#THANK YOU as always for sending me questions :)

[bluetooththereptile]

The original

(Yandere batman x male reader)

( English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes in the following text.)

Idea from this post.

"Alfred, you never mention why the fourth bedroom is always locked" Dick commented as he helped chop vegetables, the young boy had yet to adjust to life in the large Manor and was curious about everything, the kid was too busy to notice the shoulders of the older man tensing at the mention of the locked bedroom, yet he didn't reply, maybe if he pretended to not hear what the boy had said he'd drop the question?- "I mean it's so random that a master bedroom on the second floor is locked out of nowhere" Well apparently the answer was a no.

Alfred sighed as his grip on the pan's handle tightened "You know, master Richard..." he started, his voice faltering as he looked at the sauce simmer "Sometimes we can not let go of the past" he continued, unsure how to explain this "Is it Bruce's parents bedroom?" Dick asked, now feeling rather awkward "No, it is not..." but before Dick could ask something else about the bedroom the old man quickly added "I will tell you in time"

"Thank you Alfred" You grunted softly as your trembling fingers flipped through the piles of papers before you, not turning back to see the older man put a warm cup of tea on your large desk. You sniffled, the clogged nose giving you a headache and your sore eyes throbbing as you sifted through the never-ending bank notices were no help. With a sigh you blew on your injured knuckles to soothe the ache in them, the ointment was making the wounds itch more, looking through the papers "Good lord, when will it end?" You groaned, rubbing your eyes.

"Give it some time master Y/N, you can not bear the calculations of everything when you are battling the flu right after a fight" Aflred spoke as he put his hand on your sore shoulder "Why don't you go and stay with your aunt? I'm sure master Bruce will appreciate the change of scenery, he needs it, you need it" after your parents death you two had become reclusive in your own ways, Bruce had locked himself up in his bedroom, and you had drowned yourself in work and fighting off criminals.

"I can't Alfred, not when the bank notices are pouring in, I need to save this sinking ship or we'll lose everything" Your frustration was evident as you drank the whole cup in one motion, not caring about the burn that slid down your throat "But if it helps I'll send Bruce to her, he can play with Elijah or his cousins" you waved your hand in the air, not looking back. "Master Y/N?" "Hmm?" You finally looked up to meet the butler in the eyes, taking in his worried gaze "What is it?" You asked again as you tapped your foot against the hard cold floor of the study that once belonged to your father.

"Master Bruce had the chance to ease himself by being vulnerable" the older man started "He cried and spent days in his bed holding your mother's blanket, and I can say he feels better after doing so, the initial grief has washed out of his system if only a little" "Well that is good news" your gaze went back to the papers "But what about you?" At hearing that you flinched.

"What do you mean by that?" You spoke, your hoarse sickly voice taking a sharper edge, you were more anxious these days and it didn't help that others could see your vulnerability. "You haven't been able to come to terms with your loss Master Y/N." You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose "Alfred please-" "No, listen to me for a moment Master Y/N, for the past year you haven't been able to sit down for a moment and take everything in, you only have been on the run from your own emotions-" "Alfred!" "Your parents died when you were away for college-" "I said-" "And now you come back to an empty home with a reclusive brother and a mountain of your parents' debt and their legacy barely keeping up" "You-" "You have been doing nothing but leaving late and coming back bloodied and bruised, God knows what you do at night!-" "I said stop it!-" "You are killing yourself like this!" "STOP!"

Frustrated, you stood up from your chair, the familiar sting of tears "Just let me be" Alfred sighed as he watched you storm out of the office, following the familiar route of your bedroom, slamming the door behind yourself only to slide down behind the door, looking to the corner where the bin of your bandages sat and let out a shaky sigh "What have I done to deserve this?" You mumbled to yourself, at 19, you were not even old enough to drink, and yet they had shoved the titanic legacy of the Wayne family in your arms, with the responsibility of caring for a traumatized child, with your parents being gone, it was too much, your body ached, your skull throbbed with each heartbeat, you hoped you'd die that night, or else you'd end things by the morning, "Someone help me..."

"So...Bruce had a brother?" Dick asked as he ate his food in the kitchen as Alfred skinned the apples he'd use for the night's apple pie. It was their routine when Bruce would leave for work on the weekends and with the dining room being too large for just a boy eating on his own, Dick had come to eat by the kitchen island, plus being with Alfred wasn't that bad either.

"Yes," Alfred replied with a nod as he moved the knife against the skin of the red apples in his grip "Oh so that explains the picture of the lanky tall teenager in the family photos..." Dick paused mid-chew before he asked, "What happened to him?" "We don't know" "Did he die or flee or-" "We don't know" "Oh..." Dick knew from that glare from the old man that he was treading on thin eyes. So he sipped on his orange juice to muster up more courage as he wetted his throat "Uh...how was he like?"

"He..." Alfred trailed off as he stopped using the knife, staring at the bowl of the dough, his gaze trailing to the towel on top of the resting pastry "He was an intelligent boy" "More than Bruce?" A soft sad chuckle left the butler "Bruce was more analytical than him, he...he was more of a hands-on matter person, I can say they were geniuses in their own ways, he was an aspiring engineering student, most of the structure of the cave beneath the Manor was designed by him"  "Wow" Alfred sighed as he continued "He was rather hot-headed, and sometimes needed guidance managing his emotions, but he was a very responsible person...Master Thomas was proud of having such a son..." his voice shook a little.

"Oh..." Dick looked outside the window as the birds flew by "Did Bruce love him?" "A lot, we all did" he sighed as he went back to skinning the browning apple's flesh "He was a lively boy, in fact, Master Bruce's interest in martial arts came from interacting with him for the first years of his life" the two of them fell into a charged silence, Dick wanted to ask more but he could not.

"You have changed haven't ya?" The old man smirked as he was pinned to the wall by the powerful dark hand of the dark knight himself, blood dripped from his nose as he chuckled, his gray eyes narrowing "When we first met your punches hurt more, maybe it's because of getting older or something?" Batman didn't reply as he held up the oldest thug of the group he had just tackled, usually, he would have knocked him out with a punch and retreated to shadows as the police would come to collect them but this one, this one had struck a very raw nerve that he had thought was left untouched for a long time "Eh? Maybe you changed places or something? I remember you were taller? I mean who forget the silhouette of the asshole that sent me to change 20 years ago?" He sneered before he scoffed "What you are going to do then? Lock me up for another 10 years or something?" But before he could taunt the dark knight again he was thrown onto the ground of the dark alley as Batman heard the sound of the sirens coming, meeting his fate in the hands of the police officers.

"A taller...more aggressive Batman..." Bruce mumbled to himself as he looked down the city as the never-dying stream of cars moved beneath his feet as he stood by the gargoyl of the building he was upon, his lips tight "Batman..." he repeated "Without robin" his gaze fell to his empty gloved hand, watching as the droplets of rain fell onto the material of it and slid down "Alone...", the sound of the old gramophone in his father's  study filled his ears from the depth of his memory, Chopin, it was, he could easily remember, the form of the young man humming to himself as he tapped his ruler on the desk while he looked at the details before him "Y/N..."

"Y/N-" "GET OUT!" Your pained shout startled Bruce as Alfred pushed your dislocated shoulder into place "Master Y/N, he only wants to help-" you turned to Alfred with a scowl "If he hadn't interfered none of this would have happened! I told you to stay inside the car, I told you to not come out! He could have killed you!" You slammed your fist on the table to stop yourself from yelping in pain as Alfred put the bone back into its socket, you were sure you were drawing blood from how much pressure you were applying on your lips, the coppery taste of blood was a testament to it.

"I told you to stay inside Bruce, you pleaded with me and I let you come, you were going to lock the doors from inside and stay PUT!" You hissed "Damn this bloody idea of Robin!" He turned to Alfred "You put this idea into his mind!" Your head snapped back towards the shrinking boy behind your cape on the table "I work alone, remember that Bruce, I don't need your help! The best you can do right now is study and don't cause trouble! Fuck! Why does it hurt so much?!"

You didn't know this moment was engraved inside the young Wayne's memory, the sheer helplessness, guilt, and frustration of it all, it all engraved into his mind.

"I think the scowl runs in the family" Jason teased with a chuckle before he shrugged carelessly when Damian scowled at him "Are you making fun of my uncle?" The boy crossed his arms "No, I'm making fun of you, Bruce and your uncle" Damian was about to punch Jason in the face when Tim finally looked up from his computer "Found it!" Everyone leaned in as Tim started speaking "Weirdly, I couldn't find an article on him since he was a Wayne and the media ate up anything related to families like that..." he hummed as he tapped his chin, before looking up at everyone who were curious about this revelation.

"I shouldn't have said that" Dick groaned as he paced around, already regretting the fact that he had told everyone about Bruce's older brother, which was a very sensitive topic for both Bruce and his butler, but he couldn't help himself, not when everyone was worried about Bruce being broody every year on this particular day, everyone knew when it came to the old bat's yearly anniversary of his parents' death he'd get broody and would be alone on his patrols, but it was strange for them why he'd be like this in this day as well, and Dick had opened his wide mouth and had told them about the lost Wayne and the original Batman, DAMMIT!

"So, basically we have a taller Bruce?" Stephanie shrugged as she checked out the picture in the old magazine article "No, actually, he seems different, I mean, sure the general Wayne scowl and stuff are there but..." "He seems of bad reputation" Duke continued Tim's explaining as he read the article "Unlike the image  Bruce portrays today, you know, the careless playboy, this one had a reputation for being a "snappy brat" Duke continued "I mean I'd snap at the paparazzi if I were him too" Jason shrugged "Oof there is even an account of him being charged with assault on a person when he had literally ripped the camera off of a journalist and had broken it" Duke winced "Like uncle like nephew" Jason sang which made Damian narrow his eyes. "But it seems he at least had a very good sense in buying stocks, 60 percent of the shares Wayne Corp now has had been bought by him" Tim hummed as he typed.

"But what happened to him?" Cassandra finally spoke, "No one knows, some people say he fled to an island like most bratty rich boys do that don't like to be in the eyes of the public, some say he died of overdose, and yada yada..." "That's strange...I mean, why doesn't Bruce speak about it though?" "I don't know...."

"Don't let me go!" You pleaded urgently as you tried to hold onto the hands of the young boy who had come to help you in one of your patrols, albeit let's be honest Bruce had snuck into your vehicle wearing a dark body suit, "I'm trying!" Bruce replied as he desperately held the hand of his brother, but his grip was weak compared to the powerful suctioning wind of the blue whirlpool of energy that had opened out of nowhere when a thug had thrown an ancient vase at them.

"Bruce!" You panted as you desperately tried to move to hold onto something else before suddenly a pole that had come out of its place swung in your direction with full force "Oh shit-!" You let go of Bruce's hand to save him before the pole hit you, rendering you unconscious. Bruce's scream of despair was lost through the commotion of everything happening, watching your bloodied face for the last time as your body went into the eye of the energy field before it died down. "Nooooo!" Bruce fell to his knees, without his family, in an alleyway, for the second time. 

"So you are telling me this artifact is actually an alien portal field?" Batman tapped his finger on his arm as he heard what the Martian Hunter was explaining about the remnants of the vase he had gathered decades ago. "Where did you find this Batman?" The alien asked the dark knight but received no reply as Batman contemplated something "You know how they work?" Batman asked "Well, I do not know myself, but I know someone who knows how these work, it's a very ancient method, not so many people use it"

So there was a way!

Tags:

@presleyamos @skullcrawler

[lqveharrington]

Family Tree | D.M.

summary: Eleven years after the second wizarding war, you find yourself making lifelong decisions on platform 9¾ once more.

pairing: ex!draco malfoy x fem!reader

includes: a LONG fic, daughter’s name is melody, talks about the war, abandonment, pregnancy, implied sex, cursing, hufflepuff slander (i’m a hufflepuff, i’m sorry), Pansy being a fun aunt & friend, teddy lupin mention being the coolest second cousin, melody is a mischievous child, teddy doesn’t like his god father, cursing, mainly angst with some fluff

a/n: i love him, your honor (he was truly my first love) this took way longer than i thought it would, so sorry 🙏

Years after you fought alongside Harry Potter to defend Hogwarts and the rest of the Wizarding World from Voldemort’s wrath, you found yourself packing trunks for Hogwarts once more. However, the trunks you packed were no longer yours. They contained unhoused robes and new textbooks that weren’t marked with your doodles and annotations. The pet carrier didn’t hold your own owl, but instead your daughter’s snowy owl.

Eleven years old. It was finally time for your daughter to attend Hogwarts.

The entire morning — the entire week — she would go on about finally being able to learn the spells and charms that protected the witches and wizards from evil. Just like you.

When you held her hand tightly to enter platform 9¾, she would continue to talk about seeing all the ghosts and paintings that were mentioned in all your stories. Of course, you never told her all the adventures you endured. She didn’t need to know where the Room of Requirements was.

“—And Moaning Myrtle! Is she as annoying as you said she was? I hope she isn’t. I want to ask her so many questions about you—“

“Melody, my love, you can’t bother the ghosts all the time. Hogwarts is a school.” You run your fingers through her platinum blonde hair and smile playfully when she scrunched her nose at you. You dusted off her shoulders and tilted your head, “What?”

“But it’s a magical school, mum. Shouldn’t I be able to ask questions if I have any?” She challenged you with a raised brow, pushing your hand away and adjusting her perfect hair — much like her father. She always wanted to be absolutely flawless, even when presented in front of you.

Your heart clenched at how similar Melody was to her father. Her smile and her mannerisms were all the same. It felt like you were eleven again and meeting him for the first time. The only difference between him and Melody was her eyes. She was born with your eyes — the ones filled with so much emotion with every single look.

Glancing down at your watch, you sighed and cocked your head to the side, fixating your gaze on the train that once took you to a place where you found everything and everyone you loved. Where you found him.

“Don’t miss me too much. I’ll be back every chance I get.” Melody took your hand in hers and squeezed, noticing your far off look. Her thumb traced the silver ring you wore on your left hand. She never knew what the M stood for on your ring — she always assumed it was for her name.

“I promise I’ll send an owl every week.”

“I know you will.” You pressed a kiss to the top of her head before your eyes caught a book being dropped by a young boy — who looked an awful lot like Tonks and Remus. Shaking your head, you bent to pick the book up and handed it to your daughter. “Can you quickly run and hand this to that young man? But come straight back. I want to properly say goodbye before you leave me forever.”

Melody rolled her eyes at your antics, but nothing could hide the smile that came with it. She made swift steps over to the boy before he boarded the train, eyes widening curiously when he faced her. The boy’s hair turned a bright pink as he thanked her, a sheepish smile gracing his lips.

“Are you a Metamorphmagus?” Melody whispered in excitement and watched his hair turned an electric blue. Her grin widened, recalling what you told her a while ago. “My mum says my aunt was one!”

The boy finally took a good look at Melody, a light bulb going off in his head when he realized who he was talking to. He recognized her the Black Family tree back at 12 Grimmauld Place. He opened his mouth to ask her who she was when his friends pulled him into the train without a single glance to whoever he was talking to.

Melody furrowed her brows in confusion before huffing, perfectly styled hair whipping behind her as she left to find you before boarding the express herself. She thought all Hufflepuffs were supposed to be sweet, but these Hufflepuffs seemed to ignore her like she was nothing but an itty bitty fairy.

She hoped she wasn’t put into Hufflepuff.

“My mum was one of the hero’s at Hogwarts.” She muttered to herself and — once again — flicked a piece of her blonde hair behind her shoulder, narrowly avoiding a collision of trolleys to her left. “I’ll tell her all about this.”

Melody made a quick turn to where she last left you before slamming into someone, nearly toppling over from the sheer force. She caught the person’s arm and yanked herself back before she could fall on her arse, mentally cursing herself for not looking at her surroundings.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” She muttered and dusted herself off from invisible dust, looking up at the person only to find a man staring at her with a shocked expression. Was he really that offended by it? He was an adult and she was merely eleven.

The man blinked before shaking his head, schooling his shocked expression to one of nonchalance instead. He looked around and tilted his head at the girl standing in front of him, examining her face like she was someone he recognized before. This girl reminded him of someone he used to know. Someone he used to love dearly.

Melody pursed her lips and rocked on the heel of her Mary Jane’s, avoiding his gaze. She wasn’t exactly uncomfortable with his staring, but she wasn’t comfortable either. Just as Melody was about to excuse herself from the man, she heard your familiar voice ring out, making her visibly relax despite your tone.

“Where were you? I told you to come straight back.” You rushed over to her and ran your fingers through her hair once more, unaware of your surroundings. You were so worried she had left before saying goodbye and it absolutely haunted you.

She looked back at the blonde man behind you for a split second before tilting her head down to the floor. Melody knew that you were waiting for an answer — she just had to suck up the embarrassment.

“I was coming to find you when I knocked into that man.” She gestured behind you and held back a whine when you tilted her head to check her for any cuts and bruises.

Melody made eye contact with the same person she knocked into again and hid her face in your jumper, hating that all the attention kept going back to her. She felt scrutinized under his gaze.

“Mum.”

You sigh softly and turn your attention to the man, still carding your fingers through Melody’s hair. You kept your eyes trained on her until she relaxed, finally looking up to meet the said person when years of memories hit you like a freight train.

“I’m so sorry about Melody. She usually isn’t this distracted — Draco?”

Your throat closed up at the sight of him — Draco Malfoy.

It was your Draco. The one who promised to love you his entire life; the one who promised to never leave your side; the one who left you alone with nothing but a broken heart and an unborn daughter.

Draco swallowed thickly and looked away. He felt horrible leaving you alone all these years, but he couldn’t figure out how to explain to you why he left so abruptly. Especially when you were about to drop your daughter — his daughter — off to Hogwarts.

Everything felt so overwhelming for the small family.

The whistling of the Hogwarts' Express immediately caught Melody's ears, her eyes widening at how little time she had left with you before departing for the next few months until holiday.

“Mum, the express is going to leave soon.” Melody’s voice snapped you out of your stupor, her small hand squeezing your ringed hand — which didn’t escape Draco’s gaze.

You cupped her face with both hands, kissing her forehead. This would be the first time you would be away from her for so long and you didn’t know if you could handle the separation.

“When you have time, send me an owl right away. Include your house in the parchment, alright? Be safe and make smart decisions.“ You instructed.

“I will.” She locked a pinky around yours before wrapping her arms around your neck, breathing in your familiar scent one last time. “I love you, mum.”

“I love you too, my sweet girl.” You held her tightly and made the horrible mistake of meeting Draco’s eyes. You looked away faster than he could mark the emotion in your eyes. “Now get on that train before it leaves without you.”

Melody ran on the train and found a compartment occupied by a couple of other first years, smiling when you waved to her as the Hogwarts’ Express left platform 9¾.

“You didn’t tell me you were pregnant.” Draco spoke and pushed his hair back — the initial shock finally settling in his chest.

You sigh and turn to face him, arms crossed over your chest. Although it had been years, the warmth from his gaze still filled you and you hated it. You hated that all the love you had for him was still stored away.

“Why are you here, Draco?”

He narrowed his eyes at your deflection but answered truthfully. He might as well begin with the truth before anything else.

“I’m the auror assigned to protect the wizards and witches at this platform.” Draco responded before glancing at his watch, frowning at the time it read back. “I’ll be back—“

You put your hand up and stopped his excuses, shaking your head and frowning. Pulling out your own wand, you pointed it at his chest and glared. You would never let yourself be fooled twice.

“That’s what you’re good at doing, Draco.” You tapped your wand on his chest, your heart screaming to stop but your mind blocked out every emotion you felt for him besides pure rage. “You’re good at leaving. That’s all I know about you, and that’s all Melody will ever know about her father.”

Draco’s hands clenched by his sides but made no effort to stop you. He could tell — your eyes betraying your every emotion — that you needed to reprimand him. He could see the way you wanted to scream and shout everything you kept bottled in your mind. Every single memory you had with him building up, ready to explode with any wrong move.

“Love—“

“You have no right.” You whisper at the nickname and shake your head at him, apparating away.

Melody watched in trepidation as first years were sorted into a house after Professor McGonagall read off their names from a long roll of parchment. Each and every one of them grinning brightly at the rest of the student body when the Sorting Hat screamed their respective houses out. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long to be sorted.

After all, her mother blessed her with a last name that wouldn’t take ages to be called up.

“Bellemont, Melody!”

She beamed at the professors as she made her up onto the wooden stool, flicking a stray lock of blonde hair behind her shoulder as the Sorting Hat was placed upon her head. Melody wasn’t sure what to expect when the hat fell, but she knew she would rather move to America than be sorted in Hufflepuff like that group of boys she met at the station. They were all rude except for the Metamorphmagus she held an actual conversation with.

“A Malfoy who isn’t a Malfoy.” The Sorting Hat murmured to itself — and knowingly — Melody. “Clearly, you haven’t been raised with the pureblooded status quo. Perhaps your mother’s doing… But you have your father’s confidence and pride…”

Melody’s face twisted in confusion at the hat’s words. Who was Malfoy? Was that her father? Maybe her grandmother’s previous last name? She didn’t understand the hat, and as if it read her mind — which it could — clarified for the young witch.

“Your father was a broken soul.” The hat tutted and swished around her head like it was revisiting old memories of her parents. “Your mother wormed her way into his heart until she mended him.”

She blinked and looked over at McGonagall, who merely smiled at her. Melody pursed her lips and looked out into the crowd, hoping to find any kind of familiar face. Unfortunately, all her aunts and uncles decided to have children only a few years ago.

Melody frowned as the hat continued to make random comments about her parents, ultimately boring her from the ceremony. She wasn’t sure what the hat was going on about you and her father, but she was sure to send an owl to you soon.

“Nevertheless, your father and mother were in the same house.” The Sorting Hat commented before shouting its decision for everyone in the Great Hall to hear. “SLYTHERIN!”

Melody gave the applauding hall a tight-lipped smile as she walked over to the Slytherin table, finding an empty seat beside an enthusiastic prefect. She was ecstatic to be in the same house as her mother, of course, but now only one thing circled her mind. She didn’t feel the need to ever know about this before. You were all she ever needed. Yet the Sorting Hat planted something in her head, and she wanted to get to the bottom of it.

Who was her father? And who is Malfoy?

“I’ve been getting the same question back from Melody in every single letter. This is starting to get ridiculous.” You throw the recent letter you received from Melody on the kitchen counter, rubbing your face in frustration. “What the hell happened at Hogwarts for her to suddenly be interested in who her father is?”

On a normal day, Melody would never pester you about who her father was. Now, it felt like you got a letter everyday about who her father was. You weren’t sure what the best move was. Either way you went, everything would change drastically.

Pansy shrugged and read the letter, raising her brows at the perfect cursive that could rival Draco’s. “Maybe it’s time you should tell her. It’s been eleven years, and she’s old enough to know about him.“

You spun the stupid Malfoy ring on your finger and huffed. “It’s not about how old she is. I just don’t want her to know that Draco essentially abandoned her. Granted, he left before I could even tell him.” You glared at the silver ring. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pull the piece of jewelry off. “Besides, she already met Draco. It’ll complicate the entire situation if I try to explain it now.”

“Wait — when did Melody meet Draco?” She furrowed her brows and sat up at the new information. Pansy squinted at your expression before gasping, nearly jumping out of her chair at the realization. “At the platform?”

“Yes.” You groan and bury your head in your hands. Even if you did want Melody to know about her father at some point, you didn’t want it to be like that. She doesn’t deserve such an abrupt change right before she hopped on the express for Hogwarts. “Melody bumped into him trying to find me.”

Pansy sighed and took your hands in hers, watching your reaction very closely. “It’s better that you tell her about Draco rather than someone else tell her. I don’t doubt you’ll make the right call about all of this, but please tell her sooner rather than later.” Pansy squeezed your hands and sent you a small smile.

