#certainly a very dark way to open the season

[kristannafever]

Big Sky Ranch

Kristanna Modern AU Rated: M WC: 1829

In the foothills off of the Rocky Mountains, resides a generational Ranch known to all in the area. Kristoff, a humble hand on that ranch, works hard and enjoys his simple existence. It isn't until a new woman starts at the diner that be begins to acknowledge his loneliness and plans to ask her on a date. When his plans are foiled by a rival group of men, it sets events into motion that plunge Anna and Kristoff into getting to know each other through some very unexpected situations and their relationship blossoms as their lives begin to change.

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A/N: This had been my passion project for over a year, and is the most self-indulgent thing I have ever written. It is inspired by the ranch setting of Yellowstone and the rural area in which I live.

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Anna had only been working as a waitress at the diner for a week, and she was quickly learning what the biggest perk of the job was. 

It was the cowboys.

She’d moved to the small town only a month prior, desperate to get as far away from the city where her sleazy ex-fiancé was.  It was the fresh start she needed after wallowing about that cheating asshole for months.  Truly dark times they had been.

After finding a basement suite to rent since she wasn’t sure how long she would be there before she moved on again, she got the job at the diner, and was truly starting to enjoy life again.  And that was in large part due to the clientele. 

The town was surrounded by ranchlands.  Large farms spread out in all directions, and the roads were ruled by pick-up trucks and farm equipment.  Many times, Anna had gone for a drive to clear her head and she’d come upon some large tractor-thing, and she’d have to squeeze around the slow-moving vehicle in the wrong lane, or wait until it pulled into a pasture.  Even so, she never minded too much, because she enjoyed the drives and admiring the lovely scenery against the backdrop of the Rocky Mountains.

And every day, rain or shine, groups of men came in for breakfast or lunch.  Most of them in the full cowboy outfit; cowboy boots, jeans, roper or plaid shirts, and cowboy hats.  And no matter the size or shape of them, they were all ruggedly handsome in their own ways.

And decent!  Anna had never met so many decent men.  They were all extremely polite and respectful.  They held doors and said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘ma’am’, and they always tipped generously even if they only had a cup of coffee and a piece of pie. 

Anna truly did love her job, even if was a lot harder work than sitting behind a desk all day like she’d been doing when she worked at that insurance company with her ex. 

That asshole could rot in hell.

Now Anna had her eyes open for a cowboy.  A lot of them didn’t wear any wedding rings, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t married.  She’d asked one of the other waitresses and was told they don’t wear them for safety, not wanting them to get caught in ropes or machinery.  And the ones that did wear them, wore those new rubber ones that could break if they got caught in something.   It made perfect sense to Anna.  Although it certainly made it harder to tell who was and wasn’t attached. 

Which was why for the time being she just had her eyes open.  She never outwardly hit on any of them for fear of hitting on a taken man.  She just hoped that one day, one of them might just ask her out.  And until then, she would more than happily take in all the eye candy.

*****

Kristoff yawned as he got out of his truck and stretched out his tired back.  Him and Sven got up extra early and treated themselves to breakfast whenever they could, and right now they had a short break before calving season when their days were a little less long.

The air was still chilly with the last of winter’s tenuous hold, and their breath came out in white vapors as they walked through the parking lot.  At least the snow was mostly all gone, and while that meant that him and Sven’s work load was going to ramp up, it was hard to argue with the sun shining bright after six brutally long months of snow-covered ground.

As soon as they stepped into the diner, Sven gave him a nudge with his elbow.

“New girl,” he said under his breath, and flicked his head in her direction as they walked to a booth along the front windows. 

Kristoff glanced her direction then turned to Sven and gave him a hard stare.  Ever since he got engaged, Sven had been trying mercilessly to set Kristoff up with someone and it was starting to get on his nerves.  The girl was really cute, sure, he just wasn’t interested.  He was too damn set in his ways to be interested.

They sat in their favourite booth, took off their cowboy hats, and set them on the seat beside themselves.  Kristoff ran a hand through his hair a few times, shaking out the hat line, and the new waitress came over straight away and set menus on the table. 

“Morning, gentlemen.”  She smiled brightly.  “What can I start you out with today?”

“Coffee, black, and a water,” Kristoff said.

“Same here,” Sven said, “please.”

“Coming right up.”  She gave them another bright smile and walked away. 

“City girl,” Sven mused.

“Yup.”  He’d heard her accent too.

“She don’t have a ring.”

“Sven-”

“Come on, man.  You livin’ like that ain’t healthy.  All alone in that cabin.  You should move back to one of the main houses.”

“You know I don’t like being around people too much.”

“You like being around me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one exception and you know that too.”

“You could make another exception,” Sven flicked his head to the counter where she was pouring them coffee, “for her.”

“If you don’t cut this out, I’m gonna strap you to that nasty old bull out in the east pastures.”

“Ole’ Bruce?”  Sven laughed.  “That bull don’t got any fight left in him.”

“I beg to differ,” Kristoff stated.  It was only a month ago that mean old brute had him scrambling for the fences when he charged Kristoff.  And of course, no one had been around to see it and they all told him he was making shit up.  That bull had it out for him, Kristoff knew it.

