urgency of the case.
The unsub wasnât slowing down. If anything, the kills were escalating, the pace quickening, leaving them scrambling to piece together the next part of the puzzle. Hotch could feel the pressure mounting, time was slipping through their fingers, and they still hadnât cracked the philosophical code that would lead them to the killer.
But even as Hotch mentally prepared for the next step, a thought lingered at the edges of his mind: You would have seen it already. You would know what they were missing. It gnawed at him, the need to reach out, to hear your voice offering clarity. But there was no time for that now.
---
At the crime scene, something had shifted. This time, it wasnât just the brutality of the kill that had the team on edge, it was the new element, a disturbing and cryptic message left behind.
Beside the body, stark against the wet pavement, was a large "X," crudely drawn, yet deliberate in its placement. The symbol, bold and unmistakable, seemed to pulse with meaning, as if it were taunting them, daring the team to uncover its secret.
The victimâs body told a different story: this murder was tied to the theme of lust. Everything about the scene - the suggestive placement of the victim, the meticulous positioning of the clothes, and the intimate nature of the wounds - hinted at the unsub's twisted interpretation of lust. But it was the "X" that radiated significance, a signature of sorts, demanding their attention and indicating a deeper layer to the crime.
Back at the police station, the air buzzed with tension as the team tried to decipher the meaning behind the mysterious mark. Hotch stood silently at the head of the room, his mind swirling with the ideas being tossed around by the team.
Morgan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and scowled at the photo of the "X" on the evidence board. "What if this unsubâs just messing with us? Like on a treasure map. 'X marks the spot,' right? Could be their way of saying, 'Hey, look here, you're getting warmer.' Could be a taunt."
Reid, pacing near the board, rubbed his chin in thought. "Historically, an 'X' can represent a crossroads, a point of decision. In medieval times, it symbolized judgment - both in religion and law. It could indicate the unsub sees themselves as a judge, perhaps someone deciding the fate of their victims."
Prentiss chimed in, her voice thoughtful, eyes scanning the crime scene reports. "It might even be a form of signature. In some cases, killers leave marks, symbols to claim their work. Maybe it's less about us and more about the unsub marking their territory. This âXâ could be their way of saying, âThis is mine.â"
As the ideas bounced around the room, Hotch remained unnervingly still, his eyes locked on the photograph of the bold "X" scrawled beside the body. The image seemed to pulse with meaning, but the answer eluded him, hovering just beyond reach like a word on the tip of his tongue.
Each theory felt plausible but incomplete, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that didnât quite fit together. Hotchâs mind churned through the ideas, but something - something vital - was missing.
Gideon, who had been silently observing from the sidelines, finally stepped forward. He watched Hotch closely, noting the tension in his posture, the way his brow furrowed with concentration. Gideon knew Hotch well enough to see when he was wrestling with something more than just the case.
âYou should give her a call,â Gideon said quietly, his voice cutting through the murmur of ideas.
Hotch blinked, pulled from his thoughts by the unexpected suggestion. âWhy?â he asked, his tone guarded, though deep down, he knew exactly what Gideon was implying.
Gideonâs eyes held a knowing glint, his expression calm but certain. âSheâs already a step ahead of us, Aaron. You know how she is. She can see the bigger picture, the themes, the patterns that might be slipping through our fingers. These murders, this complexity... sheâll catch what weâre missing. She always does.â
Hotch hesitated, the weight of your name hanging between them. You were the first person who came to his mind - philosophy had always been your language, and you had a way of translating the abstract into something that made sense, even in the darkest of cases.
But calling you felt so complicated.
âSheâs got a lecture at the academy this morning,â Hotch said quietly, his gaze drifting away. âAnd even if she could help, it would take her hours to go through the files.â His voice softened, as if he were reasoning with himself as much as he was explaining to Gideon.
Gideon raised an eyebrow, his faint smile betraying how far ahead he had already planned. âThatâs why I had Garcia send her the files yesterday,â he said smoothly. âSheâs been going over them ever since Reid made the connection with the themes.â
He had anticipated this. Of course, he had.
Hotch straightened, the hesitation still tugging at him as he pulled out his phone. The urge to hear your voice, to let you guide them through the confusion, gnawed at him. He dialed your number, his thumb hovering over the call button for a second longer than necessary. The phone rang, and anticipation built with every ring until finally, you answered.
âI was waiting for your call, partner,â you said, your tone familiar and easy, as though no time had passed since you had last worked side by side. Your voice alone brought a sense of comfort, one that Hotch hadnât realized he needed in that moment.
Before Hotch could respond, he picked up on the faint sounds of a classroom in the background - soft murmurs, the scrape of chairs, and the faint shuffle of papers. Then your voice came through, a bit more formal than usual, though laced with the familiar hint of humor. âNow youâre on speaker. Everyone, this is SSA Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief of the BAU.â
Hotchâs smile faded slightly, the weight of the situation settling in. âItâs an active case,â he cautioned, his tone firm but gentle, a reminder of the need for discretion. âThe details are confidential.â
You laughed, the sound rich and unburdened by the darkness that often filled his days. âI know, I know. But Gideon told me I could bend the rules just this once, and you know that Iâm the first one who always wants to play by the book. But sometimes you have to bend the law, because ethics are more important⊠just donât write that down in your notes.â
Hotch shook his head, though the faint tug of amusement softened his otherwise stern expression. âIâll keep that in mind,â he murmured.
Then your tone shifted, growing more serious, more focused. âThat âXâ isnât just a letter. The way itâs drawn, the graphics - itâs too condensed. Itâs too deliberate to be a regular âX.â What if itâs not a letter at all? What if itâs the Roman numeral for ten?â
Reid, who had been silently pouring over the files, immediately perked up at your suggestion. His face lit up with recognition, as if a light had been switched on in his mind. âYes! Roman numerals, that makes perfect sense. But why ten? Whatâs the significance?â
Hotchâs mind whirled as he stared at the photograph again, the symbol suddenly taking on new meaning. âIn Roman numerals, ten doesnât just represent the number, it signifies sequence. It could mean âtenth,â like this is part of a larger series. The unsub could be following some kind of plan or pattern.â
Prentiss, still studying the details, looked up sharply. âWhat if this is the tenth victim? The police didnât connect the earlier cases until recently. There could be other victims we donât know about.â
Gideon nodded, his face unreadable but thoughtful. âThatâs possible. The pace of the killings has picked up recently, but that doesnât mean the earlier victims werenât just as important. We might be missing the full picture.â
Your voice cut through the air again, focused and clear. âIf that âXâ is the Roman numeral for ten, then Penelope should start pulling data from unsolved homicides in nearby areas, cases that might have slipped through the cracks. If there are other victims, theyâll be there.â
Hotch didnât hesitate as he patched the call through to Garcia, his fingers moving swiftly. The line clicked over, and Garciaâs familiar, playful voice came through with her usual flair. âSpank me, teacher. Iâve been a bad, bad girl.â
Laughter erupted in the background on your end - the unmistakable sound of your students, likely stunned at hearing such an exchange from an actual FBI technical analyst. Hotchâs face remained serious, though he could picture the small smile tugging at your lips. You were probably trying your best to let it slide, convincing your students that it never happened and brushing it off as a figment of their imagination.
Or so he thought.
You didnât let it slide, not at all.
You chuckled softly, your voice warm but teasing. âPenelope, I think we need to keep it professional this time. But if I werenât engaged, I might just ask you to show me your Python. What do you think? Was that good enough?â
Of course, once again, you proved him wrong.