You bit your bottom lip and glanced toward the moving photograph you hung on the wall. It was a picture of you, Pansy, and Blaise right before Draco’s final quidditch game. You were laughing at something Blaise said, but the photo only played that far into the memory before resetting.

Pansy caught your gaze and waved her wand over to the frame, changing the length of the moving photograph. Instead of you laughing at something Blaise said, you were pulling an unamused Draco to sit beside you for the photo.

Your heart clenched at the sight, finally giving into your daughter’s pleads.

“I’ll tell Melody when she comes home for the holidays. I don’t want her to find out via owl.” You sigh and wave your hand toward the photograph, setting it back to the way it was originally.

The photo was taunting you to look back over, but your fragile heart couldn’t take it anymore.

You could always tell yourself you wanted nothing to do with Draco, but everyone knew that you would run back if you found the perfect reason to. Maybe Melody was your perfect reason.

“Melody, wait!”

The girl turned to the sound of her name — blonde locks flawlessly following through — and her arms tightened around the textbooks she held. Out of all the people at Hogwarts, she least expected to see the boy from the train station jogging toward her. She looked behind him for his friends — if you could even call them friends — but it was just the boy. The Metamorphmagus boy.

“Yes?” She tilted her head and creased her eyebrows when his hair turned a horrid shade of green. The color made her feel uneasy, forcing her to wait until it faded back to its original state to speak. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know your — er — name.”

The boy blinked before sticking his hand out, shaking her hand profusely. “I’m Teddy Lupin. I’m so sorry about my friends back on the express months ago. They found an unoccupied compartment and wanted to claim it before someone else took it.”

Melody slowly nodded and glanced at her leather watch, frowning when she realized she was already seconds late to a study session with a couple of first years she befriended. She pursed her lips and gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Was that all you needed me for? I need to study for a charms exam.”

“Well — uhm — I don’t want you to not study, but I wanted to ask you if this was you. If it’s not, it looks scarily like you and has the exact same name. Except the last name matches my uncle’s — “

Melody barely processed the rest of his rambling as Teddy pulled out a photograph of a wall she couldn’t recognize. There were bits and pieces of the wall that were burnt and faces that were skeletons rather than perfectly painted — perfectly detailed — faces. It seemed like the wall went on forever until she glanced at the very bottom right.

Melody’s breath lodged in her throat as she read the last name painted beside her legal first name. Her eyes followed the family tree branch up to find — not her mother — but her father’s face painted on the wall. Although your face wasn’t painted, your name was still written underneath one—

“Draco Malfoy.” She whispered and looked up at Teddy with a shocked expression, hands gripping the photograph in confusion.

There was the last name the Sorting Hat kept muttering.

It was the same man she met at the platform months ago. The color of his hair — and the way you acted around him — should’ve been a dead giveaway that he was indeed her father. Melody shook her head and gave Teddy back the photo, determined to understand why you chose to hide this from her for so long.

“You wouldn’t mind helping me figure the rest of this out, would you?”

The wind breezing through platform 9¾ from the Hogwarts’ Express sent your hair flying through the air and your arms tightening around yourself. You were picking Melody up for the holidays and made the awful decision to not bring a stupid coat — thinking you could get out within minutes.

Silently cursing from how cold it was, you watch the students stream out of the train until you saw the platinum blonde hair you knew belonged to your daughter. Instantly, her eyes met yours and she ran. She ran until she knocked herself into your arms, nearly toppling the both of you over.

“Hi, mum.” She murmured into your neck and pulled herself impossibly closer. She tucked her chin in your shoulder, letting herself melt in your arms. “I missed you.”

You blinked away suppressed tears and kissed the side of her head. You didn’t realize how much you missed your sweet girl until she was in your arms again. “I missed you too, my love.”

You adjusted her Slytherin scarf — proudly, you might add — around her neck before pressing a kiss in her hair. You would make the most out of the two weeks you had with her if it was the last thing you did.

The commotion of the platform left the both of you unfazed as you went to grab her trunk from the express. You shrunk the trunk before tucking it away in your pocket, sending Melody a grin when she rolled her eyes at you. But as you went to leave the platform, Melody tugged you back in place with wide eyes.

You furrowed your brows and stared at her with a confused expression, hands ready to grab your wand in case she saw something that was potentially threatening. “What—?”

“Melody!” A boy ran over to your daughter and put a hand up as he took deep breaths, hair flashing many different colors before settling on purple. “I couldn’t find you after you left the compartment.”

You tilted your head at the sudden arrival of a boy before recognizing the face. You could recognize that face anywhere. After all, he was a spitting image of Remus and Tonks.

“Mum, this is Teddy Lupin.” Melody gestured to the tall boy and pushed up on her tippy toes to look past him, a small frown tugging at her lips.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Teddy.” You shake his hand and gently pull Melody back, eyeing her suspiciously before speaking to the young boy once more. “I haven’t seen you since you were an itty bitty baby.”

Teddy felt his heart kick up at the thought of you knowing him before now. You must’ve known him from when he was a mere baby. You probably knew his parents and who his parents were.

“You knew my parents?” He breathed with eyes shimmering with interest.

“Of course, I did. Your father taught me in my third year, and I absolutely adored your mother.” You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and sighed, shaking away the thought of him being orphaned at such a young age. You would forever curse Voldemort for destroying so many families. “How are your studies going, Teddy? I heard—”

“Must we explain everything, mum?” Melody whined and interrupted your friendly demeanor. She didn’t want to stay at the platform any longer than you, but she needed to be here until he showed up, and she didn’t want to spend all that time listening to you being extra polite. It felt weird.

“Did you bring—?”

“He’s making his way over.” Teddy waved his hand in the air and rolled his eyes, slight annoyance filling them. Not because of her but because of his uncle.

He seemed to be taking his sweet time trying to find Teddy after he all but ran toward Melody the second he saw her blonde hair over crowds of reunited families. Although, he had to admit that his uncle was far better on time management than his god father. Harry Potter could save the entire wizarding world yet he still was late to all of Teddy’s milestones.

“He’s making his way through the crowds, although he was quite skeptic on why I suddenly asked him about dinner.”

You looked between the two and knitted your brows together. You knew Melody invited someone over for dinner, but you didn’t expect another person. So who was the other?

Before either of the two could speak, you interrupted with a stern tone. “Him who?”

“Ted, you can’t wander off and not tell me who we’re going to have dinner with — Oh, fuck me.” Draco caught up to his nephew, who he found standing beside the woman he loved all these years. He didn’t think running into you twice at the platform in one year would even be possible.

“Shit.” You mutter and quickly avert your eyes from staring at his disheveled figure, forcing your heart to steady itself.

Looking down at the two children, you crossed your arms and raised a brow. You couldn’t help but think the both of them planned it — and by the looks of their guilty faces — you knew you were right.

“What did you two do?”

Teddy folded before Melody could even utter a single syllable. He jabbed a finger in her direction as his hair turned a bright pink. “Melody did it.”

“Gee, thanks.” The said girl pushed his hand away from her face and met your questioning gaze. She knew she shouldn’t have surprised either of you, but she wanted the truth without you stepping on eggshells every single time. “Uhm…”

You tilted your head and waited for her to continue, feeling Draco’s looming presence right beside you. He was equally as confused by the ambush but was willing to listen to his daughter.

Melody nervously played with the ends of her hair before spilling everything, shutting her eyes tightly when she heard how selfish her plan truly was. If something horrible came out of this, it would’ve been her fault that you were upset and her father would never want to see her again.

“I just really want to know the truth! Teddy showed me the Black Family Tree a while ago and — well — I saw me on there connected to who I suppose my father is. And when I realized it was the same person we saw here, I knew I had to find a way to see him again. I want to know who my dad is, I want to really know him.”

Draco’s face twisted into surprise and looked over at Teddy for confirmation only to whip his head back to Melody.

“And your name was written underneath his, mum.”

Instinctively, you hid your left hand under your arm and bit the inside of your cheek. Though you weren’t officially married to Draco, his family signet indicated that you were promised to one another. Whether you decided to continue with the marriage or not wasn’t a controlling factor.

“You know he’s your father, what else is there to say?”

Melody peeled her eyes open and frowned. You were getting so defensive and she still didn’t know why you never told her about her father. Even Draco looked hurt by your words.

“Why did you never tell me?” She spoke softly — afraid that the only thing she’s ever known could fall apart in an instant. She loved you, but what you kept from her seemed so unfair.

“I promise I was going to tell you this week.” You matched her tone and pursed your lips when you saw her eyes swimming with sadness.

Melody shifted her attention to her father and crossed her arms, tilting her chin up with the same confidence he had at her age. “Did you come to the station on purpose?”

He swallowed thickly and shook his head, tucking his hands into his front pockets, fidgeting from habit. He hated confrontation. “No, I’m an auror stationed here when students head back to Hogwarts and come back.”

Melody looked to Teddy for confirmation — much like her father — and received a curt nod back, making her bite her lip in frustration. Neither of them was giving her the information she wanted needed. All she saw was the tension and the underlying love of two different people.

She wasn’t sure what to do. On one hand, she could press on and continue bothering them. But on the other —

“I didn’t even know your mother was pregnant.”

You perked up at the mention and glared at the blonde, eyes filled with the same anger and disappointment he saw months ago. “And whose fault is that?”

“I’m sorry that I wanted to protect you.” Draco narrowed his eyes at you, his tone challenging yours.

Melody took a small step back. This wasn’t how she planned this to go, but this was more information she received than from the last eleven years.

“You made that decision yourself.” You whispered, voice cracking with hurt. The walls you carefully built around old memories chipped away as you recalled them all — each moment flashing in your mind. “I could’ve helped, Dray. Instead, you pushed me away like I was nothing.”

Draco furrowed his brows together and shook his head — you were always so stubborn and so correct. “You could’ve gotten killed—“

“I would have died to stay with you.” You instinctively grabbed his hand. “Do you know how long I waited? How long I used to stay up — wondering if you would ever come back?” The tears began to well up as you continued to speak, voice trembling and hands shaking.

Draco quietly listened and stared down at your ringed finger, his family signet shining for all the wizarding world to see. He promised to marry you — to take you away from the mess of the past.

Yet he still left.

“I was praying to whoever was out there for you to come find me.” You quietly spoke and finally dropped his hand. “You left me with nothing.”

The both of you stared at one another with unspoken apologies. No matter how long it’s been, you could still read him and he could still read you. To one another, it was like reading a childhood book that could be recited front to back.

After seconds of stiff silence, you turned back to Melody and Teddy — handing your daughter the miniature trunk and keys to your car. “Melody, take Teddy and wait in the car.”

“Mum—“

“Now.” You cut her off and watch her and Teddy leave the platform. Steadying your breathing once more, you looked back at Draco and twisted your ring. “Do you even have anything to say?”

He looked between your eyes and ran his fingers through his hair, voice small like the seventeen year old Death Eater he once was.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke with so much emotion you swore you could see the colors surrounding him. “I’m so sorry I left without saying anything.”

A noise threatened to leave your lips, but you made no effort to leave your position nor say anything.

“But I was vowed to follow my father’s footsteps by becoming a Death Eater.” He took your hand in his and traced the familiar lines across your palm, effectively calming him and you. “Waking up beside you brought me comfort in all the torture they made me endure. I knew you didn’t deserve to suffer with me, so I left.”

Draco watched your hand delicately hover his arm where the mark was, biting his tongue when you thumbed the space below — something you used to do back in sixth year when he got so overwhelmed with his mission.

“I can’t ever take back the day I decided to leave and never show up again, but I don’t regret it.”

You silently absorbed his words and sniffled — signs that were so clear to Draco about what was to come. He tilted his head down to meet your eyes again, giving you a weak smile.

“You raised an excellent daughter without me.” He tired to cheer you up but frowned when he saw the shimmer of a singular tear streak down your face.

“I needed you.” You frustratedly wipe your tear and look away, knowing that the vulnerability of your heart was completely at stake. “Dray, I was seventeen too.”

He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought of the both of you — so young and restrained by everything.

“I was pregnant and terrified. I didn’t know if I could even raise a child on my own.” You breathed and looked up at the glass roofing, pushing the rest of the tears away. “Imagine how different our life would be if you just stayed.”

Another tear escaped and — suddenly — your barriers crumbled. The mere thought of raising Melody on your own without Draco consumed your every being. And somehow — even with just you — she ended up exactly like her father.

“Yes, Melody is amazing, but I really needed you.”

Draco caught your eyes and instantly pulled you in his arms, tucking your head under his chin — refusing to let go of you ever again. His heart continued to break at your silent sobs, each sniffle and hiccup chiseling the crack that formed years ago.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered and repeated it like a mantra, voice raw with so much sincerity. “I’m so sorry, my love. I’m sorry.”

“I needed you, Draco.” You sobbed and breathed in his familiar scent as you buried your face in his chest. You gripped the lapels of his suit, eyes squeezed shut as if you were afraid he would disappear again. “For more than eleven years, I needed you.”

“I needed you too.” Draco whispered and tilted your head up, thumbing your streaked face. His heart ached from all the time he missed out on. “I’m sorry.”

It felt like ages before you pulled away from him. The only sounds that could be heard was your occasional sniffling and the hisses of the express. You took in a shaky breath and wiped your nose with the sleeve of your jumper, mouth moving before your heart and mind could catch up.

“Would you still have dinner with us? I’m sure you’ve been here all day waiting for the arrival of the express.”

Finally listening to your own words, your freeze before slowly meeting his eyes. You were more shocked at yourself than his answer.

“I would love to have dinner with you and Melody.” He answered truthfully before waving his free hand around with the smallest smile on his face. “And Teddy.”

You match his expression and tilt your head to the right, wringing your hands together. “Maybe you could finally get to know Melody.”

Draco’s lips curled into a fully blown smile, his gray-blue eyes sparkling with delight at the idea of finally knowing his one and only daughter. “I would like that.”

“Me too.” You say softly and — for the first time in a long time — hide the rising warmth forming on your cheek.

Draco Malfoy. The biggest love and loss of your life.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[kiwriteswords]

congrats on your 2k 🎉

for missing scene Monday, could we get bearded Hotch's new gf he met on his secret assignment in Pakistan?? I'll leave it to you if you want to extend it back to the US and the BAU team!!

Just begging for anything with bearded Hotch and yes this was inspired by your 2k celebration gif choices ❤️ love ya!

Let It Be [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Ki2k Masterlist||Main Masterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 8k|| AN: Thank you so much for sending this request so early for day one! I was able to get a head start on this last week, and I really love how it turned out!

Tags/Warnings: female reader, canon-divergent, beard!hotch, canon-typical themes, hurt/comfort, banter, Hotch in Pakistan, non!BAU reader, kinda left tbc?

Summary: Hotch meets you on assignment in Pakistan, and you're exactly what he was looking for...someone who's just there without pushing.

The sun was relentless, bearing down on the barren expanse surrounding the base. Sweat collected under your tactical gear, but you barely noticed. It was the kind of heat that stripped away all distractions, leaving you focused on the mission ahead--or at least trying to be.

You adjusted the strap of your duffel bag and glanced around the bustling camp. This wasn’t your first special operations assignment, but the tension in the air felt different here. Heavier. 

It could have just been you dragging the weight of unresolved emotions halfway across the world, or it could have been the stakes of the mission--a dangerous operation involving an international terrorist cell that required precision, discretion, and teamwork between agencies not known for always getting along.

“Agent Y/L/N?”

The voice was deep, cutting through the camp noise. You turned and found yourself face to face with a tall man, his sharp features etched into a permanent state of seriousness. His gaze was steady, and his presence commanded attention without effort.

“That’s me,” you replied, clipped but polite.

He stepped closer, extending a hand. “Aaron Hotchner, unit chief for the BAU.”

The name was familiar. You had read the reports and heard the stories--his work on high-profile cases, his leadership, and his reputation for being unflinchingly methodical. You shook his hand, noting the firm grip and how it matched the intensity in his dark eyes.

“Special Agent Y/L/N, CIA Directorate of Operations,” you said, introducing yourself with the same straightforward efficiency. “Behavioral analyst and covert operations specialist.”

His brow shifted slightly, just enough for you to notice. He nodded, acknowledging your credentials with a quiet respect.

“Briefing starts in five,” he said, his tone all business. Then he turned and walked away, leaving you with the distinct impression that there was more to him than the stoic exterior he projected. You had worked with people like him before--people who carried their burdens in silence--but something about the weight in his eyes made you wonder if he had brought his own ghosts to this mission, much like you had.

….

The first few days were a blur of briefings, strategy sessions, and late nights poring over intel. You didn’t interact much with Hotch beyond the occasional exchange of information, but you caught yourself noticing him. The way he carried himself--calm and composed, but with an edge of tension that never seemed to leave him. You recognized it because you felt it, too.

As you reviewed reports in the command tent one night, he walked in, filling the space. He set a folder on the table and glanced at you.

“You’ve been here for hours,” he said, not a question but an observation.

You shrugged, keeping your focus on the documents in front of you. “So have you.”

“I’m used to it,” he replied, his tone neutral.

“So am I.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, he pulled out a chair and sat across from you, his gaze steady.

“It’s easier to keep busy,” he said quietly as if he was sharing a truth he rarely voiced.

You glanced up, meeting his eyes. There was something there--something raw and unspoken. You wanted to ask what he was running from, but you didn’t. You weren’t ready to share your own truths, so you didn’t ask for his.

….

The nights were the hardest. The quiet gave your mind too much room to wander, dredging up memories you’d rather forget. One evening, you found yourself outside, staring at the vast expanse of desert under a blanket of stars. You didn’t expect company, but the sound of footsteps behind you made you turn.

It was Hotch.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked.

He shook his head, stepping closer until he was standing beside you.

“Me neither,” you admitted.

For a while, you just stood there, the silence between you feeling strangely comfortable.

“I read your file,” he said eventually, his tone careful.

You glanced at him, eyebrows raised. “Did you now?”

“You’ve handled some difficult assignments. Made a name for yourself.”

There was no arrogance in his words; it was just observation.

“Guess you could say I have a knack for throwing myself into the fire,” you replied. Something flashed across his face like he was going to respond with something, but he didn’t.

Neither of you spoke for a while, but his presence was steady, almost calming.

“Why are you really here?” you asked, breaking the quiet. Nobody in their right mind would have volunteered for this unless they either A) had nobody to go home to at night, or B) were trying to forget about something else. You could tell by the small photo Hotch carried around of, presumably, his son it wasn’t option A.

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was low, almost reluctant. “Because it’s easier than being back home.”

You nodded, understanding more than you cared to admit. “Yeah. Same.”

He glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression. “What are you running from?”

You hesitated, the question hitting too close to home. “A mistake. One I don’t want to repeat.”

He didn’t press for details, and you were grateful. Instead, he said, “Sometimes running is the only way to keep moving.”

You nodded, even though you weren’t sure if you agreed.

……

As the mission dragged on, the weight of it started to press down on both of you. You began to notice how Hotch avoided certain topics, not that personal topics frequently came up. You noticed how his eyes darkened when the name "Prentiss" came up from the communication specialist on the special ops team.

You didn’t ask--he didn’t offer--but the pieces slowly started to come together. You had to be living under a rock in this field not to have heard about the major loss the BAU took this past year.

One night, after another tense meeting, you found yourselves in the makeshift kitchen, both reaching for the last cup of coffee.

“You take it,” you said, stepping back.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“I insist. I’ve had worse days.”

Something shifted in his expression, a flicker of understanding. “I doubt that.”

You smirked, the slightest crack in your guarded exterior. “Careful, Hotchner. That almost sounded like empathy.”

His lips twitched--the closest thing to a smile you’d seen from him. “Don’t get used to it.”

….

A sudden sandstorm sent the entire team scrambling for cover. The wind howled outside the command tent, shaking the canvas walls as you huddled with Hotch and two other agents.

“Typical,” you muttered, brushing sand off your gear. “Mission’s hard enough without Mother Nature making it worse.”

Hotch sat across from you, his expression unreadable as he tightened the straps on his vest. He was scruffier than he was when you first arrived. It wasn’t a bad look, but you brushed down that thought.

“You’ve been through worse,” he said matter-of-factly, not a question but a statement.

You let out a short laugh. “Don’t give me too much credit, Hotchner. I’m not invincible.”

“No one is,” he replied, his tone softer than you expected. “But you’re resilient. I can see that.”

The compliment, if you could call it that, caught you off guard. You didn’t reply, unsure how to. Instead, you focused on the storm outside, the roar of the wind drowning out everything else.

But later, when the storm passed, and you stepped out into the eerily quiet desert, you found yourself glancing at Hotch. He met your gaze for a moment, and something unspoken passed between you--a mutual respect, a shared understanding.

….

It was late, and the compound was finally quiet. You were seated at a makeshift table, cleaning your sidearm, when Hotch approached with two cups of coffee.

“You’re a lifesaver,” you said as he set one down in front of you.

“I doubt that,” he replied, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone.

You took a sip, wincing at the bitter taste. “God, this is terrible.”

“It’s coffee,” he said with a small shrug as if that explained everything.

You glanced at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Do you ever lighten up, Hotchner?”

His lips twitched, almost a smile. “On occasion.”

“Define ‘occasion.’”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze drifting to the weapon in your hands. “When it’s earned,” he said finally.

It was a cryptic response, but it made you smile anyway. “Well, I’ll consider this progress.”

He sat with you in silence, but it was comfortable. The company was more needed than either of you realized.

….

The day had been relentless, the kind that left your muscles aching and your mind frayed at the edges. You had lost count of how many hours you’d been awake--thirty, maybe forty. Every bone in your body screamed for rest, but the tension from the mission had settled into your chest, making sleep impossible.

You found yourself outside the command tent, slumping onto an old crate with a half-empty water bottle in your hand. The distant hum of generators buzzed like a white noise machine, masking the desert’s eerie quiet.

Hotch appeared a few minutes later, wordlessly lowering himself onto the crate beside you. His presence, steady as always, should have been comforting, but tonight it only made the lump in your throat harder to ignore.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You told yourself you liked the silence, but the truth was, it gave your thoughts too much room to spiral. Your chest felt tight, and despite the coolness of the night, your face burned with exhaustion-fueled frustration.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you blurted out, the words tumbling from your mouth before you could stop them.

Hotch turned his head toward you, his face unreadable but his attention sharp. “Why do you say that?”

You let out a shaky breath, staring out into the endless darkness of the desert. “Because I’m running. I didn’t know what else to do.” You hesitated, feeling the weight of your own admission. “I thought putting space between me and...everything would help, but maybe it just makes it worse.”

The words sat heavy in the air, and you instantly regretted saying them. You felt exposed, as though admitting it aloud would make it all the more real. Your hands fidgeted with the bottle, and you kept your gaze fixed ahead, unwilling to meet his.

You thought about the way your life had pretty much unraveled around you back at home. If it wasn’t for work, you’re not sure you’d still be standing on your two feet. Here you could be the strong, independent person you aspired to be. At home, you were heartbroken without an end in sight. 

The silence stretched long enough that you thought he wouldn’t respond. But then, in that low, even voice of his, he said, “It doesn’t make it worse. It just makes it...quieter. And sometimes quiet is all you can handle.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the quiet vulnerability in his tone. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, distant and heavy with something you couldn’t name.

“Is that why you’re here?” you asked softly, the rawness in your voice betraying how fragile you felt.

He nodded, barely perceptible, his gaze never leaving the horizon. “I thought being here might help me make sense of things. But some things…” He trailed off, his brow furrowing. “Some things don’t have answers.”

