#I think he deserved a chance for something more

[undercoveravenger]

Premeditated

Pairing: Criminal!Soap & Ghost x Detective!Male!Reader (Eventual poly 141 & reader)

This is Part 2 of this AU - to check out part one Click Here

Warnings: Suggestive (Soap’s a horny mf), allusions to crime (arson)

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Johnny’s “second date” with you happens exactly as he’d planned. Price and Ghost had been able to clear any evidence linking him to the explosion on Makarov’s side of town while Gaz had “miraculously found” footage of him at one of the relatively legitimate businesses the 141 operated timestamped precisely at the day and time of the incident. With nothing to link him back to the crime, Soap was released from police custody and he’d even had the chance to blow a kiss to his favorite detective on the way out.

He’d accepted his admittedly-deserved tongue lashing from Price about consorting with cops, but eventually Price agreed that you could prove quite useful once you were brought around to the idea of working with them. 

So then it was with Price’s blessing that he’d traced down your number and coerced convinced you to meet him for dinner.

The restaurant is empty, aside from the two of you and the staff, so he’s free to tease you more openly than if this whole thing hadn’t been arranged.

“Nice suit,” he says as you shift uncomfortably across from him. He can tell it’s probably just some cheap suit you wear to court when you’re required to testify and makes a mental note to buy a new one and have it delivered to you. “Bet it’d look even better on my bedroom floor while we-”

“You said,” you interrupt and God, what he’d give to have a sense of you. To see your expression and know whether this was you blowing him off or if he’d managed to actually fluster you. “You have intel worth my time.”

Straight to business, Johnny muses, Price’d appreciate that in a future son in law, wouldn’t he?

“You’ll get your information,” Johnny says, waving a hand dismissively. He thinks of the flash drive tucked away in his pocket and wonders what exactly you might be willing to do to get your hands on it. “After our date.”

“It’s not a-” your protests are interrupted by the arrival of your waiter, a towering blond with a black surgical mask over his mouth and nose. Johnny can see the way your eyes trail the length of the scar that runs down the side of Ghost’s face and something bitter twists in his stomach as you smile at him.

“Whotcha want?” Ghost grunts, as few-worded as always, but there’s something in the way that Ghost looks at you that Johnny recognizes. It’s the way he looks at you too.

Ghost takes your order and then disappears into the back without waiting for Johnny’s order. Typical Ghost.

“So,” he says, if only to get your eyes off of Ghost’s retreating figure and back onto him. “Tell me about yourself?”

It’s the wrong question. The invitation to make this more than a transaction, to make it real, and it has your shoulders tensing and your hand dropping to your hip like you were itching for the familiar weight of your gun. 

Johnny hums, sweet and low and soft, holds up his hands like a surrender even though he knows he’d never give up on something as special as you.

“Doesn’t need tae be somethin’ big,” he tries, needling for any little thing you’re willing to offer up to him. His lips twitch into a grin with an idea, “Matter of fact, I’ll tell you somethin’ for everythin’ you tell me.”

There’s a spark in your eyes at that, at the promise of something to work with and Johnny has a lot of things he’d like you to work with actually. Matter of fact, if you wanted to bend him over the table and- 

“I’ve been a detective for three years,” you say, voice pulling Johnny out of his daydreams. He’d known that - had seen it on the background check they’d pulled on you. He’d been hoping for something more personal, something just for him, but it was a start. 

Johnny forces himself to grin like that was new information, “Betcha couldnae tell by the accent, but I was born an’ raised in Scotland. A little town near Glasgow.”

You nod, eyes focused like you’re filing away the information for later and Johnny can’t help the delighted little kick in his chest that you’re eager to learn about him too, even if you might currently be planning on using it against him. He’s just gotta persuade you that you’re better off at his side.

“Before I decided to join the force,” you start, and Soap leans in, enraptured by the idea of learning something new about you. “I was nearly killed by a drive-by shooter.”

Johnny sits back at that, flummoxed by the idea that he might never have known you. That he’d have never even known what he would’ve been missing.

“My friends call me Soap,” he says, trying to brighten the mood a bit. He can see the confusion as you process what he’d said. 

“Soap?” Shivers creep down his spine at the way you say his callsign. He wonders what it’d be like to have you talking him through a job on comms. How hard it’d be to focus on anything but the sound of your voice. “Why?”

“Cause ‘e’s got a dirty fuckin’ mind,” Ghost rumbles as he reappears, a plate balanced in each hand. He deposits your plate in front of you carefully before dropping Johnny’s in front of him unceremoniously. He looks between Johnny and you for a long moment before dragging over a chair from a neighboring table and sits on it backwards, crossing his massive arms over the back of it, pitch dark eyes fixed firmly on you. “What’s a nice lad like you doin’ with a punk like ‘im?” Ghost asks and Johnny would’ve been offended if he didn’t know that this was just Ghost’s way of playing.

You’re quiet for a few seconds, intense gaze fixed on Johnny. He does his best not to squirm.

“He promised he’d be worth my time,” you say finally and Soap wants to applaud you for it. It’s a perfect answer, really - ambiguous enough of a promise that you could just be two men out on a date if Ghost didn’t already know otherwise.

But Ghost did know. He had to. The only reason he’d be here doing something as menial as serving tables is if Price asked him to. And if Price asked… his eyes cut over to the blinking red light of the surveillance camera in the far corner of the room. His suspicions are confirmed by the barely perceptible nod Ghost gives him when he turns back to the table.

Great, he thinks, Not only are you interested in Ghost, but Price and Gaz are both watching. He feels like the three of you are on some stupid reality show.

Ghost lingers while you and Johnny eat, interjecting every now and then with some terrible joke or to tease Johnny, and Johnny is baffled by how easy this feels. He trusts Ghost with his life, has to in their line of work, but he’s never seen him this open before. Never as at peace as he is right now, sitting next to you and listening intently. Even that ever present tension has started to bleed out of his shoulders the longer he’s near you.

Johnny grins as a wicked thought pops into his mind. He feigns a sigh as he looks down at the emptied plates and pulls out the flash drive with the information he’d promised you. “Well, a deal’s a deal. Your time for my intel,” he says, dangling the flash drive temptingly. He waits until you move to grab it before closing his fingers back around it, “On second thought,” he says, grin spreading at the look on his face, “One last thing and then it’s all yours.”

You don’t seem surprised that he’s changing the deal on you, though you look resolute and he takes that as a good sign.

“I’ll give this to you,” he starts, grinning fiercely, “After you give us a kiss.”

You huff and Johnny’s glad he made sure you weren’t wearing a wire when you arrived. There was something so much more satisfying about knowing that this was all your decision and you weren’t just following orders as you lean in.

“Nuh-uh,” he says when you’re just inches away, amusement covering that twinge of disappointment at not being able to kiss you just yet. “Him first.”

Johnny’s not sure who’s more shocked, you or Ghost. You’re stunned, eyes darting between the two of them like you’re trying to puzzle out the pieces of him saying to kiss ‘us’ not just being one of those odd little colloquialisms. 

Ghost is paler than Soap’s ever seen him, dark eyes wide and wild at being thrust so suddenly into the spotlight and Johnny almost calls it off until he sees the way Ghost’s hands twitch, fingers flexing like it’s all he can do to not grab hold of you and not let go.

“C’mon love,” Johnny croons, trailing his fingertips along your jaw until he can hook them under your chin and turn your head to face Ghost, “Look ‘ow much ‘e wants it.”

You’re still for a split second longer before you take his encouragement and shift toward Ghost, trailing your hands over kilometers-wide shoulders and up until your fingertips brush the edge of his mask.

Johnny can barely hear the quiet “this okay?” that you ask Ghost before Ghost is telling you to close your eyes and ripping off his mask.

He’s on you in seconds, lips on yours like you’re fresh air and he’s asphyxiating and Johnny doesn’t even feel jealous because what a show. He can hear the slick of Ghost’s mouth against yours, can see just how tight he’s clutching at you, and he can see that you’re giving it right back - hands tight around Ghost’s jaw and up into his hair to keep him close to you, to keep him kissing you, and there’s this wounded gasp that leaves you when Ghost eventually pulls away, but he’s already got his mask back in place by the time your eyes open. 

Johnny’s quick to take his place, taking your face in his hands and tugging you in like he’s been aching to do for weeks. He can’t help the needy little sound that escapes him when your mouth is finally on his and he can feel you lean into - feels the sharp sting of your teeth against his lower lip and then the heat of your tongue against it right after. He can’t stop his hands from roaming, clutching at your hair, your shoulders, your ass - it’s like he’s starving for you, like he’ll never get another chance to touch you so he has to memorize every inch of you now but he wants to do so much more than memorize and there’s not enough time. 

Eventually he forces himself to break the kiss, though he knows he’d be perfectly content to spend the rest of time in your arms. 

“As promised,” he says, still catching his breath as he pushes the thumb drive into your hands. 

His heart warms at the second of hesitation before you turn and go and he’s quiet for a moment before he turns back to Ghost, who ditched the surgical mask in favor of his usual skull hood as soon as the door closed behind you.

“Super fuckable, right?” Johnny asks as he stands and starts to clear the table, if only to give himself something to do.

“Oh, absolutely,” Ghost agrees, joining him.

Johnny would be sad that the night had ended where it did, he thinks, if he didn’t know that the information on that drive would have you back in his arms within the next twenty four hours. No, once you learned that your dear chief of police, Shepherd, was compromised, you’d come running right to the 141 for help exposing him, and the bigger the ask, the higher the cost. You’d never be rid of them at this rate.

[artificialbreezy]

IM HERE TO SHARE MY BRAIN ROT HEYYYYY

You asked what you can do to mark Quinn up and it takes LITERALLY no effort but the process is fun so LET ME TELL YOU:

Quinn pays for your nails whenever you get them done as long as you promise to show them off for him. By that he means sinking the sharp tips into his shoulders and raking them down his back until his teammates have to ask "what the fuck happened to you" after he pulls his shirt off in the locker room. It's painful but in a good way, he figures the more it stings the better he's fucking you and he's absolutely right cause you're clinging onto him as tight as possible to try and steady yourself from the force of his thrusts in the first place. He for sure tries to admire all the deep red lines and pink edges marking up his back in the mirror whenever he gets a chance, the dull ache whenever he's got his shoulders against anything reminding him of what you two were up to in the first place.

The scratches aren't all he's into though, he damn near encourages you to mark his neck and chest up or sink your teeth into his collarbone. The way he sighs when you're on his lap kissing down his jawline and down his throat like its washing away all the stressful weight of the day is something you can't ever forget or get over. He's even courteous enough to pull the neckline of his shirt or hoodie to the side a little so you have more room to attack the sensitive skin. Tbh if he's not coming away from your encounters looking like he was fighting for his life then he thinks he deserves a redo cause he wasn't putting his all into it.

WHAT THE FUCK WHEN I CATCH YOU OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!

JAIL JAIL JAIL JAIL JAIL

[songbirdseung]

simply jaded / sim jaeyun

going into the new year single again was not gonna be on your bingo card anymore. the problem was that no other guy could satisfy you nor treat you like your best friend did. so maybe, why not date him instead?

going into the new year single again was not something you had planned for. after a string of disappointing dates and relationships that fizzled out faster than fireworks, you were fed up. no one seemed to measure up, no one could treat you the way you wanted, the way you deserved. except, maybe, your best friend.

the thought had crossed your mind more times than you’d like to admit. jake had always been there for you—kind, funny, supportive. he knew you inside and out, better than anyone else. so why not give it a shot? maybe dating your best friend wasn’t such a crazy idea after all.

with a mix of nerves and determination, you grabbed your phone and sent him a text. it was short, direct, and maybe a little impulsive: “why don’t we just date each other?”

you barely had time to process your own boldness when your bedroom door flew open, and there stood jake, slightly out of breath and looking thoroughly baffled.

"are you stupid or just that desperate?" he blurted out, his eyebrows raised in disbelief.

you couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction. he wasn’t angry, just visibly confused—and maybe a little disgusted at the sudden proposition. "oh c'mon," you said, sitting up straighter. "you make it sound like i'm a horrible person to go out with."

"well, you kind of are," he shot back, crossing his arms. "with how indecisive and bossy—hey, don't even think about throwing that pillow," he warned, cutting himself off as you grabbed one from your bed.

you rolled your eyes but put the pillow down. "you're acting like you're repulsed by the idea of dating me."

jake scoffed, though there was no malice in it. "and if i am? will you drop the idea?"

"tell me what's so bad about us dating?" you challenged, crossing your arms now, mirroring his stance.

he sighed, ruffling his hair in that way he always did when he was thinking. "it’s not that it’s bad," he admitted, his tone softening a little. "it’s just... weird. we've been best friends for so long. what if it ruins everything?"

"or," you countered, leaning forward slightly, "what if it makes everything better?"

he paused at that, the room growing quiet as he considered your words. "you’re really serious about this, aren’t you?" he finally said, his voice quieter, more thoughtful.

"i am," you nodded. "look, jake, we already know each other better than anyone else. we trust each other, we have fun together. isn’t that what people want in a relationship?"

"yeah, but... what if we screw it up?" his voice was laced with genuine concern, and it tugged at your heart.

"then we deal with it. but i’d rather take the chance than keep wondering 'what if.' wouldn’t you?"

he let out a long breath, his shoulders relaxing a bit. "you always have to make things complicated, don’t you?"

you smirked. "you love it."

"yeah, yeah," he muttered, but there was a small smile playing on his lips now. "fine. but if this goes south, i’m blaming you."

"deal," you grinned.

he shook his head, still looking a bit amused and bewildered. "guess we're doing this, huh?"

"guess we are," you said, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nervousness.

jake sat down next to you on the bed, bumping his shoulder against yours. "well, if i’m going to be your boyfriend now, does that mean i get to boss you around for once?"

you laughed, shoving him playfully. "don’t push your luck, sim."

he chuckled, leaning back on his hands. "this is going to be interesting."

"yeah," you agreed, smiling. "but i think it’s going to be worth it."

and just like that, the new year suddenly didn’t seem so daunting anymore.

the first date came quicker than expected. jake insisted on planning everything, wanting to make it special. after all, this wasn’t just any date—it was the first date, a big step from best friends to something more.

when he picked you up, he was noticeably different. instead of his usual teasing grin, he had a nervous smile. he even opened the car door for you, which immediately made you suspicious.

