#all great thoughts! thanks for asking and sharing them with me

[mingi-s-dimples]

Christmas Eve - Mingi

First of all.. Merry Christmas, everyone! I know I am *a bit* late to the party 😭 but school has been stressing me out so much... and I haven't had time to write nor the proper motivation to, so I decided to delay my fics a bit in order to regain some of my motivation, since I want to give my utmost best when writing ^^. Happy holidays, and this is a great opportunity to thank everyone for all the support I've been receiving since I started writing! This place is my comfort, I love writing so much.. I love you 🤍

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pairing: bf!Mingi x gf fem!reader

genre: absolute fluff

summary: your boyfriend organised a surprise for you right in Christmas Eve.. which leaves you growing fonder of him ^^

wc: 1.3k (what a contrast between this and the ot8 one lmao)

warnings: literally no warnings, it's pure fluff ^^

Author's Note: I love writing thid tbh.. it felt like a fresh breath of air. I am all about Christmas, so y'all about to find out it took me 10 mins to write the first draft 🧍‍♀️ and 10 mins to rethink parts and finish. (pspspsps, special nye fic is coming... and it’s steamy 🫣)

The biting chill of the December night followed you home, your breath visible in small white puffs as you stepped out of the cab. Tugging your coat tighter around yourself, you couldn’t help but sigh. Christmas Eve had come at last, but work had been relentless. Most of your day had been spent organizing last-minute projects and ensuring everyone left the office in time for the holidays. The thought of warmth, home, and Mingi waiting for you was the only thing keeping you going.

However, as you approached your apartment door, something peculiar struck you. The hallway was dark—unusually so. The soft glow of Christmas lights, typically draped along the railing, was conspicuously absent. You paused for a moment, frowning as you set your keys in the lock. Had Mingi forgotten to turn them on?

Sliding the door open, you called out, “Mingi?”

No answer. The apartment was eerily quiet.

Shrugging off the odd sensation that prickled at your spine, you stepped inside. The familiar warmth of your shared space instantly melted some of the tension from your shoulders. After locking the door behind you, you shed your coat, scarf, and gloves, hanging them on the rack alongside your work bag. You glanced down at the fluffy slippers waiting patiently for you by the entrance—Mingi’s doing, no doubt. Smiling softly, you slipped them on.

The living room was just a few steps away, and as you made your way toward it, you couldn’t help but note the tantalizing scent of something delicious wafting through the air. Your curiosity piqued, you pushed open the door—and stopped dead in your tracks.

The room was transformed into something straight out of a dream.

A digital fireplace crackled warmly on the TV screen, the flames casting a golden glow across the room. The Christmas tree stood tall and regal in the corner, its ornaments twinkling like stars under the soft light of the fairy lights strung around it. Beneath its branches, a pile of neatly wrapped gifts sat waiting to be opened.

But the centerpiece of the scene was the small table in the center of the room, set up with candles, a bottle of wine, and two plates of what looked like your favorite dishes.

“Mingi?” you called again, your voice soft this time.

From the kitchen emerged your boyfriend, a grin as bright as the Christmas star adorning the tree spreading across his face. He was dressed casually in a cozy sweater that you loved on him, his dark hair slightly tousled as if he’d been hurrying to prepare everything.

“Surprise,” he said, holding his arms out theatrically.

Your heart melted on the spot.

“Mingi, what is all this?” you asked, stepping forward, a hand flying to your chest.

“It’s Christmas Eve, isn’t it? Thought I’d make it special.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I know how hard you’ve been working lately.”

Tears stung at your eyes, but you blinked them away quickly, not wanting to ruin the moment. “This is amazing,” you said earnestly, reaching for him. “I can’t believe you did all this.”

He caught your hands in his and kissed your knuckles softly. “You deserve it. Now sit down, let’s eat.”

Mingi guided you to the table, pulling out your chair with a flourish. As you sat, he poured you a glass of wine before serving up the dishes he’d prepared. Everything smelled and looked divine, from the roasted vegetables to the perfectly cooked protein.

“You didn’t burn anything,” you teased gently as you took your first bite.

He snorted, his face scrunching in mock offense. “Wow, no faith in me at all, huh?”

“None whatsoever,” you joked, earning a dramatic gasp from him.

The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, laughing and chatting about your day, your plans for the holiday, and reminiscing about past Christmases. The meal was delicious, and the warmth of the digital fireplace added to the cozy atmosphere.

Once the plates were cleared, Mingi brought out a tray of sweets he’d picked up from your favorite bakery. As you nibbled on cookies and sipped your wine, the conversation turned to your shared memories.

“Remember when we bought that tree?” you said, nodding toward the majestic pine in the corner.

Mingi chuckled. “How could I forget? You almost tackled that old lady to get it.”

“I did not!” you protested, laughing.

“You kind of did,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “But it was worth it. Look how perfect it is.”

The tree indeed looked perfect, its branches heavy with ornaments you’d collected together over the years.

After a while, Mingi turned on a playlist of faint Christmas carols, the soft melodies filling the room. The two of you moved to the couch, the tree standing sentinel over you as you began to exchange gifts.

“Okay, okay, open mine first!” Mingi said, nearly vibrating with excitement as he handed you a neatly wrapped box.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “All right, all right, calm down!”

Carefully peeling back the wrapping paper, you uncovered a small velvet box. Your heart skipped a beat as you opened it to reveal a stunning white gold necklace with a matching pair of earrings. The necklace sparkled like frost in the morning sun, and the earrings were elegant, perfectly complementing it.

“Oh my God, Mingi!” you exclaimed, your voice rising with excitement. “This is gorgeous! How did you even—”

“I saw it weeks ago and knew it was perfect for you,” he said, grinning so wide it looked like his cheeks might ache. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? I love it!” you said, throwing your arms around him. “It’s absolutely perfect!”

You leaned back, still holding onto him, and added, “Help me put it on?”

Mingi’s hands were steady as he clasped the necklace around your neck, his fingers brushing your skin lightly. When he was done, you turned to show him, and the way his eyes lit up made your heart flip.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, his voice full of warmth.

“Thank you,” you said softly, before kissing him with all the gratitude and love you could muster.

“My turn, my turn!” Mingi said, bouncing slightly as he sat back.

Laughing, you handed him your gift. He tore into the wrapping paper with childlike glee, letting out an audible gasp when he opened the box inside.

“No way!” he exclaimed, holding up the sleek bracelet he’d been admiring for months. “No freaking way!”

“Way,” you replied, laughing at his reaction.

“You remembered? I can’t believe you got this for me!” His voice was filled with awe as he slipped the bracelet onto his wrist, admiring how it fit perfectly.

“Of course I remembered,” you said, grinning. “You’ve been talking about it forever.”

He leaned over and crushed you in a hug, nearly knocking you backward. “This is the best gift ever. Thank you so much!”

“I’m glad you like it,” you said, your cheeks aching from smiling so much.

“I love it!” he said emphatically, leaning back just enough to kiss you.

The two of you spent the next hour unpacking the rest of the gifts���sweets, small trinkets, and other thoughtful items—but nothing could compare to the excitement and joy of those two special gifts.

As the night wore on, you found yourselves snuggled up together on the couch, the soft glow of the tree casting shadows on the walls. Mingi’s arm was draped around your shoulders, and your head rested against his chest.

“This is the best Christmas Eve ever,” you murmured, your voice thick with contentment.

Mingi pressed a kiss to your temple. “It’s the best because I get to spend it with you.”

And as the carols played softly in the background and the warmth of the digital fireplace wrapped around you, you couldn’t help but agree.

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @atiny1 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @atzlordz

[1425fivefive]

hi im feeling a little bold so

for the kink prompts, if you could something that ressembles multiple orgasms/overstim and/or inexperienced partner with norstappen I would be forever thankful,,, !!

I'd like to see what you come up with! (happy holidays?) <3

i... actually don't know what came over me while writing this. this is a grab bag of kinks from the list including: inexperienced partner, virginity, piercings, and multiple orgasms/overstimulation. also lando has a small dick for no reason (cw: inherent power imbalance because max is a king and lando's his consort in an arranged marriage) (for the kink prompt asks)

Max stops short as he enters Lando’s bedchamber, stunned by the sight that greets him.

Lando’s kneeling in the middle of one of the plush rugs, head bowed, the slim golden crown Max placed on him during the wedding ceremony that morning still nestled in his curls. Lando’s skin is scrubbed clean, glistening with whatever oils the servants rubbed on him, and he’s naked except for the gold metal bars through each of his nipples, a jeweled piercing dangling from his navel. Max knows Lando’s people think piercings are a mark of great beauty, almost unbearably erotic, but Max had foolishly assumed he wouldn’t feel any type of way about them. Seeing them like this, though, delicate and feminine on Lando’s slim, strong form, Max can already feel his cock hardening.

Max drags his eyes down between Lando’s legs, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight of the small cock dangling there—smaller, probably, than Max’s thumb. Max knows small cocks are highly favored when selecting consorts, believed to be a sign that the consort will never pose a threat to the king, and Max is sure the advisors he sent to find his new spouse must have been delighted when they saw Lando’s tiny cock. Max has never cared all that much for old wives' tales, but his mouth waters at the thought of sucking Lando between his lips.

Like this, on his knees, naked and obedient, glittering and golden, Lando looks every bit the perfect consort.

But when Max takes a step into the room, Lando looks up, fear flashing in his eyes.

Max stops, cocking his head, studying Lando. Finally, Max asks, voice soft, “Are you enjoying your chambers?”

“Oh, I—” Lando trails off, blinking at Max with wide eyes. “Why do you care?”

That startles a laugh out of Max but Lando flinches, and Max immediately sobers, watching Lando carefully.

“Lando,” Max says gently. “You’re my spouse.”

Lando frowns, clearly confused. “But you’re—you’re the king.” His eyes drift to the floor. Max can barely hear him as he says, “I thought you would simply want to—fuck me.”

Max’s chest aches at the idea of mounting Lando like an animal, uncaring of whether Lando wants it, Lando’s pleasure. “No, Lando, I—” He frowns, trying to work out the right thing to say.

Finally, Max says, “I have many bed partners. If you do not wish to share my chambers, I will not force myself on you.”

It’s true. Max has never lacked for willing men and women to share his bed, and he’ll respect Lando’s wishes if Lando wants to keep their marriage purely political. Lando was only chosen, after all, because Max needed an alliance with Lando’s people. Max knows no one would look askance if the two of them did not share a bedchamber.

Lando’s looking at him with a stunned expression, eyes wide. “You would be alright with that? With not—bedding me?”

“Yes,” Max says, forcing himself to hide any disappointment he might feel. “You’ll have these chambers to yourself and be able to move freely about the grounds. You won’t have to see me apart from formal appearances.”

Lando blinks at him, mouth dropping open.

Max thinks about simply leaving, letting Lando clean the oil off himself and prepare himself for bed. But there’s something in Lando’s expression, something—hungry, that makes Max pause.

Max knows Lando has never been touched before. Max’s advisors informed him that Lando’s people selected him as a potential future consort to a king at age eleven, raised him in a secluded manor house along with a few other candidates. Lando was kept in a chastity belt—Max’s advisors confirmed that Lando’s never been touched, by himself or anyone else.

Max can’t help but wonder if Lando even knows how to touch himself. If perhaps he was never taught how to find his pleasure. Max would teach him. He would teach him gladly, show him exactly how much pleasure his body can feel. He wants to trail his hands over Lando’s sensitive nipples, get his mouth on Lando’s sweet little cock, show Lando how good it can feel to be fucked. 

But Max needs it to be Lando’s choice.

“If you would like,” Max says, softly, carefully, “I could show you how a man takes pleasure in another man.”

Lando takes a shuddering breath and Max flushes when he notices Lando’s tiny cock starting to harden, still unbearably small.

“Would it—feel good?” Lando whispers, still on his knees, still looking up at Max.

“Yes,” Max says simply. “So good, Lando.”

Lando makes a small noise, almost a whimper. His nipples are puckered and hard, pushed out from his chest by their piercings, a bead of wetness sitting on the tip of his cock. Max wants to lick it off.

But he waits, watching Lando carefully. If Lando says no, he’ll leave.

Lando lets out a shaky exhale, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He blinks up at Max and whispers, “Show me.”

Max’s cock throbs in his trousers, and he brings his hands to his jacket, fingers shaking as he starts to undo the buttons. “Get on the bed,” Max orders, voice strained.

Lando goes obediently, stretching the long line of himself out on the sheets, watching Max carefully as Max approaches the bed, shedding the rest of his clothes.

When Max climbs onto the mattress, sliding between Lando’s legs, Max is stripped bare, his cock thick and hard.

Lando glances down at it, letting out a distressed little whimper, and whispers, “Big.”

Max’s cock throbs, but he laughs, softly. “It’s not,” he murmurs, because it isn’t. It’s perfectly average. “I think yours is just small.”

Lando flushes, opening his mouth to protest. 

Max smoothes a hand over Lando’s thigh. “It’s alright,” Max says softly. “I like it.”

With that, Max bends down to suck Lando’s cock into his mouth.

Lando’s entire body seizes up, mouth dropping open on a silent cry. When Max drags his tongue over the head, lapping up Lando’s pre-come, a shiver runs through Lando and he lets out a sweet little, “Oh,” body twisting, hands flying up to grab at his stomach, his pecs, his nipples.

“You can come whenever you feel like it,” Max murmurs, pulling off, breath ghosting over Lando’s spit-slick cock. “Want to make you feel good.”

Lando whimpers, blinking down at Max. “I haven’t—I don’t—” He breaks off on another whimper, looking at Max with a helpless expression.

“Fuck,” Max groans, pressing a kiss to Lando’s little dick, startling a moan out of Lando. “You’ve never come before?”

Lando lets out a desperate whine, but he shakes his head.

“God, that’s—” Max doesn’t say anything more, just sucks Lando’s cock back into his mouth, dragging sharp little cries and moans from Lando’s shivering form.

Lando seems to be getting closer, back arching off the bed, thighs trembling, wetness spilling onto Max’s tongue.

“Max,” Lando gasps, and Max moans at the sound of his name in Lando’s mouth, at the sight of Lando coming undone under his tongue. “Max, please—oh—it’s too—” Lando breaks off on a gasp, hips fucking up, his cock so small that it’s still barely anything in Max’s mouth.

Lando’s crying out, shivering and trembling, face scrunched up. “It’s too much,” he whimpers, still thrusting frantically into Max’s mouth. “Max, I can’t, it’s—”

Max ignores him, just sucks hard on Lando’s cock, moaning when Lando’s whole body draws tight, his stomach shuddering, the piercing in his navel jangling with each panting breath.

“Oh,” Lando gasps. “Oh, it’s—” He goes utterly silent, back arching high off the bed, head tossed back. Max licks over the head of Lando’s cock, watching Lando closely, wanting to see the exact moment Lando falls apart for the first time, wanting to watch as Max is the first person to bring Lando to his peak.

Lando’s hovering right on the edge, silent and tight, brows drawn together, like he wants to come, needs to come, but doesn’t know how to find it. Max slides a hand up Lando’s stomach, up to his chest, and brushes a thumb over the dusky bud of Lando’s nipple.

Lando falls apart with a sharp cry of Max’s name.

Max moans at the taste of Lando flooding his mouth, whines at the sight of Lando shivering and shaking against the mattress, body writhing and twisting as he rides out his orgasm. Lando doesn’t seem capable of words beyond a desperate chant of Max’s name, his hands flying down to fist in Max’s hair, dragging Max tight against him, riding his orgasm out in Max’s mouth.

“Please, Max, I can’t—oh.” Lando breaks off on a moan, cock spilling a little more into Max’s mouth, and he trembles through it, thighs twitching like he wants to close his legs, push Max away, overwhelmed by the pleasure Max is dragging out of him.

Even after Lando finally stops coming, Max stays where he is, letting Lando’s cock soften in his mouth. He thinks he’d be content to stay between Lando’s legs forever, make Lando come over and over again on his tongue, learning all the noises of pleasure Lando makes.

Eventually, Max makes to pull away, intending to give Lando a respite.

But Lando’s hands tighten in Max’s hair, stopping him from going more than a few centimeters.

“Can you—again?” Lando whispers, looking at Max with a desperate expression.

Max realizes that Lando’s asking Max to suck him again, and Max gazes up at him, awed. “Most men need a break between orgasms,” he murmurs, pressing an apologetic kiss to Lando’s thigh. “It’s too sensitive usually.”

Lando whimpers, but he says, “Could you—try?”

“Lando,” Max breathes, huffing a laugh. He strokes his thumb over Lando’s nipple again, smiling indulgently up at him. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

Lando flushes.

Max doesn’t say anything more, just brings his lips to Lando’s cock. Lando’s clearly oversensitive, whimpering and shivering, twitching toward and away from Max’s mouth. But he doesn’t ask Max to stop, doesn’t do anything except whine Max’s name and, before long, spill against Max’s tongue with a frantic moan. This time, Max doesn’t stop once Lando’s done, just keeps sucking him until Lando’s shaking like a leaf, coming for a third time with a pitiful whimper, spilling a tiny amount of come that Max swallows greedily.

