#and i do not see how i will ever have a family unit

[kattheogcat]

Stunned and Silenced

Pairing — Jacaerys Velaryon x afab!HightowerReader

Summary — The day he saw his betrothed decked out in his colors truly did have him feel... well... you'll see...

Genre — fluff

Wordcount — 0.9k

Warnings — arranged marriage, alcohol mentioned

Rating — pg-13

A/N — I have not read the books and i have last watched the show when the 2nd season was released. For fiction purposes i also changed a few things to fit my idea so be warned that it's not canon compliant :))

Also my first post on this blog – yaaay✨️

Disclaimer: this fic is written and copyrighted by ©kattheogcat on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other plattforms without my permission.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED!

For all that it was worth, Jacaerys had not wanted this betrothal. They were on the brink of a war that threatened the peace his house had fought so hard to give the realm. Peace that was now in danger because of his own family. A wedding was not what they needed now.

His mother, his queen, thought different.

“A reason to unite us once more and mayhaps mend bonds that appeared to be broken.”

Those had been the words the young man had been greeted with one morrow. Words that had him searching for the eyes of Baela who, just like him, had been under the impression that it was her who would one day take the position by his side. Now however these plans had changed. Not that he was mad about the change of betrothed in itself as he had never held romantic feelings for his cousin but one that left him more unsettled then anything else.

So he found himself sitting and waiting while it seemed the entirety of the realm was starring at him as his breath was stuck in his throat from the nerves this entire ordeal brought with it.

He knew you, his betrothed, not well b but enough to have exchange pleasentries once or twice and he knew you were pleasant to look at. But other than that and that you came from the very house that was trying t usurp his own claim to the throne, he knew little of what was to come.

“I still think this isn’t what we need right now…” he quietly mouthed to his mother sitting by his right while his left was still unoccupied until you would take your place there. The watchfull eyes of the court and especially Otto, Alicent, Aegon, Aemond and the most pleasant one to be around, Helaena burning as most of them either glared or seemed to be ready to eat him alive; a steady presence on his skin.

“Oh, sweet boy. I think it’s exactly what we need right now. Y/n is with Helaena actually pleasant to be around. Even with Alicents vile words through the years, she was only ever loyal to what Targaryens stood for. And that is exactly why I trust her with you. My younger sister is said to be many things but she has the kind of strenght and gentleness I wish for you to experience as wife and future queen consort.” Her words were meant to be reassuring yet all Jacaerys felt was unsettled.

“I’d rather make them see reason!” he grumbled as the queen rose from her seat, a delicate glass of their finest wine raised in her hand, making the chatter around quiet down.

“A joyful occasion has brough us all here together. The union between House Targaryen and House Hightower. A union that has long been shaken and will now strenghten our bonds once more.”

Oh how the prince prayed to the gods that she was right or this would have all been for nothing

“From this day forward, my oldest son, your prince, will be wed to y/n Hightower! It is my honor to welcome my sister as my daughter!”

The grand doors opened and for someone who had been breathless before, Jace was fascinated how much less air suddenly flowed down to his lungs. Now for entirely different reasons as he watched his betrothed step down the stoney stairs with slow, calculated yet almost hesitant steps. Head held high to eminate confidence he knew you were unlikely to actually feel yet unwilling to show weakness you moved with an elegance he had only ever seen in his mother and dressed from head to toe in the colors of his house. Not one speck of the Hightower green he came to loath with time. You h/c hair, that stood in contrast to allo of your siblings gracefully pinned out of your face in a way that brough out your best features like a shining star in midst of the darkest night.

He truly had to remind himself to start breathing again, the horrified gasp at the colors her daughter was wearing instead of green or white as would have been appropriate for a wedding, only faint in his ears as he now rose from his chair. Rhaenyra sat back down and watched with amsument how her son rounded the table and met you halfway, falling for his wife hard and fast.

“You knew this was going to happen?” Daemon whispered smugly and took her hand.

“I just know my son.” She smiled back innocently.

----------

Jace stunned to silence came to stand in front of you. Everyones eyes still heavily on him and you.

“My prince.” You greeted with your head bowed lower then he liked to see.

“Princess…” he chocked, completely stunned and incapable of forming the words fitting for what he truly felt in that moment.

He offered his hand for you to take and lead you back where you belonged by his side on the dinning table.

Sitting down one glare of his past your head let Alicent sit back down before she could berate you for going against the Hightowers by wearing his signature colors.

His.

“Let the feast beginn!”

[deus-ex-mona]

i miss her…

[gracieheartspedro]

For Cryin’ Out Loud

pairing: post-outbreak! joel miller x fem!reader

how to help the palestinians and what it means to write for the last of us characters

word count: 7.9k

description: living with joel is complicated, especially when you can’t sleep due to nightmares. when you find yourself in his bed, you can’t help yourself. but joel sure can. give him a day to mull it over.

warnings: pretty slow burn, kinda forced proximity, kinda angsty, unspecified age gap (don’t like it, don’t read it), joel gives you tons of nicknames (darlin’, kiddo, etc.), discussions of nightmares and possible mental illnesses, some fluff, reader isn’t really described, joel is kinda a gaslighter, he’s also a bit pervy, unprotected p in v (wrap it y’all), oral (f! receiving), dirty talk, joel like worships you!!!!!, joel licks his fingers clean, giving genitalia pronouns, joel’s a big boy. think that’s it. lemme know what I missed!

author’s note: I really enjoyed writing this. the idea is pretty simple but I love domestic jackson!joel. I promise i’ll try to switch it up soon and write something that isn’t jackson!era lol. support your fav fics by reblogging and commenting!! thanks love ya <3

For some reason, you always find yourself standing at the threshold of the front door when you cannot sleep. 

The air was especially brisk tonight. You wrapped yourself in a gray chunky sweater you found in the lost and found in Jackson’s thrift store, hoping to regain some warmth. Your bed may have been comfortable, but it was the place where nightmares usually plagued you. 

It was too late to be awake, and you knew that if you were caught, you would hear it from Joel. He always reprimanded you. Every time he caught you up late, it was like your father woke up and found your hand in the cookie jar. 

The dynamic between you two had changed since arriving in Jackson, and you almost resented him for it. When it was just you, him, and Ellie, you were managing a family unit. Joel was always the protective father, you being the mom or the voice of reason, and Ellie being chaos. 

When Ellie and Joel’s relationship shifted, he took on a fatherly role for you. It bothered you. A lot. 

In a moment of contemplation, you hear footsteps coming down the steps behind you. 

He’s wearing flannel pajama pants and no shirt, his hairy tummy something you did not see often. 

“What are you doing awake?” He questions, his voice groggy with a twinge of annoyance. 

You do not feel like explaining yourself, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to get out of this situation without a justification. 

You huff, leaning your back against the door frame so you can get a full look at the broad man. “Can’t sleep. Thought staring into the darkness would help.”

He grunts, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “How’s that workin’ for you, sweetheart?”

You could not close your eyes without the haunting dreams that seemed lively and so real. Every night, you had the same recurring ones. You were being chased, hunted, or murdered. Or all of the above. You would wake in a cold sweat, not wanting to shut your eyelids ever again. 

“Hm,” You say, staring back outside for a brief moment, “‘Was better when you weren’t looking over my shoulder.”

He chuckles, “Get back to bed.”

“I can’t, Joel.”

“You can and will. You’re no good when you’re tired.”

“If I close my eyes, Joel, I will just have the same goddamn nightmares I have every night. And I will end up doing what I’m doing now, which is trying to get some fresh air to forget them.”

“You’re not gonna forget ‘em with some fresh air. You just need to… get over them.”

The breeze picks up as soon as he says it, almost like the world knew the tension would have to be broken with some frigid air. You retort with, “And how do you get over yours?”

"I just accept them," he says, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "I don't have time to dwell on them. There's always more important things to worry about."

"I'm more tired in the morning when I just endure them." You explain, trying not to cry about it. But you are so sick of them. The same thing every night.

“I get it. One day they will subside, I’m sure of it. But for now, you gotta-”

You just want him to shut up. At the same time, your mind is trying to remember the last time you did not have a nightmare. The memory makes your stomach churn. “You remember that one time we were forced to share that sleeping bag? Back in Pittsburgh?”

“Yeah,” His tone was wary, “What about it?”

"That was the first night I didn't have it." You explain, your voice a bit shaking at the insinuation. You don’t want to face the fact that Joel, the man that you have known for going on 10 years, kept your nightmares at bay. The same man who continuously rejected you and told you that he was old enough to be your dad. The same man that told you no, I don’t like you like that. I never will. That Joel. 

“And? Why are you bringing this up now?”

"Because every night I go to my bed and I'm forced to face them alone. When you were there... they didn't even bother holding my mind hostage.”

He took another step closer, closing some of the distance between you two. He towers over you and you can’t help but stare up at him in awe. Joel has always been a complicated part of your life. You consider him your sexual awakening, honestly, but he will never ever know that. Over the years, he’s only gotten more handsome. 

But now, he has a curious expression written all over his face.

"Are you saying you want to share a bed with me?" he asks, his voice gruff and low.

You suck in a deep breath, not wanting to answer. You knew that was stepping over a boundary for Joel. He liked his space. He didn’t like you impeding on that space, especially. Your bedroom was the furthest away from his for a reason.

"I don't know." You manage to say.

Joel's gaze darkened, his expression was completely unreadable. You wish you could read his mind, but you should be grateful you can not. 

Because in Joel’s mind, he’s trying to formulate a way to convince you to stay away from him altogether. The wall he has built over the last decade was intentional. He did not want to hurt you any further. He already knew you had feelings for him, but he was an old man. He did not want to drag you into his mess, all the baggage he carried. He looked after you, he shared a home with you, and that’s it. Strictly platonic. 

He shifted on his feet a little, unable to tear his eyes away from you. You shook like a little leaf.

"You don't know?" he repeated, his voice a low rumble.

You nod, "I don't know if I want that."

You do want that. But you want more, too. You knew you would be playing with fire. You would just be disappointed. 

Joel’s temptations are buried deep but they still fester every now and again. Some days he would catch a glance at you getting dressed in the crack of your door and have to take a cold shower. As soon as he felt those emotions bubble in his chest, he would try to distract himself. Maybe he would take a longer patrol. Maybe he would go to the Tipsy Bison and try to find a woman to take home. That one never really worked. 

“Well, what do you want then? Because standin’ at the door and letting all the cold air in ain’t gonna work for me or you.”

You look down at your picked-over fingernails and contemplate your next sentence. You don't want to be heartbroken in the morning when you wake up and he's there sleeping peacefully next to you and you're not... his.

"I want to sleep with you."

Joel was not expecting such a blunt response from you, but he appreciated you not beating around the bush about it. He gestures for you to step out of the doorway so he can shut the door, which you do. 

He looked down at you, his eyes raking over your face, taking in the exhaustion and uncertainty. 

"You sure?" he asked, his voice a gruff whisper.

You just nod as he locks the front door. You couldn’t believe you were doing this. 

Joel couldn’t believe it either. Maybe it was the tiredness or the instincts he felt to protect you, but he was not mad at the idea of sharing his bed with you. 

You signal for him to go upstairs, “You lead the way.”

-

Joel’s room was always off-limits to you. So when you step into his small little world, you take it all in. 

The artwork around the room was mainly nature landscapes. He had a big dresser right at the room's entrance with picture frames of Sarah, Ellie, and other family members. You were even included in one photo—a picture of you and him on some horses from last year. 

A shirt littered one side of the bed, so you took that as it was probably his side. Unfortunately for you, it was the right side. You felt a pang of guilt realizing you would probably end up restlessly lying in Joel’s bed if you were stuck on the left. 

Before he can pull back the blanket for himself, you stop him. 

“Uh, can I sleep on that side?”

He completely halts in his motions, turning his head towards you with a blank expression. “My side? Why?”

You lick your lips, already regretting this whole thing. 

“Because I have had this superstition since I was a kid that I could only sleep on the right side of the bed."

Joel wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. He can tell you are at war in your head about the question, your expression practically anticipating his rejection. 

"Superstitions, huh?" he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips."You and your weird beliefs."

You watch as he crosses to the other side of the bed and lifts the blanket. Is he actually letting you have his side? Maybe he doesn’t hate you. 

“You could also call it a compulsion, but superstitions seem more fun and less like a mental illness.”

He laughs this time, his deep chuckle making you feel a bit more relaxed about the situation. You did not feel like a burden as much. You walk to the right side and pull back his navy blue sheets and blanket. The spot looks warm and inviting so when you crawl in next to Joel, you start to realize that you’re back in the same situation you were in years ago in that sleeping bag. He was so close and warm and you wanted nothing more but for him to hold you and keep you comfortable.

But then another thing came to mind before you could imagine his arms around you. 

You usually sleep on your right side or back, but now you don't know what to do because you didn't know how Joel slept.

"Do you sleep on your side or back?"

Joel studies you as you fidget beside him, your uncertainty causing him to smirk slightly. It was almost endearing, seeing you be completely out of control of your surroundings. He remembers back when you were traveling with him you had an obsessive need to straighten up everything before you fell asleep. You had to roll yourself up in your sleeping bag the same way every night. 

"Usually on my back," he said finally. "But I can sleep on my side, too."

You swallow, trying to picture yourself sleeping. For some reason you felt the urge to have control of the situation, dictating exactly how he has to sleep, too. "Can I... I'll sleep on my side if you can sleep on your back? Is that okay?"

Joel had to suppress a smirk at your request. You knew he was trying to hold back a snarky remark. Instead, he surprises you.

"Sure, you can sleep on your side," he agreed, shifting his body weight onto his back, "’n I'll sleep on my back. No big deal."

You turn to face him, tucking the pillow further under your head. You can tell his eyes are heavy from exhaustion. You know it's time to shut up, to go to sleep, but you feel the need to say something else to him. Sometimes your brain concocts questions and statements and you know you shouldn’t say them, but your mouth betrays you.  

"When was the last time you had a girl in your bed?"

Why the fuck would you ask that? You think to yourself. It fell out of your mouth like drool.

Joel's eyes widened at your blunt question, surprise and a hint of embarrassment coloring his expression. You knew he was probably just expecting you to lay here next to him, maybe roll around a bit, then sleep. But instead, it’s an interrogation.

He took a deep breath, his mind rattling around as he tried to think of a response. He didn't want to admit what his genuine answer was to you, but he too could not help himself.

"Why do you want to know that?" he asks, his voice steely.

You hate that he even responded because now you needed to defend yourself.

"I uh, don't know. I don't know why it matters."

Joel chuckled softly, noting that you probably just had a case of word vomit. You always told him you were infamous for putting your foot in your mouth, especially in awkward situations.

"Curiosity got the better of you, huh?" he asks, rubbing his face with his hands. “You just can’t help yourself, sweetheart.”

He shifted slightly, rolling onto his side to face you, his gaze studying your expression.

You smirk, grateful that he's letting it slide. When he turns onto his side and he's at eye level with you, your face drops a bit. He is ruining the vision in your head. He’s throwing a wrench in your plans.

"You're supposed to be on your back, sir."

Joel couldn't help but chuckle softly at your comment. He knew he was supposed to be on his back, but the new angle allowed him to see you better in the faint moonlight.

"Don't worry," he said, a hint of humor in his voice. "I'll turn back over in a minute. Just... enjoying the view for a bit."

You roll your eyes, lifting your hands from under the covers and lightly hitting his arm. You knew he was just fucking with you now. 

"Okay, for that, I want to know the answer to my stupid question."

Joel let out a low laugh, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He shook his head, amused by your persistence. You start to think about it and you have never really seen him bring anyone home. Maybe it had been a very long time and he was embarrassed. 

"Alright, alright," he said, a hint of resignation in his voice. "Last time I had a girl in my bed..."

He paused for a moment, his eyes dropping to the covers, his mind racing to find the right words.

"Go on..."

Joel took another deep breath, his voice dropping even lower as he spoke.

"It's been a long time, kiddo," he admitted, his voice pierced with a bit of shame. "Almost ten years, if I'm being honest."

Your eyes widen in surprise. "No way... You've never just... got it on with someone in bed?"

Joel's face flushed with embarrassment at your blunt question, a mix of shock and slight irritation flashing across his eyes.

"Jesus, you really don't hold back, do ya?" he muttered. He shifts a bit, trying to get comfortable in a different way. He hadn't expected the conversation to turn so personal, so quickly and he did not want to face you anymore. He was mortified. 

You mentally slap yourself in the face.

"I'm sorry, I am just tired and delusional. Uh, you don't have to answer that."

Joel could practically feel the humiliation radiating off you and he too felt the exact same way. You knew how to add to an already awkward situation.

"No, no, it's fine," he reassured you, his voice a bit gentler now. "I get it. You're tired, and your filter has taken a backseat."

"Yeah, exactly..."

He shifted on the bed, turning onto his back again, his gaze shifting to the ceiling, avoiding your curious stare.

You could not help but stare at his side profile. A prominent straight nose. His downturned lips are surrounded by some fine lines that show his age. He was a beautiful man now, but you can’t help but imagine him back in his 20s. He had to have been a hit with the ladies back then.

Joel could feel your gaze on him, studying his face. And while you were not scrutinizing him, he felt like a commodity in a museum or something.  He forced himself to keep his gaze on the ceiling, refusing to meet your eyes.

"So… ten years and no sex?”

You could seriously, not help yourself.

"Correct.” He grumbles, still not meeting your stare.

"Damn, Joel." You mutter, adjusting a bit to sit up a little more on your pillow. "I seriously thought you were sleeping around the whole time we have been in Jackson.”

He finally turns your way, a bit of offense on his face. “Why would you think that?”

You shrug, not wanting to insult him. But that’s how you formulated your grudge towards him. It was easy to just chalk everything up to problems with random women you have seen around town. 

“You just give off the energy…”

“What?”