There was something about the way he said it--not defensive, not self-pitying, just honest. It broke through the dam inside you, and for a fleeting moment, you thought you might cry.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat tightening. The weight of his answer settled between you, tangible and heavy, yet somehow reassuring.

For the first time, the silence felt like a shared space rather than an empty one. You didn’t push for more. You couldn’t, not with your emotions already threatening to overflow. But as the desert night pressed in around you, you realized you didn’t need to.

Whatever walls you both had built were starting to crumble, and neither of you seemed inclined to stop it.

…..

The air in the abandoned warehouse was stifling, thick with the smell of rust and dust. You moved carefully, your weapon drawn and your eyes scanning every shadow. Hotch was just behind you, silent but steady, his presence grounding you in the tense atmosphere.

The intel had been solid: a potential threat against the local embassy was being planned here, and your team had been tasked with gathering evidence. But now, as you crept deeper into the maze of crates and machinery, something felt off. The place was too quiet.

A faint creak made you freeze. You glanced back at Hotch, and he gave a subtle nod, his dark eyes sharp with focus. He gestured for you to take the left while he veered right. You obeyed without question, trusting his instincts as much as your own.

You edged around a stack of crates, your pulse quickening. The sound came again--a faint shuffle, followed by a whisper of movement. You tightened your grip on your weapon, adrenaline flooding your system.

Then everything exploded at once.

A figure lunged from the shadows, slamming into you with enough force to knock you off balance. Your weapon clattered to the floor as you struggled against the assailant, their grip bruising as they tried to pin you down.

“Agent Y/L/N!” Hotch’s voice cut through the chaos like a lifeline.

You twisted, freeing one arm, and drove your elbow into the attacker’s side. They grunted, loosening their grip just enough for you to push them off. But before you could retrieve your weapon, another figure appeared, this one heading straight for Hotch.

“Behind you!” you shouted, scrambling to your feet.

Hotch spun just in time, deflecting the attacker’s blow and delivering a calculated strike that sent them stumbling. But the odds were quickly stacking against you--more figures emerged from the shadows, their movements coordinated and purposeful.

“Fall back!” Hotch ordered, his voice calm but commanding.

You grabbed your weapon and fell into step beside him as the two of you retreated toward the exit. The sound of footsteps echoed behind you, growing louder with each passing second.

“We’re not going to make it out clean,” you said, your voice tight as you scanned for cover.

Hotch’s jaw clenched. “We don’t have to. We just need to slow them down.”

He pointed to a stack of crates near the exit, and you understood immediately. You fired a few shots, not aiming to hit but to force your pursuers to take cover. Then, together, you pushed the nearest crate, toppling it over and creating a barricade that bought you a few precious seconds.

“Go!” Hotch barked, motioning for you to move ahead.

“No way,” you snapped, falling into position beside him. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

His gaze flicked to you, something unspoken passing between you. It wasn’t the time for arguments, so he didn’t push it.

The two of you moved as one, covering each other as you navigated the narrow corridors toward the exit. Your heart pounded in your ears, but you didn’t let it distract you. Hotch’s steady presence was all you focused on, his calm precision a stark contrast to the chaos around you.

Finally, you burst into the open air, the sounds of shouting and gunfire fading behind you. You didn’t stop running until you reached the safety of the extraction point, where reinforcements were waiting.

You doubled over, hands on your knees as you caught your breath. Hotch was beside you, his breathing heavy but controlled.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

You nodded, straightening up. “Yeah. You?”

“I’ve been worse,” he replied, a faint flicker of dry humor in his tone.

You couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. “That’s one way to bond, I guess.”

Hotch glanced at you, and for the first time since the mission began, you saw something close to a smile on his face. It was brief, but it was real.

“Good work out there,” he said simply.

“Right back at you,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

In that moment, you realized just how much you trusted him--not just as a colleague, but as someone who had your back, no matter what. And from the way he looked at you, you had the feeling he felt the same.

….

The day had been unusually quiet. The base hummed with its usual activity, but the weight in the air seemed heavier that day. You had noticed it the moment you walked into the briefing room. Hotch had been there, as he always was, but there was something off.

His usual sharp focus felt dulled, his replies curt even for his standards. He spent more time staring at his tablet than actually reading it, and the lines etched into his face seemed deeper somehow.

You weren’t a profiler, but you didn’t need to be to know something was wrong.

Now, hours later, you found him alone in the makeshift command tent, the harsh glow of a desk lamp illuminating the strain on his features. He was seated, elbows on the table and his hands clasped in front of him, staring at a map as if willing it to make sense.

“You’re still at it?” you asked gently, stepping inside.

His head lifted slightly, but he didn’t look at you. “There’s a lot to prepare for.”

“There always is,” you replied, pulling up a chair across from him. “But it’s late. You should take a break.”

“I can’t afford to.”

The edge in his voice wasn’t aimed at you, but it still made you hesitate. You considered leaving him to his work, but something kept you there.

“Hotch,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the tense quiet. “What’s going on?”

He finally looked up, his dark eyes shadowed by something heavy. For a moment, you thought he might tell you, but then his expression hardened, his walls slamming back into place.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he said, his tone measured but distant.

You didn’t believe him, not for a second. But you also knew better than to push.

Instead, you leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “You’re allowed to have off days, you know. Even you.”

His lips twitched, almost a humorless smile. “I don’t have the time for that.”

“You’re human,” you countered, your tone steady but not pressing. “It’s not a luxury. It’s just...life.”

He didn’t respond, his gaze dropping back to the table. But his hands, usually so still, were fidgeting now--his fingers twisting the edge of the map absentmindedly.

You let the silence settle between you, giving him space. After a few minutes, you stood and moved toward the coffee pot in the corner of the tent. You poured two cups, setting one down in front of him without a word before returning to your seat.

Hotch stared at the cup for a moment before picking it up, cradling it in his hands like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment.

“It’s fine,” he said abruptly, almost as if he was telling it to himself, though his tone betrayed him. “I just--” He stopped, shaking his head as if to dismiss whatever he’d been about to say.

“You don’t have to explain,” you said quietly, your voice steady. “We all have those days.”

He let out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. “This one feels heavier.”

You didn’t know what he was carrying--something about him always felt impenetrable, as though he kept the world at arm’s length. But you didn’t need to know the specifics to recognize the weight he was under.

“You’re allowed to let it feel heavy,” you said after a moment, watching his reaction carefully.

Hotch’s hand tightened around the coffee cup, the faintest flicker of vulnerability flashing across his face before his walls went back up. “I shouldn’t let it distract me,” he muttered.

You leaned forward, resting your arms on the table. “Maybe letting yourself feel it for five minutes wouldn’t be a distraction. Maybe it’d just be human.”

He didn’t respond, but his jaw shifted as though he was grinding his teeth. His silence didn’t bother you--it was enough to just sit there, letting him know he wasn’t alone.

After a while, he spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not digging,” he said, finally looking at you. His gaze softened just enough to make your chest ache. “For just...being here.”

You offered a small smile, reaching across the table and resting your hand lightly over his. It wasn’t much, but the way his shoulders relaxed told you it was enough.

“I’ve got your back,” you said simply. “Whatever it is, you’re not alone.”

Hotch nodded, his grip tightening briefly on the cup before setting it down. He didn’t say anything else, but the tension in the room felt lighter somehow.

The two of you sat there in silence, the night pressing in around you. And while the weight of whatever he was carrying didn’t disappear, you could tell it didn’t feel quite so unbearable anymore.

…

The sun blazed mercilessly overhead, reflecting off the shallow, winding river that cut through the barren terrain. You adjusted your gear, sweat dripping down your temple as you followed Hotch’s lead. The mission had gone sideways--nothing catastrophic, but the extraction point was now miles further than planned, and the only route was straight through the rocky riverbed.

“Watch your step,” Hotch warned as he leaped from one jagged boulder to another. His movements were precise, practiced, but you could tell the exhaustion of the day was catching up with him.

“I was planning to fall flat on my face,” you replied, the edge of sarcasm in your voice lighthearted enough to soften the tension.

His lips twitched, that almost-smile you’d grown accustomed to. “Let’s avoid that.”

The river wasn’t deep, but the current was deceptively strong. The rocks were uneven; some were slick with moss, and others were barely stable. The whole setup was a sprained ankle--or worse--waiting to happen.

You made it halfway across before your boot slipped on a loose stone, your footing completely giving out beneath you. You stumbled, and the weight of your gear made it impossible to regain your balance.

Before you could hit the water, a substantial hand shot out, grabbing your arm and pulling you upright. The force of it brought you chest-to-chest with Hotch, his grip firm and steady.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and close, his breath warm against your temple.

“Yeah,” you managed, your own breath catching as you looked up at him. His face was inches from yours, and for a moment, the world shrank to just the two of you.

His dark eyes searched yours, something unreadable flickering in them--concern, maybe, or something deeper. He didn’t let go right away, his hand lingering on your arm as though he needed to make sure you were truly steady.

“I told you to watch your step,” he said finally, his tone softer than usual. His words did not match the gentleness in his tone.

“And I told you I was planning to fall,” you shot back, the corner of your mouth quirking up into a wry smile.

His lips twitched again, but this time, it felt closer to a real smile. His hand slipped away reluctantly, the warmth of his touch lingering long after he stepped back.

“Let’s keep moving,” he said, his voice all business again, though you caught the slight shift in his expression--something unguarded, fleeting, but unmistakably there.

…

The day’s trek had left you both bone-weary, but the setting sun brought with it a chill that seeped into your skin. The fire crackled low between you as you sat on overturned crates, the glow casting flickering shadows over the rocky outcrop that served as your makeshift camp for the night.

You had stripped down to your undershirt, your jacket drying on a nearby rock after the river crossing. Hotch sat across from you, rolling his stiff shoulders and rubbing his neck, his usual stoicism slightly cracked by the day’s exhaustion.

“You’re going to be sore tomorrow,” you commented, watching him massage the tension from his muscles.

“So will you,” he replied, his eyes flicking to your bruised forearm from the earlier stumble.

“I bounce back quickly,” you said lightly. “You, on the other hand, might want to consider a hot bath.”

His lips quirked, and he shook his head. “I’ll add that to the list of luxuries I’m missing out on.”

“Right after edible food,” you added, holding up the protein bar you’d been gnawing on. “This is basically punishment.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rare, and it made your chest tighten unexpectedly. You leaned back slightly, letting the warmth of the fire and the rare ease of the moment settle over you.

“You’re not always so serious, are you?” you asked, half-teasing but genuinely curious.

Hotch glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression. “Depends on the company.”

The weight of his words hung between you, and for a moment, you couldn’t look away. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting the lines of exhaustion and something deeper--something you couldn’t quite name but felt pulled toward.

“Well,” you said finally, breaking the tension with a small smirk. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze lingering on you before he nodded slightly. “You should.”

The fire had long since burned down to embers, but neither of you had moved. The quiet was comfortable now, a shared understanding that didn’t need words.

“You’re different,” Hotch said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence. His tone was thoughtful, not heavy, but it made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t expect.

“Different how?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You don’t push,” he said simply. “Most people do. They want something, even if they don’t say it.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening at the vulnerability in his words. “Maybe I just know what it’s like to need space.”

Hotch nodded, his gaze dropping to the glowing embers. “It’s rare,” he said quietly. “And...appreciated.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and you realized with a startling clarity that you didn’t want this moment to end. The mission, the chaos, the fleeting moments of quiet connection--they’d all built to this, and you weren’t ready to let it go.

You didn’t say anything, but you shifted closer, just enough that your knee brushed against his. He didn’t move away, and the warmth of his presence felt like an anchor in the cool desert night.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. But when he finally looked at you, the guarded distance in his eyes had softened, replaced by something you couldn’t name but felt deeply.

“Get some rest,” he said eventually, his voice low but gentle. “Tomorrow will come too soon.”

You nodded, standing and brushing the dust from your pants. But as you turned to leave, you paused, glancing back at him. “Good night, Hotch.”

“Good night,” he replied, his gaze following you as you walked away.

And for the first time since this mission began, you felt a flicker of something you hadn’t let yourself feel in a long time--something you weren’t sure you could name but couldn’t deny was there.

…..

The air in the base felt heavier than usual. The usual hum of activity buzzed in the background, but your focus was locked on the figure in front of you--Aaron Hotchner, standing by the transport vehicle, his duffel slung over his shoulder. A stark contrast to how he had shown up so long ago. Now, slimmer and with a face full of facial hair.

You hadn’t expected the mission to end like this--not with him leaving before it was over. The news had come down hours ago: he had been called back stateside. No explanation, no warning. Just orders.

“Something urgent?” you asked, keeping your tone steady even as you struggled to meet his eyes.

He nodded, his expression unreadable but his jaw tight, a tell you’d come to recognize. “I have to return to Quantico. The team needs me.”

Of course, they do, you thought. You had known from the beginning that this wasn’t his world. His world was back home, leading the BAU, carrying burdens most people couldn’t fathom. Still, the abruptness of his departure left a hollow ache in your chest that you hadn’t prepared for.

You stepped closer, your arms crossed, not out of defiance but to keep yourself grounded. “We’ll manage here,” you said, the words feeling both true and hollow.

Hotch’s gaze flicked to you, his dark eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. “You will,” he said, his voice low. “You’re good at this.”

A faint, humorless laugh escaped you. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“It was,” he replied, a faint ghost of a smile on his lips before it disappeared.

The silence between you was heavy, filled with all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t. You weren’t naive. Whatever had brought him here was bigger than the mission, bigger than you. But that didn’t make it any easier to watch him leave.

“Will you be back?” you asked finally, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

Hotch hesitated, his gaze shifting to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again. “I don’t know.”

The honesty in his answer hit harder than you expected.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat and nodded. “Well, in case you don’t…you know, good luck, Hotch.”

He studied you for a moment, as if committing your face to memory. Then, to your surprise, he stepped closer. His hand reached out, resting lightly on your arm.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “For everything.”

The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through you, but you didn’t pull away. “For what?”

“For being here. For making this easier,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You searched his eyes, the words catching in your throat. Instead of speaking, you reached up and squeezed his hand where it rested on your arm, the small gesture saying more than words could.

His hand lingered for a moment before he pulled back, his professional mask sliding into place once more.

“They’re waiting for me,” he said, his voice steady but distant.

You nodded, forcing a small smile. “Go. They need you more than we do.”

He hesitated again, his eyes flicking to yours one last time. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” you replied, your voice barely audible.

And then he turned and climbed into the vehicle. You stood there, watching as it pulled away, the ache in your chest growing heavier with each passing second.

When the dust finally settled, and the vehicle disappeared from sight, you let out a shaky breath, the reality of his absence sinking in.

You hadn’t expected this assignment to change anything. But now, as you stood alone under the relentless desert sun, you realized just how much it had--and how much he had.

You weren’t sure how you’d get over missing him the way you felt the minute he left your side. 

…

The harsh glow of the tent's fluorescent light was a poor substitute for the sun. You rubbed your temples, trying to chase away the dull ache that had settled behind your eyes after hours of pouring over intel. The mission dragged on, one step forward and two steps back, and you were beginning to feel the weight of it pressing down on you.

The faint crackle of the comm system startled you, drawing your attention to the communications officer stationed at the other end of the tent. His head tilted, listening intently before he turned and called out, “Y/L/N, secure line for you. Priority channel.”

You blinked, confusion flashing across your face. Secure lines weren’t uncommon, but they were usually pre-arranged. Rising from your chair, you crossed the tent, curiosity buzzing in the back of your mind.

When you picked up the headset, the officer handed you a notepad with a string of verification codes scrawled across it. “Verify the code,” he instructed.

You input the code into the secure terminal, and after a moment, the line cleared. “This is Y/L/N,” you said cautiously.

There was a beat of silence, then a familiar voice. “It’s Hotch.”

Back in Quantico, Hotch leaned back in his chair, his fingers gripping the phone tighter than necessary. The bullpen below his office was dim and quiet--most of the team had left for the night, but the stillness did little to ease the weight pressing on him.

The fallout from the Ian Doyle case was still reverberating through the BAU. Emily’s return had blindsided the team, and though he had tried to justify the deception, the cracks in their trust were impossible to ignore. Strauss’s scrutiny had sharpened, and his every decision seemed to be under a magnifying glass.

He hadn’t called to talk about any of that. He couldn’t.

But the familiar tension in his chest--the suffocating combination of guilt, stress, and isolation--had driven him to dial the secure line. He wasn’t even sure you’d pick up, but when your voice filtered through the line, steady and sure, it was like a knot in his chest loosened.

You straightened instinctively, surprise rippling through you. “Hotch,” you repeated, unable to keep the astonishment from your tone. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

“You’re not…no,” you assured him, leaning against the edge of the table. “What’s going on?”

There was a pause, the kind that stretched just long enough for you to sense the weight behind it. “I just wanted to check-in. See how things are going on your end.”

You frowned slightly, his words not matching the tension you could hear in his voice. “Things are...as expected. Slow, frustrating, and complicated. But manageable.”

“Good,” he said, the word clipped, almost distracted.

You weren’t a profiler, but the exhaustion in his tone was unmistakable. He sounded like a man carrying too many burdens, with no room to set them down.

“You sound tired,” you said gently, knowing better than to pry.

He let out a soft exhale, the kind that felt heavier than it should. “It’s been a long few weeks,” he admitted, though his words felt like an understatement.

Hotch closed his eyes for a moment, your voice cutting through the static in his mind. He could still see the look on Morgan’s face when Emily had walked into the room, the betrayal simmering under the surface. He could hear the edge in Strauss’s tone as she grilled him about his decision to keep the team in the dark.

But here, with you, there was no judgment. No interrogation.

“You’re taking care of yourself, right?” you asked, keeping your tone light but genuine.

A soft scoff met your ears. “I’m trying,” he replied, the words carrying a note of dry humor.

You smiled faintly, leaning back against the table. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”

His silence stretched again, but this time it felt less heavy. You knew he wasn’t the type to reach out without a reason, but you also knew he wouldn’t say more than he wanted to. And you weren’t going to push.

“Thank you,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet but firm.

You blinked. “For what?”

“For picking up,” he said simply. “For not asking.”

Your chest tightened slightly at the honesty in his tone. “Of course,” you replied softly. “You don’t have to explain anything, Hotch. You know that.”

For a fleeting moment, Hotch considered telling you. About Emily. About the team’s trust--or lack of it. But the words felt too heavy…too complicated to put into the space between you. He didn’t want to drag you into the mess, especially not when you had your own mission to worry about.

And yet, knowing you were there, steady and unwavering, brought him a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in weeks.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the faint hum of the secure line filling the silence. Despite the distance between you, the connection felt tangible--grounding.

“I should let you get back to work,” he said finally, although his voice sounded reluctant.

“Yeah,” you agreed, even though you didn’t want the call to end. “But Hotch...don’t wait so long to call next time, okay?”

There was a pause, then a quiet, almost imperceptible, “Okay.”

And then the line disconnected, leaving you standing there with the headset in hand and a heaviness in your chest you hadn’t felt in weeks.

Across the ocean, Hotch set the phone down, his hand lingering on the receiver. For the first time in days, the storm inside him felt a little less suffocating. And though he couldn’t explain why, he knew that calling you had been the right choice.

….

Throughout the remainder of your mission in Pakistan, Hotch’s calls came sporadically, never announced, and always brief. Each time the secure line connected, his voice carried a steadiness that seemed to ease the tension that surrounded you. The conversations were simple--updates on the mission, quiet exchanges about the weather, or mutual remarks about the relentless grind of your respective work.

Yet, beneath the surface, those calls meant more. 

They weren’t about the words exchanged but the connection that had grown between you. Somehow, through the static of secure lines and the distance of continents, you felt you knew him intimately. 

Not in the way of shared stories or confessions, but in the quiet understanding of someone who had seen the same kind of pain.

Hotch never spoke about what weighed on him, and you never pressed. He didn’t need to. The heaviness in his tone, the pauses that lingered too long--they told you everything you needed to know. And you, in turn, found comfort in the silence he offered, in the unspoken acknowledgment of your own burdens.

It was a strange closeness, one that felt both fragile and unbreakable. You knew so much about each other, and yet nothing at all. He never asked about what had driven you to this mission, and you never asked about the strain you could hear in his voice. Yet, you understood each other in a way that words couldn’t capture.

In those stolen moments on the phone, it didn’t matter that the world outside was relentless. It didn’t matter that neither of you could put your pain into words. What mattered was that, for a few fleeting minutes, you weren’t alone. And somehow, that was enough.

It was those moments that patched up the pain in your chest, almost making you forget about the heartbreak you left at home. The failed relationships, the loneliness…you wondered how it would continue on--or if it would continue on once you were back home. You hoped. 

…..

The bullpen at the BAU was its usual hive of activity, with agents moving between desks, typing up reports, and chatting quietly between tasks. But today, there was an undercurrent of curiosity rippling through the team--one that centered on Hotch.

Seated at her desk, Garcia spun her chair toward Morgan, a playful smirk on her lips. “Alright, Derek, spill. What’s with the boss man and those secretive phone calls he’s been making?”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “What makes you think I know anything, Baby Girl?”

Garcia raised a skeptical brow, gesturing dramatically toward Hotch’s office. “Because every time he steps in there and picks up that phone, he looks...different. Like, not his usual stressed-out-because-the-world-is-burning look. It’s something else.”

JJ, passing by with a file, paused to join the conversation. “You’re not wrong,” she said thoughtfully. “I noticed it, too. He’s been...quieter lately. More introspective. Not that Hotch is ever exactly chatty, but it’s different.”

Rossi appeared from behind them, holding his ever-present coffee mug. “And you’re all assuming that a few phone calls mean he’s seeing someone?” His tone was teasing, but there was genuine curiosity behind it.

“I mean, it wouldn’t be the craziest thing,” Morgan replied with a shrug. “The man deserves a little happiness. Maybe he finally found someone who gets him.”

Reid, seated nearby with his tablet, looked up. “It could be related to the fallout from the Doyle case. He might be reaching out to someone for professional advice or support.”

Garcia shook her head dramatically. “Oh, boy-wonder, that’s far too clinical. This is Hotch we’re talking about. If he’s calling someone regularly, it’s personal.”

JJ frowned slightly, leaning against her desk. “Whoever it is, I just hope they’re good for him. After everything with Haley, and now the strain with the team...he needs someone who can be there for him.”

Rossi took a sip of his coffee, his gaze flicking toward Hotch’s closed office door. “Maybe it’s not about what they say. Sometimes, it’s just about having someone who listens. God knows that man doesn’t let anyone in easily.”

The group fell into a contemplative silence, their gazes drifting toward the office where Hotch was currently on a call. Inside, his expression was characteristically composed, but the slight relaxation of his shoulders and the faintest twitch of a smile betrayed something softer.

Morgan broke the silence first, smirking. “Well, whoever this mystery caller is, they’ve got our fearless leader smiling. I say we let him have this one.”

Garcia gasped dramatically, clasping her hands together. “Smiling? You saw him smile? Oh, this is bigger than I thought.”

JJ and Rossi exchanged amused glances, and even Reid couldn’t suppress a small smile at Garcia’s theatrics. But beneath the playful banter, the team shared a collective hope--that whoever was on the other end of those calls was helping their stoic leader carry at least some of the weight on his shoulders.

….

Hotch sat in his office, the low hum of activity in the bullpen barely reaching his ears. His personal phone buzzed on the desk beside him, an unfamiliar number flashing across the screen. He frowned, picking it up cautiously. It wasn’t often he got calls from unlisted numbers on this line.

“Aaron Hotchner,” he answered, his tone brisk.

“Well, that’s formal. Do you always answer like you’re being interrogated?”