Once Lando’s shuddering and begging Max to stop, hands shoving at Max’s head, Max finally lets Lando slip from his mouth. Lando’s little cock looks even smaller, soft and spent, covered in Max’s spit.

Max moans at the sight, but murmurs, “We can be done.” He presses a kiss to Lando’s lower belly, heat rushing through him when Lando whines Max’s name. “You’ve been so good,” Max adds. “Perfect.”

Lando takes a shaky breath, looking down at Max with hooded eyes. “Is there—I’ve heard that there is—more.”

Max laughs. “Yes, there’s lots more. But it can wait.”

But Lando shakes his head. “I want you to take me,” Lando whispers, looking terrified and determined all at once. “I want you to take me like a—like a king takes a consort.”

“Fuck,” Max groans, hips hitching against the mattress, cock throbbing at Lando’s words. “You would want that?”

“Yes.” Lando swallows, throat bobbing. “Please, Max.”

Who is Max to deny his consort?

Lando’s impossibly tight when Max slips the first finger in him, staring at Max with wide, shocked eyes. But Max takes Lando’s cock in his mouth again and soon Lando’s relaxing, letting Max slip a second finger in. When Lando starts moaning and whimpering, rocking back against Max’s fingers, Max knows he’s ready.

Max rolls them over, ending up on his back with Lando hovering above him, looking down at him with parted lips and lust-dark eyes. The crown’s long since slipped from his curls.

“Like this, I think,” Max murmurs, running his hands down Lando’s sides. “It will have to be your choice,” Max continues.

Lando’s eyes go wide. “Max,” he whispers.

 “You will have to choose,” Max says softly, running his fingers up to Lando’s nipples, playing with the tiny buds, “if you want to offer yourself up to me.”

Lando moans, a jagged, desperate thing, and Max already knows what he’ll choose. Knows it even before Lando reaches behind himself for Max’s cock, knows it before Lando lines Max up, knows it before Lando starts sinking down onto Max’s cock, taking his own virginity, giving himself up to Max.

“God,” Max moans, watching Lando struggle to take him, sinking slowly down his cock. “Look at you.”

Lando whimpers, sinking down a little further. He’s still hard, Max notices, even as he bites his lip, eyes squeezing shut.

“Good boy,” Max breathes, and he rests his hands on Lando’s hips, helping him on his way. “That’s it, good boy.”

Finally, finally, Lando’s in his lap, Max buried inside him to the hilt.

“Move,” Max murmurs. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”

Lando lets out a desperate sob but he starts to move, riding Max hesitantly, carefully, barely moving at all. Max shuffles them up the bed a bit so that Max is sitting up against the headboard, upright enough that Max can free one of his hands to toy with Lando’s nipples, marveling at how sensitive they seem to be with the piercings.

“Max, please,” Lando whines, grinding on Max’s cock. “You have to—I’ll come.”

Max moans, cock twitching inside Lando. “Good, baby,” Max says, voice strained. “I want you to come.”

Lando sobs at that but he keeps fucking himself on Max’s cock, letting Max play with his nipples, the piercing in his navel bouncing as he rides Max.

“Max,” Lando sobs, rim going impossibly tight around Max's cock. “Max, please, fuck, I can’t—”

“Come, baby,” Max murmurs, leaning forward to press his tongue against Lando’s nipple, sucking the metal bar between his teeth.

It’s enough to have Lando stuttering to a halt in Max’s lap, crying out Max’s name. His cock spills a few meager drops of come onto Max’s stomach, rim fluttering weakly around Max, Lando sobbing above him as he comes for the fourth time.

Max doesn’t know how he hangs on, but the moment Lando’s finished coming he rolls them over, Lando on his back underneath Max, face wet with tears.

Max panics for a moment, starting to pull out, but Lando shakes his head frantically, wrapping his legs around Max.

“Please,” Lando begs, crying harder. “Need you to come in me, please, Max.”

Max groans and gets his hands on the backs of Lando’s thighs, pressing them up, fucking him hard and deep, watching Lando cry and beg underneath him. Lando might come again at some point, tensing up underneath him, but he’s been wrung dry, his cock twitching rapidly, nothing coming out. He’s too fucked out to even try to clench around Max, can’t do anything except lay there weakly, worn-out pants of Max’s name.

It’s the sight of Lando coming for a fifth time that pushes Max over the edge and he shoves inside Lando with a deep groan, coming so hard he’s dizzy with it.

After, he pulls Lando on top of him, pressing kisses to Lando’s curls, running his hand over Lando’s back, awed by the man in his bed.

“If you want,” Max murmurs, “we can still have separate bedchambers.”

Lando picks his head up, looking down at Max with an outraged expression. “Why?” Lando snaps. “Why would we not do this every night?”

Max barks out a shocked laugh. “Every night?”

“Fine,” Lando says, giving him a small grin. “Every other night.”

“Every other night,” Max agrees, and pulls Lando in for a slow, soft kiss.

[creating--memories]

Hi y’all this is my first attempt at a pazzi one-shot. I have been reading for a while but this is the first time I’m posting. Let me know if ppl like it :)

——————<3——————

Paige Bueckers sat on the edge of the bleachers, her knees pulled to her chest, her eyes glued to the court where her best friend was making magic happen. The gym echoed with the rhythmic bounce of basketballs, the sound of shoes screeching against polished wood, and the collective energy of players giving their all. But none of it distracted Paige. Not the game. Not the crowd. Only Azzi.

Azzi Fudd was on fire that night—her moves were sharp, her shots clean, her confidence undeniable. As usual, she was the one to steal the show. Paige had been with Azzi through thick and thin. From late-night practices to long bus rides, from moments of frustration to their shared victories. They had seen it all together. But tonight, something felt different.

Azzi’s eyes met hers across the court after sinking a three-pointer, a quick, knowing smile passing between them. That smile always did something to Paige’s heart, a flutter she couldn’t ignore. They had been best friends since they were both kids—two young girls dreaming of playing college basketball together, maybe even on the same team someday. But these feelings… these feelings were new. Uncharted territory.

“Great shot!” Paige called out as Azzi jogged over to the bench, wiping sweat from her forehead.

“Thanks, but you’re the one who’s always telling me to follow through.” Azzi’s voice was warm, teasing.

Paige smiled softly. She didn’t have to think twice about the advice she gave Azzi—it was the same advice she would give herself. But lately, she was starting to wonder if she needed to take her own advice when it came to her feelings.

Azzi collapsed next to her on the bleacher. “You look like you’re in deep thought. What’s going on?”

Paige shrugged, trying to act casual. “Just watching you play. You’re on fire out there.”

Azzi chuckled. “I’m just doing my job. You know, helping the team win. But you’re quiet tonight. Something on your mind?”

Paige’s heart raced. Azzi’s brown eyes locked on hers, and for a moment, Paige felt exposed. She had always been good at hiding her emotions, but this was different. There was no hiding this.

“I don’t know. I guess…” Paige started, then trailed off. “Do you ever feel like you’re really close to someone, but you don’t know how to tell them something important?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Important, huh? Like… what kind of important?”

Paige bit her lip, unsure of what to say. She wanted to tell Azzi how she felt—how her heart beat faster every time they were together, how the small touches, the shared laughter, the way their friendship had evolved—it all felt like something more. But could she risk everything they had? Could she risk losing Azzi?

Before she could say another word, the coach called for both of them to head back to the court for the second half of the game. Paige stood up, shaking her head. “I’ll think about it later,” she muttered more to herself than to Azzi.

——————<3——————

The night wore on, but Paige’s mind kept returning to that moment—the moment she almost said something to Azzi. It was hard to ignore how much she cared for her, how much more she wanted from their friendship. But after the game, when they were both exhausted and walking back to the dorms, Azzi finally spoke.

“You know, we’ve been best friends forever, right?” Azzi said, her voice unusually quiet. She glanced at Paige, her eyes searching.

Paige nodded. “Of course.”

“I was thinking…” Azzi hesitated, glancing down. “I think I might’ve been feeling something more lately, too.”

Paige’s heart skipped a beat. Her throat went dry, and she stopped walking. “What do you mean?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Azzi turned toward her. “I mean, I’m not sure when it happened. Maybe it’s always been there, just under the surface. But lately, I can’t stop thinking about you. Not as just my teammate, or my best friend, but something… more. I don’t know if that’s crazy or not.”

Paige felt her breath catch in her chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt like she could exhale. “It’s not crazy. I feel the same way.”

Azzi smiled, that same smile that had always made Paige’s heart race, but now it felt different—charged with something more. Something real.

For a long moment, they stood there, a comfortable silence settling between them. The cool night air wrapped around them, but it wasn’t the only thing that felt electric. Azzi’s hand, which had been hanging by her side, brushed against Paige’s. It was small, but the touch sent a ripple through Paige’s body. Slowly, almost instinctively, Paige reached out, threading her fingers through Azzi’s.

Azzi didn’t pull away. Instead, she squeezed Paige’s hand softly.

“I’ve been wanting this for a while,” Azzi whispered, her voice barely audible.

Paige’s heart hammered in her chest. There was no going back now. With a breath, she closed the distance between them, her hand still holding Azzi’s, and tilted her head slightly, her eyes searching Azzi’s for permission. Azzi’s eyes were wide, but her lips curled into a soft, encouraging smile.

And then, without a word, Paige leaned in.

The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, as if both of them were testing the waters, afraid of what might happen next. But when Azzi responded, pressing closer, Paige deepened the kiss, her hand sliding to the back of Azzi’s neck, pulling her in. The world around them faded—the bright lights of the campus, the soft hum of distant voices—until all that existed was the two of them, tangled together in the most unexpected but perfect moment.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads leaning against each other as they stood still in the quiet night.

“I think this is just the beginning,” Azzi murmured, her voice low, full of promise.

Paige smiled, feeling lighter than she had in a long time. “Yeah,” she agreed softly. “I think you’re right.”

And from that moment on, they didn’t need to say more. They were more than teammates, more than friends. They were something new, something stronger.

And as the days turned into weeks, they learned how to navigate this new chapter of their relationship—one that, like their basketball careers, felt unstoppable.

[katerinaaqu]

Hello :) firstly I wanted to say that I love your analyses and I love all the information and knowledge you’re able to give us, thank you soo much for that.

Secondly since you know so much especially about the odyssey and Odysseus and I’ve recently seen a post where you explained the calypso situation I wanted to ask if you’ve made such an in-depth analysis on the Circe situation? I’m convinced the whole thing wasn’t consensual but there are always ppl saying stuff like “what Hermes said isn’t important” “Circe was at his mercy when she asked him to do the deed with him so he tricked her into doing it” “Odysseus was invulnerable to her powers so that means he wasn’t in danger meaning he willingly slept with her” and since I haven’t read the odyssey in a while I wanted to ask you .

Tysm for your time and I hope you have a wonderful day

Hello and you are very sweet! I really feel happy you do enjoy them and I am also grateful to receive comments and thoughts from you under my work 🙏 it always means so much when people get interested in the ancient texts much more when they honor me with their trust on tye matter.

I believe you are referring to my latest answer then where I re-analyzed the Calypso matter.

OF COURSE I can! I would be happy and delighted to especially since their relationship is so complicated and fascinating to begin with. The way in which it evolves in a very interesting degree and the way both characters share common traits is also fascinating. Circe is called also wily or with tricks which also seems to correspond to the essence of Odysseus himself. A power couple no doubt. But indeed so misunderstood by the media and their interpretations.

So here goes sorry if this is long:

I find it so interesting how far selective interpretation goes 🤔 😆 I find it interesting that indeed there are people out there that read the passage where Hermes SPECIFICALLY mentions how Odysseus has no choice and say that "oh it doesn't matter really!" Hahaha so to be more precise the passage goes as such;

Then you shall not refuse the goddess's bed if you want her to release your comrades, and she shall offer entertainment to you

(Translation by me)

The passage is clear. Hermes tells Odysseus he has no choice but to accept the bed of Circe's if he wants to save his men and see them again in human form. I find it quite interesting that people ignore that or they claim it is unimportant to the plot. This is literally the reason why Odysseus is there. What is more I find the notion of the moly immunity funny because Circe was not a force to be reckoned with only with her magic. In fact Homer also writes afterwards;

However make her swear a sacred and great oath that she will have nothing else bad in store for you so that she won't hurt or unman you when she has you stripped naked.

(Translation by me)

Hermes clearly states that Circe does not need to turn him into an animal to be dangerous. In fact as someone else said before me, it almost seems like Circe might as well kill or castrate him while she has him naked and vulnerable. Hermes clearly states that Odysseus is not safe even if he is immune to her power at that specific moment. It also shows that Circe could harm him at every moment and the only reasons she didn't were this promise that he extracted from her and perhaps her own feelings for him (curiosity or other). Throughout the passage Odysseus was speaking on the fear he was feeling even from moment number one;

And she opened the fine doors calling me in and I followed her with a heavy and grieving heart

(Translation by me)

Odysseus was literally frightened. All the time. As he said he had a grieving heart (ἀκαχήμενος ἦτορ) and he continued to be distrustful of her and afraid even if he had extracted that oath from her.

However my heart could not be pleased for I was distracted as my mind was always thinking on dark thoughts

(Translation by me)

I adore how Homer uses the word ἀλλοφρονέων (=to think differently, to be distracted) but the word αλλόφρων also used in modern Greek to speak on someone who is mad or crazy and is also used as a phrase to indicate someone who is not just worried but someone crazy in fear. Odysseus has extracted the promise, he has accepted the attentive care of Circe and her handmaidens in the bath and he is now sat before a real feast and he is crazy in fear and doubt. His continuous sense of anxiety is obvious in the passage. So to say that Odysseus was just fine and that the whole adventure with Circe was a breeze and that he was safe against her just because he had eaten the Moly at that time seems to me funny since every part of the passage shows how he was afraid. What was more, there is no guarantee that the Moly would protect him forever from Circe's magic not to mention that as we said before, even without her magic Circe had plenty of aces up her sleeve starting from her animal entourage till a potent knife at the time that she had Odysseus under her mercy (thus the need for a promise on her part).

Also even if we say that Moly would keep him immune forever, what about his men? His men had not consumed Moly and it was obvious that the only reason that Odysseus was there was to rescue his men. What guarantee did he have that Circe wouldn't enchant his men again if he misbehaved? Quite frankly as I said above, Circe's likeness for his boldness or potentially his mind plus the oath he extracted from her seems to be the only thing that prevents Circe from using his men as hostages once more. Quite frankly the whole adventure with Circe was a very big hostage business. Odysseus was thinking on his men's safety (not to mention the rest of them waiting by the ship) apart from his own and as you see he was already very much afraid as it was.

I also find it interesting that the reason why Circe seems to be getting Odysseus immediately to her bed is that she knew he would come. Just like Polyphemus knew by a prophet that Odysseus would blind him (although she didn't know the nature of the person that would blind him) Circe says that she knew from Hermes that a certain Odysseus would arrive at her isle on his way back from Troy. So in one way someone to say that Circe was out of options seems at least funny as a notion. It seems that she knew who was coming she just didn't seem to know the conditions that would bring him there.

Now was Odysseus attracted to her?

In my opinion there is no doubt about it as he describes how beautiful Circe was. Would he consider to sleep with her if it weren't of Hermes's advice? In my opinion no. Odysseus would absolutely be finding Circe attractive given her beauty and her divine nature, which is no surprise there but finding attraction to one person and act on it are two different things. In my humble opinion I do not think that Odysseus would act according to that attraction. Would he be curious on the experience with an immortal goddess? Absolutely. He is a naturally curious person and he wants to gain knowledge from other experiences in his life. Would he act up that one? Again I think not.

The reason why I think so is that the essences of loyalty in marriage are not as cut and clean as we usually think of in modern times. True if we judge from Hera myths, it was not preferable for a man to have extramarital affairs but it was generally tolerated. Agamemnon speaks on the affairs he had and many others had affairs. Odysseus would have no reason to hide his actual attraction towards Circe (and he doesn't given how he does speak on her very warmly eventually). Throughout his narration he mentions many things negative about himself including but not restricted to; the conquest and enslavement of Ismarus, his mistake to insult God Poseidon, self-destructive thoughts, feeling of fear towards Circe or Calypso, his moments of sadness and isolation etc. All of these things would be considered embarrassing or even diminishing for him. Why would he hide affairs at a world that was more tolerant towards the affairs and instead say all these others that would make a king or a warrior embarrassed?

Now there is an interesting question of course as to why did Odysseus remain there for a year?

It is indeed food for thought to think about it because once his men were back to human form in theory he could leave right? That in my opinion is not cut and clean like that. For once he had to wait until his men were back to good health and spirits to travel and he might as well take advantage of Circe's hospitality to refill their batteries. However there is also the moment where in the Odyssey his men arrive personally and scold him that he forgot about their country and their homeland for the arms of Circe. So one can think indeed; did Odysseus indeed forget himself?