You huff, laying back on the pillow. “I don’t know, Joel! I feel like when I’m around you all the ladies think you’re handsome. They stare.”

“They are staring because you’re always following me around and we aren’t married or… together. They think we are odd.” 

You had never heard such things around Jackson, but it does sort of make sense. Everyone was probably just confused because you two lived together but were not a couple. You can admit it is bizarre, but it just did not feel like an option any other way, in your mind. So Tommy gave you two a bigger house and you set up separate rooms. 

But in actuality, Joel secretly told Tommy that he did not want you too far from him. So when Tommy couldn’t give you any other houses nearby, Joel just told him that you two would be roommates.

“Well fuck ‘em.” You mutter, trying not to sound too offended by the thought of people gossiping about you two.

Joel just nods. You settle by tucking your arm under your pillow. You yawn, the exhaustion now taking over your body. You watch Joel grab a pair of reading glasses from the side table and a book. You decide not to bother him, especially because he probably wanted to just read himself to sleep instead of being interrogated by you any further.

You close your eyes and eventually fall asleep. The deeper you get, Joel notices how your breathing pattern changes. When he’s finally ready to get some shut-eye as well, he watches as your body crawls closer to him. Your arm swings over his stomach and rests on his forearm. He is so shocked he does not move a muscle. 

You adjust some more, not knowing what you are doing. Your leg creeps up and tucks right between his. You snuggle your face right into his chest. The only movement Joel decides to make is slinging his arm over your shoulders to pull you in tighter. 

It’s the first time in years that you two slept soundly, with no interruptions. No nightmares, no sudden intrusions, nothing. Silence and snores fill the room and that’s it.

-

When you wake up, it’s slow and gradual. Your brain hardly computes that you’re laying on top of Joel’s shirtless frame, until your hand runs across his warm tummy. 

You crook your neck up, looking at the handsome man you are spreading across. 

His lips are slightly ajar, letting out hardly-there snores. They are so pretty and pink and you cannot help but touch them with feather-like fingertips. You would feel so guilty waking him up-

His eyes slowly open taking notice of your actions even though you tried not to stir him. Your eyes fly open in shock, but he does not seem very annoyed. He smiles. 

“Mornin’ darlin’,” He says in a deep sleep-laced voice. You smile back at him, loving that he decided to call you the nickname you always got giddy over. You press your fingers into his chest before replying.

“I didn’t have a nightmare.”

His hand comes up from your shoulders and tucks some hair behind your ear as he stares down at you, “That’s good kiddo. I’m glad you slept well.”

The intimacy is almost too much. The way this is how it would be if you woke up to Joel every morning. It sends your brain into overdrive and you force yourself to ruin it a bit.

“Woulda slept even better if you didn’t talk so much in your sleep.”

Joel froze for a moment, his cheeks immediately flushing pink with embarrassment. He sits up a bit more, adjusting to the brighter lighting in his room. He knew he had a problem with talking in his sleep. Ellie used to talk about it all the time. He dreaded hearing what he was saying while curled up next to you.

"Uh... what did I say?" he asked, trying to maintain his composure.

"Something about it felt so good to be pressed up against someone, I don't know..." 

You could not help yourself and started to laugh. You knew you were going to get a rise out of him. 

Joel's face flushed an even deeper shade of pink as you started to laugh, clearly amused by your joke. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, his mind racing as he tried to come up with an excuse. He was just dreaming, it was not about you. 

"W-what?" he spluttered out instead of making an excuse. "I didn't... I didn't say anything like that."

You have a shit-eating grin on your face and you press your hands on his chest to prop yourself up. You enjoyed watching him squirm.

Joel's eyes flickered down to your hands on his chest. He sickly thought they felt so right placed there. He imagined what you would look like fully mounting him. 

He tried to keep his expression neutral, but you could see through his stone-cold exterior.

"You're messing with me, aren't you?" he grumbled, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"Fully fuckin' with you." You giggle, hoping he is not really that mad at you. 

“You’re a brat.”

You move your foot slightly, running it up his leg. It sends shockwaves up his body, having you so close and moving around so seamlessly. 

"No, you said something about how beautiful, alluring, and incredible I am. Said I was the girl of your dreams…"

"Yeah, right," he said, a hint of playful sarcasm in his voice. "You expect me to believe that?"

"So, you don't believe me?"

"No, I don't believe you," he says, his voice stern but playful. "I think you're a dirty little liar, trying to play me for a fool."

"A dirty little liar, huh? Well, it's good to know that you don't think I'm beautiful, alluring, and incredible." You giggle at his acknowledgment, knowing he caught you red-handed.

"Oh, I never said that," he smirked, a hint of teasing in his voice. "You are all of those things, darlin’. But you're also a dirty little liar who likes to play games."

"So you think I'm beautiful?" You crack, the biggest smile painted on your face. You don’t even care that he’s calling you a liar because it does not matter. Joel thinks you are beautiful. 

“‘Course I do.”

You push yourself up onto your butt, sitting crisscross next to him. He secretly wishes you were still curled up on top of him. 

“You always this nice in the morning?” You ponder, your fingertips starting to toy with the hair on his stomach. He tries not to pay mind to it, letting you have full access to touch him. 

But it’s driving him insane. The way you look freshly woken up, completely enamored with the idea of him calling you beautiful. You have some puffiness under your eyes and your lips are more swollen than usual.

“I am always nice to you.”

You let out a scoff, “No, you’re not.”

He notices the shift in your tone and starts to get defensive, “Now you’re just lyin’.” 

Joel always loved to gaslight you in these situations. You knew better than to let him get away with it, especially now. “No there was that one time you told me you did not like me and that you would never like me. How you are old enough to be my dad-”

“Because I am!”

And there’s the wall. The only constant in you two’s relationship. He was so good at throwing it up when feelings were being expressed. When vulnerability was presented, Joel could not help but reject it. 

“And the world’s fuckin’ ended, Joel! Big deal!” You almost yell, moving your hands from him. 

Why does he already miss your hands?

He huffs, crossing his arms over his soft chest. “We have had this conversation for the last 10 years.’M not sure why we keep rehashing it.”

“And every time you turn me down it’s another fuckin’ stab in the heart.”

“You know why we can’t,” He practically growls. You can not stand to even look at him anymore with your bitterness and irritation taking over. 

“Whatever, Joel.” 

As soon as you say it, you’re already leaving his room and heading to your own. When you slam the door, you hope you have made your point. You want to scream and punch a hole in the wall, but instead you just furiously stomp around the room and grab your clothes. You had patrol at noon, so you needed to get to the mess hall before breakfast was over. You try not to cry as you strip down and get dressed.

Joel sits in bed, reeling. He hates that it has become a conversation every six months. He hated that rejecting you always sent you into a spiral of hating him for extended periods. It’s not that he did not want you, it was simply just not in the cards. He was too old to be in love. He was too old to play house with you. He just could not submit to the idea of leading you on, especially because you had so much more life to live. 

He finally works up the courage to get out of bed and put on some clothes. He opts for putting on his typical jeans and thick flannel. It was getting colder and he knew by the end of the winter, you would end up with half his flannels anyway, so he had to enjoy them while he had them. 

You storm downstairs, going to the back door for your boots when you spot him in the kitchen. 

“You got pat-”

“Yes.” You respond quickly, shoving your foot into your shoes. He stands behind you with a mug full of tea, watching your every move. 

“Who are you-”

“Jesse.”

He was asking his usual questions, which you were not in the mood to answer. 

“Hey, can you-”

You snap your head back at him, giving him the glare you gave him as a warning usually. By now, he takes it as a hint and backs off. But not this time. 

“Can I what?”

He rolls his eyes, “Can you fuckin’ not be a brat about this?”

You wish your glare came with knives. If that were the case, Joel Miller would be dead on his kitchen floor. 

You are so thrown off by the question that you just watch him get angrier when you do not respond. 

“Are you serious, right now?” You press, keeping your voice from cracking. 

He brings the mug up to his mouth, taking an obnoxious sip. When he pulls the mug away, you notice how steaming it is. “You always pull this shit-”

“No, you do! You do this shit to me every fuckin’ time, Joel. You sweet talk me, make me feel comfortable, have me lapping everything up in the palm of your hands, and then you snatch it away. Then have the audacity to get mad at me!”

You are yelling now and it is throwing him off. Joel knows better than to interrupt you like you do to him. You were the kind of person who would calm down if you felt heard. 

The way he knew you down to your core made this all so painful. Because if he was not so stubborn and true to his convictions, he would have fucked you the moment you touched his lips this morning. 

“I ain’t tryin’ to make this harder than-” “Too fuckin’ late.”

You think back to the moment last night when you knew you were going to hurt your own feelings by sleeping with him. You knew better, yet here you are, still blaming him for your stupidity.

He stands there, still holding his mug, staring you down like a wounded doe who got pierced with an arrow. He feels guilty like he misled you. Before he can say anything, you are lacing up your boots and leaving out the front door without another word. 

-

All day long, Joel wanders around the house trying to get rid of the pit in his stomach. Nothing works. A shower. Reading a book. Cutting wood. As soon as he tried to use laundry as a distraction, he reached into his hamper and found one of your t-shirts. He held it close and smelled it, trying to wrap his head around how he got here. 

You spend all day, silently fuming on horseback with Jesse. When he tries to get you to open up, you ice him out and tell him to focus on the trail in front of him. 

You get back by sundown, the sun setting making it a lot chiller than you expected. You decide to take the long way home, wanting to avoid being home for as long as possible. You were not ready to face Joel, let alone share a space with him. But unfortunately, during your patrol, you fell into some mud and needed a shower. The more time it spent on your clothes and body, the grosser you felt. 

You open the front door, announcing that you are home. It was a habit you and Joel developed after you both pulled guns on each other during late-night arrivals. 

You hear Joel mumble something from the living room, but you do not stop to listen and continue on your way upstairs to the bathroom. 

You strip down as soon as the door is closed, tossing your muddy clothing into a hamper in the corner. You would get them washed and hung as soon as you shower off. 

You hear Joel’s footsteps creaking around the upstairs hallway as you scrub your body with homemade soap and warm water. 

When you start to dry yourself off, you hear Joel grunting something in the hallway. You wrap yourself in a towel and peek your head out the door. He’s on his hands and knees wiping something off the hardwood. “What’s goin’ on?”

He looks up at you, your body only covered in a bleach-stained blue towel. It makes his head spin. He can’t even be mad that you tracked in mud. 

He swallows, gripping the cloth he’s using tighter. “You got mud everywhere.”

You step out, not even really thinking about the fact that you are not properly dressed in front of Joel. You were still mad at him, anyway. Who cares what he thinks?

“Sorry, I could’ve cleaned it up.”

He returns to wiping the wood, “It’s fine, I got it, kiddo.”

You accept his response and move on to your room, but the draft you leave behind drifts to Joel’s nostrils. Your soap smells like lavender and it always sends his mind racing when you are fresh from a shower. He clears his throat, trying to get through the emotions filling his chest. 

But it’s been like this all day. You’re all around him even when you’re not physically here. How can he get away from you? Why is he trying to run in the first place?

He’s on his knees in your hallway, cleaning up your mess, sniffing the air you leave behind because he’s fucking in love with you and he cannot help himself anymore. 

Joel starts to think about how peaceful he felt having you next to him last night and how he would love to feel that way every night. For once he’s not thinking about what everyone else would think. For once he’s thinking selfishly and caving into every desire he has ever pondered about you. How would you feel under him? How would your lips feel pressed against his pulse point? 

His body was on fire, thinking about you. 

You are fiddling with some clothes in your dresser after you flick on the overhead light. You do not hear him come into your room behind you. 

You are so wrapped up in your own thoughts that when he clears his throat to announce he’s in your room, you scream. Loud. 

“For cryin’ out loud, woman!” 

You grip your towel tighter when you turn and see him standing at your mercy. 

“Joel, what the fuck?” You yell, gesturing to the fact that you are practically naked. He does not care, of course, and his ears are ringing from your piercing scream. He gathers himself as you shift back, trying to create some distance from him.

He is trying not to gawk at the fact that your grip on the towel against your chest is only pushing up your cleavage. He’s biting back everything. “Can we talk?”

“Talk about what? The fact you crept into my room when I was trying to change? Are we past boundaries now?” 

You are pissed, trying not to rattle off another million things to discuss with him. He’s only really talking about one thing. 

He scoffs at your last statement. “Boundaries were already out the window when you crawled into bed with me last night.”

Silence fills the room as you completely stop breathing. The anger you originally felt dissipates. 

“Joel-“

“I ain’t doin’ this back and forth anymore,” He starts shifting in his spot, unsure if he really should be doing this. “I can’t live how I've been livin’. Somethin’s gotta give.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. 

“You are the one who won’t give, Joel.”

As soon as you say it, he practically drags himself over to you. Completely destitute. You have never seen him look so desperate before. You can tell that he’s been at war with himself ever since you left this morning. His eyes never lied.

His hand creeps up your bare arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. 

But then you remember his words from this morning. You start feeling like this is just a moment of weakness for him and that he will regret it later. You had to stop it before it was too late. You did not want to deal with the consequences. 

“Joel, you said we can’t-”

“Fuck what I said,” He cuts you off, “Do you want this?”

You stare into those brown eyes, searching for a sign of hesitance. You cannot believe Joel is being this vulnerable with you. 

But, you do want him. God, you have wanted him so badly for so long. You have searched for him in every man you have ever been with since knowing him. 

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. He takes note of your parted lips, every word failing you at that moment.

“Darlin’-”

“Yes,” You finally manage. “Yes, I do want this.”

It’s all he needs. He closes the gap between you two by wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his space. His lips crash onto yours, not wasting another breath of air waiting to indulge in his sickest fantasies. 

You are all Joel ever dreamed about. He knew that once he caved and physically gave in, his world would be shot and everything would revolve around you. For years it had been a teetering object on a cliff, one nudge would have him falling. He always managed. But now, he was falling head first. 

His lips move so perfectly with your own. Your hand released your towel and found the tufts of his curls at the base of his head. You did not care that the article pooled around your feet, leaving you completely bare in front of Joel. You have wanted this all along. To be uncovered, to be stripped down to the rawest form. He broke the kiss briefly just to scan your naked body, his forehead pressed against your own. 

“Fuck, you are so beautiful.”

Your heart stutters as his hand traces your stomach down to your hips, all the way down to your ass. He stops there, grabbing a handful. 

“I need you,” You choke out before pressing your lips to his over and over again. “Right now.”

He mumbles “jump” into your mouth and you do so, his hands working quickly to hike you up onto his waist. He carries you to your bed, wasting no time dropping you onto your back. 

He cannot get enough of your soft, swollen lips. Every time he pulls away slightly, he dives in again even more aggressively than the last time. 

You are so hypnotized by the way he feels on top of you. In the light, he seems so much broader than he was last night. He’s still fully clothed, to your dismay. You start to tug at his shirt, motioning him to remove the articles that are in your way. 

He throws off his shirt before he stands up at the edge of the bed and pushes down his jeans. 

“Joel… I-“

He just shuts you up with another passionate kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth like he’s trying to melt into your mouth. Your hands trail up his back, gripping onto his shoulders, holding him down so he is pressing against your nude body. 

“God, I have wanted this for so long,” He sputters, trying not to sound too desperate. “Been wanting this.”

That’s when his hand reaches down between your thighs and gathers the wetness your slit has to offer. His fingers dance across it, starting from the top all the way to your spongy entrance. 

“Please, Joel.”

He loves the lust-laced tone you speak with when you say his name. It almost makes him cum there and then. 

You watch as he makes his way down your body, peppering kisses from your shoulder to your hip. When he parts your legs, you feel quite exposed. The adrenaline of being so spread for him manifests into a moan. 

“You are divine, baby.”

The use of that adjective is so-not-Joel that it makes you giggle. He notes your reaction and decides to sink down into you. When his mouth gets close to your core, it’s no longer a laughing matter. 

He uses his fingers again, using them to spread open your pussy lips. He cannot keep his eyes away from how dripping you are. “This all for me?”

“Y-yes, Joel.”

“God, I was a fuckin’ fool for so long. Could’ve had her earlier and I never fuckin’ caved. Such an idiot.”

Him giving your cunt pronouns was enough to have you throwing your head back and shuttering. His touch was magnetic like he knew exactly what buttons to push as he rubbed his fingers and palm over your core. 

“Yeah, you’ve been missin’ out. Every night…” You swallow before looking down at the man that is enamored with your pussy, “E-every night I would lay in this bed, fuckin’ myself just thinkin’ about you.”

He growls at the statement, before teasingly kissing your clit. “Every night, hm, kiddo?”

“God, yes.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as he leans forward more and dives in. His nose is pressed firmly against the top of your pussy, nudging forward every time his tongue enters your hole. When that motion became consistent, you began to note the rumblings in the pit of your stomach. A familiar build-up that you managed to get when you were playing with yourself. 

His fingers move in tandem with his lips and tongue. While his middle and pointer finger slide in and out of you, his lips wrap around your clit. It’s overwhelming and all-consuming. 

You do not know where to center yourself, so your hands grip the bed sheets you were completely soaking as Joel pulls the first orgasm out of you. 

“That’s it, baby, she’s cryin’ for me, hm?”

You hardly make a noise, the orgasm is so earth-shattering that you just writhe on the mattress. 

“Oh my god…” You groan, finally able to catch your breath. When Joel removes his fingers from you, you watch as he slowly brings them up to his lips.

When he inserts them in his mouth, you gawk at him, unsure how to react. He watches your expression and chuckles darkly.

“Mm, never seen a man enjoy the taste of ya?”

You shake your head. “Never expected to hear those words leave your mouth, either.”

“Wait ‘til you hear what else I got to say.”

He stands up beside the bed, grabs your hips, and brings them to the edge. He is tossing you around with ease, bringing your lower body flush with his. He yanks down his briefs, revealing himself to you. You instantly take notice of how well-endowed he is. You never thought you would ever be close to his cock, let alone have it lining up at your entrance. 

