#all those emotions were what made him truly alive

[astralhope]

Rank 52: The final duel!!

[swordheld]

hi! your blog is one of my favourites and i absolutely adore reading your thoughts. my grandfather recently passed away and it feels like i lost myself with him. how do i continue living after this? there is this constant weight on my chest and it feels like an emptiness has made a home inside of me. how do i go on when it feels like the world crashed on my shoulders?

hello, love! this is so very sweet and kind of you, and i hope you're treating yourself gently and kindly right now - there aren't words for a loss like this. that heaviness is difficult, and hard, and painful. it's okay if things don't feel okay, right now, or even soon - i think that's something that a lot of the people i know that have gone through similar grief feel: like they should be able to get back to a relative 'normal' in a [insert far too short period of time].

but it's okay if it hurts. that's where i'd like to start. you're allowed to feel that emptiness, that world-crashed feeling that goes beyond words, beyond time. don't feel like you have to rush this to feel some sort of better. things get easier with time, i promise you this, but sometimes painful feelings are important to feel, too. cry, scream, feel your emotions. they're a part of you. grieve.

it's perhaps a little silly, but when i think about death i always think about a couple of space songs: mainly drops of jupiter by train and saturn by sleeping at last. there are perhaps others that speak to the emotions better, but these two have always hit something a little deeper for me, and are popular for a wide-reaching reason.

and while personally i don't know much about grief like this, i do know a lot about love; and i think they're a lot of the same thing.

the people we love are a part of us, and this is why it takes from us so deeply when we lose them, because it does feel like we've lost a part of ourselves in the wake of it. but it's because they were so central to our experiences of living - our lives, that the separation introduces a hollowness - a place where they used to be. a home that now goes unlived in.

an emptiness, like you said.

but just because they're not here physically, doesn't mean he's not still there, in your heart, in your life, your memory. you can hold him close in smaller ways, as well: steal a sweater, or cologne/scent for something a little more physical and long lasting for remembering. hold onto the memories you cherish, the things that made you laugh, the ease of slow mornings and gentle nights. write them all down, slide a few photographs in there, go through it and add more when you miss him. keep them all close, keep them in your heart.

you're not alone, in this. he's still there, with you, it's just - in the little things.

he's with you in the way you see and go about your daily life, in doing what he liked to do, in the ways he interacted with the world that you shared with him. the memories you recall fondly when the night is late or the moment is right and something calls it into you like a melody, an old bell, laughter you'd recognize anywhere.

but i think, perhaps most importantly above all others - talk about him. with your family, your friends, his friends, strangers; stories are how we keep the people we love alive. the connections they've made, the legacies and experiences they've left behind, and so, so many stories.

how lucky, we are - to love so much it takes a piece of us when they go. grief is the other side of the coin, but it does not mean our love goes away. it lives in you. it lives in everyone who knew him, in the smallest pieces of our lives.

the people we love never really leave us, like this: they're in how we cook and the way we fold our newspapers, our laundry, in the radio stations we tune in to and the way we decorate our walls, our photo albums. they're in the way we store our mail, organize our closets, the scribbled notes in the indexes of our books. the meals we love and the drinks we mix, the way we spend time with one another. they've been passed down for generations, for longer than history - and we are all the luckier for it.

think about what you shared with him, and do it intentionally. bring him into your life, like this, again. whether it's crosswords or poetry or sports or anything else. if one doesn't help, try another. something might click.

i hope things feel a little easier for you, as they tend to do only with time. i hope you find joy in your grief, even if it is small and hard to grasp at first. know that your hurt stems from so much love that there isn't a place to put it properly, and that it is something so meaningful and hurting poets and storytellers have been struggling to put it into words and sounds that feel like the fit right for eons, and that it is also just simply yours. sometimes things don't have to make sense. sometimes they just are - unable to be put into words or neat little sentiments, as unfair and tragic as they come.

but i promise it will not feel like this forever. your love is real. and perhaps, on where to begin on from here - i think it's less on finding where to begin and just beginning. and you've already started. you've taken the most important and crucial step: the first one. wherever you go, after that, from here? you'll figure it out. you always have, and you always do. it'll come, as things always do. love leads us, as does light - and you're never alone in your hurt. in your grief, your missing something dear to you. i think if you talk about it with others, you'll find they have ways of helping you cope as well - and they have so much love of their own to spare, too.

as an aside, here is the song (northern star by dom fera) i was listening to when i wrote this, for no other reason more than it makes me think of connections, and love, and how we hold onto the people we love and how they change us, wonderfully and intrinsically. it's a little more joyous than the others i've mentioned, and plays like a story, and it made me think of what is at the core of this, love and stories and i am here with you, and maybe it'll bring you some joy, if you'd like it. wishing you all my love and ease 💛

[moonstrider9904]

après la bataille

Steb x fem!Reader (Enforcer)

Summary: the battle for Piltover has past, and you help Steb find some much needed peace of mind.

Word count: 2.2k

Tags/warnings: Mature and SFW, (french) kissing and making out, brief implications of smut. Spoilers for the ending Arcane season 2. Enforcer!Reader, mentions of death and loss, hints of PTSD, processing difficult emotions, hurt/comfort, established relationship.

Prequel one-shot coming soon! | My Masterlist | Read on Ao3

Warm lights gleamed in the distance, and if one didn’t pay much attention, you would almost swear nothing had happened in Piltover for days. In the peaceful, quiet night, while the City of Progress’ lights twinkled and contrasted with the night sky, it was easy to forget the smoke and the unnatural violence, the blood that had been spilled, the war that, in what had felt like a blink of an eye, shook Piltover and Zaun only to leave things unnervingly quiet—those who had been in the head of it had a hard time believing, at times, that things were truly at peace now.

Steb watched the city with a heavy heart. Though victory had reigned, and Piltover and Zaun weren’t at odds with each other or the Noxian empire, it was inevitable to ponder on the cost. He had witnessed it first hand, from the moments he fought for his survival to having faced his own death in less time it would take him to exhale, mercifully saved by former councilor Medarda; he’d seen the price of the chain of events Hextech had brought forth in the form of light escaping the eyes of each of his fallen comrades.

Some of them had been his friends.

It had happened fast. The partner with whom Steb had gone from rescuing a stranded cat atop a tall tree to dismantling Shimmer, had died before his eyes at the hands of her own bullet—and the magic of the same mage who saved his life. He’d barely had time to process her betrayal and to question how the hell he hadn’t seen it coming before Maddie lay lifeless on the ground where she’d stood, about to take another life. If Steb mourned, he’d be mourning a traitor, but if he didn’t mourn, he wouldn’t be mourning his friend. A part deep within him hated such a dichotomy.

And then there was Loris. Not many words had been shared between the two—there was never any need for them. But Steb vividly remembered the attack on the memorial as the first real battle he’d been in, and Loris was the reason he’d come out of it alive. The vagabond he’d found lying hungover and nearly unconscious on the Piltovan sidewalk had mustered superhuman strength to shield him from a fatal blow, and now, Steb would never have a chance to return the favor. Just as he and the other survivors were emerging after the battle, it was the pianist turned soldier who went up to him and delivered Loris’ badge, and Steb knew it could only mean one thing. The feeling of his heart plummeting within him would be one he’d remember all his life. The loss of Loris, of Maddie, of the Zaunites he’d met at the bridge willing to take a stand.

The only thing that could console him after that was knowing you’d made it out alright. If he had another regret, it would be not being with you every second of it, but it would comfort him forever to know you were safe with him and you’d done your part in returning Piltover and Zaun to peace.

And as if his thoughts had invoked you, he soon heard your steps approaching. He remained facing the city as you entered the balcony, but his ears twitched in the direction of your footsteps, and a hint of a smile formed when he felt your arms wrap around him from behind, and your cheek resting up against the side of his arm.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Your sweet voice traveled to his ears and soothed every fiber within him. For once, Steb was able to relax, exhaling the tension from within his body, and his hand went to cover yours as it rested over his heart.

“They don’t matter,” he muttered.

You smiled softly, stifling a chuckle while you snuggled into his back before making your way towards his side, finally able to look up at him. “They do to me, love.”

Steb dismissed his laments and shifted to face you. He gazed down on you, thinking to himself how rare it had become to see you dressed in something other than your uniform, and for a moment he couldn’t fathom how beautiful you looked in your deep blue gown. It had discreet silver details and the right crop to compliment your silhouette in the best ways possible, and for a moment he was whole again, finding a brief respite from the memories that had tormented him those past few days.

“You look gorgeous,” Steb said softly with his deep, rich voice which you loved.

You smiled up at him, eyes sparkling, as you took his hands in yours. “You’re looking very handsome yourself.” Your eyes scanned the attire he was wearing—his suit resembled his uniform, but it was darker and far more elegant, and if you didn’t know better, you’d sooner mistake him for royalty than assume he was being promoted. You knew he was supposed to be wearing his black hat, but for the time being, he’d cast it aside, a fact you adored—you loved seeing as much of his features as you could, always finding it a whole new, beautiful experience to simply be able to look at Steb and gaze upon his every detail. You gave his hands a gentle squeeze and paced closer to him, taking one of your hands to rest on the crook of his neck and letting your thumb caress his skin gently.

“You’re going to make a fine commander,” you smiled gently at him.

Grateful as he was for your words, you noticed Steb carried the weight of the world in his eyes. He stifled a chuckle and, knowing he could be at ease with you, he briefly looked out at the peaceful Piltover, melancholy.

“Would it be too self-loathing to say I don’t think I deserve it?” He questioned.

“Yes,” you replied without a doubt. “It would also be a flat lie.”

Steb gave a quick exhale and some of the tension left his body, but the thoughts continued to weigh on him. “I could have done more.”

“You’ve done so much already,” you said gently, pausing as your gaze faltered before meeting his eyes again. “I know how you feel… I lost people too. And… not being with you during it was hell.”

“I know,” Steb said quietly.

You exhaled, and your voice fell to a whisper. “I really thought I was gonna lose you.”

He held the hand that rested on his neck and lifted it so that you could see him holding your hand from the corner of your eye.

“You couldn’t,” he said.

The dread left you entirely, and you managed to smile brightly at Steb, finding once again the will to achieve your sole objective of lifting his mood.

“And once you’re commander,” you continued, “you are not getting rid of me.”

Steb laughed smoothly. “Is that a promise?”

You nodded with a cheeky glint in your eye. “Darling, you can consider that a threat.”

His laughter came again, and you wrapped your arms around his upper back while he wrapped his around your waist. You stepped even closer to him, sealing the space between your bodies, and you were well aware of the way your chest pressed itself to his torso. Your eyes adopted an enticing gleam, and your lips curved into the smile Steb was never able to resist, and your voice was smooth when you talked to him, inviting him deeper into finding bliss with you.

“Is there anything I could do to make you feel better?” You asked him with a smirk.

You didn’t have to do more for Steb to understand, and he decided to play a little further with you.

“Hm,” he hummed. “I’m not sure.”

“Really?” You pressed yourself even more to him and perked up on your toes, letting your lips draw close up to his. “Nothing comes to mind? Not even, perhaps, something we could very easily do in the less than an hour we have before the ceremony? Gee, what ever could we do in that amount of time?”

Steb laughed fully and, with a firm grip, he picked you up and spun you around, now holding you as though he were to dance with you.

“You make it tempting,” Steb purred. “But I’d never dream of rushing things with you. Besides, I’m not going to risk ruining that pretty dress before the ceremony.”

“That,” you replied with a giggle, “was actually the correct answer.”

You both fell in silence, and you didn’t make an effort to fight the urge to brush your hand up to his cheek and let your thumb trace over the delicate frills around his eye. Steb leaned into the warmth of your palm—you knew he loved the tender contact of your skin on his frills—and without another moment’s hesitation, you took his lips in yours.

You could feel his body relax as his arms wrapped deeper around the curve of your back, as if he could pull you any closer, and though your eyes were closed as you kissed him, you knew by now his ears had slowly tilted downward and the frills around his eyes moved in slow, uniform waves, a testament to the peace and the joy brought upon him by your lips. The tenderness of the kiss gradually morphed into desire as you felt Steb pushing himself forward to you, adding strength to the movement of his lips and slowly slipping his tongue inside of you; the delicate friction of his tongue on yours filled your body with the sweetest sparks you’d ever be exposed you, and it prompted you to cling around his shoulders standing on your toes—a little more, and your feet would be off the ground.

You didn’t resist the urge to moan into his lips, and the airy quality of your voice made Steb smirk into the kiss. You wanted more of him, and just as you were cursing the fact that you both had to be at a ceremony in less than an hour, and that it would keep you from being entwined in bedsheets with him instead, you let your desires take over and you made your way kissing down Steb’s neck. You delighted in the moan that escaped him, delicious in his rich and deep voice, and as you kissed his neck, you let your lips linger in the same spot for just enough before moving to the next, crawling dangerously close to the collar of his shirt. You decided no harm would come in humoring your fantasies just one step further, and your fingers delicately undid that first button pushing the fabric to the sides, exposing but a fraction of his chest where your fingertips danced and caressed, hinting at the mischief and delicacy that could have been were it not for the honors he was about to receive.

“Darling…” Steb’s breath hitched and a smirk formed on his lips.

For a moment, he too wished you didn’t have other places to be, but if he had to settle for the moment, he’d make it worth it by grasping firmly at the backs of your thighs and lifting you up for you to wrap your legs around his waist as much as the skirt of your gown would allow. You gave a pleased giggle in response, now able to wrap your arms around him further, and you kissed his lips once more, brushing your tongue against his freely and with glee. One of your hands tugged softly at his hair, trying your best not to mess it up for him, and the other went to the back of his neck where your fingers rested on the crooks of the fins that went down his spine. You lost yourself in that kiss, hoping it would last forever, enjoying every second until Steb set you down on the ground again and sealed the moment with one last, tender kiss on your lips before rising up again.

You were dazed after such a session, and you were pleased to see that so was he. Steb grounded himself with a deep exhale, redoing the button of his shirt almost reluctantly, but you also noticed he had a little smile on his lips that hinted at satisfaction and even pride. You chuckled, glad that you could bring such emotions upon him. He then gazed at you, still smiling, and you grinned in anticipation of what the look on his face meant—he’d have his way with you after the ceremony.

But for the time being, you walked up to him one more time and hugged him gently, resting your head against his chest, able to hear the beating of his heart. You settled into the peace that came with the embrace, hoping dearly he felt better than before you’d arrived onto that balcony. You listened for any other sounds, but there was quiet all around you.

Yes, Piltover was at peace now, and when you felt Steb wrapping his arms around you once more, you knew things would be alright. Still in the embrace, you shifted to look up at him, your chin resting on his chest, able to gaze into his ocean eyes as he looked down at you. Tenderly, you smiled, and Steb smiled back as if he could read your thoughts, but he didn’t need to. The gleam in your eyes and softness of your smile told him everything, that you would stand with him through the honors he’d receive, and through everything else that followed.

Silently, you made that promise to him.

If you like this, please reblog too! Thanks for reading!

Tagging: @thegreatandlvable let me know if you want to be tagged in future Steb fics!

[mywhisperingwords]

the chocolates | fred g. weasley

summary: fred weasley, a love potion, and a closet—the perfect recipe for disaster word count: 2.5k masterlist

The Gryffindor common room was alive with its usual post-dinner chaos—laughter, shouts from an impromptu game of Exploding Snap, and the faint scratching of quills from students rushing to finish essays.

You were curled up in your usual spot near the fire, absently chewing on the end of your quill as you debated whether your essay on Bezoars needed another paragraph. The warmth of the flames combined with the lively hum of the room almost lulled you into a state of contentment.

That is, until the portrait hole slammed open with a bang, silencing the room.