The laughter from your classroom grew louder, borderline hysterical now, clearly not expecting such a quip from someone like you. Hotch, despite his best efforts, couldnât entirely suppress the smile tugging at his own lips. There was something about the way you matched Garciaâs banter, unexpected but effortlessly fitting. Still, the reality of the case loomed, pulling him back to focus.
âI knew it! Deep down, youâre a naughty girl just like me!â Garcia shot back, her voice full of mischief before quickly shifting gears. âAll right, all right. Letâs get serious. Letâs see what I can dig up.â
As Garciaâs voice faded and the team fell back into their analysis, Hotch leaned back slightly, his thoughts racing. Despite the levity, a sense of weight pressed down on him. The murders werenât just random - there was a deeper thread running through them, something that tied everything together, but it remained elusive.
âThereâs something weâre still missing,â Hotch muttered, half to himself but loud enough for the others to hear. âSomething that ties these murders together in a way we havenât seen yet.â
Your voice came through the speaker again, this time with an edge of intensity. âWhat if the X isnât marking the number of victims? What if itâs connected to something literary, related to the theme of that murder - lust?â
Reid, always quick to piece together intellectual puzzles, murmured, âIt could be connected to a text, a framework. The killings are following themes, and they might be related to a specific work of literature.â
You continued, your voice growing more thoughtful, âThe theme of lust makes me immediately think of Danteâs Inferno - the second circle of Hell, where the lustful are punished.â
Reidâs mind raced, picking up on your line of thought. âYes! In Danteâs Inferno, the lustful are driven by uncontrollable winds, symbolizing the way theyâre tossed by their desires. But⊠waitâŠâ He paused, pacing in front of the crime scene photos pinned to the wall. âIn the fifth canticle of The Divine Comedy, the second circle represents the punishment of lust. Multiply the fifth canticle by the second circle, and you get the number ten.â
Gideon's gaze intensified as he considered the details of the case. "This isn't just a random act. Itâs carefully and mathematically calculated," he observed, his tone thoughtful yet troubled. "But something still feels off. The message should be clearerâitâs already masked beneath a Roman numeral. It shouldnât involve any additional complexity like a multiplication."
Hotch's eyes brightened as the realization hit him, the missing piece finally clicking into place. âWhat if this isnât just about the sin of lust?â he said, his voice sharper now with clarity. âWhat if itâs about the negation of lust? Maybe the unsub isnât punishing the victims for acting on lust, but for failing to avoid it. Itâs not about the act itself, but about their choice not to resist. You live a life of indulgence, and you die for it. But the real question is - how could they have saved themselves? What did they fail to do?â
Suddenly, your voice broke through again, sharp and full of clarity. âLiving a life through reason: thatâs the real theme of the murder. Epistulae ad Lucilium. Seneca the Younger. In the 10th letter to Lucilium â he talked about the importance of living a life through the stoic ideals, the key is self-control, avoiding indulgences like lustâ
The room went silent for a moment as everyone absorbed what you had just said. Reidâs face lit up as he immediately followed your line of thinking. âExactly! In the 10th letter he mentioned âSed ut more meo cum aliquo munusculo epistulam mittam, verum est quod apud Athenodorum inveni: 'tunc scito esse te omnibus cupiditatibus solutum, cum eo perveneris ut nihil deum roges nisi quod rogare possis palam'.â
It felt like you could see the confused look on each agentsâ face, even if you were in Quantico: âThat translates to âBut as is my custom with sending a letter with some small gift, it is true what I found in Athenodes: 'then know that you are freed from all desires, and with it you will come to ask nothing of God except what you can openly ask.'â
You further explained the meaning âFor us mortals, it means that when you free yourself from wanting things for yourself, you reach a peaceful state. In this state, you will only ask for things that are good and honest, with nothing selfish or hidden behind your requests. To find inner peace by we need to let go of desires and living with clear intentions.â You paused âWow Spencer how did you know the entire passage in latin?â
Hotch unintentionally cut off Reidâs response - who had been beaming from your recognition, his boyish grin spreading across his face as he began, âEidetic memory, I read the entire book when I was only twe-.â But Hotch, ever focused, quickly steered the conversation back to the matter at hand. âAre you saying the unsub is following Stoic philosophy?â he asked, his tone sharp with urgency, seeking clarity in your analysis.
âYes,â you replied, your voice steady and thoughtful. âThe killings are modeled after the teachings in Epistulae ad Lucilium - also known as Letters from a Stoic.â Hotch swore he could hear the hint of a suppressed giggle on the other side of the phone, but you quickly returned to the matter at hand.
âThese letters werenât just philosophical musings; they were moral teachings. Seneca was writing to his student, Lucilium, urging him to live a life governed by reason, virtue, and restraint. Each letter deals with a specific theme - like friendship, time, death, religion, virtue, and freedom. Seneca believed that by controlling our desires and passions, we could free ourselves from the things that enslave us - namely, emotions like lust, greed, and fear. Sound familiar, Unit Chief?â
Before Hotch could respond to your unexpected jab, your tone shifted back to focus on the case. âIn these killings, the unsub is punishing people for failing to live up to Stoic ideals. The crime scenes arenât random at all: theyâre deliberate, calculated representations of the failures Seneca warned about. The victim of lust was killed because they lacked control over their desires, which is a fundamental tenet in Stoic philosophy. Itâs not the first letter Seneca wrote, and it certainly wonât be the last.â
Reid jumped in, clearly excited by your insight. âExactly! Each murder is a representation of one of Senecaâs letters. The victim of lust was killed because they didnât live a life of restraint, but the other murders also follow this pattern. Virtue, time, friendship, freedom, religion, death - they all correspond to themes Seneca explored in his letters. The unsub is picking people who fail to live up to these ideals and killing them as if itâs a lesson.â
Morgan, still crouched beside the latest crime scene photo, looked up, his expression darkening as he tried to connect the philosophical themes with the brutality of the murders. âSo we know why the unsub is killingâto punish people for failing these ancient ideals. But how does this help us catch them?â
You spoke again, the gears in your mind turning quickly. âThereâs something else you need to consider. If these murders are following Senecaâs teachings, then we know thereâs a deeper message behind each kill. Senecaâs letters were instructional, they were lessons written for his student, Lucilium. So if we think of these killings as lessons, then itâs possible the unsub isnât just acting alone. Theyâre teaching someone.â
JJ frowned as she processed your theory. âA message... to who? Whoâs the student in this scenario?â
Gideon, who had been silently contemplating the unfolding theory, stepped forward, his voice grave. âThe unsub is taking on the role of Seneca, but every Seneca has a Lucilium. Theyâre not just killing; theyâre teaching someone. These murders are lessons, each one showing their âstudentâ how to live, or rather, how not to live.â
Hotch, his mind racing with the implications, pieced it together quickly. âSo thereâs a âLuciliumâ out there, someone the unsub is guiding. Someone theyâre grooming, possibly teaching how to kill.â
Prentiss straightened, her face hardening as the realization sank in. âWhich means weâre not just dealing with one unsub. Thereâs a mentor and a student. Seneca is teaching Lucilium to follow this twisted moral code.â
Hotch stepped back from the evidence board, his brow furrowed as the weight of the case began to fully reveal itself. âWeâre looking at two unsubs. The one weâve been calling âSeneca,â whoâs leading these murders, and a second unsub, âLucilium,â who is learning from them. The second person is still in training, which means we have a chance to stop them before the lessons are complete.â
There was a heavy silence in the room as the team absorbed the gravity of the situation. The realization that they were up against not just a killer, but a teacher guiding an apprentice, added an entirely new layer of urgency to the case.