The waitress came back with the drinks and they ordered their usual; the cowboy breakfast.  It came with two eggs, three strips of bacon, a pair of sausages, hash browns, beans and two slices of toast.  Both him and Sven would eat it all and be starving by noon. 

They ate quickly and Kristoff pulled his wallet out of his back pocket since it was his turn to pay.  The waitress came back with the bill and a card machine which Kristoff waived off because he always paid with cash.  He gave her a pretty nice tip since she’d kept their water and coffee cups full.  He hated it when he was halfway through his meal and he had nothing to drink because the cups weren’t topped off. 

On the way out, when Sven wasn’t looking, Kristoff glanced in the waitress’s direction.  She had her copper hair in braids, and actually, was very attractive.  He always had been a sucker for freckles.  If he was interested in a relationship, he might ask her out, but he was more than content not having to deal with what came in having that sort of thing.

*****

Anna watched the pair of cowboy’s head back to their big dually in the parking lot.  They’d been the best-looking ones yet.  Especially that blond with the big nose and the pretty brown eyes.  He was very handsome.  And built!  The guy’s biceps were giving that roper shirt a serious quality control test.  She felt a little flustered to suddenly think about what being with a man like that would be like.  Her ex had been on the skinnier side and nowhere near as tall.  Not to mention never really left her satisfied.  She had a feeling that the handsome blond cowboy sure wouldn’t disappoint. 

He didn’t really say much, he left her a very nice tip, and he did say thank you when she dropped off their breakfast, even if he didn’t say please when he ordered it.  Anna hoped she’d see him again soon and found herself hoping that he was single and looking.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Sven suggested breakfast again the next morning and Kristoff damn well knew why.  Still, it was hard to argue against a big brekky that he didn’t have to make himself.   They drove to the diner and sure enough, the attractive waitress was working.

They sat in the same booth and she came over a moment later with coffees and waters.  It impressed him a little that they didn’t have to order, even if was presumptuous of her. 

“Same as yesterday, gentlemen?” she asked, after she’d set their drinks on the table.

“You bet,” Sven answered.

“And are we sticking with sunny-side up eggs and rye toast?”  Both men nodded.  “Perfect.  I’ll have that right out to you.”

Kristoff found himself watching her walk away.  She sure had a nice smile.  Very friendly.  Good for getting better tips for sure.   And those eyes were something else.

“You should ask her out,” Sven persisted in a hushed voice.

He turned to Sven and scowled.  “No.”

“Why not?”

Kristoff shrugged and couldn’t really come up with a good answer. 

Sven heaved a big sigh.  “You know what, I give up.  You’re hopeless.”

Kristoff sneered.  “Like you pointed out, she’s a city girl.  Only one way a relationship with her is gonna end up, and that’s me being dumped after a week.”

“Maybe if you would just try-”

“That’s enough,” he said, very serious.  “I’m not in the mood.”

Sven scoffed.  “Fine, whatever.”

Kristoff looked down at his hands and started to dig some dirt out from under his thumbnail.  Sven had no idea what he was talking about.  Kristoff had always tried.  He did his best, even though he was pretty damn clueless about romance.  Which seemed to be why none of the ladies he’d gone out with stuck around long.  He did try, and it was never enough.  It had left him jaded about dating. 

Their meals came out quickly and they ate even quicker to get a head start on their day.  It was going to be another long one, meaning come Friday night, both of them would be more than eager to blow off some steam at the saloon. 

*****

Anna gathered up the tip the other cowboy had left on the table.  It was still very decent even if he wasn’t as generous as the blond.  Neither of the men seemed like they were looking for a date, so Anna gave up on thinking that either of them were single.  Like most of them, they were probably taken, leaving Anna wondered what she had to do to bag herself a cowboy.

Another waitress had been talking about going to a saloon by the highway at the edge of town on Friday evening for some dancing and asked Anna if she wanted to tag along too.  She accepted, giddy at the chance that perhaps she might have her opportunity there to get herself a date, even if she was warned that the crowd could get pretty rowdy. 

--

Next Chapter

[aqueeracademic]

morse being queer (and other commentary) pt 17:

season 5, episode 1, “Muse”:

note: this episode deals with some really dark topics; i don’t really get into it in this post but be wary of the content

- okay season 5‼️‼️

- let’s get gay

- this guy seems a little young to be a professor

- oh he isn’t a professor he’s just some guy

- i want to live in a windmill tbh

- strange playing the trombone agenda!

- pause did morse not move to london?

- me when i have no clue what’s going on

- DETECTIVE SERGEANT?????? ULTIMATE PAUSE

- HE PASSED HIS SERGEANTS

- shit i guess he stayed

- living with strange! besties 4 lyfe

- these umbrellas are doing nothing to keep them dry

- the way debryn is giving his analysis directly to morse 🥰🥰🥰

- bro knows morse is the only one who’s gonna pay attention tbh

- about WHAT morse situation 🤨🤨🤨🤨

- i love frazil she’s always rooting for morse

- hello who tf is that

- george fancy

- WAIT

- i cant experience the george fancy story again.