Fred Weasley burst in, looking like he’d sprinted all the way from the Great Hall. His tie was askew, his hair sticking up in several directions, and his face—well, his face was set in an expression of utter determination.

“There you are!” he boomed, pointing directly at you.

You blinked. “What—”

But before you could finish, Fred crossed the room in long strides, his eyes locked on you with unsettling intensity. He dropped to one knee in front of your chair, clutching your hand in both of his as the entire room watched in stunned silence.

“My darling,” Fred said, his voice trembling with emotion. “My light, my muse, my reason for existing—I’ve been a fool to wait so long to tell you this, but I can’t hold it in any longer. I love you.”

The quill slipped from your fingers. “What?”

“I love you!” he repeated, louder this time, as though sheer volume would make his words more believable. “You’re the sun to my Quidditch pitch, the sugar to my treacle tart, the spell to my wand. Say you’ll be mine forever!”

A beat of stunned silence followed. Then—

“Did he just compare you to a Quidditch pitch?” George’s amused voice cut through the stillness.

Fred whipped around, glaring at his twin. “Shut it, George. You wouldn’t understand true love if it hit you with a Bludger.”

The absurdity of the situation might have been funny and a bit sweet if you weren’t so mortified. You yanked your hand out of Fred’s grip and stood, glaring at him.

“Fred, what is going on?” you demanded.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Fred said, springing to his feet with alarming energy. “I’m in love with you. Have been for ages. But tonight, I ate those chocolates and suddenly realized that life without you is meaningless.”

Your stomach dropped. Chocolates?

“Wait,” you said slowly, your mind racing. “What chocolates?”

Fred grinned. “The ones in the green box on my bed! Absolutely delicious—did you make them for me, darling? A little token of your affection?”

You froze, realization crashing over you like a tidal wave. The chocolates.

You had made them, but not for Fred. They were part of your Potions homework—Professor Snape had tasked the class with brewing a subtle love potion and incorporating it into a confection. Your plan had been to dispose of them after class. But you’d gotten distracted while helping George brainstorm a prank and probably accidentally left the box in the boys’ dormitory.

Fred had eaten them.

The rest of the evening spiraled into chaos.

Fred followed you everywhere, loudly declaring his undying devotion to anyone who would listen. The common room was no longer just alive with its usual noise—it was filled with Fred’s dramatic serenades and heartfelt speeches.

At one point, he climbed onto the back of the sofa to address the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen! I would like you all to know that I, Fred Weasley, am in love. Truly, madly, deeply—”

“Fred, get down!” you hissed, tugging at his arm.

“—with the most beautiful soul in all of Hogwarts!” he continued, completely ignoring you. “And I don’t care who knows it!”

The younger students cheered enthusiastically, while the older ones groaned in exasperation.

“I’m begging you,” George muttered, rubbing his temples. “End this madness.”

You’d had enough. Grabbing Fred’s wrist, you dragged him out of the common room and into an empty corridor.

“Fred, listen to me. You’re under the influence of a love potion. This isn’t real.” Even if you secretly wished it was, but you would never admit that out loud.

Fred’s response was to grab your hands again, gazing at you with heartbreaking sincerity. “But it feels real, my love. Isn’t that what matters?”

“No!” you snapped, pulling away. “Because you’re going to feel very stupid when this wears off.”

It took until the next morning for the potion to wear off, leaving you sleep-deprived and thoroughly annoyed.

When Fred stumbled into the Great Hall, you could tell instantly that he was back to his normal self. His wide-eyed horror when he spotted you was proof enough.

“I—oh no,” he said, freezing in the doorway. “I didn’t… did I?”

You folded your arms. “You did.”

Fred groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he sank into the seat across from you. “How bad was it?”

“Bad enough that half the school thinks we’re engaged,” you deadpanned.

He groaned louder, burying his face in his arms. “Merlin, kill me now.”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but smile, a flicker of hope in your heart. “Well, at least now I know what you’d be like if you fancied me.”

Fred froze, his arms still covering his face. For a moment, you thought he hadn't heard you. But then, slowly, he sat up, avoiding your gaze as he forced out a laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Yeah, well, lucky for you, that'll never happen," he said, his tone a little too casual. "Can you imagine? Me, fancying you? Talk about a nightmare."

His words hit harder than you expected, your chest tightening uncomfortably.

"Right. A nightmare," you echoed, keeping your voice light even though his dismissal stung more than you wanted to admit.

Fred shifted awkwardly in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck. "Anyway, thanks for, uh, not hexing me last night. I think l'll just... be going now."

And with that, he was gone, leaving you alone at the table with your thoughts.

Over the next few days, things didn't go back to normal like you'd hoped.

Fred was acting... strange. He didn't avoid you outright, but he also wasn't his usual self. Gone were the easy grins and playful jabs he always threw your way. Instead, he seemed quieter, more distant, and almost hesitant whenever you were around.

At first, you thought he was embarrassed about what had happened, which made sense. After all, he'd spent an entire evening serenading you and professing his undying love in front of half the common room. Who wouldn't want to disappear after that?

But the longer his odd behavior went on, the harder it was to shake the nagging feeling that it wasn't just embarrassment keeping him away.

Maybe he regretted it-not just the potion-induced spectacle, but all of it.

The chocolates, the confessions, even spending time with you.

The thought made your chest ache in a way that surprised you. You hadn't realized just how much you'd grown to enjoy Fred's attention, his laughter, the way he always managed to make even the most ordinary moments feel brighter.

But now, it felt like he was slipping away, and there wasn't anything you could do about it.

You tried to convince yourself that it didn't matter, that Fred Weasley would never feel that way about you. And even if he did, it was only because of a stupid potion. Nothing real.

Still, the ache didn't go away.

&

The days dragged on, and the awkwardness between you and Fred showed no signs of fading. It was as though an invisible wall had gone up between you, and neither of you seemed willing—or able—to break it down.

Unfortunately for you, George Weasley had noticed.

One evening, as you sat in the common room trying (and failing) to focus on your Potions essay, George dropped into the seat across from you with a casual grin that immediately put you on edge.

“Hey there,” he said, propping his chin on his hand like he had all the time in the world.

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you want, George?”

“Why do you assume I want something?” he asked, feigning offense. “Maybe I just enjoy your company.”

You shot him a flat look.

“Alright, fine,” he said, leaning forward. “I couldn’t help but notice you and Fred have been acting… weird lately. Care to explain?”

Your stomach clenched. “We’re not acting weird.”

George snorted. “Right. And Peeves isn’t a menace. Come on, what happened? Did you two finally confess your undying love for each other and now you’re too shy to make eye contact?”

Heat flooded your face. “What? No! That’s not—”

“Relax, I’m kidding.” George smirked, but his eyes were sharper than usual, like he was trying to piece something together. “Still, you two have been avoiding each other like the plague, and it’s getting pretty pathetic. So, here’s the deal—I’m going to help.”

You groaned. “I don’t need your help, George.”

“Too bad,” he said cheerfully, standing up and dusting off his robes. “Because you’re getting it anyway.”

Before you could argue, he was gone, whistling as he disappeared up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory.

The next day, you found yourself standing outside a supply closet near the Charms classroom, clutching a note George had pressed into your hand that morning. “Meet me here at seven,” it read, the handwriting unmistakably his.

You had half a mind to ignore it, but curiosity—and a faint flicker of hope that he might have some kind of plan to fix things with Fred—got the better of you.

When you opened the door, the last person you expected to see was Fred, but you should’ve.

He was leaning against a stack of boxes, arms crossed and looking just as startled to see you. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

“George told me to meet him,” you said, stepping inside. “Why are you here?”

“He told me the same thing,” Fred muttered, narrowing his eyes as he glanced at the door. “Wait a minute—”

Before either of you could react, the door slammed shut behind you with a deafening clunk.

Fred lunged for the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, jiggling it uselessly.

“Let me guess,” you said dryly, crossing your arms. “It’s locked?”

Fred sighed, resting his forehead against the door. “Yeah. It’s locked.”

The silence in the cramped closet was unbearable. You could hear every breath Fred took, every restless shuffle of his feet. He was standing close—too close—his familiar scent of soap and something faintly sweet filling the air.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to laugh. Mostly, you wanted to get out of there before you said something you’d regret.

“I don’t understand why he’s doing this,” Fred muttered, pacing the tiny space like a trapped animal.

“Maybe he’s sick of you avoiding me,” you snapped, unable to keep the bitterness from your voice.

Fred froze mid-step, his back to you. “I’m not avoiding you.”

You scoffed. “Really? Because you’ve barely said three words to me in the last week, and you won’t even look at me.”

Fred’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t turn around. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?” you pressed, stepping closer despite yourself. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you can’t wait to get away from me.”

“That’s not true,” Fred said, his voice tight.

“Then explain it!” you demanded, your frustration spilling over. “Because all I can think is that you’re embarrassed about what happened. About me. And honestly, Fred, if that’s the case, then—”

“It’s because I like you, alright?” Fred exploded, spinning around to face you.

The words slammed into you like a rogue Bludger, knocking the air from your lungs.

“What?” you whispered, barely able to process what he’d just said.

“I like you,” Fred repeated, his voice softer now but no less intense. “I’ve liked you for ages, and that stupid potion just… it made it impossible to hide. And then when it wore off, I panicked because I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t want to ruin things, so I thought maybe if I stayed away…”

He trailed off, running a hand through his hair as he looked at you, his eyes pleading. “I was avoiding you because I’m a coward. Not because I’m embarrassed. Never that.”

Your heart was racing, your emotions a chaotic swirl of disbelief, anger, and something else—something warm and fragile that you’d been too afraid to name until now.

“You’re an idiot,” you said, your voice trembling.

Fred blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“You’re an idiot,” you repeated, stepping closer until you were mere inches apart. “Because I like you too, and you could’ve just said something instead of making me think you hated me.”

Fred’s eyes widened, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then, like a dam breaking, he surged forward, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you with a desperation that made your knees weak.

You kissed him back, your hands clutching at his robes as the tension that had been building between you for weeks melted away, replaced by something infinitely sweeter.

The sound of the door creaking open barely registered until a familiar voice drawled, “Well, well, well. About time.”

You and Fred broke apart, spinning to see George leaning casually against the doorframe, his grin so wide it was practically criminal.

“George?” Fred said, his voice laced with both shock and irritation.

“Don’t mind me,” George said, waving a hand. “Just here to check on my brilliant plan. Which, I must say, worked beautifully.”

Your stomach dropped. “Plan?”

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” George said, crossing his arms. “Who do you think left that box of chocolates on Fred’s bed in the first place?”

Fred’s jaw dropped. “You knew about the love potion?”

“Of course I knew,” George said, looking offended. “I took them from your bag after you got distracted helping me brainstorm pranks. Figured it was the perfect opportunity to give you two a little push.”

Your mouth opened and closed, words failing you. “You—you tricked me?”

“I prefer ‘strategically intervened,’” George said, flashing you a cheeky grin. “And before you get too mad, just remember—it worked. You’re welcome.”

Fred groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Merlin, George, you’re insufferable.”

“Insufferably brilliant,” George corrected, clapping Fred on the shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a very smug letter to write to Mum about my matchmaking skills. Ta!”

With that, he sauntered off, whistling a jaunty tune and leaving you and Fred standing in stunned silence.

Fred let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Only George.”

You couldn’t help but smile, the weight of the last week finally lifting. “Remind me to kill him later.”

“Only after I thank him,” Fred said, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “Because, for once, his meddling actually worked out.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around your waist. “It did.”

This time, when he kissed you, there was no tension, no uncertainty—just the kind of warmth that made you wonder how you’d ever lived without it.

[writing-the-stars]

Unspoken, Unheard

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader; Platonic!Morgan x Reader

Summary: In the midst of a high-stakes case, you face the terrifying task of being bait for a dangerous unsub. As the mission spirals out of control, the unacknowledged bond between you and Hotch is tested, forcing him to confront the risks of letting his heart lead in a world where vulnerability could mean losing everything.

Warnings: Angst (It's Who I Am), Emotional Distance (On Hotch's End. Go Figure), Canon-Typical Violence, Body Injury (Very Minor), No Use of Y/N or Physical Descriptors, Happy Ending. Let Me Know If I Forgot Something

Word Count: 6.6k (This was a BEAST)

A/N: Happy New Year!!! This is my very first Criminal Minds fic EVER AND my first story of the new year!! I have been a fan of this show for such a looong time. So I'm really excited to be introducing this as a fandom I write for. I have been hyperfixating on Hotch for a while now (something about stoic, emotionally unavailable people really gets me). Anyway, this really was a labor of love and a passion project. Thank you all for reading! I truly hope you enjoy. Have a wonderful day!

Masterlist | Criminal Minds Masterlist

A sudden sharp, insistent knocking echoes through the quiet hotel room, jolting you from your restless sleep. Adrenaline surges through your veins, heart thrumming in your ears, as you instinctively reach for the weapon on your nightstand. Blinking against the fog of your interrupted sleep, your mind races, trying to make sense of what ripped you from your sleep.

You listen carefully, waiting to hear if there is anything that could give you context to your current situation. But the silence returns, as if it had never been broken. You approach the door cautiously, your fingers curling tightly around the handle of your gun. Pressing your eye to the peephole, you freeze when you see Hotch standing on the other side. Relief floods through you and you exhale shakily, but only for a moment as you come to the grim realization that there must be another victim. You set your weapon down, running a hand over your head as you prepare yourself for the bad news and a new case development.

But as you open the door, your rehearsed professionalism falters.

Hotch is far from the professional, composed self he presents to the world. His dark hair is unkempt, the gel that usually holds it perfectly in place seemingly forgotten. His v-neck shirt hangs loose around his clavicle, giving you a glimpse of his defined pectorals, and his pajama pants pool awkwardly at his feet, as if he didn’t pull them up all the way before reaching you. The typical mask of calm authority he wears is nowhere to be found as he stares at you with wide, haunted eyes, face pale and glistening with sweat.

There is clear tension in his posture, his breathing a little too shallow and his expression a little too tight. You’ve never seen your friend like this before. Something unnerved him and quite frankly it was starting to rattle you too. 

Hotch hadn’t really thought any of this through. The visceral image of your body disfigured and mutilated just like the victims of this case filled him with raw terror. He needed to see you.

He had to make sure you were safe. He needed to know that you were alive and still intact. To know that you will still look up at him with that wide-eyed gaze filled with so much trust and quiet adoration that it makes his guarded heart falter. To know that when a case is too heavy and you all are exhausted and frayed at the edges, you will still throw him one of those smiles— one that tells him you still believe in him, that you know he will get you all through it. That you are still his team. To know that he will still hear the warmth of your laughter around the bullpen, cutting through the darkest of days at the BAU because you just had that way about you. That quiet, effortless brightness that made the worst days bearable. And he knew it wasn't just the job you were good at; it was the way you kept everyone together.

Most of all, he needed to know that you would still be you. That this job hadn’t taken you away from him— that it hadn’t stolen one more thing he couldn’t bear to lose.

But as the seconds stretch on, the initial terror that gripped him so tightly begins to subside and his mind begins to regain control. The logical Hotch starts to take over, reminding him that everything is fine. That it was only a dream, an irrational fabrication, and he is not the kind of person to allow emotions to overrun his decisions. 

He’s being reckless and this moment of weakness could jeopardize the team, and everything he has worked so hard to build. He needs to turn and leave before this situation gets any more out of hand, but it’s too late. The lock clicks. The door swings open and there you are, alive and whole. His breath catches. He had feared the worst— no, not feared, he’d seen the worst in his nightmare— but you’re here, standing right in front of him. The sheer relief almost makes his knees buckle. 

“Hotch?” 

Your voice is soft but laced with concern, the sight of him so disheveled, so unguarded, sets off a ripple of panic in your chest, “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. He stands there, staring at you as though he can’t believe you are standing in front of him. His mouth opens, but no words come out. His chest heaves with uneven breaths, and his eyes dart across your face, taking in every detail as though memorizing it.