“Joel…“ You stop him with your small voice, but still welcoming him in with your legs opened wide, “I don’t know if it will fit.”

He grins, “It will, baby. Just relax for me, okay?”

You watch him slide his member along your center, the feeling so blissfully overstimulating. You whine a bit, raising your hips to his. 

But Joel continues his torture, enjoying the way you’re squirming under him. The way your eyebrows are knitted together, your eyes shut as you grind up into him. It’s the prettiest sight. 

“Ready?”

Your eyes fly open as you watch him ease his way into your core, the sound of squelching filling the room. You don’t think you have ever been this wet for someone. 

“Oh my fuckin’ god, Joel…”

He smiles as he inches in, “Squeezin’ my cock so good, darlin’.”

When he’s fully sheathed inside, he tests the waters by drawing out slowly. You roll your hips in a circle, trying to feel out every inch of him. He fits, but you know once he starts to move faster, the stretch will become overwhelming. 

He’s trying to focus and not blow his load immediately. You look so beautiful below him, your tits slowly shifting back and forth every time he draws back and forth. He reaches out, wanting to feel the flesh between his fingers. God, he craved every inch of you, he realizes. 

You open your legs as far as you can, letting him hit you at a different angle. The movement allows him to slip in a bit more seamlessly, so when he speeds up his thrusts, you don’t feel like you will completely split in half. 

He brings your leg up to hips, and feeling your soft delicate skin against him makes him lose all sense. His hips snap faster the more you moan out for him. 

“Fuckin’ Christ, girl. I can’t believe I was missin’ out on this cunt,” He babbles, “Need this cunt every day from now on. Gonna have you all to myself every night.”

You are too fucked out of your mind to read into those implications.

“‘M all yours, Joel.”

He smiles, slowing down a bit. “Keep talkin’ like that and ‘ll finish a lot sooner than you.”

You sit up a bit, your eyes flickering over his entire body. He notices you checking out his nude frame, which makes him feel a bit more bold. He leans down, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. You love the way his tongue slips into your mouth so effortlessly. When he opens his mouth, his facial hair tickles your nose a bit which makes you smile. When his hips pick back up to a quicker pace, it sends you gasping into his mouth.

“Please, Joel,” You whine, that familiar build starts up but this time it’s like a freight train. Moving so quickly down every nerve ending in your body. “I’m gonna cum.”

“‘M with you, darlin’. Soak this dick. I’m right behind ya.”

His dirty talk causes the crash. Your body practically lifts off the mattress. You cry out so loud you are sure a neighbor could hear you. You try to gain your bearings, but you are panting like you just ran a mile. 

Joel fucks you through it, but the restriction your pussy is putting on his cock sends him over the edge. His hips stutter into yours, his seed emptying into your spent hole. He just keeps repeating your name as his thrusts slow down.

He has never had such a visceral orgasm in his life. His knees are weak and can hardly keep up his weight. He practically falls on top of you, which does not offend you at all. His warm sweaty body on top of you is almost reassuring. 

“You okay, kiddo?” He finally mutters as his hot breath fans the nape of your neck. You just nod, bringing your hand up to his salt and pepper hair. You tug lightly, smiling to yourself. 

“I’m more than okay.”

He finally sits up, his cock spilling out of you as he adjusts his position. Your hole drips a mixture of cum onto your newly clean sheets, but you could care less. It’s just another thing to hand wash tonight.

Joel stumbles to the middle of the room, picking up your bath towel. He uses it to wipe himself up before coming over to you. Your legs are still slightly apart so he decides to clean you up a bit. He’s gentle, knowing that you are probably still sensitive.

Once he finishes up, he crawls next to you as you continue to recover. Your bones felt like jello so standing up to adjust yourself was not an option.

So instead of facing him, you stare up at your ceiling fan as his eyes lock onto every detail of your profile. It brings him back to one night you two shared under the stars a couple of years ago. It was his turn to keep watch so you curled up in your sleeping bag by the fire. He admired you from across the flames, the orange hues lit up every angle of your face. It was at that moment that Joel realized that he could not picture his life without you. You had weaseled your way into every facet of his life and he used to resent the impact you had on him. You were younger, more patient but still stubborn like him. You made him laugh, like genuinely laugh, for the first time since the infection. While you may have been a bit impulsive with your emotions, he envied the way you could say exactly what you were thinking. 

Joel did not want to love you, but it was impossible not to. 

You finally look over at him, noticing the softness in his gaze.

“Are you okay?” You pose, scrunching your nose. 

He gives you a toothless smile, his eyes crinkling a bit. “I just can’t wait to sleep next to you for the rest of my life.”

tags of people I love and who may wanna read (no pressure I just love u) (some of u did ask tho) : @ashleyfilm @hockeyhughes @pedrospookie @guiltyasdave @amanitacowboy @myownwholewildworld

[abbotjack]

can u pls write a fic where the reader absolutely adores going down on abbot because she gets to have him at his most vulnerable and feral, all because of her own undoing

you know what… yeah. there's something about the way jack falls apart when your mouth is on him—quiet at first, trying to hold it together, and then suddenly he's gone. voice rough, hips twitching, all restraint out the window. and the best part? it's not because he's asking for it. it's because you wanted to. because he let you in, and now he can't hide from it. anyway. here you go!

content/warning : explicit oral sex (m receiving), praise kink, military past mentions, emotional vulnerability, established relationship intimacy, Jack is feral and in love. 18+ MDNI!!!!!

words : 1,755

Jack’s hard to catch off guard.

He’s trained for chaos. Built for pressure. Keeps himself wired tight because it’s the only way he’s ever known how to survive—by staying ten seconds ahead of the worst-case scenario, especially if that scenario has anything to do with losing you.

But sometimes, without even trying, you manage to catch him unprepared.

And tonight, he doesn’t see it coming.

It’s past ten. The rain’s steady against the windows, casting shadows that shift across the floor. You’re curled up on the living room couch, half-buried under a fleece blanket, flipping through a worn medical journal you’ve read twice already. You’re not even pretending to be interested—just waiting. Watching.

Jack’s in the kitchen, sleeves shoved to his elbows, scrubbing a pan like it’s got something personal against him. His movements are steady, practiced. Rooted in a rhythm he’s long since made his own.

He hums under his breath, soft and shapeless. Not a song, not really—just a low, quiet pattern that lives somewhere deep in his chest. The kind he slips into when he’s too tired to realize he’s doing it.

He’s already showered. Hair still damp, curling at the ends. A black t-shirt clings to his shoulders, worn soft with time. Grey sweats sit low on his hips, the waistband knotted like an afterthought. One sock. The prosthetic stays on—seamless, familiar, just another part of how he moves through the quiet of the evening.

And something in you pulls tight.

Because no one else sees him like this.

Not the hospital, where he’s all orders and intensity. Not his old unit. Not even his family, who still talk around things like they’re too fragile to touch.

But you do. You get this version of him—the quiet one. The one who moves like the day hasn’t touched him yet. The one who doesn’t have to perform toughness or control.

And you watch him, not for the first time, and think—without warning, without fanfare—God, I love you.

Not in the loud way. Not in the kind you say out loud just to hear it back. Just in the way that settles in your chest and stays there. Heavy. Certain.

He rinses the pan. Dries his hands. Looks up just as you shift your weight on the couch.

And that’s when it catches up to you—quiet, all at once. How much you want him.

Not just the sex. Not just the weight of him on your tongue or the sound he makes when he loses control.

But this. The unraveling.

The chance to take him apart, slowly, just because he lets you. Because he trusts you to.

“Jack?”

He turns, still toweling off a spot on his wrist. “Yeah?”

You slip off the blanket. Pad across the hardwood barefoot.

He watches your approach with that look—careful, measured. The one he wears when he's trying to read you before you speak.

When you reach him, you slide your hands under his shirt, palms smoothing over warm skin. He’s still damp near the collarbone. Still smells like unscented soap and the body wash he only buys because you like it.

You press your mouth to the corner of his lips, soft and slow.

He leans into it before he can stop himself.

“What’s that for?” he asks, voice low.

You shrug. “Just felt like it.”

He doesn’t speak, just studies you—like he’s trying to figure out what changed, what storm might be coming.

You tilt your chin up, fingers still tracing lazy circles on his ribs.

“I want you.”

His brow ticks up. “You have me.”

You shake your head. “Not like that.”

And then, quieter: “Let me take care of you.”

He stiffens—just barely. You feel it before you see it. That split second where instinct kicks in, where he almost says no, almost laughs it off, almost makes it about you instead. Because that’s who he is.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he nods.

And you drop to your knees.

The tile is cool against your shins. Jack shifts his weight—one foot grounding, the other adjusting with practiced ease. You place your hands on his thighs and look up at him, steady under your touch.

He’s already breathing harder.

“Let me have you like this,” you whisper.

He exhales—tight, measured. “Fuck. You sure?”

You smile, pressing a kiss to the base of his stomach. “I’m already on the floor, Jack.”

That gets a low huff of laughter. But his hand settles on the back of your head anyway, fingers threading through your hair.

He watches as you undo the knot in his waistband, tug his sweats down just enough, and take him in your hand.

Already half-hard. Heavy. Familiar.

You lean in and press your lips to the head of him—soft, reverent.

And then you open your mouth.

The groan that breaks from him isn’t polished. It’s not restrained.

It’s raw.

Like it catches him off guard. Like he thought he could stand there and stay composed while you took him apart piece by piece.

But the second you suck him down, his composure splinters.

His thighs twitch. His hips jerk just slightly, then freeze like he’s trying not to move, not to hurt you, not to fuck your mouth the way he clearly wants to.

Your hands move instinctively—one braced on his stomach, steadying him, the other wrapping around the base of his cock as you work him deeper.

Jack’s head falls forward, mouth parted.

“Christ,” he breathes, voice shaking. “You—baby, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you murmur against him. “I love this.”

You swirl your tongue and take him deep again, and his knees almost buckle.

He adjusts—shifts his weight again, subtly, stepping back, his hand now braced on the counter for balance. You glance up. The way he looks at you—lips parted, eyes heavy, jaw clenched like he’s trying not to beg—you could cry from it.

And then, when you moan around him, low and slow, he loses it.

His hand fists tighter in your hair.

His abs twitch beneath your palm.

“You’re gonna fucking ruin me,” he groans.

You hum, dragging your mouth off him long enough to grin. “That’s the idea.”

You take him back in—deeper—until he hits the back of your throat, and when your nose brushes his stomach, he gasps. Like he can’t believe how good it feels. Like it hurts. Like he doesn’t know how to survive this kind of love.

His balance wavers again, and you feel it when he compensates—hip shifting forward, muscles flexing, the barest tremble in his thigh as he tries to keep still.

“Sweetheart—” he chokes out, “—I’m gonna—fuck—I’m close—”

You just keep going.

Let him have it. Let him feel it.

Every pulse. Every vibration of your mouth. Every second of you choosing to take him like he’s something sacred. Something you need like air.

And when he comes—it’s not quiet.

He groans, guttural and broken, hips stuttering forward, hand tightening in your hair, and your name spills from his lips like a confession.

You swallow. Gently. Like it’s a gift.

And then, slowly, you rise.

He’s still leaning hard on the counter, chest heaving. You just step into him. Rest your hands on his hips.

He pulls you in, eyes blown wide.

You kiss the corner of his mouth—soft, grounding.

“You okay?”

He exhales, a low breath that’s more laugh than anything else, but it breaks halfway out of his chest. “You’re gonna fucking destroy me.”

“You said that already.”

“Still true,” he mutters, tugging you in by the waist until you’re flush against him.

You lean in, forehead bumping his, nose brushing his cheek. His skin’s still warm from the shower. You press your lips to his jaw—gentle, reassuring—and whisper, “Come sit with me?”

He nods, but doesn’t move right away. Just stands there, arms wrapped around you like he’s trying to get his breath back.

Then, finally: “Yeah. Okay.”

You slide your hand down his back and tug lightly at the hem of his shirt as you pull away. He follows without hesitation.

When you reach the couch, you’re the first to sit—curling into the cushion with your knees tucked up, leaving space for him without saying a word. Jack lowers himself beside you, slow and steady, one hand bracing the armrest as he shifts his weight and sinks into the cushion.

He leans toward you, hand sliding to your hip. “C’mere,” he murmurs.

You go easily, letting him guide you as you swing a leg over his and settle into his lap. Your knees bracket his thighs. Your arms loop around his neck, and his hands find their place—one at the curve of your spine, the other curling into the fabric of your sweats at your thigh like he needs you close enough to breathe.

He doesn’t speak for a moment. Just breathes. Forehead pressed to yours.

“You always do that to me,” he says eventually, voice low and rough.

“Do what?”

“Take the fucking ground out from under me.”

You laugh softly. “You’re dramatic.”

“I’m serious,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are still heavy, a little dazed, but there’s no edge in his voice. Just something raw. Open. “It’s not just the sex. It’s the fact that I—” He shakes his head, exhales sharply. “I never used to let anyone see me like that. I didn’t know I could.”

You rest your hands on either side of his face. “You don’t have to let go for me, Jack. You just do.”

His jaw tenses for a second, then softens as your thumbs brush his cheekbones.

“I love you,” he says.

You blink. Not because you didn’t know—but because it sounds different this time. Like it came from somewhere deeper.

“I know,” you say. Then you smile. “But say it again.”

His eyes flick between yours. “I love you.”

You kiss him. Slow, unhurried, like there’s nowhere else to be. And when you pull back, he leans in and kisses your cheek. Then your temple. Then just stays there, arms around you, face pressed into the curve of your neck.

You stay like that for a long time.

Quiet. Still.

Wrapped around each other in the soft hum of your home. His heartbeat under your hand. His presence so familiar it aches in the best way.

[beholdthelastparagraph]

Thinking about how Palamedes tells Pash that they "are conversant with the concept of family in the Houses" in Nona....because, like, are they? Are they really?

Palamedes calls his own mother by her full name or job title more than he calls her 'mother'. Their relationship is COLLEGIAL at best. The Sixth raise their children in some kind of communal academic system, from what we can see in canon. Meanwhile, on the Second, it's all about that sweet sweet military command structure. On the Seventh, your parents literally try to pass super cancer onto you, and probably die of it themselves before you reach puberty. The Eighth is a monastic order where EVERYONE calls each other 'brother' or 'sister', regardless of family relationship. From everything we hear, the Tridentarius' parents are fucked-up in some way. The Ninth is....the Ninth, and on the Fourth, parents just tend to be dead.

So, like, are they really 'conversant with the idea of family'? Everything about the system John has set up discourages real family relationships. There is no socially acceptable way to share a family name with your spouse, parent, or sibling - the arithmonyms encourage you to identify with your HOUSE, not your family, and every time characters share an arithmonym, that is considered 'weird' (see the Tridentarii). John's system demands allegiance to the EMPIRE, not any individual family units.

This dissolution of family has the side effect of also dissolving (unjust) gendered roles, but it is also VERY effective at creating the existential, deep loneliness that so many of these characters experience and that John's system then uses to fuel their loyalty to him as God. It's this dissolution of family that creates the codependent structures you see in so many cav-necro relationships (Cam and Pal above all else), because WHERE ELSE but in this (fundamentally militaristic) relationship that was originally intended to serve the Empire could you find the closeness family often provides.

And, like, every time characters prioritise their chosen or blood family over the values of the Empire, it's transgressive. Any relationship that emphasises the individual - as a spouse, friend, lover, sibling, child, parent - over the 'imperial role' of cav, necro, soldier, or servant, is transgressive in the world of TLT. Magnus and Abigail are transgressive for that. Gideon and Harrow are. Even the Tridentarii have something going on that seems to go against imperial power structures, even if it's a different kind of fucked-up. Cam and Pal are such a complex case because they DO earnestly love each other outside of their role as necro and cav, but are so fundamentally alienated from healthy relationship dynamics because of their absurd upbringing that they immediately become *like that*, to the point of doing ye olde soul-merger. Still - they fundamentally hold allegiance to each other as family of some sort, whether romantic or platonic.

Which, I think, is why it's so perfect and messed-up and appropriate that Juno Zeta, Palamedes' literal mother, spends the last few minutes of her son's earthly existence as an individual quizzing We Suffer about her family structure. Rather than. Y'know. Talking to her son. Who is about to eradicate himself as an individual within the one relationship that ever transgressed that enforced, non-familial distance.

Camilla, meanwhile, does not let her fathers watch her death/ascension at all.

[monzabee]

hotch, hotchner and the other hotchner - a. hotchner

criminal minds masterlist || part of the nanny series

Summary: sean meets jack’s nanny. aaron is not happy about it.  

Pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: girlies are fighting in this one, not much of sean i have to admit, aaron is a little bit of an ass but he comes around, almost crying but not, arguing (duh)

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

Family is complicated. That much, at least, you and Aaron agree on. 

“What was I supposed to say?” You ask him, aggressively chopping up the remainder of the carrot in front of you. “‘Sorry, your emotionally unavailable brother doesn’t want to see you, it's because he's so emotionally constipated that he doesn’t know how to speak to you?’” 

Aaron's jaw clenches from where he stands across the kitchen, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up to his elbows, and his tie is tugged loose—an unspoken sign that he's not just here as the unit chief tonight. He's here as Jack's father. As Sean's brother. And, apparently, as the man who thinks you're out of line. 

“I'm not emotionally constipated,” Aaron says, slowly and evenly, like he’s trying not to bite. 

You raise an eyebrow, still focused on the chopping board. “Really? Because the last time someone tried to hug you, I swear I saw you glitch like a robot short-circuiting.” 

That gets a flicker of something across his face. Maybe amusement. Maybe guilt. It's hard to tell with Aaron—his expressions are like those security-locked doors at Quantico: hard to crack and probably booby-trapped. 