"wow, look at you being all gentlemanly," you teased as you slid into the seat.

"well, i thought i'd make an effort," he replied, scratching the back of his neck as he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side.

the restaurant he chose was cozy and intimate, a little different from the casual places you usually went to together. jake pulled out your chair for you, then sat down across from you, trying to maintain a composed and charming demeanor. it was almost too much.

"okay, who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?" you joked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"very funny," he muttered, but you could see the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried to suppress a smile.

as the evening went on, it was clear that jake was struggling. he kept catching himself before saying something sarcastic or teasing, his usual go-to moves. instead, he attempted to be more romantic, which only made things more awkward. like when he tried to compliment you but stumbled over his words.

"you look... um, really... uh, nice tonight," he said, his face turning a little red.

you couldn’t help but burst into laughter, covering your mouth with your hand. "jake, seriously? 'nice'? that’s the best you’ve got?"

"hey, give me a break," he groaned, leaning back in his chair. "this whole romantic thing is harder than it looks."

"just be yourself," you encouraged, still chuckling. "i liked you better when you were teasing me about my terrible taste in movies."

he grinned, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. "so you do admit your movie taste is terrible."

"don’t push it," you warned playfully, narrowing your eyes.

the rest of the date became much more relaxed after that. jake let go of the awkward attempt to be overly romantic and instead fell back into his usual rhythm—teasing, joking, and making you laugh until your sides hurt. it felt right, natural, like slipping into a comfortable old sweater.

as you left the restaurant, walking side by side, he reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. "okay, maybe i overdid it with the whole gentleman act," he admitted, glancing at you.

"just a bit," you teased, squeezing his hand. "but it was sweet. thanks for trying."

he stopped walking, turning to face you. "i’ll get the hang of this boyfriend thing," he said, his tone more serious now. "just... bear with me?"

"you’re doing fine," you assured him, smiling softly. "we’ll figure it out together."

"yeah," he nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "together."

and with that, you continued walking, this was the beginning of something new, and you were both ready for whatever came next—together.

[httpvomitello]

Cold Heart ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ (part 5/final)

cregan stark x targ!reader

(part 4)

Two weeks passed since Cregan had made his journey to Dragonstone, and though the silence between you both remained, there was something heavier in the air now—a tension thick with the weight of unspoken words. Cregan had stayed at Dragonstone, determined to right the wrongs he had done. Despite the coldness between you, he had not left, not again.

At first, you were resolute in your silence, unsure whether you could ever forgive him for the hurt he had caused. But the truth was undeniable: you still cared for him, still yearned for the love you had once hoped would be returned.

And then, one evening, as the sun set behind the dark silhouette of Dragonstone’s jagged cliffs, you felt it. A sickness that had started with a wave of nausea had blossomed into something more. Your chest was heavy, and your hands trembled as you lay in bed, the reality of your situation sinking in.

You were pregnant.

The discovery hit you like a thunderclap, sharp and unexpected. For a long time, you sat still, your hand pressed against your stomach, feeling the life that was growing inside you. This child would be the tie between you and Cregan—whether you liked it or not.

There was a storm of emotions inside you. Anger. Fear. Regret. But there was something else, too. A fragile hope. A hope that maybe, just maybe, things could still be salvaged.

The next morning, you sent for Cregan, your hands trembling as you prepared yourself for what you knew would be another painful conversation. His knock at your door was soft but insistent, and you called for him to enter.

He stood in the doorway for a long moment, his eyes scanning the room before they found you. His face was drawn with worry, and though his posture was firm, you could see the way his jaw tightened in anticipation.

“I received your message,” he said, his voice steady but laced with uncertainty. “What is it you need, Y/N?”

“I need to talk to you,” you said quietly, trying to keep your voice from wavering. “I’ve… I’ve discovered something.”

Cregan stepped into the room, his eyes narrowing with concern as you slowly looked up at him. “What is it?”

Your breath caught as you said the words aloud, each syllable more difficult than the last. “I’m pregnant, Cregan. With your child.”

The words hung in the air, thick with the implications. For a long moment, Cregan said nothing, his gaze locked onto you, his mind seemingly racing as the news settled. His face softened with a look you hadn’t seen from him in months, an almost imperceptible shift in his expression.

“Are you… certain?” His voice was barely above a whisper, disbelief mixing with hope.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice breaking just a little. “I am certain.”

A silence stretched between you, heavy and thick. Cregan looked at you, his brow furrowing as he fought to keep his emotions in check.

“I never intended for this to happen, Y/N,” he said, his voice low but earnest. “I never wanted to bring you any more pain. But I can’t ignore what this means.”

“You’re right,” you replied, your heart pounding. “You can’t ignore it.”

Cregan’s face softened further, and he took a hesitant step forward, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hope. “Then… what will we do?”

You swallowed hard, trying to fight back the swell of emotions threatening to overtake you. “I don’t know yet. But I think… I think I’m willing to try again. For this child. For us.”

His eyes widened in surprise, and for the first time in months, there was a glimmer of something like relief in his gaze. He stepped closer to you, cautiously reaching out as though afraid you might pull away.

“I don’t deserve another chance,” he said, his voice rough. “But I will do whatever it takes, Y/N. For you. For our child. I will spend the rest of my life trying to prove to you that I can be the man you need.”

The sincerity in his words broke through the walls you had built around your heart. Your eyes welled with tears, but you refused to let them fall. Instead, you nodded, taking a deep breath.

“I’m still hurt, Cregan,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “I’m still angry. But I will give you one more chance. Not because I think we can fix everything, but because this child deserves to know their father. And maybe… maybe we both deserve a chance at something more than just pain.”

Cregan’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he said nothing. He simply stood there, his hands trembling as he reached for you, pulling you into his arms. You hesitated, but then, slowly, you allowed yourself to rest against him, your head on his chest.

“I will make this right,” Cregan whispered against your hair. “I swear it, Y/N.”

The days following your decision were filled with uncertainty. While Cregan made every effort to show his commitment, the hurt and mistrust between you were not easily erased. Still, he was present. He spent his time with you, offering support in every way he could, from attending to your needs as you navigated the early months of your pregnancy to silently standing by your side when the pain of it all became overwhelming.

It wasn’t perfect, and there were days when the silence between you threatened to suffocate, but slowly, slowly, you began to allow yourself to believe in the possibility of healing. The tension that had once hung between you began to loosen, replaced with small moments of connection—a hand held in the dark, a shared glance over the dinner table, a smile from him when your eyes met across a room.

In time, the walls between you both began to crumble. Cregan’s presence in your life became less about obligation and more about the future you were trying to build together. Though there were still many challenges ahead, you found yourself holding onto the fragile hope that things could, one day, be different.

The days of silence were not gone, but they were less frequent, and in their place, you both began to carve out a new rhythm. It was a slow process, and there were times when the past came rushing back to haunt you both, but there was progress, and that was enough for now.

You could not erase the past, nor could you forget the hurt, but in your heart, you realized that maybe you didn’t need to. Perhaps, together, you could learn to live with it, and in doing so, forge something new. Something that, despite the scars, could still be beautiful.

And for the sake of your child, you would try. You would try to make it work.

[bettystonewell]

What Happened Last Night? - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: After burning the Book of the Damned and escaping the Styne’s, you all have a night of harmless celebrations back at the bunker. At least, it was harmless until Charlie suggested a game of Never Have I Ever, and the rest of your night became a blur. Friends to Lovers 18+ only

Word Count: 3,300

Warnings: Language, Dubious Consent (implied drunk sex), SMUT in part two

Or read it on AO3 here

A/N: Hey 👋 This is my first time posting a fanfic on Tumblr. The names’s Beth (Aussie/Dean-girl/tired mum). I’ve been on AO3 (and Wattpad) for over a year now and thought it was about time I put my big girl pants on and join the community here because it looks fun (though the social media side of this scares my close-to-midlife-crisis-ass). So, yeah, newbie in terms of everything here - please be kind. If you recognise me from the other sites, please say hi 😊 This is a cross post - there are two chapters total. Let’s see how this goes!

in vino, veritas

in wine, there is truth

Five bodies sat around the mess room table that night, drinking their troubles away and eating their fill. 

You, Dean, Sam, Charlie, and Cas at the end, sitting on a wooden chair he’d brought in from the library to make more space for those of you who did eat.

"This won't work," you said to the other four, though it was technically directed at Charlie. Your tone was as condescending as you could make it under the influence of the alcohol you’d already consumed. 

Three beers and two sneaky sips of Charlie’s Harvey Wallbanger you’d taken while she wasn’t looking.

It was one less ounce of bounce in her step for your at-the-time more than tipsy gal pal and well deserved. Especially now she’d revealed her true intentions on why she’d encouraged you to partake in drinking in the first place.

In her overly enthusiastic state, she’d suggested a game to get “The Party Started.” A phrase she’d attempted to sing in vain as only you seemed to understand its reference. 

Though Sam might have had a clue. His mouth had turned up around the lip of his bottle he’d conveniently sipped during the rendition of the Black Eyed Pea's early noughties banger.

Dean was one hundred per cent clueless, of course. Nothing past the eighties was decent to him. Nothing except that one Taylor Swift song you’d caught him listening to when he thought no one was watching. 

He had sulked then and had been sulking on and off again since last night. Brooding over the fact he’d lost his one chance to remove the mark. Unbeknownst that Sam had not burnt the Book of the Damned like he, Charlie and Cas thought, but in a better mood thanks to the booze and pizza he’d brought home.

You knew better.

Both about his demeanour and what had really happened with the ancient text. 

You’d seen Sam swap it with a replacement and you’d promised him you’d keep your mouth shut. Something you were hating your past self for.

Past you was a fucking idiot.

A fucking idiot who was about to get drunk from a game of Never Have I Ever like Charlie had suggested, and at risk of spilling more than one can of beans if you didn’t think of something fast to stop it. 

Charlie, the conniving little… She knew way too much about you after the last time you’d had a few with her and the glint in her eyes that you’d seen when she suggested the damn game was enough for you to know that what she was planning was dangerous.

A drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts. Or something like that.  

And she was almost there. 

“What do you mean, it won’t work?” she said with far too loud a pitch that made even Cas uncomfortable. 

Well, more uncomfortable than normal.

“Umm. The angel, for starters.” You directed your gaze at Cas, realising too late that you were going to give him a complex. “I think most of our everyday human experiences are going to be a never for him. And whatever he did in heaven will be the same for us. It’s unbalanced.”

“You’re thinking too much. He’ll get drunk. We’ll get drunk. That’s the point of the game,” Charlie said.

But her grin left her when a gruff, “I won’t,” interjected itself into the conversation. 

Hah. Won’t. It was as if you’d sucked the happiness out of Charlie and taken it all for yourself to then rub it back in her face. “See. Cas doesn’t want to play. And Sam and Dean clearly don’t want to play either.” They'd said nothing against the suggestion and nothing against you now.

“Actually, you don’t have enough liquor here to get me drunk,” Cas added.

Don’t have enough… “Seriously?” You looked at him again and he nodded. An apologetic look on his face.

Which brought a ‘challenge accepted’ one into Charlie’s.

Looking around the room for support from the guys, you noticed Sam hiding a silent chuckle behind the bottle in his hand. 

While Dean, who had been quiet since Charlie had burst out in song, locked eyes with yours. “Well, if there aren’t any more arguments from you, sweetheart, let’s play.”

And you thought Cas’ claim that there wasn’t enough booze for him was a surprise.

Fuck. Your head was pounding.

Your mouth was drier than a desert with a chalky sensation in your throat and lips that felt like they had cracked. 

Yup. Cracked alright. They stung as you splayed your tongue over them, attempting to nourish the skin with what little wetness you had left in your mouth. A fat lot of good that did, though.

They weren’t the only part of your body feeling uncomfortable. Pins and needles from where you’d slept funny on your arm tingled from your funny bone to your wrist.

‘Ow. Fuck.’ Well, that hurt.

You were hung without a doubt, and just all over feeling seedy.

At least you’d slept some of the alcohol off and were no longer drunk. You thought.

The strands of hair that had made their way into your mouth and the saliva you strung along with it as you pulled it out would say otherwise. Urgh. Gross.

Had you been drooling? No wonder your throat was dry.

You groaned and forced your eyes open. Yes, you had. There was a wet patch on the white pillowcase below you.

Odd. You didn’t own white sheets. 

You’d decorated your room in the bunker with as much colour as you could. What with the hunting life full of black, brown, denim and blood, you didn’t need any of that spreading into your personal space. 

Of course, white was colour(ish), but again, you didn’t own white sheets, and your room didn’t have a solid wall where you were facing. Curiouser and curiouser. Your door was supposed to be right there. 

You were at the correct end of the bed for it. A headboard behind you and a pillow underneath you, meaning you were lying on the right side. Yet all you saw was more bricks, a tall boy in some kind of brown and clothes that weren’t yours scattered on the surrounding floor. 

Amongst them, a pair of jeans - okay, they might be yours. But the flannel? One plaid with various browns and greens. The very same Dean had been wearing last night?

Fuck.

Dean’s clothes. Dean’s room.

This was Dean’s room? 

This was Dean’s room. 

Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. 

What were you doing here? The last thing you remember was… Fuck.

Those lips. Dean’s lips, plump and whiskey-tainted, had peppered kisses on you in more than one place. Over your mouth, your cheek and your neck. Lower... 

You’d learnt the spot at the base of your ear above your lower jaw was quite sensitive. Dean had learnt that, too. He’d also learnt a few other things if your tainted memory served you correctly, and you, the same about him.

The way his muscles contracted around his chest and back. Every little ridge, taut and firm, continued even down his arm and into his hands. Those talented fingers had a way of placing pressure in just the right places to make you blush. They’d found their way under your shirt and bra and…

Oh… Oh…

Had you slept with him and not remembered the main event? Was that possible with Dean? Your friend. The guy you’d wanted to be more than for the longest of time.

You've fallen for him the day you’d met. With that charming smile and those dazzling green eyes. 

And that was before you’d gotten to know him.

Now you knew the man behind the shit-eating grin. The playful, sometimes scary nerd (who refused to admit it) was loyal to those he cared about. A self-righteous martyr, who could be a bit of a dick sometimes and followed it too when the time was appropriate. 

Not that he’d done it so much lately. 

Except, maybe now.

You were screwed and without asking him, there weren’t too many ways to check if indeed you had been by him.