You broke the silence again, your voice more serious than before. âIf you find âLucilium,â youâll find Seneca. But there's more. In Epistulae ad Lucilium, Seneca also discusses two more themes that havenât yet appeared in the murders: slavery and the crowd. If the unsub is following the structure of Senecaâs letters, then we know what to expect next.â
Gideon, always focused on the broader picture, spoke with quiet authority. âIf Seneca is teaching Lucilium how to kill, it means Seneca has a criminal record. No one just starts teaching murder out of the blue. Garcia, start running a search for known offenders with a background in philosophy, particularly Roman and Stoic philosophy. Look for connections between any of these offenders and known students or proteges.â
Garciaâs voice crackled through the speaker, her usual lightheartedness replaced with focus. âAlready on it, boss. Cross-referencing every offender whoâs mentioned Seneca, Stoicism, or anything close. Iâll narrow it down as quickly as I can.â Â
---
Back in his office, Hotch sat slumped in his chair, exhaustion pulling at his every muscle. The scattered papers in front of him were neatly organized, but his mind was a tangled mess, caught in the lingering grip of the case.
This one weighed heavier than most, the usual closure that came with catching an unsub evading him. They had barely stopped him in time, so close to another life being stolen under the theme of slavery. The image of what could have been haunted him, the brutal calculation of the murders, the way each victim had been a lesson, twisted and final.
Hotch's weary eyes drifted toward the window, where the darkness of the night had now just settled in, casting heavy shadows across his office. The weight of the case pressed down on him - how close they'd come to failing, the lives that had hung in the balance. It wasnât just the exhaustion in his bones, but something deeper, a quiet, lingering ache that refused to let go.
The near miss with the last victim, the theme of slavery still fresh in his mind, gnawed at him in a way most cases didnât. Just as the silence became suffocating, a soft knock at the door broke through, pulling him from his spiraling thoughts. Without looking up, his voice low, he said, âCome in.â
He assumed it would be Gideon. They still had loose ends to discuss, details of the case to tie up before the night slipped any further away. He braced himself for another long conversation, expecting Gideonâs familiar, steady presence to fill the room.
The door creaked open, and someone stepped inside. Hotch didnât glance up at first, still scribbling notes on the corner of a file. But the sound that followed wasnât the shuffle of Gideonâs footsteps. Instead, there was a lightness, a familiar cadence, and Hotch frowned in confusion.
âJason?â he asked, looking up, only to freeze as his gaze met yours.
You stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. âYou really thought I was Gideon? Youâre slipping, partner.â
For a second, he was caught off guard. He offered you a soft smile, one that came more easily than expected. âI wasnât expecting you.â he said, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.
You sauntered in and sat down across from him, the easy confidence in your posture disarming him further. âWell, you should always expect the unexpected from me, right?â you teased, your smile growing.
Hotch chuckled softly, the sound surprising even himself. He hadnât realized how much he missed this, missed you. Heâd been so focused on the case, on the mission, that he hadnât let himself dwell on it. But now, sitting across from you, the memories of all those years working together rushed back, hitting him harder than he anticipated.
Hotchâs gaze softened, but there was a heaviness behind it. âYour help was crucial. We never wouldâve figured it out without you. The connections, the philosophy, it was all you.â
You waved him off, shaking your head as if brushing aside his praise. âReid deserves the real credit,â you insisted. âHeâs the one who picked up on the themes firsthand. I just... connected the dots. Besides, I was only on the phone. You and the team did the real work.â
But Hotch wasnât about to let you downplay your role. âYou did more than connect the dots,â he said firmly, his eyes holding yours. âYou always see things others donât.â
For a moment, your teasing demeanor faltered, replaced by something softer, more sincere. You held his gaze, and for the first time since youâd walked in, the banter between you faded into something deeper.
You broke the silence first, a small smile tugging at your lips. âCareful, partner. Compliments like that might go to my head.â The dynamic between you two had always been one of mutual respect, even if it was sometimes hidden behind teasing and banter. Now, after all these years, it felt even more significant.
His expression softened even more, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as well. It was in moments like this that he realized how much he missed you being a constant in his life. Even though you were closer now, taking a teaching position at Quantico, it wasnât the same. It wasnât enough. The case had stirred something in him, made him realize that the distance between you wasnât just physical.
âSo,â He asked after a moment, his curiosity piqued, âwhat brings you here? Shouldnât you be celebrating, considering we finally cracked the case?â
You raised your eyebrow, giving him a look as if the answer shouldâve been obvious. âIâm here for the paperwork, of course.â
He blinked, taken aback. âPaperwork? You helped us close the case; thereâs no need for you to be bogged down with reports. I wonât let you do that.â
You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you leaned forward. âOh no, partner. I deserve to fill out each one of those reports, especially since I mightâve bent a rule or two helping you out under the pretense of âteaching material.ââ You gave him a cheeky grin, but he could hear the seriousness beneath your words. You werenât just here to wrap things up, you wanted to take accountability.
âI already told you,â He said, his voice firm but warm. âItâs my team, my case, and Iâll take full responsibility. Iâm not going to let you do the paperwork for bending a few rules.â He was firm in his stance, not wanting to drag you into the mess of administrative fallout.
But of course you didnât back down. âArguing with me is a waste of time, partner. Let me do the paperwork. We both know if you let me handle it, youâll get out of here sooner.â
Before he could protest, you leaned in with a grin that hinted at something more. âAnd if you get out of here at a decent time, you, Haley, and Jack can come over for dinner. Peteâs been looking forward to meeting you two after all this time, and Iâve been dying to meet Jack.â
He froze for a moment, surprised by the invitation.
Dinner?
With you and Peter?
The thought had never crossed his mind, and yet, hearing you suggest it now sent a strange warmth through him. âDinner? You never mentioned this.â he echoed, his eyebrows raising in surprise.
You smirked, crossing your arms. âYes, Aaron. Dinner. Peteâs already planned it, and I figured using food was the best way to bribe you into giving me those reports.â
He chuckled, a warmth spreading through him at the thought of the invitation. âDinner, huh? Whatâs on the menu?â
You gave him a smug look. âA few Mediterranean recipes Iâve been perfecting. Trust me, youâll love it.â
He raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. âYouâre not going to poison me, are you?â
You laughed, shaking your head. âYouâll never know unless you hurry up and let me help with those files.â The tension between you broke, and he shook his head, smiling. But before he could respond, you added, âWant to bet I can finish the paperwork faster than you?â
He leaned forward, his voice playful now, catching onto the game. âAnd what happens if I win? Youâve never beaten me in a bet before.â
You leaned in just a little closer as well, close enough for him to catch the soft, fading notes of your rose perfume, lingering faintly after a long day. There was a glint of mischief in your eyes as you matched his tone, voice low and teasing. âYou tell me.â
Without missing a beat, Hotch's playful expression shifted, his eyes growing more serious, though there was a flicker of anticipation that softened the weight of what he was about to say. The words came out before he could second-guess himself, as if they'd been lying in wait, building with every shared glance, every passing moment between the two of you.
âIf I win,â he said, his voice steady but laced with something deeper, something vulnerable, âyou come back to the BAU. You work with me again, together.â
His heart thudded in his chest, each beat a reminder of the space you had left behind when you had gone, a void he had tried to fill but couldnât.
He hadn't expected the words to feel so heavy once they were out in the open, hadn't realized how much he wanted you back, not just for the casework, but for the way you steadied him, the way you saw through the layers he kept so tightly wrapped around himself.