“Hotch?” you repeat, your brows knitting together, “What’s wrong?”

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost hoarse, a shallow attempt at the calm, authoritative tone he usually uses. 

“I just… wanted to make sure you’re alright. We’ve been up late. Thought you might need to check in."

His words are careful, almost rehearsed, but you still hear the vulnerability he’s trying to mask. His eyes dart away from yours, down to the floor, and you can almost see him retreating into himself, as if he’s trying to hide from you. 

"Are you sure you’re okay?" you press a little, unable to ignore the worry curling in your chest. This isn’t just about the case. Something deeper is going on, and you aren’t going to disregard it. 

You step out a little into the hallway, bringing yourself closer to Hotch, trying to gauge if you’re reading him wrong. But this isn’t like him— Hotch wouldn’t show up at your door in the middle of the night without reason.

He looks as if he is barely holding himself together. You know him well enough to know when something is wrong, and in this moment, everything about him screams that he is on edge. It isn’t just exhaustion or stress— it’s something more that seems to be warring with him.

His lips press together in a tight line and you can see the muscles in his neck contract. "I’m fine," he says quickly, urgingly, as if he is trying to convince you and himself. 

The wall of his facade is fissuring and, for the first time since knowing Aaron Hotchner, you feel like he might finally let you in. You push a little harder, hoping that acknowledging the crack in his armor will finally shatter the whole illusion. 

“Hotch, you’re not fine,” you say softly, your voice almost a whisper, “Why don’t you come in for some coffee? I still have some of the good stuff Rossi bought me for Secret Santa.”

Hotch opens his mouth, but the words get tangled, and he immediately closes it again. His throat is tight, seemingly collapsing on itself. There are so many things he wants to say to you. Truths he wants to reveal, but he can’t. He can’t bring himself to venture into that unknown territory, to cross that line that’s already too blurry. There are too many things at stake, too many risks he can’t afford to take. He can not allow his feelings to complicate things any further. 

He takes a step back, and in doing so, you watch him fully retreat into himself, restructuring the wall you had come so close to tearing down. Perhaps you pushed too hard. 

He regains the professional composure you have grown accustomed to seeing. His usual authority slips into something sharp, more distant. "We’re on the job," he says, his voice harder, defensive, "There’s no time for that."

His words sting and you feel a pang of hurt as he continues to shut you out. But you remember who Hotch is. This isn’t about you. This is about him, about whatever had shaken him. Hotch has built walls higher than you can scale. Walls that even you—someone who knows him better than most—aren’t allowed to breach.

"Get some rest," he adds, the words flat and sterile, "We’ll need you ready tomorrow."

Your window for something more is closing, and you can’t bring yourself to stop it. You know what’s happening.

He’s scared. Scared of what? You don’t know, but you have a feeling that you’re the cause. Or at least a part of it.

“Good night, Hotch,” you resign, hoping to mask the disappointment of being kept at arm’s length. 

He gives you one last brief nod before he turns away, heading down the hallway with that same brisk, purposeful stride he always uses when he is trying to put distance between himself and whatever feelings are bothering him.

You stand there, the door half-open, watching him go. Your chest aches at the thought of what could have been. 

Closing the door softly and locking it behind you, you begin to process everything that unfolded. Questions pace your mind as you crawl back into bed. What just happened? What just really happened? The moment felt like a confession of sorts. An almost admission of something Hotch has been holding on to, but doesn’t want you to know. 

And maybe you just imagined it, but you feel like you saw a flicker of something in his eyes. An indication that the connection you have been feeling is not one-sided, a hint that you mean more to him than just a colleague, more than just a friend. You close your eyes, but the image of Hotch at your door stays with you, etched into the corners of your mind. An unanswered question you’re too afraid to ask. 

-*-

The local precinct hums with its usual activity— phones ringing, keyboards clicking, and the low murmur of officers exchanging updates on ongoing cases. Yet, the energy is tenser than the previous days of this case. 

Hotch’s behavior has been off all morning— sharply professional, overly focused on the case, and oddly reserved. It isn’t just his terse responses or the way he’s deliberately avoiding meeting your eyes— it’s the heaviness in the air every time you are in the same room. The warmth you usually share with him is gone and his quiet intensity has evolved into a coldness that has made you uncomfortable. 

An awkward distance has grown between the two of you and you can’t shake the feeling that it’s your fault. 

It hurts, but you try to brush it off. You know the job has a way of consuming him. You try to focus on the case, bury yourself in the details, but the weight of Hotch’s distance is becoming impossible to ignore. And you aren’t the only one to feel it. 

“Hey Sunshine,” Morgan approaches your work station, voice quieter than usual, “Everything good with you?” His tone carries a warmth that welcomingly contrasts with the chill you’ve been receiving from Hotch today. 

You look up at him, trying to mask your unease, but Morgan isn’t fooled. 

“You seem a little… off today,” he says, eyes scanning your face with that trademark perceptiveness, “What’s going on?”

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, glancing over at Hotch across the room. He’s engrossed in the case files, his posture stiff, his face unreadable. But you feel the weight of his distance press heavy on your shoulders.

“Nothing,” you tell him, trying to diminish the effect Hotch’s behavior is having on you, “Just… tired. The case is taking a lot out of me.”

Morgan doesn’t buy it for a second. “Uh-huh. And you didn’t notice Hotch getting all icy on you today?”

You still. You didn’t want to admit it, but it’s true. All of his standoffish behavior is directed at you. The distance, the sharper words, he’s isolating himself from you. And it doesn’t take a profiler like Morgan to see it.

You glance back at Hotch before returning your gaze to Morgan. He’s known Hotch for a while. Longer than you. If there is anyone you can gain insight from, it would be him. Lowering your voice, you confide in your teammate, “I don’t know, Derek… it’s like… he’s pulling away. Like something’s changed. I don’t know what happened last night, but whatever it is, it’s different. I can’t shake the feeling that I did something wrong.”

“What happened last night?”

“He came to my room.”

“Hotch?” He asks astonished, surprised by the uncharacteristic behavior. 

“Yeah, he said he wanted to check in with me, but… I don’t know, Derek, something was off. It was like he was hiding something from me.” 

Morgan leans in closer, his expression softening with sincerity. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Hotch is going through something. I’ve been around him long enough to know when he’s bottling things up.” 

You appreciate the comfort in Morgan’s words, even if they don’t entirely ease your concern. You just wish Hotch would open up to you. Let you be there for him and carry some of the weight of his burdens. 

Morgan sighs, seeing the crease still planted in your brow. “Look, he’s been carrying a lot of weight on his shoulders for a while now,” he states, voice turning more serious, “This job— it changes him. Sometimes it makes him pull away from the people he cares about the most, even if he doesn’t mean to. But I’ll talk to him, alright? I’m not gonna let him shut you out.”

You smile up at him, feeling some of the weight lift off of your shoulders.

“Don’t worry about it right now,” he continues, voice morphing into a more professional tone, “We’ve got a case to finish, and we need to focus. But after all this is done, you and I are gonna have a talk, alright?”

You nod, giving him a small, grateful smile, “Thanks, Derek.”

Soon after, the reality of the case takes over again. An officer charges in with a disturbing update: a new victim has been discovered. The pattern is clear, the unsub is escalating. The cooling-off period, which had been a crucial factor in the previous profile,  has shrunk dramatically, and you all are running out of time to prevent another murder. The urgency in the room is palpable. The team crowds around the whiteboard and, after analyzing the victims and the unsub’s pattern, you all come to a grim conclusion. You need someone who looks like the previous victims to bait the unsub into a trap.

There is an oppressive silence as the team’s eyes flick to you. The weight of their saddened, knowing gazes is almost unbearable. The fact that you share similar features with the victims of this case had not gone unnoticed by you. In fact, it was one of the first things you noted about the unsub’s victimology. It had been an unsettling realization. One you’d been working through for days, trying to figure out how it would affect your role in the investigation. Now you know. 

The air is heavy with the unspoken implication. You had expected this. It’s part of the job. But nothing can prepare you for the moment when the possibility becomes real. Your gaze flicks to Hotch, but he isn’t looking at you. His eyes are fixed on the board, on the files, on anything but you. He was desperate. Looking for an out, for a solution that did not involve putting you in harm’s way. 

“Hotch,” Morgan says, cutting through the silence, “We need someone who looks like the unsub’s previous victims. We don’t have time to waste.” 

He glances at you, eyes softening, then back to Hotch, sensing the unspoken hesitation. Hotch’s expression darkens. He looks between Morgan and you, his mouth set in a tight line. You can see the internal battle in his eyes—he wants to object, to find another way—but the case can't wait.

“Alright,” Hotch concedes stiffly, his voice potraying none of the inner turmoil he’s feeling, “We’ll set up the trap. We don’t have time for anything else.”

You close your eyes for a brief moment, pushing away the surge of panic that’s threatening to take hold of you. You know it’s the best strategy. It’s what has to be done, and you will do it. But you don’t have to like it.

“You good with this?” Morgan asks, his tone far more personal than professional. He wants to make sure you’re okay, wants to be sure you aren’t being pushed into something you aren’t ready for.

You give a small nod, more for your own sake than his. “I’m good,” you lie, voice steady even though your insides feel anything but.

After your confirmation the team is immediately on, discussing the logistics of setting up the trap. Your gaze flickers to Hotch once more, and for a moment, you think you see something shift in his eyes— something that isn’t just professional concern. It almost looks like he wants to say something more, but he doesn't. He just turns back to the board, his silence louder than any words he could have spoken.

His mind races, unable to focus on the task at hand. His thoughts are consumed with you— the thought of you being so close to danger. He can’t stand it. The very idea that you will be bait— the possibility of you being exposed to the unsub, potentially hurt— makes his insides twist with dread. But he can’t show it. Not now. Not when the mission is the priority.

He focuses on the details, assigning roles, making decisions. But every time his eyes shift to you, his stomach tightens. Bait. It’s a professional term, a necessary risk. But to him, it feels like a betrayal—one he couldn’t afford to confront.

-*-

You stand near the edge of the scene, trying to focus on the instructions being relayed through your comms. The humid, night air clings to your skin— another layer pressing on the building panic in your chest. You watch as your team slips seamlessly into their positions with practiced precision. You all have done this before, it isn’t unfamiliar territory; however, it’s different when it’s your life on the line.  

You’re the one baiting the unsub, alone, vulnerable. There’s no guarantee of your safety, no script to follow that ensures a happy ending. You’re putting yourself directly in harm’s way, and that knowledge frightens you more than you’d like to admit. You try to steady your breathing, but your heartbeat is louder than your thoughts. This is the moment when everything could go wrong, and that thought sets fear, real visceral and terrifying fear, the kind you’ve been pushing down for hours, alight in your bones. 

You feel him come up behind you, his presence heavy, solid and grounding. You feel the weight of his eyes on you. The tension from before charging the air around you. Up until now, his focus has solely been on the operation. You know he is just as worried as you are, maybe even more so, but his stoicism doesn't allow him to show it. You wonder if his concern is more focused on the mission going well or on the risk this poses to you. Regardless, he is a comforting presence, one you feel safe to confide in. 

“Hotch,” you murmur, almost too quietly for him to hear, turning to face the man who has grown so dear to your heart. 

He looks at you, expression unreadable, but his quiet intensity soothes some of your panic. 

“Are you sure about this? I- I don’t know if I can do this,” your voice shakes, highlighting the fear you’ve been holding back all night.

Hotch struggles to give you an answer. You are looking at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and all he can think about is last night— the image of you mutilated, the fact he couldn’t save you. 

The overwhelming need to protect you surges through him again. He can’t—he can’t let this happen. But he is the leader of this team, it is his duty to see this mission through. To bring this case to a close. He can’t allow his personal feelings to change anything, to interfere with this job. 

He forces his voice to remain steady, professional, “It’s the only way.”

You concede with a nod of your head. You don’t argue. You never do. But Hotch studies you, sees the slight tightening around your eyes, the sharp rise in your chest. It makes his heart ache. He feels the weight of this moment. Knows this is a critical point— not just for the case, but for you. He sees how hard you’re fighting to hold yourself together, and for a split second, the professional facade cracks. He takes a step closer.

“You’re not alone in this,” Hotch says, his voice low but steady. He reaches for your arm, gently squeezing the flesh there. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You’ve been trained for this. You can do this.”

His words settle over you, your heart rate slowing, and for the first time since this operation started, you can breathe again. 

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he repeats urgingly, his voice low, protective. It’s a promise. His hand lingers for a moment longer than necessary before he pulls back, the weight of his words lingering in the air between you two. Hotch’s presence, the way he’s always steady, always calm—it gives you the strength you need.

"Alright," you whisper, your voice steadier now, "Alright, let's do this."

As the team readies themselves, you remain in place, trying to keep yourself from fidgeting. Adrenaline courses through your veins, but it’s not just fear— it’s the anticipation. The waiting. You’ve been taught by Prentiss how to manage these moments, how to keep your emotions in check and your senses sharp. You channel every lesson she taught you— stay calm, stay focused, keep breathing. You’ve studied the unsub’s patterns, and every part of you is ready to play your role.

You survey the area, locating your team’s positions. Morgan, Hotch, and Prentiss are stationed inside as backup, Rossi and Reid near the exits, and the remaining local officers are stationed discreetly around the perimeter. You look towards the nightclub, the neon lights, the rhythmic thrum of music faintly audible even from outside. Static crackles in your ear, and you hear Hotch’s voice, calm and steady, “All units are in position.”

The signal to proceed.

You take a deep breath, trying to control your shaking hands. You’re ready. You have to be ready. With one final glance around the perimeter, ensuring your team’s at your back, you steel yourself, stepping into the lion’s den. 

The pulsating beat of the music encapsulates you, the bass reverberating around your body. The flashing lights cast strobe-like shadows across the crowded room. It’s loud, chaotic, and full of life— but that only makes it more dangerous. The lights are meant to disorient and the noise to drown out your thoughts. You see how it is easy for the unsub to get away with his victims. 

You stand in the middle of it all, heart pounding in your chest as you pretend to enjoy the music, to be just another partygoer in the crowd. Prentiss’s voice crackles in your earpiece, barely audible over the music, “You need to relax. You look stiff.”

You nod to yourself, trying to ground yourself in the role. You watch the crowd around you, mimicking their movements. Glancing over your shoulder, you see Hotch standing across the club, blending into the shadows near the back of the bar, dark and brooding. He’s close— but not close enough. He can’t be. You can’t afford to look too conspicuous.

The rest of the indoors team is hiding in plain sight. Prentiss is near the restrooms and Morgan is in a corner booth. And Hotch is watching from the shadows. He’s waiting, calculating—but something in the way he’s watching you makes your heart rate spike.

You catch his eyes and everything feels different. The professional wall between you two starts to crumble. You feel yourself becoming looser under his watchful gaze and you dance. You dance for him, you dance as if you’re the only two people in the room. And Hotch can’t take his eyes off you. 

But then you feel it. A shift in the crowd. 

He’s not the tallest man in the room, but he has a presence that immediately commands attention. His gaze is cold, calculating, but there’s something oddly magnetic about him. He moves through the crowd with purpose, like he knows exactly what he’s looking for. His eyes flick over the people around him, assessing each one with the precision of a predator.

As he approaches you, you feel a rush of adrenaline, but you push it down. Emily’s training coming back to you. He stops in front of you, gaze flicking to your face, studying you for a beat longer than necessary.

He smiles— a dark, knowing smile. “I’ve been watching you,” he says, his voice a hair louder than the music, his tone carrying an eerie calm.