In my opinion it is possible. His men are not the only ones who wanted to refill their batteries. So was Odysseus. In fact he has MUCH MORE in his plate than the average human already. He has already been at war, he has the war crimes on his mind anyways and he has also witnessed most of his men dying in horrifying ways (Cicones, Polyphemus, Laestrigonians etc) and he has just witnessed the results of his actions as well with the Curse of Polyphemus and the way that the sack of Aeolus fiasco happened. Odysseus already was suffering a lot. Regardless of the fact that he was always afraid of her, the hospitality she offered was very much needed. He could rest and enjoy some safety of dry land for a change after everything he had been through and Circe kept her promise and was a very good hostess to them. Odysseus too needed that break. It is possible that he forgot himself at the care of Circe and quite frankly Circe seems to be also wishing to keep Odysseus by her side so she does seem to make it as easy as possible for him to stay.

So Odysseus enjoying some nice rest after so long, even in the arms of a goddess that scares him makes it cheating? In my opinion no. What is more it seems that the fear of Odysseus was always apparent. It seems that he was avoiding requesting from Circe to let them go the whole time. It almost felt like he was putting the whole thing off out of fear for her anger and refusal. He almost seemed to be gathering off the guts to tell her. When his men straight out demanded it he didn't seem to have a choice but to comply. So it shows how scared he was when he literally BEGGED Circe to let them go by falling on her knees.

And then I climbed onto Circe's beautiful bed and hugging her knees I begged her to set us free with a cry.

(Translation by me)

So basically Odysseus felt helpless before her and he had to do the employing ritual to her (you can see my other post about this ritual) so that he would be sure that Circe wouldn't refuse him or be angry at him. That same fear continued later for when he came back from the Underworld, he preferred to stay by the ships. He was literally brought back in by Circe herself who gave him some advice.

But while most part of the text in the Odyssey indeed implies the lack of free will or lack of options etc someone would think why would Odysseus be considered a cheater in the hands of Circe?

I think the answer lies to the general idea that many people have that we should consider Odysseus as an unreliable narrator and that all the details he lists are lies to cover his cheating.

Although as a logic seems to be very generalized, and it COULD hold some water in regards to some details, I still am not convinced as mention above that Odysseus is lying here. For starters he was already very emotional when speaking to the Phaeakes and an emotional Odysseus is the most honest Odysseus (we saw his emotions betraying him with Polyphemus, with his revelation with the Phaeakes or later with Penelope). Odysseus was already in a very strong emotional state so I do not think his narration is inherently doubtful. What is more, he does seem to have so many details in his narration about himself that are not positive about himself. He would have no reason to hide the specific one. And Odysseus mentions how Circe never had his heart before (see also my other answer here). I cannot find much of a reason for him to lie about that when he has literally admitted everything else that could paint him in an unpleasant light (especially his hubris with Polyphemus).

So to sum up yes I think he was being forced. His men were held hostage and he had to save them. Circe was never helpless regardless of the situation and she had many different ways to kill him if she wanted to. Would he be curious anyways? Absolutely. Would he act according to that curiosity? In that case I think not. He does say so himself and his imprisonment in Calypso's island in his narrative was supported by other characters and the poet so why would he lie for Circe either. One can definitely think about his emotions and how strong they would be about Circe but I think regardless of that, he wouldn't have necessarily act towards that curiosity given how his psychological state was originally

But I guess this is everyone's guess.

I hope this helps. It definitely it is up to you what you want to interpret and I will be happy to offer more passages inside the future reblogs and such! ^_^

[604to647]

Holidays in the 604

Hope everyone has been having a good holidays so far, however that looks for you or best suits your sensibilities 🥹🥰🫂🎄🎄

I started to write write some HCs for what the holidays might look like for the couples in a few of my series (Safest with You, The Rockford Portfolio, etc.) but for reasons below the cut, haven't had much energy or motivation to write (no need to read, it's a bit of a downer and kind of rambly!) - I'm hoping that I can find a little bit of both in the next few days and maybe get some thoughts down to still post.

For those same reasons, I haven't been on here much, to my detriment if I'm being honest - this place is a source of escapism for me and not being able to come on here for more than a few minutes a day has felt a bit offputting. I feel like I've missed a lot of amazing holiday stories that would have likely boosted my spirits a bit - I'll try to go back and find them but if you have or read any that you wish to recommend/share, please do let me know!

Similarly, thank you to everyone for your tags/mentions/asks - I want to get to them and maybe still participate in a few tag games if it's not too late when I muster up some energy. Thank you for thinking of me!! I truly wish that you all continue to have a lovely holiday season and look forward to ringing in the new year! You're all such a welcomed presence in my life and I'm grateful to each and every one of you for being here! Hope to see you soon 🥹 KISS KISS 😘😘

Ok, now as to why Emily has a bit of the holiday blues this year:

I didn't grow up with a lot of hard set Christmas traditions, celebrations around the end of the year didn't go much beyond the commercial and the holiday season was mainly appreciated for being time off (from school, work), a time to rest and relax. There was cheer and joy, but as the kids say these days, it wasn't that deep. I've since married into a family that puts A LOT of pressure on Christmas - with an emphasis on physical togetherness and adhering to traditions/customs, that (to me anyways) can feel at times more performative than enjoyable; I totally understand the comfort in doing things the way they've always been done, but a lot of times it feels like people are just checking things off a list rather than genuinely enjoying (for example) baking the Christmas cookies, you know what I mean? Couple that with my priorities for my kiddos' Christmas, the way we spend Christmas now can feel a lot like a season of obligation. Depending on what the particular plan is for that year, it can also be incredibly hard, draining, and not all that jolly for me.

This was one of those years.

I hosted the big Christmas dinner at my house and also had those from out of town staying with us for a week. I'm a Virgo who thinks of her home as her sanctuary, am a bit fastidious about her things, and sees value in being forthright. It's a lot for me to have people taking over my house, making messes, and pushing/crossing boundaries that I've tried to set due to previous visits, all while maintaining a certain level of holiday cheer and slapping on a facade of "it's fine" when I definitely don't feel that way. I'll admit I wasn't always successful this past week.

Mr. 604 is very supportive and knows his family can be a lot, but at the end of the day a) he's just a man 😂 (and not a miracle worker) and b) they are his family and he himself has had to "grin and bear" a great many things over the course of his life, so he has more practice at it but doesn't necessarily have any advice to impart on how to better cope with the chaos.

It makes me feel like a curmudgeon for not being able to suck it up more and pretend for the sake of the kids, or even to help maintain this performance of "family togetherness" that seems to be the whole point of whatever the heck everyone was doing. So this holiday season has thus far been exhausting, filled with guilt, and left me feeling a bit empty.

I am okay and recovering now, it will just take a few days I think. If you read this far - thank you! I just needed to rant a little bit - I don't feel much like myself these days and that in itself can be depressing, especially at a time when I'm supposed to be experiencing the opposite. Here's to some rest, some quiet, some peace in the last few days of 2024 for myself, Mr. 604, and anyone else who needs it! 🤞🏻🥰

[rev3rb]

Hey, it’s your monthly anon again. I’ve been thinking more on that doozy of a chapter. Even if Mikaela’s soul is in Yuu, I think either him or our Mika have to have something else going on. Because if Mikaela was dead for thousands of years, how would he have memories of The First’s plan and punishment? Imo the only person that could have such omniscient memories without always being physically alive/present is the floating Yu eye ball of darkness. And it does seem Mikaela was the first original creation it made. So maybe Mikaela has a permanent link to it’s memories? Idk but to me Yuichiro or maybe Mika should have some connection to the original Yu. What do you think?

Oh, I agree that something else has to be going on. We already know the original Yuu that allowed Mika's soul into him already had a soul from one of the fallen angels presumably. It feels like that should be relevant SOMEHOW. I'll be sorely disappointed if it's just written off because something is special about whoever or whatever that is. And even if that isn't what's special here, Mika (the present-day one) has to have something special going on. Why is he Mika yet Mikaela's soul is apparently in Yuu? Is his soul split or something?

Because I went back and reread all those chapters yesterday, I did notice that Rigr/Saito mentioned that Mika just showed up at the Hyakuya orphanage one day and that that orphanage wasn't something he founded and wasn't within the boundaries of his plans. He then accuses Sika Madu of being the cause of all that. If that's true then how can Mika not be special and have something going on? To have Sika Madu (presumably) assign Mika that name is significant. He wouldn't give it to just anyone. But anyways.

I agree with your idea. The fact that Yuuichirou and that floating ball share a name ALSO has to be significant I feel? I suppose it's entirely possible that Sika Madu gave him that name when he saw the connection that Yuu apparently had with Mikaela, but then there's everything you said. It'd make sense that the floating eye Yuu (this is getting confusing omg) would be the only one to properly remember everything that our Yuu and Mika are seeing. I would say you could back this further by the fact that there WAS a floating eye inside of Yuu back when Mika was becoming his demon. I believe Mika was looking into his heart and that's what he saw? I know I just read this yesterday but I read through a lot ;; But anyways, yeah. Again, I agree with what you're saying. I don't have any other answers as to why present-day Yuu would have those memories otherwise since you're right. Mikaela was dead for a lot of what went down in what we saw. The only constant presence was the floating eye Yuu.

[daddy-ul]

tour blurb

I can't say anything BC it's the same (almost) unit of measurement that I apply when I go to concerts.

Smsmksksa (not so much) joking aside, the mic unit of measurement is the most useful and obvious for the concert donut. I know they updated the number and positions of the mics,, so I am now kind of curious of the ratio drum riser/mics on the stage. Like there are 4 battle station on the donut, how many mics between every drum kit? This is a math problem due to monday

*coff* that said did they discussed it in tuning rooms etc bc lars asked James to stay in his line of site for the most of it?

But like, of course for stages like the one in Milan, it wasn't like that, even if it was smaller

[danhoemei]

hi one last time most likely? just wanted to let you know i've finally finished little mushroom including all the epilogues after being busy for a few days and. genuinely. i think this is one of my favourite stories i've ever experienced in my life out of any medium. reading the second volume felt a lot like chewing glass a lot of the time but god it was worth it in the end. off to wait for the rest of the manhua to release/be translated i guess?

one last time, thank you so much for introducing me to this story. have a great day

Oh wow I'm so happy for you :D it's one of my all time faves too 💚 you're so right about the 2nd vol haha, but for me it was in a good way, like heavy stuff being hard to bear but I at the same time not letting me put the book down. I read the 2nd vol in one sitting agsgagshsg i NEEDED to see how it ends. I love this story so much, i think u inspired me to reread it literally right now (i just finished a neuroscientific book about what torture does to the brain and need a break with some fiction). Thank u for sharing your experience with me and have a nice day too 💚

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Co Parents To Lovers Again (part 2)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: fluff (smut in the next part)

part 1

It's been three days since the unfortunate misunderstanding with Charles and you haven't heard from him at all since.

You were overthinking the whole situation that happened on Sunday and couldn't come to any proper conclusion. At the same time, you were sad because he thought you would bring someone else into your bed, even though it wasn't your shared bed anymore, but you couldn't believe that he thought so little of you after all the years you'd spent together.

And yet on the other hand, you were thinking like any woman, you were glad that he was jealous and that the very thought of someone replacing him bothered him because that only meant he wasn't over you and that he still wanted to make things right between you two. Basically, you were torn between your brain and your heart once again and it was just a matter of what would prevail between the two this time.

Even though deep down you knew you couldn't fight yourself. You broke up over some disagreements that when you look at things more closely weren't worth destroying your relationship and your little family. You were both stubborn, he was a little too possessive, you were lacking in understanding, parenting, you spent most of your time alone with Lou and everything came together and exploded.

Now that you look back on the whole year you spent without him, you know that as hard as it is sometimes to be with him, it's ten times harder to be without him. You realize that you both made a rash decision, but then again maybe it had to happen only to make you realize how much you need each other in every way possible.

It's Wednesday night and while you're preparing tonight's dinner and tomorrow's lunch, Lou is sitting at the dining room table drawing. Soon your cooking is interrupted by the ringing of your phone on the kitchen island. A strange feeling comes over you as you wipe your hands on a dish towel and look at your phone only to see Charles' name on the screen.

You want to answer the phone, but you don't want the conversation to end in an argument so before you pick up the phone, you take a deep breath and try to calm down and strengthen your voice so it doesn't sound shaky.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me." He says it in a completely normal, calm tone and you're grateful for that.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Umm, I'm leaving tomorrow for the race so I was wondering if you could put Lou on the facetime so I can see her since I won't be able to have her for the weekend?" He asks.

"Sure, just let me switch to facetime."

Once you did, Charles face appeared on the screen and he smiled when he saw yours too. You tried to hide the blush on your face and quickly walked over to Lou putting the phone in front of her.

"Baby, daddy wants to talk to you" You said setting the phone in front of her and leaving them alone to talk.

Since the kitchen and dining room were connected, you went back into the kitchen and could hear everything the two of them were saying. You didn't want to eavesdrop, but you kinda did.

"Hey, daddy!" Lou exclaimed excitedly.

"Mon ange, what are you doing?"

"I'm drawing and-and mommy is cooking" She says.

"Yeah? What are you drawing?"

"I'm drawing you in a red car. See" She says putting up the paper in front of the camera for him to see.

"Good job, baby. It looks great!"

"It's for you, I will give it to you when you come get me" She says forgetting that she won't be spending the weekend with him.

"Thank you, baby, but unfortunately we won't be together this weekend because papa has to work, but we'll see each other next week, okay?"

"Oh.." She pouts.

"Don't be sad, we'll see each other very soon, okay? I miss you so much and I'm thinking of you all the time."

Your heart is completely softened by his words and the immeasurable amount of love he has for your daughter.

"I miss you too, daddy"

"Okay, baby. I'll talk to you soon, I love you."

"Bye, I love you too." She says waving her hand as he blows her a kiss.

You watch her from afar and see how her mood immediately changed when she heard that she wouldn't be seeing him. Shaken by emotions, you move closer to her and squat down next to her.

"What's wrong, bug?" You ask her.

She doesn't look at you but frowns looking down at drawing on the paper in front of her.

"I miss papa" She says, hear eyes filled with tears.

"Can I tell you a little secret?" You say and she nods. "I miss papa too." You whisper making her look at you.

"Would you like to watch him race this weekend?"

"You mean on the TV?" She asks.

"No, I mean how about we go and see him?" You suggest and her eyes light up.

"Really?!"

"Would you like that?"

"Yes, yes! And I can give him this!" She says excitedly and you chuckle at how sweet she is.

"Then we have a deal. Now, finish up your drawing and go wash your hands because dinner is almost ready okay?"

"Okay, mommy. Thank you"

Nothing can compare to the happiness you feel when you see your daughter happy. Both you and Charles would do anything for her, and that's why you decided to quickly run upstairs to your bedroom, turn the hoodie right side out.

When a print of an F1 car was visible on the black hoodie, you took a picture of it and sent it to Charles without any additional explanation, because you knew that everything would be clear as a day to him once he saw it.

After just a few minutes, your phone vibrated in your hands.

'Been looking for it for a while now..' Charles' message said.

'I really fucked up this time, didn't I?' He added.

'You kinda did.' You replied.

'I'm so sorry, y/n..'

'You're lucky your daughter adores you so much and you better send a plane for the two of us so we can make it to the race on time.'

part 3

@charlesgirl16 @aleatorio1234 @teamnovalak @watermelonslut @diaryofarandomkid @sunny44 @tempo-rary-fix @ggaslyp1 @janeh22 @seonghwaexile @seasonswinter @itgirlofthecenturysposts @ricciardosredbull @amz824 @sarx164

[d-z20]

Neighbourly Care part 3 (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You go home for Thanksgiving and who else joins your family but none other than their wonderful neighbours Agatha and Rio

-OR-

You struggle to make it through the meal and so does Agatha, but she "accidentally" spills her drink which means you fuck in the bathroom :)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, top Agatha, top Rio, fingering, oral, mention of humiliation kink

Words: 3.5k

A/N: THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE AND KUDOS!!! to celebrate here is a bonus seasonal chapter :D Happy Thanksgiving to those that celebrate, and to those who don't: enjoy the chapter anyway ;)

AO3 | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Master List

A Thanksgiving To Remember

As the morning light filters through the blinds, the hotel room is dim and quiet. You wake up slowly, feeling warm and content, your body still tingling from last night. You shift slightly, realising that Rio is already awake. She’s sprawled comfortably on her side, her head resting on the pillow, her hand absently stroking your arm. Her eyes flicker open as she senses you waking, and she smiles at you lazily.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Rio hums, stretching and running a hand through her hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Good thanks, how about you?" You smile, feeling the pull of her easy, bright energy. Was she always so upbeat in the mornings?

“I’m great. But she,” Rio gestures toward Agatha with a playful smirk, “isn’t a morning person.”