He watched your grin slowly fade, your eyes searching his as if you were weighing everything, and for a moment, he wondered if he'd pushed too far, revealed too much. But then he remembered the years you had spent together, the unspoken trust, the way you could read him just as easily as he could read you.
The silence stretched between you, thick with shared history and unspoken feelings, until finally, you broke it.
 âWeâll see, Aaron,â you said quietly, your eyes holding his. âWeâll see.â
---
taglist: @beata1108 ; @cuddleprofiler ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @kyrathekiller ; @lorereid ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @prettybaby-reid
Dado's Corner pt.2: Here's a pic of Kuna the pine marten - aka Jack Hotchner's fav plush toy
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotch x reader#hotch x reader#hotch#criminal minds x reader#aaron hotchner#criminal minds
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When people say they struggle with keeping track of all the tone tags (the ones like /j or /gen), everyone who disregards that by responding "it's just memorizing some abbreviations/acronyms, it's not that hard, stop complaining" is ableist and a fucking hypocrite. If you're going to advocate for accessibility, advocate for accessibility for all of us.
You can't claim to be an ally to neurodivergent and disabled people and then shit on us for our symptoms. If you actually care about helping us, why aren't you listening when we say we struggle with something? It's never okay to tell disabled people they should be able to do something they can't, that it's not that hard, but it's especially not okay if you do so while pretending to support disabled people.
Also, in addition to the "it's not that hard" statement being ableist, it's utter bullshit. There are so many tone tags to keep track of and memorize. I did a quick google search and one of my top results had ninety one tone tags. That's a lot. That's probably a lot even for a neurotypical person, and I'm not a neurotypical person. I struggle to remember a lot of basic, necessary tasks, so I really can't memorize ninety one tone tags.
Especially when some of them are incredibly ambiguous- only one letter? Acronyms or abbreviations at least give you some clues, one letter tone tags are so incredibly confusing. Like, what does /t mean? There are a lot of words that start with T! (This is a rhetorical question. I know /t means "teasing," but I only know the answer because figuring that out was a memorably frustrating experience.)
And /t is just one example of a tone tag I learned because I kept seeing it in conversation and not understanding and being really confused and frustrated. I can't tell you the number of times I've been messaging someone on discord, and they say something with a tone tag I don't recognize, and I just open a new tab to google the meaning, which is where I find lists like the one above. I usually rely on google instead of asking the person what they meant, because I feel stupid and embarrassed for not knowing this code that everyone else seemingly gets.
Which is exactly how it feels when I don't understand someone's tone in real life! Confused and frustrated and ashamed. And tone tags were supposed to help neurodivergent and disabled people not feel that way, so I don't know how we reached a point where they cause those feelings in many of us.
I can't deny that tone tags are a useful accessibility tool for some. If you find them helpful, it's genuinely good that you have that resource. But they're not accessible for all of us. It's incorrect to act like tone tags are a perfect way to communicate, and it's ableist to disregard our struggles with them and tell us to just try harder.
Either listen to those of us who say they have trouble understanding tone tags, or stop pretending you actually give a shit about accessibility.
#this was meant to be just those first two paragraphs about ableism + hypocrisy but then i kept on rambling. i am incapable of shutting up#anyway. had some thoughts about the disk horse and then i had more thoughts and more thoughts and more thoughts#tone tags#tone indicators
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Lab Partners
(Image taken from Pinterest, I believe the artist is teletwobees) More Nerd!Miguel here
Also, plz feel free to ask me about college/nerd!miguel bc he is in my thoughts now
Regret, thatâs what youâre feeling as you bury your face in your arms, the lab table cool against your skin. You shouldâve brought a jacket, but you didnât have time, just raced out of your apartment to your car in leggings and a t-shirt with your letters printed across the back in purple and white bubble letters.
âY/N areâare you okay?â Miguelâs voice is soft, the sound of his chair scraping against the floor not as soft, your head aching, pain piercing through your brain at the noise.
Your stomach rumbles and a wave of fatigue washes over you as you lift your head to look at him. âGot dragged to the bar last night.â
Heâs wearing a soft looking, long sleeve dark blue shirt, the sleeves pushed up exposing his forearms, his glasses flecked with raindrops, his hair is tousled and slightly damp curling slightly at the ends.
âOn a Thursday night?â He asks, his eyebrows furrowing as he unpacks the lab equipment.
âItâs the night everyone goes out, I donât know why, and I hate it.â You whine, massaging your temples.
Miguelâs large warm hand presses against your forehead, and you startle for a moment, causing him to jolt back, stuttering apologies.
âIâI just wanted to make sure you werenât sick.â He says, a light dusting of pink across his tanned cheekbones.
Heâs got great cheekbones, really, heâs got great everything. Maybe itâs just the hangover talking, but you really want to kiss him. Well, youâve wanted to kiss him since he sat next to you on the first day of class. And when he slid his notes over to you the month after when he saw you struggling to keep up with the professorâs supersonic lecturing speed.
âI mean, a hangover is a kind of sickness, Iâm pretty sure.â You say, your own face burning, but you canât tell if it from his touch or the hangover.
âDonât they say to drink something for a hangover? A Bloody Mary or a mimosa? I heard the cafĂ© off campus sells them until noon.â He suggests, nerves coloring his tone.
Is he trying to ask you out? No, he canât be. Heâs Miguel, the genius, shy and sweet, and definitely not interested in you, and your hectic, dramatic life with sisters you both love and hate depending on what week it is.
âCanât drink in letters.â You tell him, fumbling for your water bottle and taking a long drink, your eyes fluttering closed as the cool water soothes your sore throat.
âReally?â He asks, and his eyes are on you when you open yours, lingering on your lips, then darting away.
âYep, itâs like the number one rule for all sororities all across the U.S. movies always get it wrong, really pisses me off.â You grumble, putting your water bottle back in your bag and trying to muster the energy to focus on the assignment in front of you.
âInteresting.â Miguel says, taking his glasses off and cleaning them with the hem of his shirt.
Like an absolute pervert, your eyes shoot down to the exposed sliver of skin. Tanned and toned, you swallow hard as you rip your eyes away.
âYep, Hollywood, they always try to make us look like drunk sluts. And look, I may be drunk occasionally, but Iâm not a slut.â
Miguelâs eyes widen and he shakes his head. âI would never call you thatânever think you were one, ever.â
You smile and pat his shoulder. âI know, Miguel, youâre too sweet for that.â You canât help but let your hand drag down to his bicep, his stupidly firm bicep. âMy sweet boy.â
His glasses clatter onto the lab table and Miguel scrambles to pick them up, slipping them back on. âDid you get to finish your assignment yet?â
You screw your eyes closed, swearing under your breath. âThatâs what I forgot.â
âItâs due tomorrow.â He reminds you.
You nod and press the back of your hand to your forehead, willing your headache to recede. âYes, yes, I know, I just shit, I totally forgot, and Iâve been so busy, we have this major philanthropy event coming up, and Iâve been up till two am all week helping paint the banner and I really donât get anything weâre doing in here.â
You pause, sniffling, your eyes welling with tears, as you bite the inside of your cheek trying to keep from crying in the back of the lab.
âI could help you?â Miguel offers tentatively, fidgeting with his pen, his eyes darting between you and the table.
âReally? Miguel, that would be amazing.â You say, unable to resist the urge to lean over and wrap your arms around him.
He smells good, like expensive cologne, and old books.
You take a moment longer than necessary to pull back, basking in his warmth, in the way his strong arms wrap loosely around you before he gains the courage and crushes you to his chest.
âItâs no problem, why donât we meet in the library around four? It looks like youâre almost done with it, so we shouldnât be there for too long.â His voice low, calm, and warm vibrates in his chest, and you relax into his hold before pulling back and nodding.