His breath caught, the familiar voice pulling a genuine, if fleeting, smile to his face. “Agent Y/L/N. I didn’t expect to hear from you.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” you teased. “Just because I’m not in Pakistan doesn’t mean I’ve vanished. I still exist, contrary to popular belief.”

“Good to know,” he replied, leaning back slightly in his chair. “I heard you finished the mission. Back stateside?”

“For now,” you said, your tone carrying the same measured ease he remembered. “It’s just a pit stop, though. The CIA doesn’t let its covert operatives sit idle for too long.”

“Sounds familiar,” he said, the faintest trace of humor in his voice. “How’s it feel to be back?”

“Strange,” you admitted. “Like I’m not entirely here, you know? You get that, don’t you?”

He did. More than he cared to admit. 

“I do,” he said simply, his voice low.

“And you?” you asked, your voice softening. “How’s the BAU treating you?”

He hesitated, the weight of recent weeks pressing heavily on his chest. The fallout from the Doyle case, Emily’s return, the team’s shaken trust--it all simmered just beneath the surface. But he wasn’t ready to unpack that. Not now.

“Still busy,” he said instead, his voice even. “But you know how it is. Work doesn’t stop.”

“I do,” you replied, a knowing edge to your tone. “Sounds like you’re carrying more than just case files, though.”

He stayed silent for a moment, his grip tightening slightly on the phone. “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he said finally.

“You always say that,” you said, a note of fond exasperation in your voice. “I’m starting to think it’s your catchphrase.”

“I don’t have catchphrases,” he replied, his lips twitching in the faintest of smiles.

“Sure you don’t,” you shot back. “Next, you’ll tell me you don’t ever crack a smile.”

“That’s a rare occurrence,” he said, his tone lighter.

“Well, I must be one of the lucky few then because I swear I’ve seen it.”

The warmth in your voice caught him off guard, but he didn’t mind it. Not one bit. “You’re in a unique position.”

“Unique, huh?” you teased. “You make it sound so exclusive.”

“It is,” he admitted, his voice softening. “Not many people see past the job.”

Your tone matched his now, the playfulness giving way to something more sincere. “That’s because the job is easier to focus on. It’s harder to look past it.”

He let out a quiet sigh, nodding even though you couldn’t see him. “You’re not wrong.”

The call buzzed with a quiet warmth neither of you acknowledged outright, but both felt. Hotch leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment before letting out a breath. He stared at the phone in his hand, debating whether to say what had been sitting in the back of his mind.

"So, this call," he said, his voice measured but holding a thread of something lighter. "Official business, or are you just checking up on me?"

"Can't it be both?" you asked, your teasing tone doing exactly what you intended--it made him relax, even if just a little.

He let out a soft laugh, surprising himself. "I suppose it can."

"I don’t know," you said, your voice playful. "Can it?"

He hesitated just a moment before admitting, “I actually thought about calling you too; I wanted to see how you were doing. And…I guess I needed to hear a familiar voice.”

The silence between you settled softly, comfortable, and filled with an understanding neither of you needed to articulate.

“Well, I’m doing okay,” you said finally, your tone calm. “Work’s the same. Chaos, classified details, long hours. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” he replied, the weight of shared experience clear in his voice. “Too familiar.”

“And you?” you asked gently, your tone softening. “How are you, Hotch? Really?”

He hesitated again, the instinct to protect himself battling against the trust he felt when speaking to you. “I’m…I’m managing,” he said at last, quieter than before. “But it’s...been a lot.”

You didn’t push. You never did. That was one of the things he appreciated most. 

“Well,” you said, the warmth returning to your voice, “if you ever feel like you need to step away from saving the world, give me a call. I’ve got plenty of experience in chaos management.”

He let out another rare, quiet laugh. “I might take you up on that.”

“Good,” you said lightly. “Don’t be a stranger, Hotch.”

He let the words settle, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. He wasn’t sure what prompted him, but before the conversation could end, he spoke again.

“Actually,” he started, his voice betraying a hint of nerves that even he couldn’t suppress, “have you ever thought about meeting up?” The question lingered, and he immediately wondered if he had overstepped. “I mean, if your schedule allows it,” he added, his tone faltering slightly. “I know how demanding your work is.”

You paused, clearly caught off guard. “Meeting up?” you repeated, a smile audible in your tone. “You mean in person?”

“Yes,” he said quickly before he could second-guess himself. “I just thought…you’ve been a consistent voice through everything, and…” He trailed off, realizing he didn’t know how to explain it without giving too much away. “It would be nice to catch up.”

“I think that sounds...great,” you said after a moment, your voice softer now. “Though I should warn you, Hotchner, I’m still terrible at small talk.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he replied, his lips twitching into a smile.

“Well,” you teased, “I don’t know if I should be flattered or worried.”

“Flattered,” he said, surprising himself again with the sincerity in his tone.

The brief pause that followed carried an unspoken weight, a quiet understanding of the connection that had been building between you since the mission in Pakistan. Neither of you said it outright, but it was there, tangible in the way you lingered on the call longer than necessary.

“I’ll check my schedule,” you said lightly, breaking the silence. “But don’t think I won’t hold you to this.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he replied, his voice steadier now.

When the call ended, Hotch sat back, his thoughts circling the conversation. He realized that while he still didn’t know the full scope of your personal life or if there was someone waiting for you back home, he felt compelled to try--to find out, to see where this connection might lead. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself the thought of something beyond the weight he carried every day.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @superlegend216

[wandamaximilf]

Make Me Feel Something

pairing: wanda maximoff + y/n ( mentions of vision )

warnings: 18+, overstimulation, teasing, spit, fingering, lesbian, clit play

summary: when you share disappointing news with wanda about catching vision acting out behind her back, her anger spirals and she takes it out on you, but she has no idea of the wormhole of feelings she's just opened up

3.6k words

“i didn’t need your help!”

wanda’s hand rockets towards you, jarring you square in the shoulder and nearly knocking you backwards. her other hand, dispelled in crimson swirls, sending the door behind herself slamming shut with such a force you swear the entire compound heard the commotion by now.

“-and what was i supposed to do,” you furrow your brows, perplexed, but with enough venom on your tongue to portray you have no intention of backing down, “not to tell you that i didn’t see your robotic boyfriend with some other woman?”

you stare back at wanda cross, but the bubbling hurt and anger only seems to swell behind green, flecks of red dancing like static in them momentarily.

“vision would never, he actually loves me unlike you spilling lies at me, you’re supposed to be my best friend! why would you make up something like this, out of jealousy?” she spits, seething at this point as she steps towards you in intimidation, though you know the reality of her nature is she would never actually lay a hand on you. 

“you’re not thinking clearly,” you shake your head, sympathy laced in your tone, “even if i am lying, why would i do that knowing it would hurt you? do you think that low of me, wanda?” you can tell your words ring logic through her, she knows you would never do something or say something to intentionally hurt her, but right now she is too jaded to even remotely put herself first over another she loves, nothing unusual for her character.

wanda seems to hesitate, as if her initial counter to your question was not a substantial enough response. she can’t fight logic, not right now. her mind

behind it all, you know she’s hurting, reeling behind a fairytale of whom she saw as a lifelong partner now having deceived her. 

yet, a part of you always saw this coming after all, he was just a construction of wires and vibranium. at some point his ‘brain’ would malfunction, and you didn’t merely assume that just based on your original disdain for him coming into wanda’s life.

“y/n, just go,” the words nearly sting, as selfish as that feels right now when really wanda is the only one with the right to feel anguish. 

unknown to her that for years you’d sat, watching and observing her, silently mesmerized and foolishly in love with the idea that maybe one day wanda would come to terms that the idea of being with you would’ve been a more viable option over vision to begin with. it was torture enough watching them oggle over one another around the compound. 

but now he’s the villain in the story, and it’s not exactly the prime moment to confess your feelings long hidden for her. no, it would be too selfish and look as if you were spinning her hurt into an opportunity. you know it would not be the ideal way to confess your deep desire you’ve held for her, imagining her like a high school crush and what it would be like to be loved in that way by her, instead of the friend pledged in loyalty to her.

“wands-“

“get the fuck out!” this time her words are the ones landing venomously, usually the innocence in the nickname grounds her, but not now. not today.

“i can’t just leave you-“

wanda lurches forward, reaching with brisk hostility to grab your upper arm in an attempt to drag you back to the door and out of her bedroom. but you’re quicker, your reflexes are more time–  thanks to romanoff’s training. your fingers spool around her wrist, stopping the motion and catching her off guard, enough to send her tripping over herself.

“fuck- you-“ this time wanda’s voice cracks, a pant between each for her loss of balance and catching herself before she falls against you. you can hear the innocence and muddled hurt even under the harsh words. any sparks of red had dissipated from the green in her eyes, now overtaken by the rising swell of tears giving them a glassy aura.

your eyes flick to her mouth as the slur falls from her lips, it even looked unnatural coming from them and you certainly couldn’t bear to watch those tears fall. you’d seen her say those words before, but this time it was different. it wasn’t in jest, yet it wasn’t necessarily in hatred or true anger. the only place it was coming from was agony and the incomprehension of her own emotions right now. 

she’d lost so much already, given so much of herself for those she cared about, it only made your heart wretch further. all you wanted to do was console her. 

wanda was so inexplicably close to you right now, enough to feel the heat of her breath on your face. it made the hair at the base of your neck stand up, her scent overwhelming you. your thoughts only whirled further, flashes of knowing how in pain she was.

a mix of impulsivity and selfishness to give in to temptation was overwhelming. all you wanted right now was to try and take her pain away in any way possible right now. a distraction. but also a longing release of your own feelings for her. your thoughts swirl a million miles a minute, briefly forgetting about the current situation you’re in.

before you can comprehend your own thoughts, deciding between right and wrong, the heat of wanda’s breath recedes, replaced with a harsh and violent pressure against your lips. it takes you a moment to understand the situation, wanda’s lips now pressed feverishly against yours. there’s a swelling taste of salt and copper washing through your mouth. a mix of her tears, and a stray drop of blood from the newly opened cut on your bottom lip, caused by the velocity of your lip caught between hers and your teeth. her hands had cupped your face at the initial contact, black nails pressing into the back of your jaw as if you might slip away. it stings at first, but you let it be.

you have to break it, this isn’t right, this is wrong. wrong on so many levels. wanda’s heart was broken right now, and this seemed disingenuous.

but you also can’t ignore the immediate warmth that travels through your abdomen, feeling it spin in guilt but also reprieve for finally feeling wanda’s lips against yours that doesn’t stem from a drunken dare.

still, your mind temporarily outweighs your heart and body, and you jerk back, “wanda.. i can’t, th-this isn’t right.” you fumble over the words, almost trying to explain yourself for an action that you didn’t even initiate. meanwhile, sliding your tongue along your bottom lip to quell the sting and erase any last evidence of blood on the small cut.

“you want to make me forget, you want to help, you want this. so just shut up, and make me feel something else- please.” her tone is desperate, pleading, but also firm on where she stands.

your mouth falls agape, wanting to rebuttal, argue this isn’t how you want it to go, that you actually do love her. but now’s not the time, you can connect the dots that she’d already gotten this idea because she’d picked through your thoughts in that moment of silence where she couldn’t find her own words.

now you only had one thing you could do to actually help her in this moment- make her feel something else. her words, right? she was giving you approval.

wanda seeks the opportunity again, impatient and just as harsh with need. aside from the swelling guilt, you can’t help but indulge simultaneously. you can still taste the reminisce of a stray tear or two, but it’s begun to fade. she’s already begun to lose herself in the moment, letting every other thought leave her mind as she sought safety and pleasure in the only person she had left that she truly cared for. 

you.

both of your feet are nearly tripping over the other, trying to walk backwards towards her bed as your hands finally give in, rising around the back of her neck. your fingers instantly tangle into locks of fiery orange, gripping just enough to encourage wanda to continue. and she does.

the room has already begun to envelope in a heavy heat, ragged and desperate breaths laced in a mix of emotions but ultimately indulged in the moment. the worry of guilt is still there, but now just a small pit in your stomach as her breathing hitches with each step and between barely audible moans.

wanda pressures you further until you’re both stood parallel to the bottom edge of the bed. you prepare for her to break the kiss when you feel her mouth fall slightly more agape. you want to ask her for reassurance, that this is okay.

before you can manage the words, wanda quickly presses her tongue between your parted lips, not hesitating to explore along your own, running hers along the roof of your mouth. you almost feel embarrassed at the amount of saliva welling up in your mouth and hers, but she only swallows it back hungrily. 

a twisting thought wonders if wanda had fantasized this in someway, especially by the speed of her actions, seeming to barely think twice. was there a part of her who had wanted this as well?

the guilt seems void right now, replaced by a thrumming heat gathering between your thighs. wanda seems entirely awash in lust, both your tongues taking turns exploring one another’s mouths.

this time you make your move before wanda can. your hands abandon her hair, quickly working off her jacket, allowing her to shrug it to the floor between kisses as you begin to pull at the bottom hem of her shirt. this time she’s pulls away, but only enough for you to allow space to pull her shirt up and over her head. at first, she doesn’t jump back into the kiss, allowing herself to catch her breath as her hands reach behind her back. it takes you only a second to comprehend.

you had tried not to stare, but as wanda reaches for the strap of her bra to unhook it, you take a second to take in the sight. her breasts perfectly fill the cups of the black bra. it’s simple, no lace or embroidery, just black silk cotton, and still she makes it look like an expensive garment.

in a heartbeat, everything in your face runs cold, as she slips her bra from her shoulders and lets it fall to the ground. you can’t help but indulge now. you’d inappropriately fantasized about wanda’s body before, especially her breasts when she wore that one corset, but having her exposed and vulnerable in front of you felt entirely on another plane of existence.  

her nipples are a perfect tone of rosey-pink, already perky and hardened from what you can only assume is arousal considering you were already both panting from the desperation in the previous kisses. 

you can’t stop yourself, you raise a hand, palm cupping the under of her breast and swiping a thumb over the hardened bud. when the action elicits a shy moan from wanda, it nearly makes you groan in approval as the heat between your legs surmounts with need. “wanda..”

“keep going- i promise, it’s okay, y/n-“ she manages as she seems to adjust herself so that her one breast is flush in your palm now, garnering another subtle moan from the sensitivity. 

you realize this moment is truly going to be all about wanda. not you, even despite the ache between your legs, but honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way tonight. you had dreamt of wanda desiring you in this way and now she was explicitly asking you.

“i’ll take care of you,” you hold her eyes with yours as you gently readjust you both so that the back of her knees are against the bed, “just can i ask one thing from you?”

wanda wants to question you, you can tell by the faint look of confusion, but she only nods.

“stay standing until you can’t…” even in the dimming light of the room from the sun beginning to set, you swear you can see the faint flush of red in her cheeks as you slightly lower yourself just enough to get your mouth level with her breasts.

wanda gives you a single nod, her hips shifting leading you to assume she’s become as aroused as you are now. for a moment, as she’s looking down to you, you swear you saw the shadow of a nervous smile. you hold her gaze for a moment as you take one of her nipples into your mouth, using a hand to palm and massage the other abandoned breast. 

wanda nearly crumbles at just that, it’s been too long since she’s been touched like this, but she remains upright. 

her head lolls back, a strained “y/n..” falling from her lips in a sultry moan that only encourages you to continue.

you suck at her nipple, occasionally using your teeth to graze the sensitive tissue. your hand stays busy, switching between massaging her breast in your palm and using your thumb to tease the nipple. 

wanda is rather shy for the time being, you can tell she’s trying to hide any roll in her hips, desperate for friction where she needs it most. her moans are still barely audible, but they’re there as you make sure to alternate each breast fairly. 

your free hand massages up her thigh gingerly, following along her pelvis until you stop to work at the button and zipper of her jeans. you’ve been careful to take your time, but not enough to drive her mad just yet.

when you pull your mouth away from her breast along with the other hand, you could’ve sworn you heard the faintest whimper. it satisfies you for a moment knowing how indulged wanda is, and how tentative you’re being with her body.

“why…” wanda manages, but you don’t give her a response. instead, you fully lower yourself, the hand previously working at her jeans now slides the zipper down fully.

“oh…” she manages, chin dropping to watch you get on your knees as you begin to shimmy her jeans down, not hesitating to bring her panties down along with them.

the denim and a pair of black underwear, falls to a clump around her ankles, her legs breaking into an array of goosebumps at her now exposed lower body. as she begins to step out of the restrictive clothing at her feet, you take the opportunity to look at her face for one last vow of approval.

“yes…” wanda’s lips are barely parted, the cold on her mound making her ache even further, “please, y/n… i promise it’s okay.,” 

as if offering further permission, she carefully adjusts her legs enough to just leave ample room for you to glimpse her pussy. she’s still standing in place, knees against the bed just in case they give out as your attention finally shifts to where she needs you most.

you nearly feel the immediate gush between your thighs as you settle onto your knees, now seeing the true picture of desperation. 

wanda’s folds are quite swollen, the tip of her clit just barely peaking out between them, this time you can’t stifle the groan at the sight before you. her slick is painted perfectly along her slit, a bead of it daring to fall at the back of her pussy.

you hungrily lean in, want and temptation over powering anything else now as your body drives you. wanda attempts to brace herself, feeling the heat of your breath against her core as your tongue immediately darts out to lap up the string of slick at her entrance. you barely have a moment to adjust before she cries out from sudden sensitivity. it’s been quite some time for her since she’d been touched like this. vision had long seemed to distance himself, they’d barely shared any intimacy of the sort around the compound in a month or two.

wanda’s knees immediately buckle as her hips rocket forward involuntarily, painting your mouth with her slick as her clit ruts against your nose, “oh– fuck, y/n!”

hearing wanda cry out your name like that only spurs you on further. you’d anticipated teasing her, making her wait, but now it’s you who can’t after tasting her. 

both of your hands shoot up, fingers splaying against the crux of where her thighs meet her pelvis and thumbs delving between wet folds to fully expose her pussy. 

wanda can only react with a string of weak whines, a hand of hers shooting down and fisting into your hair to guide you to where she wants you most. you only oblige, spurred on by the visual of her swollen clit before it’s pressed flat to your tongue.

“fuck!” wanda rolls her hips, encouragingly as her shy moans turn into a slur of expletives and gasps as she rakes her clit over your tongue with each movement and tug of your hair.

her taste is overwhelming, already beginning to saturate your face as she fucks herself against it. you can’t help but moan into her, which sends vibrations along her slit that only makes her drag her entire length along your mouth now, “fuck, yes- you’re doing so good…” she swallows roughly as her head tips back, “make me feel only you, y/n.”

you’d fantasized this moment for a few years now, and the reality of now coming true has you in a chokehold. one of your hands abandons her thigh, eagerly using your ring and middle finger to press between her folds. within a second, her wetness coats your fingers, pressing them deeper until your just brushing against her entrance.

without warning you delve both fingers into her, and wanda immediately loses her balance. the one hand you have at her thigh catches her, allowing her to regain some composure as you withdraw your fingers, only to thrust back into the cling of her walls. 

wanda cries out, her head falling back feeling weightless in her stomach and knees. a good portion of her weight is seated in your palm, the only thing keeping her upright at this point. she’s tight around you as your curl your fingertips to touch at the soft spot that makes her stomach flutter. she can barely manage anything coherent between gasps and whining moans from the slight sting. 

you can already feel wanda chasing her climax. with each thrust of your fingers, her clit slams against the bottom of your palm. it sends her body in near convulsions as her legs tremble as she grows closer to release.

the sound of how wet she is sends you into a frenzy, your fingers diving deeper and more quickly into her pussy. the entirety of your palm has begun to become wet from her slick, beginning to lose friction of her clit as your fingers dare to slip out each time. 

“wanda– cum for me now,” you manage as you readjust your hand more upright, not hesitating as you lean in to drag your tongue across her swollen clit. the taste of her makes you feverish for more. it’s a perfect balance of her sweetness and slight salt. 

wanda immediately buckles, a slur of expletives as the heat in her stomach rises as your tongue continues to rake viciously against her clit, your fingers driving in and out of her. it takes only a few more seconds before she completely unravels. her walls snap tightly around your fingers as she falls to her knees, being unable to catch her in time, you only help her to the ground. 

her hands fall beside her, bracing on the floor as her hips just upwards and as her head falls backwards onto the edge of the bed. your fingers feel slightly sore from her tightness, her pussy fully exposed in front of you as her knees are spread as she sits in front of you. the carpet beneath her garners a small wet stain as she lets her release paint over your hand and down to the ground.

“y/n– that… i’m so sorry,” wanda pants out with remorse as her body settles, you withdraw your fingers quickly, not disingenuously, wiping them on your leg to be able to cup her face as she lowers her head back to look at you. there’s a bit of regret behind her eyes, and she notices the flash of worry, “no– no, you didn’t do anything. i just don’t want you to think i took advantage of you,” wanda’s body relaxes more, beads of sweat on her skin as she sits naked in front of you, apologizing for something that she has no need to. 

“wanda, you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that with you,” you look at her sheepishly, and she somewhat offers a smile back to you.

“we’re not done then…” she manages, now looking at you reassuringly, “let me take care of you.”

you look at her, nearly stunned as her hands reach to pull you back into her. “wanda- what about vis-

“no, nothing about him right now, please,” she shifts, her face growing closer to yours, “let that be tomorrow’s problem. let me enjoy you and i tonight, we will worry about tomorrow when it comes.”

you hesitate, but only flash her a toothy smile out of helplessness. if this is what she wants, even after the exhausting outpour of emotions, it gives you the necessary reassurance that wanda wants you in some capacity as well.

so you let her.

[meanbossart]

Ask Compilation: Gorp, Questionable Child Rearing, Progressive elves and some campaign lore!

As always, I apologize if your ask isn't here/ hasn't been replied to, it is unfortunately impossible for me to answer to every question I get to the extend I would like to. Occasionally I also just don't have a very interesting answer to offer 😅 and I try to avoid spamming people's feeds! But thank you so much to everyone who interacts with my stories, characters, art, and is curious about my thought process and writing! The response is frankly just as overwhelming as it is deeply appreciated, and every word of encouragement or message about how I inspired you to draw or write more of your own stories makes my day.

DU drow and Gortash had what I would describe as a "Toxic Friendship". They got along well enough, had little friend dinner-dates, drank together, superficially shared their woes in ways that benefited no one, and DU drow ultimately had a great deal of respect for Gortash - except you would have never known that by the way he treated him.

DU drow belittled, harassed, and even destroyed Gortash's property on whim alone. Every compliment was back-handed and every display of friendship was somehow sarcastic. Gortash let everything slide right off his back for reasons I like leaving obscured. Here's a particularly intense write-up I did about their relationship a long time ago that still stands. I think it serves really well to illustrate how intense DU drow could still be about his friendships.

PFFTT, I don't know why that would be a female-child only thing, but maybe that's just a colloquialism?

DU drow actually talks pretty similarly to children as he does to adults! He just doesn't set the same expectations on them. Children don't ask stupid questions because the world is still new to them, nor do their respond reasonably to everything, they also don't understand some big words or complex ideas depending on how you present it to them - he understands this and adjusts accordingly. But otherwise his tone would be the same, even with his his own child. He's that guy who's good with kids on the basis of treating them as to-be adults rather than.. Well, just a child.

The Astarion assessment is fair, LOL.

[MORE UNDER THE CUT]

(Surface) elven kind strikes me as fairly gender-indifferent overall! And while I enjoy theorizing about how their culture has shifted over the years from exposure to "urban life", for both better and worse, I like to think this is an aspect that has remained mostly unchanged, even for elves who may have had a really mixed-up upbringing from living in a city as diverse as Baldur's Gate.