“You didn’t have to let him in,” he says, quieter now. 

You pause mid-slice and finally look up at him. “He’s your brother. Jack’s uncle. And maybe—just maybe—he was trying to make an effort. You don’t get to be the gatekeeper of someone else's second chance, Aaron.” 

The silence that follows is thick enough to chew on. You don’t break eye contact, and he doesn’t flinch. Typical. It’s been nothing but a war of wills between the two of you ever since he took you to that FBI gala. You’d expect things to be different, and not like this. 

“I trust you with Jack,” he says after a beat, voice gruff. “That doesn't mean I trust you with Sean.” 

The words sting more than you expect them to. Your hand tightens around the knife before you set it down with deliberate care. “Noted,” you say, wiping your hands on a towel. “Next time your brother stops by, I’ll make sure to usher him out with a smile and a cookie. Or better yet—maybe you should actually talk to him yourself instead of having me turn your family members away.” 

Aaron looks away first. 

The sound of Jack's laughter drifts in from the living room—light, effortless, untouched by the adult tension simmering just a room away. You both glance toward the hallway like you’ve been summoned, reminded of the reason you're even standing here, arguing like this. “I'm not trying to come between anything,” you add softly, more to fill the space than anything else. “I just... I care about your kid. That includes the people in his life.” 

Aaron exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. The defenses lower just enough for you to see the man underneath—the tired father, the conflicted brother, the maybe-something-more you haven’t dared to name yet. “I know you do,” he says, finally, but you can see his disapproving expression.  

You pause mid-slice, again, the knife hovering above the cutting board. “He was standing outside your front door with coffee and a damn toy dinosaur, Aaron. What did you want me to do—slam it in his face?” 

“Yes,” he snaps, and it’s the sharpest thing he’s said all night. “If it means protecting Jack from people who only show up when it’s convenient for them? Yeah. I’d rather you close the door.” 

Your hand tightens around the knife before you set it down with more force than necessary. “What is wrong with you?” You ask, eyebrows pulled together in a full-on frown. “He is your brother, and you can’t let him in? What kind of a person turns their own brother away?” 

Aaron’s expression hardens, jaw tightening like he’s grinding down whatever ugly truth is pressing on his tongue. “The kind of person who’s been burned by him more times than he can count,” he says. “The kind of person who doesn’t want his son waiting by the window for someone who doesn’t come back.” 

The words are flat. Final. And they leave no room for argument—but still, you don’t back down. “You really think Jack can’t handle disappointment?” you ask, voice rising now. “He’s a kid, Aaron. He’s going to face a hell of a lot worse in life than a flaky uncle, in fact, he has! What he needs is to see that people can try. That sometimes they come back.” 

“You think I don’t want that?” he shoots back. “You think I don’t wish Sean could be someone Jack can rely on? But he’s not. He never has been. And I won’t risk letting him in just so Jack can watch him walk away again.” 

You cross your arms, the frustration bubbling over. “So what, you just cut him out completely? Pretend he doesn’t exist? That’s not protecting Jack, that’s isolating him.” 

The silence hangs there, dangerous, and just when you think it might settle into something quieter, Aaron speaks again. His jaw clenches before he says, “It’s called setting boundaries,” he bites. “Something you might try sometime, instead of inserting yourself into situations you don’t fully understand.” 

You flinch. Not visibly, but enough that you feel it in your chest—a hitch in your breath, a spike of heat behind your eyes. You open your mouth, then close it again. Because what are you supposed to say to that? He might as well have slapped you. “I wasn’t inserting myself,” you say finally, voice low. “I was trying to help. God forbid someone else in this house give a damn.” 

Aaron exhales harshly, pushing a hand through his hair. “This isn’t about giving a damn. It’s about knowing when to stop hoping someone’s changed just because they showed up with a toy and a smile. You are not Jack’s mother, you don’t get to decide who enters his life for him.” 

You shake your head as the words bitter in your mouth. “You know what, Aaron? You’re not the only one who’s been disappointed by people. You think you cornered the market on pain? On family that lets you down?” He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. The look on his face—tight, unreadable, frustratingly blank—says it all. You wait for something. A flicker of regret. A softening. Anything. It doesn’t come. You blink, once, then again, willing the burn behind your eyes to go away. You won't cry. Not in front of him. Not over this. You turn sharply, wiping your hands on the towel, more of a habit, one last time before tossing it onto the counter. “I’m going to my room, don’t forget to take the lasagna out.” 

Aaron doesn’t stop you. Just watches as you walk away, footsteps brisk and quiet down the hall. The moment your door clicks shut behind you, the tension in your chest snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. You lean against the door for a second, eyes closed, breathing in the silence. It’s thicker in here, somehow. Quieter. Still. 

Family is complicated. That much, at least, you and Aaron agree on. 

The immense need to cry you were feeling moments ago seem to have left its place to anger—it’s an emotion you try bury, but tonight, it claws its way up too quickly, too loudly. You pace the length of your bedroom, fingers curling into fists at your sides, jaw tight. 

Because how dare he. 

You’d stood by him through everything—through the sleepless nights after a case, through Jack’s nightmares, through the moments when he’d forget to eat and you'd wordlessly hand him a plate like it was nothing. You’d been there. Present. Steady. And now suddenly, you were the problem? Just for giving a damn about his family? 

You drop onto the edge of the bed, scrubbing your hands over your face. You don’t cry, but the sting lingers behind your eyes anyway. The thing is—you do understand. Maybe not the full scope of Aaron and Sean’s history, but you know what it means to be disappointed by someone who shares your blood. To want better. To expect worse. To still hold out hope anyway. 

And maybe that’s the difference between you and him. You haven’t yet figured out how to let go of people, even when you should.  

A soft knock interrupts your spiral, softer than you'd assume Aaron would prefer. 

You don’t answer. There’s a pause. 

Then, another knock, and a faint, “Y/N.” You jump up to your feet when you realize it’s Jack at the door.  

“Come in,” you say, your voice softer, hastily wiping at your eyes just in case. 

The door creaks open, and Jack steps in, his tiny arms wrapped awkwardly around a tray that's a little too big for him. There's a plate of lasagna, a fork tucked neatly beside it, and a juice box balancing precariously at the corner. 

“I brought you dinner,” he says, proud and solemn, like he's delivering peace offerings in a war he doesn’t fully understand. 

Your heart clenches. “Hey, bud,” you murmur, crouching down to help him with the tray and setting it aside onto the nearby nightstand. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“I know,” he says, shrugging a little. “But you didn’t eat. And you always make sure we eat, so I thought… maybe you needed someone to do it for you this time.” 

You don’t trust yourself to speak right away. Instead, you pull him into a hug, holding him tightly against you. His small frame relaxes in your arms without hesitation, and it makes your chest ache. “Oh, Jack,” you whisper, swallowing down the need to cry, “thank you. It means a lot.” 

When you let go, he settles on the bed beside you, legs swinging off the edge. You take a bite of the lasagna, if only to make him smile, and he watches you carefully like he’s checking to make sure you actually eat it. “Uncle Sean and Dad are talking downstairs,” Jack says after a minute, casual, but also not—he sounds like he is testing the waters as he adds, “like… actually talking. Not yelling.” 

You blink. “Really?” 

He nods. “I think it’s your fault.” 

“Jack,” You sigh as you throw him a sideways glance. “That sounds bad.” 

“It’s not,” he says confidently. “It’s like… the kind of trouble people get into when they care too much. You and Dad are good at that.” 

You snort lightly, setting the plate aside. “You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?” 

Jack shrugs again, then yawns, his head tipping slightly toward your shoulder. You glance at the clock—past his bedtime by now—but you don’t have the heart to send him away. Not when things are so raw. Not when you could both use the company. He shifts a little, curling up closer to your side, and you instinctively reach for the blanket at the foot of the bed, pulling it over both of you.  

“Just for a bit,” you whisper, brushing his hair gently off his forehead. Jack mumbles something into your side that you can’t quite catch. Then he’s still, breathing soft and even. You don’t mean to fall asleep—but exhaustion always has a way of sneaking in when the adrenaline eventually fades with Jack by your side. Downstairs, you can hear the low murmur of voices. You don’t try to make out the words. For once, it’s enough to just know they’re talking. That some part of what you said might have broken through the ice Aaron insists on wearing like armor. 

Maybe tomorrow you’ll talk again. Maybe you’ll yell again. Maybe you won’t. You decide you don’t want to think about it right now—no, you want to fall asleep and just forget that this day ever happened.  

The hallway is dim when Aaron finally climbs the stairs after Sean leaves for the night—with a promise to drop by tomorrow before his train, Aaron doesn’t know what to feel about that. The house is quiet—too quiet—but the kind that makes him hope, not panic. The kind that tells him the storm passed, at least for now. He hesitates outside your door for a moment. Then, carefully, he pushes it open. 

The sight makes him freeze in the doorway. 

You’re fast asleep on the bed, turned slightly on your side. Jack is tucked into the crook of your arm, his head resting against your shoulder, one hand tangled loosely in your sleeve. The blanket’s half-slipped down to your waists, and the tray of now-cold food sits forgotten on the nightstand. 

For the first time that evening, something in Aaron’s chest eases. 

He steps inside quietly, his movements slow and deliberate. He knows he should wake Jack and take him to his own bed. He knows that. 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he takes the empty tray downstairs and finishes the rest of the dishes. He tells himself that although there is a likely chance that you won’t be forgiving him for all the things he said tonight any time soon, at least you won’t need to deal with dishes tomorrow morning. It’s a peace offering, he decides, though he also decides that there is something therapeutic about doing dishes, so maybe he should consider adding it to his nightly routine. When he eventually makes his way back to your room, the hallway light casts a soft glow behind him, his shadow long and quiet across the floor. He pushes the door open just enough to slip inside again, his gaze immediately drawn to the bed. Nothing's changed. You're still there, curled protectively around Jack, both of you breathing slow and steady. 

He stands there for a moment, unsure of what he’s doing, only that he doesn’t want to be anywhere else. The room feels warmer now. Not in temperature, but in something else—something softer. Something that makes his shoulders finally drop from where they’ve been tensed all evening. Carefully, like the movement itself might shatter the fragile peace, he toes off his shoes and shrugs off his jacket. He folds it over the armchair in the corner, glancing once more at the bed before crossing to the other side and easing himself down onto the mattress. 

The space beside Jack is narrow, not quite wide enough for comfort, but he makes it work. He lies on his side, facing the ceiling, his hand resting just inches away from yours. Jack shifts slightly in his sleep, his fingers still tangled in your sleeve, and Aaron watches the way your arm adjusts instinctively, holding the boy a little closer. 

What he doesn’t expect is his eyes to meet yours when they move above. He can see the way you are looking at him sleepily, having just woken up by your slumber. For a moment, neither of you moves. Your eyes are wide, blinking in the dim light of the room, still adjusting. But as they settle on him, there’s something in the way you look at him that makes Aaron’s breath hitch—like you’re not sure what to make of the fact that he’s here, lying beside you, in the quiet space that’s become a little more complicated than it was before. 

He watches the slight curve of your lips, how they seem to want to form a question, but nothing comes out. The silence is heavy, thick with the weight of everything that’s been left unsaid between you two. “Hi,” His voice is low, hushed, as if saying it any louder would disturb the delicate moment. 

You blink a couple of times, your fingers still lightly grazing the edge of the blanket where your arm is draped. “Hi,” you murmur back, your voice hoarse from sleep. Aaron studies you for a beat longer, like he’s trying to memorize the way you look right now, sleepy and soft around the edges, with Jack tucked into your side like he belongs there. 

Maybe he does. Maybe you both do. 

Your eyes flicker down to Jack for a second, then back to Aaron, and you see something flicker across his face—something quieter than regret, gentler than apology. A kind of yearning that doesn’t need words to be understood. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, barely above a whisper. 

“You didn’t,” you reply, voice just as soft. “I think I was waiting for you.” That catches him off guard, just slightly, and you catch it. His brows twitch like he’s trying to hide how much that affects him, but he doesn’t look away. He never was good at hiding things from you—not the real things. “Are we going to continue to fight?” 

Aaron doesn’t answer right away, and you don’t push him for an answer either. When he does, it’s almost a whisper. “You’d make a good mother.” 

The words hit you like a punch you weren’t ready for. You blink fast, biting the inside of your cheek. “You don’t get to say things like that,” you murmur. “Not after tonight.” 

“I’m sorry,” his whisper breaks the silence, and you can see he means it—truly, deeply. There’s no defense in his voice, no sharp edges or clipped tone, just regret laced with sincerity. His eyes don’t leave yours, and the quiet honesty and regret in them makes it harder to breathe. 

“I shouldn’t have said the things I did,” he continues, softer now, like even speaking it aloud risks unraveling what little remains between you. “I was angry. Scared, definitely. And that’s no excuse, but…” He trails off, swallowing thickly, the words catching somewhere in his throat. “You didn’t deserve that.” 

You look at him for a long moment, your heart aching with the weight of everything you’ve both carried—what was said, what wasn’t, what hurt more because it came from him. “I’d never want to replace Haley—I've never tried, and I would never.” You glance down at Jack again, his tiny hand still curled into your sleeve, safe and unaware. The sight grounds you. Reminds you that some things, some people, are worth staying soft for, even when it hurts. “You hurt me,” you admit, voice thin with emotion. 

Aaron nods, his jaw clenching like he’s holding back everything else he wants to say. “I know.” 

“And I don’t know if it’s fixable,” you add. “Not all of it. Not overnight.” 

“I’m not asking for overnight,” he says. “Just… the chance to try.” 

There’s something fragile in the way he says it—hope, maybe, or fear—but it’s real. And for once, he’s not trying to control the outcome. He’s just giving you the truth, and waiting to see what you do with it. You let out a slow breath. “Okay.” 

His brow lifts, just a little. “Okay?” 

You nod, brushing your fingers lightly against his under the blanket and hooking your pinky finger against his. “Start here.” 

“Sean and I talked,” he sighs, “I think... I think it went okay.”  

You take a moment to go over his words. You know he’s waiting for you to ask him about it, you can see it in his eyes. You meet his gaze, quiet and steady. There’s a soft beat of silence before you speak again, your voice barely louder than a whisper. “Okay,” you say, slow and cautious, “I’m tired. Tell me about it tomorrow?” 

Aaron hesitates, as if weighing your request, before giving a soft nod. “Tomorrow,” he agrees, his voice calm but still thick with emotion. He shifts slightly, trying not to disturb Jack, though the movement feels too large in the quiet room. Aaron shifts again, more carefully this time, and you feel his warmth next to you as he pulls the blanket up just a little higher, wrapping it snugly around all three of you. 

Family is complicated. That much, at least, you and Aaron agree on. 

But his feelings for you don’t need to be—in fact, they shouldn’t be. And he finally realizes that.  

[checkeredflagggs]

Friendly Banquet

Pairing: logan sargeant x american!reader

logan gets chosen to host the end of the year dinner and that means the grid meets his partner

a/n: I’m firmly ignoring august 27th and choosing to live in my bubble of ignorance. this is my first ever smau so plz be nice - i also don’t have instagram or twitter so 🤷🏻‍♀️ doing my best with the format.

logansargeant

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 231,445 others

tagged: yourusername

logansargeant: honored to have been chosen to host this year's postseason dinner. can’t wait to welcome everyone to the farm!

view all comments

user1: HE’S GOT A PARTNER?!?

user2: HE LIVES ON A FARM?!

user1: ok but I can see the vision

oscarpiastri: it’s about time - I’ve been waiting to go back for months

logansargeant: like I’d invite you before I get my farm time in!

yourusername: don’t listen to him Oscar! You’re always welcome

oscarpiastri: you’re my favorite american

logansargeant: what?!

user3: oh i love them already

user4: what do you mean postseason dinner?!? EXPLAIN???

user5: if I find out this is an actual thing I’m gonna explode

user6: right?!? Just how long have these “dinners” been going on?

user7: brb just going to cry my eyes out

user8: why haven't we heard of this before

alexalbon: so when I have a pack of pets it’s weird but when you do it’s ok?

logansargeant: I live on a farm

alexalbon: so?

user9: I need photos stat. I need more evidence of past dinners

user10: right? Like you know these dinners be lit af

yourusername: I can’t wait either babe! But be warned - I’m putting you to work when you get home! 😘🩵

logansargeant: I’ve got my potato peeler locked and loaded ☺️

landonorris: you can cook? 🤨

logansargeant: unlike you? Yes

oscarpiastri: yeah he’s actually pretty good. but he had a great teacher

yourusername: awww thanks osc! 🧡

user11: oh my god. the emojis are gonna be the death of me

yourusername

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, estebanocon and 97,455 others

tagged: logansargeant, farmname

yourusername: the animals are primped, preened, and are ready to welcome the grid to dinner! They promise to be on their best behavior!🩵💙

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user12: omg they are so cute!!! Love them all!

user13: such photogenic pets 😍

maxverstappen1: I’m ready to meet them

logansargeant: they’re always ready to make new friends

yourusername: they do love to meet new people!!

charles_leclerc: how are they with new animals?

yourusername: they love them! All of our animals are extremely friendly

charles_leclerc: merveilleux!

oscarpiastri: is that scout and ranger in the second photo? they’ve gotten so big!

yourusername: it is! And time seems to fly with them in our lives now 😊

user14: oh are they new?

yourusername: they are! We’re a rescue farm and scout and her new puppy were surrendered to us when their family realized they couldn’t give them the care they needed. Ranger was just a newborn puppy — barely a week old

user14: omg that’s so sad and so cute 🥹

f1gossippage

liked by user1, user2 and 790,469 others

tagged: maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, danielricciardo, landonorris, pieregasly, sebastianvettel, lewishamilton

f1gossippage: It seems like the grid is on the move! Recently it has been revealed via an instagram post from logansargeant that the drivers attend a post-season dinner hosted by a fellow driver. This year it’s being held at farmname with logansargeant and apparent partner yourusername hosting. And not only are current grid members invited — notably seen traveling to the United States are Arthur Leclerc and Alexandra Saint Mleux as well as former driver Sebastian Vettel.