âThat would be perfect, thank you.â You beam at him, headache receding, the knot in your stomach unraveling, thereâs something about him thatâs so comforting, makes you feel safe.
He nods and focuses in on the PowerPoint the professor is going over. He looks so handsome, warm brown eyes flickering over the typed words, his broad shoulders still half turned towards you, his full lips parted ever so slightly as he mumbles to himself.
You rest your chin in your hand and watch him out of the corner of your eye, unable to keep from daydreaming about what it might be like to be his.
Miguel is going places, you know it. And you? Youâve always thought it might be fun to be a trophy wife, maybe Miguel needed a trophy wife?
You can see it now, standing next to him in a gorgeous red dress, your hand around his bicep as he accepts some award for genetics. You can almost feel his lips against yours as he thanks you for your support and dips you old movie style.
âY/N Iâll see you at four, yeah?â Miguelâs voice pulls you from your daydreams. Class is over, youâve taken zero notes, and he definitely caught you zoning out.
You nod, and quickly gather your things. âYeah, yeah four, Iâll meet you there!â
(Also ummm I was in a sorority my entire time at college, so I am actually the expert and Hollywood gets everything soooo wrong it makes me legit angryđ)
Miguel TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps
#meg's writing#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel ohara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#nerd!miguel#miguel oâhara x reader#miguel ohara x you#miguel ohara x y/n#college!miguel#college!reader#college!au#sorority!reader#nerd!miguel OâHara#nerd miguel
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hey i have a request! can you do theo/mattheo with a dyslexic reader? like how they would help you and how they would help your mind clearđ„. thanks if you do, if you donât no biggie!
NOTES! hi ml i hope itâs what you were looking for && thank u for the request đ«¶đ»
© ahqkas â all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified
THEODORE was always observant, noticing things about you that others often overlooked. when you first confided in him about your dyslexia, it wasnât because he asked directly, but rather because heâd noticed how you hesitated whenever you had to read aloud in class, or how your notes were sometimes a jumble of letters and words that didnât quite fit together.
âitâs not that i canât read,â youâd explained one evening in the library, your voice low, barely above a whisper. âit just . . . gets all mixed up sometimes. itâs like my brain sees the letters, but they donât always make sense.â
he didnât respond immediately, which at first made you anxious, but when you finally gathered the courage to look at him, you found no judgment in his eyes â only understanding. theo was silent for a moment, processing what youâd shared. then, he nodded slowly, as if heâd just pieced together a part of the puzzle that was you.
âhow can i help?â he asked simply, his voice gentle, as though he were afraid of overwhelming you.
from that day on, theo made it his mission to support you in ways that felt natural and unforced. when it came to reading, he never pushed you to do it aloud, but instead, offered to read to you, his voice calm and steady, making the words on the page come alive. whenever you wanted to try reading something yourself, he would sit beside you, patient and attentive, ready to help if you stumbled over a word or lost your place.
he even started writing notes in simpler, clearer handwriting, knowing that the usual cursive or fast scrawl many students used could be harder for you to decipher. his notes were always clean and organized, with extra spaces between lines to make it easier for your eyes to follow.
theo also helped you find strategies to cope with the difficulties. he suggested using colored overlays for your textbooks, something heâd read about somewhere. at first, you were skeptical, but when you tried it, the colors helped the letters stay in place, making it easier for your brain to process the information. he never made a big deal about it, just handed you the overlays one day without a word, and when you thanked him later, he just shrugged and smiled as if it was nothing.
when studying felt overwhelming, heâd suggest taking a break, pulling out a book of poetry or short stories that he knew you liked. he would read to you in that soft, calming tone of his, the words flowing easily from his lips, allowing you to focus on the rhythm and sound of the language rather than the struggle of reading it yourself.
MATTHEO knew you were bright, your mind sharp as a blade, but he also saw the frustration lining your eyes whenever you were handed a text-heavy assignment. youâd never mentioned it to him personally, preferring to deal with it on your own.
you sat in the quiet corner of the library and the weight of your frustration was palpable. the words on the page were a blur, a tangled mess of letters that refused to cooperate no matter how hard you tried. the more you stared, the more your mind seemed to rebel.
your boyfriend, sitting across from you, noticed the tension in your shoulders and the way your fingers gripped the edge of the table. heâd been watching you for a while, recognizing the signs of your struggle. without a word, he reached over and gently covered your hand with his, his touch warm and grounding.
"youâre doing it again," he said softly, his voice cutting through the fog in your mind.
you looked up at him, your eyes tired and defeated. "doing what?"
"trying to force it," he replied, his thumb tracing a small circle on the back of your hand. "you're not giving yourself a chance to breathe."
you sighed, pulling your hand away to rub your temples. "it just feels like i should be able to do this, you know? like, everyone else can read without it being such a hassle."
"everyone else isn't you," mattheo pointed out, his tone calm but firm. "and thatâs not a bad thing."
"i know," you muttered, glancing down at the book in front of you. "but it doesn't make it any less frustrating."
he leaned back in his chair, studying you with those intense, thoughtful eyes of his. "what if we try something different?" he suggested. "take it one step at a time, like weâve been doing."
you met his gaze, searching for any hint of pity or condescension, but found none. all you saw was his steady resolve, his quiet determination to help you however he could.
"i just feel like iâm wasting your time," you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "like, you shouldnât have to â"
"hey," mattheo interrupted, his voice gentle but insistent. "youâre not wasting my time. if anything, iâm glad i can be here for you. weâre in this together, remember?"
#theodore nott x you#theodore nott x reader#theo nott x you#theo nott x reader#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle blurb#theodore nott blurb#theo nott drabble#mattheo riddle drabble#x reader#reader insert#harry potter x reader#slytherin boys#slytherin boys x reader#slytherin x reader#harry potter fanfiction#mattheo riddle headcanon#theodore nott headcanons#theo nott headcanons#mattheo riddle fluff#theodore nott fluff#theo nott fluff#harry potter imagine#mattheo riddle fanfic#theo nott fic#theo nott one shot#theodore nott fic#theo nott imagine#theodore nott imagine
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a humiliatingly long character analysis of lily evans
Someone sent me an ask that briefly mentioned how misunderstood Lily is, and before I knew it I was typing out this monster. I am. sorry. This is literally just me rambling about her, what I find compelling about her character, and why her character is so often misunderstood.
This is long as hell so I'm putting it under a read more lolol
Part of the reason I like Lily so much (other than my being ginger and projecting onto any redheaded female character I see) is that even though she isnât explored as much as her other Marauders Era counterparts, we know enough about her to start building the framework for her character. And what I see is a girl who was incredibly interesting, kind, and flawed.
One thing I always think about in regards to Lily is that she was dealt with a pretty unfair hand. As soon as she receives her letter, sheâs basically torn between two worlds, both of which have been less than welcome to her. On one hand, we have the muggle world that sheâs known all her life, but once she starts integrating into the wizarding world, she likely feels a bit of a disconnect with that world. To twist the knife further, her sister- whom she loved dearly and grew up so close with- starts outwardly resenting her with such unbridled hostility that they likely couldnât even be in a room alone together without major conflict.Â
On the other hand, we have the wizarding worldâ a world sheâs not as familiar with and one she soon learns holds a demographic of people who hate everything she is and would rather see her excommunicated or even dead. And even though finding out youâre a witch/wizard is probably such an exciting and life-changing moment, I canât help but also take note of the difficulties, especially if youâre the only one in your family with magic. Youâre essentially uprooted from the only way of life youâve known at an already complicated age, and now you have to quickly become acclimated to this new world that you only just found out existed. Not only that, but now youâre suddenly attending a school with classes that are primarily focused on this world of magic (which is still brand new to you), and you have to work extra hard to play catch up in order to do well. Like, that all seems like⊠a lot for a kid to handle.