I believe Astarion (and by extension Shadowheart and DU drow) are fully aware that they read as their respective genders and that for other races, such as humans, that means something; but for them that is a different custom that doesn't really apply outside of pronouns and reproductive expectations. So, I actually believe that Astarion would be pretty indifferent to life as a woman save for occasionally missing having a dick for the obvious reasons (only to then shift back and lament the opposite, probably).

ALL THE TIME!

But I know that you meant to ask if I will ever draw it.

VERY LIKELY THAT I WILL.

As a side note, thank you for showing interest and excitement for male-on-male sex that isn't just anal, LOL.

CW for the obvious, though nothing too descriptive or awful.

I understand if people disagree as a knee-jerk reaction, but I would say that Astarion's character demonstrates a shocking amount of self-control and emotional regulation. I went into this more in detail in an older post, but basically: the guy always brings himself down from his own outbursts, is exceptionally good at reading the room, is extremely forgiving and pragmatic, and knows when to send the jokes outside and respond to vulnerability in kind. I stand by this as more than a headcanon; it's in his actual writing and dialogue.

All that to say, I don't think Astarion would ever lay a violent hand on his own children. I also don't HC him as having endured corporal punishment as a child, hence not really having that instilled in his mind as a possible example to draw from.

I could see DU drow implementing physical punishments that he doesn't consider to be actually painful, like pulling, pinching, or squeezing a child while you reprehend them; things a parent might do because they think it's harmless. Astarion would probably be the one to say he's not really achieving anything - so it would likely be short-lived.

I DO think they would both be okay with setting up their children to pretty arduous physical labor, though, both as punishment and just in general to toughen them up. You could argue there's a way to do this that is reasonable, but they would prooobably push that line into dubious territory.

Buddy, WHO said low fat, what do you think the meat and taters that he's eating is swimming in!

But back to your question, he can enjoy a sweet treat every once in a while! He just far, far prefers savory. Personally, I think the guy would go crazy for a panettone. Or a big sugar-powdered crepe with some berries.

I kind of flew through the Circus in DU drow's playthrough because I was SO excited to get to Baldur's gate. They were only there long enough for DU drow to make Astarion mildly pissed off during the dryad's weird love quiz.

I also somehow missed Lucretious and never got the Dribbles quest - probably for the best.

Becoming a big ol' squid seems like a deal-breaker for his character in-game - so, same thing applies here. He'd let him down gently but potentially want a friendship for as long as DU drow is still himself.

... Buuuut it would never come to that; DU drow would most likely end his life pretty swiftly if he were to turn into a mindflayer, so Astarion wouldn't have much to worry about 😬

Alas, she pretty much never crosses his mind since he has no recollection of the type of relationship they had prior to DU drow's amnesia.

Or at least she won't as long as nothing weird ever happens that potentially jogs his memory 😇

Hello! I also love the escorts, but due to both DU Drow's and Astarion's respective attitudes towards drow and that kind of activity they didn't really hire his services. I do like to think him and his sister had a lot to gossip about as soon as they turned their backs, though, LOL.

[loulou-land]

His Love is the Reason I’m Here

Day 9 of @bucktommyfluffebruary | Moving in Together | 434 words | on ao3

Buck stood in the middle of Tommy’s house—their house now—with his hands on his hips, surveying the stack of boxes scattered throughout the room. 

Eddie and Chimney had carried in the last few, and now they were out on the back porch, already digging into the pizzas they had ordered. 

Buck had every intention of joining them—his stomach grumbled in protest, making its hunger well known—but first, he needed a second. A moment to breathe, to take this in. 

He exhaled, slow and shaky, and made his way to the kitchen, where most of his appliances had already found a place next to Tommy’s. His fingers brushed over the cool surface of the counters, tracing familiar edges that now belonged to him just as much as they did to Tommy. 

This was real. The thought settled deep in his chest, warm and pulsating. He lived here now. They were doing this. Taking the next step in the rest of their lives. Because Buck knew—this was it. Tommy was the man he wanted to marry, to have a family and grow old with. 

A smile tugged at his lips. Sending a silent thought out to wherever Thomas may be. Look, we’re making it too. 

“Hey.” Tommy’s voice was soft as he stepped into the house. “Everything okay? I brought you some slices.” 

Buck looked up to find him standing there, plate in hand, bringing him food without being asked. Just taking care of him. The way he always did. The way Buck never had to ask. 

Every day, Buck thought, I can’t possibly love this man more. 

And every day, he was proven wrong. 

It wasn’t just the big things—Tommy showing up, standing by him, loving him without hesitation. It was also the small, steady, everyday things. 

Like this right now. Making sure he ate after a long tiring day. 

Like how Tommy never hesitated to give Buck free rein in his space—so he could make it theirs. 

Like how he never questioned Buck's need for lists, for color-coded notes and neatly labeled boxes, just followed along with quiet patience, a grounding presence at his back. 

Buck stepped forward, taking the plate from Tommy’s hands and set it aside on the dining table. 

Tommy’s hands came up automatically, pulling him close, and Buck melted into him, letting himself be held. They both sighed, the sound soft, content. 

“Thank you,” Buck murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “For letting me in.” 

And they both knew it meant so much more than just this house, this space. 

It meant everything.

[scary-grace]

sips drink. I am going to need. [ ring ] for shigraki

Thank you for the prompt! As usual, I went a little berserk with it, and there is. so much smut in this. If you're not a fan/this is not the vibe, let me know and I'll write you a different one, or do a better job with your other prompts! 9k, AU with demons, succubus!reader, tons of smut. If you're a big fan of super dominant Tomura, this is not the fic for that. MDNI + thanks to @dogblessyoutascha for beta-reading on short notice and putting up with tons of yapping and fic about this guy.

wanted (if you want me)

a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You're a down-on-your-luck succubus who just got rejected by the guy who summoned you, and you can't go back to Hell until you find somebody else's soul to steal. Shigaraki Tomura, reeling from a Valentine's Day rejection of his own, is the perfect victim. Or so you think. (cross-posted to Ao3)

“Sorry,” the guy who just summoned you says, sitting back from the pentagram he’s drawn on the floor with a frown. “You’re not my type.”

“I’m – what?” You feel stupid, which isn’t how you’re supposed to feel. You’re a demon, and a mortal’s just summoned you. You should feel powerful and lawless, not embarrassed. Not rejected. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re not my type,” the guy says again. He gestures awkwardly at you. “I was hoping for somebody – more.”

“Did you want a guy or something?” you ask. You cross your arms over your chest. Your clothes are barely worthy of the title, and you don’t want this guy seeing your nipples if he’s not even into them. “If you wanted a guy, you should have summoned an incubus. It’s not my fault you can’t read.”

“I like girls,” the guy snaps at you, rather than addressing the fact that you just called him a moron. “You were supposed to look like this.”

He picks up the grimoire he was reading the incantation out of and holds it up to you. It must be a new edition of the same old grimoire, because the last version of it you saw didn’t include illustrations. The illustration in question is a demon, identifiable as such by her horns and tail, but she looks about as much like you as you do like an angel straight from Heaven’s hideous art-deco gates. She’s got the kind of proportions that don’t work on Earth or in Hell – tiny waist, enormous breasts, ass that needs its own zip code, and her outfit is so tiny that you can see her nipples and her clit through it. And then there’s the face she’s making, straight out of some seedy erotic magazine, with blown-out pupils and open mouth and a delicate flush across her cheeks, all ready to be ruined.

Your outfit is skimpy, sure, but not that skimpy. You have the parts you need, but they aren’t that exaggerated, and if you tried that stupid expression, you’re pretty sure your face would melt off. If this is what this mortal expected, of course he’s disappointed to have gotten you.

His disappointment isn’t your problem, and now you’re in a mood. “Let me get this straight. You summoned a succubus – a sex demon from the depths of Hell – to fulfill your fantasies, and you’ve decided that now’s the time to get picky.”

“I’m not being picky,” he says. “Girls like you don’t do it for me. Can’t you send somebody else?”

“Sorry. All my sisters are seducing hotter mortals than you.” You feel a surge of pleasure at the way the man flinches. Guys like these – when they summon a succubus, they’re always thinking about the sex part, not the part where you’re a demon. “They took one look at you and decided I was all you deserved, and you know what? I don’t think you deserve me, either.”

“Well, I don’t want you, so –”

“In fact,” you continue, rising to your feet and internally cursing the fact that you decided to materialize in fuck-me heels, “I don’t think you deserve to get laid ever again.”

The mortal blanches. “What?” he demands, taking a step back as you step forward out of the pentagram. “You can’t leave the circle unless I say.”

“You really should look into those reading lessons. You’ll have a lot of time on your hands.” You were just going to lay the curse, but you decide that’s not enough. You nail him in the balls with a sharp kick, and as he doubles over, you speak, your voice crackling with the fires of Hell. “May your erections always wither, no matter how much porn you watch or how many drugs you take. May you disappoint every lover you take to your bed, and may that bed lie as cold and empty as the grave where they’ll bury your impotent corpse.”

It's a pretty good curse, if you say so yourself. “You bitch,” the mortal spits, but you snap your fingers and seal his fate. You know the moment the curse settles over him. You see the despair in his eyes. “Take it back!”

“No,” you say. You grasp his chin in one hand and lean in close, so close that your breath huffs out against his lips. You scraped your tongue for this guy. He deserves all this and more. “I’ll see you in Hell.”

His eyes roll up in his head and he collapses to the floor. You step over his unconscious form and survey the apartment you’ve found yourself in, dingy and filthy and smelling unpleasantly of human body odor. This is the kind of mortal who thought it was wise to reject you, just because you didn’t exactly resemble the absurd sketch in his grimoire. This is the kind of mortal who thought you weren’t good enough for him. Your lower lip begins to tremble, no matter how hard you sink your sharp teeth into it, and sulfuric tears begin to leak from your eyes. You were so excited to be summoned, so hopeful that you could do a good job for once. Now you just want to go home.

But you can’t. When you try to dematerialize and let Hell call you back, you can’t, and you realize why not in the same second as you realize that you didn’t curse that human nearly hard enough. You were summoned to this world to serve a purpose – to fuck some mortal so hard that they’ll sell you their soul – and until you serve that purpose, you’re trapped here. You need to find a mortal to sleep with, immediately. And you can’t go out looking like this.

You ransack the mortal’s apartment. None of his street clothes are anything you’d be caught exorcised wearing, but he has a long coat that he probably thinks makes him look mysterious and cool. You shrug it on, noting that it covers your skimpy outfit while still providing easy access to your body when it’s time to take it off, and keep searching, in case there’s anything else you can use. Money, as it happens – this human has a bank account and credit cards, and even unconscious, it’s all too easy to read his mind for the PIN. You pocket all of it, hide your demon form with a glamour, then leave the apartment door wide open on your way out.

As soon as you hit the street, though, you realize that you have an even bigger problem than you thought. You assumed it was some featureless winter evening, the kind where a bored, lonely mortal has nothing better to do than flip through a grimoire and get himself into trouble, but every storefront you look at is decorated with hearts. Every mortal you pass on the street is on someone else’s arm, or carrying flowers, or making out in the glow of a streetlight. It’s Valentine’s Day. You’re fucked.

Contrary to what humans like the idiot who summoned you think, Valentine’s Day isn’t actually about sex. Sex is a side effect of what Valentine’s Day is really about, which is romance. It’s about love and soulmates and tenderness and affection and forever, which is exactly nothing you know anything about. Succubi and incubi exist on the dark side of all of that, in its nasty, sleazy, prurient shadow. You don’t court, you seduce. You don’t make love, you fuck. You don’t show people the face of God, or whatever that dumb-ass musical says; you show them the gates of Hell and walk them through. Seducing a random mortal is a tall order for you on a given day. Seducing one on Valentine’s Day is going to be damn near impossible.

You feel tears welling up again and blink them back. Crying over rejection from a filthy, useless mortal was bad enough. Demons shouldn’t feel that kind of pain, and if they do, they shouldn’t wallow in it. Demons get the job done. And it’s not totally hopeless, when you force yourself to be honest about it. For all the mortals who are happily coupled, there are plenty who aren’t, and if the mortal who summoned you is anything to judge by, some of them aren’t averse to a little salacious, damnation-worthy fun.

As far as places to find single humans go, you’re spoiled for choice; while all the restaurants have Valentine’s Day specials for mortals out on a date with their special someone, it seems as though every club or bar is advertising an event for singles. You peer into a few bars, but none of them strike you as having the right mood. Most of them carry a pathetic air of hopefulness, as if the humans within believe they really might find someone to love tonight of all nights. You don’t need hopefulness. You need desperation. You need a human so lonely and desperate that they won’t question why a stranger wants to fuck them. If you were attractive in your human guise, you’d have a better shot, but apparently you aren’t. Only a human who’s truly desperate would go for you.

Finally you come across a bar where the mood seems a little more appropriate. Some sort of singles event is winding down as you come in, and you sense the despair beginning to set in. Most of the humans here could easily pair up with one of the others if they were willing to alter their standards, but humans have gotten entitled these days, and they all think they deserve a partner who matches their ideals. They cling to that fiction even as the mood in the bar worsens. They don’t need to settle. They’re holding out for true love.

Pathetic. You square your shoulders and wade into the mix.

The gender of your target doesn’t matter to you. It doesn’t even matter if they’re willing to sell their soul tonight – once you’ve fucked them, you can come back as many times as it takes for them to give it over. But even with your criteria broadened, you’re having trouble. As you search through the humans, tasting the flavor of their emotions every time you brush against one, you don’t find a single one who feels the way you need them to.

You taste sadness. Loneliness. Despair. Resignation or acceptance – sometimes they’re hard to tell apart. A few strange humans have even found refuge in faith, some idiosyncratic hope that they’ll find what they’re meant to find when the time is right, as if God has time to ordain such stupid things. On another night, you’d take pleasure in crushing their hopes, but your own hopes of getting out of here are sinking by the second. You need a human. Any human will do.

But just as you’re resigning yourself to seduce a woman, one whose loneliness carries just the faintest tinge of despair, you’re hit with a wave of exactly what you’ve been looking for. Not just despair, but disappointment. Not just loneliness, but hurt. Not just resignation, but frustration and embarrassment, at feeling hurt and disappointed and finding themselves here at all. You turn away from the woman without ever drawing her attention to you and follow the thread of rejection through the bar to a booth in the corner, where a mortal sits alone.

Along with the relief of finding a target at last, the first feeling that crosses your mind is surprise.  This isn’t the sort of mortal you’d expect to find alone on Valentine’s Day, just based on his looks alone – almost-delicate facial features, long white hair, a frame that’s broad-shouldered yet lithe, observable even when he’s seated. As you get closer, you see a birthmark below the corner of his mouth, scars over his mouth and eye, and long lashes framing his crimson eyes. This mortal is pretty. Some of your sisters don’t care what their targets look like, but you like your mortal men pretty.

The mortal looks up as you come to the edge of his table. He seems as surprised to see you as you are to see him. “You’re late to the party.”

“Apparently not, since you’re here. Do you mind if I sit down? My feet are hurting in these shoes.”

He looks down at your shoes, and just like you were hoping, his eyes trace upwards, over your bare ankle to your calf to your knee before it disappears beneath your stolen coat. “Go ahead,” he says. “There’s room.”

There’s plenty of room, but you sit down next to him anyway, your leg pressed against his. You feel him startle, feel him go tense, and decide it’s worth drawing attention to. “Did I scare you?”

“No,” he says, but you can hear his heart beginning to race. “Just wondering if this is a setup or something. People like you don’t usually want anything to do with people like me.”

“People like me?” you say. You turn towards him, elbow propped on the table, chin propped in your hand. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb,” your mortal says. “Looks like yours, there’s no way you’re single.”

You can’t imagine this mortal’s self-deprecating angle working on anyone, but the compliment makes you glow ever so slightly. “Strange. I was thinking the same about you.”

Your mortal doesn’t glow. He blushes. “Don’t lie.”

“Would I lie?” Yes, frequently and gleefully – but not right now. “You’re gorgeous.”

He scoffs, averts his eyes, but his heart’s beating faster. It’s cute, and since he’s opened this door, you might as well walk through. Time for a little touching. You start with the scar above his eye. “I like this, and this –” you trace the scar, then tuck a few strands of white hair behind his ear, letting your fingers graze across his cheek and down to his jaw before reaching the scar over his mouth. “And this –”

He speaks while your fingers are still against his lips. “Careful.”

“I’m being really careful,” you promise. You run your fingers over his mouth again, slow and teasing, then turn your attention to the birthmark. “And I like this. It really completes the picture. Whoever rejected you tonight, they were out of their mind.”

“I could say the same about whoever rejected you.” Your mortal’s hand brushes against your knee, then drifts away, and you shiver ever so slightly. You like this mortal. It’s always easier when you like them. “I saw you watching the rest of them. Why did you pick me?”

“Like I said, you’re gorgeous,” you say, and shrug. The shrug presses you a little closer against him, and you don’t pull back. “And you looked like you were having the same kind of night as I am. I thought we could make each other feel better.”

He gives you a skeptical look, but the flush in his cheeks gives him away. Oh, you like this one. Even if he gives you his soul tonight, you’ll come back to visit him at least a few more times. “How do you think we can do that?”

“By giving each other what we want,” you say. “Don’t you get tired of having to play a part, to be what someone else expects you to be, and never have your desires fulfilled? I could give you that.”

He scoffs. “You think you know what my desires are?”

“You’d tell me,” you murmur. “That’s the point.”

Your mortal’s skepticism doesn’t fade, but neither does his blush. “What about what you want? I don’t buy for a second that it’s just to sleep with me.”

The question gives you pause. It’s not one you’ve thought of before. Succubi don’t have sexual desires, really – your goal is always to seduce your target, which means it’s all about what your target wants. You aren’t very good at your job, but you’ve put up with all sorts of things, doing them or having them done to you, if it means the mortal you’re fucking will hand over their soul. What you want, personally, doesn’t factor in even slightly. What do you want from this mortal? You don’t know.

“You don’t know,” your mortal says, as though you’ve spoken aloud. His hand brushes against your leg again, settles there. “I’ll help you find out.”

“Only if you tell me what you want,” you insist, as he brushes your coat aside and finds your leg bare. His fingertips are dry and rough as they trail over your skin, brushing the inside of your thigh. “Oh –”

“Too much?” he asks. There’s an almost wicked glint in his eye.

You feel your own heart pick up the pace. This will be a challenge. You like a challenge. “Answer my question first. Every time you answer, you can move your hand.”

“I want you.”

“Wrong answer.” You close your legs, not that they were that far apart in the first place. You’re not easy. “I asked about your unfulfilled desires, and you just met me today. I can’t be the only thing you want.”

“Mm.” Your mortal makes a dissatisfied noise. Even as he leaves his hand in place, you see an awkwardness settle over him – nerves, or something like it. For such a gorgeous mortal, he’s an interesting contradiction. “I want – to be out of control.”

“Out of control?” You won’t open your legs just yet. “Tell me more.”

“You were right about me. I’m always doing what others want. I always have to be in control. I want to be outside my own control,” your mortal says. He can’t meet your eyes, and the flush in his cheeks looks almost uncomfortable. When you lean in to kiss it, his skin is hot beneath your lips. “I want someone else to –”

“Praise you? Worship you? Pleasure you until you can barely think?” You know you’ve got him by the sharp intake of breath, by the way he startles. “That would be my pleasure, too.”

You part your legs enough to free his hand, and his fingers, shaking slightly, work their way up the inside of your thigh. “What else?” you ask. “Be specific.”

“I want whatever you can give me.” He turns his head, looking away, which is an error on his part; it leaves his neck exposed, and you lean in to kiss it, feeling his pulse jump and race. “If I tell you it’s too much, I want you to give me more.”

“That was a good answer.” You part your legs a little further, and he takes it as the invitation it is. “Anything else?”

“I want to do the same to you,” your mortal says, and your face flushes. “It’s only fair. If you get to ruin me, I get to ruin you.”

Ruining him calls to mind all sorts of things, acts you’ve performed for other mortals by rote, acts you want nothing more than to perform for him, and the thought overwhelms you enough that you miss what he’s doing with his hand between your legs until he’s touching you, tracing your clit through the thin fabric. You realize with some degree of horror that you’re wet, and worse, that even his delicate touch has you spreading your legs wider. While you weren’t paying attention, your mortal made a bid for the upper hand, and he almost got it.

Not quite, though. You renew your efforts on his neck, feeling him shudder. You’ll do as he asks, as he desires – but not until he begs you, out loud, to give him what he needs. He shifts, squirms, in response to your attentions to his neck, much as you’re doing with his hand between your legs. “Mutual ruination,” you muse. “That sounds like a plan to me.”

Your hand’s been trapped at your side. You work it free and slip it behind his head, tangling your fingers in his hair. Then you turn him back to face you, drinking in the sight of him for a moment before you lean in to kiss him. The only way your mortal’s never had his desires fulfilled is if he’s never voiced them. You can’t imagine anyone looking at him, seeing him like this, and denying him what he wants.

Most mortals you’ve seduced lose patience with kissing quickly. The kind of mortals who summon a succubus only have one thing on their mind, but your mortal doesn’t know what you are. He kisses you eagerly, if inexpertly, and it’s only right for you to reward his enthusiasm. Besides, there’s something about kissing him that feels right, too right for the unholiness of what you are. If being with a mortal feels this good, you’re probably doing it wrong.

What does it matter? As long as you sleep with him, you’ll be free to return home. You’re a demon. Wrongness and rightness don’t factor in. You kiss your mortal carefully, paying some mind to the sharpness of your teeth and the delicateness of his skin. He’s less careful with his teeth. They nick your lip and blood wells out, and he licks it away without a moment’s hesitation. That flick of his tongue makes you consider other places it might belong, and you catch your breath. Or maybe it’s because he’s tugged your underwear aside to touch you directly, and you can no longer ignore the way he makes you feel.

You lean back, struggling to clear your head. A thought crosses your mind. “What’s your name?”

“Tomura.” Your mortal’s crimson eyes are dilated with want, the desperation you were so drawn to evident across his face. “Please –”

You kiss him again, and as he begins to finger you in earnest, stroking your clit and dipping his fingers shallowly inside you, you untangle your fingers from his hair and trace the inside of his thigh. Tomura startles at your touch, but spreads his legs at once, and your head spins with want. “How long have you wanted this?” you murmur against his lips. “Tell me.”

“Eternity.” Tomura twitches as you brush your hand over his groin before returning to toy with his thigh again. “But it’s not what they want me for. Nobody asked what I wanted until you.”

“Then they were missing out.” You bite back a gasp as Tomura sinks two fingers inside you, curling them just so, but his touch is only half the reason – the other half is the thought that you’re the first to see him this way, the only one to see him this way. “If they could see how pretty you are like this –”

“Do you want them to?”

“No,” you decide at once. You brush your hand over his groin again, noting how tightly his pants are stretched over his hardening cock. “I want you all to myself.”

His body jerks, craning upwards into your touch. “Now,” he says, almost demands. “I need it now.”

“People could see,” you warn. “If they walk by, they’ll know we’re up to something. Do you care about that?”

“Yes,” Tomura says, and you run your thumb over the tip of his cock through his pants. His body jerks, and you do it again. Again. “Fuck –”

“We can leave whenever you want,” you say, even as your body tenses around his fingers. You feel wound tight, your legs shaking from the strain, your lungs feeling as though they can’t hold on to even a single whisper of air. Mortals have choked you before while you’re seducing them and it’s never been like this. “Tell me to stop and we’ll go.”

Tomura doesn’t tell you to stop. You undo his belt, unzip his pants, and the instant your hand closes around his cock, he moans, loud enough to attract attention if anyone from the failed singles event is still around. He’s embarrassed by it – you can tell – but he doesn’t tell you to stop, and you keep stroking his cock. “So pretty,” you say, your voice catching as the heel of his hand presses against your clit. “Does that feel good? Let me make you feel even better.”