Behind you, Agatha just grumbles in response, muffling her face into the pillow and pulling you closer into her. Rio leans over, a mischievous grin on her face as she brushes Agatha’s hair from her face. “C’mon, darling, I’ll make you coffee,” she offers sweetly, but you can hear the hint of a challenge in her tone. 

Agatha groans again but finally starts to sit up, stretching with an audible crack in her spine. “Fine, fine,” Agatha mutters. “But it better be good, or I’ll go back to sleep.” 

Rio laughs and gets up to make coffee, leaving Agatha to rub her eyes before looking at you. You share a quiet moment, the lingering energy from the night before making the air between you feel heavy with unspoken thoughts.

As Rio busies herself in the kitchenette in the corner of the room, Agatha grabs her phone and starts swiping through it. Not wanting to bother her, you reach for your phone too. You’re happily scrolling when a notification pops up

MILF 1 has added you to the group chat.

MILF 1 named the group chat Check-In Group

MILF 1: There. You can’t ignore us now, sweetheart.

You’re smiling at your phone when you feel Rio standing next to you, coffee in hand

“What are you smiling at? Not another potential date, I hope." She meant it as a tease, but you can hear the hint of jealousy in her voice.

“No,” you chuckle. “In fact, it’s just the opposite; Agatha is making sure that never happens again.” You tilt your phone to show Rio the notifications.

She looks down at your phone, her eyes narrowing slightly at the screen. “Why do you have Agatha saved as MILF 1?” she asks, raising her voice loud enough so Agatha hears.

You laugh nervously and quickly glance at Agatha, who’s sitting up now and lazily sipping her coffee, her attention on the two of you. She raises an eyebrow at you, her eyes glinting with something more than just curiosity.

“Well?” Rio prompts, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

You squirm under their combined gazes, feeling both flustered and slightly turned on. “It’s just the truth,” you admit sheepishly, your voice dropping as you fidget with the comforter. “She is a mom, and, well, I do want to f—” You stop yourself just in time, your cheeks heating as you look anywhere but at them.

Rio raises an eyebrow, a wicked grin curling on her lips. “Oh? And what am I saved as?” she teases, voice low and playful. “Please tell me it’s not just MILF 2.”

Your face goes hot, and you start fiddling with the comforter in your lap. “It might be.”

Rio bursts into laughter. “You really couldn’t think of something more creative?” she asks, shaking her head in mock disapproval.

Agatha’s smile never fades, but her eyes darken, and she stands up, stretching slowly. “Okay, on that note, I’m going to go shower,” she says, cutting through the playful moment. She gives Rio a brief kiss on the cheek before heading toward the bathroom. “You two behave while I’m gone.”

As Agatha disappears into the bathroom, Rio sets her coffee cup on the nightstand and leans closer to you, her expression shifting. There’s an undeniable heat in her eyes as her lips brush against yours in a kiss that’s possessive and urgent. “So you like to fuck us, hmm?” she whispers against your lips, her breath warm as it fans over your skin.

Your breath catches as her words sink in, and your body reacts almost instantly, a tingling warmth pooling low in your belly.

When the bathroom door clicks shut behind Agatha, Rio doesn’t waste a second. She pushes you back against the pillows, her touch both gentle and commanding. The electricity in the air is palpable as her lips find yours again, her kiss deepening with every passing second.

You moan softly when her hand trails down your side, grazing your hip before slipping under your waistband. She pauses just long enough to murmur against your lips, “You’re already so excited for me. Do you like it that much when I humiliate you?” Her tone is teasing, but there’s an edge to it that makes you shiver.

Before you can answer, Rio presses her lips to yours again, cutting off any reply as her hand moves with a confidence that leaves you breathless. Her touch is slow at first, teasing, as though she’s savouring every little sound you make in response. The tension between you builds rapidly, and the air is charged with unspoken need.

Somewhere in the background, you faintly register the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. Rio pulls back just enough to mutter against your lips, her voice low and dripping with desire. “I’ve got about ten minutes until she's done showering.”

Her words send a shiver down your spine, the hunger in her tone unmistakable. You swallow hard, your pulse racing as you meet her gaze. “I don’t think we’ll need that long anyway,” you admit softly, your voice trembling slightly under the weight of her intensity.

Rio smirks, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction at your answer. She wets her fingers with your arousal before burying two of them inside you, igniting a fire in your core that threatens to consume you completely. “So eager for me already,” she murmurs, her voice both teasing and utterly dominating. Her words make your breath hitch, the hint of humiliation in her tone only heightening your anticipation as she begins to fuck you.

There is no slow buildup, and Rio is mercilessly fucking you in seconds, pulling sounds out of you that you didn’t even know you could make; you’re pretty sure that the whole floor can hear you now.

She starts to pump her fingers faster, and you can hear how wet you are. She takes your bottom lip between her teeth and bites down before soothing it with a quick swipe of her tongue. "Shhhhh, baby, try and keep quiet for me; Aggie can’t know what I’m doing.”

The idea that this sex was potentially forbidden pushes you over the edge, and you grip on to her shoulders for dear life as your orgasm comes crashing over you. You pull Rio into a messy kiss to try and dampen your moans as you wind down. She pulls her fingers out, humming with pleasure as she sucks them clean.

“Fucking hell,” you pant.

Rio looks at you with a devilish grin. 

The sound of the bathroom door opening jolts you out of the haze. Agatha steps into the room, towel-wrapped and hair damp, her expression calm as she surveys the scene. Rio immediately freezes, her eyes widening slightly like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

But Agatha doesn’t say a word. She simply raises an eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips, before turning back to the closet to finish getting ready. Her calm, collected demeanour somehow leaves you even more flustered than being caught outright.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur. After Agatha and Rio get you dressed, they drive you back to your college apartment; their voices light and playful. “Remember to actually text us this time,” Rio teases as she pulls up to the curb. “We’re not just for weekends, you know.”

“Yeah, text us, sweetheart,” Agatha adds with a soft smile. “We like hearing from you.”

“I will,” you promise, glancing at your phone, already thinking of what you were going to text them.

—

Later that evening, you’re mindlessly scrolling on your phone when you notice a new notification in your group chat with Agatha and Rio.

Check-In Group

MILF 2 changed the name to MILFs Anonymous

MILF 1: Rio!

MILF 2: Come on, just let me have this one thing :(

MILF 1: Fine, but Y/N, change our contact names now please

You roll your eyes at Rio’s antics but do as you’re told, not wanting to dissapoint Agatha; you still feel a bit guilty for having sex with Rio this morning.

—

Over the next few days, you find yourself texting with them more and more. The conversations flow easily—Agatha constantly checking in on you, always asking if you’ve eaten or if you’re doing alright. It’s sweet, in a way you didn’t expect, but it’s comforting. Rio, on the other hand, can’t resist sending her terrible dad jokes, which, despite your best efforts, always make you laugh.

MILFS Anonymous

~ 15:48

Rio: What do you call a group of crows that stick together?

You: Oh God, please stop

Agatha: Seriously. You’re not funny

Rio: VelCrows :)))

Agatha: Sometimes I wonder how I fell in love with you

Rio: It’s because I fuck you like there’s no tomorrow ;)

~ 21:17

Agatha: *click to open image*

Agatha: Huh, you don’t look like you’re doing much fucking to me

You drop your phone with a loud clatter. You were not expecting to see a picture of a Rio naked and tied to the bed with a vibrator pressed against her clit and by the looks of it, she had been like that for some time. You spend the rest of your evening fucking yourself to that image. Each time you think you’re done and can't cum any more, the image pops into your mind again, and you start to imagine all the things they would do if you were with them, and before you know it, your hand is back between your legs.

—

Thanksgiving break arrives faster than expected, and the familiar comfort of your parents' home feels like a welcome change from the chaos of college life. You arrive in the early afternoon, greeted by the warm aroma of roasted turkey and spiced pies wafting from the kitchen. It’s a little odd being home after everything that’s happened with Rio and Agatha, knowing they live just next door. You wonder if you’ll see them during your visit.

It turns out you don’t have to wonder for long.

A knock at the front door pulls you from your thoughts, and your dad answers with a cheerful, “Agatha! Rio! Happy Thanksgiving!”

Your stomach flips.

You appear in the hallway just in time to see them stepping inside, Agatha holding a neatly wrapped gift basket and Rio carrying what looks like a bottle of wine. They’re dressed casually but still look effortlessly gorgeous; Rio is dressed in a breezy striped blue shirt that’s half tucked into her jeans. The loose fit of the shirt somehow adds to her charm, her confident movements making it clear she’s completely at ease. Agatha, on the other hand, is the picture of sophistication, her fitted blazer in a warm mustard hue paired with a turtleneck and slacks giving her a commanding presence that turns heads—even in such a casual setting.

“We just wanted to drop this off,” Agatha says, her usual polished tone soft and warm. “A little something for the holiday.”

“Oh, nonsense, you’re not just dropping it off,” your mom insists, appearing behind your dad. “You’re staying for dinner. It’s the least we can do after everything you did for this one when they got locked out in the rain.”

Your heart nearly stops. You glance at Agatha, who meets your wide-eyed look with a calm, knowing smile.

“Really, it wasn’t any trouble,” Agatha says smoothly, a teasing lilt in her voice. “I mean, we could’ve just let them in with the spare key you gave us, but... well, we thought they might prefer a warm bed and some company at ours instead.”

Your cheeks burn as Rio chimes in, her grin bordering on wicked. “And they didn’t seem to mind one bit.”

Your parents laugh, completely oblivious to the deeper meaning behind the exchange, but you feel like you’re about to combust. Agatha and Rio both throw you brief, pointed glances before following your mom into the dining room, leaving you standing there trying to steady your racing heart.

—

Dinner starts off innocently enough, but the air feels charged in a way you can’t quite explain. You’re hyper-aware of Rio sitting across from you and Agatha beside you, their presence consuming all your focus.

Rio’s long fingers wrap elegantly around her wine glass as she listens to your dad talk, but her gaze keeps drifting to you, her lips curving into a faint smirk every time your eyes meet. Meanwhile, Agatha takes every opportunity to lean close, brushing her arm against yours under the guise of reaching for the breadbasket or whispering a sly comment in your ear that sends a jolt of heat straight to your core.

“You look a little flushed, sweetheart,” Agatha purrs at one point, her tone dripping with amusement. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, biting your lip to keep from saying something that would give you away. Rio catches the exchange and arches an eyebrow, her gaze flickering between the two of you knowingly.

It only gets worse as the meal progresses. Rio’s foot grazes yours under the table, lingering just long enough to send a thrill up your spine. 

When Agatha pours herself another glass of wine, she tilts the bottle toward you with a raised brow, silently asking if you’d like more. You nod, not trusting your voice. As she leans over to fill your glass, her lips brush your ear so faintly it feels like a whisper of air. “Behave, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her voice so low and intimate that a shiver runs down your spine.

You clench your thighs and glance up at her wide-eyed, but she only pulls back with that same subtle smile, her expression calm and unreadable.

You do your best to stay composed, but your mind is spinning. Every touch, every look, and every smirk makes it harder to focus on anything else.

Then, as if the universe wants to test your resolve further, Agatha “accidentally” spills a bit of wine on her sweater.

“Oh, shoot,” she says, dabbing at the stain with her napkin.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” your mom says quickly. “Y/N, show Agatha where the bathroom is, and grab her a clean top from the laundry room, will you?”

You nod, your pulse quickening as you rise from the table. Agatha follows you down the hall, her calm exterior betraying nothing, but you can feel the tension radiating off her like heat. You scurry off to grab Agatha a clean top and quickly show her to the bathroom.

The moment you’re alone in the room, she closes the door behind you with a soft click and turns to face you, her expression shifting from composed to utterly predatory.

“Finally,” she murmurs, stepping closer, her voice low and thick with desire. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to keep my hands off you all evening?”

Your breath catches as she backs you against the counter, her hands finding your waist and pulling you flush against her. Her lips are on yours before you can respond, the kiss hungry and demanding, igniting a fire in your chest that spreads through your entire body.

“Agatha, we—” you start to protest, your voice a shaky whisper, but she silences you with another kiss, her hands sliding up your sides to cup your face.

“They’re none the wiser,” she murmurs against your lips, her voice sending shivers down your spine. “Now, let me have you for just a moment.”

Before you can respond, Agatha’s hands drift lower, deftly removing anything on your bottom half that will get in the way of her goal and letting the fabric fall to the tiled floor. Her gaze darkens as she sinks to her knees in front of you, her palms sliding down your thighs, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

Her eyes flick up to meet yours, full of lust and mischief, as she leans in closer. “Dripping everywhere,” she murmurs, her voice husky and teasing, her lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “Just like the first time we were in a bathroom together. Seems I have a knack for this, don’t I?”

Your heart pounds in your chest as her words hang in the air, her presence between your legs sending a surge of electricity through you.

It might be Thanksgiving, but your body feels like the Fourth of July when she drags her tongue from your entrance to your clit. She sucks it into her mouth and flicks lightly with the tip of her tongue before releasing it and going back to push her tongue inside you. The woman is on a mission and wastes no time in bringing you close to your climax in record time.

Her hand clamps over your mouth, not willing to risk you letting the whole street know that you’re going to cum, and then, with a final flick of her tongue, you’re glad she did because the orgasm hits you like a fucking 18-wheeler truck, your legs start to shake, and you have to grip on to the sink to stop yourself from collapsing. 

Your breathing comes in ragged gasps as the world tilts back into focus, your body still trembling from the intensity of what just happened. Agatha stands, her movements unhurried and precise as she grabs a tissue and delicately wipes the corner of her mouth, her expression one of calm satisfaction.

"Still as sweet as I remember," she murmurs, her voice low and teasing as she crumples the tissue and tosses it into the small trash can by the sink.

You blink at her, still clinging to the edge of the sink for balance, your legs shaky and your mind a hazy blur of aftershocks. Agatha’s hands are steady as she helps you straighten your clothes, her touch lingering just a moment too long, her fingers grazing the small of your back before she steps away.

She smooths the fresh top you fetched for her, giving herself a quick once-over in the mirror. Perfectly put together, not a single hair out of place. You can’t help but marvel at her composure, especially when you feel like you’ve just been turned inside out.

Agatha turns back to you, a soft, almost maternal smile on her lips as she gives your ass a light pat. “Go on, darling,” she says, her tone playful but firm. “Head back out there before they start to wonder. I’ll be right behind you.”

You swallow hard, willing your legs to cooperate, and make your way back to the dining room, still trying to regain your composure.

The two of you return to the dining room during dessert, the scent of sweet pies and coffee wafting in the air. Agatha looks completely composed now, her clean top fitting snugly as she takes her seat next to you. She even stops for a moment to dab a napkin at the corner of her mouth—the perfect picture of elegance considering she was wiping away the last remnants of your cum. You, however, can feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you settle down, trying not to meet anyone’s gaze too directly.

From the other side of the table, Rio watches the two of you with a smirk that’s far too knowing for comfort. She raises her glass in a small toast, the corner of her lips quirking in amusement before she takes a slow sip.

“So,” she says casually, her tone light but her eyes sparkling with mischief, “did the mess get sorted out?”

Agatha doesn’t miss a beat, shooting her a calm, collected smile. “All taken care of. They were very helpful.” She says, draping an arm around the back of your chair.

Your mother beams, none the wiser. “Well, that’s sweet. Always good to know you’ve got a helping hand.”

Rio stifles a laugh behind her hand, her eyes meeting yours briefly. The heat simmering beneath your skin refuses to let up, and you can only hope that dessert wraps up soon—before someone else catches on.

-----

"we could’ve just let them in with the spare key"

*humming* it was Agatha all along

⚠️Remember⚠️validation saves lives (this fic dies when I believe nobody likes it anymore because I have imposter syndrome)

READ PART 4

-----

taglist: @aceday @valarmorghuli @ctrlamira @lezbean-with-a-side-of-dilfs @noturlondonboy @darkangelchronicles @4theluvofsapphos

[entitled-fangirl]

I'll always be thanking you.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Summary: The reader goes through postpartum depression after she gives him yet another girl. Cregan reassures her that he loves his daughters.

Warnings: postpartum depression, recovering from childbirth, sexist culture

Masterlist

A/n: it's a two fic kinda day

...............................................................................

It had happened so suddenly.

Cregan thought all was right in the world. Everything was set in place by the Old Gods as it should be. Everything was perfect.

But he knew that the last two pregnancies had been unkind to her, prompting a horrid depression after them that went on for months. But when it hadn't shown yet for this last one, he thought that perhaps it had stopped completely.

Until now.

He stepped into their chamber with a broad smile, lightly bouncing the two-year-old on his arm. Arya. She giggled with each one, the sound distorted with the force of the bounces. Witnessing the intimidating man turn soft for the little girl was entirely endearing. 

"Your mother is still in bed," he chipped lightly as he observed his wife covered by the furs they shared every night.

"She always in bed," Lyanna, their five year old said as she trailed behind them.