And then I remember how young she was when she was thrown into that mess. She was only 11, and kids that age desperately crave any sense of belonging. I mean, thatâs something that still holds true for adults, but itâs especially critical for a developing child. So imagine Lily, ages 11-15, struggling to stay afloat in this weird purgatory between these two parts of herself, both of which have been the cause for major and traumatic experiences relating to rejection in her life.
(I say it was the âcauseâ even though itâs obvious that those things were never her fault at all, but when youâre a young kid navigating the world, the only thing youâre able to process is that the common denominator is you, therefore youâre the one who must shoulder the blame.)
So now we have this tween-teenaged girl who has a dysfunctional relationship with two major parts of identity and probably feels absolutely lost.Â
This is why her hesitancy to end her friendship with Snape makes sense to me. Even though by fifth year heâs already well past toeing the line with the dark arts, Lily was willing to overlook some pretty egregious and troubling things in order to maintain the relationship. I kind of interpret that as her way of desperately clinging on to any sense of belonging she has left; her relationship with Petunia has already been poisoned, and now there are people who resent her existence as a witch; if she loses Severus too, what and who else does she have? And what tone does that set for her, if everyone and everything sheâs come to hold close to her ends up turning her away?
Itâs also important to note that not only is Severus one of her few remaining connections to the muggle world, but heâs also a wizard who grew up in the muggle world; he understands her, and I donât doubt that he gave her some stability at times when she needed it (her finding out about her being a witch, her having trouble acclimating to the wizarding world, etc).
I see this as being one of her flaws and I can actually appreciate how relatable and realistic it feels. Lily is not a bad person; on the contrary, youâd be hard pressed to find anyone to describe her as such. Not to get all clinical and boring, but the interesting thing about (unhealthy) coping mechanisms is that it can actually be really hard to identify them in your own behavior. Unless youâre in therapy and/or are actively psychoanalyzing yourself, you likely donât even realize how many of your common behaviors are born from self defense mechanisms put in place by your brain after past events.
To me, it makes sense why she avoided actually confronting the idea that Snape was too far gone. We know that she was aware of the path Severus was taking, but it almost seems like she was still convinced that she could save him, and could possibly steer him back in the right direction. Itâs only when she becomes the target of his bigotry that she realizes that the Snape who called her a âmudbloodâ was not the same Severus who was the one who held her hand and introduced her to this new, exciting world.
In a general sense, yes, it is selfish, to only take a stand when something starts affecting you personally. But I also think itâs important to note that itâs unlikely that this was a conscious decision on Lilyâs part. In my eyes, it was easier to delude herself into thinking she still had a chance to save him before it was too late when she was able to separate him from his actions (considering, a lot of the time, she was only hearing about them after the fact, rather than seeing them firsthand). But the elusion is shattered once she sees that the Snape she grew up withâ her friend, Severusâ is, in fact, the same person whoâs out there calling other students slurs, dismissing the malicious use of Dark Magic on others as just âa laughâ. There we see a Lily who is actually revealed to have been somewhat aware of Snapeâs involvement with the darker side of magic, and genuinely feels pretty ashamed about her inaction.
Also, this is in no way me being a Snape-anti, and I actually could do an entire separate analysis on his character alone and why I find him so interesting.
Anyways, that moment in SWM is probably somewhat of an epiphany to her. Itâs like a dam thatâs been broken, and now sheâs overwhelmed with the realization of exactly how much she overlooked in order to keep their friendship afloat. And for someone like Lily Evans, someone whom we know is opinionated and unafraid to call others out on their bullshit, that can be hard to swallow and feel pretty mortifying and shameful. And I think this was a huge turning point for her- at that point, she doesnât have the luxury of avoiding uncomfortable truths anymore and now that sheâs getting closer to graduating and being thrown out into the world on the brink of war, this was probably a really sobering discovery.
This is where we donât have as much info to go off of, and a lot of it is up to interpretation. But we actually have little crumbs to go off of following her graduation and leading up to her death.
One of my favorite little tidbits isnât in the books, and @seriousbrat's post reminded me about it. Here's the actual entry on Pottermore for anyone who's interested, but I'll summarize: after James and Lily began dating, Lily brings James to meet newly engaged Petunia and Vernon. Everything goes downhill, because Vernon is a smarmy asshole, and James is still pretty immature and canât help but mess with him (which⊠fair, I guess). Petunia and Vernon storm out after Petunia letting Lily know that she had no intentions of having her as a bridesmaid, which causes Lily to break down into tears. I mention this because I also think itâs a pretty important aspect of her character; like weâve seen in her past friendship with Snape, Lily seems more than willing to forgive others most of the time. Petunia is a bit of a complicated character herself, but she was objectively very cruel and unfair to Lily once it became obvious that she was a witch and Petunia was not.
Something that always stands out to me is just how desperate Lily is to earn Petuniaâs trust and approval again. Even up until her death, she was more than willing to mend the relationship, were Petunia ever to consider.Â
This is a detail about Lily that I feel is misunderstood quite a bit. Iâve seen a lot of instances of her character being reduced to a one-dimensional archetype with little to no complexity. And often, that archetype is âknow-it-all, prudish, self righteous bookworm who is also a goody two-shoes with a stick up her assâ. What annoys me is that the reason for this is most definitely the scene in which she blows up at James in SWM for bullying Snape, and hurls quite a few insults at him directly after an extremely devastating and overwhelming situation for her. This frustrates me because we know for a fact that sheâs the polar opposite of this archetype Iâve seen her reduced to.Â
In actuality, sheâs referred to as popular, charming, witty, bright and kind. From flashbacks we also are shown that sheâs opinionated, bold, and not afraid to challenge others. With other context, like her interpersonal relationships, we can also see that sheâs pretty emotionally driven and wears her heart on her sleeve.Â
(I know Remus didnât mention Lily much in the books, but I really love how he described her in the movies. He tells Harry that the first thing he noticed about him was not his striking resemblance to his father, but his eyes, the same eyes Lily had. He also calls her a âsingularly gifted witchâ and an âuncommonly kind womanâ.
âShe had a way of seeing the beauty in others, even and perhaps most especially, when that person could not see it in themselves.â
I know there are mixed feelings on whether or not the films count as canon source material, so take it with a grain of salt, but I personally cannot see a world in which Lily and Remus didnât become close friends.)
Here we have a direct description of what she was like and who she was, corroborated by recounting of memories of her, and yet for some reason, this feels like the thing that is most commonly lost in translation.
I donât think I can say why I think that is without mentioning the dreaded M word (misogyny- itâs misogyny), but I also donât want to get too off topic so Iâll be brief: female characters are typically not given the same grace as male characters. When we have an undeveloped male character, heâs awarded the assumption that despite his lack of depth, there still exists a complex and multifaceted characterâ itâs merely just potential that hasnât been tapped into. Whereas when we have underdeveloped female characters, they are taken at face value, meaning that not much exists beyond the little information we have of them. They are not presumed to have a life or a story that exists beyond the surface of what we know like male characters are. Thatâs why I think characters like Regulus, Evan, or Barty (just to name a few) are more popular than Lily, despite being less developed than she is.