You grasp his wrist and pull his hand from between your legs, thankful for the reprieve. Tomura tastes his fingers, savoring them in a way that makes you feel almost awkward. “I wasn’t done.”

“No, but you’re about to make a mess.” You give a pointed glance down at his cock, which is oozing enough precum to stain his underwear. “I’ll be right back.”

There’s plenty of space for you under the table, and better yet, you’re out of sight, which means Tomura can’t see your reaction to the way he spreads his legs for you. And you haven’t vanished a moment too soon. You can hear footsteps approaching, and you sit forward and take his cock in your mouth just as the newcomers arrive.

“You sure you need this whole booth when you’re by yourself?” whoever it is asks. You hear Tomura start to answer, but you suck lightly on the tip of his cock, forcing him to bite back a curse. “What is your problem?”

“No problem,” Tomura grunts. You put your tongue to use, tracing it over his tip as you wrap your hand around the rest of his length. “Fuck – fuck off. There are other places to sit.”

The newcomer might say something else, but you can’t hear it around your own heartbeat thudding in your ears. Tomura wants you. He wants you so badly that he’s letting you blow him in public, that he won’t tell you to stop even when the two of you might be caught. The instant the other mortal leaves, you’re cradling his balls in your free hand, then sliding your hand a little further to press against his taint. Tomura’s entire body jerks and trembles. “Careful,” he forces out between gasps of air. “I’m going to – come –”

You wish you weren’t under the table, even if being under the table is necessary to contain the mess. You wish you could see Tomura’s face as his composure shatters, as he tries and fails to thrust upwards into your mouth and spills a ridiculous amount of cum down your throat. But he’s not quite out of control, not yet, and if you’re going to steal his soul, you really should give him what he wants first. You keep stroking his cock even as the shaking subsides, your tongue still dragging over his tip. He hasn’t gone soft just yet. You’re kind of impressed.

You’re impressed, too, with how he holds out. You know you’re overstimulating him, but he hasn’t told you to stop yet. And he asked you to keep going even if he told you it was too much. Still, you don’t like the idea of hurting your mortal. You renew your efforts, employing all the tricks you’ve learned to keep mortal men hanging on your every move, and to your shock, Tomura comes again. This time he’s almost sobbing, and you draw back at once, climbing out from under the table to check on your handiwork.

There are scratches in the couch cushions and on the tabletop, and both the napkins that were on the table have been crumpled out of existence. Tomura looks wrecked. He’s been yanking at the collar of his shirt, running his hands through his hair, and his face is flushed and sweaty. His eyes are blurred, and he’s still breathing hard, but when you lean in to kiss him, he obliges instantly. He’s unsteady, and yet there’s a strange hunger in the way he kisses you, a hunger that takes yours and amplifies it in a way you can’t quantify, let alone guard against. You find yourself melting into his touch, needing closeness, needing contact. And he gives it to you.

You’ve only just settled into a languid pace, your hands in his hair and his arms wrapped firmly around your waist, when someone smacks a server’s tray down on the table and startles you out of it. It’s the bartender. “Do you mind?” she demands, her face red. “This isn’t that kind of place! Take it outside.”

That’s fine with you. A little PDA is one thing, but whatever happens next between you and Tomura, you want privacy for it. You start to slide out of the booth, but Tomura won’t let you. He kisses you again, and you realize he’s giving himself cover to button his pants. But as long as you’re here – “What did I just say?” the bartender explodes. “Get out!”

You and Tomura stumble out onto the street, and the instant the door shuts behind you, Tomura pins you against it to kiss you again. “Does that feel good?” he asks, the same question you asked him earlier. You didn’t give him a chance to answer, and he doesn’t give you one, either. “Let’s go somewhere. You’re not the only one who doesn’t like to share.”

“Where should we go?” you ask. “I’d rather not go to a love hotel. Your place?”

He hesitates for a moment. “My place. Come on.”

You kiss on the train platform, mostly to keep out the cold, but on the train, you find yourself simply looking at Tomura, talking to him. You find out that he got rejected tonight, too, and came to the bar to mope about it. “They’re nothing. Their opinions don’t matter,” he says. Even his disdain sounds like yours. “That doesn’t change how it feels.”

“I know,” you say. You lean against him, your head on his shoulder, your left hand intertwined with his right. “My – date – said I wasn’t his type, then showed me this ridiculous drawing –”

“May his dick shrivel up and fall off,” Tomura says matter-of-factly, and you find yourself giggling. “If you aren’t enough for him, he doesn’t deserve to have any at all. Still –”

He trails off. “His loss, my gain.”

“You’re just saying that because I blew you.”

Tomura snorts. “Don’t be stupid. You asked what I wanted. Nobody’s ever asked me that. That’s not what I’m for.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. He doesn’t strike you as a sex worker – he’s too earnest, too vulnerable, in how he responds to you for it to be his day job. He shrugs, shakes his head. “I think you’re for whatever you want to be for. That’s how you are to me.”

His grip on your hand tightens for a moment, then loosens again, fingers tangling with yours. A strange spark, like an electric shock, ripples across your hand, and you look down to see an odd shadow around your ring finger. That wasn’t there before, but then again, you’ve never spent this long in the mortal world without fulfilling your purpose. “What about you?” Tomura asks. “Why don’t you know what you want?”

“I never thought about it before.” Some of your sisters enjoy their jobs, but it’s always felt like a job to you. Something to get through, so you can go home. “It hasn’t really mattered.”

“It matters now,” Tomura says. “When we get back to my place, I’ll show you.”

Tomura’s place is in a downtown high-rise, the third floor from the top of the building, and he gives you long enough to finally step out of your awful shoes before he peels you out of your jacket. For a single moment you’re convinced you’re about to see the same reaction as the mortal who summoned you, but instead Tomura’s eyes travel slowly over your form, lingering in every place you’d expect and a few places you didn’t. “This picture he showed you,” he says. “The one he thought was better than you. What did it look like?”

“Uh –” Where do you start, really? “The proportions were totally off. Its waist was tiny, and its breasts were huge –”

“Huh.” Tomura’s hands are at your waist, running over the curve from torso to hip and back with a firm, steady touch. One stays there, but the other migrates upwards, cupping your breast through your scant clothing. “What else?”

“It had this stupid outfit on. Like, way smaller than mine. You could see everything,” you say. Tomura’s thumb brushes over your nipple, then comes back to circle it, and heat begins to pool in your lower abdomen. “It barely covered her nipples – or her clit. It just looked kind of – I mean, I can hang in there with the best of them, but –”

Your voice catches. Tomura’s hand slides from your waist down between your legs, stroking your clit with his middle finger. His touch is featherlight, compared to the way he’s playing with your nipple, pinching and tugging it, making you squirm. “What else?” he prompts.

“The stupid face she was making. It was straight out of a porno – like, one of the really cheap ones. What some guy who’s never seen a woman come before would –” You startle as Tomura’s fingers slip further between your legs, then sink easily into you. “Tomura –”

“This drawing sounds like a fucking mess,” Tomura says. He reaches down and grasps your thigh, hiking your leg up around his waist and leaving you even more exposed for him. “I want to see the real thing.”

He wants you to come for him. You know how to fake a convincing orgasm – or an unconvincing one, depending on the target – but you don’t want to fake for Tomura. You promised him he can have what he wants, and he wants this, you. Your chest goes tight. “I don’t know if I can, like this.”

“I’ve got lots of ideas.” Tomura kisses you, and that need to melt into him resurfaces, even as your body responds to his onslaught. “Show me.”

You try to keep kissing him, but you can’t. Your legs are shaking again, and it’s hard to breathe, and you have to draw back to gasp for air. Somewhere in the back of your mind is the thought that this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen, that something went wrong in your seduction of this mortal if he’s the one trying to please you, but it’s stifled by other, more pressing matters. The heat flooding through you, the awful and yet indescribable exposure of your legs spread this way, Tomura’s hand anchoring you so you can’t pull back off his fingers until he’s done with you.

Or until you’re done with him. You come hard enough to blur your vision, hard enough that your legs almost give out, and Tomura keeps his fingers inside you until your twitching and squirming subsides. When he draws them back, you can see that his hand is soaked. He brings them to his mouth to taste them again, and you spot a shadow around his fourth finger. It can’t hold your attention for long. “That was good,” he decides. “But I want to see more.”

“More?” Your voice is shaky, and you’re hanging onto Tomura for dear life. “What do you mean?”

“You said I could have what I wanted,” Tomura reminds you. “This way.”

You follow him down the hall on shaky legs, into a bedroom with an enormous bed. Finally. You’re not getting into bed with Tomura still wearing your horrible outfit, so you peel it off, then turn to help him with his clothes. You undress him slowly, kissing every inch of skin you uncover, trying to regain some of your lost composure. But it’s hard to compose yourself when there’s so much of him to explore, to praise. So pretty, so noisy, so needy even when there’s no need for it – because you want him to have what he wants, and you want to be the one who gives it to him. The only one who gives it to him.

And that’s what you find yourself murmuring, as you guide him down to the bed to lie on his stomach, as you brush his long hair aside to kiss his back and his shoulders. I have what you need. Everything you need. You’re mine.

Tomura’s breathing turned quick and shallow a while ago, worse as you kiss the small of his back, the arch of his hip. He stirs beneath you. “I want to see more,” he says. “On your back.”

He’ll fuck you now, and he’ll come, and then you can finally go home. You spread your legs, leaving room for him to settle between them, and he does – much further down than you expected. He anchors your hips to the bed before you can stop him, holding you down with strong hands as he lowers his head between your thighs. The way his hair brushes against them tickles. The marks he leaves on them are oversensitive, making your legs twinge long before his tongue drags over your clit, and you wonder how you’ll explain the marks when you get back to Hell. How you’ll explain the fact that this mortal seduced you almost as skillfully as you seduced him.

Tomura eats you out messily, enthusiastically, until you’re arching your back and thrashing in his grip. The heat of his mouth against you, the pressure of his tongue against your clit or the way it feels when he licks inside of you – it all feels almost sinful. Too good for you to have, too good to want more of, too good not to beg him to keep going. You can barely manage to praise him for it, but when you do, his grip on your hips tightens and he grinds against the mattress. It’s wrong. There’s something wrong, and you want it so badly, and for the first time, you understand a little bit of why humans are so quick to sell their souls.

Tomura makes you come once, then a second time while you’re still trying to recover, and you barely manage to scramble away before he can slide his fingers inside you and try for a third. “What happened to not being in control?” you ask, and he shrugs, half a smirk on his face. “Lie down. It’s my turn.”

You crawl over him as he lies back, tasting yourself on his lips when you lean down for a kiss. Tomura relaxes so easily for you now, so much that he lets you grasp his hands one by one, raising them above his head. For the first time since you cloaked your true form, you engage in a little bit of demon magic. Enough to conjure restraints, and tie Tomura’s hands to the headboard before he can so much as open his eyes.

You’ve shocked him. You can see it, and better yet, you can feel it, in the way his skin heats up and his heart races. “You said you didn’t want control,” you remind him. “And I said I’d pleasure you until you couldn’t think.”

“Are you?” Tomura’s voice goes raspy. He watches you with wide eyes as you shift further down on the bed. “What are you going to do?”

“Everything.”

You learned all sorts of magic in the course of stepping into your role as a succubus, but this is the first time in a while that you’ve used any of it. And it’s for small things – the restraints on Tomura’s hands, the feather you conjure to trace all over his body until he squirms, the lube you coat your fingers with before you start working them inside him. Tomura doesn’t stop you, but he has a request. “Don’t fuck me like that. Not tonight.”

“Just my fingers,” you promise, and he nods, his eyes dark with need. “Whatever you want.”

You haven’t had the chance to watch Tomura come yet, and you get a chance as you finger him to an orgasm. He takes your breath away, your mortal – so pretty, so vulnerable, so loud and expressive and lost in it that you can’t help but stroke his cock with your free hand while you work him up a second time. In an ordinary seduction, with an ordinary target, now is when you’d stop. Now, when all he can do is beg for you, now when he’d give you anything to keep going; right now is when you’d ask for his soul in exchange. You know how to phrase it so that the mortals never guess what they’re truly giving up. It would be easy.

And it’s not what you want. There aren’t words for how much you don’t want that. Not when you’ve earned your mortal’s trust, not when he’s certain enough that you’ll give him what he wants that he doesn’t feel shame in begging for it. You know Tomura’s close when he starts squirming away from your fingers rather than clenching down on them. “Ride me,” he pants. “Ride my cock.”

Demon magic cleans your hands, and you slip down onto his cock with only a little strain. “You’re perfect,” you tell him as he stares helplessly up at you. “We fit so well –”

Tomura’s hips jerk upwards beneath you, making you gasp. “If we fit so well, come on my cock,” he pants. He’s been yanking at the restraints. You made them soft, but his wrists are chafed. “I need you to. I can’t – fuck, I need you –”

You’ve never needed a mortal before. You’ve never needed anyone before, but you need him, enough that doing what he asks doesn’t feel far-fetched at all. You ride him slowly, finding an angle that suits you, realizing how sore you are in the same moment. It’s been a hard night’s work. Usually mortals can’t keep up with you, and usually it feels like work. Tomura’s fingers curl and uncurl uselessly as he fights the restraints, and you reach up to grasp them, to hold them steady. And that’s when you notice it – the same shadow marking around his fourth finger as around yours.

Where did that come from? What is that? The restraints you conjured vanish in the space of a single heartbeat, and Tomura’s hands clamp down on your hips, guiding you as he thrusts upwards. His hair is glued to his forehead with sweat, to his chest and his shoulders and the sides of his neck, and the same heat writhes beneath your own skin as Tomura takes control over your pace. His thrusts are unsteady, but every time, he finds the angle you need him to.

You can’t breathe. You can barely think. Everything narrows down to heat and pressure and friction and pleasure and agony, because your body’s wrung out and still needs more, because Tomura’s falling apart beneath you and pressing his thumb over your clit to take you down with him. Pleasure explodes through you, collapsing you on top of Tomura. His grip on you barely loosens, even as your efforts to hold onto anything fall away. Anything includes your human guise.

Damn it. You untangle yourself from Tomura as quickly as possible, only to tuck yourself in against his side, uncomfortably relieved when he holds you tight. If you keep your tail under control and he doesn’t get a good look at you, he’ll never know what you really were. He’ll know something’s up, though. When he wakes up and finds that you’ve vanished out of this world, leaving evidence only in the chafe-marks around his wrists and the taste of you still on his tongue, he’ll know there was something strange about you. And he’ll have a lot of questions when you come back.

And you will come back. That’s the only thing that makes the knowledge that you’re mere moments from being drawn back to Hell bearable. Most of the time you can’t wait to leave your targets, whether you’ve collected their souls or not. This time, though – “I don’t want to leave yet.”

But you weren’t the only one speaking. Tomura said the same thing, on the off-beats as you spoke. “You’re leaving?” you ask. “This is your house. Where are you going?”

“Where are you going?” Tomura retorts. His grip on you tightens further – tight enough to bruise, if you were human or mortal. “What –”

He sits up suddenly, pulling you with him. Hell is pulling you back, but not quickly enough. Tomura looks at you, sees you – sees your horns, sees your tail, which is lashing anxiously in spite of your efforts to calm yourself. But you see him, too. You see the ram’s horns curling from beneath his white hair, the sharpness of his teeth. He’s not trying to control his tail at all. It wraps around your leg tightly. “You’re a demon.”

“So are you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you know?” You try to separate yourself from him. Tomura should be letting go of you, should be shoving you away, but he’s still holding on, tighter every time you try to pull away. “Let go. If they find out –”

The world tears open around the two of you, well before you can pull away, and Hell pulls you back in at warp speed.

You don’t end up back in the spot you dematerialized from, and you doubt Tomura does, either. The two of you crash down on a rocky plateau, just on the outskirts of one of the cities, a desolate place no one comes to unless they’ve been cast out to wander amongst the souls of the dead. Why are you here? Is it because you came back together? Maybe that’s why – it couldn’t return you to your separate summoning locations when you’re so close together, so it split the difference and dropped you off here. Maybe there’s still time for you to hide this.

“Wow,” a familiar voice announces from somewhere behind you, and your heart sinks, “have the two of you fucked up.”

Tomura swears under his breath. “Is that your boss?”

Your boss, or your mother – nobody’s clear on which. Nemuri is picking her way through the jagged stones towards you, a vicious smirk on her face. “I can explain,” you start. “It’s not –”

“I tricked her,” Tomura interrupts. You stare at him in horror. “It was me. Not her.”

“No,” you snap. “I seduced him. I’m the one who –”

“I’m sure you believe that.” Nemuri’s smirk broadens, showing her fangs. “You’re so pathetically incompetent that –”

“Now, now, Nem. Let’s not let my guy off the hook here.” The new voice, loud and rich and full of almost-insane laughter, can only belong to another elder demon. Like Nemuri, he’s wearing a vicious smirk. “Remember, my guy’s the one who got rejected by his summoner and packed it in for the evening. At least yours gave it a second shot.”

“That’s my boss,” Tomura mumbles. “Fuck.”

“In fact,” Tomura’s boss continues, “one could argue that your girl’s off the hook. She did her job. It’s not her fault that my guy’s aura of misery was so strong that it made him actually look human. Or that he was so desperate to be wanted by somebody that he forgot to check whether she was actually a demon trying to steal his soul.”

Tomura’s shoulders hunch, and a surge of anger runs through you. “When you put it that way, Hizashi, it does sound like my nymphet is off the hook,” Nemuri says. “But when your pathetic little imp tried to take the fall for her, she wouldn’t let him. It seems they’re terrible at everything demonic, lying included. They’re telling the truth.”

“They really did seduce each other,” Hizashi muses. “That’s cringe.”

“More importantly, it’s against the rules.” Nemuri’s standing over you. Hizashi joins her, and the two of them leer down at you and Tomura, practically licking their lips. “Whatever shall we do with them?”

There aren’t many punishments that can affect demons – you’re basically gluttons for it. Then again, there aren’t many rules for demons to break. “I’m not sure,” Hizashi says. “Offer them up to Heaven for punishment? Banish them to the mortal world until the trumpets sound? Throw them out to wander with the restless dead forevermore?”

You might not love your job, but you have your sisters. If you’re cast out, you’ll never see them again. The only thing worse would be getting thrown to Heaven as an offering, one of Hell’s not-infrequent tithes to keep the peace. Tomura’s tail wraps around your waist, and you cover his left hand with your right as you wait for your fates to be decided. The thought crosses your mind, pointlessly, that you won’t spend an eternity of exile entirely alone. You’ve dragged someone else down with you, which might be the most demonic thing you’ve ever done in your life.

“Now that I think about it,” Nemuri says, her smirk broadening still further, “I don’t think we need to punish them – not when they’ve punished themselves so effectively.”

“What does that mean?” Tomura snaps. Hizashi is guffawing, his voice echoing off the jagged rocks. “Don’t laugh. What does that mean?”

“What does it mean, you gloomy brat?” Hizashi wipes at his eyes, still chuckling. “Take a look at your hands, both of you.”

You let go of Tomura’s and lift your own. Your right hand is clear, but your left – you remember noticing the shadow around your fourth finger, feeling the faint spark as it darkened a little further. It’s not a shadow anymore. Instead it’s a thin golden shackle, encircling your finger below your knuckle. No, not a shackle. A ring.

It won’t come off. You yank on it, try to dig your nails beneath it, but it won’t come off. Next to you, Tomura’s doing the same, cursing fluently, and Hizashi and Nemuri are laughing at you both, leaning on each other to stay upright. “It’s the first rule we teach you all when you’re spawned. No fucking your own kind, and this is why!” Hizashi is laughing almost too hard to speak, while you try to chew your ring off and Tomura breaks his own finger trying to remove his. “Thanks to your little tryst, the two of you are bound forever in unholy matrimony!”

“My congratulations to the happy couple,” Nemuri says. “The two of you are never going to live this down. You’ll be the laughingstocks of Hell. You’re going to beg us to banish you!”

“And we won’t,” Hizashi says. “I can’t think of a better object lesson than the two of you. We send you to the mortal realm to collect souls, and not only did you end up fucking each other, you didn’t commit a single demonic act!”

“I cursed somebody,” you protest.

“Me too,” Tomura says. “The mortal who –”

You remember what Tomura said about the mortal who rejected you: May his dick shrivel up and fall off. “You cursed the same mortal,” Nemuri says. She pauses a moment. “I will admit, it’s a fairly creative curse. The imp’s little add-on will make a nice insult to the injury.”

You’re better at cursing mortals than you are at seducing them, but you can’t imagine Tomura’s bad at it. Not with the way he worked you over. You duck your head to hide the heat coming up in your face. “Well, we’ll leave the two of you to enjoy your honeymoon,” Hizashi says. He shrugs off the ornate robe he’s wearing and drops it on the ground in front of you, revealing body chains, nipple piercings, and nothing else. “Wear this on your way back into the city. Maintain a little dignity.”

“Here, imp. Just for you.” Nemuri drops her robe over Tomura’s head, and he shoves it off into the dust. “Everyone’s going to know about your little bout of lovemaking, but I imagine you’d prefer if they didn’t know exactly how you’ve been chewing on each other.”

The two of them stroll back towards the city, arm in arm, still laughing. It’s a long time before their laughter fades, and then you and Tomura are alone on the outskirts. The wind, blowing hot a moment before, changes direction, growing cold and carrying sharp shards of ice. You put on Hizashi’s robe, then turn towards Tomura. He’s already shivering, arms crossed and shoulders hunched, Nemuri’s robe discarded in front of him. You pick it up and settle it back around his shoulders, shifting his hair aside so it won’t get caught beneath the collar – and then you realize what you’re doing. You freeze. “Sorry.”

Tomura shrugs, but the robe stays on. “You’re better at this than your boss says you are,” he says without looking at you. “I believed you.”

“I’m worse than she says I am,” you say. “I wasn’t lying.”

Tomura looks up at that, and you look away, your eyes stinging in the freezing wind. You never lied to Tomura, not from the moment you approached him. This would be so much less embarrassing if you had. If you’d listened to any of the moments where you sensed that it was going a little too well, that it felt a little too good. If you’d kept your distance instead of falling under his spell as quickly and easily as he fell under yours. “Your boss was talking out of his ass. Your whole thing worked really well on me.”

“Yeah. Except it wasn’t a thing.” Tomura’s tail wraps loosely around your wrist. “Mutual ruination. You were right.”

He’s got your right wrist. You study your left hand with its ring, and Tomura lifts his alongside yours. His ring looks the same as yours, although he’s dislocated his fourth finger in addition to having broken it. “Want me to fix that?”

“Demon magic doesn’t fix things.”

“It’s not supposed to marry people, either.” You’re not expecting that argument to work, but Tomura lets you capture his hand anyway. You relocate it manually, then try to work some magic over it. All your magic serves to make a seduction easier, so it shouldn’t be hard to twist it into something you can use for the sake of your – “I think it worked. How do you feel?”

“Like I fucked up,” Tomura says. Fair enough. “And I’m not sorry.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Tomura’s hands slip inside your stolen robe, settling into the same place he was holding on as you rode him. “This isn’t that weird. Mortals do it all the time.”

“Except mortals who get married in Vegas can get divorced,” you point out. Somebody has to play angel’s advocate here, even if you’re already unfolding yourself from seated so you can get into his lap. “We didn’t even make any vows.”

“You did,” Tomura says. “I heard you say it.”

You’re mine. Is that really all it took? It makes a certain kind of sense, when you force yourself to look at it honestly. Mortals almost never doom themselves consciously. It’s always a moment of weakness, a split-second lapse, an instant where desire rules over reason. “Then you can break us up. Since I’m the only one who vowed anything.”