"Not always," Cregan corrected firmly. "She just gave us your new sister. It takes a long time for the body and mind to recover from something that great."

A small shaking of his wife's shoulders from her laying form in the bed caused him to worry slightly. "Lyanna, why don't you take your sister?"

She wanted to complain but knew better than to argue with her father. She took the toddler's hand and they walked out from the room.

Cregan's recovering wife laid in their bed, completely unmoving except for the small shoulder shake he'd seen. It was a quiver and it sent him on edge. She only ever did that when-

"Are you crying?" He whispered as he sat on the bed, her back to him.

Finally she turned. She had been awake the entire time. Her face was red from crying, the paths of her tears evident on her face. Her lips pouted down as she suppressed a sob.

Cregan was quick to comfort her. He practically laid his body over hers, keeping an arm around her to let her weep into his collarbone. And she did so.

He cooed every few moments, his free hand rubbing at her hair. The tears pained him almost as much as watching her endure the harsh labor only a two weeks before.

When the violent part of the crying was over, he pulled her face away to look at her. "Now," he caressed her cheek, "What is all this for?"

She sniffled and hiccuped between words. "It's just… just… Sarra."

His face fell. "Is something wrong with the babe?"

"No. It's just…" she caught her breath. "Another girl."

Cregan's head tilted. "It is," he reckoned. "What is the problem, my love?"

"Can I not give you a boy?" She whispered in fear of the answer.

Realization flooded Cregan. "You're doing nothing wrong," he assured. "I love my girls with all my heart. Did you want a boy this badly?"

"I just want you to be proud of me."

He visibly flinched. The thought of his postpartum wife crying over giving him a healthy baby was too much for him. "I'm proud of you. You've given me three girls now."

"But it's not a boy." Her eyes continually welled up with tears. "I was so sure it was a boy."

"Do you think me that shallow, dear wife?" He asked in a firm tone. "That I'd have you birth children until I got a boy?"

"Two," she corrected. "You need an heir and a spare and I-" her breath caught. "I cannot even give you one. A cursed womb-"

"Don't say that." His voice was a firm growl, his hand grabbing her jaw a bit harder than he meant to. "Do not say that."

A few tears ran down her cheeks.

Cregan forced a sigh and let his anger die down. He sat up a bit, giving her space. "Do you think that all I wanted in this world were two sons? Do you think that is all my heart desires?"

It was clear that she knew deep down how ridiculous she sounded. "Well-"

"-I've said it many times. What does my heart desire? Hmm? What brightens my day more than the sun?"

She let out a breath through her nose.

Cregan continued, tilting his head down to catch her gaze. "My wife and what? What else?"

"Your children," she whispered.

"Hm?" He asked, though he clearly heard it. He just wanted her to say it once again.

"Your children," she said a bit louder. 

He smiled. "Yes, our children." He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "Whether we had had one or you give me an army, I shall love them all until my remains in the crypt are long gone. Being a boy or girl doesn't change it."

"But… Winterfell-"

"-We'll deal with the succession when it is meant to happen. Until now, you're going to rest, and I'm going to spend time with our children. But I'm not going anywhere until you've done your part."

"The maester said it would take much longer to heal this time," she muttered. To herself or Cregan, she wasn't sure.

"That's alright. We've got all the time we need for now, don't we? No need to rush things."

"But the sooner we try-"

"-No-"

"-And Sarra was such a surprise-"

"-Stop-"

"-The next one could be sooner-"

"-Love," he said with a slightly raised voice. "When you're healed and ready to try once more, I will be eternally grateful. But I can wait a lifetime if I need to. I have all I need in the world already."

There was a small knock on the door. "Papa?"

No doubt it was Arya.

Cregan grinned and kissed his wife's temple before going to the door. In the doorway stood little Arya, her hair a sandy brown like Cregan's, her bright eyes like her mother. "What do you need?" It was a firm ask from him, but not one without care.

Arya had yet to say complete sentences yet, only a few  words here and there and the lord would be forced to try to make sense of them. She babbled about something and Cregan's brows raised, completely at a loss. "Um… I-"

"Here, darling," Y/n's soft voice came from behind Cregan as she walked to them. In her hand was Arya's doll that she had no doubt dropped earlier. It was a carefully sewn piece from Cregan's bastard sister, Sara, of whom the new babe was named after. "I see Aunt Sara got a new dress for her, hm?"

Arya grabbed the doll quickly from her mother and hugged the doll tightly. 

Cregan wrapped an arm around his wife. He wanted to scold her for getting up but he would refrain from that for now. "Aye. A very pretty dress," he tried to compliment. Cregan didn't know the first thing about sewing or doll making, or even the fashion of ladies, but he tried anyway to please his girls.

Arya's brows came together in clear confusion, prompting his wife to lightly elbow him. He gave a grunt and gawked.

"It's a battle dress," she spoke through her teeth. "It's a doll dressed like a female warrior."

He decided to go along with it, though he clearly didn't understand it. "I mean, what a very fierce dress. Seems very… protective."

Arya accepted that answer and held the doll out for Cregan to truly see. His gruff hand reached out and took the doll, bringing it up to his level to admire. His sister had done well with it, even he could see that. "So very pr-" he caught himself. "So very strong."

Arya jumped up to grab the doll and Cregan handed it back to her. The two parents watched her take off again like nothing had happened. 

"How'd you know what she wanted?" He asked his wife.

She rubbed at her tired eyes, ignoring the slight ache in her thighs. "She said so. Didn't you hear it?"

"We have three lovely girls and I still have so much to learn," he remarked, amusement oozing from his voice.

She gave a tired grin at that. She began leaning more into him than before and he held her hips taught. "Now," he remarked, "to bed with you."

"Sarra might need me-"

"-I'll check on Sarra."

"And Lyanna was hoping to play outside-"

"-I'll see to it."

"And Arya-"

"-What of Arya?" He asked quietly.

She paused. "I- She always needs something."

He let out a deep chuckle, guiding her back to the bed. "I'll see to it all. I promise you. I can be a father, whether you believe that or not."

She hummed. "I do."

"Alright. Then let me." He kissed her cheek, his scruff rubbing at her skin. "We'll get you in bed."

"Can the girls visit later?" 

He couldn't deny those bright eyes of hers. The same ones each of his girls inherited. It was his one weakness. "After you sup, then yes. But that is in a few hours."

Relief and excitement pulled at her shoulders, a comforting feeling washing over her. "Thank you."

As he tucked her back into the bed, he smiled at her. "Don't thank me. You've given me everything. I'll always be thanking you."

................................................

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar @kidd3ath @yujyujj @misswynters @cosmosnkaz @sithapprentice @kaniromi @lovemesomevesey @its-jackie-bb @thorins-queen-of-erebor @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn @callsignwidow @a1lexh-blog @alyssa-dayne @ethereal-athalia @ashovertheriver @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @dozcan123 @wangjiangelangel @kamitargaryen @aegonswife @lv7867 @helpmedecideaname @cherryheairt @classicsimpforaaronwarner

[headkiss]

something more

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

summary: you and aaron are friends with feelings more obvious than you think. or: 5 times the team suspects you and hotch are dating +1 time they know it.

word count: 6.6k

warnings: friends to lovers, the team being a little nosy, pining idiots!!!, probably inaccurate descriptions of bau jobs (for the plot!), a very small injury, a birthday, a first kiss, and fluff!

a/n: hiii this one has been a long time coming so thank you guys for being so patient with me!!! and special thanks to the anon who requested this one! i hope u guys enjoy it and please please let me know what you think <3 ily

༄

Aaron Hotchner was never someone you thought you could be this close to.

Coming to the BAU, you’d been intimidated more than anything. As Unit Chief, he’s got a reputation that’s hard to ignore. Professional, brave, cold when he has to be. His success and talent were undeniable, and all you wanted to do was prove that you belonged there, too.

Then, you really met him, and he surprised you in a way you hadn’t expected. Hotch was kind right off the bat, welcoming you to the team with a smile that felt like some sort of prize.

He was an excellent boss. Understanding and protective, quick to defend anyone on the team like they were his own family. Except, he was so much more than just your boss.

Now, you’d call him your closest friend, someone who’s number you’d call if you were in trouble. He’s your closest friend and yet you feel so much more for him.

It started slow, a friendship blooming the way a plant does with just enough sunlight. It was a shared smile here, a nudge of the shoulder there. It grew to be a seat next to him reserved for you on every plane ride.

Today, it’s eating lunch with him in his office.

Aaron usually works through lunch, more eager to get things done than he is to worry about skipping a meal. Somehow, with two tupperware containers in your hand and a sweet smile, you’d managed to get him to take a break.

“Whatcha doing?” You’d asked.

Hotch looked up from his paperwork then, dropping his pen because you were in his doorway. “You know, Unit Chief business. Reports.”

“Sounds like you have time for lunch, then.” You set the containers down on his desk, making sure to avoid the papers he’d just been working on.

“I should really get this done-”

“Hotch,” you stopped him, “you and I both know that you’re always ahead on this stuff because you stay here so late. Lunch won’t set you back.”

With a shake of his head and the biting back of a smile, a simple twitch at the corners of his mouth, Aaron agreed and stacked his paperwork off to the side.

That’s how you’ve ended up in the chair that’s usually on the opposite side of his desk, only now it’s tugged to be next to his. Your knees touch every so often when one of you shifts, and the warmth stays with you even when the contact is gone.

“Sorry it’s nothing fancy,” you say as he opens the container you brought for him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s great.” Hotch has a way of saying things that make them sound true, no matter how few words he uses, so you accept it.

“Okay, good!” There’s a small silence, a lull as you both take your first bites. “Can I help with anything?”

Aaron looks from the paperwork to your face, your eyes already on his. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” you reassure him. “I think sometimes you forget that you aren’t the only one who can do this stuff.”

He knocks his knee against yours. Purposeful this time. A silent ‘thank you.’

“Like you said, I’m ahead anyways. I’ve got it.”

“Come on, Hotch. I’m already done with my report from our last case. I’ve got time. Let me help.”

He’s always been reluctant to accept help, to ask for it, but when you’re asking so sweetly, when it’ll give him an excuse to spend more time with you, it’s hard for Aaron to say no.

“Alright. You help for an hour, that’s it.”

You grin at him, like his acceptance of your offer was some kind of gift he’d given you. Your nose crinkles a little with it, and his hand flexes in his lap, like he’s fighting not to reach out to you.

“Okay, put me to work, boss.”

“We just started lunch,” he says, a little chuckle puffing out.

“Have you ever heard of multitasking, Agent Hotchner?”

Aaron laughs, shaking his head as he reaches for one of the files in the stack he’d made and hands it to you. He’d call everyone at the BAU a friend, but there’s something different, something more about how he’d describe you.

He’s grown closer to you than he usually lets himself get to people, like you’re the only one with the right tools to break through walls he’s put up. You see each other outside of work (on the rare days you aren’t working), and still, he feels like it’s never long enough.

Hotch briefly wonders if he could just move your desk into his office. He shakes off the thought and what it might mean.

Head bent, you’re now focused on the work he gave you, and Aaron takes the chance to admire you. His eyes flick over your profile, the light hitting your cheeks, the flutter of your eyelashes every time you blink.

As if you could feel his gaze on you, you turn towards him and smile—a small, closed-mouth smile, but a smile all the same—before turning your attention back to the page.

When you take a pause and take another bite of your lunch, a small drop of sauce lands on your thigh. “Oh, shit.”

Aaron grabs a tissue from the box on his desk, wrapping it over his fingertip before wiping the small spot from your leg, his finger a spark against you even through your pants.

“Good thing you wore black,” he says, tossing the tissue in the garbage. His hand, however, stays on your leg, and though the touch is light the weight of it feels the opposite. Heavy, huge.

“Good thing you’re here to clean up after me, more like.”

Your eyes meet, and you share a smile with Hotch the way you often do. Mid-conversation, across a room, it’s a smile you sort of reserve for each other.

In the main office below, Derek, Spencer, and JJ stand together, watching the interaction through the window into Hotch’s office. You and Aaron seem to be in your own bubble, completely unaware of your small audience.

“They’ve gotta be together,” Derek is the first to speak, waving a hand towards the office where you and Hotch are talking. “I mean, come on.”

“I don’t know,” JJ shrugs, “they both seem kinda clueless.”

“We probably shouldn’t speculate about them,” Spencer, always the sweetheart, says. “But, statistically, Hotch never eats lunch. Just saying.”

JJ pats Reid on the shoulder, huffing out a laugh before she heads back to her desk.

You stay in Aaron’s office much longer than an hour that day.

-

Punctuality is important in the BAU. Really, if you’re not early, you’re late. You’ve always got to be ready, wheels up in ten, or five.

You suppose that doesn’t really apply to outside-of-the-office parties at Garcia’s.

It’s rare that you’re all available at the same time, from late nights at the bureau to families, it’s tough to make your schedules line up when you aren’t working, which is why whenever she can, Penelope likes to host drinks for the team.

You’re on your way there now, or, you should be. Instead, you’re getting ready in your bedroom while Aaron waits in your living room.

Hotch has offered to drive you to these things every time, and with every offer, comes your easy answer of ‘yes.’ He’d been outside in his car for five minutes before he decided to call, because you’re usually in his passenger seat within seconds of him pulling over by your building.

The ringing of your phone had your eyes blinking open, squinted against the sudden brightness of your TV. You’d accidentally fallen asleep, and, still disoriented, picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, everything okay?” It’s Aaron’s voice on the other line, and you pull your phone away for a second to check the time before sitting up quickly.

“Shit, Hotch, I must’ve fallen asleep. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, I can wait for you.” He’d wait as long as you need, he thinks. The thought passes through like a leaf blown in the wind, freely, randomly.

“Have you been waiting long?” You ask, fingers tugging at a loose thread in your pants.

“No, don’t worry. Barely five minutes.”

And he still wanted to check on you.

“Why don’t you come in? My couch is probably more comfortable than your car, right?”

“You sure?” He checks, like he hasn’t been to your place before, like you’d ever not want him there.

“Get in here, Hotchner.”

You hung up before he could reply, and he laughed to himself in his car before shutting it off and doing exactly what you’d told him.

So, now, you’re rushing to find an outfit while Aaron sits on your couch by himself.

Even though he’s in the next room, you can feel his presence around you, the steady security he gives you, the warmth that seeps out of him even when he tries to hide it.

You settle on a knitted sweater, a skirt, and some tights, which you realize as you tug them on aren't the speediest of options, but it’s too late to change your mind now. With your hair figured out and the mascara that had smudged during your nap fixed, you step back out into the living room.

Aaron made himself at home while you were gone (he often feels that way with you, at home), sitting on your couch with his arms spread across the back. He looks better than he should there, suit stretched across his shoulders, and you have to clear your throat to snap yourself out of it.

“Okay, sorry again for the delay. I’m ready to go.”

He looks up as soon as you walk in, eyes skimming over your legs and the tights wrapped around them, your waist, up your neck. His gaze lands on your eyes the way it often does, like magnets.

He shakes his head, “don’t be sorry. We’ll be what they call ‘fashionably late.’”

You laugh, because who would’ve thought that the words ‘fashionably late’ would ever come out of Aaron Hotchner’s mouth.

“Who taught you that one, huh?”

“I like to keep my sources anonymous.”

“Well okay, then. Let’s go be fashionably late, Hotch.”

He lets you lead the way to the car, only jogging up ahead to open your door before you can reach it yourself.

During the drive to Penelope’s, you take control of the music with little objection from Aaron, and when it gets to a song you know he likes, you sing along, encouraging him to do the same.

“Let’s hear it, Agent Hotchner.” You hold your fist out like there’s a microphone in it, looking at him with a grin on your face.

“I can't sing.” Aaron’s fighting off a smile, because you’re sitting beside him, not too shy to sing along, being all cute and, briefly, he thinks about reaching out and grabbing your hand and holding on.

“Sure you can! Everyone can sing, come on.” You unfurl your faux microphone-holding fist and tug on the knot of his tie, “loosen up a little.”

And, because you have some way of convincing him of things—first lunch, now this—he humors you by joining in for one chorus of the song. When your eyes light up a little, and your grin only widens, he can’t bring himself to be too concerned of how bad he probably sounds.

By the time you’re at Garcia’s door you’re a solid hour late, yet you and Aaron walk up to the door with matching smiles all the same.

“I’m getting you to do that every time I hear that song now, I hope you know.”

“That was a one time special,” he says. He reaches over your shoulder to knock on the door. His hand brushes against you, featherlight and quick, a crackle over your skin.

On the other side, Morgan says, “must be the lovebirds” when he hears the sound.

You and Aaron don’t hear him, only broken out of your little shared bubble when Penelope opens the door. “There you guys are! I made your drinks but the ice might be melted by now. You know, ‘cause you’re late.”

You know this is directed towards you more than it is Hotch, because Garcia’s a little intimidated by him still. You also know she’s only joking, and greet her with a hug before stepping in.