You turned your head slowly to find an empty bed next to you. 

Thank fuck. There was plenty of time to ask, but his bed was not the place.

You stretched your legs out, noting they felt normal. Stiff if anything, but not in a way you’d expect if you’d partaken in good sex.

Of course, that meant nothing. Maybe the rumours you’d heard about Dean were untrue?

Yeah right. 

You’d seen the satisfied faces from all of his past hook-ups as they fled his motel room the next morning. Possibly one in every state. He had brought none of them to the bunker though, meaning you were the first to sleep in his room. In his bed.

Go you... That was something to be proud of, not. 

You’d hightailed it out of his room after all that. Slinking off down the hall to your own to get changed out of the clothes you’d been wearing the night before. You hadn’t been wearing them when you’d woken up, of course. Oh, no. You’d been wearing one of his henleys, braless underneath, and your underwear surprisingly still on. 

While you’d think that would be a comfort for you, you knew that meant nothing. Though everything felt normal down there, so maybe it did. 

You weren’t sticky when you had a shower, but you noticed the love bites above your breasts when you looked in the bathroom mirror after it. There were bruises on your hips too. Ones shaped like fingerprints that fingers had pressed into you on either side. 

Hmm.

There was only one way to find out what had happened and once you’d primed and prepped yourself, wearing clothes that covered you from your neck to your toes, you made your way to the same room where everything had gone down the night before.

Stupid Charlie and her stupid fucking game. 

“Hey, Charlie,” you greeted when she saw you enter. Her eyebrows raised, along with her grin. “Where’s everyone else?” 

In other words - Where’s Dean?

Only Charlie sat at the table. The rest of the room was clear. There were no more pizza boxes, no more alcohol bottles and no one in the kitchenette. Not even someone’s head in the fridge. 

Just Charlie, with the smell of bacon and freshly ground coffee lingering in the air around her.

Coffee. You needed some of that.

“Sam’s got his head in the books again. Can you believe he was up before eight?”

Actually, you could and you hummed in response as you took your fresh cup of steaming goodness up to your lips to sip.

“I think Cas has left the building. We may have gotten him drunker than we thought.” She smirked. “And I figured you knew where Dean was.”

Your mouth spluttered over the rim of your cup. Coffee now dripped down your shirt and a few of the drops had landed on the floor. 

You flicked your eyes to your friend as you placed the cup on the table opposite her. Towels. You needed towels.

“Don’t give me that look. I saw you two after I left. And I checked on you this morning when I first got up. You weren’t in your room,” she said.

There was a knowing look on her face as you made your way between the pantry and back again that you ignored. Stooping down low to wipe the spill you’d made on the tiled floor below, only joining her once you’d discarded the paper towel in the bin along with your dignity.

Your hands went straight back to your cup, sipping on the rim and avoiding Charlie’s prying eyes.

“Come on. Let me live vicariously. What happened between you two?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

“You don’t know? I set this all up for you and him and you don’t know?”

“Ssshhh.” Your shoulders slouched, and you reached across the table to grab her arm. “I don’t remember, okay? I woke up in his bed but…”

“Did you two?” She made a crude gesture with her hands.

“I. Don’t. Know.” Your eyes were open wide as you enunciated every syllable to get your point across. 

“How do you not know?” Charlie blinked a couple of times. 

Drawing in a long breath, your mouth agape and ready to sigh it all out, you looked back at your friend and trembled your head in a quick shake. “I remember fooling around a bit but I don’t remember much more than that.”

“So you just woke up in his bed and don’t know how you got there?” she asked.

“I mean, I know how I got in his room, I remember that much, I think, but I don’t remember lying down or, you know.” The look you gave her was enough. You didn’t need to elaborate and even if you had wanted to, a heavy thud of boots echoed through the corridor outside.

Sure, it was possibly Sam, but that distinct gap between steps could only have been made by one bow-legged Winchester. And when Charlie’s face lit up opposite you and you heard the sound abruptly stop from somewhere near the door, you knew it to be true.

“Morning Dean,” she said. The chirpiness in her voice made you want to slap her silly but as you only had access to the hand that still held yours in the moment, you dug your fingernails into the skin below them instead. “Ow. You want some breakfast? There’s bacon still in the pan.”

Dean grunted and you felt eyes boring into the back of your head.

You refused to look behind you to where you knew he was pouring his own coffee by the sounds of it and released Charlie’s hand to pick up your cup. You took slow sips, keeping both your mouth and the rest of your body occupied while your elbows rested on the table, defending yourself from Charlie and her quips.

“How did you sleep?” she asked this time. Her eyes flicked between you both.

Could she be any more obvious?

“Fine,” he grumbled. “You got any more questions, or are you gonna leave us in peace to sort our own shit out?” 

Fuck.

You looked over at Charlie with a pleading look that said ‘Please don’t go.’ My how things had changed. But she grinned back at you and wagged her eyes, before standing and leaving the room in haste. Damn traitor.

As her footsteps trailed off down the hall, the room grew uncomfortably silent. Making your sips the loudest thing to have ever existed in the world. 

Your coffee was more bitter than it had been and you needed sugar pronto if you ever wanted to finish it.

You brought your cup down and placed it on the table before you to let your fingers fidget over the thin porcelain. Paying attention to each sharp angle between the curves and painted decorations. More so than was ever necessary.

Your eyes fixated on it, even as Dean took Charlie’s place across from you, watching you with caution. “So,” he cleared his throat. “How’d you sleep?”

Seriously? Taking Charlie’s line was how he wanted to start this. Well alrighty then. “Um. Fine, I guess. You?” You braved a glance at him, noting he was more serious in his disposition than usual.

“Like a log,” he said before silence filled the room again.

Right. You weren’t sure what you should say next. There was that big question on your mind, but you wanted, no, needed to approach it carefully. You didn’t want him to know you didn’t remember what if anything had happened between you. 

Not for his ego, but for yours.

You took another glance at him and saw his tongue run along the inside of his cheek, making it stick out under the five o’clock shadow he was yet to get rid of. He always looked his best like that. 

“I uh, I was surprised you weren’t there when I came back to my room just now.”

Wait. He was? “You were?” 

“Yeah.” There was a defensive twang in his tone. It was subtle, but it was there. “I only went to take a shower and then I found you’d bolted… I thought…” He shook his head.

He thought. Thought what?

You looked him up and down. It wasn’t just his tone that was unusual. The way he held his shoulders and the way he gripped his coffee cup before him was odd. In anyone else, you’d say they were lacking in confidence, but Dean wasn’t like this.  

The last time you’d seen him in such a way was after he’d killed Randy and the thugs in Pontiac and had come home dishevelled and broken over what he’d done.

“What did you think?” you asked, stretching your arm out to brush his hand across the table. Hoping that by doing so it might relieve whatever tension he was feeling.

There was a warmth there, that spread under your fingertips as your skin touched his and brought flashbacks to your mind of you touching other places on his body. 

You’d seen him with his shirt off last night. Been up close and personal with his tattoo and the scars that adorned his chest. You’d felt the dip in his spine and the pressure of his waistband pressing into your thumbs when you’d hooked them under the denim that sat around his waist.

Had you gotten into those jeans last night?

“Last night,” he said, watching your hand with interest. “After what we talked about.”

What we talked about? You’d stayed up well into the night with him. Long after Sam and Charlie had gone to bed and Cas had disappeared to do whatever Cas does. But just like your memories of what took place in his room were drawing blank, so too were whatever words you’d exchanged with him. 

All you could see were the grins and smirks he threw your way, and you nodded your head to stall. It didn’t do you any favours. 

He was looking at you with a scrutinising gaze and just as your cheeks had burned when he found that spot under your ear, they did the exact same to you now and gave everything away. “You. You don’t remember? Do you?”

You bit your lip and shook your head. “I ah. I’m drawing blanks. Some of it, I remember, but I couldn’t tell you what we talked about after the others left. And…” You hesitated.

“What?” His eyes locked onto yours and while they made you nervous, you couldn’t pull away. 

“Dean. Did we…” 

He seemed almost disappointed. But rather than wait for you to finish your question, or answer it even though it was as obvious as Charlie had been, he stood up, scraping the chair along the floor as he did so to storm off.

‘What the fuck just happened?’

You had drunk a lot and been drunk because of it. You’d spent time with Dean alone after the others had gone to bed and had talked with him about something. 

Something that led you to his room and into his bed. 

There’d been action. Kisses and touches. A bit of groping and clothes being removed. Small flashes of that continued to form in your mind. But while marks had been left on your skin and you’d stayed the night in his bed, you couldn’t remember the physical act of him being inside of you. Or you giving him a happy ending either for that matter. 

And now, he was disappointed.

Could it be that he felt the same way you did? 

————————————————————Thank you for reading! I’ll try posting part two same time next week - or you can read it now on AO3 here. In the meantime, I’ll be trying to work this site out (and finishing my WIPs whose updates are overdue… 🙃

[indiestsnake]

okay. for real this time. Major In Stars and Time spoilers for act 3 and beyond. To my wonderful friends playing this masterpiece, to no further. To potential readers, buckle up. This gets long ._.

I thought this game was done with causing me symptoms of emotional exhaustion and stress overload. I was wrong.

Acts 5 and 6 of this game caused the most emotion a video game has ever inflicted on me. Like- the tightness in my chest was an emotion I can only describe as grief. Genuine grief. I felt like I needed to sob for most of act six, for multiple reasons.

Let’s start at the fuckin transition I guess!!!!!!!!!! Siffrin finally thinks they figured it out, and they haven’t. The genuine fear I felt in the cutscene with Euphrasie, the realization that… that this was it, Siffrin was simply stuck. I believed it. I could not find a way to break my suspension of disbelief. I fully, genuinely could not believe that this game had a happy ending. I did not know this game only had one ending, but even if I did, it… I don’t think it would’ve done anything.

The following monologue was the usual terrifying, the game using its informal dialogue to reap horrific subversive effects as usual. Of course it saved some tricks for this moment, like taking away control of when the dialogue progressed. Watching Siffrin snap so thoroughly, lose all his hope and cling to the thought of defeating the king alone because he doesn’t know what else to do, it… it really breaks you.

So. Now that the game has maximized my potential sympathy for Siffrin. And torn my empathetic heart to shreds. It immediately turns on a heel and makes me hate them within three conversations. The things they say to Mira, Odile, Bonnie, Isa, made me so thoroughly angry. I would not blame Odile for actually harming him. I would not blame Mira if she never spoke to him again. I would not blame Bonnie for never wanting to even think about him again. And I would not blame Isa if he no longer loved Siffrin.

I am a person who believes in redemption. In second chances. The readers of my fics know this well. But sadly, actions have to have consequences. And the actions Siffrin takes should have lost him his friends, his family, forever. Even in his circumstances. They had no reason to keep caring.

So then, reeling from the genuine sense of loss and grief and hate and despair, Siffrin nicks the orbs and goes in alone. Through about, what, 20-30 minutes of gameplay, this tension persists. The game didn’t even need to barrage me with monologues, just show those conversations of the family Siffrin left, tear apart the house and the menus and the game till it was barely recognizable. Siffrin. The Lost One, says his profile. Memory of emptiness. Rock, paper, scissors. It’s so dry. So dull. So full of despair and pain and fear and a question of what he could ever do to deserve this hell. He can’t go back. He cannot find the hope or will or anything to go through with it, to follow the script. So even if this does break the loop. What then? He is left with a world where the people he loves most despise him.

Then finally, he reaches the king.

The fight is almost dull. Simplistic. Full of pain. Siffrin does not need a shield to withstand the vision of the future. Because the world they live in cannot get any worse. Nothing scares him more than the hell he now exists in.

Then, he begins to freeze. The king slows him down. And he falls asleep.

The following sequence was just… indescribable. The sadness variant of him, Mal du Pays. French for “homesickness”. Just a simple drawing of Siffrin. The music. The dialogue. The words that come from its mouth. From the party’s mouths. Siffrin tries to say it’s fake. Isabeau’s segment convinces him it’s not.

I didn’t even realize what was happening till it flashed forward and gripped the screen by the face.

He was turning into a sadness.

The frame of his sadness gripping the screen, like many of ISAT’s frames, is something I can’t manage to forget. The cloak and the face and the way it fills the screen so suddenly and finally speaks as itself, not as Siffrin’s party. And he can’t fight it. They just can’t. The universe leads, but he is tired. And now, he can rest. If he just lets go.

In that moment, I was staring at a black screen, begging, pleading for the credits not to roll.

And then he wakes up.

Because his friends are back.

Despite what he said and did, they knew he didn’t mean it. And if he did, they didn’t care. It was clear something was wrong, and they were determined to fix it. Because they were his friends.

I don’t think I’ve ever had a game manage to convey self-hatred so convincingly that I, the player, began to hate my character in a way their friends could not. In fact, I was not aware that was a thing that could happen.

I don’t even know how to express the feelings this give me coherently. It feels like this game snatched away one of my closest moral beliefs only to clothesline me with said belief so I learned it even harder. What Siffrin did was not unforgivable. But it truly convinced me that it was.

So of that when all hope seemed truly, truly lost. It pulled the basic trope of “your friends come help when you thought you were alone”. And it nearly knocked me out of my chair.

First off, get fucked king. Second off, happy for you king.

And then the walk to Euphrasie. I was mixed with giddy glee and unending dread for this whole thing. Isa helps Sif walk while Bonnie holds their hand. Color exists again but only red and oh god the world is ending. Euphrasie is still broken oh god please no don’t send me back don’t take this from me please no no no no WAM REVERSE BOSS FIGHT

Cue that scene. I wasn’t exactly happy that my only option aside from hurting my friends was hurting myself. But it did not take long for me to start groaning in annoyance when Mira healed me.

And then. Against all odds. Siffrin breaks. As does the text formatting as the party literally claws at the text box edges to yell at him.

They fall. Hands clasped together. And he tells them his wish. That he just wants to stay with them.

Of course. That’s all he ever wanted.

And oh god, oh thank every deity, that’s all they want too.

And he finally gets a god-damn motherfucking son of a bitch eye-losing tear-jerking MOTHER FUCKING HUG

and damn it was a good one. poor guy was all squimshed. lost his hat too

the rest of the dialogue is just. amazing. I was gigging and smiling and shaking and vibrating with joy before I even finished Mirabelle’s segment. Walking to Bonnie was when I realized it felt like I wanted to cry. During Bonnie’s dialogue was when I almost did cry. Then Odile. Who I obviously asked for the long version of her theory and she was very helpful for explaining all the stuff. and then.