You force yourself to keep your composure. "Have you?" You raise an eyebrow, playing the part. The unsub takes a step closer, his eyes flickering down to your body, sizing you up. You know what he’s doing, know exactly how he’s visualizing your body and all the horrific things he’ll do it— just like the previous victims. It makes your skin crawl. 

“You’re not like the others,” he says, his voice lower, whispering in your ear, but thick with amusement. He’s toying with you.

You manage a small smile, “What makes you think that?” You tease, pretending to be at ease. 

His hand snakes up your body, eyes never leaving yours, “You’ve got a different look to you. You don’t belong here.”

The trail of his hand on your body sends a chill down your spine. He’s not being aggressive— yet —but the interaction feels like an invitation to a game. He’s testing the waters. 

“I belong where I want to belong,” you reply, lifting your chin up to appear more confident than you actually are.

He smiles, his eyes lighting up with something darker. “Maybe you do,” he says, voice quieter now, “Or maybe you're just pretending.”

You take a step back freeing yourself from his grasp, his imposing presence becoming overwhelming. The unsub’s smile falters just a fraction. A flicker of suspicion, quick but undeniable, passes over his face. 

You take a breath, keeping your face neutral, trying not to let anything slip. “We all pretend sometimes,” you answer smoothly, “What about you?”

For a moment, his eyes narrow, the two of you engaging in some kind of silent battle, each trying to read the other. He’s intrigued, but he hasn’t made up his mind about you yet.

“I’ve seen your type before,” the unsub says, taking a step closer to you, shortening the distance you previously implemented, “You’re always looking for something. People like you—”

You cut him off quickly, hoping to regain control of the situation. “People like me? And what exactly is that?”

He leans in a little closer, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “The ones who can’t find meaning in their lives, so they run to places like this thinking they can find answers. They never do.”

You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as his eyes move over you again, this time lingering on your eyes, like he’s searching for something in you— something real. But you know what he’s doing. He’s trying to find a weakness. A slip.

The air between you two grows heavier, and despite everything you’ve been trained to do, despite the calm that you’re trying so hard to project, you feel the pressure building. Your heartbeat picks up, but you push it down. You can’t let him see you panic.

“Well, I guess that depends on what you’re looking for,” you say, your voice more uncertain than you want it to be. You quickly mask the hesitation with another smile, but this time it doesn’t feel as convincing.

His eyes flicker— just for a moment— across your face. Something about the way you said that, the slight nervousness that edged into your voice— it’s enough to make him pause.

For just a split second, he looks confused, as though something doesn’t add up. His eyes narrow, and you see the shift in his demeanor. The playful curiosity turns into something more calculating.

“You don’t talk like them,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. His voice is softer now, more contemplative. 

You feel your stomach flip, but you don’t flinch. Not yet.

“You have a very... observant eye,” you reply, forcing the words out with more confidence than you feel. You quickly change the subject, hoping to redirect his attention. “Why don’t we go somewhere quieter? I can show you just how different I really am.”

The unsub hesitates, his brow furrowing as he watches you a little too closely. He’s not sure what it is yet, but he’s starting to doubt that you’re just another unsuspecting person in the club. The air between you thickens, the tension building.

The unsub steps back slightly, eyes scanning you again, this time with deeper suspicion. It’s like a switch has been flipped— he knows something is off. 

“Sure,” he sneers, grabbing your arm roughly and jerking you forward. The action pulls you into his chest as his free hand comes up, producing a blade. The cold metal feels heavy as it presses against your throat— the sharp edge digging into your skin. You freeze, pulse pounding as your fear of this operation plays out before you. One quick jerk and your whole life is over in the middle of a second-rate night club. “What is this? Some kind of trap?” He demands angrily, pressing the knife harder. You can feel the tip against your skin, its sharp edge threatening to break the surface. Every small breath you take makes the blade press in deeper, but you don’t flinch. 

Hotch’s voice rings clear through your earpiece, sharp and commanding, “Move in. Now.”

The team springs into action, bursting from their scattered positions, guns drawn, closing in quickly. Chaos erupts as the crowd disperses from the growing conflict— a cacophony of panic and fear echoing around you, mirroring the terror gripping you inside. The moment the unsub sees them, his eyes widen in recognition, but his grip on you doesn’t loosen. He pulls you in front of him like a shield, his body tight against yours, the knife still pressed to your neck. Panic flickers in his eyes, and he becomes more desperate, realizing the window of escape is shrinking. 

“Stay back!” He shouts, his voice shaking with rage and fear, “One move and it’s over. You hear me?” His grip on the knife is trembling now. He’s scared, unhinged, not thinking clearly. You swallow, trying to stay composed. You’ve been trained for this, but the simulation is nothing compared to the real immediacy of danger. 

“Stay calm,” Hotch instructs, his gaze locked on you. His voice is sharp, but there’s a layer of raw tension there. He’s not just worried about you as a team member; he’s invested. This isn’t just another case— it’s you. He won’t let anything happen to you.

The unsub’s grip on you is relentless, and the weight of the knife against your throat is a constant reminder of how quickly this can turn deadly.

“Why don’t we just talk about this?” You manage to say, your voice steady despite the panic raging inside, “I can help you. We can work this out.” But the unsub isn’t listening. His eyes gleam with madness as he presses the knife harder against your throat. 

“You think I’m stupid?” His voice is low, guttural, “You think this is going to end well for me? For you?”

The tension is unbearable and you know it’s only a matter of time before he makes a move, one way or the other.

“You don’t have to do this,” you try again, voice trembling but steady. His grip on the knife shifts slightly, and you catch a glimpse of hesitation in his eyes. It’s a split second, but it’s enough for you to seize the opportunity. You feel the unsub shift slightly, his weight moving in such a way that it opens up just enough space for you to act. You shift your body weight quickly, slamming your elbows into his ribs. The move is sharp and sudden, and you feel him stumble back, losing his balance for a split second. His hold on you loosens, just enough for you to wrench free from his grasp.

In that split second, everything changes. 

“Now!” Hotch’s voice explodes. Prentiss and Morgan surge forward, moving swiftly, but not close enough. In a final desperate attempt to regain control, the unsub brings the knife up, swinging it wildly toward you. Your heart stops and you freeze, only for a moment, before instinct takes over and you dodge to the side. The blade grazes your cheek, cutting a shallow line across your skin. The sting is instant, but you don’t focus on the pain. 

With the unsub distracted by your move, Prentiss is the first to close in. She grabs his wrist, wrenching the knife away, while Morgan rushes in, tackling him to the ground. As the remainder of the team rushes forward, the unsub struggles, but he is no match for your team

As soon as the unsub is secured, Hotch is there, rushing towards you. He places a hand on your shoulder, his fingers lightly gripping you as though he needs to make sure you’re real. 

“Are you alright?” His voice is softer than it’s been all day, but is still tight with concern. You take a shallow breath, trying to steady your heartbeat. “I’m fine,” you answer, though your voice betrays you, a slight tremor you can not control, “Just some scratches.” 

Your fingers graze over the thin line of blood from the knife remaining on your neck, before landing on the shallow wound on your cheek where you swipe away some of the trickling blood. It’s nothing permanent, but the sting is sharp. Hotch’s gaze flicks between the small wounds, and his jaw tightens. 

“You did great,” his voice is low, but laced with something more. There’s a protectiveness in his eyes now that goes beyond the usual command, beyond the professional distance. Your heart is still racing from the close call, but something in the way he looks at you, something unspoken, makes you pause. It’s more than just concern. 

-*-

The case is over. The unsub is in custody, and the adrenaline has worn off, but the weight of the last few days— the close calls, the near-misses— lingers heavily in the air.

The team is scattered around the bullpen, tired but relieved. Some are gathering their things, others are engaged in quiet conversation. But Hotch, who is usually the first to bury himself in case notes and paperwork, is standing near the window of his office, his back to the room, staring out at the city lights in silence.

You’ve just finished checking your emails, last light on in the bullpen, and are about to leave when you notice Hotch still standing there, a silhouette against the dimming light. The intensity of his brooding is almost palpable and you can’t help but feel drawn to him. You approach his office slowly, your footsteps light on the floor, knowing that there’s something unresolved between you— something that needs to be addressed, even if the words seem impossible to say.

When you get to his door, he doesn’t turn to face you right away, but you can tell by the way his posture stiffens that he’s aware of your presence. After a beat, he speaks without looking at you.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice is low, still carrying the edge of concern. There’s something in the way he asks that you’ve never heard before, a note of uncertainty beneath his usual command.

You stop a few feet away from him, feeling the familiar tension between you two. But this time, it's different— he's different. His usual reserve is slipping, and the emotional weight of the past days is leaving a crack in his armor.

“I’m fine,” you answer, and you mean it, even if there's more left unsaid. The cut on your cheek has been treated, and physically you’re fine.

His shoulders sag slightly, but he still doesn’t turn. He stands there for a long moment, lost in thought, before he finally speaks again, this time quieter, almost hesitant.

“I need you to know something,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Turning slowly, he faces you now, his eyes intense, but there's a vulnerability in them that you’ve never seen before. The walls are down. There’s no hiding it anymore— he’s exposing himself in a way that feels foreign to both of you.

“I...” he begins, but stops. He takes a breath, trying to steady himself. “I... don’t know what I would’ve done if I had lost you tonight. I can’t— I can’t keep pretending that it doesn’t hurt to see you in danger.”

The words hang between you two, heavy and unspoken, as he tries to gather himself. You swallow hard at his words, and your heart flutters in your chest. It’s the first time he’s said something this personal, this raw. You can feel your pulse quicken as you wait for him to continue.

“I know we can’t do this... but I need you to know,” he continues, voice thick with emotion. “I care about you. I care about you more than I’ve let on. More than I should.”

You take a breath, feeling your own emotions rising in your chest. You’ve known for a long time that something was there between the two of you. The tension, the quiet moments of connection. You’ve always felt it, even if you were too afraid to acknowledge it.

“I do too, Hotch. I have for a while.”

His eyes soften at your admission. There’s a tenderness in them that makes your breath catch. He takes a step toward you, closing the distance, and you feel the warmth of his presence envelop you.

He reaches out, his hand resting gently on your arm, as if afraid you might vanish if he touches you too hard. You don’t pull away. Instead, you lean into it, letting the moment settle between you. This is uncharted territory for both of you, but it feels right.

“I don’t know what happens now,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “but I need you to know... I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Not again.”

You nod, your heart full of so many things— relief, fear, and the growing certainty that this moment is the beginning of something neither of you can ignore anymore.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reply, voice steady, meeting his gaze with an honesty you’ve both kept locked away for far too long.

He looks at you for a long moment, the weight of everything you’ve both experienced together in those few words. And then, ever so slowly, he leans forward, just a fraction, and the air between you shifts. It’s not a declaration, not yet— but it’s a beginning. A slow, careful bridge being built from everything you’ve been through.

And at long last, the walls he’s built for so long have finally come down.

If you want to be a part of my taglist, please submit an ask specifying series, fandom, or all and I will happily add you!

[str4ngr]

Hello!! Could u do number 5 angst with megumi jjk??

no. [crying.]

just not now.

m. fushiguro. | my drug, my addiction.

cw: angst, foul language, unrequited love, rejection, gn! reader. wc: 629. notes: we're not friends. not proofread

His eyes met yours like a scalding hot burn, piercing your soul in merciless indifference,

"Sorry, but no."

Megumi's voice echoed in your head, no longer the song that made your heart sing but what made it shatter. Your breath felt like it shrunk in your lungs while each word and emotion began to ball up into a lump in your throat. Your eyes were blown wide, staring right at him but it felt like you couldn't see him. The warm curves of his cheeks turned into the creases in his forehead as he raised a brow at you,

"What? Look, y/n, I don't see you like that."

It felt like autopilot, robotic smile on your lip as you nod, letting him walk away with a dry expression as he turned his back on you. He didn't look back, the uncomfortable glare of unreciprocated feeling lingering on your face as your back faced his. it felt hard to swallow, it felt like your head was coming unscrewed from how fast it was spinning. Were you truly that delusional?

They always say when a door in life closes, another open, but right now? Right now, it feels like every single molecule of space around you is a door slamming shut and squeezing you alive. Your feet dragged back to your dorm, phone discarded somewhere, muted as regretful texts from Kugisaki lit up your lockscreen.

Curled up beneath a behemoth mountain of sheets, you still felt cold, the reminder of his dismissive stare, his hands in his pocket, the way all those bubbly feelings in your heart bursted into searing rejection that felt like they tore apart your chest.

The wall felt happier to stare at then yourself. God, maybe you really were wearing rose-tinted glasses. You pursed your lips, think to every time your mind brought you to a hopeful la-la-land of your ideals.

Every time Megumi 'stared' at you, was he staring at you, or was it because you were sat next to Panda, who he was talking to? Or... when he remembered your favorite snack! Or maybe it's because Itadori told him, since he was the one who was supposed to get them. And he was the one you had told... How about your birthday? No, all he did was contribute to the collective gift given by the other first-years.

With how dehydrated you were, you weren't sure if it was now that you became deranged, or before. But probably the latter, considering your mind was now brutally slapping you in the face, each memory of your pathetic puppy love followed by the raging reminder of rejection.

Maybe today wasn't the day to feel confident, maybe you shouldn't have hyped yourself up in the mirror this morning.

Early morning practice was a weekly shenanigan; shenanigan because most of the time, those who were not dueling to the half-death were goofing around. Today was just another one of those days, with Maki and Kugisaki going head to head in a close combat training. Megumi had. just finished with Itadori, and fuck did he look beautiful, wrist wiping the sweat on his forehead, his fringe flipped back as his chest slightly heaved.

You couldn't help but admire the way the just risen sun's light glimered off each bead that trailed down his defined cheekbones, or how his sharp eyes glared into Itadori at some stupid joke he had made. Megumi had decided to go refill his water bottle, and you decided to trail along. God, did you regret that now.

How much more fucking obvious could it be? You were being delusional, desperate, grasping at the straws of romantically meaningless, platonic, actions, playing make-believe as if they meant anything at all.

Class would be much harder from now on.

notes: oh my gee i havent used y/n in so long....

[lifefragments]

Dark Red

Pairing: Jayce x Reader Genre: Angst, Romance, Drama Setting: Arcane Season 1, after the events of the riots

Zaun’s streets were still alive with whispers of the chaos that had unfolded, but amidst the disarray, there was an unexpected calm that had settled in Piltover. Jayce stood at the edge of his study window, staring out over the city, his thoughts clouded by the events that had transpired. The weight of it all had settled heavily on his chest.

You had always been a steady presence in his life, someone who kept him grounded even when his ambitions ran wild, someone who made him feel like he wasn’t just a tool for progress. But recently, that connection had begun to feel strained, as though something was off, something unspoken.

The argument earlier had shaken him more than he cared to admit. It wasn’t like him to let emotions control his decisions, to lash out at someone he cared about. But the frustration, the pressure, had built up too much. And when you had confronted him about his priorities—about his reckless pursuit of power over the well-being of those who depended on him—he had snapped.

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so uncertain about the future, so unsure of what was worth fighting for. He had tried so hard to change things, to bridge the gap between Piltover and Zaun. But in his heart, he knew he had begun to lose sight of what truly mattered—the people who loved him, the ones he had been pushing away.

His thoughts were interrupted by the soft knock on the door. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was you. Your presence had always been the kind that filled a room, even without words.

“You still up?” Your voice was soft, a little hesitant, but it made his heart ache.

Jayce didn’t respond immediately. He just stared at the lights of the city below, feeling the pang of regret gnawing at him.

You stepped inside, not waiting for an invitation. Your gaze shifted from him to the window, then back to him. You had always been the one to break the silence, the one who could hold him when he needed it most. But tonight, you weren’t sure where to stand.

"Jayce…" you began, your voice low but firm. "We need to talk."