“No way.” Tomura’s lips brush the side of your neck, making your nerves twinge. “I agreed.”

You set your hands on his shoulders and push him backwards, and he goes willingly. The way he’s looking up at you counts as a sin all on its own – crimson eyes half-lidded, pupils already dilating, his cheekbones already dusted with pink. “Did you figure out what you want yet?”

“I have some ideas,” you say. You collect his hands from your waist and pin them on either side of his head, leaning down for a long, slow kiss. “But I’ll start with you.”

[lowkeyremi]

BLOCKED ! (part 5) (smau series)

Summary: As a student of class 1-B, the first time you really saw Bakugo Katsuki was at the sports festival. That’s when you decided you would pursue him. It’s not easy though, because he absolutely hates you. Content: crack smau, just teens being teens, angst, miscommunication between bkg and reader, Bakugo is bad at feelings, reader might be a little ooc(?) she’s scared of confrontation (like me), stuff will clear up in the next part :3 Masterlist

(Written from Katsuki’s point of view for the explanation)

Ever since his little falling out with you, the both of you have made it your jobs to avoid one another. He doesn’t like it one bit, not after you confidently stepped into his life.

He really didn’t mean to avoid you after inviting you to his dorm. It just turned out that way, because he sucks at talking about anything that has to do with emotions. He definitely felt something too, when you were sitting on his bed making little jokes while eating with him. He felt warm inside and that scared him a little bit. So, he did what he does best and just ignored it, blocked it out.

Obviously that wasn’t the best route to go down, because you’re not talking to him at all now. Katsuki will never admit it, but he misses your annoying little texts, and honestly he’s not sure how to get you talking to him again…

The boy can only hope that you’ll give him an opening, an olive branch. He hopes you’ll be brave enough to make the first move because he’s too scared to.

You invited Kendo over to watch your favorite series. She was a little mad, because you watched a few episodes without her, so now you’re going to get her caught up.

“Thank you for coming over, Itsu.” She smiles and waves her hand.

“No problem, you know I’m always there for you.” You move in to hug her and it feels good to be in her embrace. Those same hands she uses to hit Monoma, bring you great comfort as she rubs them up and down your back.

“I forgot the snacks in the kitchen, so I’ll go grab those real quick.” You say, letting go first from the hug. She nods, her ginger ponytail swinging as she does.

A giggle escapes your lips, “Hey, what’s so funny?”

“it’s just, your ponytail is like an extension of you, I rarely ever see your hair down.” Kendo’s arms cross and she fake pouts.

“I like my ponytail, so what?” She questions playfully.

“No shade I promise, I just think it’s cute.”

She smiles. “Okay okay, you can go get our snacks. I’m ready to start."

You nod your head in agreement, walking out of your dorm to go down and grab your snacks.

Kendo waits a little bit until she thinks you’re downstairs. She quickly grabs your phone and sends a message to Bakugo. As soon as he replies she deletes all the messages from your view and from your phone. Perfect.

Taglist (Taglist is closed! Sorry loves)

@katsukota @nemisimp @herefor-tojis-tits

@haechansbbg @rcveriees @hearts4heidi

@kodzubaby @kiritokunuwu @xerophyides

@wisecatmentality @1ndee @call-me-prodigy

@harryzcherry @defnotriri @kxllanxtdoor

@sukunaspillow @djlance-rock @mouthymha

@ita606 @chemiru @msjaeger @katthekat1234

@ssrcsm @ilovemushroomss @sadgenderfluidmaniac

@cielito--lindo @dreamybabbyy @mrssiida

@cheriiepies @luvvvarmy @spooky-cupid 

@marsilis @ndgshsns @welpydonut 

@thoughtswithbbg @tenthmilo @aikojwhpa

@dqni31a @peachesvault @justforyou-18

@holobean

sorry to those who couldn’t be tagged!

©𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈 All works are written by me! Please do not copy, translate, or upload onto other sites thanks!

[seellove]

Hearts Like Ours // sukuna x female reader - Valentine's Day Edition!

Masterlist

// (3.9k words) // Explicit - 18+

\|/ AO3

You're going through a rough patch with your husband and having to work late on Valentine's Day causes you to have to cancel all the plans he's made for the evening. While you feel guilty, Sukuna adjusts to make the most of the evening by pampering you and making you feel incredibly loved, which is very much needed after the last month.

Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: Reader and Sukuna are humans in a modern AU, husband Sukuna, established relationship, fluff, sex toys, explicit smut

AN: Hope you all enjoy reading about some Valentine's Day activities with husband Sukuna! Also getting stoned apparently results in me writing Sukuna one shots lmao.

“Let’s go ahead and make today the date we put on the submittal package, does that answer your question?” you say to the younger employee, ready to head back to your office after answering their questions.

They nod in response and thank you. During your final quality control check of the submittal, you had found a glaring error that needed fixing, thus resulting in this late night with the team you manage. You’d bought everyone dinner as an apology for needing to work late, but there truly was nothing that could make working late on a Friday night any better. 

When you sit back down in your chair, you pull your phone out.

7:15 PM. 

Fifteen minutes past the dinner reservation you had to flake out on because of needing to work late. A reservation that your husband, Sukuna, had made months in advance at the most exclusive restaurant in the city for your Valentine's Day date. Oh and the fancy hotel suite he’d booked for after, you had to cancel on that too.

You tear up at the thought as a wave of guilt floods over you combined with the stress of work. You and your husband desperately needed a date night or something of the sort to reconnect. As two upper level executives in your respective firms, work has been chaotic since the new year, leaving you hardly any quality time together. 

If you were lucky, one of you would slip into bed before the other fell asleep so you could at least talk to each other for a few moments. Even those minimal exchanges didn’t have much substance as normally you both were drained from the long day, struggling to hold a conversation after being in meetings and directing people for over twelve hours straight. 

Sukuna was always very understanding on the nights you didn’t feel like talking. He would hold out his muscular arm as an invitation for you to rest your head on his toned chest and hold you close, planting soft kisses on your forehead as you melted into his embrace. 

“I love you,” he’d whisper, turning off the lamp and holding you until sleep quickly overtakes you. 

Even though there were few meaningful interactions lately, you felt his love in other ways: how he tries to wait up for you even though some nights he falls asleep on the couch with the light on, sending food to your office when you are working late, waking up early to make you breakfast, waiting patiently to watch your favorite shows so you were caught up together, among numerous other little things that you can’t possibly remember.

Even if you can’t remember all of his actions, you remember how they make you feel and that means everything. You still feel loved, appreciated, understood, and cared for and those underlying feelings help get you by on nights like this. 

After another hour, you and your team finally pull together the revised submittal and you fire it off to the client. Walking out to your car, you realize your feet are killing you and your neck and shoulders feel extremely tense from the stress lately. You hope this is the last late night for a while.

It’s well after 8:30 by the time you park in your building’s garage. The long elevator ride to the penthouse floor seems to last an eternity as all you want to do is flop down and get these heels off. 

The elevator door opens and you are surprised to see Sukuna right there. 

“Oh, hey there,” you greet him with a small smile. He’s in his sweatpants and a faded t-shirt, something you can’t wait to join him in.

“Hi baby, here lemme get those for you,” he reaches for your bags, which you shrug off quickly, relieved to be shedding the extra weight. But that’s just like your husband, shouldering the extra burden when life gets the best of you. 

He doesn’t stop there though, picking you up, cradling you against his hard chest, and carrying you the rest of the way to your penthouse door. He smells so good, his familiar cologne enveloping your senses, reminding you that you are indeed home and you can relax.

He unlocks the door and brings you immediately to the bedroom, setting you on the bed where you can hear the water in your en-suite bathroom running. 

You realize he’s started running a bath in your large jacuzzi tub and you almost collapse with relief at the idea of soaking your defeated body in the hot water.

He reappears after putting your bags up, kneeling at your feet to take your heels off of you. His large hands rub your legs after getting them off, planting a kiss on each before getting up and bringing your shoes to your closet.

“Sukuna I’m sorry I ruined our Valentine’s Day,” you finally blurt out, feeling extremely guilty as a result of seeing him going above and beyond right now.

“Who said it was ruined?” he clicks his tongue, sitting down next to you on the bed and pulling you against him.

“It’s just I know you had that nice dinner planned and the presidential suite at the St Regis downtown booked, and because of me you had to cancel it all,” you choke back the tears that are starting to spill over.

He pulls you gently into his lap, hands cupping your cheeks and thumbs swiping below your eyes to catch your tears.

“Baby it’s just dinner and a hotel. They’ll always be there, they aren’t going anywhere. All I want is to spend time with you, whether that be here or some fancy ass hotel. You gotta admit though, our penthouse is pretty fancy on its own,” he chuckles which causes you to snort in response. 

“I just want you to be comfortable, relax, and unwind. Now come on, I’ve got a nice night planned for us right here,” he picks you up again and drops you off on the bench next to the tub. 

You notice the tub has a slight pink hue to it with bubbles and rose petals in the water along with white candles along the edge. A bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice with two nice glasses sits next to the tub, completing the enticing scene.

“You did all this on such short notice?” you stare at the display and then back at him, the tears threatening to spill over again. Sometimes you just don’t feel like you deserve this man. 

“Of course, anything for the love of my life. Now get in there and lemme just take care of you,” he says as he sheds his shirt, revealing his toned body with those sinful tattoos snaking their way down his chest and back. 

He helps you out of your work clothes until you both are naked in front of each other. You don’t miss Sukuna’s eyes roving over your body as he helps you into the tub before settling in on the opposite side of you.

“Gimme your foot,” he says softly, propping it up on his knee in front of him. The chill air hits your wet skin but that soon dissolves as he starts massaging your sore foot pads, his skillful fingers working themselves into all the places that need attention.

“Oh fuck that feels so good,” you hiss, letting yourself sink further into the water. 

“Good, I’ll get your back and shoulders next,” he says warmly. 

You can’t help but steal a peek at the way his muscles flex as he massages your legs and feet. It’s been a minute since you really looked at him, since you really studied the peaks and valleys of his shredded physique. You almost take it for granted after being together for so long. It had been one of the first things you noticed about him when you first met at his fraternity beach week back in college. 

You’d gone with your friend Gojo and saw him for the first time out on the beach while you were mingling with your friends. You’d been mesmerized by the way his tattoos rippled over his tan skin while he threw a football with the other guys, his wild pink hair hidden by a backwards hat and a beer in his hand. 

His sunglasses had hidden his eyes from you, but later he confessed that he was watching you at the same time, your hair blowing in the breeze and your cute smile tearing him up inside while laughing with your friends. 

That night he had finally built up the nerve to talk to you (with the help of some liquid courage) which turned into a nighttime walk on the beach and snuggling up on a blanket beneath the stars, talking together until early the next morning. He’d kissed you that night and even though you wanted to go further, you weren’t interested in potentially getting caught in public.

You didn’t have to wait long though because the next day while everyone was back out on the beach, you and him were a mess of limbs beneath the sheets of your hotel room for almost half the day and then again that night. 

That was almost eight years ago and even though time has passed and a lot of life has happened, you still love him to pieces and in your eyes he’s the perfect husband and partner. 

“Whatcha thinking about?” Sukuna asks, his crimson eyes peering over at you, interrupting your thoughts.

“Mmm, just admiring your muscles, and it made me think about when we first met where I was doing the same thing,” you giggle. 

“Ha, it was meant to be wasn’t it,” he chuckles, planting a kiss on your heel and dropping it back into the water.

He pours out the champagne and clinks his glass to yours.

“Cheers to us checking each other out all that time ago. Had no idea it would lead us here, but god I’m so glad it did. Happy Valentine’s Day babe,” he leans in and kisses you. 

As he starts to pull away, you grip the back of his head, holding him in place, forcing your tongue into his mouth. The sweet taste of champagne mixes between you as you slowly roll your tongues against each other with practiced ease, your silhouettes becoming one in the flickering candlelight.

“I love you so much,” you whisper as your lips break away, his forehead pressed against yours.

“I love you more.”. 

“Come lean against me,” he gestures as he leans back against the tub side. You get settled, his knees caging you in on either side, scooting forward a little so he can start working his fingers along your neck and shoulders.

The combination of the hot water and his firm fingers has all the tension and stiffness from the last few weeks disintegrating and morphing into a tingly sensation that makes your skin heat up. As you move back to press your back against his torso, you feel him hard against you, amplifying the tingling feeling that shoots to your core.

“Mm fuuuck,” he groans at the pressure, his forehead falling forward to rest on the back of your head. He starts to trail soft kisses from your ear down your neck and across the back of your shoulder which has you moaning his name. 

“Kuna, that feels so good,” you sigh as you feel your core and stomach start to heat up. His hands start to wrap around you to fondle your chest, rolling your nipples between his fingers, causing you to fall backwards in delight into his pecs.

“Can’t forget these other spots,” his husky voice is in your ear, breath hot on your skin. His hands are all over you now, dipping below the water to squeeze your hips and thighs before coming back up to stroke your breasts again. 

“Vibrator or my fingers?” he rasps and it has you clenching around nothing in anticipation. 

“Oh shit. Vibrator, want you to keep touching my tits,” you can hardly speak.

He reaches over and grabs the rubber vibrator off the tub edge, turning it on and submerging it. You take it from him and get it positioned how you want it. As soon as it makes contact with your clit, your whole body jerks, causing his cock to throb behind you.

His hands go back to your tits, squeezing and rolling your nipples while you squirm from the stimulation on your clit. Everything feels soooo good, it’s been awhile since you’d been intimate like this, usually both of you are too tired to do anything. All you can do is lean back against him and take it all, unable to form a coherent thought at this point.

The thrumming of the vibrator against you sends waves of pleasure through your body, making your thighs tremble as the coil of desire begins to tighten with the mounting feeling. 

Your breaths get heavier, chest heaving causing the water in the tub to move in small waves from the disturbance. You can feel Sukuna’s heart pounding against the back of your head and him starting to rut his cock against your lower back. 

His fingers dig into your breasts as you both get more and more turned on. You click the vibrator up one setting, putting even more pressure on your clit. Your core is burning with hot waves of pleasure, on the precipice of an earth shattering orgasm.

“I’m close, kiss my neck,” you gasp. Sukuna quickly obeys, nipping and sucking at the spot under your ear he knows is your weak spot.

“Oh fuck! oh fuuuuck, Sukuna!” you cry out as you feel the orgasm start to tear through you, your pussy clenching around nothing as you convulse against Sukuna’s rock hard body. 

You are in complete bliss, eyes closed and resting your whole body weight against Sukuna. His cock throbs again as you start to come down from your high and the water starts to still.

Finally you come back to your senses, turning around to face him. You’re met with his trademark grin and blown out crimson eyes. He’s probably dying to do more, and quite frankly so are you. 

You reach down between you two and grab his hard cock, slowly pumping his shaft. Sukuna gasps, thrusting into your hand, causing the tub water to splash again with his movements. 

“Let’s get out,” he rasps, standing up with no regard for the water overflowing the tub. The man is on a mission and pulls you out with him. You both towel dry off and next thing you know he has you pinned against the cold tile wall, legs wrapped around his hips as he slides his cock through your folds and across your clit, slicking himself up.

“Ready?” his husky voice pants into your neck as he ruts himself harder against you. 

“Yes, please, I need you Kuna,” you whine as his hard cock rolls against your clit again.

That’s all he needs to hear as he lines his tip up to prod at your entrance. With one sharp thrust, he pushes into you, stretching out your walls as he pauses to let you adjust. You can’t really remember the last time you had sex but it’s like muscle memory at this point as your body adjusts.

“Fuuuuuuck, feel s’good,” he groans as he stares down where you are both connected. 

You bite your lip with the painful stretch, Sukuna watching you carefully as he gives you shallow strokes to help work you open. He stops when you squirm from the discomfort as he starts sinking deeper.

“Sorry, having a harder time than normal I guess,” you utter.

“It’s fine, I know you can take it. You’re my sexy ass wife, the only one who can take all this,” he says in a deep voice, continuing his slow thrusts. 

He finally bottoms out, letting out a guttural groan, his forehead falling forward against yours. His mouth is partially open as he tries to slow his breaths. 

“God I’ve missed this, so fuckin tight, taking me so well, my perfect girl,” he whispers in your ear as his thrusts pick up. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he probes for your sweet spot, adjusting his angle and depth slightly with each snap of his hips.

His pelvis slaps against yours as each punishing thrust pushes you harder into the wall, the cold tile rigid against your shoulder blades. 

“Can we get in the bed? It’s kinda uncomfortable,” you tap his shoulder. He’s knocking the wind out of you in this position and the hard tile is digging into your skin.

“Of course.”

He slows his movements, giving you a few more hard, deep thrusts before turning you around and walking back into the bedroom. He carefully lowers you both to the bed, keeping your bodies connected the entire time.

He pulls your legs over his shoulders and sinks even deeper into you, making you whine at the sudden pressure against your cervix. 

“This is much better anyways. Can see and feel so much more of you,” he growls in your ear as he sets another grueling pace. The softness of the bed is a welcome reprieve from the hard wall as he drills you into the mattress.

Your hands rake through his hair, moaning loudly as he quickly finds your sweet spot. There’s very few positions where he can’t hit your favorite spots. After all this time and god knows how many fucks, he’s an expert when it comes to your body, rarely leaving you unsatisfied.

“Right there Kuna, fucking right there, don’t stop,” you cry out, your pussy clenching around his cock as you start to careen toward your release. 

“God fucking come for me baby,” he pants against your neck, folding you up under him as he pushes your knees into your chest. 

A few more perfect strokes and you’re falling apart under him, your vision going white from the mind blowing pleasure coursing through your body. Your back attempts to arch against his large frame, nails digging into his shoulders as the orgasm rips through you. 

“Thats it baby, fuckin’ cum all over my cock,” Sukuna looks down on you with a smug grin, so proud of his work as he fucks you through your climax. 

He flips you onto your stomach and slides into you prone bone, giving you no time to react before railing you from behind. Your orgasm has barely subsided and now he’s drilling your sweet spot again, turning you into a drooling whining mess. 

His massive body leans over you, fingers entwined with yours and digging into the sheets as his punishing thrusts echo across the room from the hard slaps and the wet sounds of his cock ruining your pussy. 

“Love you so fuckin’ much,” he rasps in your ear, nibbling and sucking at your earlobe, driving you absolutely mad as you just surrender to the mind blowing feeling. 

“Lo-love you too,” you barely get out, jaw clenching as you feel another mind bending orgasm about to rip through you again.

He flips you onto your back, causing you to gasp in surprise as he goes back to the perfect pace from moments ago.

“Wanna see you, see your face when you cum…and when I cum, I’m so fuckin’ close,” he says through heaving breaths. 

The telltale sign of you clenching around his thick cock has Sukuna doubling down, not changing his angle or pace, knowing your release is close. 

“Look at me,” he demands. You do everything in your power to meet his gaze, which you are surprised to see is soft and loving now, the cocky smirk gone. 

Meeting your eyes is his catalyst because it's only one more deep thrust before he’s spilling himself inside of you while you milk him for everything he has. You quickly follow him over the edge as your bodies mold against each other, cumming together perfectly. 

Sukuna’s large body collapses onto yours, cock pulsing inside of you as he pumps his thick load deep inside of you, coating your cervix and walls with his hot seed. 

You both lay in your respective delirious states, coming down from the high together, heartbeats slowing and breaths syncing. You slowly scratch his head and work your way down to his upper back, earning a small whimper from the beast of a man sprawled out on top of you.

“Oh my godddd I love you,” he groans as he lifts himself up, pulling out of you. He rolls to the side and promptly pulls you onto his thick chest. 

“I love you too Kuna. Thank you for all that,” you giggle, basking in the afterglow of your love making. 

“Likewise,” he peppers kisses all over your face, earning a squeal from you. 

“See, I don’t consider this a ruined Valentine’s Day,” Sukuna grins as he stops his kiss assault, “I feel like this was a pretty damn good one actually.” 

“I agree, it was perfect,” you respond with sincerity. 

And you mean it. You’ve never felt safer and more secure in your relationship. The both of you are patient and loving, not letting the isolated rough patches and dry spells impact the strong foundation you’ve built after all these years. Both of you always find your way back to each other, letting the underlying bond guide you home, never letting the chaos of life win out. 

“Have one more gift for you,” his deep voice breaks the silence. 

“Sukuna this is all just too much,” you sigh, rolling off of him so he can get up.

He returns with his phone from the other room, sliding back in beside you.

“Hush, it’s a joint gift, you’ll like it,” he chuckles, pulling you tightly against him while he navigates to his email.

Then you see it, 7 nights at the Four Seasons Bora Bora. Your heart leaps in your chest.

“Oh my god!! Baby that’s amazing,” you exclaim with excitement. 

“Now there’s no way for anything to interrupt us, just you, me, and that gorgeous overwater bungalow in which I’m going to fuck you on every surface,” he grins, earning a playful gasp from you.

“When do we leave?” 

“First Saturday in March, so a few weeks from now. Get that time off request in my love,” he grins before diving back in to give you a sweet kiss. 

“You’re seriously the best, I really don’t deserve you sometimes,” you say softly, overcome with the emotion of everything he’s done for you while you had nothing to give in return. 

“My love, you are the most deserving and don’t ever think otherwise. As if I’d let a rough month or a tough few weeks upend all the years we’ve spent together. It will be but a blip in our hopefully long lives, god willing. I took those vows to heart when I said them, especially in good times and in bad, and I intend to uphold them until I’m dead and gone.”

All you can do is dive into his arms, both of you capturing the other in a tight hug. 

“I love you,” you say as you pull back and stare into his eyes.

He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“I love you too. Always.” 

Masterlist

[peace-hunter]

https://www.tumblr.com/peace-hunter/774219053379239936/baby-op-has-a-favorite-and-is-not-afraid-to-let

OK FIRST OF ALL HOW DARE YOU??! We got baby Orion, look at that bean, so small and cute, but at what cost? The cost of our hearts being shattered….

Now the dramatics are over! The Megatronus doll?! I can hear d-16 seething in jealousy somewhere lmao.

Please tell me I’m not seeing things and Prima pulled out a weapon when he heard the door open?! Ready to defend but not when it was needed most because sentinel is a little bitch.

ZETA BEING ORIONS FAVE?! (It’s so cool you included that because it is part of canon, it’s in the movie novelisation if anyone is curious)

It’s so much more tragic with that piece of info, the way you drew Orion feeling like he’s lost something and having to be snapped out of it 😭 I love your art so much.

It does raise a question though, how old is Orion? Did he age slower or did sentinel do something to was with his ageing?

baby prime orion au

AKJSHDKAHDA THANK YOU I'M GLAD YOU ENJOYED IT!!! and that it seemed to hit the way i wanted it to! it is my mission with this au to make it unbearably cute and painful as fuck <33

that doll... i have plans for that doll.... no spoilers but it will come back...