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user15: farm seb? Farm Seb? FARM SEB?!?

user16: we get more Sebastian content? Plz plz plz!! Post! More! Photos!

user17: I’m gonna cry if this is all we get. Please yourusername logansargeant post more photos when everyone arrives!

user18: the more I learn about this event the more fomo I get…

user19: user18 gets me. Cause what do you mean I’m not invited to this dinner…

user20: god what I would give to get a full list of everyone going?

user21: right? Like really?

user22: I’d bet money on jenson going! Like that’s his grid kid

logansargeant

liked by yourusername, sebastionvettel, estebanocon, and 590,278 others

tagged: yourusername

logansargeant: dinner prep starts early

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user23: god that looks so good 😋

yourusername: don’t forget about the grill babe!

logansargeant: like you’d ever let me hun

yourusername: 🤨?

logansargeant: I mean, yes dear. Whatever you say 🩵🩵

lilymunhe: you’ve got him well trained!

yourusername: right?

lilymunhe: teach me your ways!

alexalbon: what?

user24: im so jealous right? All of that looks so good and it’s just the prep?

user25: I need more photos of this dinner stat. Most of the gossip pages have the grid already at the farm! Who’s helping? Who’s banned?

yourusername: gonna be honest - most of the current grid is banned. I’ve seen the videos and have heard the stories. Not risking my le creuset

user25: oh god I feel that!

landonorris: hey! We’re not that bad!

charles_leclerc:…

carlossainz55:…

alexalbon:…

georgerussell63:…

landonorris: yeah ok that’s fair

yourusername

liked by landonorris, estebanocon and 890,455 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

yourusername: oscarpiastri is giving a tour of the farm and its animals

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user26: I’ve never wanted to be an animal more in my life

user27: nurse she’s out again! (I completely agree)

oscarpiastri: ok but you’ve definitely downplayed how many animals you have

logansargeant: dear?

yourusername: 🥹

logansargeant: 🙄

oscarpiastri: 🙄

yourusername: 😊☺️

danielricciardo: what stallions you guys have!

yourusername: they are gentle queens 👑

yukitsunoda0511: I love them. Thank you for having them and letting us ride them!

yourusername: of course!

user28: ok but what is happening Alex and Lily in the fifth pic? Like what is Alex doing???

lilymunhe: his best…

alexalbon: hey!

user29: ok but i love how both Lando and George got cornered by some animals in the 4th and 6th pictures

landonorris: they followed me! Everywhere!

oscarpiastri: this just in! Goats scare lando!

landonorris: you muppet! They’re creepy…

yourusername: 🥹 they just like you lando!

landonorris: if they could like me from a distance I’d prefer that

logansargeant

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 778,445 others

tagged: yourusername

logansargeant: I’d classify dinner as a success! Big thanks to yourusername for everything you do and have done - I wouldn’t be where I am without you and can no longer imagine a life without you. It was a dream to host this dinner with you 🩵

view all comments

user30: im? crying?

user31: oh my god same. Like I didn’t expect to open instagram to see such loving words

yourusername: babe 🥹 … I love you so much and there is literally nowhere else I’d rather be then cooking dinner and washing dishes with you

logansargeant: even the most simple of chores sound like a dream if I can do them with you

user32: ok I’ve just been called single in about 12 different ways 😭

oscarpiastri: well I was gonna tease you a little but now…I had a great time on farmname with you guys. Thanks for the wonderful memories

logansargeant: you know you’re always welcome Oscar

yourusername: we’ll keep the lights on and your bedroom prepared

user33: brb just going to cry my eyes out

alexalbon: thank you yourusername and logansargeant - it was a fitting end to the season

yourusername: it was a pleasure to have you! You’re always welcome as well

alexalbon: will definitely take you up on that. Logan mentioned sheep cuddle parties and I need to experience that

logansargeant: it’s definitely something else!

user34: oh my god it looks so pretty! All those fairy lights…

user35: lights? I’m just focused on how much food is apparently there. That’s like 3 different tables…

yourusername: I wasn’t taking any chances. No one goes hungry at my table

charles_leclerc: we definitely didn’t! It really was very good!

maxverstappen1: definitely the best grid dinner I’ve been too!

landonorris: hey!

carlossainz55: mate…4 people got food poisoning last year

landonorris: who said it was cause of my dinner?

georgerussell63: We aren’t taking any chances and you’ve been officially banned from hosting any future dinners

yourusername: im sure it wasn’t that bad landonorris

landonorris: oh no it was. Best not let me host again

user36: who let you host in the first place?!?

georgerussell63: It’s a random draw chosen before summer break and it’s now GPDA policy that landonorris doesn’t have a chance again

lewishamilton: thank you for the invite and for the truly delicious vegan food

yourusername: it was an absolute pleasure! And im glad those dishes came out good 😌 first time cooking vegan so I wasn’t sure…

lewishamilton: really? I definitely couldn’t tell. They were spectacular

yourusername: make sure you take some home then!

[augustjoy]

And I’ll do it again.

Based on the following ask: Please may I request a Hotch x female reader established relationship fic where reader has a daughter that goes to school with Jack (a few grades above him) and reader and hotch get called in to the principal's office because the daughter hit some kids who were bullying Jack about Haley's passing.

Reader's daughter is sitting there all like "and I'll do it again if anyone messes with my brother" and how the family unit reacts to the situation? – UGH I love this! Reader’s daughter shall be called Emmy also Bolded text is the reader and italics are Hotch – just on phone calls.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

Angst (tiny bit)/Fluff

Word count: 1251

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, some explicit language, no use of y/n, reader has some sort of office job…but no description given, Fem reader, reader has no physical description, canon typical violence, mention of Jack, reader has a daughter named Emmy who is 12, Jack is 9, blended family, reader and Hotch live together but are not yet married, mention of bullying, mention of a punch to the face, let me know if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

“Hello?”

“This is she.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“And you’re saying it was Emmy? Are you sure?”

“This has to be some sort of mix up. Emmy has never been in trouble.”

“I’ll be right there.”

--

“Everything okay?” Sarah, your coworker asked.

“No. Apparently Emmy punched a boy at her school. They need me to come down there, they’re threatening to suspend her.” You scoffed.

“Oh shit. Emmy? There’s no way she’d just punch someone for no reason. It has to be a misunderstanding.” Sarah agreed.

“Exactly. I’ll text you and let you know if I’ll be back in today. My assumption is no, but we’ll see.” With that you grabbed your bag and coat and made your way to the parking garage.

--

Your phone rang the moment you started your car.

Hello?

Hey sweetheart, I just got a call from the kids school, I’m on my way there now.

Wait, they called you about Emmy too?

Emmy? No, they called me about Jack…I guess some boys were picking on him. What happened with Emmy?

The school called and said she punched some boy. I think I might know the reason now.

--

Aaron and you arrived at nearly the same time, sharing an exasperated chuckle at how ridiculous this all seemed. Jack and Emmy were both good kids, neither had ever been in any trouble at school before.

Aaron took your hand as you headed up the front steps and into the school’s office. He gave your hand a squeeze of reassurance as you told the receptionist why you were there.

“The principal will be with you in just a moment.”

The two of you stood off to the side waiting to be called back. Aaron was whispering encouraging words to you, noticing the stress taking over your form.

“YOU!” A man shouted as he walked into the school. “Your daughter is the one who assaulted my son!”

“Excuse me?” You gasped.

Aaron moved to step in front of you, fully ready to protect you from the wrath of this man. But you placed your arm out to block him. You had this under control and didn’t need him to save you…not yet anyway.

“Why don’t you calm yourself down until we hear the full story. And I don’t appreciate you loosely throwing around accusations of assault. You’re a lawyer aren’t you…Sean’s dad, if I’m not mistaken.” You looked to Aaron for confirmation. “I thought I recognized you from soccer. You’re the pompous jerk who takes all his phone calls on speaker and disrupts the entire game. I digress, I would think a lawyer would be familiar with the notion “innocent until proven guilty”.” You smirked.

Aaron choked on a laugh, he was constantly in awe of you and how your fearlessly fought for the ones you loved. He figured if Emmy truly had hit someone it was to stick up for someone. Like mother, like daughter.

“The principal will see you now.”

--

“Okay, so I’ve taken statements from nearly a dozen students, and it is very clear to me what has happened here today.” The principal began. “I think it would be best if your children all shared what happened.”

“That girl punched me in the face!” Sean cried, adjusting the icepack he was clutching to his face.

“And I’ll do it again if you or anyone else messes with my little brother.” Emmy sneered.

“Emmy! We don’t resort to violence.” You scolded.

“Mom, this kid and all his little friends were picking on Jack. If the teacher’s weren’t going to help, then I was.” Emmy tried to justify.

“Is that true Jack, was Sean picking on you?” Aaron questioned.

Jack nodded shyly.

“What happened bud?” Aaron pressed.

Jack shook his head, clearly distressed about the situation.

“They were saying that you aren’t his real mom. They were laughing at him and telling him that you weren’t his mom, you’re his “fake mom” because his real mom is dead!” Emmy exclaimed. “Jack was asking them to leave him alone and the cornered him. That’s when I went over.”

“Jack, honey, is that what happened?” You asked gently.

“Yeah. And when Emmy came to help they said she was my fake sister. I told them that wasn’t true and then Sean said that you and Emmy wouldn’t stick around long…and then I’d be without a mom again.” Jack cried.

“That’s when I punched him.” Emmy admitted.

“Sean! Do you have anything to say for yourself?” His dad questioned.

Sean turned his gaze to the floor and shook his head. Knowing he was caught and surely in trouble. His dad met your gaze and gave you an apologetic nod.

“The other students reported something similar. So, I’d like to discuss punishment. We have zero tolerance for bullying on this campus, especially violence.” The principal stated.

“I understand that Emmy shouldn’t have lashed out however, she was sticking up for her little brother. I don’t think that it is fair that she be suspended. It’ll set a precedent for other kids that there are consequences for sticking up to bullies.” You argued.

“I understand that, but if she receives no punishment, then it gives off the idea that kids can go around punching others and not receive punishment for it.” She retorted.

--

The conversation went back and forth for quite a while trying to agree on the best solution. Ultimately it was agreed that Emmy and Sean would leave for the remainder of the day. Emmy would have three days of detention, while Sean had a three-day suspension and subsequent meetings with the school counselor to work through whatever it was he was going through.

--

“We will see you guys at home.” You called over to Aaron.

“Drive safe baby, I love you!” Aaron replied.

“I love you more!”

Emmy and you drove in your car so you could talk to her, while also giving Aaron the chance to talk to Jack privately about the loss of his mother.

--

“Are you mad?” Emmy whispered.

“Mad? I mean, you know better than to hit people Em.” You glanced over at her.

“I know mom, but you should have seen it. Jack was backed into a corner crying while that jerk talked about his dead mom like it was nothing. Ugh, it just made me so mad!” Emmy raged.

“I know honey. Next time, hands to yourself…got it?” You confirmed.

“Got it. Sorry mom.”

The two of you drove in silence, Emmy resting her head on the window as you mentally processed what had all just happened. You couldn’t help the warmth that bloomed within you at the fact that Emmy had called Jack her little brother, and she stood up for him at school. It gave you a little more confidence in the fact that, if you and Aaron did get married, the kids would be okay.

“And I’ll do it again” You muttered, huffing out a laugh, “that’s pretty badass.”

Emmy looked over at you and smiled, the both of you falling into a fit of laughter as you pulled into the driveway beside Aaron’s car.

“What’s so funny?” Aaron inquired, as Emmy dragged Jack into the house with the promise of ice cream.

“Nothing. I’m just really happy that they see each other as brother and sister.” You beamed, leaning up to kiss Aaron.

“Does this mean you’re ready to talk to them about us getting married?” He pressed.

“Yeah, I think it’s time.”

Taglist: @angellsell

[luigilore]

luigi husband/domestic hcs

(a/n: trying hc format! thx anon for requesting! i hope its okay <3 if anyone wants to talk about domestic lu pls hit up my inbox<3 )

likes going grocery shopping with u like you have a little routine on sundays and he's always searching for new recipes to try

lots of pain management fit into yalls daily routine... massages <3 theragun time <3 tens unit whatever helps him and hes sooo grateful

lovessss showering together

he's great at picking up on your emotions and how you're feeling

words of affirmation- complimenting, uplifting, and supporting you is how he communicates that he cares

when luigi can tell you're upset, he wants and will do anything to solve whatever problem there is and make you feel better

luigi is really perceptive, like annoyingly so, "what's wrong? are you sure you're okay?" you can't fool him at all

he really prides himself on knowing the people he loves

wants to know all about you, even the most trivial things i think he would be so interested in learning about.. a bit obsessive in the most romantic and sickening way and u match his freak so dw

might be (is) a lip biter when kissing like first time he did it was on accident, he just got very excited but you both quickly discover he lovesss it

i think luigi is masterfully good at foreplay, methodical in everything he does... including uh... physical intimacy

luigi has a lot of self control and he prides himself in that... but he is also soooo sensitive he just thinks it's incredibly unfair

like just running your hands through his hair and scratching his scalp lightly, oh he's meltinggg

a very intense lover like his eye contact, his touch- firm grip, his voice- always lower and quiet, intense in the best way possible

oh and once you're married he loves always mentioning or name dropping "my wife," in conversations

he is naturally nurturing so he's very openly and unabashedly the biggest romantic

but your wedding is small, only with your close family and friends OR you elope... (i think eloping is sooooo romantic and i feel like he would be extremely enticed by this... and yes both of ur families are pissed)

omg then planning a big backpacking trip or something for ur honeymoon... oh

lovesss house hunting with you

he's a great partner, very responsible and reassuring, his presence is naturally calming for you

problem-solver, if something's bothering you he wants to fix it immediately. it doesn't matter how big or small, if it's upsetting you, he wants to make it better

you trust him and his decision making 100%

luigi prides himself on how well he knows you

to be loved is to be known and that is very relevant here

he also feels so so so loved and special when you remember little details about him

loves being spontaneous

a great gift giver, will retain you offhandedly mentioning you like this certain book or lipstick and boom six months later it's wrapped up for your birthday

anniversaries? forget about it, he out does himself every single year

luigi loves a romantic gesture, would not care about public embarrassment or judgement at all... do these ever materialize? probably not but he really only sees you and him in public

twirling you and dipping you around the dance floor

but that being said isn't huge into pda like making out in public is not his style

but holding hands, hand on the small of your back, or just physical proximity?

oh absolutely loves pet names, especially honey and baby

but totally melts when you call him any pet name! even just his literal name lol... the way u say it just gets him...

loves just like... being married, having you to go through life with he just really loves it.

loves it when you read to him, will very timidly request it

some nights will read to you as well, you guys take turns picking out books

one of those couples that does everything together but not in a bad way? just codependent but <3

he just genuinely enjoys spending time with you. you never run out of things to talk or laugh about

luigi is great at having a routine down, he's so busy but gets everything done

okay soooo he would be the most attentive dad

has art work from your kids on the fridge and all over his office, present at every single one and is sooo proud

documents everything about your children, like buys the baby books and takes so many pictures it's so endearing

in awe of your baby like she's so precious and luigi can't get over her chubby cheeks or squealing laughter... she's his weakness

of course he reads to the kids too and tucks them in at night

you do have to force him to relax sometimes and take a breather, it can be very hard for him to let himself relax and chill

so busy taking care of everyone else that he's not taking care of himself

loves being hands on with the kids

will somehow teach himself how to build things like your daughter wants a dollhouse? of course luigi can do it... why couldn't he... he's actually designing a 3d printed model rn like okay...

loves cuddling and spooning

like laying on the couch together, legs entangled, his hand on your waist, just reading or working on different things in silence, just the physical touch and intimacy is so nice for him

always wants you to sit in his lap or the arm of the chair

would be the sweetest dad, but would feel perpetually unprepared and terrified for fatherhood

would always be researching the best foods, products, etc

like not full helicopter parent/soccer mom but he's very involved and always trying to find new experiences for your kids

overall, luigi is a great person to share a life with, he's organized, responsible, respectful, and LOVING <3

[goorgeousz]

so i have a request or idea but i'm sorry to say i didn't think about her in the shower, i thought about her while i was crying lmao🫠🥲

a few days ago i read a book where the protagonist's father treated her terribly:( and her partner tells his father'don't talk to my wife like that' and they leave, he comforts her and is the best husband ever written.🥹🥹

so all I thought about was my big, angry man ✨Hotch✨ maybe they go to a family dinner for the first time and see how the reader's family treats them, belittling their work and stuff like that, until at one point they say like 'we never know how she got someone so as interesting as you Aaron' and he just explodes because cute man defends his lady and he's just grotesque and all to defend her and she's crying because she loves Hotch too much and that he saw so much in her It means a lot because she has never really felt like this. 😭🤍🤍

i hope this helps you, it felt better in my head than when i wrote it.🥹🥹♥️

i love what you do, sending you love!

xoxoxo

to be loved is to be known | aaron hotchner

to be loved is to be known | aaron hotchner

pairing: bf!aaron hotchner fem!gf!reader

summary: reader didn’t want aaron to meet her family. after one dinner he understands why.

content/tw: established relationship, crying, reader has siblings, toxic family, angst, fluffy ending, reader’s mother makes comments about her weight

word count: 3k

a/n: I absolutely loved your request, best believe I dropped all of my WIPs to write this one (sorry not sorry). I hope whatever reason you were crying about it’s over, but if it isn’t, then I hope this can warm your heart a little. Thank you so much for your request and your kind words!!! Sending much much much love, hugs and kisses!!

all hotch tag: @winyourheartemma

dividers by @uzmacchiato

masterlist <3

You weren’t hoping for a car accident. You weren’t hoping for your boyfriend’s phone to start ringing with a new and very urgent case. 