- can’t handle it.

- “i’m used to working alone, sir.”

- no ur not morse u just miss jakes

- WHAT. SITUATION.

- oh

- okay

- so they’re just not gonna move him 🙄

- made me panic for no good damn reason

- morse is so disrespectful to fancy and for what

- ���what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?” “my job.” 😐

- i forgot i also hated fancy for a long time

- morse was right ‼️

- “hard to get, eh?” why don’t you! shut your mouth!

- “you have no idea.” “i like a challenge.”

- WHY DONT YOU! shut up ❤️

- in fairness morse was really upfront with george about his expectations so after a certain point it’s george’s fault for being a dumbass and annoying him

- that’s just me tho!

- okay ew i did not need to see debryn pull that spike out of the dudes ear

- i am experiencing debilitating heart burn right now i think im gonna die

- anywho

- thursday just roasting the shit out of nero while morse stands there like 😮

- JOAN ‼️‼️‼️

- omg she’s back

- morse is so awkward 🙄

- morse is just… drinking milk. just a glass of milk. like 🥛. im disgusted

- ayo

- body took me by surprise to say the least

- morse is getting awfully comfortable looking at dead people

- i feel like fancy is already a lot like jakes and that’s what’s irritating morse

- he keeps asking questions the same way jakes did

- it’s different though because fancy is asking because hes ignorant, not because he’s challenging morse

- and morse is irritated because jakes was an intellectual challenge

- he had to be certain before presenting anything to jakes because jakes would ask questions to force him to prove it or think it through all the way

- fancy isn’t challenging him intellectually even though he’s taking jakes’ spot

- and morse doesn’t want a replacement he just wants jakes

- ykwim??????????????

- great!

- moving on

- “dipped his quill in any ink pot.”

- bro was a whore

- i’m also assuming he was a lil…. fruity

- but don’t ask me for proof! i operate on vibes and vibes alone

- the way i thought that glider was small 💀💀

- it was literally carrying around an entire human being

- “i don’t think she likes men.” “maybe it’s just you she doesn’t like.”

- morse is SO catty i love him

- he clocked that guy as a scumbag and just ran w it

- IM DYING at morse saying what shade the lipstick is and debryn instantly knowing the line it’s from

- that’s a little 💅

- i’m just saying

- for this time period?

- also the silence after he says it 💀

- and morse just carries on 💀

- i love debryn

- george is doing his best tho

- morse just misses jakes and doesn’t want someone else hanging around and i’m SICK OVER IT

- morse watched that entire strip show and for what 😐

- you could have just gone straight to the dressing room babes

- the way he doesn’t check her out ONCE when she stands up

- respect 😔✊

- i’m watching this on amazon and the amount of times the captioning has said [inaudible] is killing me

- AYO eve is gorgeous

- i know that’s the point but like goddam 😭

- “he’d seen me dancing.” “stripping.”

- morse ur being annoying

- they’re dancers whether or not they take clothes off and ur stripping them of their dignity by belittling their careers

- there’s 0 reason to slut shame them for dancing even if it is stripping

- don’t be a dick ‼️

- naur why was morse the one to uncover the body 🥺

- i literally hate him and then immediately feel terrible for him and love him again 🙄

- i’m weak what can i say

- the way morse looks at trewlove during the interrogation and she’s just like 😳

- girl didn’t want to know a singular thing about morse’s sex life

- straight up trapped

- i’m honestly confused how fancy forgot to get the contents booked

- like you went to do it right away

- did you just?? stop? doing it???

- and then morse just covers for him to thursday to keep him in everyone’s good graces

- he’s sooooooo

- ugh.

- if there’s an opportunity to be self sacrificing he’s gonna take it and i hate it

- because being self sacrificing IS the example he sets fancy

- and we all know how that ends up

- i love it when morse is alone in the nick and opera music is playing

- it makes me think that it’s playing in his mind

- like he is constantly hearing opera when he’s working even if it’s not playing

- he’s just hearing it

- i love it

- a touch of the tism perhaps…

- ^me projecting

- that student that morse keeps talking to about the life model? the one w the blonde fringe? yeah! he’s gay.

- once again, no proof. vibes and vibes alone!

- GO CASS GO!

- out ur husband as a con artist!

- werk

- ooo dr croxley is gay for sure

- i’m so low on actual queer content from this show rn i’m just assuming every single side character is gay

- “i beg your pardon?” “you can beg my fat ass!”

- ROAST HIM FRED!!

- get his ass

- thursday has absolutely zero reservations about this shit i love him

- this is reminding me of the riot club tbh

- idk if any of you have seen that movie but the group of men behave just like the riot club

- morse giving a theory out and then bright going “and the rest?” and him being like 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ is SO REAL

- some of these episodes have so many characters, and i am so bad with names, i’ll get to the like one hour mark and have no idea who anyone is talking about anymore

- joan and thursday speaking for the first time in like a year is… hmmm

- she used to be such a daddy’s girl and now she hates his guts i am WRECKED

- dhmu 😔💔

- “that was quick.” “you asked for it.” “you’re a good sergeant, jim. good man, too.”