AND YES THANK YOU FOR NOTICING THAT!! you're the first person i see that points out Prima's reaction to hearing someone come in! he's a little (a lot) overprotective of OP and he's always on guard even when they're deep in the tower where no one but their siblings and some trusted members of the High Guard are allowed to enter. he's also lowkey training OP to keep quiet when he hears someone come into his room and to be cautious of strangers. he doesn't want his baby brother to be scared of the world but he just... wants to keep him safe at all costs. most of the primes think he's being a little paranoid but he Does Not Care. once OP is older and can take care of himself they can talk about his anxiety but until then he's sticking to his guns.

and fun fact! when Sentinel sent his trackers to take custody of Optimus during his coup, it took them just long enough to search his rooms for him to allow the High Guard to send reinforcements and take him away. so. anxiety for the win babeeey⁓

and yeah zeta being OP's favorite is directly taken from the novel! in my mind Prima is OP's primary caretaker with everyone else taking turns to switch out with him, but Zeta being the matrix holder doesn't get the chance to do it as often as everyone else. so him dropping by is a special occasion! and because he doesn't want to ruin the little time he gets with his baby brother with anything, he lowkey spoils Optimus the most. so it's a mix of novelty and over-indulgence that gives him the edge over everyone else 🤭

AND YEAH THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I WAS GOING FOR! in this au OP is looking for the matrix for the good of everyone, he does believe bringing it back is the best thing for their society but deep down he also hopes it will fix the gaping wound in his spark he's been nursing his entire life. and when he sees Zeta Prime's lifeless body he knows the matrix being missing from it should be the thing he should focus on but... it's really not. and he doesn't understand why.

and orion's age is... something i kinda hoped no one would remember to ask about (/▽＼)

jk but for real he's about 52 cycles old. he's definitely older than the rest of the squad for at least a decade! buuuuut as a prime he also does age slower than them. this one is not on sentinel, it's just a him/prime thing. a small part of dee's frustration with orion in this au is because he's under the impression that they're more or less the same age but orion acts much more immaturely than he should, but this is kinda because orion literally doesn't mature at the same rate than he does.

it's not by much but the difference is there and they can feel it even if they don't understand it.

i have a chart in case anyone cares about it akjsdhkja

not my best work but it'll do for now.

so basically OP's mental development is one year for every 2.5 cycles while everyone else's is one per every 1.5. he and dee met when OP was 36 cycles old and Dee was 24 which was the exact moment where their mental development was almost equal, which made them hit off pretty well! but after that it was just a matter of time before dee started leaving Orion behind.

again, it isn't by much but the difference exists and is just one more straw to break the camel's back.

also the poor high guard that stayed behind to keep an eye on Orion was working overtime trying to keep people from wondering why this particular sparkling was growing up so slowly. they faked a bunch of records for him and officially speaking Orion is 47 cycles old, when he's actually 52, but even that only gave them a very limited amount of time before everyone started noticing that Orion was kinda little for his age.

they also did their damn best to keep Orion from entering the mines at the age he was supposed to because there was no fucking way they were letting the equivalent of 12 year old go in there.

they did so much crime and falsification you guys.

as it is OP was still mentally younger than everyone else when they went in, but officially he was almost 5 years older than he should've been. it was the best they could do.

so... yeah!

thank you for asking because i had been postponing doing this for weeks now xD

[cakepoppresent]

You Lead I Follow

Veronica: There's two stores I plan on going to today. Are you ready?

Vaghun: Like I said Princess I'm ready to do anything for you today

Veronica: Do you remember when you were chasing after me the first time? All those items you left in my dorm room?

Vaghun: Of course. You still have all those things I bought?

Veronica: Don’t ask stupid questions. How much did you spend on them?

Vaghun: Around 12k give or take. Nothing too crazy

Veronica: Is that right?

Vaghun: No price is too much when it comes to you

Veronica: God. You’re so cringe. Just keep quiet

Veronica: Your name? Since you’re standing will you be assisting today?

Natasha: I'm Natasha and that’s right. Mr. Leary called ahead of time and set up a private room for you to shop comfortably

Veronica: Perfect. I’ve already seen a pair of Hermes slippers and a clutch that I’d like to add to my tab. If you could set those aside for me that would be great. I'll be adding more shortly

Natasha: That won’t be a problem, Miss Reeves. I can also set up some wine and an excellent charcuterie board for you.

Veronica: That sounds wonderful. Make sure its your most expensive bottle, the whole bottle

Vaghun: Understood.

Veronica: You’re so sweet. Thank you

Veronica: Now back to you Lover Boy. I hope you’re ready

Vaghun: When it comes to you I’m always ready and I notice everything

Veronica: Lets put that to the test. I changed something about myself. Real subtle can you guess what it is?

Vaghun: You changed your hair color...its darker now. I like it

Veronica: You observant freak how could you even notice something like that. Not even my mom noticed

Vaghun: I’m serious when I say you’re important to me. You are...everything

Veronica: I don’t want to hear that right now. Lets go, its time to run your pockets

Vaghun: Of course. You lead I follow~

Veronica: That’s what I like to hear

Vaghun: Tried on enough shoes Princess?

Veronica: Lucky for you I have. I’ll take all these boots...one in each color

Vaghun: I’ll get them to send these over to your apartment

Veronica: Im still hungry. Lets get something to eat after this

Vaghun: No problem

Vaghun: Veronica

Veronica: My first name? You must want to talk about something serious

Vaghun: I wanted to clear the air. We haven’t spoken about what happened

Veronica: I don’t think I’m ready to have this talk with you....or ever

Vaghun: Just humor me Princess

I’m sorry. I know those words mean nothing to you after hearing them all these times. The only way I can show you how much you mean to me is through patience, through actions that prove my sincerity. But I need you to know that I love you. I’ve loved you long before I confessed to you on that rooftop. Do you remember? You were talking about taking my Grams out shopping and I stood there wondering how a woman like yourself was so entwined in my life. I couldn’t believe my pestering got you as close to me as it did, I know I’m a man that doesn’t deserve you. But knowing that won’t stop me from trying. I have to try. Because losing you isn’t something I can bear

Veronica: You always had a way with words

Vaghun: Hahaha I could fill a whole library with how I feel about you Princess

Veronica: Is it a massive library?

Vaghun: The biggest one. I know you aren’t the type to be emotional I don’t expect you to say anything but I just want you to know. I’m ready and willing to wait

[babyjinsu]

[r/TooAfraidToAsk] my girlfriend never eats the last bite of her food. ever. why??

003 of 002 !! ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[r/TooAfraidToAsk] [UPDATE] my girlfriend never eats the last bite of her food. ever. why?? posted by u/braciocell • 2h ago

hi guys. i didn't expect my original post to blow up like it did, but thanks! i know it's been like a few weeks since my last post wondering about my girlfriend's questionable eating habit but i finally have an answer!

so last night, we had dinner over at my apartment and as usual, she didn't finish her burger. so i (once again) asked her but this time i tried guessing why she never finishes her food. using the theories about siblings sharing and the bad luck one and all that were commented by you guys.

she laughed and finally admitted the real reason:

she feels guilty and sad when she finishes a food she really enjoys (or just food in general).

my girlfriend said that finishing the last bite makes her feel like she's saying goodbye to it forever. so she kind of just leaves the last bite as a coping mechanism. (and the reason why she never tells me is because she's embarrassed of it)

i found it to be so cute and so ridiculous. we made a deal that from now on, i'll eat her last bite so it doesn't go to waste. she said it'll make her feel better knowing the food gets a proper send-off.

anyway, thanks to everyone who commented and replied! turns out, i'm just dating someone who is emotionally attached to her food, and not a girl who performs strange food ritual (i don't think i mind that either). i think i just fall in love for the nth time. thanks guys, again.

Top Comments:

[u/webearbear] glad to hear that and that's really cute of her. wishing both of you the best!

[u/braciocell OP replying to u/webearbear] thanks man! hoping she won't see this lolol

[u/webearbear replying to u/braciocell OP] she has reddit?

[u/braciocell OP replying to u/webearbear] nah but i think her friend does.

[u/webearbear replying to u/braciocell OP] what are the chances?

[u/worms4brains] rare that you see a wholesome post on reddit lol. a proper send-off is funny tho

[u/cerealkiller88] love how instead of asking her to break the habit, you became a part of it. respect

[u/foldedclothes] thats a nice ending! im glad she eventually told you. be happy always op and girlfriend!

💭 and that's the end <3 i hope u guys enjoy this as much as i do. i'm planning on writing more reddit au's for other members too so please look forward to it! thank you so much ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

[iamgonnagetyouback]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ۶ৎ―― ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ʚଓ₊˚ʚ ;༊ ₊˚ ivy's 2k celebration

thank you for being with me and for loving these little fics that i write, my loves ♡ i am so so grateful for all your support & kindness. truly just speechless… i love you endlessly, always ‹𝟹

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤnav. REQUESTS ARE OPEN.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𓂃༯ 💌 dear fic ￫ ask my fics little questions like they’re secrets written in a storybook… ask them why they hurt you, scold them, beg them for answers as to why they ended the way they did, and i’ll let them write back

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ 𓍯𓂃example ⭑.ᐟ dear [fic title], why did you break my heart like that… was it necessary? did you have to be so cruel? i haven’t recovered

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ— love, a very wounded reader ♡

[all requests for this have to be in format and in small text if possible!!]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𓂃༯ 🏹 fairy's arrow ￫ tell me about yourself, and i’ll find the one written in the pixieland for you

EXAMPLE.ᐟ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𓍯𓂃things to mention ⭑.ᐟ preferred fandom, likes, dislikes, preferred gender, pet peeves, quirks, music taste, favoured films etc [all requests for this have to be in small text as they're usually longer and thus make it a bit messy!!]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𓂃༯ 🦋 moth-kissed notes ￫ give me a character + a scenario or au, and i’ll spin some headcanons just for you

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ 𓍯𓂃example ⭑.ᐟ moth-kissed notes for [character] as a bartender au/on a first date?

[all requests for this have to be in format and in small text if possible!!]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𓂃༯ 🧸 teddy dust ￫ send me a character + a prompt from any list, and i’ll write you a shortdrabble ・・・ fluffy ʚɞ angsty 1 2 ʚɞ domestic ʚɞ hurt/comfort 1 2

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ 𓍯𓂃example ⭑.ᐟ character: [character name] prompt: “............” (from [prompt list])

[all requests for this have to be in format and in small text if possible!!]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ 𓂃🖌 rules to keep in mind before requesting

ʚଓ only sfw requests ♡ i will not write anything uncomfortable or nsfw. keep it gentle, keep it kind

ʚଓ one request per ask ♡ send each request separately so nothing gets lost in the pages

ʚଓ small text, please ♡ try to keep your request in small text since they are more neat

ʚଓ follow the format ♡ structure keeps the magic flowing. if it’s not right, i won’t be able to grant your wish

ʚଓ ask with care ♡ i am not a wishing well. no “could you do this?” or “do this.” speak to me like i’m real, because i am

ʚଓ add the emoji ♡ each section has its own little emoji—please include it in your ask so i know what you’re requesting

ʚଓ enjoy the magic ♡ this is a soft space. let’s keep it lovely.

© iamgonnagetyouback ⋆.˚ please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work.

[shimmernspice]

Unraveled

Pairing: Ellie Williams x reader

Description: After wrapping up on the set, Ellie and the reader share a quiet, intimate moment that reveals a vulnerable side of Ellie—a side that you've never seen.

Warnings: 18+, smut, Pornstar! Ellie, oral sex (ellie recieving), strap usage (r recieving), needy Ellie

The set is still buzzing with the last traces of energy when Ellie slides next to you, running a hand through her hair. "You eaten yet?"

You blink at her, caught off guard by the contrast in her question. Out of all the things you expected after wrapping up the shoot, an invitation from Ellie isn't one of them. Not that you don't talk - Ellie's been your co-star a few times and you've always gotten along fine. But she's never really talked to you off-set before. She doesn't really seem like the type.

"Not yet. Why, you offering?"

Ellie shrugs, tilting her head toward the exit. "Accidentally ordered too much takeout. Come help me out."

You hesitate for a second. It wasn't that you didn't like Ellie, but the filthy degrading things Ellie did to you on set left your head spinning for days every time. It made you want to steer clear of her, afraid that you might ask to hear them again.

Still, you follow her out, stepping into the cool air. The ride to her place is quiet, the occasional flicker of the streetlights passing over her face. You steal glances, noticing the way her jaw tenses like she's thinking of something but won't say it.

When you get there the food is already waiting for you at the door. Her place is small but cozy, and a little messy in the way that makes it feel lived in. She kicks off her shoes as she closes the door behind you. "Sit. Food's getting cold."

You're half expecting Ellie to talk to you in that sarcastic mocking tone she uses on set. The kind that makes your skin prickle just thinking about it. But her voice is casual as she lets you settle in.

She takes a moment before she comes back with the takeout, setting it in front of you and then taking her seat next to you on the couch, close enough to where you're bumping shoulders with her. The casual touch makes you shiver for reasons you can't quite place.

Then, Ellie glances at you, asking "So... anything specific you wanna watch?"

You open your mouth to say something but she's already moving before you can respond. "Hold up," she mutters, turning back towards the small closet. You watch as she grabs a blanket and drapes in over your lap.

"Cold?" she asks, voice low.

You nod, unsure of how welcoming Ellie is being in her home. "Thanks," you mutter, but she doesn't seem to hear you as she's already turned back to the TV with the remote in her hands.

The room was quiet but not in an awkward way. It was different. There's no sharp edge to her, just Ellie. Maybe it's the quiet of the night. Maybe, it's because, for once, you two don't have a role to play.

"So, what's your pick?" she asks again, a little softer this time.

You think about it. Something easy. Nothing too serious or too intense. You just want to relax and get to know her more. "Maybe something light? A comedy?"

Ellie nods, scrolling through the options without a word. You both settle into the movie, the hum of the TV filling the space between you two. Neither of you says much, but as time passes, the space between you shrinks. She shifts closer, her knee brushing against yours. You can't help but notice how casually she leans in, just enough to make your heart flutter.

You glance at her from the corner of your eyes, taking in the softness of her features in the dim light of the TV. Your eyes linger on the curve of her lips, remembering the feel of them on your skin during the shoot. The memory sends a shiver down your spine and you can't help but wonder what it would be like to feel them again, in a different context.

As if sensing your gaze, Ellie turns to look at you, her green eyes meeting yours. "Hey," she says softly, voice barely a whisper. "Can I... Can I kiss you?"

The request catches you off guard and for a moment you're not sure how to respond. You've always thought about what it would be like to be with Ellie outside of work, but you never considered it to be an actual option.

So you lean in, closing the distance between you and pressing your lips against hers. She responds immediately, her hand coming to cup your cheek as she deepens the kiss.

Ellie breaks the kiss after a moment, pulling back with the softest smile you've ever seen from her. "I've wanted to do that for a while," she says, breathlessly. You smile back, warmth spreading through your chest. "I've wanted you to do that," you confess.

She leans in for another kiss, and this one is longer, deeper, and you find yourself losing yourself in it.

Ellie breaks the kiss again, panting softly. "Bedroom," she says, voice husky with desire. "Now."

You don't hesitate as you follow behind her. As soon as the door closes her lips are back on you again, kissing and touching and setting your skin ablaze with need. Her hands roam over your body, exploring every inch with a hunger that surprises you. She's not confident like she usually is on set; she's needy, almost desperate in her touch.

Your hands begin finding their way under her shirt, softly kneading her breasts.

She shivers at the contact, a soft moan escaping her lips as she presses closer.

"God I've wanted this for so long," she admits breathlessly between kisses. "I just didn't know how to ask."

Her confession sends a thrill through you. You never would have guessed that Ellie, the woman who seemed so untouchable during set could be so needy.

But here she is - begging for your touch and melting beneath it like putty. It's intoxicating, the way Ellie looks at you with those big green eyes, her expression open and unguarded. She whimpers as your fingers brush over her sensitive nipples, her hips bucking with need.

"Please," she gasps. "I want you so bad."

You smile at her, leaning in to capture her lips in a searing kiss. "I know baby," you murmur against her mouth. You settle beneath Ellie's legs, both your clothes long abandoned. You take a moment to appreciate the sight of her bare, glistening pussy. She's already so wet, the scent of her filling arousal making your mouth water.

"Please," she moans, her hips bucking up toward your face. "I fucking need you. Please, just-"

Her words cut off with a sharp gasp as your lean in and run your tongue along her slit, savoring the taste of her. She's sweet and tangy, and perfect, and you can't get enough.

You take your time, exploring every inch of her with your tongue. You lap at her, flicking over her clit and reveling in the way she writhes and moans above you.

"Fuck, you feel so good," she pants, her grip on your hair tightening. "Don't stop please, don't stop."

"Tell me what you need," you demand. "You gotta tell me what you need baby." A sinful moan leaves her mouth as you speak to her, your fingers still toying with her clit.

Ellie flushes, a mix of arousal and embarrassment coloring her cheeks. "I want you to... to use me," she admits. "I want you to ride my strap until you come all over it." Your pussy clenches at her words, a fresh wave of desire washing over you.

"I want to taste you," she continues, her eyes dark with need. "I wanna make you come on my tongue. I wanna make you fucking scream."

You can't resist her anymore, the throbbing between your legs too much to ignore. As if sensing it, Ellie reached over to her nightstand, grabbing the strap and buckling it around her hips.

"Come here baby," she pants. "Use me like your toy."

You straddle her hips, positioning yourself over the strap. Ellie's hands come to grip your waist, guiding you as you lower yourself down.

You both moan at the sensation, your head falling back as you move. Ellie meets your thrusts, pulling you down to leave kisses up and down your neck.

"Fuck you look so good," she pants, nails digging deeper into your waist. "So tight and perfect. I could do this forever."

Her words send a thrill through you and you pick up the pace as her whining grows. You roll your hips, taking her deeper. The angle is perfect, the strap hitting just the right spot with every thrust.

"God you feel so good, Ellie, you're doing so good for me." Your hands brace on her chest for leverage as you pick up your pace. "Fuck you're gonna make me cum."

"Don't stop," Ellie begs. "Keep going, baby. Use me to make yourself cum." Her words begin to slur as you start to ride her harder, chasing your pleasure. Ellie meets you thrust for thrust, her own arousal building with each passing moment.

"That's it," she encourages, her hands roaming over your body, stopping to cup your ass. "Take what you need."

You're close, so close, and you can feel the way Ellie trembles beneath you, her own release just out of reach. You lean down to capture her lips in a searing kiss, swallowing her moans and you grind yourself against her.

Pressure builds in Ellie as the strap rubs against her clit with your grinding. "Fuck you're gonna make me cum," she gasps, urging you to pick up your pace.

"Please," Ellie whimpers against your mouth, hips bucking to meet yours. "Please make me cum I need it so bad."

Her desperation is your undoing. You cum with a cry, pussy clenching around the strap as wave after wave crashes through both your bodies.

You collapse on top of her, both of you panting and gasping for air. Ellie holds you close, pressing soft kisses against your collarbone.

"That was... incredible," you whisper, voice hoarse from pleasure. "I don't think I've ever cum that hard before."

You smile at her, tracing idle patterns on her chest with your fingertips. Ellie hums in agreement, pulling you closer so that the space between you is almost nonexistent.

Her hand moves to the back of your head, cradling you gently as she tilts your chin down to meet her kiss. The usual sharp edge to her is gone, replaced by something softer. The moment lingers, Ellie's fingers tracing up and down your back, almost absentminded, like she's savoring the quiet after the storm.

You let the silence stretch, basking in the comfort of her closeness as if you both belong there.

[babyboywilson]

What do you think happened to House after Wilson’s death?

omg hi nonnie! this is my first house md ask and you’ve made my entire day with this ask. thank you so much. please send me all the asks like this i will love you forever <33

spoiler alert and angst alert for anyone who hasn’t seen the show and doesn’t know the ending.

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this is such a great question because it has so much hilson ust packed into it. I really truly think that house wouldn’t hang on for long after wilson dies. they’re so attached at the hip and so codependent on each other. house has said before that if he loses wilson then he’s alone. and that says so much about their relationship- they can’t handle being apart. at the end it feels even more poignant than ever because house gave up his whole life and career to spend the last few months of wilson’s life with him.

wilson would beg house to live his life without him and keep moving forward. he’d be unable to peacefully live his last moments carrying that burden that house wouldn’t survive without him.

so house lies.

he tells wilson that he’ll be fine. that he plans to find some low-level medical job to do or he’ll play piano for the orchestra or he’ll work in a lab doing research. he can rent a condo and he’ll get another pet rat or something to keep him company.

wilson scrunches his eyebrows and calls him out. “you’re lying.”

house shakes his head. “whole world doesn’t revolve around you, wilson.” but they both know that’s the biggest lie that house has ever said. because house’s world does revolve around wilson - it always has and always will.

but wilson can tell that house is at least trying to make the lie sound convincing. “just try. please.”

house nods. he’ll try.

he lasts 5 days without wilson. he finds a lab that’s hiring and manages half a shift but it’s boring and nothing challenges him so he quits on the spot. he hates coming home to an empty apartment without wilson’s witty jabs and soft smiles. his leg aches, his heart aches, his entire body feels like dead-weight and he can’t do it he just can’t.

shaking the bottle of vicodin pills, house dumps all of them into his hand. “i tried for you, wilson. i really did.” house swallows all the pills in one and closes his eyes.

when he opens them again, wilson’s smile is right there and it lights up his vision. for the first time in awhile, house feels like he’s home.

[sixffrindagger]

Sixffrindagger: The #1 In Stars and Time Facts Blog

We're just a group of people who are passionate about ISAT and want to share all the facts we know about it.

We've noticed that there's a lot of misinformation or just things people don't know in the ISAT fandom, so we want to help people keep their facts straight, as well as spread some little known fun facts! Here, thanks to our lovely fact checker Mod Odile, we only share true facts.

Speaking of which, below the cut we have introductions for all of our awesome moderators. We have decided to all take an ISAT character as a "faceclaim" we can use to represent ourselves. We are not roleplayers, we're just using our favorite characters to represent ourselves! Feel free to send us questions; we're always willing to learn more, you can even submit a fact you'd like us to make a post about (which, as always, will be fact checked!)

Mod Siffrin.

Hmph. Hello, I'm Mod Siffrin. I ONLY use he/him and I like to use this 🗡️ to represent myself.

I'M the one who made this blog, as I thought it'd be a good way to correct certain things I've seen around this 'fandom'. I like to use Act 5 Siffrin specifically to represent myself as I feel he represents me the best of anyone.

Enjoy the blog or whatever.

haiya everyone!! i'm mod isabeau!! ( ദ്ദി ˙ᗜ˙ )

call me mod isabeau! you can address me with any pronouns you want ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻)

i sign my posts with 🧵!! but i also like ending my posts with lyrics from songs i like teehee... it's my watermark (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

you might be surprised a person like me is using isabeau as my faceclaim but i chose isabeau because i relate to his love of fashion!! i have a fondness for all things beautiful and have taken it upon myself to spice up this blog!!

send me asks about the theme!! i'm always up to aestheticify this blog ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

"I'm waking up, to ass and bust, I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust... I'm breathing in the chemicals... HYUUUUGH-ahh~"

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Mod Mirabelle

Ah hi!!! I'm Mod Mirabelle!! I go by she/her and the little bell 🔔 is the emoji I use... ding ding! I hope that I can be a good addition to this blog and that we'll all get along well...!

Mod Odile. 📓

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Greetings, I am Mod Odile. You may use whatever pronouns you wish, though I figure She/Her is easiest for the sake of simplicity.

Much like the others, I am thrilled to partake in this blog. I enjoy trivia and other such things quite a fair amount, so it is only fitting for me to be present here.

You may recognize me by the notebook emoji I will be signing off with: 📓. I chose it in order to keep with the monochromatic theming of In Stars And Time, as it displays as a black and white book on my device.

This has been your resident facts nerd Odile. That is all.

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ughhhh okay ill do this. im mod bonnie. they/it pronouns but i dont really care that much. im only using bonnie because everyone picked their faceclaims while i was asleep so im stuck with them now.

i use 🍳 for my posts. dont expect to see it a lot im not gonna be active. enjoy the blog or whatever

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Mod Loop

heya friends! it's mod loop here hoping this blog will bring more fun to my amazing life! everything is going well! i'm doing great! i use he/xe/ae pronouns, aaand i will be using this 🌟 emoji

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mod running one

mod running one. 💨. i'll finish this shit later fuck