But as you sat in the passenger seat of your boyfriend’s car on the way to your childhood house, you couldn’t help but wish something – anything – got in the way.

It was only a few days prior when Aaron, your boyfriend of almost 7 months, decided to drop the bomb. The ‘I’ve never met your family’ bomb. And later that day, when your mother called you (like she did every Tuesday night) he was with you. He was comfortably seated on your couch, staring at you with puppy eyes as you had the weekly catch-up with your mom (which resumed in talking your ear off about whatever stupid subject was on her mind). So, you couldn’t help but offer a family dinner to introduce them to your boyfriend, to which she, for the first time in a few months, was actually happy and excited about.

The regret hit it like a truck at the exact moment he walked out your door. But there was no way of coming back now, after it was all set up. Aaron seemed actually excited about meeting your family, and you understood that this was probably a big deal for him. In general, actually. It was a big step in a relationship, you recognize. And it’s not like you weren’t ready for that step, you and him were probably living together by now. It was that you didn’t want to pop the perfectly healthy bubble you both created.

And family dinners were always… stressful.

You could’ve just explained that to him. Aaron, being the perfectly polite and respectable man that he was, would understand immediately. But you didn’t want to be the whiny immature little girl who couldn’t deal with problems. You were an adult, you paid your own bills, you had your own place. And he was the Unit Chief of the BAU, a title that on its own raised expectations. You couldn’t be the FBI bossman’s girlfriend and stress about your mom calling out your weight, or about your father criticizing your job. And if this wasn’t enough, Aaron was amazing. He was the most kind, loving and appreciative man you’ve ever met. You wanted to be good for him. So if you had to endure a few hours with your family, then be it. He was worth it.

And selfishly, you wanted to brag about dating him to your family. Yes, dad, mom. I’ve made it. Suck it.

When the day came, saying you were stressed was an understatement. Aaron sat quietly on your bed watching you change your outfit a handful of times, try at least three hairstyles and do a full face of make-up twice. He didn’t say a word about it. Unless when he complimented you, to which he did evey time.

You didn’t cry, which was always a good sign.

You held the flowers and the wine he brought while he drove. The forty-seven minutes drive rode without music. He found it strange, because you insisted on blasting your playlists even when the drive wasn’t long enough for a single song (when it happened, he always made sure to drive extra slow to make sure you sang every word and drummed every note of it).

If he noticed you shifting your position (every two minutes), or you rechecking your makeup on the rearview mirror (every red light), or you applying your lipgloss (three times and once more when you got there), he didn’t say anything.

Just before you reached the handle to open the door, he turned to you, reaching over the console to grab your hand.

“Is everything ok?” you huffed a laugh at his question, leaning over and giving him a peck on the lips.

“They are gonna fall in love with you, Aaron. Just like I did.” you said, honestly. He scanned your eyes and when he made sure you were being honest (he always knew when you lied, that’s why you came up with a method of being evasive everytime you didn’t want to tell the truth).

Squeezing your hand one last time, he stepped out of the car, quickly making his way towards your door. He took the flowers and the wine off your arms, helping you get off the seat and walking with you up the front stairs.

Before you knocked you turned to face him, a rush of courage running through your veins with being so close to the house.

“Listen, before we get in…”

Whatever you were about to confide in him got interrupted by the front door opened. Your mother stood there, with a tight smile she reserved to you, her beloved daughter.

“I thought it was you, my dear. You must be Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner. It’s a pleasure finally meeting you.” she cheered, standing her hand. He gave her a polite smile.

“Just, Aaron, please. The pleasure is all mine, Ma’am.”

“Come in, please. Honey, will you please finish up the kitchen?” she asks, rushing your boyfriend inside without giving you a second glance.

Aaron chased after your eyes, worriedly, but you just dismissed him, winking and mouthing a ‘Told you.’

You quickly made your way towards the kitchen, your body remembering all too well how to walk those corridors. Just like always, you finished off dinner, making sure the dishes were done and everything was in its place while you heard the laughter of the rest of them in the living room.

“There she is, my beautiful baby girl.” your father cooed, standing up on his seat next to Aaron when you walked in and approaching you to hug you “We were just showing Aaron here your child pictures.” he spoke, laughing.

You felt your cheeks burn in embarrassment, biting hard on your inside cheeks to keep from complaining. No mature woman would throw a tantrum over a child photo album.

“She hated pictures. We tried to collect memories, you know, Aaron?” your mom recited, showing a sequence of pictures “But she just didn’t accept it. Always grumpy, always turning away. You got yourself a hard one.” she laughed, playfully pushing his shoulder.

He stared at the pictures, somehow amazed. Your heart raced at the smile growing on his face (like it always did). He held one photo, your least favorite one. Your face was puffy with crying, your hair wildly flying everywhere. You had your mouth open like you were saying something (probably begging them to stop), and your braces shone against the flash of the camera. Your clothes were clearly not your size, your posture curved like you were trying to turn into a ball.

You hated that picture with all of your being, but your parents kept showing them to everyone who dared to stop by. Aaron held it close to your face, his eyes with nothing but found as he said

“So your eyes have always been this shiny. I’ve always wondered.” you smiled at him, the warmth of his love for you never failing to make you feel at home.

“Well, let’s eat before the food gets cold, right?” your mother announced, rushing everyone into the dining room.

It all went surprisingly well (at least as well a dinner with your parents could go).

“This is delicious, Mrs.” Aaron complimented, after your mother refilled his plate.

“Thank you, dear. Do you cook, Aaron?” she asked, dragging his name as if she was enjoying being that close to an FBI agent.

“I can get by.”

“He’s lying. Aaron is an amazing cook.” you interrupted, nudging him with a proud smile.

“We figured, right, darling?” she asked your father “I noticed the moment she started eating more. Her puffy cheeks can’t deny it! Just like when she was my baby, following me everywhere.” your mother cooed, leaning over to your chair and pinching your cheek.

For the first time that evening Aaron looked absolutely mortified. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came out. He didn’t know where to begin. It would be funny seeing him all flabbergasted if it weren’t for the ache on your heart from your mother’s words.

Whoever said that time heals everything is full of shit.

Just like that, your father changes the subject for your teenage stories: your least favorite subject in the entire world.

“I’ll tell you what, Aaron. You’re a brave one. We knew it from the one: she’s a hard one.” your father pointed at you with his chin, smiling like he was complimenting you.

“What do you mean?” your boyfriend asked, sounding genuinely confused.

You could see right through his act. The way his knuckles went white at how hard he gripped the silverware, the muscle on his jaw flexing like he was struggling to keep tightly shut. You wanted to kiss his cheeks until his dimples started showing again.

“Oh, you know. Don’t take me the wrong way, we love our grumpy baby girl.” and then, he turned his attention to you “Take it easy on him, sweetheart. He’s a good one, you won’t want him running away. Don’t make it so hard for him.”

Aaron stepped up, interrupting before any other subject got introduced and he lost his chance. 

“Loving your daughter is the easiest and most effortless thing I’ve ever done.” he said, with a slight frown.

He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t trying to make you feel better. He was stating a fact. He was saying it so sure of himself, that made your parents seem crazy not to feel the same way.

You bit back a smile, bumping your knee against him. He did it back. ‘Thank you.’ ‘I got you.’

“Of course you say that.” your father laughed like he told an inside joke “Look at your job. Speaking of which, we want to hear everything about it.”

And then your mother started rambling about a few cases she watched on the news, asking details and making all kinds of questions, to which Aaron made sure to answer evasively enough to not break protocol, but making sure to spill some uneventful details to distract them. Your heart swelled with love every time he directed his attention towards you, asking details he “forgot” but told you in private, just to include you (on dinner with your family in your childhood home).

“I want to take a moment to appreciate you being here, Aaron.” your mother started, beaming at him “I know you are a very busy man, and I hope it didn’t mess your schedule up.”

“No, I really wanted to come. Thank you for having me.”

She just dismissed him with a wave of his hand “I can only imagine how hard it must’ve been to make time to be here with us. It’s very important for our family. I say this because our other children all also have very important jobs, and unfortunately weren’t able to make it in such short notice.” she looked at him apologetically. Aaron only stared back, once again too stunned to speak. Your mother looked back at you, throwing a wink and a lopsided smile “The perks of not having big responsibilities.” 

“That’s not…” Aaron’s speech got interrupted right away. You tried not to sigh too loudly.

“There’s something I want to do.” your father announces, clasping his hand together with an excited smile.

Your mother gasped “Do you think it’s time, my dear?”

“Absolutely, darling. Wait here, you two.”

You weren't sure what was about to happen, but you were sure it couldn’t be good.

What an euphemism.

A couple minutes later your father gets back with a champagne, sparkly and expensive. Your face falls at its sight. You bite your cheek not to cry.

Your mother stands up right next to him, and they look at you like they were about to make an oscar-winner level of speech.

“When our children were babies, we bought each of them one of those.” he lifts the bottle “We kept them with all of our love, waiting to pop them open when the moment came. And today, it's time for our final bottle. We had promotions, graduations, admissions. It makes me emotional to think how long we’ve come. When our baby was just seven, she had a dream. She wanted to find a loving and rich husband and live as a princess.” he chuckled, raising his hands in apology “Now, I do not want to jinx it, but I do think…”

“That’s so unbelievably disrespectful.” Aaron spat.

Silence.

More silence.

Your father clears his throat.

“Perdon me?” your mother tries.

“The entire evening I watched both of you mistreat her, sugarcoating it with a half-hearted compliment. It’s very clear to me that none of you value her as the woman she is, and there’s only one reason: you don’t know her. And aren’t even slightly interested in doing it." His tone was harsh and straightforward, glaring daggers at your parents. They seemed small and insignificant in front of the anger boiling over Aaron’s eyes. “It’s impressive to me how you don’t even realize how poorly you’ve been treating her. She’s the smartest, kindest, most selfless and talented woman I know, and you two have the audacity to pop up a champagne as if her biggest accomplishment in life is getting a boyfriend?” he chuckles darkly “I’m incredibly proud and sorry at the same time at how immune she is to your behavior. But I’m not, and let me say this loud and clear: I will not, under no circumstances, tolerate anyone treating my girlfriend like that. Anyone.”

He said, his eyes fulminating them. With a short nod, Aaron stood up and walked himself out the door, not waiting for anyone to lead him out. You followed suit behind him, not even sparing a glance to your parents.

The two of you drove silently all the way back to his place, without not much more than a word. Your mind raced with thoughts, your whole life passing through your mind like a movie, so many things you thought were normal. So many memories, so many feelings. You were nowhere near comprehending everything, but it was a start. You could see it more clearly now.

Aaron locked the door after you got in, and you heard him sigh.

“Listen, honey, I’m so sorry…” he interrupted himself when he heard you sniff. He touched your shoulder, aching to hold you close, but now knowing if that’s what you want “Are you crying? I apologize, it wasn’t my place…”

This time, you were the one interrupting him. You turned around and threw yourself on him, burying your face on his chest and crying your eyes out. His breathing deepened, kissing the top of your head and stroking your hair.

You had no idea how much time you spent like that, but eventually he picked you up with ease and sat down on the couch with you curled up on his lap.

After a while, when your sobbing toned down to silent tears, you glanced up at him.

“Thank you, Aaron. I’ve never felt so seen in my entire life.” he held you closer, like he wanted to keep you close to his heart forever, protecting you from every possible harm.

“At first, I thought you didn’t want me to meet your family because you weren’t there yet. Relationship wise.” he began.

You pulled yourself away from his chest, still seated on his lap but shifting to face him “Not at all. I just didn’t think they deserved you.”

He gave you a pointed look “They don’t deserve you.” He stared deeply into your eyes, as if he wanted to make sure you understood “The very first thing you said to me when you first met was that you were complicated.”

Aaron took a deep breath, watching your eyes like he finally completed the puzzle. “You always seemed ready for me to leave you, always made sure to look understanding. Like you believed I would give up on you, and it would be only the right thing to do. You always mentioned, between a joke and another, that you were a problem, a burden. That you didn’t deserve me, like it isn’t the other way around.” your gaze fell to your hands, the weight of being seeing hard on you.

“Aaron…” you whispered, your voice weak from all the crying. He gently grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. To see every emotion he felt towards you. He kissed your chin, each of your cheeks, where you probably had tear strains. He kissed your swollen eyes, your makeup defined smudged. He kissed your forehead, your nose and your lips, taking extra long there. When he made sure you were paying attention, he pulled back and kept speaking.

“I remember thinking what on earth made someone like you believe that. The thought consumed me. I needed to know, needed to understand where all that came from. You know, profiler.” he joked, which made you laugh weakly.

“And somehow you missed the reason why I didn’t take you to meet my parents sooner.” you teased. He rolled his eyes.

“In our line of work, when we end up in a case that is, for some reason, personal to us, the protocol is to step back. Do you know why?” you shook your head “Because love can cloud your judgement. It certainly did mine.”

“Careful, agent Hotchner. You might make me think you’re in love with me or something.” you joked. He smiled, giving you another kiss.

“I am. Desperately so. And apart from what you think, it’s not difficult. I can’t imagine a life where I met you and didn’t fall in love with you. It’s the most natural thing for me.” you press your lips together to keep them from shaking, as your eyes filled with tears “Do you realize you’ve absorbed their disturbing opinions of you? You keep repeating them to yourself like a mantra, like it's a fact. I always wondered why you think so lowly of yourself. It’s now clear.”

“I hate that.”

He kissed the tip of your nose.

“ I’ll tell you what: we’re on this together.”

“On what?” you gave him a puzzling look.

“We’re breaking down those walls, brick by brick. Every single lie they made you believe was true, we’re tearing it all apart.”

“Ugh, this sounds like a hard job.” you muttered.

“It’s not. In the slightest.” he disagreed immediately “Thank you, honey. Thank you for letting me see that part of your life. Thank you for allowing me to love you, and for loving me back. You amaze me more each day, and I’ll make it my personal mission to make you see it too.” His words were low and serious, not made to impress. Made to let you know, to make you believe.

“Even if it takes your whole life?” you asked, trying to make it sound like a joke to mask your insecurity.

It would be a long way to go, but the love flooding over his eyes was a great first step. “Especially if it takes my whole life.”

[loverstrings]

Project Spindle (TEASER)- Established Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

She’s always known about her powers, but the truth of where they come from could shatter everything.

a.n - teaser for a series i'm working on. i wanted to see how the interest was before posting more chapters! i have 3 ready so far :3

spoiler warning for thunderbolts* | CHAPTER ONE POSTED!! | masterlist

The team filed into the common room of the Tower, their exhaustion hanging heavy in the air. Mission gear was dumped by the door without a second thought—boots kicked off, jackets slung over chairs, weapons clinking as they hit the floor.

Bucky was the first to make a beeline for the kitchen, muttering under his breath, “If someone ate my last yogurt, I’m leaving this team.”

Yelena threw herself onto the couch with a groan, her legs dangling over the armrest. “Relax, grump. No one wants your weird protein yogurt.”

“I do,” Ava added, flopping down beside her. “Just not enough to suffer the guilt trip afterward.”

From behind them, Walker rolled his eyes. “You two ever get tired of being annoying?”

Ava didn’t even turn around. “Do you ever get tired of being so sensitive?”

“I’m just saying—”

“Shh,” Yelena cut in, holding up a hand. “The couch doesn’t argue with background noise.”

Walker scoffed and stalked off toward the kitchen, muttering something about how no one respected proper debriefings.

Alexei wandered in next, already sipping from a bottle that definitely wasn’t water. “Ahh! A successful mission. You know, when I was Red Guardian, we used to fight for forty-eight hours straight. No rest, no drones. Just fists. And grit. And vodka.”

“You also say you once took down a unit during a ballet recital,” Y/N said, curled up on the big bean bag in the corner, a steaming mug cradled in her hands.

Alexei lit up. “Yes! With the ballerina who hid knives in her tutu! A real artist. You should’ve seen the blood on the stage. Beautiful!”

Bob let out a sleepy whine and leaned harder into Y/N’s side, practically glued to her. His arms were loosely wrapped around a pillow, but his head rested against her shoulder like a clingy child.

“You smell like wet socks and smoke,” he murmured, barely audible.

“Accurate,” Y/N replied softly, running her fingers through his hair.

Bucky returned with his precious yogurt, eyeing the scene before settling behind Y/N. He lowered himself to the floor, resting his back against the beanbag and placing a steady hand on her leg.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, just for her.

She gave a tired nod. “Yeah. Just drained. I almost threw Walker into traffic today.”

“I would’ve caught him,” Bucky said, deadpan.

“I know,” she smiled. “That’s why I didn’t.”

Yelena sat up slightly, glancing around. “Hands up if you listened to a single word of Walker’s lecture in the Quinjet.”

Not a single hand went up. Bob groaned. Ava fake slept. Even Alexei raised his bottle in protest.

“There was a lecture?” Bucky said flatly.

“I heard that!” Walker yelled from the kitchen.

Yelena leaned back with a grin. “Then maybe there’s hope for your listening skills after all!”

The room burst into light laughter, warm and easy. Mission chaos faded into background noise. This was their peace: bruised knuckles, aching muscles, found family—and a whole lot of sarcasm.

Before the conversation could settle, Bucky’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, then answered the call, but his eyes stayed on Y/N as he listened.

“Yeah,” he said into the phone, voice growing quieter. “She’s here. One sec.”

He held the phone out to her. “It’s Sam. He found something... about Hydra. Related to you.”

She blinked, surprised. “Me?”

“Yeah. He said it’s important.”

Y/N took the phone with a puzzled frown and got up, Bob whining softly at her absence. She padded down the hall and slipped into one of the empty private rooms, closing the door behind her.

“Hey, Sam?”

“Hey,” came his voice. “Didn’t want to text this, but Torres and I found something. Something big.”