He finally turned to face you, the weight of his emotions threatening to spill over. "I know," he said, his tone almost resigned. "I shouldn’t have said those things. I… I was wrong."

You studied him, noticing the tension in his jaw, the furrow between his brows that hadn't been there before. "You were," you replied, your words sharp but not unkind. "But it’s not just about what you said. It’s about everything. It’s about how you’ve been so caught up in what you’re trying to achieve, you’ve lost sight of what’s important."

Jayce sighed deeply, pushing a hand through his hair. "I’m trying to fix things, [Y/N]. I’m trying to make a difference. But sometimes, it feels like I’m fighting a battle I can’t win."

"I know," you whispered, your heart aching for him. "But it’s not all about fighting. You’ve been so consumed by your need to prove something, Jayce, that you’ve forgotten what matters most—yourself, the people who care about you."

His chest tightened at your words. He wanted to argue, to explain how hard it had been, how much pressure he had been under to be the hero, the one who could save the city. But all he could do was look at you—look at the person who had always understood him, even when he couldn’t understand himself.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. The rawness of his confession hit him harder than he expected. The guilt, the overwhelming sense of loss, made his heart race.

You stepped closer, your eyes softening as you took in the vulnerability in his expression. "You won’t," you said quietly. "But you have to choose what matters. You have to choose where your heart is, Jayce. You can’t keep running from it."

For a moment, there was silence between you, the weight of unspoken words lingering in the air. Jayce took a step toward you, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for yours. His touch was tentative, unsure. He wasn’t sure if he had the right to ask for this after everything he had done, after everything he had put you through.

"I don’t know if I can change," he confessed, his gaze searching yours, desperate for some kind of reassurance. "But I’m trying. I swear I am."

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you leaned into him, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you close, as if afraid that if he let go, you might disappear.

“I know you’re trying, Jayce,” you murmured against his shirt. “But sometimes, trying isn’t enough. You have to choose.”

He closed his eyes, the reality of your words settling deep within him. He had been so focused on the idea of change, of saving the city, that he hadn’t stopped to consider what was right in front of him. What he had almost lost.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, the words almost too quiet to hear. "I didn’t mean to push you away. You matter to me more than anything else. More than any of this."

You pulled away just slightly, enough to meet his gaze. There was sadness in your eyes, but also something else—something that spoke of a love that was still there, though fragile.

"I just want you to remember that," you said softly. "I want you to remember us, Jayce. I don’t want to be a casualty of your ambition."

His heart clenched at your words. You weren’t just talking about the two of you—you were talking about everything that had been torn apart in the wake of his actions. But in that moment, he understood. He understood that his desire to change the world couldn’t come at the expense of the people who meant everything to him.

"Give me another chance," he whispered, his voice low, almost pleading. "Please. I’ll do better. I’ll make it right."

You hesitated, your eyes searching his face. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the deep regret that had settled in his chest. And for the first time in a long while, you saw the man you once knew—a man who wasn’t defined by his power, but by his heart.

With a soft sigh, you cupped his face in your hands, gently pulling him closer. "I want to believe you, Jayce. But you have to show me. You have to show me that you’re not just running after some ideal… that you’re running toward what we could be."

His breath caught in his throat as he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, the weight of his emotions almost overwhelming. “I will,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “I will show you.”

In that moment, the world outside seemed to fade away. There were no more riots, no more political games. It was just the two of you, standing in the quiet of his study, trying to find a way back to each other. Trying to find a way back to the love that had always been there, even in the darkest moments.

[doctorsilverhead]

please do something of Bay Optimus with the reader, but don't make them a couple, more like Optimus loves the reader but the feeling is so alien to him and he can't quite put a finger on it, specially because he think it'll be completely illogical (Shockwave moment), but despite all, still wants to be with you, like all the time, cuz you're full of kindness and compassion, and he just wants to surround himself with it. PLZ DO IT 😭

Heartstrings of Steel (Optimus Prime X Human Reader)

In the vast expanse of the cosmos, where stars twinkled like beacons of hope, a being of immense power and wisdom found himself drawn to the warmth of a human soul. Optimus Prime, the noble leader of the Autobots, had encountered countless battles and faced innumerable challenges, but nothing could have prepared him for the profound connection he felt towards you.

As he gazed upon your radiant presence, a strange sensation stirred within his spark – a yearning unlike any he had experienced before. It was a feeling so foreign, yet so captivating, that it left him in a state of bewilderment. The logical circuits of his mind struggled to comprehend the depth of this newfound emotion, for it defied the very laws of rationality that had governed his existence for eons.

Optimus Prime, a being forged from the finest alloys and imbued with the wisdom of the Primes, found himself drawn to the kindness and compassion that emanated from your very being. Your gentle spirit, untainted by the harshness of war and conflict, resonated with his own unwavering belief in the sanctity of life and the pursuit of peace.

As he observed you, he marveled at the way you carried yourself with grace and empathy, extending a hand of friendship to all who crossed your path. Your actions were a testament to the inherent goodness that resided within the human race, a quality that had often eluded his understanding in the midst of the endless battles he had fought.

Despite his vast knowledge and experience, Optimus Prime found himself at a loss to explain the profound connection he felt towards you. It was as if your very presence had ignited a spark within him, a spark that burned brighter than the stars themselves, filling him with a warmth he had never known before.

In those moments of quiet contemplation, he would ponder the depths of this newfound emotion, his processors whirring as he attempted to decipher the intricate web of feelings that had ensnared his spark. Yet, no matter how he tried to rationalize it, the truth remained elusive, a tantalizing mystery that beckoned him to explore the uncharted territories of his own existence.

To Optimus, the concept of love is as foreign as the distant stars from which he hails. His life, dedicated to the protection of all sentient beings, seldom affords him the luxury of exploring such deeply personal sentiments. Yet, in your company, he encounters an array of emotions that are as perplexing as they are profound. It is an experience akin to discovering a new spectrum of color in a world previously seen only in shades of duty and war.

Your interactions, though simple and unassuming, leave an indelible mark on Optimus's spark. He finds himself inexplicably drawn to you, wanting to be near you, to learn from you. The kindness and compassion you exude effortlessly are like beacons of light in his tumultuous existence. It's not just the battles won or the crises averted that begin to define his days, but the moments shared with you—moments that offer glimpses into what it means to be truly alive.

And so, Optimus Prime found himself drawn to your side, seeking solace in your company and basking in the radiance of your compassion. He yearned to surround himself with the very essence that made you who you were, for in your presence, he found a peace that transcended the boundaries of logic and reason.

Though the path ahead was shrouded in uncertainty, one thing remained clear – Optimus Prime's desire to remain by your side, to bask in the warmth of your kindness, and to learn the secrets of the human heart that had so profoundly touched his own. For in that moment, he understood that true strength lay not only in the might of his form but in the depth of his connection to those who embodied the virtues he held most dear.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

This may be an odd request, but if you are into it, can I request headcanons of Smiley, Helen, and Jason (or characters you want to write) where their partner (reader) dies in front of them on a mission of something, but somehow and for some reason, time gets reversed to start at the beginning of the day, so their partner is alive and sleeping on their bed. Please and thank you!

I sort of imagined it as them going to sleep at the end of the day and waking up and it's the previous day, I hope that's okay <3 This request also made me remember Helen and his heart jar for his dead s/o so we're just gonna pretend that doesn't happen this time :p

This got so long I'm sorry I'm posting this so late-

Smiley:

He was never made for field work, with his preference for medical assistance at the mansion he was never meant to be standing out there in the field. He was never meant to watch you take that fatal injury, to do everything he could to save you out in the woods surrounding you and fail so miserably at it, much to his extreme distress. The following hours before he'd eventually passed out at his medical table had been a mash of absolute pain and misery, feelings he'd assumed he'd be waking up to once more the following morning, but instead, he was met with your beautiful face smiling at him. He'd thought he'd died himself for a moment, after all, he hadn't fallen asleep in bed, but here you are beside him, just as snug as you were the previous morning. It doesn't take long for him to realize what's happened, and Smiley isn't going to waste the chance before him. He's quick to come up with some bullshit but believable reason about why you can't go out on the mission you're meant to, citing doctor's orders and him needing to monitor a concern that came up on a pre-mission health check.

Nobody questions him, although you're left quite concerned by his actions. Nobody else can see it, but you can see the tenseness of his body, his eyes darting about anxiously, the heavy beating of his heart. You can tell he's worried about something, but he won't tell you what it is, he simply can't. He can't bring himself to admit what he saw, what he experienced, not when it's still too fresh in his mind. Perhaps he'll tell you later, but for now, he instead chooses to seek comfort in the fact that by the time the two of you go to bed that night, you're still safe and sound in his arms, just as you are the following, brand new morning, and nothing else other than that matters. It takes far longer than he thought to tell you what truly happened that day, why he refused to let you go on the mission, years down the line, and it's only with your comfort and love for him at that time that allows him to truly grieve and let go of those horrible memories. Suddenly all those days of him being more concerned about you going on missions makes sense, and you apologize for ever questioning his judgment or doubting him, promising to always come home safe to him, just as he does for you.

Jason:

The scream leaving his throat feels as though it should rip it apart, just as he feels like he's being ripped apart at the sight of your dying body crashing to the ground. Jason can barely tell what's happening in the next few hours, between trying desperately to resuscitate you, weeping for your death, and the others trying to keep him from doing something drastic. He barely realizes when he's falling asleep, his mechanical body simply powering off due to overcharge of his emotions, and when he awakes the next morning, he can't help but immediately begin sobbing once more when his eyes land on you. You're still in his satin sleep shirt, oversized on your body and revealing your skin just as it had the morning before, a sleepy smile resting on your cheeks as you gaze at him as he wakes up, but it's different this morning because now you're replaced with immense concern over his sudden outburst. You cradle him close and attempt to comfort him as best you can as he cries and crushes you against his body, so scared that any moment you could slip away again.

It must have been a dream, he reasons. A terrible, horribly bad dream, one that felt far too real, and so he tries to calm down, but he can't. Not when everything in the day progresses the exact same day, and so he shatters, begging you not to go on the mission. He tells you of his "dream", tells you of everything he saw, how he's scared it might actually happen, and you're so devastated by the clear distress he's in, so, of course, you switch out with someone else and stay home. He's so thankful you listened, so thankful a stronger creep took your place, considering the sorry state said creep was in when they got home. It could have been you, but it wasn't. Not this time, not ever again. Jason will never allow you to die in such a way, not now that he knows it's a definite possibility, no. He'll keep you safe and comfortable in his arms, safe from any dangers, just as he is right now, and will continue to do, for the rest of your life. He treasures you far too greatly to ever allow you to truly experience something like that again, and if he can help prevent it in any way at all, he will do so, for you, the love of his life, someone who deserves to live and die in peace.

Helen:

He had such an odd feeling. He'd elected to stay home last minute, as Slender had assumed not all of you would need to attend this mission. However, he felt this clawing, nagging feeling in his chest, and so he ran, ran faster than he ever had before, but he'd been too late. Your blood was fresh as you lay collapsed against a tree, your eyes unfocused as he sat before you. He tried everything he could to try and help you, but it was too late. Others had to find the two of you, as Helen had sat there before you for hours, crying and screaming, revealing emotions nobody other than you had ever seen before. He felt as though he should be dead, as though he should have died with you, but instead there he was, laying in your shared bed, now far colder than usual due to the lack of your body heat. So, if it had been so cold, why was it suddenly so warm when he woke up? Rare tears slip from his eyes as you snuggle into him, just as you had that morning, and he clutches you tightly. He feels as though some god out there must have finally taken pity upon him and done something good for him for once.

You ask what's wrong, and he simply asserts he'll tell you later, instead choosing to look after you that day, to be far more affectionate than usual. When Slender once again offers for someone to fall back, Helen disagrees, saying he has a bad feeling and that maybe someone extra should go to be safe, and so a few do, and Helen is so unbelievably thankful that he and the extra few went. He can't believe you were basically fighting all of these people by yourself, and he hates himself for so casually staying home. He kills the person who was meant to kill you with ease, and the mission is successful. You all make it home, and it's when you're cuddled up once more that night that Helen finally tells you what happened, how you had died, how it could have been his fault, how painful it was. You're momentarily confused, but with how earnestly he's retelling it, you feel as though it must have been true, and so you thank him for saving you this time, thank him for keeping you safe, and he swears to you that he'll continue to do so. For the rest of your careers for Slender, he'll always be there, on every mission, fighting to protect the one true blessing in his life.

[jessicaslittlelovesickmess]

Crazy in Love

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Doyle!reader

Warnings: guns, Ian Doyle, faking death, cussing, psycho lesbians.

"She's alive?" I asked the tears falling faster than I could register "Hey" there she was, standing with a sheepish smile "You're fucking with me, fuck you all" I stormed past her. I had mourned her, my wife who I had buried, her mother not in attendance and all this time Hotch and JJ knew?

I grabbed my purse from under my desk angrily, I should've been happy to have my wife home if only I didn't have to go through everything I had done in my grief. Our apartment hadn't felt the same since she left now to find out she didn't die at all. I wanted to burn everything in my path, the only people I trusted lied to me and consoled me- they held me in the hospital through everything.

The drive home was short and silent. The apartment hadn't truly been cleaned; her things were laid where she left them last, just in case she came back for them.  This wasn't the first time Emily had lied about something either, this was just the worst one in the years we had been together.

Later that day Emily returned home "Baby?" her voice made my knees weak but I still stood waiting for her "You lied. You lied and you lied and you lied and I, the fucking idiot that I am believed you. Well, guess what? I'm not that person anymore. I will pull this trigger, and I will kill you.''

My hands shook as I held her gun. The grief made me manic. "No, you won't, baby; you love me." She held her hands out as she stepped closer. "I will, Emily. I've worked enough cases to know how to get away with it, too." Emily stood still. We both had a deep history—a story full of lies back when her hair was lighter and her smile a little brighter. Everything was a pile of lies.

Lauren Reynolds and Y/n Doyle.

"Pull the trigger" Emily warned as her feet moved slowly until her chest hit the barrel, the muzzle digging into her skin slightly "Do it Y/n, pull the trigger" she whispered. I closed my eyes as my hands shook again "I hate you" I muttered "I hate you and everything you put me through" I cried softly before I moved to hold the gun more steady.

"I love you, Y/n Y/m/n Prentiss." I felt her lips on my forehead before I opened my eyes again to see her, those dark coffee eyes I loved and missed so much. "I love you too, Emily," I pulled the trigger, making her gasp as I laughed, watching the panic in her eyes as she realised what I had done. I stepped back as she grabbed her chest, moving her fingers around, digging into her flesh almost. "Y/n/n," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

"The safety is on, ever pull anything like that ever again and I will pull the fucking trigger no safety to protect you. understand?" I spoke leaning in to kiss her. "You're a psycho bitch" she laughed wrapping her arms around my neck "And yet you walked right to the gun" I chuckled before kissing her.

I met Emily when I had turned nineteen when she was Lauren going after my older brother Ian, trying to take him down and she had until he had come back claiming her from me. He wasn't after me, all these years later and it was still clear she meant more "I don't hate you" I whispered looking at her more tenderly.

"I know" she smiled.

[gorgeys]

FOR YOU ★ katniss everdeen

katniss everdeen x fem!reader

you see katniss for the first time after she wins the 74th annual hunger games

warnings: just some cheesy fluff bc i watched the hunger games for the first time

word count: 1145

note: this takes place after the first movie bc i’ve only watched that one and the ballad of songbirds and snakes 🫣

also this is kinda based on that one forrest gump scene where he’s at the vietnam war protest and jenny starts running to him through the reflecting pool to get to him 😭😭

hope you enjoy!!

the second she steps off the train, she’s already surrounded by the crowd.  some people are chanting her name, others are offering her the three-finger salute, and some are even crying.  she feels peeta squeeze her shoulder as he steps off behind her, and she can sense the smile on his face.

but she can barely feel his fingers on her skin or hear district 12 celebrating around her.  she’s so focused, her eyes frantically scanning the crowd.  there were so many people there to congratulate and thank her yet she only wanted to see one person.

it takes a few seconds before she hears a faint shout of her name.