Isabeau.

oh. my. fucking. god.

the joy I felt when he said it. The leap I leapt, ungracefully dancing over to my bed and mouthing screams of joy. I genuinely just collapsed and writhed around like a fish out of water in happiness. You know how some folk flap their hands to stim? Yeah, imagine that but my whole body. I was so unbelievably happy. I don’t know how a game did this much to me.

The rest of the dialogue was wonderful too. Sif apologized for everything, even the optional events, even admitted the bad touch event. And of course. Isa freaked the fuck out. Because oh my god Sif kissed him. And then when Sif clarifies that it was not a good kiss. He just thinks for a moment like. “…………. Maybe u just need more practice!!! ^^” and it was at that point Siffrin and Isabeau plushies manifested in my hands and I mashed their faces together like barbie dolls

Mira doesn’t want self-spoilers and thats hilarious. Bonnie has no fucken clue what’s going on but she knows Sif was hungry sick and at school so all is well. Odile admits she linguine’s him and yes I fucking love that joke. SIF’S HOME COUNTRY MIFHT APPEAR IN THE DISTANCE????? AND ISA AND SIF ARE GOING ON A FUCKING DATE

and it was at this point I saved my progress, crossed my heart, and prayed Euphrasie would not send me back.

And she didn’t.

oh, god, this game…

welp. this post is two hours in the making. dunno if any of this is coherent but I think if you’ve played isat you get it. thank you to everyone who’s been blowing up my liveposts recently!!! it’s been cool to see the fandom giggle evilly at my suffering :3

tho my contributions to the Isat fandom do not end here. the fic is imminent. I could not stop it if I wanted too. If you couldn’t tell by the essay you just read.

thank you for reading this far if you somehow did!!!! hope you enjoyed my nonsensical babbling. I’m gonna go pass out. have a good day!!!!!!! .3

[msriri030]

Husband! Bob x Spouse Reader

cw: light angst

You glared at your ex-husband, Bob Velseb, standing at your doorway with a bag of fresh meat that all but screamed his latest gruesome exploits. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots—people had been going missing again.

Bob’s lips curled into a disarming smile, his southern drawl honeyed and deliberate. “I’m home, darlin’. Why don’t I whip up something’ nice' for you and the girls? Just like old times.”

Your hands clenched into fists as a wave of anger surged through you. Did he really think you’d let him stroll back into your life after disappearing when your now three-year-old daughter was only two months old? Fat chance.

He had always been a storm of chaos, leaving destruction in his wake, but this time it wasn’t just about you. Your two daughters, peacefully asleep upstairs, were your everything. You weren’t going to let Bob ruin the stability and safety you’d fought so hard to build.

“No,” you growled, stepping into the doorway to block his path. “You can fuck off and leave the girls out of this.”

Bob’s smile faltered slightly as you jabbed a finger toward the bag in his hand. “And take that mess with you. The girls believe their father is six feet under, and I intend to keep it that way.”

His eyes darkened for a moment, the smile on his face twisting into something colder, more dangerous. But you held your ground, your protective instincts blazing brighter than any fear he could try to stir in you. 

“Six feet under, huh?” he drawled, his southern accent dripping with a charm that felt as fake as the smile plastered on his face. “Well, darlin’, ain’t that somethin’? Here I am, back from the grave, just to see my family. Reckon that makes me a ghost, doesn't it?”

You stepped closer, blocking the doorway entirely, your body a shield between him and the peaceful home behind you. Your heart raced, but you didn’t dare let it show. Bob thrived on fear, and you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction.

“Whatever sick game you’re playing, it ends here,” you spat, your voice low but resolute. “You don’t get to just show up after all these years and act like nothing happened. The girls don’t need you, Bob. We don’t need you.”

Bob chuckled darkly, the deep rumble of his laugh sending a shiver down your spine. “Oh, darlin’, you wound me,” he drawled, his tone laced with mock sincerity. “I’ve been thinkin’ about y’all this whole time, wonderin’ how my little girls are growin’ up. Don’t you think they deserve to know their daddy?”

“Wound you? You—" Your voice faltered as your hands balled into fists at your sides. You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to steady your trembling voice. “Their daddy is the man who’s been there for them—the one who raised them. Not the one who ran off and left us to pick up the pieces without warning! So no, Bob. They don’t need to know you. Not now. Not ever… I’m sorry.”

Bob’s smirk faded slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. But before he could respond, you continued, your voice breaking with raw emotion.

“Did you even think about how your disappearing act would affect them?” Your eyes filled with tears, and you blinked quickly, refusing to let them fall. “They asked for you day and night, Bob. Day and night. And I—"

You choked on the words, your pain spilling out in each syllable as you met his gaze. Bob’s frown deepened, his confident demeanor faltering as guilt flickered in his eyes.

For a moment, just a moment, the mask slipped, and he looked almost human like when you first met. Then, as if compelled by something primal, Bob suddenly moved toward you, his steps quick and purposeful. The air between you grew tense, and your breath hitched as his intentions became unclear.

You closed your eyes, bracing for the worst, your heart pounding as fear gripped you. But instead of pain, you felt the unexpected warmth of his arms wrapping around you. It wasn’t rough or forceful—it was tender, almost comforting.

Your breath caught as you opened your eyes, looking up at him through a blur of tears. His expression was unreadable, a strange mixture of guilt and longing etched across his face.

“Bob…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He leaned down slowly, pressing a soft, almost reverent kiss to your forehead. The gesture left you stunned, tears spilling freely down your cheeks. It wasn’t what you expected, not from the man who had brought so much chaos and pain into your life.

For a brief moment, you saw the man you had once loved, hidden beneath the years of betrayal and destruction. Yet, the warmth of his embrace couldn’t erase the past or the weight of his actions.

You pulled back slightly, your voice breaking as you whispered, “Bob… Please, just leave. For their sake.”

Your plea wavered with the emotions threatening to overcome you. The love you thought had long since died began to flicker, betraying your resolve. It was a dangerous ember, one that could easily ignite the uncertainty buried deep within you. Bob noticed the shift, his eyes softening as he gently cupped your cheek with his hand.

“Darlin’,” he said, his voice low and soothing, “I’ll leave if that’s what you want. But just… let me have one cup of your famous hot chocolate. Like old times, yeah? You remember?”

You felt your resolve cracking further as you unconsciously leaned into his touch, nuzzling his hand. His words carried a strange sense of nostalgia that tugged at your heart.

With a sad smile, you nodded, stepping aside to let him in. “Fine… but please, don’t make too much noise. I don’t want the girls to wake up.”

Bob stepped inside, his smile broadening as his eyes roamed the familiar surroundings. The air between you was thick with unspoken words, memories, and the weight of decisions both past and present. You led him into the kitchen, your emotions a storm of conflicted feelings, wondering if letting him in was a mistake—or if the fleeting moment of warmth was worth the risk.

When you turned to try to backtrack, to take control of the situation, the sight of Bob rooted you in place. The man who had ended lives without hesitation now stood frozen before your wall, covered with photographs of the girls. Everyday moments captured with care—birthdays, school plays, lazy afternoons at the park. His gaze, however, was fixed on one particular picture: a family drawing, childishly scrawled in crayon.

It was simple yet heartbreaking—a depiction of all four of you holding hands in a park, smiling under a bright yellow sun. Beneath the figure labeled "Mom" was you, next to two smaller figures marked "Us." But next to the towering figure meant to represent Bob, the words "My Guardian Angel" were written in wobbly letters.

Bob’s face twisted as he stared, his usual confidence crumbling into something vulnerable, raw. Guilt rippled through his expression as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

Finally, he turned to you, who stood leaning against the kitchen doorway, your arms crossed defensively as you waited for him to process whatever he was feeling.

“I guess you couldn’t really tell them their dad’s a red devil, huh?” he murmured, his voice unsteady as he finally walked toward you.

You didn’t look at him, your gaze locked on the stove as you quietly prepared the hot chocolate. “No,” you replied softly but firmly. “I can’t.” 

The silence between you two stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by the soft clinking of the spoon as you stirred the hot chocolate on the stove. Bob watched you intently, his gaze tracing every movement with a mixture of longing and regret. He had missed you—the way you moved, the way your voice filled the room. For all his selfish desires, he knew better than to say it aloud.

Your voice shattered his thoughts.

“You know, Belle—our youngest—found an old picture of you.” You smiled faintly, but the sadness in your eyes cut deeper than any words could. “She was kissing it and asking where you were. I had to remind her… you were in ‘heaven.’”

Bob’s confident demeanor faltered. He looked away, unable to meet your gaze for the first time, guilt etched into every line of his face.

You poured the steaming hot chocolate into a cup, setting it down in front of him with deliberate care. “You know what’s funny?” you continued, your voice tinged with anger and exhaustion. “I feel jealous of how much she loves you. Because I know you don’t deserve it.”

Bob flinched as if the words had physically struck him, but he stayed silent, gripping the cup as if it were the only thing grounding him.

You stared at him, your expression hardening as you leaned forward. “They buried their memories of you with love,” you said, your voice low but sharp. “Now that you’re back…”

Bob finally looked up, meeting your glare, but the weight of your next words shook him to his core.

“What do you want me to tell them? Why?” Your tone cracked with emotion, though your resolve remained unyielding. “There’s no way to revive the man they’ve idealized without killing the truth of the one who actually left.”

The room fell silent again, the tension between you two palpable, as Bob struggled to find words that didn’t exist.

[sequinsmile-x]

One Last Souvenir From My Trip to Your Shores - Part 2

“Come on, Derek, it’s my job and Aaron knows that. And it’s not the first time I’ve had to flirt with an unsub. It’s not like I’m going to sleep with the guy.”

He scoffs and shakes his head, putting the coffee pot down with more force than necessary, “It wouldn’t be the first time you did that either.” 

A thoughtless and unkind comment from someone she's always considered a friend makes Emily feel like she's right back at the start.

-x-

Hi besties,

Thank you so SO much for the love for chapter 1, I'm genuinely a little blown away.

It almost makes me anxious to post chapter 2 haha, so I hope you enjoy this <3

I can't believe I ever thought this wouldn't be 11k words overall haha

As always, let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: None

Words: 5.5k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She looks as tired as she feels. 

It’s the first thing she thinks when she looks in the mirror. Her makeup is smudged underneath her eyes, and she curses whoever marketed her mascara as waterproof. Her chin trembles when she sees the tracks of her tears on her cheeks and she shakes her head at herself, desperate to no longer be upset, but it’s futile and another tear slips down, following the trail left behind by the ones that had gone before it. 

“Damn it,” she says, blowing out a shaky breath, “Get it together, Emily.” 

She removes her makeup and then splashes water onto her face and pats it dry, blowing out a slow breath as she looks at herself in the mirror again, her red-rimmed eyes and slightly blotchy skin standing out in her bathroom's slightly too bright light. 

“That’s as good as it’s going to get,” she murmurs to herself as she drops the towel onto the countertop, and a smile spreads across her face when it lands next to some of Aaron’s things that lived there permanently. He had a razor here, a toothbrush and a bottle of his cologne. She’d never tell him that on the rare occasion when she slept separately from him she’d wear it. That she’d spray herself and her clothes and close her eyes and pretend he was right there with her. 

His bathroom looked similar, items she’d taken there and left in amongst his and spread across all the surfaces. The first night she stayed, Aaron presented her with a toothbrush to keep in his bathroom, and it now sat in the holder next to his and Jack’s.  It made her feel like part of a family for the first time in a long time, maybe for the first time ever, and it made her smile whenever she saw them all lined up, or when she accidentally picked up Jack’s watermelon flavoured toothpaste.  It was messier than her bathroom, a microcosm of Aaron and Jack’s life - items the little boy always left out that she or Aaron would put away - and it felt like a taster of a life that she was leading up to. Practice for something she so desperately wanted and knew she was on the cusp of having.

She sighs and steps out of the bathroom, but stops when she hears voices. For a split second, she thinks Aaron might actually be telling off the poor college kid who delivered the pizza, but then she realises she recognises the second voice. She feels anxiety pool in her gut again, any comfort Aaron had given her extinguished by Derek’s voice. 

“I just want to speak to her,” he says, more irritation in his tone than she thinks he deserves to feel. She steps into the hallway and sees Aaron blocking Derek’s view of the apartment, his skin paper white as it’s drawn over his knuckles as he holds the door tight. 

“I think you’ve said enough,” he says, his voice clipped, and she doesn’t have to look at his face to know Derek’s likely on the receiving end of a stern expression that had made hardened criminals crumble. 

She knows if she said that she wanted Derek to leave he’d close the door in his face without question, and he’d tell him to leave and that would be it. She’s tempted, unsure if she wants to talk to him before she’s had a chance to figure out what she wants to say, the wounds caused by his careless words still fresh and wide open. But she knows this conversation will be hard whenever she has it, and she wanted to get it over with, to try and move forward from whatever the last few days had been. To try and start chipping away at the heavy weight in the pit of her stomach that had been planted there by Derek just a few days ago. 

“Aaron,” she says before she can change her mind, her lips pressed together as he turns to look at her, “You can let him in.”

He stares at her, and they have a silent exchange, a conversation with no words because they’d never really needed them. He looks at her, seeking out any tiny semblance of doubt on her face and she nods at him, lets him know she’s sure and he nods back, a short, sharp thing that she knows means he’ll support her no matter what. He opens the door and lets Derek step past him, and he comes face to face with the pizza delivery guy who seems confused by the tension he’s walked into. Aaron passes him the money and takes the pizza without comment, closing the door behind him before anything can be said. He places their dinner, which he’s sure will go cold before they can eat it, on the closest surface he can find, and makes his way to Emily’s side. 

Some of the tension dissipates from her shoulders the moment he’s next to her, and she crosses her arms over her chest, clearing her throat as she waits for Derek to speak. He doesn’t, as if he hadn’t expected to get this far at all, and Aaron sighs, his hand on Emily’s back to get her attention. 

“Why don’t we all go sit down?” 