Aaron isn’t far behind you, though at these things, he never is.

You’re met with warm greetings from the team when you walk in, and you chat for a bit, but it isn’t long before things split off into smaller conversations. They all know that Aaron drives you to these things, and, as profilers, they’re also all able to see the way you look at each other, the way the knot of his tie sits lower than usual.

In the corner, Emily leans over to Derek, saying, “usually it takes at least two drinks for Hotch’s tie to look like that.”

“I told you, they’re together,” Derek shrugs.

“I don’t think they know that,” Emily replies.

This time, Aaron hears them, and he can’t help but look towards you in the room the rest of the night, thinking and thinking and thinking.

He ends up deciding that they might have a point. That maybe, that shift in his heartbeat when you’re around isn’t nothing, isn’t just friends.

-

The flight home from a case always feels the longest.

On the way there, you’re packing every hour with information about what’s going on, talking to Garcia, reading police reports. You’re all on edge, eager to get out there and help and do your jobs,

Then, on the way home, with another case solved, all you’re thinking about is going home, sleeping in your own bed, and time seems to go slower.

If your name happens to be Aaron Hotchner, you’d spend the plane ride home doing paperwork that actually can wait.

You and Aaron sit next to each other on pretty much every flight, though the seats have never been assigned. It’s an unspoken thing, like your names are written on the fabric of the same two seats on the jet and that’s just the way it is.

The first time was early on in your time on the team. It was a tough case for you, and Hotch seemed to know it without you having to say anything, so, when you got on the jet to come home, he smiled that small, twitch of his lips smile at you and nodded at the seat next to him. You’ve been sitting there ever since.

Today, your flight is on the shorter side, but feels long the way it always does. Trying to keep yourself occupied, you pull out your earbuds and shuffle your playlist, hoping that the songs will speed things up.

“Sick of me already?” Hotch speaks up when he notices your headphones.

You tilt your head to look at him. He looks tired, the way you’re sure you do, too, but never any less handsome. His eyes are soft where they meet yours, paired with a hint of a smile that you’re always able to catch.

“Sick of you, Hotch? Never.” You nod at the file he has open on the small table, “just didn’t want to distract you.”

“I thought you enjoyed distracting me. Always telling me I work too much.”

“‘Cause it’s true,” you say. “That doesn’t mean you listen.”

“I listen to you more than I listen to most people.” Aaron’s voice is gentle when he says it, the words sinking in and melting you just a little, sugary sweet. It could mean absolutely nothing, but with the way he keeps his eyes steady on yours, you don’t think it does.

“Listen to this, then,” you hand him one of your earbuds, and his fingers brush yours when he takes it from you. “But you can’t make fun of me if a musical soundtrack comes on, okay?”

“Okay,” he huffs a small laugh, and you feel a little brighter. “I promise.”

You’re aware of the team having their own conversations in the rows in front of you and Hotch, but you can’t bring yourself to join in, because you and Aaron are sharing your earbuds and his head is bent just a little closer to yours. It’s delicate, and you’ll do your best not to break it.

You talk a little longer, until it naturally fizzles out and Hotch is back to working on his files and you’re bobbing your head along to your songs. Only now, Aaron sits closer to you, his arm against yours.

He’s not sure what to do with his newfound realization that his feelings for you run far deeper than friendship. All Aaron knows is that he likes the feeling of you beside him, and that he’s planning on keeping you there as long as you’ll let him.

It’s quiet between the two of you aside from your occasional ‘this is a good one,’ and his hum of acknowledgement.

Eventually, you’re relaxed enough that your eyes grow heavy, the sleep you’ve been lacking suddenly catching up to you, and when you hit a patch of slower songs you’re fighting to stay awake.

When your head lulls onto Hotch’s shoulder, you jerk your head up, “sorry, Aaron.”

His chest does something funny. A jump. It’s not often you call him Aaron, and he’d listen to the sound of his name on your lips on a loop if he could. Because he can’t help himself, he scooches himself even closer to you.

He decides to call you something different, too, saying, “it’s alright, honey.”

You’re too sleepy to really read into that one, all you feel is the flutter in your stomach and Aaron’s hand on your head, gently guiding it to his shoulder.

When he’s sure you’re asleep, Hotch looks away from his files and over to you. Your cheek is squished against his shoulder, your lashes fanned shut. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

Aaron doesn’t even feel the smile that spreads over his face as he reaches up and pushes your hair away from your face. He’s completely unaware of the eyes that catch him, far too focused on you.

Emily turned around when she realized she hadn’t heard your voice in a bit, and she did it just in time to catch Hotch’s movement. Instead of saying something, she turns back around and shakes her head to herself.

Hopeless, she thinks.

Sleep doesn’t come so easily with this job, with the things you see, so Aaron can’t help but try and stay steady for you, and if that leads to him letting his eyes close and resting his head on yours, then so be it.

It’s not until the end of the flight that the team checks on the two of you. As everyone stands and grabs their go bags, they notice the two of you, asleep next to each other, earbud wires hanging between you.

“Should we wake them up?” JJ asks.

“Hotch doesn’t get enough sleep as it is,” Spencer chimes in. “Neither does she, actually.”

Of course, Derek finishes with, “let’s leave the lovebirds to it,” before the team gets off the plane.

It’s only about twenty minutes later that Aaron does wake up, but he feels more well-rested than he has in a while, even with the kink in his neck.

Blinking his eyes open, he’s met with an empty jet and the comforting weight of your head on his shoulder. “Shit,” he sighs.

He debates waking you, ultimately deciding that you’d probably rather sleep in your bed rather than the seat of the BAU’s jet. Reaching up, he pulls your earbuds away, setting them on the table. With a brush of his fingertips to your cheek, he coaxed you awake.

“Hey, honey,” Aaron’s nearly whispering, like he’s afraid to scare you. Or, maybe, he’s convinced that if he moves too quickly, too loudly, this whole thing will fade away as if he’d been dreaming. “Wake up, we’re home.”

“Hm?” You grumble, scrunching your nose when he brushes your cheek again.

“We fell asleep, but we landed.”

“Oh, god.” You sit up properly, lifting your head. “I’m sorry, Aaron. Hotch.”

“Aaron is good,” he eases you. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

Sleep-hazed, or maybe just happy that he can be Aaron to you, you agree easily and take his hand when he offers it, letting him lead you to his car.

-

You’ve been spending more time at Aaron’s ever since that flight. In the car, he’d convinced you to stay over at his place in the guest room, since it was closer. With your go bag already in his car and heavy, sleepy eyes, it was hard for you to do anything but agree.

It’s another slice of his life that he’s let you see, and you can’t help but feel like it means something, like you’re stepping further and further away from being coworkers who are friends and towards something different. Something more.

That flight feels like the catalyst, the thing that caused things to shift into what they are now.

Aaron’s couch is much more comfortable than yours, and though you’ve yet to spend the night again, you’re sitting there with him at almost every chance. The time off you get is rare, and Aaron wanting to spend it with you sends flutters to your stomach whenever you think about it.

You feel like you know him better, getting to see his space, how he chose to decorate, what colors he likes, which ones he doesn’t. You also know what temperature he likes to set his thermostat.

“Do you enjoy living in a refrigerator?” You ask, hands tucked into your sleeves. “Just wondering.”

Aaron laughs, a small huff, “I think you just run cold, honey.”

He’s been calling you that a lot, too. Honey.

“No way, Hotchner. Your house is what runs cold. Or maybe you’re cold-blooded.”

Not with you, he thinks. Years and years of doing what he does, Hotch might even call himself cold when he’s thinking a little too hard. But never cold with you. He thinks that might be impossible for him.

“Shhh, don’t tell anyone my secret,” he says, his arm brushing against yours from where he sits next to you on his couch. “Where are you cold?”

“Can’t feel my toes, Aaron. I might be out of commission for the next case.”

“Well we can’t lose our best girl, can we?” Best girl, he says. Like he means it, like it’s simple. “I’ve got some thick socks you can grab. Bottom drawer.”

Just like that, he’s cracked another wall of his down even further, giving you permission to go into his bedroom as if you’ve been in there a thousand times.

“Really?”

“Unless you’d rather not feel your toes-“

“Okay, okay,” you stop him, unable to fight your smile. “Thanks, Aaron.”

When you stand and head towards his room, Aaron can’t stop himself from thinking that you belong there, in his home, his room, his life. You fit in so seamlessly he wishes you’d never leave.

He stands up too, because the couch suddenly feels sort of empty without you beside him, without your warmth. He walks over to his thermostat on the wall and turns it up for you.

You’ve always thought that you can tell a lot about a person from where they live, and seeing Aaron’s bedroom now solidifies it. His place does too, but there’s something about his bedroom that feels much more personal.

Here, there’s more of him, little bits of his life scattered around. A picture of him as a kid with his parents on the dresser, the newspaper’s crossword sitting completely finished on his nightstand, his bed neatly made.

You smile at the framed photo before slipping the top drawer open and finding the pair of socks he’d been talking about. As much as you’d love to snoop, you don’t want to invade his privacy in any way. Besides, from Aaron, even a glimpse of his space feels special.

You slip on the socks before you leave his room, letting them bunch at your ankles.

As soon as you walk back into the living room, Aaron’s phone rings. Glancing at you softly, almost apologetically though he’s got nothing to be sorry about—you work with him, you know how important a call can be—he picks it up.

“Hotchner,” he says, holding it to his ear. His voice is different this way, more professional, controlled. Never any less pleasing to hear.

He’d wanted to say something about how good you look in his clothes when his phone rang, Garcia’s name flashing on the screen. Aaron wishes it was someone else, only to spend more time with you this way.

“Sorry to call late, sir,” Penelope says. “We’ve got a case. Missing kid; it’s urgent.”

“Don’t be sorry, Garcia. We’re on our way.”

“Wait, we?” She asks, curious as always.

“What’s going on?” You ask Aaron.

“Got a case. I’ll drive, honey.” He lets the pet name slip, like it’s a habit.

On the other line, Garcia’s grinning to herself in her office. She’d had a suspicion of who on the team Hotch would be with outside of work, and hearing your voice, and his use of the word ‘honey’ all sticky sweet, she knows she’s onto something.

“Oh, that’s ‘we,’” Penelope’s voice teases. “Tell her I’ll see you guys soon!”

Aaron shakes his head, fighting his smile. “Bye, Garcia.”

He hangs up and looks from his phone to you, your eyes already on him, corners of your mouth tugged up just a little like you’d heard what Garcia said, heard the lilt in her voice. Like you liked the idea of you and Aaron being a unit. We.

He likes that idea, too.

Back at the BAU, Garcia calls Derek next, who picks up with his classic, “hey, babygirl.”

First, she tells him that he needs to come into the office, that they’ve got a case, then, “you’re never going to believe this.”

Penelope loves to talk, and Derek’s happy to listen, so she tells him about how you’d been with Aaron when she called, and that you were on your way together.

“I give them another week, max, before they’re holding hands when they come in.” Derek laughs, because he can see yours and Hotch’s feelings so easily, plain as day, and he loves to be right about things.

“How mad will Hotch be when he finds out that we talk about his relationship?” Penelope’s mostly joking, only a fraction concerned.

“If the boss didn’t want us talking about it, he shouldn’t be so obvious, sweetheart.”

Once you arrive at the office, you don’t catch Penelope and Derek’s shared looks behind yours and Aaron’s—who happens to be carrying both his and your go bag—backs.

And if anyone notices the loose socks around your ankles, they don’t say anything about it.

-

You’re not supposed to go off on your own unless it’s absolutely necessary. You know that, the team knows that. Aaron, who is always trying to keep you as safe as possible, enforces it.

You guess that this time might be up for debate.

When it comes to what you do, you have to trust your instincts most of the time. And today, your gut told you to make a decision that might not have been safe, but to you, it felt like what you had to do.

Aaron had been on the phone with you, trying to figure out a way to make the car drive any faster to get to you. He’d heard it in your voice, in the tone of it, that he couldn’t convince you to wait for someone else to show up.

“I have to do this, Aaron,” you’d said. While the team would normally probably tease him about you calling him Aaron, as if it isn’t his name, they’d known not to interrupt this time. “You know I do.”

“You don’t have to.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he spoke. “We’ll be there soon, alright? Just-”

“I’m sorry.” And then, you hung up.

In the end, going in when you did had been the right move. A life had been saved, and you’d slowed the guy down enough that the police were able to arrest him when they arrived. All it cost you was a cut and a bruise on your cheek.

So, your instincts weren’t so bad.

Aaron, however, disagrees. Logically, he knows that he would’ve done the exact same thing you did, knows the rest of the team would’ve, too. But when it comes to you, he has a hard time thinking logically.

After you hung up on him, all he could do was breathe and breathe and breathe over the heavy thumping of his heartbeat and the worry spinning in his head. He drove the quickest he could manage, the car silent inside. A static.

It’s not that he doubts your abilities—he’s always thought you were incredible, even before the friendship, even before now—only that the idea of you being alone with such a bad man makes him feel sick.

He’d take your place in a heartbeat, if he could, just to make sure you’d be safe.

By the time he and the rest of the team get to the scene, you’re walking out of the building with a hand pressed to your cheek and a paramedic leading you to a nearby ambulance.

Aaron spots you right away, his eyes scanning the small crowd through red and blue lights and conversations surrounding him. When he spots you, everything goes quiet.

His first thought is, thank god she’s alive, then, it’s fuck, she’s hurt.

Without a word to anyone, he heads over in your direction right away. He meets you at the ambulance, where you sit on the small bench inside while the paramedic presses your cheek with gauze.

“Honey.” It comes out in a breath. Relief and pain all at once.

You look over to him, his hair a little messy, his eyes wide and roaming all over you like he’s checking for any other injuries. He cares about you, and it’s written all over him.

“Aaron. I’m okay.” You hold a hand out, and he grabs it, sitting beside you on the bench in the ambulance. “Promise.”

For now, he nods, letting the paramedic do their job bandaging up your cheek. When they’re finished, they hand you a spare bandage saying, “it’s gonna bruise, and it might feel sore for a bit, but you’re all patched up.”

The paramedic leaves after that, probably going to check on other people. The lights inside the ambulance seem to cocoon you, a bright difference to the darkness outside.

The first thing Aaron says is, “let me see.”

His hands reach for your face, rough fingertips gently holding your jaw, tilting you so that he can look at your cheek. It’s a little swollen, discolored where you must’ve been hit. There’s a furrow in his brow, something that looks like a pout on none other than Aaron Hotchner.

“Hey,” you grab his wrists, but his hands stay on your face. “I’m fine.”

Aaron’s always worried, he’s always cared about you and about everyone on the team, but this is different. He was usually able to hide things much better than this. Much better than with you.

Now, all he sees is the tiny bloodstain on your shirt and the bandage on your cheek. All he feels is your hands squeezing his wrists and your eyes locked on his.

“You should have waited,” he says. “I could have been there.”

“Hotchner,” your deadpan tone is intact, which he’ll take as a win, even if it’s directed towards him. “You and I both know you would have done the same. I had to.”

One of his hands shifts to cup your non-injured cheek. Normally, he’d be much more composed while working, but he can’t bring himself to care about how he must look right now.

“I know you did,” he tells you, because he does. “I just wish that you didn’t. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Your stomach is tumbling, rolling, your heart doing silly things in your chest. You can hardly feel the pain of your cheek anymore when his hand is on the other, his palm warm against your skin, his gaze even warmer.

“I’m hardly hurt, Aaron. Just a scratch.”

“Right. One that required medical attention. That’s more than just a scratch, honey.”

“If you say so, Hotchner.”

He shifts his hands so that they fall into your lap, palms up and fingers instantly finding yours, tangling together perfectly. Like puzzle pieces.

“Good job, by the way.” Hotch rubs his thumb over your skin once, back and forth. “You did the right thing.”

“Learned from the best,” you say.

You’re both oblivious to the fact that the team is watching from a distance, and that the two of you look so lovesick it’s ridiculous that you haven’t spilled your feelings yet. You’re both absolutely fucked.

Where she stands with the team, Emily shakes her head, “I haven’t seen Hotch like this since… ever.”

Beside her, JJ merely shrugs, like it’s obvious, “yeah, they’re in love.”

Spencer looks at you and Aaron in that ambulance with a smile. “The odds of you guys being right are very, very high.”

-

+1

Aaron Hotchner was never the biggest fan of birthdays. Was never big into the cakes and making wishes, the song and the presents and the fuss of it all.

When he started at the bureau, it stayed that way. Days off were rare enough as it was, so he’d always work on his birthday. And while he kept the signed cards from the team, he treated it as any other day. Nothing special.

This year, you’re on a mission to change that.

While it isn’t the first of Aaron’s birthdays you’ve spent with him, it’s the first one since the two of you have grown as close as you have, since you’ve felt the way you do. You’re just hoping to make it a good birthday for him.

You’ve roped the whole team into it. Decorating the conference room with streamers and balloons and a sign that hangs crooked on the wall, bringing in a cake that reads ‘Happy Birthday Hotch’ in frosting, and keeping it all a secret.