- you tell him thursday!

- me when i’m a jim strange STAN

- i’m nervous why is the music so scary

- oh literally nothing happened

- she just invited him inside

- he’s gonna sleep w her huh? 🙄

- he’s a slut

- i read the books! i know!

- “save it for your clients. i’m immune.”

- first of all, morse, we ALL KNOW that that isn’t true 🤨 no need to lie 😐

- “you’ve got need coming off you like a junkie gouging for a spike, but you won’t do anything about it.”

- this line is ABSOLUTELY INSANE i’m going feral

- like why would you say that 😭😭😭😭

- oh my god his face while she’s offering herself to him is so 😧

- i can’t do this tonight ✋😁

- the way he backs away from her when he starts to figure her out

- he’s so scared

- all the time!

- i hate it here

- sidebar:

- this is literally the plot of the riot club

- like what happened to the women and how the men behave and the fact that the men were scholars and it’s an elite group and they all call each other by different names

- it’s literally the riot club

- a movie i HATED and did not finish btw

- this is open riot club slander that movie was terrible

- feel free to watch it if you don’t believe me tho!

- but anyways this feels like the aftermath of that movie

- these girls are right and should be allowed to get away with it tho

- morse should have just pretended to never figure it out and let her get away with it

- i erased this episode from my memory this shit is so hard to watch

- justice for ruth astor.

- i’m sobbing my eyes out right now! literally sobbing.

- morse slut shames these girls the entire episode and then feels terrible at the end as he fucking should

- i hate men.

- just throwing in the death of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. at the end????

- like hello?

- idk if that’s supposed to feel random but it certainly does

- ok that episode traumatized me

- on to the next!

[coraniaid]

It’s always very odd to me when I read criticism of A Song Of Ice And Fire online (by which I mainly mean: on Tumblr) which takes for granted that this is some sort of obsessively dark and edgy and mean-spirited fantasy, because ... that's not what the series is actually like at all?  

I mean, yes, some awful (and graphically described) stuff happens in these books, but this is at heart a deeply optimistic and almost embarrassingly romantic story, full of a very obvious sympathy and tenderness for the unhappy and the hurt and the powerless.  The weird gritty-for-the-sake-of-it books that the series's detractors describe wouldn't have recurring POV characters like Sansa Stark or Tyrion Lannister or Davos Seaworth or Samwell Tarly or Brienne of Tarth.  They certainly wouldn't obviously empathize with and respect these characters to the extent the actual books do.  They wouldn't be so obsessive about the importance of hope and kindness and understanding in an otherwise uncaring world.  Whenever the text suggests the world isn't fair or kind there's always an unspoken "but it should be,and I wish it was". You are clearly not meant to think that characters like Roose Bolton or Twyin Lannister are being held up as role models to emulate!

I mean, maybe the TV show is more like that -- I gave up on the show after only a couple of seasons, it was a terrible adaptation of the source material, even before the final season that everyone apparently hated -- but so much of the open disdain for ASOIAF I come across on here reads like the people writing the posts haven't even read a single one of the books. Yes, the popularity of ASOIAF inspired a lot of "dark" fantasy novels that actually are bleakly nihilistic and seem to revel in their characters meeting pointlessly sad and violent ends, but Martin's books are just not like that.

Yes, lots of the world-building for ASOIAF is patently ridiculous, and yes, key parts of the plot are just cribbed from the War of the Roses (or, rather, from historical novels like Sharon Penman's The Sunne in Splendour)  and yes, Martin has said some very stupid things in interviews while busy not writing the series.  And no, I'm not sure I could actually bring myself to recommend the books to anyone who's not read them before (especially when it's so unlikely that the series will ever be finished, let alone in a satisfying way).  I haven’t reread them myself in years.

But honestly, back when I was a quietly miserable teenager these books really meant a lot to me, in part because they are the opposite of the caricature often discussed online.  Yes, they acknowledged that sometimes the world was awful and unbearable.  It is!  But they also suggested that it was still important to try to be fair and kind and to appreciate the moments when things were better.  They are books about trying to do the right thing even when it’s so hard as to seem impossible and nobody else will even know that you tried, written in a way that takes for granted that “the right thing” is also the just and the optimistic and the quietly heroic thing; that doing the right thing when you afraid is more praiseworthy than never being afraid at all. And it is baffling to me how often I see people talking about them now who don't actually seem to have ever even skimmed them but are still vocally passionate in their hatred of something that, as they describe it, simply doesn't exist.

[mypoisonedvine]

dark dilf delinquent season cillian lusting after the new neighbors daughter; who not so coincidentally has a penchant for undressing with her curtains open 🫣 & sneaking in guys who kinda (definitely) maybe resemble cillian? from her club nights 😭

he’s dark & like kinda pathetic but we love him anyway

i feel like this is too specific but I can’t get the thought out of my head 🥲

it is very specific but I'm not mad, and I love writing a pervert <3 but a dilf AND a pervert?! yes please!! obviously I love this concept cause I went a liiiiitle overboard with it, oops...

𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙤𝙧 | neighbor!reader x dilf!cillian

length: 3.3k

warnings: m and f masturbation, voyeurism, slightly dark but not very much, unspecified age gap, infidelity

When it first started, he really was just trying to read. It wasn't his fault that the book was boring, or that your curtains were open, or that he caught a glance of you in your window.

It was innocent then, too— he liked watching you do normal things, like put on jewelry or laugh on the phone with a friend. It made him smile... he wasn't sure why, but it just made him feel a little better after a long day, seeing you up there, reminiscing on his younger days as he got a distant view of yours...

But it had been months since it started, and it was far from innocent now. He'd become an expert at compartmentalizing the shame; he'd become addicted to the cycle, to the watching and the waiting and the sick anticipation— not to mention the fear that someday, you'd notice him watching. The fear, and yet, the hope.

"Fuck," he panted under his breath as he wanked himself— not too fast yet, but certainly much faster than the slow and teasing strokes he liked to start off with. You were taking off your shirt, pulling it over your head and folding your arms in that crazy origami way girls do that he'd never totally understood; he bit his lip as his eyes dragged over your back, trying to imagine how it would feel to run his fingers up your spine until you arched it just right—

He heard the kids yell downstairs and he stopped for a second, heart pounding with nervousness as he feared they might come up and knock at the door. He used to only do this when they were gone... but he couldn't pass up an opportunity like this, a perfect view of you stripping in the window.

The noises stopped and his movements started again, fisting his cock with a stifled groan as you reached behind your back and undid the clasp; even having seen your tits probably a dozen times by now, his mouth was slack and dry in anticipation of you turning around and letting him see them again.

You teased him for a while longer, messing with your hair and stretching your arms up until he found himself mumbling between panting breaths: c'mon, baby, show me— lemme see, sweetheart, fuck, please...

Sort of like willing a stoplight to turn green, it's obviously not possible but it will work at some point: you turned and faced the window, your eyes shut with a sigh as you started to open your jeans. He had to grip his cock's leaking head tight just then, too overwhelmed with the view of your breasts— he was afraid to come too soon.

He'd never had to hold himself back like this before, never delayed his gratification— because, normally, it's totally antithetical to the point of masturbation. He only ever jerked off for the gratification, and he only ever watched porn to help get there a little faster... but you, you were so much better than porn. The thrill of doing something wrong, the longing of knowing you (if not very well) in real life, the lack of control over you and being, in a sense, at your mercy as you undressed as slow as you wanted... it was all just terribly erotic. And he refused to let himself come until you let him see a little more.

You slid your jeans down your legs and he actually bit his lip, just to muffle his moan. "Yes," he whispered to himself, cock pulsing in his grip as he watched you step out of them, turning around to lay them over your bed— and giving him the perfect view of your ass in those cute cotton panties as you did it. "Fuck," he grunted, twisting his hand over his tip and feeling his hips jerk instinctively— he couldn't think of the last time he was so sensitive. "See what you do to me?" he chuckled to himself— he wished you could see it, but then again, he had his lights off in the room for a reason. All you could see was a dark window, and for now, he preferred to keep it that way.

You laid back on your bed, looking relaxed and contented as you ran your hand down over yourself— fuck, is she about to--?

You slipped your hand into your panties, and he tilted his head back with a heavy sigh, only allowing himself a second to shut his eyes as his balls tightened up, threatening to blow it all right then and there. He'd never actually seen you touch yourself before— though he had seen you take a vibrator out of your bedside drawer and, infuriatingly, go to take a shower where you presumably got to use it with complete privacy. The image in his head had been plenty to get off on that night, but seeing you now as your fingers moved under the thin fabric, your lips opening for what he hoped was a quiet little moan? It was almost too much to bear.

You spread your legs a bit, the angle giving him a hint of a view of what you were doing; he sat up in the chair, leaning to the side a bit, desperate for a better look at how you were touching yourself. Were you just rubbing your clit, or were you going to put a finger or two inside? "Baby," he panted to himself, watching your tits get harder as your hand moved, "baby... y-yeah, just like that, fuck..."

The sight of you playing with yourself was just too beautiful; he had to keep reminding himself to shut his mouth so he wouldn’t make too much noise, but then it would just fall right back open again as you arched your back.  

“Feels good?” he noticed, raking his gaze over every sign of your pleasure.  “Tell me how good it feels…”

He wanted to imagine your voice, then, the way you’d respond to him: feels so good, Cill.  You’d never actually called him that, you always called him Mr. Murphy.  He tried not to acknowledge how much that turned him on, but anyways, he couldn’t conjure your voice in his head anyways.  He hadn’t spoken to you in weeks, not since you’d babysat for him and his wife… he tried not to acknowledge how much that turned him on, either.

Seemingly out of nowhere, you took your hand out of your panties and expanded your cheeks with a big sigh; he knit his eyebrows together, watching you roll over and grab your phone off of the nightstand by your bed.  His sicker side instantly assumed you were going to find some porn to watch, but your lackadaisical attitude about the whole thing made it seem more like you’d had a sudden mid-masturbation urge to check Instagram.  Kids and their phones, he thought to himself, even though you were far from a kid— he was just much, much further from one than you were, is all…

And, this should come as no surprise by now… that turned him on too.  He’d come to be weirdly fascinated by his own perversion, finding it just as shameful as he did sexy.