She nods and lets herself be led to the living room, warmth spreading through her from where Aaron’s hand is pressed against her back. He taps her spine three times with his thumb, and she steps away so she can hold his hand, the press of her palm against his her way of returning the sentiment she doesn’t want to share in front of Derek. It’s only when they are all sitting down, when Aaron takes his place by her side, sitting close enough that their thighs press together, and Derek sits on the couch opposite them that she realises this is the first time Derek had ever been to this place. 

He’d never visited, and had never asked to either, and it makes sadness swell in her gut, a feeling that’s extinguished as she remembers what Aaron had told her about what he’d said in her old apartment. How he stood in her home, the place she’d cooked for him and where he’d drunk her expensive liquor, and he’d torn her character apart. He sits opposite them and just stares, and she’s suddenly very aware of the fact she and Aaron are dressed so casually, one of his t-shirts loose on her frame. It’s a version of them that was usually only for them and Jack and she hates that Derek is seeing it. It makes her feel exposed, like she’s on display for him to see, and she tightens her grip on Aaron’s hand. 

“I thought you wanted to speak to me,” Emily eventually says, her voice more steady than she feels and she thanks a god she isn’t sure she believes in anymore for the way she’d been brought up, for the fact she could hold herself together even when it felt like she was slowly ripping apart at the seams.

Derek sighs, his arms across his chest as he looks back and forth between the two of them, “Can we talk alone?” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Aaron says without thinking, an automatic response he can’t hold back as the desire to protect her almost burns him from the inside out. He looks at her so he can gauge what she wants, because they both know he’d leave if she asked him to, but she nods ever so slightly and keeps her grip tight on his hand, her blunt nails digging into his skin. 

“Anything you want to say to me you can say in front of him.”

Derek laughs, it’s nervous and unlike him, and he looks between the two of them again, “What, you can’t speak to me without your guard dog?”

She knows it’s an attempt at a joke, that he’s trying to lighten the mood he’d created in the first place, and it just makes her angrier. She knows it does the same for Aaron because she can feel how his shoulders get tenser, his body almost wider with it as he prepares to be exactly what Derek is comparing him to. 

“Derek,” she says warningly, “He’s staying. What did you want to say?”

He leans forward, his elbows on his knees as he clasps his hands in front of him, and he blows out a breath, “I’m sorry.” 

She chuckles humourlessly, “Is that it? Because we have pizza to eat and it’s been a long day-”

“Emily, come on-”

“No,” she says sharply, “You can’t come here and say you’re sorry and think that’s it. You can’t call me a whore and expect to-”

“Whoa,” he says, cutting her off and shaking his head, “I never said that.” 

She clenches her teeth, fed up with being told by people, men, that she’d misinterpreted things, that she’s overreacting to something she hasn’t even begun to react to yet. 

“Then what did you mean by it?” She asks, staring at him, finding no joy in how he shrinks in front of her, how he becomes visibly smaller as he grapples for an explanation they all know he doesn’t have, “That’s what I thought. You should go, this was pointless-”

“I didn’t mean to say it.”

She scoffs and shakes her head, “Then what did you mean to say? Or did you just mean to think it?” She asks, her sadness once again overtaking her anger, the two emotions racing each other around her bloodstream in a way that makes her fidget. Aaron places his hand on her knee and it grounds her, reminds her she’s not facing this or anything else alone anymore. 

“When you were arrested for murder, I barely knew you and I believed you were innocent without question and I did not judge you or your actions. Why couldn’t you do the same for me when you stood in my home and talked about things you do not understand that happened before I knew you?” 

Derek connects the dots quickly, figures out the chain of command of how everything he’d said in anger to Dave had made its way back to Emily, and looks sharply at Aaron, “You told her.”

“She deserved to know,” Aaron says firmly, all of his focus on keeping his cool. Emily could hold her own, he knew that, but his desire to protect her was thrumming under his skin, making him all but vibrate on the couch. 

“What gives you the right-”

“I asked him,” she says, cutting over Derek again, barely able to bring herself to let him finish a sentence, “I asked him and he told me.” She sighs sadly, the one thing she’d been thinking on repeat since he’d broken her heart finally slipping free, “I thought you were my friend.” 

Aaron tightens his hold on her hand, unable to stop himself because the crack in her voice reverberates through his heart, and he’s worried if he didn’t do something he’d tell Derek to leave. He runs his thumb back and forth over the pulse in her wrist, tracing the evidence that she’d survived the very worst things that had happened to her. 

Derek’s face falls, the first crack in his facade, and he sinks back against the couch, “I am your friend, Em.” 

“I think we have very different ideas about how we should treat our friends, Derek. I have spent months…” she trails off and swallows thickly as her voice starts to shake. She turns her head to face Aaron, her eyes shining as he looks at her and her jaw tight as she tries to keep herself together. It’s another silent conversation, a squeeze of her hand and a look in his eyes that she knows means are you okay, and she smiles, something that’s lost in the tight way her lips are pressed together and she nods, her expression firm again when she turns back to look at Derek, her voice more steady this time, “I have spent months trying to earn back your trust, trying to prove myself to you again and all this time you’ve been…what? Judging me for things you’ll never have to understand,” she licks her lower lip and takes a deep breath, “I had a relationship with Ian. I had sex with him,” she shrugs when he closes his eyes, his jaw tight with anger, “Why does that have anything to do with you?” 

He sighs, “It doesn’t, not really, but-” 

“There is no but Derek. It has nothing to do with you, and neither does my relationship with Aaron, which is something else you seem to have an opinion on.” 

Derek’s jaw tightens again, his eyes flicking to Aaron, staring him down as he spits out his response, “He faked your death.” 

His attitude towards Aaron makes her angrier, something she wouldn’t have thought was possible as it briefly stamps out any sadness that was lingering in her throat. Aaron stiffens next to her, his shoulders so tight she’s surprised his t-shirt doesn’t rip, that he doesn’t turn into the superhero Jack always compared him to right in front of her and defend her honour. She knows he wants to. If she hinted even for a second that she wanted his help he’d jump in and protect her, but he doesn’t, because she didn’t want or need him to fight her battles. She needed him to help pick up the pieces after. To remind her where all of them went and help her move forward. It was the part of all of this that she’d been missing before him. The support behind the scenes that she’d always told herself she didn’t need because she didn’t know what it felt like to have. 

“And you faked your cousin’s,” she says cooly, unaware until she’s said it that his hypocrisy over Aaron and JJ’s actions to protect her had upset her, the response out and in the air around them before she’d realised it had escaped the place she’d buried it. A flash of guilt licks through her chest, burning her from the inside out as his face falls. She shakes it off, remembering that no matter what she’d made him feel, it was not even a degree of how he’d made her feel.  

“I did that to protect my family.” 

Aaron chuckles humourlessly, his self-control slipping for a moment as everything he’d turned inwards for months breaks free, “And why do you think I did what I did? For fun? Because I wanted to bury another woman I…”

He drifts off, his jaw tight as he holds back everything that feels too personal to share with anyone other than Emily.  He’d known he’d loved her for a lot longer than they’d been together, but he’d only found the name for it when he was faced with losing her, when he was carrying a coffin he knew she wasn’t in. It was a moment of awful clarity, every moment he’d ever had with her on a grim showreel in his head that he couldn’t stop seeing. He told himself that when he got her back, the idea of if too painful to accept, he’d do something about it. 

In the end, he hadn’t been able to, frozen in fear that she would never feel the same way for him. She’d taken the leap, like she so often did, and he’d held her hand and jumped with her. 

She’d always been the bravest person he knew. 

“He was protecting me too,” she says, her hold on Aaron’s hand now so tight her skin is bone white where it’s stretched over her knuckles, “As our friend you should be happy for us,” she says, and Derek shakes his head, dropping his gaze to the floor, “I mean it, Derek. I won’t accept you talking crap about the man I love or our relationship.” 

He looks up, his brows furrowed, “You love him?” 

She scoffs, “Yes,” she says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world because it feels like the most obvious thing in the world.

“And I love her too,” Aaron adds, the gentle words at odds with the stern expression on his face. He usually smiled when he said it, his expression soft and his dimples carved out deep in his cheeks. She turns to look at him and smiles at him, something in her chest easing when he smiles back. 

“Did you love him?” 

She presses her lips together at Derek’s question and watches as Aaron’s face falls too, the brief flash of him, of her Aaron replaced by Hotch as they both turn to look at him. She clears her throat. 

“Ian?” She asks, and Derek nods. She smiles wryly, “Please don't tell me you're equating love to sex, I've seen you go home with enough one-night stands to know you don't believe they are the same thing.” 

He chuckles humourlessly, “That isn’t an answer.” 

She has to wrap her other hand around Aaron’s, sandwiching it between the two of hers to remind him to stay quiet, his anger thick and palpable in the air like a cheap cologne. She’s angry herself because Derek thinks he’s won, that he’s tripped her up with his frustratingly black-and-white thinking. He was still so sure after all these years, after all they’d seen and done, that there were clear answers to everything. She’d lived in the grey area for years. Had existed on the edges of what was right and wrong, and she wonders if that’s part of her that Derek would simply just never understand. 

“And I don't have one that's simple,” she says, “Or one that I think you'll find satisfactory.”

The room falls into silence and Derek leans forward, his fingers pressed against his temples as he tries to gather himself, “I am sorry that I upset you. No matter what…no matter what I may think or have said, I never wanted to upset you.” 

She presses her lips together, “Okay.” 

He frowns, “Okay? Is that it?” 

She nods, “You apologised, I’m not ready to forgive you.” 

He chokes on a humourless laugh, “Em-”

“No,” she says, cutting over him, “You didn’t just upset me, Derek. You…you’ve changed the way I think about our friendship. And that’s going to take a long time for me to come to terms with,” she swallows thickly, pushing down emotions she won’t let herself feel until he’s gone, her eyes burning with tears, “It’s going to be a long time before I trust you again.” 

He sighs and shrugs in defeat, “Then where does this leave us?” 

“Where we are right now I guess,” she replies, “I didn’t bring us to this point. You did. And it isn’t my responsibility to try and make you feel better about it.” 

They fall into silence again, and Emily realises she has nothing left to say, that she’s done trying to defend herself when she’s done nothing wrong. The ball was in Derek’s court now, and she hoped he’d eventually see her side of it all. He nods, his shoulders slumping a little, as he stands. 

“I should go.” He says, his smile tight. Emily stands too, and so does Aaron, his hand on her lower back as they move as one to show him out. He hesitates at the door and turns to look at her, his gaze drifting over both of them, over how close they are. As if he’s seeing them and their relationship as it is for the first time and not the way he’d assumed it to be, “Will we ever get back to where we were?” 

She shrugs, “I doubt we’ll sit in one of the SUVs on a stake out and make fun of Aaron for being a hardass ever again,” she scrunches her nose up and looks over her shoulder at Aaron, “No offence, honey.” 

He squeezes her hip, a smile Emily knows Derek has likely never seen before flashes across his face, “None taken. I am a hardass.” 

She presses her lips together and turns back to Derek, “We’ll get…somewhere. I’m sure.” 

It’s all she can offer him. It’s all she wants to offer him because she doesn’t know how she’ll feel tomorrow or in a week. She doubted the heartache would go away any time soon, and she didn’t know when she’d be able to look at him again and not think of the hurtful thing he’d said. Of the way he’d looked at her when he said it. Of the way he’d made her feel like she was worth nothing. 

It had been a long time since someone she loved looked at her like that and she cared that they had. 

Derek nods, and he forces a tight smile as he leaves, the apartment falling into silence after the door closes behind him. Aaron moves his hands to her shoulders, his thumbs pressed into her back as he tries to ease some of the tension there.

“Sweetheart-” He’s cut off when she turns in his arms, her face buried in his neck and her hands grasping at his back, his t-shirt tight in her fists. He feels the burn of her tears against his skin and he kisses the top of her head, “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you,” he kisses her hairline and pulls back just enough to see her face, “Let’s go sit down, okay?” 

She nods but doesn’t pull away from him. She lets him lead her towards the couch, her sniffles and the occasional sharp intake of breath the only sounds in the apartment. As soon as she’s sitting down he moves to pull away but she stops him, her blunt nails digging into his arm as she furrows her brow. 

“I’ll be less than a minute, okay,” he says, squeezing her forearm before she nods and he tilts his head towards the bathroom, “I’ll barely leave your sight.” 

She watches as he goes, her vision blurred by the tears she’d held back throughout the painful back and forth with Derek. She hears the faucet in the bathroom briefly go on and off, and then Aaron walks back towards her, a damp washcloth in his hand. He sits next to her and turns towards her, his knee knocking against her thigh, and he gently wipes her cheeks with the washcloth. He touches her as if she’s made of something precious, his love and care for her soft as he dabs away the tears someone else had caused, each one immediately replaced. It doesn’t phase him and he carries on, diligent in the task he had set himself as they sit in silence, his knee pressed against her thigh as he gives her the silence she needs to figure out what she wants to do next.

“I’m sorry.” She eventually chokes out, her voice ragged and throat tight. 

“What for?” He asks, his smile reassuring and entirely hers when she finally looks at him. She tries to smile too and it shakes, the laugh that escapes her close to hysterical.

“I feel like all I’ve done this evening is cry.” 

“You never have to apologise for that. I love you, and part of that is looking after you when you’re sad or hurt.” He leans forward and kisses her cheek, tasting the salt of her skin as she leans into him, curling against his side as if she’d been waiting for him to initiate contact. He drops the washcloth onto the side table for now and wraps his arms around her, never wanting her to doubt that he’d always be there ready and waiting for her when she needed him. 

“It’s been a long time since someone I care about has been able to hurt me like that,” she says, her voice shaking, “He should call and give my mother some tips, she’s lost her edge in recent years.” 

He knows what she’s doing, knows that humour is a shield she’d used her whole life, and he squeezes her thigh, “Sweetheart.” 

She heaves in a breath, the press of it sticking to each of her ribs as it shudders in her lungs, and she nods as she blows it back out. 

“Sorry,” she says, smiling sadly when he raises an eyebrow at her again, “It’s just..having to think about Ian this much…” she blows out another shaky breath and her chin trembles, “It’s never easy.” 

He hears what she hasn’t said, what she doesn’t need to say, and he tucks some of her hair behind her ear, his knuckles soft against her cheek afterwards as he wipes away her tears, “Like I said you earlier, none of that matters to me. None of it. The only thing that matters to me is you.” 