“katniss!” the voice calls out.  “katniss!”

her ears instantly perk up and she instinctively moves toward the source of the sound.

“katniss!”

it’s clearer now and she’s sure she knows who it belongs to.  she can see people getting shoved in the back of the crowd as someone makes their way to the front.  she doesn’t even need to see who it is before tears rim her eyes.

she involuntarily releases a strained noise of sheer desperation before she speeds up, the crowd kindly parting for her.  the same can’t be said for you as you use every bit of your strength to push past citizens, some of them leaving you irritated glances.

luckily you make quick work and suddenly your unkempt hair catches katniss’ eye.  she notices your rough, seasoned hands fighting those around you to get to her and now she’s nearly running toward you.

she screams your name, letting you know that she’s seen you and reminding you of how intensely she’s missed you.  her voice is raw and distraught.  she reminds you of how painful it is for her to be without you.

only when you’ve made it all the way to the front do you stop and does katniss get a clear look at you.  you stumble out of the crowd, nearly falling, but you catch yourself.  bystanders stare, questioning the importance of your presence, but all you do is look up and meet katniss’ eyes.

she stops fifteen steps ahead of you.  only then does she remember why she had fought so hard to stay alive; why she had killed; why she had refused to give up even when the odds were against her.  because, when she looked into your eyes—your perfect, beautiful, joyful eyes that reflected all of her own emotions—she remembered that it was all for you.

she refused to let her life end in that artificial forest because her life hadn’t truly begun until she was able to be with you.  you were her reason, the single thing that kept her going, that motivated her, that she thought about on every dark, cold, soulless night.  

she dreamed endlessly about returning to district 12 just to be wrapped in your warm embrace, to feel your chaste kiss on her cheek, and to start a new life with you.  in fact, she dreamed about this very moment that she was living in.  she dreamed about everything from how you would look to the way you would look at her.  she dreamed about how it would feel and what she would do, but once she was in the moment, everything was more powerful than she could have ever imagined.  everything was far more perfect than in her dreams.

she watched your own tears swell as your eyes settled upon her.  your hands came to your face, covering your mouth as you fought your natural crying face into a smile.

seeing you cry always made her so weak and she felt her tears start flowing down her cheeks.  she felt her ugly cry begin but she couldn’t help it.  it felt so good to see you that it was almost painful.  you had woven your way into her heart and now the two of you were one.

a tiny part of her brain was scared of what you might think of her.  would you be afraid of her after seeing her kill so ruthlessly?  would you lose your feelings after watching her at her lowest moment?  or worst of all, would you be angry at her after witnessing her onscreen romance with peeta?

she had played into her role during the games—the girl on fire who was head over heels for the baker’s son—but the games were over now and there was no need to pretend anymore.  while peeta may have loved her, katniss’ feelings for him were never close to what she felt for you.  she just hoped that you had realized that too.

no matter what peeta would say to her or how many people were there to worship her, everything seemed insignificant when she was face to face with you.  and you felt exactly the same.  that empty hole in your chest that had appeared when katniss had volunteered all those weeks ago was suddenly full.  with her return to district 12, katniss everdeen has also returned your heart.

she finally started toward you, slowly at first, and then faster.  it didn’t matter who was watching, whether it was peeta or the capitol or the whole world, she had a primitive need to be with you.  and you would accept her with open arms.

she tightly hugged your shoulders, her grip so strong that you couldn’t have pulled away even if you wanted to.  she pulled your body into hers and kept your face close to hers so that your noses were nearly touching.

your hands found solace holding each side of her face.  she knew how powerful your hands were from all the times you had been hunting together so it meant even more when you were able to hold her so gently.  you always touched her like she was glass that would break in your hands if you weren’t careful.  she relished the feeling; no one had ever treated her so softly and made her feel so special, not peeta, not gale.

when you felt her warm skin beneath your fingers, everything felt all the more real.  she was really there.  she had really survived the deadliest of arenas and now she was here with you.  she was here for you.

you shared a single loving gaze, one that conveyed every emotion.  you shared your sorrow, your pain, your excitement, your joy, your newfound relaxation.  you shared your bare love with each other.

only then did she press her lips to yours in a feverish kiss. your lips fit perfectly as your tears merged into a single stream.  you disregarded air and molded yourselves into each other, willing the moment to live on forever.

a single thought entered katniss’ mind, one that would’ve sounded crazy to anyone but her:

she would’ve done it all over again if it meant coming home to you.

omg i’m so sorry that i haven’t been writing any requests i have 9 sitting in my inbox 😭

the next story will prob be camille from house of usher and then i’ll work on those requests starting with naomi from wolf of wall street

i’ll try to be better y’all 😔

[tzihomara]

OLD ENDS NEW BEGINNINGS ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

— settled down, and he wouldn’t have it be with anyone other than you.

wc. 1.1k | gender neutral!reader, established relationship, domesticity, fluff, crack, tiny bit angsty, marriage mentions, normalcy, not proof read.

cw; chapter 236 spoils

dating satoru gojo was an experience.

december 24th.

to say that day, and the weeks that slowly, — antagonizingly, brushed by, were memorable, was an understatement. for the two of you. it was engraved into your heart and soul. satoru tried his hardest, truly, to keep you from getting mixed along, or even trying to learn about the jujutsu world, sorcery would be the last thing he preferred you to be involved with.

but, being you. the only one after suguru that he’s let his defenses down with, found out. taking off the facade of “the strongest”, he didn’t want to lose you due to the way he had to protect himself. he reluctantly, gave in and told you. but, even if informing you of his ‘occupation’ was something he loathed, you were helping him.

you made him forget about the complication’s of being not just a sorcerer, but a weapon.

satoru gojo is used holding the world’s weight on his shoulder’s, all alone. until you came along, accepting who he truly is, how unconventional it is dating him. he’s not the best partner, but he tries. he’s learning how to regulate emotions, reassure you, let down those rough edges, to rely on someone for once. all for you.

you only want the best for him.

you can remember how utterly dreadful that day felt, like the entire world was thrown off, but kept moving. the world doesn’t stop for anyone, not you, and not for the strongest, either. time goes on.

the sharp scent of alcohols and disinfectants steadily passing through your nose, with a slight burn. standing in ieiri shoko’s lab, it was cold, to keep everything sterile. the deep breathes you were shakily taking weren’t making you anyless disquieted.

you had stayed up for days on end, awaiting for him to return from the 3 day’s prior he told you about this ‘ mission ‘, despite letting the facade down, the slight cockiness was burned into satoru’s personality. you adored it. repeating his words over and over in your head. “relax. . . i’ve got this. i’m the strongest after all, aren’t i?” words murmured into your neck. a larger hand taking your own and pressing a soft kiss to the back of your smaller hand, with a perfect fit. thumb rubbing over your own. “i promise, i’ll be back. i wont keep you waiting.”

and now you were standing over his body, nobody had the heart, let alone time to inform you. finding out days after, because shoko reached out. previously working on his body, as if it was just another day. another sorcerer that almost lost their life. to her, it was. this was the cycle. you see so much, it becomes numbing to you.

sorcerers were seen as mere tool’s to protect the weak, why would the strongest be an exception?

thankfully, she had atleast some sympathy for you, getting him in the best shape so you could see him better than how he was found, he was alive. but the nights, the days, the trust you had placed in him shifting, into unease and concern. though the trust was never lost, had taken its toll on your completely. you were fatigued and drained, seeing him didn’t relieve the anxiety you thought it would. atleast, not like this. fatigued eyes looming over his stitched torso. with a heavy sigh.

that’s what you remember, and you’d prefer not to think about it. those thought, memories that plagued you whenever you got lost in your mind, drowned out by the slight weight and warmth of two thick arms wrapped around your waist, littered with scars. your back pressed to his chest dwarfing you in size, suffocating almost but in the best way. his warmth was something you could drown in, keeping you ‘safe’ from the biting frigid essence of winter, low cerulean eyes watching you do the most simple of thing’s, currently making hot chocolate for the two of you.

so much softer, how tender, he was after the particular incident. grasping that you’re the only one he can’t prioritize anything else over, and he mean’s it.

you were so familiar with the feeling, a warm chin resting on your shoulder, fingers lightly rubbing, tracing and tapping over the smooth flesh of your tummy under one of his sweaters your wearing. the ones he bought secretly hoping you’d steal them, — and you did. he was just as content, and satisfied to be with you, as you were with him.

basking in the normalcy presented to him now, the normalcy he’d never gotten before. not even an ounce.

ever since you managed to “persuade” him to quit the jujutsu world, life’s been calm. the calm you both deserved, and more importantly what he’s been yearning for without even realizing it. a soft kiss pressed to your cheek, and a soft murmured “thank you.” as you finished making your cups, grabbing both of them and heading to the living room of the flat you two call home, relaxing back into the various blankets and comfortable pillow’s littered around. your touch, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. always managing to lean back into him, out of all the pillows here, he’s your favorite.

taking sips of your own hot chocolate, cuddled next to him. chin resting on the crown of your head, softly inhaling the scent of your shampoo, before taking his own sip. watching whatever show you ‘somehow’ had him invested into aswell. the silence with you had always, always been a comfortable one. only interrupted by soft hum’s, and shared “i love you’s”. the background noise of the show a backdrop for him, lost in his own thought’s, though for the first time ones of ease.

no longer being involved in the world of sorcery , his mind was still trying to process it. fighting, being weaponized, used even after no longer being needed, was all satoru’s ever known. be strong for the weak, without a chance or second to be weak himself. no more worries of those responsibilities, it’s all out of grasp. out of sight out of mind. bright eyes stealing long glances at you and between the tv, although, you’re the only one he’s paying attention to truly. although the weight of constantly fighting was off his shoulder’s, he’d still be targeted here and there. it was unrealistic to believe not, but that’s not hindering the thought’s — plan’s , he has for you. the two of them, marriage , children , surrounded with those he can give all the love he’s kept to himself for a great percentage of his life to, pressing a tender kiss to your temple with a soft raspy chuckle to himself.

a laugh of relief, keeping himself from getting sappy at the thought that he can, and will, live his life how he wants for once. just a few tears brimming in the corner of his eyes silently, keeping his lips pressed to your head gently.

and it all starts and ends, with you.

my masterlist for more .ᐟ

[limeekak]

HELLOO TDP NATION I watched the season as soon as it premiered (it was 5am HELP) and now that things have become clearer, I want to comment on things I liked about this season!!

SPOILER ALERT !!

first of all, I want to start by saying that something I noticed was that the characters' interactions seemed more alive (I don't know how to explain it LMAO). Their interactions were perfect and the voices gave it so much life, I loved it so much!!

and starting from the beginning... THIS SCENE

Their reunion was BEAUTIFUL, it was EMOTIONAL and their voices, so confused and weak, were heartbreaking

i felt them, I was sad with them, I was truly moved. they deserve so much more :(

ezran, definitely my favorite character this season. His anger and frustration was so well done and evident, he seemed so upset with callum

I liked the way they did it, even making impulsive decisions like pushing Zym and want to go after finding Sol Regem

I liked how we still saw a "child" in him at the end of it all

I loved that we had more terry this season. It made sense to me that he went another way, but still tried to bring her back (what went wrong, what made this situation sad for me)

his interactions with soren were so fun!! and i would like to see more of them together and also soren, corvus and him, I would love to see this trio in arc 3! ANND also terry and ezran, I think they would have a cool friendship :)

terry is a very nice and sweet guy, i want more of him!!

NOW LETS TALK ABOUT SORVUS HEYWHEUW 👹👹👹👹 (sorry my demons

WHY DO THEY NEED TO BE SO SWEET AND PRECIOUS, damn, I envy their relationship (they have a relationship I swear, Harrow flew by here at my house and told me-) you can clearly see how much they care for each other, how CORVUS cares so much about soren, he is always there supporting him, I think that is BEAUTIFUL

from the moment of this scene I saw, thought and KNEW that corvus knew that soren kept that photo in his armor. I'm sure they know almost everything about each other

and let's talk about the beautiful reunion of ethari and runaan :))

I found it so funny runaan desperate to see ethari, the guy was crazy LMAO

I don't know if it was a reference to httyd, but the whole scene was so beautiful :) I didn't know I needed their reunion until Ihad their reunion

his and callum's dynamic also seemed really fun. runaan's personality was really something for me hejehehe

And that's it for now, I definitely had a lot of fun watching this season! Of course, there were things that bothered us but we shouldn't focus only on those things

let's talk about what we liked the most and promote the series as much as possible so that we can have arc 3!!

we can use this link to request all 3 seasons directly from netflix! let's make some noise on social media, arts, rewatch and recommend to friends so we can get arc 3!! love you all <3

[secretress]

❝𝐏𝐀𝐂: 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥; 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐝.❞

What do you need to let go? (II)

x-x-x Masterlist Subliminal Channel Tips

x-x-x 18+ Readings Paid Readings Tarot Services

Pac summary!

x What do you have to let go?

x What can help you let go?

x Oracle cards

Moodboard | Divider

Pile I

Reversed 7 of cups, reversed king of pentacles, king of swords, and king of wands.

Right now, you are feeling overwhelmed, and you are worried about the progress that you have made. You feel stressed out and are nitpicking at the smallest details. People are saying things to you, and you feel like they are mocking or criticizing you. You feel as if everyone is out to get you, and they want to kill you or are trying to steal something from you. Despite all of these emotions you are feeling, you are trying to stay rational, but the overwhelming thoughts are eating you alive. And so you decided to try meditation, but your mind is foggy and crowded, and that is simply not working out for you. You are confused because you are following others' advice but ultimately forgetting what works best for you. You have a lot of paranoia surrounding you and a lot of stress is surrounding your energy. I see an alien-like leech sucking onto my skin, causing blisters and red bumps, and you feel the same way. You feel as if something is truly leeching on you, and intuition says that there are people who are. You have people who are leeching on your knowledge and skills, but the people that are.. You have mistaken them for good people, and those that are trying to help, you have become paranoid. Intuition also tells me that you need to take a huge step back from everything, I mean every single thing you can think of especially work (if you can), and your hobbies and completely allow your emotions to come forth. Forget meditation, the advice given to you by others, from a majority of piles, and such.. And just sit with your emotions and your thoughts and allow them to be heard. You have been ignoring them, pushing them down into a meat grinder, and allowing them to overwhelm you.

The problem is that you are very stubborn with your beliefs and your dreams. Which is totally okay, yet these dreams aren’t even what you want. It’s what your family wants, and you are falling into what someone wants and not what you want. Your heart is screaming at you to follow your dreams, but your anxiety and logical mind say otherwise. ‘’Follow the family, and everything will come into piece,’’ is something your mind says, whereas your heart screams, ‘’this isn’t what I want. I want that dream...’’ if you keep following what your family wants, you will only fall into a never-ending bottomless pit. Think of those who constantly lie and dig themselves a deeper hole. That is exactly what you are doing, but with yourself. I know a majority of you love your family, and that’s great, but do not forget yourself in the process. How can you expect love from others or people to come into your life if you are not following your heart and what you want? Do you honestly think you will be happy throughout the process? Life is a journey, and you are following someone else's path. I hear, ‘’yeah, but my father was just like me, and he learned to love it, so what?’’ Perhaps he did, or perhaps he was just like you and forced himself to do the same. Perhaps that is why you both are so similar and understand one another despite the circumstances. Perhaps that is why you fight for the same reasons in your own way. Perhaps that is why you think about your father and miss him whenever you do this, because you both were on the same boat. It is up to you to decide, but ultimately, you will be miserable if you keep going with this journey and do not follow your love for arts. 