(Before anyone gets defensive, no, I donât think itâs an individual problem that you alone need to be shamed for. I think itâs the result of a deeper issue regarding misogyny in media as a concept; these are things that weâve all unknowingly internalized and while itâs not our fault, we still have to do the work to deconstruct those learned prejudices.)
What I find really cool about her character is that despite how much sheâs been hurt, sheâs also still known as one of the most loving, kind, and considerate characters. There were so many times in her life where the love she received was conditional and ripped away from herâ and I think thatâs what makes her sacrifice even more poignant. She was able to protect her infant son from an extremely powerful dark wizard, wand-less, knowing that her husband was just murdered in cold blood, just from how much love she felt for Harry. Her love was a force of nature on its own, and I just think thatâs such an amazing thing about her.Â
I know Iâm biased, given that sheâs one of my favorite characters, but even upon delving into this, I still just find it so incredibly hard to understand how anyone can actively hate her (not indifference, but actual dislike). In my opinion (again, no one is unbiased, and she is a favorite character of mine, but trust me when I say that Iâm trying to be objective as possible when I say this), sheâs probably one of the most likable characters of the Marauders Era. I think perhaps a lot of people havenât given her a chance or really taken the time to learn about her character, but it could be a myriad of other reasons that Iâll never understand.Â
There's so much more I could say but this is long enough and I will stop myself
Lily Evans, u will always be famous to me
#lily evans#character analysis#harry potter#i am a little embarrassed that i got so invested in this. i hope at least one person enjoys this insane essay that no one asked for
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â â đłđŒđż đźđ đčđŒđ»đŽ đźđ đđŒđ đđźđ»đ â
â post-ob! malleus draconia x gn! reader â after the events during lilia's farewell party, you found yourself concerned over your lover's wellbeing and decided to pay him a visit for comfort. (f/n means first name)
requested by: @starlitsky3600 request type:Â scenario / one shot requesterâs message: For the requests can I request some post ob mal comfort with reader? Maybe helping him treat his wounds? floristâs note: i have no idea if I wrote this well or if this was what you requested, but here you go! thank you for the mallie request <3Â
this work contains spoilers for chapter 7, diasomniaâs arc.
do not steal or translate without my permission.
ko-fi here if you want to support me, commissions are open
the events that took place during liliaâs farewell party never left the minds of every other student in the academy â you included. late at night, you find yourself wondering if there was anything you could have done to ease the loneliness that malleus felt. Yet, you also felt relieved that you were there to assist idia and the others in gaining back malleusâ senses and snapping out of his overblot phase.
he was your friend, sure. you can call him that. it was hard to deny that there was something unspoken between you two â the nights you spent talking to him and taking strolls in the garden, the days youâd go out of your way to invite him for lunch or breakfast at the cafeteria, and afternoons where youâd exchange letters talking about your day as if you had never seen each other hours prior.
a friend â is that what youâd call him? he knew you like the back of his hand, and yet you wished you could say the same. you knew his intimate details, home life, and secret desires that he never shared with anyone else, yet you feel as if there is still so much left to know about him.
and the day of the farewell party confirmed it.
now that the events had passed, you could not help but want to see him. it was late, and you were sure he was taking a rest, but you could not ease the thoughts of wanting to be with him after the events took place.
what is he doing? how is he feeling? is he alright?
those questions ran through your mind as you got out of bed and walked your way to the mirror chamber, passing through diasomniaâs mirror as you entered the dormitory and knocked on his bedroom door. it was silent for a moment until a soft âclickâ was heard, unlocking the door as his eyes met yours in a pained and tired stare.
âïżœïżœf/n?â
ââŠmay I come in?â
without another word, he simply opened the door wide enough to allow you entry. once you two were all alone in the four walls of his chamber, you looked up at him and spoke gently, âare you alright?â your gentle tone eased him for a moment and all he could muster up in reply was a simple nod. pulling him in, you sat on his bed and wrapped your arms around him in hopes that your embrace could comfort him.
he did not say anything in response as he allowed himself to be spoiled by your affection. was he selfish for wanting you to stay? perhaps or perhaps not. he just wanted all those he loved to stay â to be happy and healthy. why was it so wrong for him to have that wish?
love drives you mad, is what he heard you say once during your bonding moments in the garden. the heart-to-heart talk you had that night opened secrets that were kept hidden for years. his struggles and your own were acknowledged by both, and he canât help but feel as if he wanted to shield you, protect you and keep you safe and sound.
the aftermath of the incident made him think you saw him in a different light, that you wanted nothing to do with him anymore and wished to cut ties with him, and yet, here you are on his bed, arms wrapped around his taller figure as you placed gentle kisses on his forehead.
friend? no, he wasnât just a friend. he was your lover, but no one else knew that except for his family â lilia, silver, and sebek.
sinking into your embrace, a soft sniffle could be heard from him as you frowned and hugged him tighter, âhey⊠let it out⊠if you want to cry, iâm hereâŠâ your gentle words brought a sense of comfort with a hint of sadness â enough to make him want to cry and let out the tears he was holding back.
âi had assumed you were cross with meâŠâ muttered malleus.
âme? angry? perhaps a little, but i am not the kind to leave you on your alone when you clearly need my companyâŠâ you replied, cupping his cheeks, âyou could have told me how you felt that night instead of storming offâŠâ
ââŠiâm sorry,â replied malleus.
a soft sigh escaped your lips as you kissed his cheek, âyou donât have to apologise⊠iâm always here for you, remember that.â
âalwaysâŠ?â
you went quiet as he repeated your clause, avoiding his gaze for a moment as you tried not to touch upon the fact that your delicate lifespan could not compare to his. ââŠwe talked about this, dearâŠâ you whispered as you hugged him close.
âi knowâŠâ responded malleus, âwhich is why i did that in the first placeâŠâ
you did not know what to say in response, so you let out a soft sigh as you pulled away from the embrace and lifted his sleeves, eyeing his wounds as he tried to cover it. âstay still,â you reprimanded as he grunted softly and did as you say.
you then got out of bed and searched for a cotton ball and some alcohol to help clean his wounds. as soon as you got the things you needed, you sat back beside him and started patching up his wounds. he hissed softly as you dabbed the alcohol-absorbed cotton ball, âthat hurts.â
âstay still or this will take longer, love,â you spoke, âyou canât heal this by yourself with your magic due to your exhausted state.â
he didnât retort back. he knew youâd argue with him when it comes to his wellbeing and safety, so he sat there and took the stinging sensation with a hiss. once you were done, you patched up his wounds and cleaned up the area before checking on his arms.
âyou really did not have toâŠâ spoke malleus.
ânonsense. i want to make sure you sleep properly tonight with your wounds patched,â you replied, âdoes it hurt anywhere else?â
malleus shook his head before wrapping his arms around you, âno, the stinging sensation is no longer as unbearable as it was earlier.â you then hummed in response as you hugged him back while he continued, ââŠthank you.â
âof courseâŠâ
it was quiet for a while â comforting and peaceful. you held him in your arms while he hugged you close, taking comfort in your presence and embrace as he buried his face into your hair and took a whiff of your scent.
âcan you please stay here⊠even forââ trailed malleus, but before he could complete his question, you replied.
âsure.â
âiâll stay here for as long as you want, my darling.â
© twstgarden 2024 || please do not steal, translate without my permission, or use this to train a.i.