“I know,” she says, cupping his cheek, running her thumb back and forth over his jaw, “Thank you,” she smiles sadly and he almost tells her she doesn’t have to thank him, but she carries on, speaking as if she wasn’t aware she was talking outloud. “Sometimes it feels like I haven’t moved forward at all since I came back.” 

For a moment he wishes he had shouted at Derek, that he’d let him know exactly what he thought of him and all the things he’d said about Emily, but he knows it wouldn’t have helped. The last thing Emily needed, or wanted, was two men fighting over her honour like she was a prize to be won.

“Recovery isn’t linear, Em. And you have moved forward. And I won’t let Derek, or anyone, take that from you.” 

She smiles despite the vice around her heart, “Even me?” 

He leans in to kiss her lower lip, “Especially you.” 

She rests her forehead against his and cups the back of his head to hold him in place, “You’re a good man, Aaron Hotchner. The best. And I won’t let anyone, including you, take that from you.” She swallows thickly and blows out a breath, and it makes her sadness skip across his face, the melancholy in it enough to break his heart, “Where do I go from here, Aaron? How do I go to work on Monday knowing my partner, my friend, thinks those things about me?” 

“Well, I’ve got it on good authority that your boss has a soft spot for you,” he says, running his fingers through her hair, “So he can make sure you don’t get partnered with him for a while.” 

She pulls back to look at him, “I can’t ask you to do that.” 

“You aren’t asking me I’m happy to do it for you if it makes your life even a little bit easier,” he rubs a soothing circle on her back, “And I have a feeling Derek won’t try and argue it either.” He says, and she bites the inside of her cheek, sure that she should just put up with it, but Aaron carries on, “There are some benefits to being the boss, sweetheart. And it’s not just the office with a front row view of your desk,” he pauses as she laughs, the sound easing something in his chest, the melody of it filling the space around his heart, “I can do this for you.” 

She’s nodding before she even knows she’s going to agree, and she leans in to stamp her lips against his, “Okay. Thank you.” 

“You have got to stop thanking me for looking after you,” he says softly, winking at her when she fails to hide a smile, “I like doing it.” 

She settles against him, drawing warmth and comfort from the safety of his arms. She’s not sure how long they sit there in silence. How long he trails his fingers up and down her arm, the calluses on his thumb catching on an old scar he’d heard her get years ago when she was thrown against a mirror by a long-dead monster. It feels like he’s trying to heal her bit by bit, that the soft press of his rough skin against hers is undoing everything that ever came before him, and on some level, she thinks he is. He’s providing everything she never knew how to ask for, everything she still didn’t know how to ask for, and she never wanted him to stop. 

 “We never ate the pizza,” she says eventually, the sound of his belly rumbling breaking through the silence they had fallen into. She scrunches her nose up, “It’s probably stone cold by now.” 

“You’re not a fan of cold pizza?” He asks, and she grimaces and shakes her head. 

“It reminds me too much of college and bad decisions.” 

He chuckles, “We can order another one.” 

“I need to find my phone,” she says, making no attempt to move, far too comfortable pressed against him, and he smiles as he pulls his phone from his sweatpants.

“Here,” he says as he hands it to her, “Order what you want. You can even get one of those disgusting dessert pizzas you like.” 

She rolls her eyes at him, “They aren’t disgusting. They are just glorified cookies.” 

“Then they shouldn’t call them pizzas.”

She presses her lips together to try and contain a smile, the beautiful and simple domesticity of it all almost misplaced after the day she’d had. But she thinks maybe that’s the point - that she could have a terrible awful day and still have this to come to, that she no longer had to sit in the darkness by herself. 

She smiles as she unlocks his phone and is met by his wallpaper. It’s a picture of the two of them and Jack, the little boy in her arms and both of them in Aaron’s, all standing together in the park with wide smiles on their faces. Aaron had been taking photos of her and Jack, and a stranger offered to take one of all three of them, her smile kind as she told them they were a beautiful family. None of them had corrected her, because thats what they were. A family. Or at least the building blocks of one. She’d make fun of him for it, gently tease him and call him sentimental, if she didn’t have the same picture set as her wallpaper too. 

She frowns curiously at an email she can see on his screen, a dispatch notification from a homeware store she knows isn’t cheap, and she turns her head to look at him, tilting the phone so he can see it too. 

“What did you order?” 

“Oh,” he says, clearing his throat, his dimples standing out as his cheeks flush with embarrassment, “I bought new pillows. You said mine hurt your neck, so I ordered new ones.” 

She stares at him for a moment, her mouth hanging open as she huffs out a laugh, “When? We only got back from the case this afternoon and you haven’t been home yet?” 

He tugs her closer, his lips against her temple as he hides a smirk against her skin, “There’s this amazing thing called the internet, I don’t know if you’ve heard of it. They should arrive tomorrow - I bought the same ones you have.” 

She pulls back to look at him, his phone in a loose grip in her hand, and she presses her lips together, entirely unsure what to say in response. “Those are expensive, Aaron.”

He shrugs like the price of them hadn’t occurred to him, “You and your comfort when you’re at my place are worth it.” 

She kisses him because it’s the only thing she can think of doing, and she rests her forehead against him, her nose knocking against his, “I love you.” 

He furrows his brow, “Because of the pillows?”

“No,” she replies, rolling her eyes at him, “Well, yes. But not just because of the pillows,” she says, “Because of everything,” she runs her fingers through his hair, “I love you because you’re you.” 

He smiles and kisses her, his lips catching the corner of hers, “I love you because you’re you too,” he looks at her, his eyes searching hers and finding the lingering sadness left behind by the last few days and the lack of a resolution that she so desperately wanted, “Everything will be okay, sweetheart. It might take some time. But it will be okay.” 

She nods and rests her head against his chest, her forehead pressed against his neck as she tries to get as close to him as she can, his warmth and the safety that always came with it giving her all the things she’d never had before. 

A home. Reassurance. And the love she’d spent a lifetime chasing, 

“I know,” she says, turning her head to kiss him, her lips catching his jaw, “How could it not be? I have you.” 

-x-

NB: I know some of you were hoping for an Aaron/Derek altercation, but it didn't feel right for Aaron's character and also it's absolutely not what Emily needs. She needs her man to be a supportive king!!

As always, let me know what you think <3

Until next time,

SequinSmile x

[msviolacea]

Oh my god, am I actually writing real fictional words? Is the world finally ending?