Of course, you’ve all already said happy birthday to him, and you’ve got a present stashed under your desk for later, but you’ve been doing your best to act natural even when the anticipation of your surprise for him eats at your stomach a little.

Surprises are a tricky thing, and there’s no way of knowing whether he’ll like it or not. You’ll just have to wait and see.

While in his office, the team had made it seem like they’d all left for the day, saying their goodbyes to Hotch. Instead of leaving, though, they’ve been hidden in the conference room waiting for you to bring him in.

“Aaron,” you say, knocking on his office door. “I think I lost an earring. Do you think you could help me look for it?”

Because you’re the one asking, Aaron says, “‘course, honey. Where do you think it is?”

You smile, because he’s fallen into your trap easily, because you know that he probably would search for an earring with you if you’d actually lost one.

“I remember having it on in the conference room, so maybe there.”

He stands from his desk, gesturing for you to lead the way with his hand held out. You grab onto it before he can drop it, tangling your fingers and leading him behind you.

Aaron lets you guide him, and when you open the door to the conference room and flick on the lights, he’s met with the team’s grinning faces and a chorus of, “surprise!”

For a moment, he’s speechless, frozen in his spot in the doorway with your hand in his.

No, Aaron’s never been the biggest fan of birthdays, but maybe that’s because nobody’s ever done something like this for him. You came into his life all sweet smiles and now you’re throwing him a surprise party? He’s never ever liked someone the way he likes you.

So much that like is spilling into a four letter word and he’s happy to let it.

You know him well enough to know that he doesn’t like being the center of attention too much, so the only people in the room are those of the BAU. His closest friends. And you, his favorite person.

Before he can say anything he’s being spoken to by the team, getting a ‘happy birthday, boss,’ from Derek, a spill about how hard it was to keep this a secret from Penelope, a grin from Spencer, a tip about how you’d organized all of this from Emily, a squeeze to the shoulder from JJ.

When he finally gets the chance, the others split into their own conversations, Aaron tugs you aside to the corner of the room.

“You did all of this for me?” He asks, head bent to catch your eye.

Although you’d caught the signature Hotchner smile—closed-mouthed and quick—when he saw the surprise, you’re nervous about what he might say. You worry that you’ve done too much, that he’d been pretending to like it for your sake.

“I’m sorry if it’s a bit much,” you start, anxiously tugging at your sleeves. “I wasn’t sure if you liked surprises, I know not everyone does, but I wanted to do something for you because I care about you. A lot. And birthdays are meant to be celebrated, you know?”

Aaron can’t help but let a smile spread over his face as you speak; a real smile. His heart is light, his feelings for you melting through him like the soft pink of cotton candy. He doesn’t think you could ever do anything that he wouldn’t like.

“I’ll clean it all up, too, I prom-”

Your rambling is cut off with his lips on yours. He’s kissing you.

It’s soft, the press of his mouth against yours, and it takes you a second to push back. It stays delicate, a dance between the two of you like you’d practiced a million times before.

His hands skate down your arms to hold your hands, weaving his fingers with yours, squeezing like he’s making sure you know this is real.

You feel it all over, your stomach tumbling, your heart beating in a rhythm that thumps his name. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron, over and over.

It’s a kiss worth a thousand words that you haven’t said yet, a kiss full of feelings and meaning and you know it, just by the way he does it, because you know him and he knows you. It’s you and Aaron, and it feels like the beginning of something huge. Of the rest of your life, maybe.

When he pulls back, Hotch rests his forehead against yours, giving your head a gentle nudge, locking his brown eyes on yours.

“It’s perfect,” he says.

The next thing you hear is Derek Morgan cheering, “I knew it!”

Similar words come from the rest of the team.

“Finally,” from Emily.

“About time,” from JJ.

“This isn’t surprising,” from Spencer, who smiles while saying it.

A sweet, “yay,” from Penelope.

Distracted by Aaron kissing you, you’d sort of forgotten they were there. Bashful, you tuck your head beneath Aaron’s chin, forehead against his collar. He simply tightens his hands around yours.

And when it’s time for cake, this year, Aaron Hotchner makes a wish on his birthday candles. He wishes to spend every other birthday just like this. With you.

༄

thank you so so much for reading!!! if you liked it, please please please consider reblogging/commenting and letting me know what you thought! love you <3

[nereidprinc3ss]

slumber party

in which there's only one bed. fem bau!reader x spencer reid

fluff! warnings/tags: dark humor, (the word molest is used jokingly once but in my defense your honor its completely on brand for early seasons cm humor, if u cancel me u have to cancel the whole cast those are the rules, its just a joke cause reader always flirts w him aggressively, pls don't come for me i have a wife and children and three boyfriends to take care of,) mutual pining, bullying and death threats as flirting, they love each other so much and bicker like children, glasses spencer, (moans), emily and rossi are mentioned bc canon means fuck all to me, i think thats it but this is my most out of pocket duo so if i'm wrong lmk a/n: just a silly little thing that i cooked up, not a masterpiece but i think its cute!! I hope u enjoy!! lmk what you think!! looooveee youuuu

“Oh, there is no way.”

Your duffel bag hits the dingy carpet as Spencer is still closing the door behind you. 

“What? Is it—”

You give him a look over your shoulder, eyebrows raised as if to say, what are you going to do about this?

But he only manages to meet your eyes for a split second before they’re back to the singular queen bed, darting over the white sheets and pillows like he might find another mattress if he looks hard enough. 

Sharing a room with Spencer, you can handle. You've done it before. Whenever the team has to pair up at a hotel, you two are an obvious choice. And while you occasionally butt heads, mostly you adore each other and it's great.

But sharing a bed is a whole other situation.

One you were not prepared for. And evidently, neither is he.

Watching his big anxious eyes flit around the room nervously, you feel sort of bad for your reaction. You know you can be a bit… abrasive, sometimes. 

“It’s fine, I’ll just—I’ll see if I can share a bed with Emily or JJ in their room—”

Just then there’s a knock at the door. Spencer looks relieved to have something else to focus on, turning back around and quickly undoing the latch again before opening the door to reveal your favorite raven-haired SSA. Emily leans past the doorjamb, eyes immediately honing in on the awkward sleeping arrangement. 

“Oh my god! You guys too?”

“What?” You and Spencer ask at the same time. Emily raises her eyebrows at this and glances between you, but otherwise doesn’t comment. 

“Me and JJ only have the one bed. I thought it might just have been us.”

You frown. There goes your plan of sharing a room with them. 

“What about Morgan and Garcia?”

Spencer snorts.

“Something tells me Penelope wouldn’t be too torn up about it if that's the case.”

“Hotch and Rossi?”

The room goes quiet and a little chilly as the thought disturbs everyone equally. Emily frowns deeply.

“I don’t even… I can’t picture that.”

“Can we please not try to picture it?”

“Great. Okay, well. I just wanted to make sure everyone is suffering equally. Good luck, champs.”

“Thanks,” Spencer mutters dryly. Emily smiles, eyes darting between the two of you for just a moment too long, before pushing off the door frame and disappearing from sight. Once the door is closed again, a heavy silence ensues. “I’ll… I can take the floor—”

“It’s fine, Spencer. I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor. We’re both grown-ups. Besides, we like each other, right? It’ll be like a slumber party.”

“I’ve never had one,” he admits. His glasses slip further down his nose as he frowns. Your fingers itch to push them back up. 

“Then I’m happy to be your first,” you tease, facing him fully with your hand on your hip and barely resisting the urge to add, I’ll be gentle. “Do you want the shower first or can I?”

Spencer has a habit of looking you up and down like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. Some might find it odd, but his utter lack of social graces is, lucky for him, incredibly endearing to you. 

“You can have it first,” he says, meeting your eyes again. “Just don’t do that thing where you get the entire bathroom soaking wet.”

“Aw. But I love doing that. It’s my favorite part,” you tease, scooping up your bag once more.

Twenty minutes later you’re emerging from the bathroom with damp hair, clad in loose shorts and a college hoodie. 

“Nice outfit,” Spencer says from the spinny-chair at the desk, examining your outfit choice with a scrutiny you wish you’d been prepared for. Really, you wish you’d known ahead of time you’d have a roommate and brought some alternate sleeping clothes. “I had no idea you felt so passionately about… Scooby Doo?”

“Shut up right now,” you grit, tossing your bag into the corner of the room and tugging your hoodie down over your cartoon-patterned shorts as far as you can. 

“What?” He’s laughing as he brushes past you on his way into the bathroom, bearing his own bag. “It’s a good look for you.”

Your face is burning as you choose the side of the bed furthest from the door. Springs creak underneath your weight as you sink down, sitting with your legs hanging off the side for a moment before swinging them up onto the mattress, leaning against the headboard and side-eyeing the empty space next to you. There’s really not very much of it. The bed feels even smaller than it looks. 

From the bathroom you hear the sound of the shower squeaking and starting up again—a cacophony of droplets against tile on the other side of the wall. You try not to be nervous as you imagine Spencer filling the space beside you in just a few minutes, hair wet and in pajamas. And yet you spend each second wondering if he’s almost done, wondering if the shower will finally sputter to a halt, and once it does, wondering how long it’ll be before he’s out again. It’s ridiculous how impatient you're getting—and by the time you finally watch the door knob twist you feel crazy. 

“I think that was your longest shower yet, Dr. Reid.”

The teasing affords you a moment to ogle him head to toe, taking in his choice of pajamas—tonight, familiar plaid pants and an MIT crewneck—as well as his hair which has already begun to dry. Briefly you wonder if he does that thing guys do, where they lean down and haphazardly dry their hair with a towel because they have no concern for its texture whatsoever. But you kind of doubt it, because his hair always looks so soft. 

“You were sitting here waiting for me?” He chuckles, and honestly you’d been expecting a shyer response. But you adapt quickly. 

“Maybe I was. Big spoon or little spoon?”

“Ha-ha.” He opens a drawer in the dresser and begins unpacking his clothes into it. It's a funny habit of his. You never unpack your duffel. “You took the better side of the bed.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m the woman. I get to do that.”

“Well you should know that if an intruder breaks in, I’m not fighting him off. You’d probably have a better chance than me.”

“And my chances will be even better if he’s distracted with you first.”

“So I’m just bait?” He scoffs, looking back at you. Strands of wet hair hang so prettily around his face, like the perfect frame around a work of art. You smile sweetly from your spot on the bed before playfully biting at the air in his direction. The message goes unspoken but reads loud and clear. Of course you are. You make such good bait. 

That gets a blush out of him and he has nothing else to say as he turns back to his drawer. Happily you lean back against the headboard, stretching your legs out and bouncing slightly in place. Beneath you the mattress springs groan and squeak in protest. 

“I hope you're not going to be this irritating all night.”

It's clearly lighthearted, but you promptly stop and frown at his back. 

“Call me irritating again and see where you end up sleeping tonight.”

“I just don’t see how you’re even more hyperactive than usual right now. Has anybody ever told you that you’re crepuscular?” Spencer asks, finally sliding the drawer shut and going to shut the overhead light off. Your eyes narrow. 

“Obviously nobody has told me that.”

“It means y—”

“I’m most energetic within the few hours around dusk and dawn. Contrary to your belief, Dr. Reid, other people are also capable of looking up words in a dictionary and remembering what they mean. Are you going to stand in the corner all night or are you gonna come to bed?”

“I am,” he scoffs, clearly embarrassed and shy and embarrassed of being shy. “I’m just… you look like you kick in your sleep. And hog the blankets.”

You shrug, folding your knees to your chest and hugging them quaintly. 

“I’ve never had any complaints. In fact, you should be so lucky to share a bed with me. All five star reviews, baby.” 

You toss a suggestive wink in at the end, which seems garish enough to break the tension so that Spencer can stop lingering in the corner like a sleep-paralysis demon and move to carefully take his place next to you. He almost mirrors your position, but his legs are too long to quite manage your level of compactness and so they simply fold underneath him. A few silent moments go by, in which you have the dumbest smile on your face and you keep glancing over to the side, waiting for him to be looking back at you. 

“This is already the least relaxed I have ever been in a bed.”

“Good thing we’re not going to sleep yet.”

Finally he looks at you, a casual mix of hesitance, concern, and moderate curiosity coloring his features. 

“We’re not?”

“Oh, my god, Spencer,” you snort. “I’m not gonna molest you. We have to do slumber party stuff, remember?”

He flushes again, glancing at the digital clock in his bedside table. 

“But it’s late. We should go to sleep.”

“At slumber parties you have to stay up until you literally can’t keep your eyes open anymore. Those are the rules. I don’t make them.”

Still, your insistence that you follow the international code of sleepover law goes unabided by Spencer. He simply leans over to flick off his lamp, bathing the room in darkness. 

“I appreciate the effort,” he says, and your eyes haven’t adjusted but you can hear the rustle of sheets and blankets as he gets under them, “but unfortunately we have to be awake and alert in five hours.”

“You’re no fun,” you huff, but climb under your own side of the cover and scoot down until you’re flat on your back, covered in blanket and hands folded on your sternum. 

Spencer doesn’t respond. 

It’s silent for maybe five minutes, during which your brain doesn’t slow down at all. Maybe you are crepuscular. Or slightly nocturnal. You have nothing but energy. 

In an attempt to get comfortable, you try adjusting your position.

The mattress squeaks. 

You do it again. 

Another squeak. 

A second goes by, and now you’re intentionally jostling about, squeaking the mattress as much as you can. 

“Would you stop that?” Spencer says, voice already gravelly with sleep. You manage, but you’re already devolving into a fit of giggles. “I’m going to smother you with this pillow,” he threatens, but you hear the disgruntled smile curling his words. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just not in the mood to rest.”

Another moment passes. He sighs deeply. You smile into the dark. 

“What are you in the mood for?” He asks flatly, and you’ve won. 

“Tell me a secret,” you immediately demand in a hushed tone, flipping on your side to face his back. “Something you’ve never told anyone else.”

“I don’t—”

“Shh! You have to whisper it. Those are the slumber party rules.”

“I don’t have any secrets,” he whispers, clearly flustered, and to your delight, rolling to face the ceiling. “None that you’d want to hear.”

“Oh, now that’s just not true. You’re an enigma, Spencer Reid. You fascinate me.”

You’re only sort of kidding. 

“I… fascinate you?”

“Completely. You know, ever since you moved your desk across from mine I get distracted just staring at you and wondering what you’re thinking about. But you’re very… hard to read, sometimes. I think it’s because you’re a Scorpio.”

“The position of the stars at the time I was born has no bearing on my personality.”

“Fine,” you concede, still in a glorified stage whisper. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t display the archetypal Scorpio traits. You’re all brooding, mysterious. Kinda, I don't know... intense and sexy and unknowable…”

“Sexy?” He laughs, breaking the whisper rule. You grin and let it slide. You’d hoped he would catch that one. 

“Hey,” you snap, losing the smile immediately and lightly shoving against what you hope is his shoulder. “You’re supposed to be telling me a secret, damnit. I won’t let your wiles and charm distract me from getting what I want.”

“When have you ever let anything stop you from getting what you want?”

Truly, your cheeks are going to start aching with this constant back and forth between poker-faced and huge Cheshire smile. 

“Stop flirting and answer my question, Reid.”

With the amount of times you’ve made him sigh tonight he must be dizzy. You chew your lip apprehensively in the silence, picking a loose thread on your pillow. It’s so pitch black in the room, you can’t see him where he lies only a few meager inches from you. But you can feel his presence. You can feel the unexpected bass to his voice when he’s tired and speaking this lowly, which you’ve never heard before.

“All the secrets I’ve never told anyone are just… depressing.”

Your heart sinks a little at the way he swallows between words, like that in and of itself was hard to admit. Unthinkingly your hand slides into the small gap of white cotton between the two of you. 

“Not very good slumber party material, I think,” he laughs self-consciously. 

“You’d be surprised.” 

The sentiment comes quieter and more serious than you’ve been all night. If only you had the words to tell him that he can tell you anything. That you want to hold his secrets for him under lock and key. That you would never, ever do anything less than offer him kindness and support—even if it doesn’t always seem that way when you’re teasing him. 

“Do you have any secrets you’ve never told anyone else?” He murmurs eventually, so soft it could kill you. 

And you do. There are plenty of dark ones, probably not all dissimilar from those he’d elected not to share only a moment ago. 

But you don’t bring those up. 

Instead, you decide to admit to something silly. Still, it makes you nervous as you feel it coming loose in your chest. You’ve really never told anyone this, and it’s perhaps more vulnerable than you’d realized before the words were already leaving your mouth. 

“I, have…” You pause to laugh at yourself, and continue on. “I have a stuffed dragon that I take with me on every single case.”

“You do?” Spencer laughs, so loud and unexpected it almost hurts your ears, angling his head toward you. Blood rushes to your face. 