It’s interesting that you have three kings because you have all of this stress surrounding you as you follow family tradition, yet you crave freedom, and when you do decide to follow your dreams, so much success will come your way. The king of wands is about the ability to inspire others and motivate them, and you want the same. Some of you crave to be a motivational speaker, following along the lines of helping trans people, helping Palestine, helping those struggling with mental health, or breaking past family traditions and the cage you feel. Some of you crave to be painters and allow others to see your drawings and the love you put into them, the story you make through your drawings, through your art, that meaning, the passion, etc., and the rest of you want to surround yourself with history and music. You want to combine everything and show the world how history is repeating itself and how we can stop it, but all through music. Everyone here has so much talent, but all of your talents are going to waste; you have a chance to reach your highest potential, but everything is going in vain out of fear. How can you crave such success if you don’t fight for it? I know there will be hardships with everything, and pain comes with it, but sacrifice is necessary for your dreams. That is why some people ask, ‘’if you could have anything in the world, what would it be? Would you sacrifice anything for it?’’ and some people also say, ‘’i would do anything just to have it.’’

The real question is: what would you sacrifice to have that dream of yours come to fruition?

You got three kings in your pile, and that’s amazing since kings are always known to be rich and surrounded by everything they so desire. So don't you want to have that as well? Be your own king and have things filled with the things you desire. All you have to do is break the tradition of following your family and find your own path. And everything else that isn't in your control will follow along. But you have to take control of your life and become your own success. Because others should not be your miracles, you must be your own. 

Oracle cards.

Lake  Stillness. ‘’The tempo of life these days has sped up considerably, and there seems to be no end to the quickening pace.  No matter if the noise is from your environment or your seemingly nonstop thinking, it is critical for you to seek stillness.’’

River  Movement ‘’Fighting or blocking the flow of your Life Force can lead you to feeling spiritually void and disconnected from Source.  Surrender to the movement of Life, be grateful and you will see the signs along the shore and in the river itself that offer you clues about what direction your egoless Self is to be making.’’

Dawn New beginnings ‘’This is a time to say farewell to the old and honor the new by releasing any self-imposed constraints or resistance to the truth that you know.’’

Masterlist.

Pile II

Reversed the lovers, reversed seven of swords, and king of cups.

Your heart is sinking into a deeper hole, and every time you try to reach out to this person, everything goes down the drain. You keep seeking something that never existed. You keep chasing something that will not happen. You are chasing away the person who loves you. You know them already, but you seek out the one person who wants to harm you. You focus on those who harm you, thinking that it’s okay, and when they hurt you, you’re like ''wtf,'' I didn’t deserve this, but you did. You push those who wanted you happiness, those who wanted to help you, and those who loved you; you push away them for those who wanted your worst and wanted to ruin you. You did everything for them and had such expectations that it never came to be. So yes, you did deserve it, and you must change your mindset. Stop allowing yourself to attract people who do not value or care for you in your life. Go back to those who give a shit about you. Don’t you want that? Perhaps you don’t think your younger self, before all of this pain occurred, deserved that? I don't think so. Do you?

With the reversed 7 of cups, you have the opportunity to change and make your life into something you desire. But because you suffer from the need to hurt yourself—a self-sabotaging tendency you picked up from your mother—you cannot end the cycle. This cycle has affected you since you were a child, hence adding ''before the pain.'' Intuition tells me you need to be honest with the person who loves you and tell them straight up that you are madly in love with them, but you struggle with sabotaging yourself because ___ you can fill in the dots for yourself. Since every single one of you has your own personal reasons that cannot be read. Reversed 7 of cups is focused on you making your own positive change to happen in order to start fresh. Why be your own enemy when you can pick yourself back up and with time and effort, be with the person you love? Because they are waiting for you, but are you waiting for them? Are you going to take this positive opportunity and be with them, or are you going to go back into the same cycle as your mother and allow yourself to be with an abusive person because you think you deserve that? The same thing happened to your mother, and if not your mother, then your great-great grandmother. Why follow along with generational trauma when you can make a name for yourself, look back at yourself in the future, and thank yourself? Why do you allow yourself to move on from your past and bury your emotions? You cannot actually move on from the past because you have lied to yourself and buried your emotions. Where is the logic in that? It’s simply impossible for it to be done. If one doesn’t understand their emotions, then they cannot heal themselves. Do not and stop lying to others, ‘’oh! I am healed! Oh! I am a secure attachment!’’ No, you are not. You have an anxious attachment style and cling to people who do you harm because you are so used to causing yourself trauma. You don't even understand how beautiful your life could’ve been if you stopped, took control, and allowed yourself happiness. 

It’s funny how you do not even understand how this person cares for you.. How much they love you so much that they would die for you on the spot. They would do everything in their power to be with you, to soothe your pain, and to kiss your wounds. To live in your essence and be with you. You cannot even grasp the compassion and love that you have for them, and yet it’s all hidden from all the toxic energies around you and the negativity leeching onto you in your mind. The person you ignore for the other person who is toxic would be the most loving and devoting person you could ever have met. Such patience in someone—I have never channeled that before. They have such a heartwarming and beautiful soul, but you simply do not see through all your self-sabotaging tendencies. For once, look at them, focus on the smaller details, and see for yourself how much love and devotion they have for you. Notice the way they smile at your words or brush your hair behind your back. Notice their texting styles and how soft they become. Notice the subtle messages they give you because they love you so much and you haven’t even known one another for so long, yet you both fell for each other. You believe in soulmates; they do not and yet.. They question if it exists because of you. That is how important you are to them, but you do not seem to notice. The king of cups is such a beautiful card; they find you to be even more beautiful than this card. The card signifies (in love) someone who embodies empathy, such compassion, and is so very loyal to their said lover. But your said person finds you to be absolute perfection.. A constant chant of perfection is appearing in my mind; all they can say to others is how perfect you are. Will you seriously let that person disappear from your life for this toxic person just because of your tendencies to self-sabotage? Is that what you truly seek, or is that an illusion for yourself out of fear? Because I will tell you this.. dating this person will heal you more than you could ever know.. but do you have the courage to heal them too, or will you allow them to ruin themselves for you because you chase those that do not deserve you?

Oracle cards.

Love Compassion. ‘’All wounds stem from the illusion of separation from Source and all of Creation.  The route to healing this wound is through cultivating love and compassion for every being on this planet, including yourself.’’

Rainbow Blessings. ‘’The storm has passed and it is time to enjoy the refreshing beauty of this cycle, even though it has been difficult to appreciate any sense of purposefulness in what you have endured lately.  You can now, as they say, count your blessings.’’

Summer Solstice Radiance.  ‘’Let the radiance of the sun inspire your inner radiance to shine forth. Release concerns about what may happen in the future and focus on appreciating everything you have that is good and right.’’

Masterlist

Pile III

Three of swords, reversed two of pentacles, and reversed six of swords.

Your heart has been broken by a lover. You recently got out of a romantic long-term relationship, and you have been mourning them for too long. Your heart is aching, and your mind races back to the same person. You are stuck in the past, and every time you have time to rest, you do not know what to do with it. You distract yourself with music, podcasts, or any background noises in the background so your mind doesn’t have to overthink. Sometimes you will scroll on social media, wasting your time, so you do not have the urge to reach back to them. This long-term relationship was going to be your way out of your hellhole. A lot of you struggle with depression, and having them by your side makes your life easier. The problem with that is that you leeched onto their energy and made them lose themselves in the process, along with their interest in you. They were secure and resilient, but with you, they became anxious because you were anxious. Meaning, you made them start to worry about your well being when you could have taken care of yourself. You already knew how to, but you thought having someone else do the work for you and their love would heal you—when you, yourself, are the goal of healing. So you must let them go and stop with the what-ifs. You already made your decisions, and now you can use those mistakes as lessons to heal. 

You have been ignoring your goals lately because you have punished yourself with this. Your energy is dark and gloomy, and intuition tells me that you waste your time doing things that do not benefit you. With the two of pentacles reversed, you are struggling to figure out your priorities and what you want to do with your life. You planned your whole life ahead with the person, forgetting them in the process. In a way, you thought about them on a constant daily basis, became obsessed with them, and then became jealous if they didn’t listen to you, do what you wanted, and/or hang out with someone else instead of you. Your obsessive nature is another thing you must let go of since it doesn’t serve you, causes you stress, and overall isn’t what people are interested in. You need to understand that people cannot do everything that you want, and you must learn how to respect others boundaries and lose control over them. It’s okay to lose control; learn how to control yourself instead of others. The world doesn’t revolve around you and learn to let go of your ego. Your ego, insecurities, and fears were your downfall, and you are aware of this but ignore them because you cannot handle the truth. 

You need to understand that your ego and your constant obsession over this person and your past are making you stuck. You must move on with your life, find freedom, and release the past. You must heal, and you must truly heal. Actually take time and go slow with the process. Stop letting your fears take over, make excuses with them, and complain to others. No one wants that. Would you like to meet someone who dumps trauma on you or constantly complains? No, so do not do the same with other people. Take a break from everyone and focus on empathy and how to let go of the past. Then, once you have done that, focus on your shadow self and heal yourself. You can do meditation to release trauma or do shadow work prompts. This will help you understand the reason why you do this in the first place and how to heal from it. Stay consistent with it, and then when you are in the present moment and you have healed more than you could imagine. Look back to your past and appreciate the hard work that you put in to be right where you are. Do you understand? 

Oracle cards.

Tsunami  Wake up call. ‘’You are getting a wake-up call. It may be in the form of a significant loss or other dramatic event in your life, typically one you were unprepared for. However, know that it is time to draw back the curtain of avoidance and denial and face the truth.’’

Clouds Shapeshifting.  ‘’In both subtle and more dramatic ways, you can shapeshift by your choice of clothing, hairstyle, adornments and even mannerisms.  By adjusting these along with you internal attitude, you can actually display different personas.  Be like the clouds-try different forms by stretching yourself beyond your comfort zone.  You might discover something new about yourself!’’

Crystals Focus. ‘’It is time to bring your complete focus to the subject of your inquiry.  Eliminate all distractions, and give this your undivided attention.  This focus will align your flow with life force energy, making any task at hand one accomplished with a sense of relaxation.’’

Masterlist

[stoneagedevil]

They’ll Understand (Somethin’ Stupid pt. 2) | Alastor x f!Reader

Part 1: “Somethin’ Stupid”

TW/CW: Angel being Angel. Anxiety and fear. Allusions to murder.

🎙️

“Wear this little number? He won’t be able to resist ya!” Angel was keeping you captive in his room, currently raiding his closet in search for something you could wear to impress Alastor, and according to Angel, once you “reeled him in with your pretty face” and “rockin’ body” you’d be able to “bed him.” You weren’t necessarily pleased with his wording, your face turning as red as your dreamboat’s hair.

“Angel, while I appreciate the gesture, I’m not comfortable wearing a leather bikini.” You deadpanned. Your anxiety was nipping at your heels, and you felt the urge to run. From what? Most likely confessing. To where? You didn’t know. But you hated how it was bringing the skittish deer out of you, as it was truly embarrassing. Alastor and you often confided in each other on how your demonic forms had caused you numerous headaches, and you felt comforted that someone you admired so much also experienced the same things you did, just as he felt that way about you. But you didn’t run from things, as they typically ran from you. You stood from Angel’s bed and started pacing again in an attempt to quell the instinct to run.

“Even if he reciprocated, what am I meant to do with love? What happens after?” You tilted your head at Angel, and he dropped another inappropriate article of clothing in shock at your question.

“You mean you’ve neva seen those cheesy romance flix before?” Angel’s eyes widened. This was the saddest thing ever. Identifying these feelings was one thing, but the fact that you didn’t know how to act on them was so depressing to Angel. Just how emotionally constipated were you? Hadn’t you felt love before? What kind of life had you led that you didn’t know the feeling at all?

“I can’t say I really watched much TV. Just the same few movies I really enjoyed over and over again when I wanted to hear another’s voice. Definitely not romance films.” You contemplated. No, you couldn’t recall ever watching romance films. You weren’t particularly keen on watching much TV, and you only went to the movie theatre when something truly interested you. However, you would occasionally put on a movie in the background while doing chores such as laundry, as it filled the empty space; if it wasn’t a movie, it was music, and it most often was.

“Well sit your ass down then, because class is in session.” After unceremoniously pushing your shoulders down to make you sit on his bed once more, Angel immediately went to where he kept his romance movies, pulling out a handful and explaining each one to you, before making you watch the best scenes from each.

Initially, you were quite apprehensive. Angel the Love Doctor’s license was certainly questionable, especially with this prescription of mushy movies. But eventually, you resonated with a lot of the characters, specifically the ones who were troubled with their feelings, like that one “Edward Cullen” guy.

From your understanding, love was one of the most powerful emotions a person could feel. It drove these characters to do insane things that furthered the plot of the movie; things you’ve done because of your feelings for Alastor: like hurting people you felt threatened by. Through these scenes, you learned about jealousy, of so-called “butterflies,” how people apart hurt inside.

But love made them…happy. Happy. Content in domestic bliss. You felt a pull in your chest, realizing you couldn’t ever remember feeling that way. You hadn’t had anyone around you interested in the same things you were. You were always the outlier. Always the one picked last for things. It didn’t particularly bother you at the time; back when you were alive. You didn’t have much to care about. But now, you felt you had something good to die for, which made it that much more beautiful to live.

Your brows were furrowed in concentration, and you were so focused on the screen and the interactions between the lovers that Angel sat you in front of, you failed to notice a stream of tears coming from your eyes.

Angel quickly took notice, pausing the TV immediately. “Woah woah woah, why’re you crying babe?” He plucked a tissue from the box beside his bed and dabbed underneath your eyes. Fuck. He didn’t think he’d be making you feel bad.

“Crying?” You brought a hand up to your cheek, surprised to find it damp. You marveled at the way the films made you feel, how imagining Alastor and yourself in their shoes made you feel, staring at the teardrops on your fingertips. “I- I feel like I understand. Like a want has just become a need. It’s truly wonderful. Like a breath of fresh air.” You smiled softly, moving to look into Angel’s eyes.

“Sheesh dollface, you had me worried.” Angel rolled his eyes playfully, internally relieved that he hadn’t just made an overlord cry, but most of all, that he hadn’t made a friend cry. “So now that you kinda get it, what’re ya gonna do?” You brainstormed for a second at the question, as it didn’t take long to figure out what would make Alastor the happiest.

“Alastor is a musical man.” You stated, instantly becoming more analytical and focused on the best way to get your feelings across to Alastor. “He’d never shy away from listening to a good song…” You trailed off.

“…so? Are you thinkin’ what I think you’re thinkin’?” Angel smiled smugly. He knew you sang to yourself during daily tasks, but you weren’t much of an extrovert, only making scenes when you had to establish your title as an overlord whenever demons seemed to forget. He imagined if you knew he could hear you singing in the shower next to his room, you’d be mortified. It was funny how you and Alastor could be so different, yet so alike, as Alastor was an extroverted entertainer.

“I’m thinking that in order to make him listen, and to make this special, I should sing for him. People always say the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but Alastor is quite adept at cooking. He wouldn’t need me for that.” You smiled to yourself, thinking back to times when Alastor would have you taste test a dish. Perhaps food was the way to your heart too, specifically his cooking.

—

Charlie was currently helping Alastor come up with sure fire ways to make you his officially (in his head you already were). Her notepad was filled with things her and Alastor knew you liked, hoping to put the information to good use.

Charlie had become wildly animated, smile stretched from cheek to rosy cheek. “You should tell her with a grand gesture! With fireworks and flowers and confetti and chocolates and singing and-“ Alastor raised a hand to stop her barrage of outlandish ideas.