“Okay…” she said slowly, sitting on the edge of a desk.

Joaquin’s voice joined the call. “We were going through old Hydra files—stuff that SHIELD never decrypted.”

“And?”

“We found you,” Sam said. “In the records. Before the Maximoffs.”

She went very still. “What?”

“You weren’t just another Hydra experiment,” Sam said. “You were the first step. The origin test for what created Wanda’s powers.”

------

a.n - hih! thanks for reading the teaser :3 let me know if you want more!

[daydreamabout]

Valentine's Day [Tim Bradford Imagine]

Summary: Tim and you spend the day catching a flower thief.

The fresh air bites at your skin as you sit in the driver’s seat of the cruiser, flipping through radio channels like you’re trying to escape your current reality.

"Do you know how insulting it is that we’re working on Valentine’s Day?" you mutter, mostly to yourself. "There’s a reason I signed up for the LAPD, but this? This is just cruel and unusual punishment."

Tim doesn’t even look at you, eyes fixed ahead as usual. He’s dressed in his standard attire— and obviously entirely uninterested in your commentary. "We’re here to do our job, not play romance novel."

You scoff. "Yeah, because nothing screams 'romantic' like sitting in a car on Valentine’s Day, tracking down flower thieves."

He barely reacts, his voice dry. "If I had to pick a case for tonight, I wouldn’t have picked this either. Let's just get it done."

You glance at him, but the corner of your lips betrays you. You’re not really mad. The whole thing is ridiculous, but somehow... fun in a strange way. "I’m just saying, a robbery case would have been better than hunting down some guy who’s stealing flowers from local vendors."

A pause, as he shoots you a sideways glance, almost amused. "What did you expect, Y/N? A bank heist?"

Before you can respond, the radio crackles.

"Unit 42, be advised. Suspect reported in the area of 5th and Main. Flower theft suspected. Handle with caution."

"Are we really doing this? I thought it was just a prank."

Tim's already putting the car in gear. "Let’s go, Y/N."

The drive to the florist district is short. You pull up behind a row of stores—mostly small, family-owned shops selling overpriced bouquets to all the people who forgot it was Valentine’s Day until the last minute. Sure enough, there's a man standing near one of the displays with a large bouquet, looking suspiciously out of place.

Tim glances at you. "Keep it cool."

You nod, stepping out of the car. As always, he's the first to approach the suspect, his serious demeanor making everyone around him think twice.

"Flower thief," you say lightly, but with enough authority to make it clear you’re not here for a friendly chat. The suspect immediately flinches.

"I—I didn’t steal anything," the guy stammers, clutching the flowers like they’re his lifeline.

Tim keeps his distance but studies the guy carefully. "Where’d you get those flowers?"

The suspect starts to crack under pressure, his eyes darting to the street and then back to you. "I—uh—bought them. I swear. From the shop back there." He points to a little boutique across the street.

"Yeah, well, I don’t see a receipt," Tim says flatly, not buying it for a second. "You’ve got about thirty seconds before we call it in."

You add, "And a very romantic night in a holding cell. You don’t want that." Your smile is so sweet it could be considered a threat.

The suspect gulps. “I—uh—look, I was going to buy them, but then the shopkeeper caught me eyeing them for too long, and I just thought... what the hell? It's Valentine’s Day, I needed something for my girl, and they were just sitting there all perfect, waiting to be taken. It’s not like I was robbing the place."

You raise an eyebrow. "You can’t just walk in and take them. That’s not cool, buddy."

Calm but firm, Tim steps in. "You’re lucky we’re not putting you in cuffs for an actual robbery. But I’m going to need you to hand those over and head home. Don’t let me catch you trying anything else tonight."

The guy nods quickly, practically dropping the flowers in Tim’s hands. "Thanks! I’ll pay next time!" he blurts, before running off into the night, leaving the two of you standing in the fresh February air.

You stand there for a second, trying to process the situation. "Well, that was..."

Tim turns toward you, and the tiniest hint of a smirk twitches at the corner of his lips. "No one ever said Valentine’s Day crimes would be exciting."

You snort. "Could’ve at least been a flower heist gone wrong. You know, something dramatic."

"That would’ve made your night, huh?" Tim says, his voice dry. "How about you focus on the fact that we just stopped someone from stealing more flowers. You’ll sleep better knowing you protected the integrity of the floral industry."

You laugh. "I’m just glad we’re done with this. Now we can go grab a burger or something. No more heart-shaped nonsense for me tonight."

Tim nods, stepping back toward the car. “Let’s go. And no more talking about flowers. This night never happened.”

You follow him, still smiling despite the oddness of it all. "Hey, at least we got the job done. Team of the year."

He glances over, an almost imperceptible look of acknowledgment in his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. But if you’re expecting me to buy flowers after tonight, you must be out of your mind."

You grin. "Disappointed, but not suprised. I’ll take you up on that burger."

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Tim actually seems... relaxed. Maybe Valentine’s Day wasn’t such a bust after all.

[lumosandnoxwriting]

look at you || Fred Weasley

Title: Look at you Pairing: Fred x Reader Summary: distance really does make the heart grow fonder. Warnings: NSFW - minors DNI! This contains, vaginal sex, female receiving oral, breeding kink, mentions of cum marking, dirty talk, praise, mentions of sex toys/sexting and pregnant sex.  A/N: hockey!fred could hit me with his car and I would say thank you. Anyway as always this is dedicated to @darthwheezely b/c she always encourages my shenanigans. 

The away games are always the hardest. 

Fred is usually gone for a week, and between traveling, playing multiple games and the time differences they mainly communicate via text and maybe a phone call if they’re lucky. At first the lack of communication bothered Y/N. They moved across the country after Fred got drafted and it felt isolating to have the only person she knew in Washington unavailable most of the time. But now that Fred’s in the fourth year of his contract Y/N is a pro at handling the distance. Her and a bunch of the other WAGS always get together to watch the games at someone’s house, and usually do dinner or brunch on some of the days the guys are gone. And now that she’s working and more involved in the area she’s got plenty of friends and activities to keep her busy while Fred is away. 

She figured this season would be just like the others, that it would suck while Fred is gone but she’d just keep busy until he was back home in their bed. 

Until those two little pink lines stared up at her from the bathroom counter the night before training camp started. She wasn’t totally surprised at the result, considering her and Fred had been together for a decade, married for half of that and regularly relying on the pullout method as their main form of contraception. And of course they’d talked about having kids, but their general consensus had been that they would start trying once the season was underway, hoping to time it just right that their baby would be born at the beginning of the off season, so they could spend the first few months as a complete family unit before hockey took over Fred’s life again. 

But of course life decided to say fuck their plans, and now Y/N is due to give birth just before playoffs begin in April. 

Y/N had thought that having Fred gone during her first trimester would be the worst part of it, having to deal with morning sickness and those first few doctors appointments by herself. But the nausea and vomiting left her feeling so gross she was glad Fred didn’t have to see her like that, and they were able to work with her doctor so that Fred didn’t miss a single appointment. 

It’s now, with Y/N into her second trimester that Fred’s absence seems to be hitting her the hardest. Her bump has finally popped, and she can barely keep her hands from stroking over the smooth skin at all hours of the day. The baby has started to move around too, starting off as gently flutters she assumed was gas that have now grown into distinctive pushes against her belly. Not to mention the nausea and vomiting that plagued her first few months of pregnancy have faded away, and Y/N finally understands what people say when they talk about pregnancy glow. Her skin is the clearest and softest it’s ever been, and her hair and nails look amazing thanks to her prenatal vitamins. 

And just as she passed the five month mark her newest, and most annoying to deal with on her own, pregnancy symptom started. 

She’s unbelievably horny every hour of the day. 

Her newly filed out breasts constantly ache, and some days her nipples are so sensitive just the material of her bra sends a shiver down her spine. Her pussy is almost constantly slick, her clit throbbing and her cunt aching to be filled. Once the seam of her maternity jeans pulled so deliciously against her as she was driving that she nearly crashed the car as she came from that brush alone. 

Everything seems to turn her on these days, no matter how inconvenient the time or place is. 

Like right now, the guys are on the last leg of their longest away game stretch, the final game of a two and a half week trip, and her cunt is dripping as she watches Fred punch the other team’s center in the jaw. Not only is it inconvenient because she’s sitting on Melaine, the goalie’s girlfriend’s couch, but because Fred isn’t due back home until tomorrow afternoon and she passed out last night before she could put her vibrator back on the charger. And her own fingers will never live up to the memories of how worked up Fred gets after a fight, and how the only thing that seems to calm him down is taking Y/N from behind as he growls in her ear. 

She tries to shift subtly as the ref throws Fred in the sin bin, his mouth still moving wildly as he throws insults at the other team, but when Rachel throws her a look Y/N knows she’s been caught. Rachel is the wife of one of the defensemen, and had been heavily pregnant for most of last year’s season, so Y/N figures she knows exactly how she’s feeling right now. 

“Tomorrow afternoon can’t come soon enough,” Rachel teases, voice low enough so only the two of them can hear. 

Y/N snorts in laughter, nodding in agreement. “You have no idea.”

-

Fred throws a middle finger over his shoulder as he rushes towards his truck, causing his teammates to laugh even harder. The bus had barely stopped before he was up out of his seat and making his way to the front, far too eager to get home to Y/N. Because the texts she’s been sending since he got off the ice last night have had him perpetually hard in his pants and the only thing on his mind is getting home to his wife. 

He drives well over the speed limit on his way home, praying to whatever deity that exists out there he won’t get pulled over, since he’s pretty sure his urgent need to fuck his wife is not a good enough excuse to get out of a ticket. The car is barely in park as Fred throws the door open, hockey bag left behind in his haste to get inside. In a matter of a few seconds he’s barreling through the front door, taking the time to lock it behind him before he heads for the stairs. 

“Baby?” he calls as he climbs, ripping his shirt off as he goes. He pauses to kick his shoes off, just letting them tumble back down as he continues up. 

“Hi,” Y/N greets breathlessly when Fred appears in their doorway. Her eyes are immediately drawn to the way his jeans hang open, his cock clearly fighting against the material of his boxers. 

Fred groans as he takes Y/N in, cock throbbing at the way she kneels on their bed in nothing but his jersey. The curve of her bump is visible even in the oversized garment, and Fred almost can’t believe that this is his life. He makes a living playing the sport he loves and every night he gets to come home to the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen who’s beauty has only grown as he watches his child grow inside of her. 

“Fucking hell,” he practically growls as he steps into the room, his complete focus on Y/N. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are, wife? That picture of your pretty pink pussy all wet and begging for my cock has been driving me crazy. I couldn’t sleep knowing you were all alone in our bed, desperate for my cock wearing nothing but my jersey.”

Y/N practically pants as Fred stalks toward her, hands clenched in fists at her sides to try and resist the urge to touch herself. She had to give herself a pep talk before taking the photo she sent, so to see Fred’s reaction to it here in the flesh makes her cunt throb with want. Before falling asleep Y/N had managed to work herself up to a few weak orgasms with her fingers, but those are nothing in comparison to what she knows Fred is about to give her. 

“Sexy?” she asks teasingly. Fred has finally made it to the edge of the bed, and she runs her hands up his arms and over his shoulders, resting her palms against the sides of his neck. “Even with my big old bump in the way?” 

“Especially with your big bump in the way,” Fred practically purrs. He finally gives in to his urge to touch his wife, one hand hooking around her thigh while the other fists the front of her jersey, yanking her closer to him. “Just knowing that you’re full of my baby, that I did that to you is enough to make me cum, something I know you’re well aware of.”

And she knows Fred isn’t lying. He’d always been possessive in the bedroom, and it only intensified when she got pregnant. Once her bump popped Fred was like a man possessed, needing to have one hand on it at all times. He’s finished on her bump more times than Y/N can count, rubbing his cum into her skin so he can claim her fully. 

Instead of responding Y/N lets Fred pull her into a kiss, her fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his skull as he nibbles on her bottom lip. He claims her mouth with his, crawling up on the bed so he can get even closer. The hand he had on her jersey makes its way up to cup her jaw, angling Y/N’s face so he can kiss her deeper, while the one that was on her thigh starts to travel further up.  

“Fuck,” Fred moans into her mouth as his hand brushes her bare hip. “No panties? Dirty girl.” He lets his hand cup the swell of her stomach, thumb slowly brushing back and forth in a sweet gesture that is the total opposite of the way he kisses his wife. 

“Please,” Y/N pants as Fred’s mouth finally leaves her’s, starting to press kisses into her neck. “Need you to touch me, Freddie, only feels good when it’s you.”

“Well how can I deny my wife when she asks so nicely?” 

Fred kisses the juncture of her throat one last time before pulling away just enough so he can pick her up under her thighs. He positions her back on the bed just how he wants, her back flat against the mattress with her legs spread wide, a hand on each thigh to keep them open for him. 

“You’re fucking cunt,” he groans, his eyes drawn to her slick pussy as he bites his lip. He sinks down on the bed so he’s resting between her thighs, thumb and forefinger spreading her pussy apart to put her clit on display. “This pussy is going to be the death of me.”

Y/N gasps as Fred finally puts his mouth on her, hips nearly lifting off the bed as he sucks her clit between his lips. Her toes curl as his tongue flattens against her, thighs already quivering as Fred’s thumb presses against her entrance. “God, please, Fred.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs to fuck into her with his index finger, curling it to press against the front wall of her cunt, right against the spot that has her moaning his name. His cock twitches as Y/N’s hand tangles in his hair, curling his tongue around her clit as she tugs. 

“Such a good girl,” Fred praises as he presses another finger into her slick cunt, letting his thumb rub small circles into her clit. “I love this pretty pussy so much, wife. Gonna eat it every fucking day of the week.”

He takes her clit back between his lips as he fucks her with his fingers, needing her to cum before he can give her what they both desperately need. His cock aches as Y/N grinds down against his face, the feel of her taking control of her pleasure only turning him on more. Fred’s tongue flicks at her clit as his lips suck, and he can tell by the way her cunt grips his fingers that she’s close. 

“Cum for me, baby. Cum all over my hand so I can have you cumming all over my cock.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Y/N babbles as Fred licks her, fingers tugging him even closer into her as she grinds against him. Waves of pleasure are swirling in her core, electric shocks radiating all down her spine as Fred brings her closer and closer to the edge. He makes her feel like she’s on fire, completely erasing the few weak orgasms she had last night from her memory.

Fred wraps his arm around her thigh to keep Y/N in place as her orgasm takes over, his fingers and mouth still working her through the pleasure. Y/N’s toes curl as pleasure consumes her, thighs quivering as a cry of Fred’s name leaves her lips. Aftershocks of pleasure send shivers down her spine, and Y/N has to use her grip on Fred’s hair to separate his mouth from her cunt as she comes down. 

He doesn’t say anything as he crawls back up the bed, letting Y/N catch her breath before he leans down to kiss her softly. Her legs wrap around his hips, the need for Fred to be close overwhelming her need to get off for a brief moment. 

“Need you inside me,” Y/N murmurs against Fred’s mouth, her legs tightening around him. 

“Needy girl,” Fred teases, nipping at her jaw. But with one final kiss to her lips he pulls back, climbing off the bed so he can rid himself of the rest of his clothes. Who is he to deny the needs of his wife, the woman growing his child? 

Y/N makes a move to pull the jersey she’s wearing up over her head, and Fred grabs her wrist, shaking his head. 

“No, the jersey stays on.”

Fred’s pretty sure he hears her mumble something about him being a possessive idiot, but he doesn’t even care. Settling on the bed, back against the headboard with his cock leaking against his stomach, he beckons Y/N closer. “Come sit on my lap and make yourself cum on my cock, baby.”

Under normal circumstances she’d make some joke about how he’s making her do all the work, but her cunt is already aching again and if she doesn’t get Fred’s cock in the next three minutes she may die. Y/N crawls up the bed, shivering at the look in Fred’s eyes. It’s full of nothing but pure desire, and she can feel her heartbeat pulsing in her clit. At one point she feared that pregnancy may change the way Fred looks at her, and now as she straddles his waist Y/N can’t believe what an idiot she had been. 

One of Fred’s hands lands on her hip, the other on her bump and the contact sends a shiver down her spine. It takes a little bit of finesse with her bump in the way, but as soon as Y/N has Fred’s cock pressed against her cunt she’s sinking down. She’s slick enough from Fred’s mouth and her previous orgasm that she presses down until she’s fully seated in his lap, and her eyes flutter shut from the pleasure coursing through her veins. 

Fred is so thick and full inside her, and Y/N just sits there in his lap, eyes closed and her head tilted back as she appreciates the feel of him inside her. Y/N’s cunt pulses around him, and with how desperate she’s been to feel her husband like this, she already feels embarrassingly close to her climax already. 

“Fuck you are perfect,” Fred groans as her hips start to gently rock. He fixes her jersey so the hem rests on the top of her bump, wanting to see it in all of its glory. With one hand squeezing her thigh, Fred places the other on her stomach to help keep her balance. “So fucking full aren’t you, wife? So full of my cock and my baby, hm? Love being full of me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she responds breathily, leaning back to brace herself against Fred’s thighs. The new angle lets him sink even deeper, and a sharp gasp falls from her mouth at the sensation. “Always wanna be full like this.”

“With my baby or my cock?” he teases. 

“Both,” Y/N hits back truthfully.

“Fuck,” Fred growls, unable to keep his hips from thrusting. The moan that comes from Y/N spurs him on, and he continues to match her movements with his own. “Whatever my wife wants my wife gets. Gonna keep you nice and full with my cock and my cum and my babies until we’ve got a whole fucking hockey team, baby. And no one will ever doubt who you, who this fucking pussy, belongs too.”

Her cunt clenches even tighter at his words, encouraging Fred to keep talking. 

“Look at you, my pretty little wife, fucking herself on my cock. Bet you thought about this the whole time I was gone, didn’t you, love?”