Anyway. A scene in my head, now out of my head and on the screen. Tamsin de Riva/Lucanis, after the near-kiss and (right) before Inner Demons. Spoilers inside.

~~~~

"Hey." Lucanis's voice is soft and more than a little tense - Tamsin isn't surprised, given the circumstances. But she doesn't expect the topic, not right now, not in the middle of everything. "About the other night ..."

"I already told you, don't worry about it." The knot in her chest tightens, but this is not something either of them should be chewing on here, in the middle of Dock Town, as they duck around Venatori and try not to attract attention.

Lucanis shakes his head. "You deserve ... an explanation. Whether or not I have a good one."

She wants to snap at him, not now! But maybe this is his way of not thinking about whatever news they're about to get. She supposes, to keep him from dissociating any more than he already does, she can revisit her own humiliation. In the middle of Dock Town.

This day is shaping up to be just fantastic.

So, she looks over at him and gives him a small smile. "Listen, I understand. It wasn't what you wanted. There really doesn't need to be any more explanation than that. I'm not offended." Embarrassed, yes. But that's her own problem.

Lucanis stops short. It takes Tamsin a moment to process it - she stops two steps ahead of him and looks back. He's looking at her with his head slightly tilted, as if she's suddenly a puzzle to be solved. "What?" she asks.

"You think ..." He shakes his head. "Tamsin."

She steps back to meet him again. "Hmmm?"

He touches her arm - just a brief brush of fingers, before he withdraws and curls the fingers into a fist at his side. But as with each of his touches, few as they've been, Tamsin can feel the spark on her skin, even beneath the sleeve of her leathers. "Trust me, the problem had nothing to do with a lack of desire."

Oh. "Well. Okay."

"If you know nothing else, please know that."

"Okay," she repeats. She can feel her heart pounding, and she knows her cheeks are stained red. So are his, for that matter. She remembers the whisper of his breath across her face, that one moment when ... almost. How much she wanted. Still wants - always wants, if she's being honest. And she felt so pitiful for it that night, after he walked away.

But. Now.

"I guess," she says slowly, "knowing that ... whatever the problem is, when and if you may want to try, I'm here."

"I know," he murmurs, low enough that she barely hears the words over the bustle of the city around them. "You always are. Somehow."

Tamsin shrugs, and feels a relieved smile cross her face. "Where else would I be? Come on, I do not want Viago to read me the riot act for making him wait. It's embarrassing enough in Treviso, where everyone around already knows he's full of shit."

"No one in Minrathous will pay him much mind either. It's not like he's a mage." Lucanis takes a deep breath. "Sure. Let's go see what he ... what Viago and Teia have for us."

She can feel the thread of rage and despair under his words, so she takes the chance and reaches out to clasp and squeeze his hand lightly, quickly, before walking on. The only way out is through, as usual.

[broidobe]

𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰

requested by @rocketqueen1989x and maybe @xo-myloves

☾after decades of friendship with guns n' roses, y/n shares a night of reminiscing with the band, only to discover that axl has been harboring deep romantic feelings for her all along and finally confesses once they're alone☽

☾warnings: alcohol use, smoking, friends to lovers dynamic☽

⁎⁺˳✧༚guns and roses masterlist

it felt like a dream, the six of you gathered again like it was 1987 all over. laughter echoed in the cozy living room as empty beer bottles and snack bowls sat forgotten on the coffee table. slash leaned back in his chair, his hair spilling like a curtain around his face as he chuckled at duff’s latest exaggerated story. izzy sat cross-legged on the couch, a cigarette between his fingers, nodding along to steven’s animated hand gestures.

"remember when axl got locked out of the bus in his underwear?" duff smirked, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

"oh, come on, that was one time," axl grumbled, his cheeks tinting slightly pink. you caught his eye from your seat beside him, and he shot you a small smile that made your chest warm.

"you were banging on the door, screaming at us to let you in," steven added, barely able to contain his giggles.

"and didn’t y/n open the door for him?" izzy chimed in, flicking ash into the ashtray.

"yep, she’s always been the responsible one," slash said, raising his drink in mock salute.

"responsible? i don’t know about that," you teased, nudging axl’s knee with yours. "i just didn’t want to hear him yelling all night."

the room erupted into laughter, and axl shook his head, his lips quirking into a smile he tried to hide.

the night went on like that, story after story, memory after memory. the chaos of the hell house, the adrenaline of backstage moments, the unpolished camaraderie of the early days. you felt a wave of nostalgia so strong it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

eventually, the guys began to peel off one by one. steven was the first to leave, mumbling something about an early morning, followed by slash and izzy, who had carpooled. duff lingered a bit longer but finally stood with a stretch, ruffling your hair affectionately before heading out.

and then it was just you and axl.

the silence that settled wasn’t awkward, but it felt heavier, charged with something you couldn’t quite name. axl leaned back, his emerald eyes fixed on you in a way that made your heart skip.

"you okay?" you asked softly, tilting your head.

"yeah," he said, his voice quieter now, more serious. "just... thinking about how lucky i am to have you in my life."

"oh, stop," you said with a laugh, brushing it off. "you guys have always been my family."

"i mean it," he insisted, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "y/n, you’ve been there through everything. even when we didn’t deserve it."

his words caught you off guard, and you swallowed hard, unsure of what to say.

"axl—"

"let me finish," he cut you off gently. "i’ve been thinking about this for a long time. years, actually. and i’ve been too much of a coward to say it, but... i don’t want to just be your friend."

your breath hitched as the weight of his words sank in.

"what?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"i’m in love with you," he said, his gaze unwavering, as if willing you to believe him. "i have been for so long, y/n. i just... i didn’t know how to tell you. and now, seeing you here, laughing with everyone like old times, i couldn’t hold it in anymore."

your heart felt like it might burst from your chest. you searched his face, looking for any hint of hesitation or doubt, but all you found was sincerity.

"axl," you began, your voice trembling, "i don’t even know what to say."

"say you’ll give me a chance," he said, his tone soft, almost pleading. "that’s all i’m asking."

a thousand memories flashed through your mind—of the wild, chaotic nights, the quiet moments of comfort, the way his smile always seemed to light up the darkest days. and now, the vulnerability in his eyes, the raw honesty you’d rarely seen from him.

"okay," you said finally, your lips curving into a small smile. "i’ll give you a chance."

his expression shifted from apprehension to pure relief, and he reached out, his hand finding yours. his thumb brushed over your knuckles, a simple yet intimate gesture that sent shivers down your spine.

"you won’t regret it," he promised, his voice barely above a whisper.

[bestalbertcamuslover]

Question...? pt.4

This is part four, here's part one, part two, part three, and part five (Completed Story)

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ pairing:  Jenson Button x pop star!Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: none✯

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

The after-party of the premiere was buzzing, an intoxicating swirl of laughter, clinking glasses, and murmured conversations. She stood near the edge of the room, cradling a glass of sparkling water, the golden light from the chandeliers reflecting off the delicate beading on her dress. An actress she vaguely knew from other events was talking to her, recounting a story about a mishap on set, but her words barely registered.

Her gaze kept drifting over the crowd, her heart pounding against her ribcage. She wasn’t looking for him—at least, that’s what she told herself. And yet, the hope of finding those piercing blue eyes was a constant pull, even though the thought terrified her.

“Still not much of a drinker, huh?”

The familiar voice came from behind her, smooth and warm, and her heart jolted. She turned sharply to see Jenson standing there, a faint smile playing on his lips. He held a glass of champagne, but his posture was as casual as ever, the same ease she remembered too well.

“Jenson,” she said, her voice betraying her surprise.

He tilted his head slightly. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, it’s fine.” She forced a smile. “Just… wasn’t expecting you.”

He took a sip of his bubbly, his gaze steady on hers. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here either. Thought I’d come say hi again. It’s been ages since we’ve had the chance to talk.”

She nodded, though the tightness in her chest made it hard to respond. “It has,” she agreed, her mind drifting again. He has no right looking this good.

There was a pause, just long enough for the unspoken history between them to creep in, before he broke it with an easy chuckle. “So, what’s it like hearing your song on the big screen? Must be surreal.”

“It is,” she admitted, grateful for the safe topic. “I’ve always loved film, so being part of a soundtrack feels… special.”

“Well-deserved,” he said earnestly, and his sincerity made her stomach flip. “You’ve worked hard for this.”

She looked away, fiddling with the edge of her glass. “Thanks.”

“So,” he started, his tone light, “did you come alone tonight, or…?” He let the question hang, his eyes scanning the crowd as if searching for someone.

Her breath caught, but she kept her voice steady. “No, I came alone.”

He nodded, a flicker of relief crossing his face, subtle but there, and also got just barely closer. “Oh. Thought maybe you’d have brought someone.”

“Well,” she said, glancing at him, “my boyfriend isn’t really into these kinds of events. He’s not much of a public figure.”

For a split second, something shifted in his expression—surprise, maybe, or disappointment—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a polite smile. “Ah, I see. That’s probably for the best. These events can be… a lot.”

She nodded, unsure of what else to say, unsure of what his expression meant, unsure if he really cared, please care.

He gestured toward the crowd. “Still, you seem to be handling it like a pro. No nerves, no awkwardness—you’re a natural.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head slightly. “You’d be surprised.”

His smile softened, and for a moment, the noise of the party seemed to fade.

“And you,” she started, her intrusive thoughts winning over reason, “did you come with someone?” She kept her tone light, mimicking the same casualness he treated whatever they were—friends, strangers, ghosts of something more.

Jenson arched a brow, clearly catching the shift in her question, but he didn’t falter. “No,” he said easily. “Just me.” He paused for a beat before adding, “I guess I’m still not the ‘plus-one’ type.”

She let out a quiet laugh, though it felt hollow. “Single, then?”

He grinned, leaning slightly closer. “Wouldn’t be here alone if I weren’t.”

Ouch. The words settled awkwardly between them, heavier than they had any right to be. She dropped her gaze, suddenly regretting asking. That was it. She interpreted, or perhaps overthought, that what he had said just confirmed they had been nothing, just some casual sporadic encounters.

“That’s surprising,” she said, aiming for neutral, though her tone wavered.

He shrugged, taking another sip of his beverage. “I guess some things just don’t stick, you know?”

Her stomach tightened, the weight of his words brushing against something she didn’t want to revisit. She forced herself to nod, her voice quieter now. “Yeah, I guess.”

For a moment, silence threatened to drown their conversation, neither of them meeting the other’s gaze. He cleared his throat, as if realizing the shift.

“Well,” he said, his voice lighter, though not entirely natural, “it’s probably for the best tonight. Less to explain to anyone, right?”

The comment lingered uncomfortably, and she couldn’t tell if it was meant to cut or simply acknowledge the elephant in the room. She pressed her lips together, unsure of how to respond, and took a sip of her sparkling water instead.

“Anyway,” Jenson added, stepping back slightly, as if sensing the need for space. “It’s good to see you here, really. You look…” He hesitated, then smiled, his tone softening. “Happy. That’s what matters.”

She wished she had the guts to correct him, to say something—anything—but again, why?. She gave him a faint smile, hoping it was enough.

“Enjoy the party,” he said, his voice quieter now, and before she could respond, he disappeared back into the crowd.

She stood there for a moment, frozen in place, the noise of the party rushing back in like a tide she couldn’t escape. I am a damn fool, a joke, a bad joke in a very cruel unfunny comedy, gosh. Her eyes felt the weight of an imminent storm. She had no right feeling that way, nevertheless, she did. She felt rage, against her past self, her past self who did not stop when she could. But she was not fooling herself, she would have fell for him a thousand times without learning the lesson.

The tears did not fall, she just returned to the conversation with that actress, as if nothing had happened, as if her heart had not just been shattered in a brutal yet unnoticeable way. The party had dragged on, the hours blurring together in a haze of small talk, polite laughter, and forced indifference. She moved through the crowd as if on autopilot, her mind replaying fragments of their conversation. Her chest felt heavy, her stomach hollow. But she smiled, laughed, nodded—everything expected of her.

Two hours in, she excused herself from yet another meaningless exchange and made her way toward the restroom. The hallway was quieter, the muffled sounds of the party distant, almost like an echo from another world. She pushed the door open, washed her hands, and lingered at the sink, staring at her reflection.

Her eyes looked tired, her face carefully composed but betraying the weight of something deeper. She took a breath, straightened her posture, and stepped out into the small anteroom that separated the entrances to the men’s and women’s restrooms.

Jenson entered just as she exited, his pace relaxed, his tie loosened slightly, his demeanor so effortlessly at ease it only heightened the contrast to her own state.

She didn’t notice him at first. Her gaze was distant, her thoughts somewhere far away. The soft click of her heels against the polished floor was the only sound as she moved to pass him.

“Hey,” he said gently, stopping in his tracks.

She froze at the sound of his voice, her head snapping up as if waking from a trance. For a moment, she just stared at him, her expression guarded, almost unreadable.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he added quickly, his tone softer now, cautious.

“It’s fine,” she said, her voice quiet, almost mechanical. She hesitated, glancing away, as if deciding whether to stay or leave.

“You okay?” Jenson asked, his brows knitting together in concern.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, her voice lacking vigor or conviction.

He took a step closer, his expression unreadable now. “You just… look like you’re a million miles away. Thought I’d check.”

Her jaw tightened, and she forced a small smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine. Really.”

He studied her for a moment, his gaze piercing, as if trying to unravel a puzzle. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Do what?” she asked, her tone sharper than she intended.

“Pretend,” he said simply.

The word hung between them, heavy and unspoken in so many ways. Her throat tightened, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak.

“I’m not pretending,” she said finally, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

He stepped back slightly, giving her space but keeping his gaze steady. “Okay,” he said softly, his voice almost too gentle. “If you say so.”

She looked down, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I should go,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

But as she moved to step past him, his voice stopped her again.

“You know,” he said, his tone low but laced with something she couldn’t quite place. His gaze lingered on her, searching, almost vulnerable. “Some things don’t really… go away. Not completely.”

She froze, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, the noise of the world seemed to stop. The weight of his words unwavering, their ambiguity sharp and cutting.

Her chest tightened, and before she could stop herself, the words slipped out. “You think I don’t know that?” Her voice was soft, but the rawness in it betrayed her. “You think it’s been easy?”

Jenson’s expression shifted, surprise flashing across his face. “I didn’t—”

She shook her head, the frustration bubbling up. “No, of course, you didn’t. You never did.” Her tone was bitter, a sharp contrast to the music faintly playing in the background. “You just left it… undefined, unspoken. Like it was easier that way. Easier for you, maybe. For me? It’s been…” she did not finish, her last word implied, sighing tired.

The words hung in the air, too honest, too raw. She immediately regretted them, her hand instinctively brushing her temple as if to physically erase what she’d just revealed.

Jenson stepped closer, his voice quiet but insistent. “I didn’t know—”

“Exactly,” she cut him off, her tone sharp now, her composure slipping. “You didn’t know because you didn’t ask. You didn’t care enough to ask.” She took a deep breath, her voice trembling but still steady enough to make her point. “You don’t get to show up now and say things like that without an explanation, without a label for whatever the hell that was. You just… don’t.”

Her words faltered at the end, her exhaustion seeping through. She looked away, her expression distant, as if gathering the shards of her composure.

“Let’s just not, okay?” she said finally, her voice quieter now, tinged with weariness. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

Jenson's gaze fell to the floor, his usually sure demeanor crumbling at the edges. For a long moment, he said nothing, the silence between them heavy and fraught. Please put up more of a fight. Then, softly, his voice broke through.

“You’re right,” he said, his tone subdued, almost hesitant. “You’re completely right. I didn’t ask. I didn’t handle it the way I should have.” He looked up, his blue eyes filled with something raw, something she hadn’t seen in him before. “And I’m sorry for that. I really am.”

Her chest tightened, her instinct to push him away warring with the weight of his sincerity.

“I was…” He paused, searching for the right words, his brows knitting together. “I was a mess back then. I didn’t know what I wanted, or how to be the kind of person you deserved. I thought leaving it undefined would hurt less, that I wouldn’t screw it up if I didn’t try to define it. But that was selfish. I see that now.”

She didn’t say anything, her gaze fixed somewhere over his shoulder, but her throat tightened, and she hated, yet loved, that his words were clawing at old wounds.

Jenson stepped closer, the movement tentative, as though afraid to cross an invisible line. “And I get it if you don’t want to hear this, especially now,” he continued, his voice quieter, almost pleading. “But I can’t deny I’ve really felt something” He stopped, exhaling shakily, as though steadying himself. “And I also can’t deny, and honestly wanted to tell you before you mentioned you were taken, that I still feel something, quite a lot, actually.”

She felt almost guilty for snapping at him, perhaps she was the one wrong for asking, rather imploring, for questions when she had a lovely boyfriend. His words felt unreal, the whole situation did, as unreal as his blue eyes.

How much is quite a lot? She wanted to ask, although at that very moment she just wanted to feel home by kissing those very soothing lips that would, momentarily, erase all the pain and uncertainties. Jenson’s gaze lingered on her, his words hanging in the air like a fragile truth neither of them could fully grasp. She blinked, her throat tightening, the weight of his confession pressing against her chest.

“That’s not fair,” she murmured, her voice trembling. but it wasn’t directed at him.

He frowned slightly, unsure of her meaning. “I’m not trying to make things harder for you. I swear, I wasn’t going to say anything when you mentioned you were with someone. I just… I couldn’t help it.”

She nodded, a shaky breath escaping her lips. “I know.” Her gaze dropped to the tiled floor for a moment before flicking back to him. “I’m the one who… who asked for questions, for explanations, even though I shouldn’t have. I have no right to ask for answers, not when I’ve moved on.”

His expression softened, a flicker of guilt and something else—something deeper—passing through his eyes. He stepped closer, his movements hesitant but deliberate, and her heart betrayed her, skipping a beat. “I’m sorry, really,” he said softly, his voice heavy with sincerity. “For not giving you what you deserved back then. For not being the person I should’ve been. And for saying this now, when it’s probably the worst time.”

She bit her lip, her emotions warring within her. “It doesn’t matter, Jenson.”

His eyes searched hers. “Did you really moved on?” he asked, the words slipped his lips, the question had already been implied with her previous words, as she would not have been so affected if she had truly done. “Are you really happy now?” he added.