His phone vibrated on the desk and his screen lit up— he wasn't going to answer it at first, nothing was more important than watching you right now... but then it went off again. He looked at it and back at you, seeing you getting up suddenly and walking around the room... surely you hadn't come already? It certainly didn't look like it.

Even though he couldn't imagine why you'd stopped so abruptly, he figured it was a good opportunity to make sure the messages weren't important. He awkwardly got up and grabbed his phone, feeling a bit strange about walking around with his jeans open and his erection poking out. Unlocking his phone to read whatever was sent, he felt a massive sigh leave his chest as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

He never even saved your number, but he recognized the previous conversation you'd had-- just a few texts back and forth about a little backyard gathering your parents were having, and some question about when you needed to come over to watch the kids, but you usually messaged his wife about that kind of stuff.  But since he’d committed those brief conversations to memory, it took him only a split-second to know it was you— and, obviously, seeing that you'd just texted him, he thought his heart might just stop right then.  He had to blink some blurriness out of his vision to even read them, with how fast the damn thing was beating.

hi mr. murphy.

turn on the lamp on the desk.

He whipped his head around to look back at you, only to find you smiling around a bitten lower lip, staring right into his window.  Fuck.  Fuck!

He set his phone down, not sure what to do— and quickly locking the screen as he realized you’d probably seen the glow of it.  He groaned softly again as he watched you sit down on your bed again, facing directly towards him, those pretty legs spreading nice and slow as your hand moved over your panties again.  Fuck.

He felt like he was in a dream or something as he flipped on the lamp— maybe it was an out of body experience.  If he was out of his own body, he at least knew whose he wanted to get into: he never took his eyes off you as he slowly walked back to his chair, sitting back down in it and meeting your half-lidded gaze as you tossed your phone away and used your free hand to toy with one of your hard nipples.  “Fuck,” he said aloud this time, seeing your eyes trail down to his cock— it was still out, of course, sticking up proudly against the black shirt covering his stomach.  Maybe it was proud, but he was a little bit terrified, his face getting hot as he snatched the throw pillow nearby to cover himself with; he saw you laugh, sighing through his nose dreamily as he wished he could hear the sweet sound of it, and then shake your head with a grin.

You stood up then, turning around and bending over as you ever-so-slowly pulled your panties down, making him purr as he got a thorough look at your bare ass.  You looked too damn good bent over like that— what he would give to stand behind you, pushing your shoulders down with one hand as he gave that cute arse a good spank with the other—

He saw you looking back at him, a proud smirk on your face; “Dirty girl,” he scolded under his breath, watching you stand up straight and sit on the bed again.

Your legs were pressed tightly together, and when he look up to your eyes, he found them focusing on the pillow in his lap; you met his gaze again, a pink tongue darting gently over your lips.  A silent promise: I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.  With the way it made his heart pound and his palms clammy, he felt like a schoolboy all over again.

He grabbed the pillow and slowly moved it away, your legs opening at the same pace in perfect time with it; he groaned through a tight jaw as he stared at your pussy, one of your hands running down to spread the sticky lips even wider for him.  “Fuck,” he moaned, holding onto his cock tightly again as he felt totally helpless to the sight of it, unable to look away.  “So fuckin’ perfect,” he mumbled, starting to stroke himself as you bit your lip again and rubbed your clit with two fingers— the nails still had that baby pink polish, the one he’d watched you paint on a few nights ago.  Why was something as simple as that so sexy?

Your mouth fell open, and your head tilted back; he tried to imagine how you’d sound, your sweet voice a little darker and deeper with pleasure.  You rubbed yourself a little faster, a little harder, and he felt his lips curl into a sneer.

“Good girl, like that,” he panted, “play with it for me.  Play with that cute little cunt— f-fuck, yes—”

You looked at him again, eyes glued to his cock, and he felt it flex in his grip as if it wanted to wave to you; he saw you smile, an oddly sweet smile for something so dirty, and he watched your fingers slide down to your tiny, seeping opening.  He nodded in encouragement, watching your face fall into a shockingly innocent gasp as you slid a finger into yourself.

“Yes, baby,” he moaned, “y-yeah, s’it warm inside, sweetheart?  Bet you’re so fucking tight, baby, I know your pussy is so goddamn tight—”

You pumped the single finger in and out, head falling back for a moment, and he squeezed his cock tight again to try to hold back another close call— he’d feel pretty stupid coming so fast with you watching, but he’d been doing this a lot longer than you had… fuck, how long had you known he was watching you?

Your mouth opened wider as you pushed another finger into yourself, and his hips shifted roughly in the chair, his hand moving faster as he growled.  “Fuck, it’s not enough, is it?” he hissed.  “Two little fingers isn’t enough— you need my cock, fuck, you need my fuckin’ cock— I’d fill you so good, sweetheart, I’d be so fuckin’ deep inside you—”

He was almost bucking up into his own hand now, his whole body suddenly pulsing with energy— it was a good thing you weren’t here now, even if he wanted it more than anything: he would’ve treated you awfully if he could’ve gotten his hands on you, fucking you hard and rough, tossing you around, pinning you down… he needed you so bad, he couldn’t imagine having the patience for anything but one of those nasty, fast, rough, animalistic fucks.  He’d fucking ruin you right now, if he could.