“Yes. He usually sleeps in bed with me. He’s an excellent listener and has been the origin of several of my most genius breakthroughs. You remember Gibson Cooper?”

“Family annihilator from Houston?” 

“Correct. He’s in prison because Oscar helped me make the Cook Creek Campground connection between the O’Hara and Diangelo families.”

“You have a stuffed profiler dragon named Oscar? Is he here?”

“He’s—I mean, I wasn’t expecting to share a room with someone.”

“So he’s in your bag.”

“Yes,” you seethe, “and I will not be introducing you to him. He doesn’t do well with men.”

“You are genuinely psychotic.”

You huff.

“Fine. I’m sorry I told you anything.”

You’re about to roll over onto your other side—but Spencer surprises you by catching the hand that had been outstretched in his direction. He carefully intertwines your fingers and squeezes gently. 

“You’re right. That was mean. Thank you for telling me about Oscar.” His tone is surprisingly teasing, and you’re so uncharacteristically flustered by this rare show of physicality and affection that you can’t muster an adequate comeback. Spencer doesn’t seem to mind filling your silence, though, sounding a little more solemn now. “I’m sorry I don’t have any secrets for you.”

The way his voice gets all thin and scratchy sometimes—it’s like the earnest sincerity just pours out of him. He can’t control it. He can’t be anyone other than who he is. Maybe that’s a part of why you love him so much. You wonder if he knows how much you love him. It’s not exactly a secret—anyone on the team would be able to tell as much. You’ve been relentlessly teased for the way you are with him. For your batting lashes and your lingering touches and your unabashed flirting. But beneath it all is true affection, and nobody doubts that. 

“It’s okay,” you decide with a squeeze of your own, after a moment of deliberation. “You’ll think of something. ’Cause, y’know—you’re stuck with me for at least a few more days.”

“Oh, god,” he laughs, and releases your hand, rolling over to face away from you. But you don’t mind. You’ll get lots more time to invade his personal space over the coming week or so. “Goodnight.”

“Sweet dreams,” you sing-song, turning away to face the wall with what is perhaps your biggest, stupidest smile yet.

[p1astr81]

Christmas mixup

in which: Oscar accidentally proposes to his girlfriend on Christmas Day.

pairing: Oscar Piastri x fem!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: pet names (babe), not proof read, nothing else

an: If you saw this posted earlier NO YOU DIDNT😭

۶ৎ ۶ৎ ۶ৎ ۶ৎ ۶ৎ ۶ৎ ۶ৎ

Oscar reached an outstretched arm to the top of your shared closet, being sure to select the small box that sat on the left and not the right.

You’d been dating for six years now—since you were both just seventeen years old—and you’ve been living together for about a year.

He found the most gorgeous diamond earrings while racing in Vegas last month. He thought about how much you’d love them and couldn’t resist buying them for you.

While Oscar wasn’t the best gift wrapper, he always tried his best for you. The gifts you wrapped for him always came out in pristine condition, the colorful paper hugging the boxes perfectly. He felt awful when he would carry out piles of boxes and the wrapping paper was crumpled and loose around the sides. Your wrapping job made everything look so perfect and he felt like he was ruining it. It’s just paper, you had told him, laughing it off. You could wrap it in discarded candy wrappers and it would make no difference to me.

This specific gift, he rewrapped it five times before he thought that it looked even remotely good enough. And even after that, he wrapped it three more times until he got it to be perfect.

He smiled at the small box, and took it to the tree with great care. You watched from the kitchen, chuckling as he carried the box like a newborn child.

۶ৎ ۶ৎ ۶ৎ

Christmas morning, you and Oscar sat around the tree, a cup of hot cocoa and a croissant beside the both of you.

You’d both opened almost all of your gifts already, but Oscar withheld one gift until the very end. That tiny box.

“Can I open it now?” You asked him, same as you had after every single other gift. He finally handed it over to you. “Be careful, though.” He warned, a warm smile on his face as he watched your excitement.

You ripped the paper off, and cautiously opened the box. What you saw had your eyes watering, your jaw dropped slightly. You placed the box on the floor, and your hands came up to over your mouth.

Oscar figured you would like the gift, but definitely not this much.

“Oscar,” your voice wobbled with the threat of tears that may spill. You gasped as you tried not to cry.

Oscar’s eye caught the glimmer that bounced off the shiny object, and he quickly realized he didn’t wrap the earrings. No, instead, his eyes met a shiny diamond incrusted band. Your engagement ring.

He didn’t intend to propose this early, no. He wanted to do something extravagant to propose. Not this. Not on Christmas, in your pajamas and at home. He was horrified.

“Yes, oh my god, yes.” You answered without waiting for him to actually ask the question. To you, this was entirely intentional and planned by him. You flung yourself at him, your arms coming around his neck to hug him tightly.

Oscar was significantly less horrified. Your reaction had eased him some, but he still was overcome with an immense feeling of guilt. He thought you deserved a better proposal then this.

But he would play it off. “Thank god you said yes.” He laughed.

۶ৎ ۶ৎ ۶ৎ

A week later, you were both sat on the couch, watching television. He couldn’t help but notice how often you would look down to gaze at the engagement ring on your finger.

“Babe?” He called softly. “Hm?” You hummed, your eyes peering past your lashes to meet his gaze. He could see just how happy you were. It was in the twinkle of your eyes, the curve of your lips, etched in every facial feature.

But the guilt still ate away at him. “I’m sorry it happened like that.” He struggled to meet your eyes, looking down at the band on your ring finger instead. You sat up a little straighter, concerned. “What do you mean?”

He sighed. “Well, I meant to wrap a box of earrings, but I put the two boxes next to each other and I guess I picked up the wrong one. I’m sorry. I wanted to do something big to propose to you. Not that.”

You laughed and grabbed his face. You leaned up to capture his lips with yours, kissing him softly. “There’s no way you could have proposed to me that wouldn’t be perfect. Even if it was at a farm, with a ring made of straw.” He looked in your eyes, seeing the deep love within them, and knew you were telling the truth. And he wondered, how did he get so lucky?

[hoshigray]

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞 [𝐍𝐎𝐓]!! | a JJK series

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: “GO FUCK YOURSELF, SATORU GOJO!” “BETTER THAN FUCKING YOU!” It’s no secret to anyone on this Earth that you and Gojo cannot stand each other. Despite that, the world seems amused to put these two star-crossed lovers haters in the same space. Or worse, have them dwell deeper into their feelings for one another…

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Gojo x fem/afab! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern + college AU - frenemies to lovers + mutual pining - fluff + angst + misunderstandings - first kiss - virginity loss - Gojo and reader are at least age 20 - secret relationships; implied friends-with-benefits - sex in shared rooms; college dorms + hotel suite - college parties - use of party games (seven minutes in heaven) - confessions - mention of drug/alcohol abuse - humor bc Gojo and college, lol - Gojo is a cocky, tactless sweetheart, nothing new - cameos of other characters + explicit content will be listed in their respective fics (within the contents).

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: when I say that I had this series planned out, I mean like mid-October last year planned out, lmaoo!! I'm honestly so psyched to do this series, as it's one of my favorite tropes + relatively short as I'll be busy irl, but we'll do what we can!! i was lowkey feeling this concept when i was re-watching Ranma 1/2 and figured it would work great with Gojo. So, here's to hoping i can properly execute my thoughts with this series, hehehe~

reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ❤︎ gif header made by me + fic dividers used are provided by the wonderful @cafekitsune and @animatedglittergraphics-n-more!!

𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑰𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒊𝒓...

All the material below contains explicit 18+ content, so minors do not interact.

₊˚⊹♡ 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 (Feb 1st)

The start of the spring semester is supposed to be fresh and new, not be cramped up in a closet with your frenemy at a party! And what's worse: you actually like the feeling of his lips on yours!?

₊˚⊹♡ 𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐝 (Feb 7th)

Is it possible to wish to be in the embrace of someone who makes you want to throw them off a cliff? You seem to think so, and the same goes for Gojo. But alas, good things always come to an end, even when not meant to be...

₊˚⊹♡ 𝐒𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲, 𝐈 𝐇𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞 (Feb 14th)

Going on a date with the guy who broke your heart is something you’d never thought would happen – especially on Valentine’s Day! But it’s just for him to be in your good graces again, nothing more…Yeah, go ahead and tell yourself that.

𝑨 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑳𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒀𝒐𝒖!

Would you like to be tagged when these pieces get released? Lmk in the replies, please, and thank you!

𝑻𝑨𝑮 𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 𝑪𝑳𝑶𝑺𝑬𝑫!!! Have made a list of the first 50 ppl who asked, but don't worry!! Check back for the stories when they're posted on their respective dates!!

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 ❤︎ These stories have been written by the original poster (me). Do not steal, edit, copy/plagiarize, or post any of my works on your own accounts, in or out of this app. Please and thank you.

[ellecdc]

girl girl hear me out YAPPER GF X REGULUS!! Pls pls pls like u could do anything u wanted with them!!! I have a few ideas (take any or none)

May be she just walks up to him one day like clearly wanting to befriend him cuz she has a lil crush and just starts yapping about how the great hall had her fave pastry for breakfast today and he's so confused but also intrigued and then she starts sitting next to him in classes and asking him to hang out at hogsmead and she just yaps and sometimes she thinks may be he zones out but then he'll bring up this super niche detail she mentioned last time like "hey what happened to that quill you forgot in the potions lecture?"

they r already dating and she worries she's too much energy and talk for him and tries to be quiet and he's just like r u sick? R u mad at me? What's wrong u haven't gone on a 30 min description/rant about ur day

3. May be someone else brings up she talks a lot and Reggie defends her?

you guys really love your bubbly/talkative readers with Regulus, don't you? (so do i); thanks for your request!

Regulus Black x yapper!reader who didn't think he was actually listening

CW: fem!reader, rolling thoughts, brief mention of difficulty making friends, people talking about reader behind her back, swear words (on ellecdc? nooo [sarcasm])

Your family said that you had an incessant need to fill silence from the moment you could talk. 

“If there’s a room with our daughter in it, you can be certain that it won’t be quiet.” Your mum had proclaimed as she beamed at you lovingly one day.

While it was certainly a trait that your family had always found rather endearing, you felt that it made it particularly difficult making friends once you began attending Hogwarts. 

But the friends you managed to make loved you for it, and they had often stated “you can call her what you want but you can’t call her boring.” 

That didn’t mean your other classmates appreciated your stories or tangents, though. 

Which is how you ended up serving numerous detentions for speaking during class or lectures and disturbing the students around you, and how you’d been cycled through numerous seat partners in potions class. 

And that is how poor Regulus Black ended up stuck sharing a worktable with the likes of you.

He didn’t seem to mind, though. And if he did, well, he certainly never said anything about it.

You were quite sure he tuned you out during your rambles, hardly ever sparing you a glance and keeping his eyes trained on his parchment in front of him as he took dutiful notes during lectures.

Couldn’t be you, however.

No.

You were too busy lamenting about the fact that you couldn’t get more than twenty feet to the mooncalf herd up the hill behind the quidditch pitch before they would all run off. They only came out at night, you see, and you wanted to take some photos of them. Some photos turned into midnight picnics, and picnics turned into sharing apple slices by means of throwing them towards the bug-eyed beasts and watching them argue over the slice until you threw another. But even after feeding them forty seven apples and counting at this point (Winky the house elf from the kitchen was not pleased with you), they still wouldn’t let you get any closer to them.

Your next course of action was to try a smellier and higher value treat; you wondered then if mooncalves could have tuna? Tuna was certainly smelly enough. Well, if you couldn’t entice the mooncalves, you’d certainly entice a cat or two. 

You wondered then if mooncalves and cats got along? Kneazles were nearly the same size as the poor beasts, but cats were much smaller. You figured cats would look at a mooncalf the same way they’d look at a goat. 

You’d seen a cat ride a goat once, not many people believed you, though. You’d have to learn how to make a pensieve one day just to prove it to everyone. You didn’t much care for goats, though; something about their square pupils seemed alien to you. 

Which seemed odd considering there were numerous beasts in the magical world that really were quite alien, yet it was  goats that did it for you.

And why were they always associated with the devil? Was it because of the square pupils? Do you think there’d be a book that explained that?

But you didn’t even realise that the period had ended until Regulus stood and collected his books, offering you a curt nod before leaving the classroom. 

Fuck….do you think he’d let you copy his notes? 

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Merlin’s tits, she never stops talking! I feel bad for the poor sod stuck next to her; Black probably wants to avada himself every class. You heard a classmate mutter as you walked to your workbench, movements slowed as you lowered yourself into your chair and tried not to let their words hurt you. 

You were used to the comments, you were used to the sentiment honestly; did they think it was easy being you? Did they think you didn’t get tired of listening to yourself too? 

Of course you did, it was exhausting; your brain never stopped moving, and apparently, neither did your mouth.

But it did hurt a little, perhaps because Regulus had been quite gracious about it thus far. He had listened to you carry on about the astrological significance of space waste and how that was affecting the magic of the stars. He had listened to you bemoan about the positive impact that centaur migration had on local flora and fauna and how the fencing of fields and forests was going to cause unimaginable damage to the life cycles of such. He also had listened to your morose mooncalf story and the update the next day that you were able to order cans of tuna via owl to the castle.

And he’d not so much as bat an eye at you.

Certainly he’d have said something to you if you bothered him? 

Although, perhaps this was why Slughorn put him beside you, because he knew Regulus wouldn’t say anything; had Regulus done something to anger Slughorn? Was placing you beside Regulus less about you driving your seat mates crazy, but more about being a punishment for Regulus?

Well, you couldn’t imagine Regulus had done anything bad enough to deserve a full term with you as a potions partner.

No, you decided, you would not be his punishment.

So when Regulus entered class that day, and Slughorn read out the instructions for today’s potion brew, you resisted the urge to speak.

You were quiet when retrieving your potion ingredients, you were quiet as you checked and double checked the brewing instructions, and you were quiet as you waited for the potion to reach its boiling point. 

You actually thought you’d done quite well; you sort of wished you had started a timer, this may very well have been a record for you. 

Well, unless sleeping counted. Would sleeping count as being quiet? Oh gods, what if you talked in your sleep too!? You’d have to ask your roommates.

“L/N.” Regulus called as if it hadn’t been the first time he’d done so. “You alright?” He asked, ducking down in an attempt to meet your gaze as you watched a divot appear between his brows.

“Yeah? Why?” You asked, finding yourself furrowing your brows in solidarity; you found Regulus to be too pretty to look so worried. 

He shrugged his shoulders and straightened up, though the space between his brows remained divoted. “You’ve been awfully quiet, s’all.” He murmured quietly, and you were surprised to see a dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” You muttered perhaps pointedly; his eyes narrowing to match the furrowed brows. 

“Says who?”

Your eyes traitorously darted to the students who had been discussing your habits, and Regulus followed your gaze.

He rolled his eyes and muttered something in French under his breath as he turned his attention back towards your shared potion. “Those tossers are just mad that they have nothing of value to say.”

You more felt than heard a disbelieving breath escape your lips as you looked at Regulus in bemusement. 

He didn’t seem to notice though, as he continued to the next step in your potion and carried on. “Did the tuna work?”

You stared at him dumbly before your brain kicked back into gear. “I beg your pardon?”

“The tuna.” He repeated. “For the mooncalves?”

Oh.

“Oh.” You started, giving your head a shake as you tried to find your balance you had long lost during this conversation. “Erm, no, but I did indeed attract a few cats.”

“Ah.” Regulus offered, smiling at you (or at the expected poof from the potion signifying that the two of you had brewed it correctly thus far). 

“Also, I found out why goats are often associated with the devil, but the book you’d be looking for is Biblical in nature.”

You stared at him with your mouth agape as he continued. “There’s a quote where that Christ bloke mentions something about separating people from one another just as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. They’re used as a metaphor for the ‘bad’ or ‘inferior’ member of any group; it could also be understood as the divide between the pure and the wicked. I say goats got a bad rap, though.”

The next step in your potion brewing process was to allow the potion to simmer until it turned a milky white colour, so Regulus lowered the heat before appearing to remember something.

“I almost forgot…” He started as he began rooting through his book bag. “I asked the shopkeep at Brood & Peck, and she said this is a favourite of mooncalves; maybe you’ll have more luck tonight?” He asked as he held out a parchment of beast treats to you. 

“You’ve been listening? This whole time?” You whispered in awe as you took the bag delicately as if  he had just handed you a delicate china dish. 

His brows furrowed again as he searched your eyes. “Well…yeah? I’m rather invested now.” He explained just as your potion turned its intended colour. 

“Very good Mr. Black, Miss. L/N.” Professor Slughorn commented as he walked past your workbench. 

You were alerted to the fact that class was over when everyone’s potions were vanished with a pop and students started to pack up their belongings.

“You’ll keep me posted, yeah? About the mooncalves?” Regulus asked as he started walking backwards towards the door. 

“Sure.” You murmured, earning you a wide smile from the notoriously quiet boy. 

Yes… You’d be more than happy to keep Regulus Black posted.