She froze, his words hanging in the air, raw and cutting through her defenses. Her mouth opened, a response on the tip of her tongue, but before she could speak, he shook his head gently.

“You don’t have to say it,” Jenson said, his voice steady but laced with something almost fragile. “I already know.” His gaze bore into hers, unflinching, yet soft in a way that made her chest ache.

She pressed her lips together, her heart pounding in her chest, the truth threatening to spill over. He stepped closer still, the space between them shrinking, his presence overwhelming.

“If you break up,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper meant only for her ears, “please call me.”

Her breath hitched, the weight of his words settling heavily in the charged silence between them. She wanted to speak, to tell him it was unfair, cruel even, to say something like that. But he didn’t give her the chance.

“And honestly,” he continued, his voice softer now but impossibly earnest, “I really hope you break up.”

His words should have stung, should have felt tasteless or selfish, but instead, they carried a quiet sincerity, a bittersweet hope that made her chest tighten. The vulnerability in his gaze made her want to both cry and walk away.

“Jenson…” she whispered, her voice unsure, flickering between a warning or a plea.

He smiled faintly, a sad curve of his lips. “I’m sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. “But I mean it.”

The silence that followed felt deafening, the weight of their history and everything unsaid between them pressing heavily in the air. She took a step back, her body screaming at her to flee before she said or did something she couldn’t take back.

“I should go,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

He nodded, though his eyes didn’t leave hers. “Yeah,” he said softly. “You probably should.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ authors note: I will do part five ASAP. And in case it was not clear, the cursive is for her thoughts, hence the first-person narration. This part is way longer, hope you don't mind.

English is not my first language. I hope you liked it <333

[craziestfangirl98]

I would first like to start with, I get why THK team decided to refrain from releasing the episode last week and having to take an extra week's break now because if they would have done that, I wouldn't be able to function.

This episode was insane. But so so meaningful. I am enjoying this show more and more the deeper it goes and I'm really excited to see where it goes from here.

Since the beginning of the series I've been hoping that we'd see more of Fadel and Bison's interactions and I finally got it now. Can't say how happy it made me. Even with how it hurt, it felt so fulfilling to see them as brothers.

The guilt and heart break in Bison's eyes while telling Fadel the truth about bringing them into his life and 'hiring' Style made me see the side of Bison that is still young and naive but cares for his brother whole heartedly. I also love that although Fadel didn't forgive Bison and told him he'd 'deal' with him later about his betrayal, he was still there with his brother for the most part. Scared and concerned and worried about the heart break that he would experience. Even on his birthday, Fadel made sure to take care of Bison and got him a cake and a candle, which would mean a lot considering they were both adopted into this business and became brothers.

I think I deserve points for thinking it is mother who ends up hurting Bison considering Keen did bring out a gun but was beaten to the punch because Bison's impulsive ass couldn't stop himself from intervening into the situation.

Throughout the entire episode I was waiting with bated breath for the ball to drop and when it finally did in the hospital room and the bathroom for KantBison and FadelStyle respectively I had to physically let go a shudder terrified of what is to come.

I like how most of the fandom read Fadel and Bison accurately in terms of Fadel at least giving Style another chance and allowing to hear him out while Bison just blew his gasket so to speak.

I love that Style's reaction to it all was just to take it in stride and make Fadel's life more chaotic not because he hates him but because he loves him and wants to prove that 'i might have been coerced into loving you but I know nothing but loving you now and will do so forever.' I find it equal times hilarious and adorable. Something about Style continuously choosing Fadel makes me believe that the ex might have left and deceived him.

I knew when I watched the trailers and we were revealed that there would be a Kant jumping off the boat scene while he has a phobia of the water, that it would hit me hard. I was not prepared for that to happen today. Especially not the way it did. I had no doubts about Kant loving Bison but to see his heartbreak and grief about the reality of their relationship, his palpable fear towards Bison and his guilt towards ratting them out to the cops is all so clear in his face but so is the resignation and determination that he has to do this in order to convince to Bison and First is such a phenomenal actor for it all.

I do believe, in the heart of my hearts, Bison jumped straight after Kant to rescue him. I don't think he thought Kant cared enough to jump and would jump straight after. Because I don't think they will ever get to establishing trust otherwise.

Next week both the couples are going to be surviving alone, FadelStyle trying to find KantBison while they are dealing with the aftermath and the consequences of today. I don't know how I'm going to be waiting and going back to work. Sigh... Let's see.

Anyway, let me know what you all are thinking about this episode. Week by week it feels like it is going to be a tragedy instead of a comedy all though I doubt it. The angst is angsting and it hurtssssss.

[lsunstreakerl]

the latest chapter of SH! 💛 charles going feral over the not-even-real-possibility of lewis adding max to his collection of blond WDC champions and also just thinking about charles pretty much pissing all over HIS red bull golden boy, that really hits the spot! thank you!

but also in another ask you said that max may consider the whole eye injury water under the bridge but charles not, and that made me think of the grudge you can hold onto someone over them hurting the people you love and how hard it’s to let go. In this case clearly lewis isn’t at fault but i’m wondering of how hard it has been for charles to deal with those negative thoughts in a high pressure environment. i know you mostly feel comfortable writing from max’s pov but any chance we can get a bit into charles’ mind?

Hi anon! I meant to respond to this much earlier but it got stuck in my brain and actually manifested as a little snippet, so here's a tiny peek behind the curtain! hopefully it's a little bit more insight? feel free to ask more questions if you have them :)

Charles is trying not to grit his teeth, though if the glare Silvia is sending his way is any indication, he's failing.

They're getting ready for the fan stage, and Charles keeps checking his phone, making sure he isn't missing any messages from Max.

They're in Monaco for the race, and normally it is one of Charles' favorite races, and Max was supposed to be here in the garage today, but he'd had a flare-up this morning, dry heaving and dizzy. Charles hadn't wanted to leave him, but Max had gotten decently close to biting his head off, shoving him to the doorway.

"If you want to be worried I cannot stop you, but at least be driving while you are doing it."

Now, though-

Charles isn't sure how he's meant to do this fanstage. He's been civil with Lewis, hasn't let his roiling resentment sneak into their interactions, professional or personal, but it's only a matter of time.

It's harder on days like today, where Charles has left his boyfriend sick at home, suffering from something that many very well never leave him, when Max could be- should be here, racing with them, racing with Charles.

Everyone has idolized Lewis at some point in their lives, and Charles is no different, had admittedly been excited to find out he was joining the team, but the end of last season, and this one-

It's left a sour taste on his tongue. He doesn't hold Lewis on a pedestal anymore, how can he, when he has slipped into Charles' home, driving the color that belongs to Charles, belongs to Ferrari, refuses to address his legacy with Max the same way he refuses to talk about any other rivals.

Charles can't stand it. He couldn't care less about Nico and Seb- well, maybe a little bit about Seb- but to do the same to Max. Charles' Max, the Max that fought his way onto the grid, fought his way through the hate, fought himself into a competitive car, and a team that loved him, the Max that deserves to be on the grid today-

To see Lewis instead, who has been driving since before Max and Charles were on the grid, and still is, it makes his fingers curl.

Maybe he's just having a bad day. He knows he needs to pull the nice boy face back on, but he's having trouble finding it, when the car is competitive this year, when he and Lewis are both bringing home points.

It doesn't matter, at the end of the day, what Lewis is capable of, because he is driving for Ferrari, but he is not Ferrari, doesn't have rosso corsa beating fast through his veins, doesn't have the prancing horse as a thundering heartbeat.

He's a Mercedes boy, a wolf at heart, and that will ruin him, here. Ferrari does not take wolves. Ferrari takes sacrifices, bleating lambs, brought to the alter young and innocent, and only the most devoted get to live, get to have the honor of bringing the team to glory, the privilege of representing the legacy. Only the most treasured become the shining eye of the tifosi, and to get it all at once, to be a model driver, a living breathing manifestation of the Scuderia- it only comes around once every few generations of drivers.

Seb couldn't do it, and neither could Fernando. Lewis will not be capable either.

Charles has it.

It may not have been intentional, but Max has left Charles a mantle, a legacy, one final way to etch their names together forever, intertwined in a way no media or sports magazine could ever brush past, like so much of their lives and careers, tangled together to the very end.

Charles Leclerc will not let Lewis Hamilton get his eighth title.

A hand claps down on his shoulder, gives him a friendly squeeze.

"Hey man, you ready?"

Charles checks his posture, unclenches his jaw, and smiles at Lewis, but there's nothing friendly about it. It's the most Charles will let himself have, tiny little slips in the mask, unsettling for Lewis and unnoticeable for anyone else around them.

"Of course."

[candyskiez]

jon was the last human being elias ever saw. the last human being he ever talked to. the last human being he ever touched. hes been inside the heads of everyone in the world but jon was the last person he ever saw. and maybe the only person he ever truly saw. anyway hi how are you

Saros I need you to understand I made a Noise at this ask that made my cat run over to check on me. Which i think is maybe a little predictable of me.

I am also thinking about this in the context of how Jonah said that realizing his own selfishness was an awful thing to know, but also incredibly freeing. Thinking about how he again said Jons attempt, that was completely unsuccessful!!!, was nice! It was freeing! He enjoyed it!! Thinks about how Jonahs fear was of losing control, of his chance of survival and safety being taken away. He enjoys being known! He enjoys being understood by someone he thinks deserves it. He likes the idea of being known, of someone realizing that yes, he is a bad person, and seeing beauty in it. He likes the idea of it.

Thinks about how he viewed Jon as...not a companion, but as his in some way. Thinks about how he is completely sure that he understands Jon. Thinks about the way he knows about all of Jons deepest traumas and insecurities, knows exactly what to say to hurt him. Thinks about "I knew it had to be you." Thinks about, again "the freedom of it all." The freedom of it all!

Thinks about how Jonahs response to Jon saying he failed was just "Have i?" Thinks about how Jon tells him he's going to end the world and kill everyone and starving all the fears to death, he just says "That WE serve." Jon just told him he's going to undo everything he ever worked for but he refuses to let Jon think, for even a second, that they aren't the same. Because whether Jon likes it or not, Jonah is maybe the only person at the time who could possibly understand why Jon is doing this. Who could possibly understand every single reason. He already knows why Jon is doing this. He already knows everything that's led up to this point. And if jons going to do it, he knows he can't stop him. That's what scares him. But he won't let Jon pretend.

Thinks about how this is the first and last time we hear Jonah be afraid. Thinks about how Jonah is scared shitless, begging for his life against the person he happily destroyed the life of, and he knows he's fucked! But he doesn't want to die! And he sees the anger and fear and desperation and want of a man he ruined, of a man he made into something he views as beautiful, and it's the last thing he sees!!! Do you think he thought it was beautiful. Do you think he saw himself. Do you think in that moment he thinks, maybe he loves this man. Do you ever think about the fear and then acceptance, that he can't run forever. He's done. There's nothing he ever could've done. But he made something incredible, and nobody will ever be able to ignore the horrible, wonderful mark he left on the world. His last words were wishing him good luck! It's insane! Not "you're no better than me" or calling him a monster or anything. Just. Good luck. Good luck. It's insane. What the hell. I need to analyze it. What do you MEAN good luck.

Jon is the one person he could truly view as anything close to Part of what he was doing or what he wanted, and it didn't save Jon. It actively ruined his life. Do you think Jon saw Jonah gazing up at him with affection mixed in with horror as he died. Do you think it haunts him if/when he escapes somewhere else. I think it haunts him. I think he never manages to forget it. I think sometimes he looks at himself and understands why Jonah was so fond of him. I think that scares him more than he'll ever be able to explain. I think it's the one thing he'll never tell anyone he'll meet. I think Jonah ended with Jon, and Jon carried him with him for the rest of his life, and he wishes he didn't. I think Jonah would like that. I think Jon knows that, and he hates that too. (I think Jon wonders, would Jonah have even remembered him? If the roles had been reversed?) (I think he knows the answer.)

Anyways my days been great how's yours.

[tacitusk1llwhore]

Ok but Arthur Morgan as a girl dad. I’m a firm believer in any of my Arthur lives AUs that eventually he does have children, and when he does…they’re all girls. I feel like he would completely embody this song as a parent.

Anyway here are some HCs for girl dad Arthur.

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⋆˚✿˖°When he first found out his partner was pregnant he was obviously a nervous wreck, but also cautiously optimistic. This was his second chance and he intended to go all in. Then he found himself with a baby girl and he was stumped all over again. He never saw himself as a soft man, not a man to raise a little girl but the second he laid eyes on that little face he was besotted, and nothing could change that.

⋆˚✿˖° Puts his babies footprints, name and date of birth in his journal, sketches them constantly—I don’t make the rules.

⋆˚✿˖° Learns how to braid very quickly. Sure he could braid a horse’s mane or tail but being gentle for a tender headed squirming toddler?? That’s an entirely different beast. Many times did he have to listen to “ow!” A million times over as he worked only for the braid to come out a mess with pieces left out all over the place in his pursuit of being as gentle as he could be. Now he’s a pro and when he sees any of his little ones brushing their hair out of their eyes he’s quick to move over and get it fixed for them.

⋆˚✿˖°He’s a HUGE softie. He can’t bring himself to scold his girls, ever, even if they deserve it. He’s terrified of turning out like his father, an angry, violent man. He wants his girls to trust him, to see him as a source of comfort and stability, not a dictator or someone to fear. With his first he got frustrated after a fit that seemed to never end and gave her a swat on the bottom, he felt so guilty he cried that night and hasn’t laid a hand on any of his girls since, cycle breaking takes time, and usually comes with a few bumps.

⋆˚✿˖°HATES the “I bet you’re wishin’ for a boy!” Comments. He’s always quick to shut it down, especially if he’s with his daughters “Nah, reckon my girls are just fine…Ain’t wishin’ for nothin’.” He never wants his girls to feel less than, and is very adamant to them that he doesn’t need a son to be happy, he’s just happy to have them.

⋆˚✿˖°His daughters would 100% have unique, nature themed names, Aurora, Willow, Aspen, Lily—or on the flip side they’d be named after women in his life that had passed on at some point: Beatrice (after his mother), Bessie, Susan, even Eliza.

⋆˚✿˖°Is absolutely not above playing with his girls, though I feel like rough housing and wrestling is definitely on the table he’s attended more than a few tea parties in his time, as well as being locked out of rooms in his own house with the claim that it was “girls only.”

⋆˚✿˖°his journal is filled with not only milestones, and little stories but also toddler scribbles and drawings. Blobs of shape and color that they would affectionately say was a drawing of him or some animals around their farm. He’d always make sure to write what they said it was under the drawings for when they’re older.

Extra: Arthur is 100% the dad that throws his kids way too high in the air to give his partner a heart attack, when finally they say something his girls are so used to being rough and tumble they’re the one to negotiate one more time with their worried parent.

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This is probably bad but I think I might do more head canons both SFW like this and NSFW. Asks are open for requests! :)

[100frogsinatrenchcoat]

FUCK IT. DRAWTECTIVES FANFIC.

I haven’t seen any of these yet, and as they say, write the fanfic you wish to see in the world, so:

Eugene has a breakdown which leads to his Zesty Blonde Era <3

Eugene stared at himself in the mirror feeling nauseous. Feeling like a monster.

It wasn’t his fault. Everyone said so, they all agreed. It wasn’t him — it was Leland. Eugene had meant well. He had just wanted to help.

God he had just wanted to help.

Still. Eugene didn’t like himself very much right now.

People had been hurt. Because of him. Their afterlives had been taken from them. Eugene had worked so hard and this was what he had achieved — pain, confusion, and even more problems he couldn’t solve.

Eugene should be asleep right now. Trying to clean up the mess that the Celestial Spear had caused was taking up almost all his free time. He should be sleeping while he had the chance.

But free time led to thinking and thinking led to grief, and so instead of sleeping Eugene stood in the bathroom, staring at his reflection, and trying not to cry or throw up his meager dinner.

“Eugene?” came a voice from outside the door.

Eugene jumped, startled out of his thoughts, “Oh! Hi Felix” Eugene wiped the tears that had started forming in the corners of his eyes, “You can come in. Did you need something?”

Felix pushed open the door, shuffling his feet awkwardly, “Um, no but, uh… do you? It’s late, and you’ve been just sort of…standing there?Looking in the mirror I guess? Are you okay?”

Eugene forced a smile and nodded. “I’m okay Felix. I’m just… thinking I guess.”

“Oh! Well that makes sense! You’re pretty smart so you think a lot! You just don’t usually do it while staring in a mirror at one in the morning.”

Eugene sighed, exhausted, but pat Felix’s head affectionately. “Yeah, I just- I’m thinking about myself, sort of. I don’t know. Maybe I could be better.”

“Better how?” Felix asked with concern, “I like you like this!”

Eugene smiled. That made one of them at least. What had he ever done to deserve such a sweet friend?

“Thanks Felix. And I don’t know really. It’s just- things are kinda hard right now. I messed everything up. I feel like-“ Eugene’s voice broke, the emotions he tried to control pushing through as he talked, “I feel so useless. How could I have messed up so badly? I need to fix it but I can’t I messed it all up and now I’m not even good enough to fix it, I-“

Felix pulled him into a hug. It was awkward and clunky with Felix’s animatronic body, but the show of comfort and affection broke the walls he had built up and made Eugene start crying in earnest.

“I just- I need to change.” Eugene mumbled “I don’t think I’m good anymore”

Felix hummed thoughtfully, holding Eugene tighter. “Well… I think you’re good still! But if you wanna change, maybe just change a little bit? I don’t want you to change too much… I like you right now!”

“Thanks Felix… I just don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I can do, I just need to change. I don’t like being like this.”

They stood like that in silence for a bit, before Felix exclaimed “oh! I have an idea!”

Not too much later Eugene was looking at himself in the mirror again , this time with blonde hair, and Felix chattering excitedly behind him.

He smiled. It was small, but for the first time in a while, it wasn’t forced. Dying his hair had helped - in a way. It wasn’t the hair itself, so much as the process.

Because it meant he wasn’t standing alone in the bathroom hating himself. He was running out with Felix to buy hair dye, and listening to Felix read the instructions while the cat chose music to listen to, and he was talking about something that wasn’t death and money.

And when it was done and he went to bed, he was so tired he slept through his alarm, but he couldn’t bring himself to be upset.

Because looking in the mirror, the first thing he saw wasn’t a fuckup- it was just him. Someone who had spent the night doing something stupid with his friend.