You were rough about it, too— roughly pinching and tugging on your tits, roughly fucking yourself on your fingers… you even pulled your hand out and gave your clit a little smack at one point, and he choked on his loudest moan yet as your body jolted.

“Dirty fucking slut,” he growled, “fuck, come for me.  Please, baby, I need to come, I need to fuckin’ come—”

You were saying something, obviously he couldn’t hear a damn word of it, but the shape of your lips made him pretty damn sure you were chanting over and over: yes, yes, yes—

“Come, baby,” he begged, knowing he couldn’t hold himself back much longer, “let me see— show me how you come, sweetheart, show me that pretty face when you come on your fucking fingers— soak them, honey, come for me—”

You were shaking all over, legs quivering and tits bouncing with the force of it— you pulled your fingers out and he could fucking see it, see that cute little hole flexing, and obviously he was done for pretty much instantly.  He moaned roughly as hot ropes of come painted his shirt, rolled down his shaft and shaking fingers, one drop even finding its way down his balls which was sort of pleasantly ticklish…

You looked so gorgeous coming like that, your hand and pussy all shiny with your arousal, your eyes heavy and your lips swollen from all the biting… he blinked quickly as he tried to catch his breath, letting go of his slowly-softening cock and leaning back into the chair.  You smiled at him; funny how, even now, that could make his heart skip.  He watched you stand up and wiggle your fingers in a cute little wave at him as you approached the window, and his tired smile fell quickly when you reached for the curtains.  “N-no, don’t go,” he pleaded softly, leaning forward as if he could stop you somehow, “please, wait—”

You slid them shut suddenly, and he whined a little as he fell back into the chair, running his (clean) hand over his face as he contemplated what he’d just done.  When his phone vibrated again, he jumped up to grab it, but frowned in disappointment when he saw it was from his wife.  Be home in a few, please come help with the groceries.

He tried to type a quick reply, only to grimace when he realized how filthy his hand was.  He wiped it off on his shirt— but his shirt was filthy, too.  Sighing, he set the phone down and took the whole thing off, balling it up to toss into the hamper, leaving him in just his undershirt.

Going straight back to his phone, he opened the conversation with you, praying to see that little grey bubble pop up or something; he started to type a few times, things like will I see you tomorrow? or come over next time the house is empty, but he always felt like an idiot and ended up erasing it.  He didn’t get a chance to think of a good thing to send before he heard a car pulling up in the driveway.  Shoving the phone in his pocket, he sighed and made his way downstairs, navigating around the pillow fort in the living room to get out the front door.

“Just help me with the bags in the boot, will you?” she asked him, not even looking at him, as she rifled through whatever was in the backseat.  He opened it, sighing as he looked at them.  Nothing like a bunch of brown bags to bring you back to reality.

His eyes widened when he heard his wife say your name, and he poked his head around the car to see you standing there, wearing a zip-up and leggings.  “Good evening, Mrs. Murphy,” you smiled, and he figured he looked like a deer in the headlights— if a deer could hold a paper sack full of pasta and biscuits— as your gaze fell on him.  “Hi, Mr. Murphy.”

He opened his mouth to try to respond, but nothing really came out; “Looks like you’re going for a run,” his wife noticed, saving him for the time being as your attention turned to her again. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “figured I could use some exercise.”

He cleared his throat, just a way to try to fight the lump forming in it, but it unintentionally caused both women to look at him again— once again, he found himself uselessly floundering for a response, and only getting out a soft ‘er’ before you said something.

“Aren’t you cold in just a t-shirt, Mr. Murphy?” you asked him, tilting your head.

“It’s fine,” he choked out, “I was feeling kind of hot anyway.”

You smiled at him, then waved goodbye to his wife as you pushed your earbuds in and continued walking down the street— you were acting so innocent that he started to feel like he’d dreamed up the whole thing.  

She probably saw him staring, watching you jog down the sidewalk, that ass looking terribly familiar covered by the athletic leggings; but she didn’t say anything, only shutting the car boot to get his attention as he finally carried the paper sacks into the house.  "She's sweet, isn't she?" she broke the moment of silence as they walked up the driveway together.

“I-I guess,” he tried to sound as non-committal as possible.

“You don’t think so?” she pressed, apparently noticing his cryptic answer.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “maybe she’s not as sweet as she looks.”

[bau-muffin]

“It’s All Wrong But It’s Alright”

Summary: You and Aaron Hotchner have an interesting relationship. He’s your boss, and you’re one of the agents underneath him.

What happens when you get triggered during a case, and comforting you leads to something more?

Word count: 6,006

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU! Reader

Read it on AO3

mentions: SA, CSA, it’s implied that reader has a history of CSA, oral sex, fingering

Hotch knew as well as anybody that this case would emotionally weigh heavy on the team, maybe even more than it usually did.