#waaaah i love malleus but i hope this doesn't seem half-assed#oh to hug him and tell him that everything is okay đ„čđ„čđ„č#requested flower#twst#Disney twst#disney twisted wonderland#disney twst#malleus draconia#malleus draconia x reader#malleus twst#twisted wonderland#twst wonderland#twisted wonderland x you#twisted wonderland x reader#lilia vanrouge#silver twst#sebek zigvolt#diasomnia#twst malleus#twst malleus x reader#twst diasomnia#malleus x reader
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Someone Else
pairings: Zuko x Princess!reader, Zuko x Mai
notes: i was writing smoke and shadow when i realized i should probably give more insight to zuko and maiâs relationship in the fire lilies universe before i delved into the story. also someone requested i cover their conversation on boiling rock so here it is :)
summary: Zuko is forced to confront his past
~ part of the fire lilies series ~
As Zuko struggled against the hold of the calloused prison guards who were dragging him away to whatever punishment awaited him, he couldnât help but think of y/n.
He remembered the way sheâd struggled against the crystals that held her and his uncle captive in the catacombs and how sheâd urged him to go on without her to help the Avatar. Her eyes had sparkled beautifully in the light, and it had been the last time she had looked upon him with love and care. Now when she looked at him, her eyes were cold and void of any love for him. They looked upon him with anger and resentment, and he knew he deserved it. He deserved every last bit of her animosity.
Growing closer to the open cell, Zuko began to contemplate the possibility of Sokkaâs plan failing. He feared he may never get to see y/n again and make things right, apologize to her for the hurt and anguish heâd caused, and sheâd spend the rest of her life hating him for what heâd done. The chance of never returning to his Princess seemed a far worse fate than anything the warden had planned for him on Boiling Rock.
The guards finally toss the Prince into the cell, his body colliding harshly with the floor.
âI didnât do anything wrong!â Zuko protests with a groan before pulling himself up onto the sole chair in the room.
âCome on, Zuko,â a voice chides harshly, its owner carefully emerging from the shadows, âwe all know thatâs a lie.â
âMai?â Zuko utters in surprise, his stomach immediately twisting itself into knots. Guilt creeps in his gut at the sight of her, and he dreads the conversation he knows is coming. Heâd hoped heâd never have to face her again, but it seemed fate had other plans.
âHow did you know I was here?â
âBecause I know you so well,â she replies sarcastically, her cold glare never leaving his slumped figure on the chair.
âBut how-â
âThe wardenâs my uncle, you idiot,â Mai chides. Her features soften for a moment as she reaches into her robes, the heartbreak and betrayal overpowering her anger for a moment. However, her wrath returns as she presents Zuko with his own letter. âThe truth is, I guess I donât know you.â
Zuko is silent, his eyes guiltily scanning over the scroll. Perhaps it had been wrong of him to end their relationship in such a way, but she probably wouldnât have let him live to see another day if heâd looked her in the face and told her there was someone else. How can you look the girl youâve known since you were children in the eyes and tell her youâd only used her to get over your previous girlfriend?
âAll I get is a letter?â She scoffs indignantly. âYou couldnât even look me in the eyes to tell me you were leaving me for someone else?! You couldnât even leave me my dignity and rip my heart out in person?â
âI didnât mean to-â Zuko begins to say, but this only seems to anger her further.
âYou didnât mean to?!â Mai retorts before unfurling the scroll to read the letter aloud. ââDear Mai, Iâm sorry that you have to find out this way, but Iâm leaving.ââ
âStop!â He interjects, subtle irritation clear in his tone and his features. âThis isnât about you.â
âRight,â Mai drawls dully. âIt was never about me. It was always about her.â
âMai-â
âYou told me she never meant anything to you, but that was a lie, wasnât it?â She insists, and Zukoâs silence only infuriates her more. âWasnât it?â
ââŠIt was,â he relents quietly, his guilty eyes finally meeting her stern gaze. âBut this isnât about her or you. This is about the Fire Nation.â
âThanks Zuko, that makes feel all better,â Mai replies dryly before harshly tossing the scroll at his head.
Rubbing the spot where the paper had made contact, the Prince rises from his seat and looks at his ex with an empathetic gaze. âI never wanted to hurt you.â
âThen why did you do it? Were you just dating me to get over her? Was any of it real, or did you just pretend I was her while we were together to make yourself feel better?â
âYou have to understand I didnât mean for things to turn out this way,â Zuko pleads earnestly, guilt clear upon his face. âIt was never my intention to break your heart. I thought being with you would help me feel at home again, and in a way it did. You were familiar, someone I cared about. I thought maybe with timeâŠâ
âDid you ever even love me?!â She cries angrily. The truth was ugly, and the tightness in her chest was suffocating. How was she supposed to react to the news that sheâd been used by the boy sheâd been in love with since she was a young girl? She thought sheâd finally won his heart only to learn none of it had been real.
Zuko remains silent, and thatâs enough of an answer for her.
âYou know, you two deserve each other,â she spits harshly, her words like venom. âA selfish Prince and a selfish Princess. I guess I know what you see in her now.â
âDonât speak about her that way,â Zuko snaps. Mai laughs bitterly in return.
âI hope sheâs not stupid enough to take you back. I hope she breaks your heart the way you broke mine,â she utters quietly. âYou deserve it.â
âItâs not like that,â he argues, âI didnât leave just for her. I have to do this to save my country.â
âSave it?â She repeats incredulously. âYouâre betraying your country. Joining the Avatar and going after the Southâs water bending Princess? Youâre a traitor.â
âThatâs not how I see it,â Zuko rebuts firmly. A tense silence fills the room as Mai indignantly crosses her arms over her chest and turns her body away from him. âAnd I hope youâll see it that way too.â
âI wonât let you fool me again,â she replies coldly. Though her exterior is hard and angry, her heart is crumbling inside. Mai desperately wanted to know why she hadnât been enough for Zuko. Why couldnât he love her the way heâd loved the Princess? What did y/n have that she didnât? Why her? Why not me?
Their conversation is cut short by the prison guard sent to protect Mai from the ongoing riot, and Zuko uses the opportunity to escape the cell and lock it from the outside. Though heâs free from captivity, he finds himself frozen in place by the girlâs gaze. Her eyes are full of wrath, but they shine with tears that refuse to fall. Locking into her intense stare, the guilt begins to creep up on him again. Heâll never be able to undo the hurt heâs caused her, but he hopes that maybe one day sheâll be able to forgive him.
Breaking away from her gaze, Zuko rushes towards the courtyard to join Sokka and Suki in their escape plan. Maiâs heartbroken eyes still haunt him, but the image is soon replaced with that of y/nâs. Unlike Mai, her eyes had been full of sadness when sheâd been met with his betrayal in Ba Sing Se. She hadnât been angry, sheâd been disappointed, and that had felt worse.
His legs urged him to run faster now, his motivation to return home to his Princess stronger than ever.
Zuko was going to make things right, he had to. And he hoped sheâd give him the chance.
~~~~~
| atla tags: @sirkekselord @chronic-daydreamer @niktwazny303
| zuko tags: @thebluelcdy @royahllty @the-firebender-girl @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @knaite-solo @taeeemin
| fire lilies tags: @titaniafire @emberislandplayers @kikaninchen-2 @music-geek19 @thia-aep @thyunnamed @haylaansmi @nataliahaslosthershit @idkdude776 @aangsupremacy @thirstyforsometea @ihaveaproblem98 @brown-eyed-thang @xapham @misnmatchedsox @chewymoustachio @that-bucket-hat-gal @chilifrylizard2 @kyomihann @kaylove12 @kiwihoee @freggietale @moon-spirit-yue @bubblegum-bee-otch
#fire lilies#zuko#mai#zuko x reader#zuko x princess!reader#zuko imagine#prince zuko x reader#prince zuko imagine#prince zuko#atla#atla x reader#atla imagine#mai is giving washing machine heart energy
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