“Charlie, I’m afraid that’s a bit too much.” Alastor stubbed out her sparkling ideas like a cigarette. While he was known to be grand in his executions (literal executions as well), he wanted this to be more personal. More intimate. Part of it was that he was incredibly shy about his romantic feelings for you, though he’d never let on to it. You were an intimidating woman, it was one of the reasons he fell in love with you, so he preferred to do this in private where no one could see his facial expressions. In addition to that, he knew how introverted you were in comparison to him; an incredibly private person.

“Okay, what about dinner at a super fancy restaurant? And flowers. You have to give her flowers.”

“And how do you propose I do that?” He summoned a rose, which had begun to rapidly wilt and die soon after the stem had touched his fingertips. It irked him. Something he previously didn’t have a problem with now stood in between him and your heart.

“Oh…” Charlie’s head hit the table. How was she supposed to help Hell’s population problem if she couldn’t even help Alastor express his romantic feelings for you? This was so hard.

“Fret not my dear, your dinner idea was exceptional! However, I think I should be the one to make the dishes.” A candlelit dinner with your favorite food being brought to you by him? You’d already expressed how much you enjoyed his cooking every time he held a spoonful of food up to your face. Feeding you and hearing you sing his praises on another culinary success made him feel as though he were floating. With you by his side, he was sure he wouldn’t have to walk anywhere ever again.

“That’s a great idea! I bet that would really impress her! And I can be the one to put the flowers on the table so they don’t wilt!” She clasped her face in between her hands, almost as if she was trying to stop her smile from getting any wider.

Immediately after establishing their plans, Alastor and his wing-woman Charlie had begun to research the best recipes pertaining to your tastes.

This had to be absolutely perfect, Alastor thought.

—

Music. It was what you and Alastor had bonded most over. He showed you Jazz’s greatest artists, the pioneers of brassy sounds, and you adored his passion in the genre. You listened to what you liked, as simple as that sounds. Your tastes often surpassed any one genre, and you found yourself dipping your hooves into anything; even just to give it a chance.

If music had brought you so close to Alastor, surely it would bring you even closer. Once you left Angel’s room, you dove into your collections of vinyl and CDs you acquired over your time in Hell. The greatest hits pertaining to love flooded your room, and you listened intently to the lyrics. Looking down at the notepad in front of you, you began to write about the way Alastor made you feel. This had to be absolutely perfect, you thought.

—

A couple days passed, and as Alastor opened the door to his hotel room to step out and retrieve the suit he was having pressed, a note taped onto it caught his ruby sight. With an eyebrow raised, he skeptically plucked the note from his door and began to read it.

“Dearest Alastor,

I hope you’ll find the time to come to the ballroom located in the hotel at 6pm. I’ve made a gift for you, and I’m hoping you’ll accept.

From,

Y/N”

You sat writing many iterations of that damned letter. Was “With love” too much? “Forever yours” most certainly was, no matter how true it was. “Sincerely” was stupid. Maybe you should just keep it simple.

“From, Y/N.” Simple. Simply stupid. But you went with it anyway.

Alastor’s heart leaped up to his throat, he was sure if he opened his mouth, it would jump out and find its way towards you. He retreated back into his room, opening one of the drawers he dedicated to you. It was filled with notes containing songs you’ve written down for him, and songs he wrote down that you recommended verbally. The wilted rose he wished so desperately to give to you that was used as a demonstration to Charlie on why he couldn’t. Receipts from outings you two accompanied each other on, and his ticket from your trip to the movie theatre that was playing one of your favorite movies at the time. He truly tried his best to pay attention to the silver screen, but he mostly found himself enamored with the way the light from the screen lit up your face.

He gently placed his newest treasure in the drawer, excited to see what you had in store for the night. Though, on the other hand, he was a bit nervous and disappointed. He’d planned on picking up all of the ingredients for a dish that would knock your socks off, in addition to picking up his pressed suit. If you had something to give to him, he wouldn’t have time to cook this night. His heart and shadow were getting antsy, the latter outwardly showing his deepest desires which he adamantly detested. He’d catch his shadow practically making heart eyes at you, and Alastor found himself wishing he would wave his hands at it to make it diminish like cigarette smoke in the air.

No matter! Perhaps after whatever you had planned, he’d ask you to a dinner cooked and presented by him. Closing the drawer, he made his way out to the dry cleaners to ensure he wouldn’t forget his suit when the time came to woo you. However, what he did forget, was letting Charlie know of this change of plans, who had already helped in setting up a table for two with red roses and unlit candles in a candelabra sitting in the center; all set up in the very room you wished to deliver your gift.

—

You had spent quite some time writing your song dedicated to Alastor, and soon after its completion, you enlisted the help of your souls-turned-shadows to play instruments and do background vocals. There was no way in Hell you’d allow a demon to aid in this. You rehearsed a few times before deeming it a perfect performance that you were willing to give to Alastor. The time was now a little after 4, and you decided to get ready.

Your hair was curled, makeup to your liking, and you wore a black tea-length dress with an abundance of white tulle underneath the skirt to make it flare out more. The sweetheart neckline sported a small, white, satin bow in the center. You slipped on a shiny pair of black kitten heels, opting for more of a comfortable dress shoe - your nerves were sure to make you incredibly uncomfortable, so you attempted to counteract that a bit by making your physical self as comfortable yet stylish as it could be. As a finishing touch, you clasped a string of pearls around your neck. They were a gift from Alastor when he found out that it was your birthday. You told him you didn’t need anything, and that birthdays sort of lost their meanings when you lived for so long in Hell, but he wouldn’t hear any of it, adamantly telling you that your birth was something to be celebrated. If you had figured out your feelings for him by then, you’re sure you would have kissed him.

You turned to look into the mirror wondering if Alastor would think you looked nice. Nervously, you made your way to Angel’s room beside yours. Hesitantly you knocked, opening the door when a muffled “come in” prompted you to.

“What’s up toots? Hey! Don’t you clean up nice!” He exclaimed, getting up from his bed and taking your hand to spin you around, dress flaring out around you as you spun.

“You don’t think it’s too much? Or too little?” You looked into Angel’s mirror, your hands worrying over any perceived imperfection. Angel once more grabbed your hands to stop them from flying around.

“Girl, you look great, and I know he’ll think so too.” He quelled your nerves. Then you did something out of character, you hugged him. Initially taken aback, Angel’s arms tightened around you.

“Thank you Angel.”

—

Alastor arrived at 6 on the dot. Not always punctual, never late, and always on time. Although he did want to arrive at the ballroom earlier, he didn’t want to seem too eager, even though he most certainly was. His excitement rolled off of him in waves, making the demons he met along the way to pick up his suit even more uneasy than usual.

When he walked through the grand doors, he saw his little setup that he and Charlie planned to set up for the dinner date. He contemplated hiding the table, conjuring a portal to a shadow dimension and pushing the evidence of his feelings for you into the dark abyss, but before he could act on this, he heard the clicking of heels making their way across the stage portion of the ballroom.

You were a vision, and he considered pinching himself as he thought he was looking at an angel. He hadn’t mistakenly enrolled in the redemption program, did something good, and then made his way upstairs, did he? You stood in front of a silver microphone, your hands shakily grasping it to keep yourself steady. Alastor clumsily grasped the back of one of the chairs meant for the two of you, slowly lowering himself into the seat and never taking his eyes off of your form.

“My gift is a song I’ve written with you in mind.” You said simply, and although you outwardly looked as confident as you always did, internally you were sure you were dying a second time.

The sounds of a glockenspiel sounded throughout the room signifying the beginning of the song, followed by background vocals singing “Anyone.” You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and stepping closer to the mic before beginning your song.

“You can blame me,

Try to shame me,

And still I'll care for you,

You can run around,

Even put me down,

Still I'll be there for you,”

You knew he’d never do these things to you, but you wanted to tell him that no matter the hardships, you’d always be there for him. Alastor’s heart was beating faster than it ever had before, was this a love song? No…

“The world

May think I'm foolish,

They can't see you,

Like I can,

Oh but anyone,

Who knows what love is,

Will understand”

It’s amusing to think that not too long ago, you were someone who didn’t understand. But here you are now, singing that you couldn’t care less about what others would think if they knew the depths of your feelings for Alastor.

Speaking of the devil, these blasted eyes of his kept fogging up, making it difficult to see you. Nobody has ever done this sort of thing for him, and he was absolutely enamored with your voice and the lyrics you wrote about him. He gripped the chair that he was sitting in, afraid he’d float away and miss the rest of your carefully crafted performance. He’d never seen you with so much emotion on your face, these visual feelings you possessed highlighted by pink and red lights. He would’ve been grateful for the color choice, as it hid his bright red face, but he couldn’t find it in him to care, much less even notice the effect you had on him. All he could see and hear was you, and he wanted it to be that way forever.

“I just feel so sorry,

For the ones,

Who pity me,

'Cause they just don't know,

Oh they don't know what happiness and love can be,”

You opened your eyes to stare into Alastor’s as you delivered the next few lines.

“I know,

I know to ever let you go,

It's more,

Than I,

Could ever stand,

Oh but anyone,

Who knows what love is,

Will understand”

You thought about how Angel had helped you understand in his own strange way, and this verse was almost like a thank you note to him. The music began to lull as you sang the last few lines.

“Oh they'll understand,

If they try love they'll understand,

Oh try to understand”

The last line was for Alastor, and you almost prayed he would try and understand your feelings for him, and hopefully realize any feelings he had for you.

The song had finally finished, and if Alastor had a time machine he’d travel three minutes into the past in order to hear you sing again. Then he’d do it over and over and over again. Making your way down from the stage, Alastor shot up from his seat. He’d rehearsed how he’d proclaim his undying love for you, but now that you’d done it first, he was scrambling.

He panicked. He actually panicked. He ripped the red roses from the vase sat on table and held them out to you, the both of you watching in shock (Alastor mostly in horror) as the roses had the life sucked out from their stems and the vase tipped over causing water to spill onto the floor between you both. His smile tightened, eyes snapping shut as he debated teleporting far, far away from here; never to return. But his jumbled and anxiety ridden thoughts were cut short when he felt soft hands gently pry open his larger ones, taking the flowers. It was you, and you were smiling the biggest smile he’d ever seen you make, and it was directed at him.

You lifted the dead roses to your face and inhaled the remnants of their floral scent, and Alastor’s heart melted at the gesture.

“Your song was wonderful my dear. May I ask for an encore?” He said, shyly. Your cheeks turned rosy, and you bashfully looked away.

“You didn’t think it was ridiculous?” You asked hopefully, tightly clutching your dead bouquet.

“Ridiculous? It was nothing of the sort! For a moment I thought I was in Heaven and I was most-“

You tugged him down by the collar of his shirt and pressed an unsure kiss to his lips. His ears stood straight up, tail secretly wagging behind him, just as yours did. He melted into the affectionate gesture, moving his claws to cradle your neck and the small of your back in order to bring you closer. Pulling away, you lovingly gazed into each other's eyes.

“Y/N, your performance was absolutely astounding. I’d trade every vinyl in my collection for just a second more.” And that was the truth. He was sure no song would ever compare to the masterpiece you crafted for him. Because of him.

“Then I suppose I’ll just have to record it and have it pressed just for you. You wouldn’t happen to know a guy with recording equipment, would you?” You flirted.

“My darling, of course I do! He’s quite the catch too, though using the equipment comes with a price.” He smiled smugly, cheeks just as red as yours.

“Oh? And what would that be?”

“You’ll have to allow him to call you his girl, it’s just the rules my darling.” Internally, he was nervous you’d reject him. Why? You just wrote, composed, and performed an entire song for him. But it was you. Anyone would be lucky to have you, and he couldn’t believe quite yet that you returned the feelings he’d been trying to grapple with for some time.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving a kiss mark (one he’d refuse to wipe off for some time). “I’d love nothing more.”

—

Later that night, Alastor and you had retired to your room. You sat at the end of your couch, his head resting in your lap as you told each other stories about what you had stupidly done in the name of your unknown love for each other.

“It’s funny, that table was in the ballroom because I planned on taking you on a dinner date tonight. Charlie lent a hand in planning it.” Alastor revealed.

You tilted your head at the fact that Alastor too had a “wingman” as Angel had put it. “Charlie? How funny, Angel helped me with some things too. He actually helped me realize my feelings for you.”

“Charlie helped me the same way. She said that you obviously fancied me.” He had a smug smile on his face, looking for your reaction.

Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline at the allegation. “What? How? Was I truly that obvious?”

“Yes, well, a little birdy told me about a certain carpet incident with Mimzy, my darling.” That was his favorite story. He’d often imagine you glaring angrily at a clueless Mimzy, lifting a manicured claw and causing the poor blonde’s face to harshly meet the floor.

You turned your nose up indignantly. “Incident? I was merely helping her get a better look at the carpet she continuously complimented you on picking out.” You huffed, crossing your arms. Alastor laughed at your adorable behavior, loving the jealousy that came off you in waves at the mention of Mimzy.

“Don’t worry my love, no other woman could compare to you. Anyone who knows what love is could see I only have eyes for you.”

—♥️—

I hoped you all enjoyed that, and I really appreciate the love you all gave to part 1!

Taglist: @alastruist @martinys-world @ustulia

[xxsabitoxx]

Special | Kinktober Side Quest 1

Sukuna x AFAB reader | divider from @benkeibear

Sukuna, who is not particularly thrilled about one family who dares to keep pestering him for wealth.

Sukuna, who is given you as an offering in return for the wealth they so desperately desire

Sukuna, who typically wouldn't think twice about taking your life and moving on with his.

Sukuna, who finds you to be different than the rest

Not much can interest the man, especially during the Heian Era. There is nothing to do but be worshiped and doted on out of fear, and even for him, it can get boring. You, however, didn't put up a fight when your so-called family offered you up for a small fraction of his wealth. Even know, you sat dutifully before him, awaiting your fate.

"Aren't you going to beg me to spare your life?" he asked in a dull tone, one of four arms pressed into the side of his face as he looked you over. You only shook your head, looking up at him with eyes as dull as the tone he just used. "Why bother, if life is this cruel to me for doing nothing at all, it is simply a life I do not want to live."

That wasn't an answer he expected, eyes taking a moment to really focus on what you were wearing. From the looks of it, your family had been trying to make you look seductive. The thought made his lips curl in a scowl, humans were truly selfish creatures. "I suppose I can't argue with that mentality." he sounded resigned as he pulled his eyes from your breasts and up to your downcast face.

"But it sounds to me that you are just giving up. Did you even try to put up a fight?" you shook your head, you hadn't even raised your voice when your parents told you what was to happen. You had just accepted it for what it was. "pathetic." the curse before you spat, his tone making your nerve endings spark with fear. But after a moment, you processed the fact that his anger wasn't directed at you.

"I'll make you a deal." he spoke gruffly, large fist still pressed into his cheek as he observed you. Those five words sent a new wave of fear through you, but your facial expression never gave that away. "I'll let you live..." He watched as your eyes finally raised to meet his, only a hint of shock on your near-expressionless face. "... on one condition."

"May I ask you what the question is, sir?" his pause had left you room to speak, you took the change and accepted it. Sukuna hummed in approval at your words, pleased to hear you already taking formalities. Most of the morons who came to him for wealth didn't even remember to use them when addressing him.

"You'll let me use your body, whenever I desire to."

"Is that all you require from me, sir?" unphased by the request, Sukuna smirked. "For now, that would be all." what an intriguing creature you were, your carefully guarded emotions made his skin itch with the desire to unravel you and eat you alive. "I humbly accept your offer, sir." Sukuna sighed, straightening for the first time since you sat before him.

"Wonderful, we'll start right away then. Strip."