“Fuck, yes,” Y/N moans. She’s inching closer and closer to her orgasm with each of her movements, thighs quivering from a mixture of the pleasure swirling in her core and the effort it’s taking to fuck herself on Fred’s cock. 

“Fuck you look so good like this, baby,” Fred praises. “Not gonna be able to take you like this much longer, am I? I swear everytime I look at you, your belly is bigger. It’s not long until you’ll be too big to ride me like this, isn’t that right, love? But that’s okay, because you look so fucking good all full of my baby. Seeing you like this, knowing I did this, makes me feel fucking feral, baby. You’re doing such a great job, growing our baby. Gonna be such a good Mama.”

The combination of Fred’s cock stretching Y/N to her limits and the constant stream of praise coming from Fred pushes Y/N over the edge, and her back arches as she comes. Shocks of pleasure jolt out from her cunt, her clit aching and her toes curling as her orgasm washes over her in waves. 

The feel of Y/N’s walls pulsing around Fred’s cock as she moans his name pushes him to his own climax, his hips just barely pushing up into her as he empties himself into her eager cunt. 

“Taking it so well, baby. Fuck.”

He places a hand on her lower back for support as they both come down, the hand he has on her bump rubbing soothing circles into the skin. When having her in his lap starts to get uncomfortable, Fred carefully lifts her off, maneuvering so he can lay Y/N next to him on the bed without jostling her too much. 

Finally feeling satisfied, Y/N watches Fred move around their room through her barely open eyes, too tired to try and stay awake any longer. She lets him move her around too clean up, a soft whine coming from her lips when he pulls the jersey up and off over her head. But she’s immediately placated when Fred helps her into one of his old t-shirts, and she doesn’t even fight him as he pulls sleep shorts up her legs. 

He disappears into their bathroom then, and Y/N is practically asleep by the time he reemerges and gets into bed beside her. But instead of Fred pulling her into his arms like she expected, her eyes open in surprise as Fred pushes up the hem of her shirt just enough to expose her bump.

“What are you doing?” she murmurs, tone laced with humor. 

“What does it look like?” Fred responds as he pours lotion into his hands, rubbing them together to warm it up. He cradles her stomach carefully, slowly starting to massage her skin. “I’m taking care of both of my girls.”

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Their pound of flesh

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

“What is this all about? Why am I here?”

Prince Atalon was not accustomed to being ordered about, even less so by lower-class military generals. Yet here he was inside the command bunker of General Drak after his security detail whisked him away out of the blue.

“My apologies Prince, but I have just received troubling reports that your life is now in danger.”

This certainly wasn’t what the prince had been expecting, and he took the offered chair to sit as the general continued.

“Before I proceed, I need to ask you a question,” the general began. “Have you encountered any strange creatures, either in our quarter of the base or when touring our allies' quarters?”

“What nonsense is this?” Atalon pouted. “You say my life is in danger and then ask me about what wildlife I’ve seen?!”

“I assure you my prince, the question is related, now please answer it.”

The stern look of the general dissuaded the notion that this was some prank and so Atalon pondered in silence as he recalled his last few days.

“I spent the first three days in our section of the base meeting with soldiers in the hospital, then the fourth day was spent visiting the frontlines, and then finally the fifth day I returned here.”

“And did you encounter any strange creatures?”

“Well,” the prince replied as something did finally come to him, “on the way back my convoy drove past a group of humans being chased by a large avian bird. It came up to about their waist but the humans seemed terrified as they were running away and it was chasing it.”

“And what did you do?” the general inquired.

“I felt ashamed that such cowardly beings were our allies so I ordered the vehicle’s AI defense unit to terminate the creature and save the humans.”

“It put a plasma round clear through the creatures chest and it dropped to the ground soon after. It was so fast we didn’t even have time to stop and receive their accolades.” The prince answered with a cocky grin.

Several expressions passed over the Malin general’s face at this admission; shock, fear, regret, disbelief, and then finally, resolution.

“This was transmitted to me within the last hour.” The general continued as they spun a data pad around for the prince to see. “It is an order issued for your immediate detainment and extradition back to the human homeworld to face the charges of murder, assassination of a high ranking military official, espionage, and treason to name a few.”

“WHAT?!”

To say that the prince was dumbfounded would be an understatement.

“That avian you killed,” the general continued to delay any inevitable deluge of questions, “was in fact a Major General enlisted in the human forces here on base.”

Spinning the data pad around again the general scrolled through the information to find the correct designation. “The 304th Grenadiers were assigned as their protection detail and were the humans you saw with it.”

He looked up at the prince. “They weren’t running in fear, they were playing with them.”

“Do you not hear yourself!? The absurdity of this!?!!”

The general shook his head at the prince’s question. “It doesn’t matter how stupid this situation is, the matter of fact is the human’s take this extremely seriously that if you are caught by the humans outside of our quarter you will most likely be killed.”

“They would murder me over a primitive bird?!” the prince stammered.

Without saying anything the general selected an audio file from the pad and played it.

“You listen and you listen good,” the voice began. The prince could identify the thick grunge of a human voice and accent. “That bird your callus fuck murder has survived thirteen campaigns, and their family another three hundred and seventy three without ever losing one of their number in the field of combat until now.”

The prince made to say something but the general held up a hand and bade them to continue listening.

“The way we see it is you just offed one of our own, and you better pray that the provosts get you first and get you off world to hang; because if we get you there won’t be enough of you lift to identify by.”

With that the ominous message ended and the general looked up at the prince.

“You now understand the seriousness of this situation I hope.” He returned the data pad to his desk and clasped his taloned fingers. “There are over six thousand human soldiers part of our task force here and this message could have been sent by any of them, meaning there are now over six thousand veteran soldiers who have a potential death mark for you.”

He leaned forward to the prince, his expression removed of any levity for the situation.

“If you wish to remain alive until their provosts come for you I strongly advise you remain here and avoid any exposure outside what-so-ever; is that understood?”

“And if I refuse?” the prince asked; clinging to the notion that their position would keep them safe.

The general was about to answer when a loud chanting began echoing from outside and into the bunker. Tapping his ear piece the general asked for a status update and waited patiently as the response came in.

“Then you will not last the night, as it seems they’re already outside with a noose to hang you with.”

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° do you think i have forgotten?

( isagi yoichi x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — for my childhood best friends to lovers series (masterlist)

♡ word count — 1.4k

♡ content — isagi yoichi x fem! reader, isagi x reader, soccer player! reader, goalie! reader, goes from ages 3 to the U-20 game, childhood friends to lovers, mentions of suggestive stuff, teasing, i love using isagi's mom saying he used to strip bc he hated the seams on clothes, miscommunication, a fight that really wasn't a fight?, not proofread!

♡ synopsis — isagi yoichi had always been a part of your life- ever since you could remember, how could you ever forget him?

Your families were intertwined long before you and Isagi even existed. Your fathers had been childhood best friends, inseparable through every stage of life—school, marriage, fatherhood. It was only natural that their families would become one large unit, bonded through years of Your childhood was spent in shared homes, side by side at Sunday dinners and Friday movie nights, vacations spent together, and weekends filled with laughter and shared memories.

There wasn’t a single milestone in your life that he wasn’t there for.

You and Isagi were born only weeks apart, and from the moment you could walk, you were side by side. It was never a question of if you would be friends—just when you would realize you were.

It happened when you were three. Sitting cross-legged on the floor of Yoichi’s living room, a cartoon playing on the television, you hummed absentmindedly. Beside you, Yoichi fidgeted with his clothes, pulling at the seams of his pants, scratching at the tag of his shirt. Within moments, the frustration won. His tiny hands gripped his collar, yanking the shirt over his head before doing the same with his pants.

You barely blinked, still humming, still focused on the TV.

That was how your mothers found you—Yoichi nearly naked, you sitting there like it was nothing. Gasps filled the room.

A week-long separation followed. Punishment for something neither of you understood. But for the first time in your life, you felt an emptiness where Yoichi should be. You weren’t allowed to see him, weren’t allowed to talk to him, and it wasn’t until the following Sunday, when your families gathered for dinner, that you truly realized what that loneliness meant.

You spotted him first, standing stiffly in the doorway as if he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to look at you. But the second your eyes met, it was instinct.

You ran toward each other, arms wrapping tight, tears clinging to your lashes. Your parents could only stare.

"Oh wow," one of them murmured. "I guess it is hard to be without each other, huh?"

Neither of you ate much that night—too busy talking, catching up on everything that three-year-olds found important.

That was the first time you learned what loneliness felt like. The first time you realized that life felt wrong without Yoichi beside you.

And it never changed.

Middle school came, and with it, soccer.

For Isagi, it was an obsession, a passion that burned hotter with each game. You weren’t as fixated as he was, but you loved the sport in your own way, thriving in your position as a goalkeeper. While the boys’ team got more attention, you poured yourself into your own matches, proving yourself time and time again as a star player—someone your teammates could rely on.

The both of you grew together—on the field, off the field—always pushing each other.

After practice, it was routine to stay behind, just the two of you on the field, under the golden hues of the setting sun. He would shoot, and you would block, over and over, until the sky darkened and the air cooled. You’d dive, jump, stretch for impossible saves—and you were getting good, reading his movements, predicting his shots.

Until one night, when you got too comfortable.

A second of hesitation. A miscalculated dive.

The ball slammed into your face, the force knocking your head back against the metal goalpost. Stars burst behind your eyelids. The sting spread through your nose, warmth trailing down to your lips.

"Oh my god! I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t even—" Isagi was panicking, rushing to your side. Then he stopped. His eyes widened as he saw your shoulders shaking. "Are you crying? Oh god, I can call my mom—"

You weren’t crying. You were laughing.

"It’s okay!" you giggled, rubbing your nose. Your fingers came back stained with blood. "Don’t worry about me!"

But Isagi did worry. His hands found your cheeks, tilting your face up so he could examine the damage, brows drawn tight with concern. "Are you sure?"

Your pulse stuttered. Your chest tightened. You weren’t sure if it was because of the injury or because of how close he was—his fingers warm against your skin, his breath mingling with yours. 

The warmth of his palms, the way his eyes searched yours, the softness in his voice—it made your breath hitch.

"I-I’m okay!" Your voice cracked. You looked away, heat creeping up your neck. "Let’s just go home, yeah? It’s almost time for dinner."

The entire walk home, Isagi fussed over you, but you barely heard him. Your heart was still pounding for a reason that had nothing to do with the injury.

Maybe the ball had scrambled your brain.

High school only brought you closer.

Both of you were starters on your respective teams, rising through the ranks, earning recognition. 

You had gotten used to the teasing over the years—the way your teammates would nudge you whenever Isagi was near, the way his friends would smirk whenever he looked at you. It was easy to brush off, easy to pretend like it didn’t make your heart race.

When the girls and boys scrimmaged, you and Isagi always found each other during breaks—talking about everything and nothing.

Your team lost 2-5 in a mixed scrimmage, and as you changed in the locker room, an older girl draped an arm over your shoulders, teasingly pointing at a small bruise on your hip. "So? What’s this from?"

"Huh? Oh, it’s from Isagi—"

"Aha! So you are together!" she grinned. "The way you two look at each other…"

Your face burned. "No! We’re just friends. It’s from practice."

She only hummed, unconvinced. "It’s so easy to tell you’re in love."

You stammered through a response, slipping on your shirt and leaving before she could say anything else. 

She only hummed knowingly. "You should see the way he looks at you."

You stammered through some excuse, but the words barely reached you.

Because that wasn’t true.

…Was it?

When Isagi got the letter for Blue Lock, you were with him, lying on his bed, reading over his shoulder.

"Oh my god! Yoichi, you have to go!" You shook his shoulders, excitement bubbling in your chest.

"But… what about—"

"Your parents? They’d be so happy for you! You have to!"

"But what—"

"The team? This is amazing! You’ll be a legend!"

"But—"

"Oh, Yoichi, stop worrying—"

"What about you?"

You froze.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned in, voice quieter. "I just… you—" A frustrated breath. His hands cupped your face, and before you could react, his lips were on yours.

It was brief. Desperate. Conflicted.

"I don’t want to leave you," he whispered, forehead pressing against yours. "I don’t know why but… every time you’re around, I just want to stay forever."

Tears burned your eyes. "Yoichi—"

His expression twisted. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—"

"You don’t have to—"

"God, I’m so dumb. Why don’t you just—" He exhaled sharply, looking away. "Just leave."

Your stomach dropped. "What?"

"Just leave."*

Your entire body felt cold. "Yoichi—"

"Go!" His voice was hoarse, pained. "Please… just go."*

Your hands curled into fists. He wouldn’t even look at you.

His voice was hoarse, his hands trembling. And who were you to stay when he was telling you to go?

You didn’t talk before he left for blue lock.

Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. You moved forward, but your heart still ached for something—someone—you could never have back.

And even as universities scouted you, even as you climbed higher, your heart wasn’t in it. Not fully.

When his family invited you to watch the U-20 match, you hesitated. What if he still hated you?

But when the game started, when Isagi had the ball, when the stadium roared—you forgot everything.

When the whistle blew, signaling the end of the match, your feet moved before you could stop them.

"Yoichi!"

He turned, eyes wide. "What are you—"

You threw yourself at him, arms around his neck, voice breaking. "I missed you so much!"

Then you were running—past his teammates, past the reporters, straight into his arms.

His breath caught as you wrapped yourself around him, your voice breaking. "I missed you so much."

His arms tightened around you. His head dropped to your shoulder, his voice muffled against your skin. "You’re here…"

His breath hitched as you cupped his face, pressing your lips to his.

"I’m sorry—"

His lips parted, but before he could answer, you kissed him again.

And this time, he didn’t pull away.

"You’re here.” Isagi breathed out as he looked down at you, holding onto you like you were just a dream and if he let go you’d disappear.

“I’m here.”

isagi- there's a reason you're the MC. i love you so much.

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[keepthedelta]

hi, do you think lewis and nico were really best friends at some point? whether it was in 2013, 2014, 2015 or 2016? bc i was seeing some blogs that they do not think they were really that good of friends, but the way they did hurt each other, and hurt themselves in 2015 and 2016 really screams "you were my best friend and u betrayed me " kind of thing

i mean, as adults maybe not so much, but as children absolutely.

one quality of both nico and lewis that i personally think is really really important to them and their characters is that they were both very lonely little boys. lewis grew up as a mixed race child from a working class background moving between the households of his divorced parents in the notoriously welcoming, racially equally, class blind nation of england. he faced racial abuse from grown adults as an incredibly young child at remote control car events (and i do mean young, like 5 years old) and took up martial arts as a child to learn how to defend himself from bullies. nico grew up on the opposite end of the spectrum as the beloved only child of a millionare formula one world champion, and spent a lot of his early childhood travelling with his parents. he's said before that because of this he was very lonely in his early childhood, as he didn't really know any other children, and he couldn't even really connect with an entire section of his family because he was never taught finnish. then, when he did go to school and meet other children he didn't quite fit in there. he was too awkward, too pretty, too nerdy. it wasn't that he had no friends, but he didn't have many, and he was bullied a lot by other children who would stick things in his hair and hold him down, and because the adults did nothing, he had to learn how to deal with it himself.

so their early lives, although very different, share the quality of loneliness and isolation, and being excluded by their peers. this continued when they began karting. lewis was ostracised because of his race and his class (and almost certainly because he was much better than them and they were jealous) and nico was ostracised because he had a famous and successful father, because he was pretty and awkward (and again, because he was better than a lot of them, and there was a lot of jealousy involved). from the very first time they raced together, it was lewis and nico out way ahead of everyone else, peers as both racers and lonely children. so much of their bond as children came from being lonely and excluded by others, but in each other they finally found a friend.

the first time lewis ever came to monaco was to visit nico. he has said multiple times how visiting nico, seeing how the rosbergs (and other monaco residents) lived became the foundation for the life that he wanted to live and has since chosen to live. when he moved to monaco in 2012/2013, he moved into the same building as nico, which is also the same building as nico's childhood apartment (he just moved into another unit in the same building when he turned 18), therefore the exact same building that lewis first stayed in when he came to visit nico.

i think it's fair to say that they weren't necessarily best friends during their adulthood. after karting they went into separate single seater series (lewis to formula renault in the uk, nico to formula bmw in germany) and although they spent a year in f3 together in 2004, they were in separate teams and developed other relationships along the way. but i don't think you can say they weren't friends. lewis went on holiday with the rosbergs when he and nico were 17, at least a year after they stopped karting. there are photos of him partying with nico and vivian, who got together when they were 18. he and nico went on holiday with adrian sutil after they had begun in formula one. their reaction to their first shared podium in 2008 is not the reaction of people who are not friends. they literally did interviews talking about their friendship. when lewis moved to monaco, if he didn't have food in the house he would go upstairs to nico and vivian and eat with them. they might not have been best friends by that point, but they were absolutely still friends in some sense of the word.

to me, one of the major reasons why that silver war time period reads so much of "being betrayed by your best friend" is because lewis and nico were formative friends. the closeness may not have been the same all the way to the end, but it was the foundation for who each of them became. two lonely little boys who filled in the cracks of their lives with each other because it was the first time, at least in racing, that someone else was actually nice to them. lewis's dad still has photos of lewis and nico as teenagers and voluntarily brings up that time of their lives and the importance of it even after everything that went down. nico once got given an old karting magazine that had him and lewis on the cover and immediately turned all nostalgic and wistful. lewis has repeatedly said that karting with nico was the best time of his life.

as people, everything that we are is fundamentally a collection of memories and experiences and reactions to those moments. we learn and grow, and none of us are the same when we're thirty as we are when we're thirteen. but if you're thirty and the person that you're fighting against, even just professionally, was someone who helped make you who you are by being nice to you when you were thirteen when no one else was nice to you, hurting them is always going to hurt you because they are a part of you, and you are a part of them.