They had successfully apprehended Monica Menzel and her sixteen year old son Jacob, but certainly not before uncovering disturbing details that would more than likely haunt the team for the rest of their lives.

The victims, all of them, were below the age of nine. There were no preferences in boys or girls or hair color, not even eye color, but they were all tortured and sexually assaulted in the same exact way, and then their bodies disposed of and covered with a tarp, as though in remorse. As it turned out, Jacob was losing control and abusing these children while Monica disposed of them quietly.

It made Hotch doubt whether good in humanity ever existed, especially when he thought of Jack waiting at home for him to come back so he could tell him all of the shenanigans he had gotten up to at his Aunt Jessica’s and regale him with the details of classroom drama.

And, he figured, the rest of the team were thinking similar thoughts, their minds all engulfed with the children in their lives and how it only takes a split second for every sense of safety to become compromised.

But as the team left the precinct, neatly separated into SUVs, and caravanned back to the hotel, Hotch looked over at you in the passenger seat and wondered who you were thinking of. When he had opened the door for you, you’d sat down and not even murmured a “thank you,” like you usually did, instead looking as though you were a million miles away. He knew something was turning inside your head. It didn’t take a profiler to see it.

“Are you all right?” he asked as he flipped up the blinker to make a turn.

“I’m exhausted,” you replied, almost too quickly. “We’ve been up and at it with this case since five this morning, and I didn’t sleep very well last night. Probably didn’t get more than three hours

in total.”

When Garcia had booked hotel rooms for you guys, she disclosed that since the town was at the peak of tourist season, she couldn’t book enough rooms for everybody to have a room of their own; which meant that two agents would have to take one for the team and share. You and Hotch had drawn the short straws, but despite being a subordinate and superior sharing a room, it hadn’t been awkward at all. You each had a double bed and made yourselves at home.

Still, he was all too aware that you had tossed and turned into the wee hours of the morning, and more than ever he wished he could have assuaged whatever was bothering you.

“Was the bed uncomfortable for you?” Hotch asked casually, his eyes still on the road.

“Not at all. I was just… thinking, is all. You know how it can be.”

He nodded solemnly, his lips forming a solid line. “I do know.”

You hummed an affirmative noise before turning to look outside the window, though there wasn’t much to look at since it was already almost dark and most of the street lights were still off.

Hotch wished you would open up to him. Heck, even before, you didn’t mind opening up to him, even just a little. But now it was like a barrier loomed around you and your thoughts, forbidding anyone who dared approach.

“For most of this case, I found myself thinking of Jack,” he confided, glancing over at you.

“Yeah? I don’t doubt it. Having kids when you’re in this line of business… it can’t be easy.” For a moment, your tone sounded open and concerned, and he sensed your eyes on his side profile.

“It’s not at all,” Hotch said quietly with his eyes still on the road ahead of him. “It makes me wish I could take Jack somewhere and hide him away from the ugly side of humanity. But… I’m all too aware that’s not feasible, nor is it healthy. So, we persevere together, and all I can hope to do is guide him until he’s ready to step out into the world on his own.”

“I imagine he’s already seen too much of how ugly humanity can be,” you said gently.

“He has. There’s no hiding it from him now,” he admitted softly.

“Once you’ve seen it, heard it… you can’t go back from it. Even that young.”

Something in your voice made him glance your way intensely. Was it… wistfulness? Melancholy?

It was quiet for a few moments as he focused on driving while you turned back to the window and continued staring out. He figured he couldn’t force you to confide in him, so he may as well give you space, but he was still worried; probably more than he’d like to confess.

As soon as you entered the hotel room, you beelined straight for your suitcase. “I’m going to take a shower first, if that’s alright with you?”

Hotch nodded as he began plugging up his devices on his side of the shared side table. “Perfectly fine with me. It’ll give me time to call Jack before we settle down for the night. Take your time.”

You began gathering up your clothes and necessities and toted them to the bathroom, the door closing behind you softly. Hotch had never wanted to wiggle his way into your brain more and find out what was going on in there.

He’s always known you had a soft spot for children, and he was first hand testament to it, just witnessing how you’d interacted with Jack every time Jessica brought him by the BAU for a visit or when he would bring Jack for an event at Rossi’s—you’d always taken time to ask him how school was, you’d ask about some project or another he had told you about before, and often times you’d reach out to ruffle his hair fondly. When he had read up on your files during the hiring process, he also learned you had nieces and nephews, and from how you spoke of them, you seemed to love them and had a good relationship with them; probably a tad bit protective, especially considering what you’d seen on this job.

But something about the way you were withdrawing and reserved now suggested this was personal, much more personal than you wanted to let on.

Still, Hotch felt like it was none of his business, and picked up his phone to call Jack.

By the time he finished an exuberant conversation with his son and Jessica, Hotch heard your blow dryer running. (you always kept an extra blow dryer in your go bag. Derek once suggested you take it out to have more room for clothes, and Hotch thought you’d form daggers with your eyeballs and throw them at him. (Derek never brought it up again.)

Fifteen minutes later, you walked in with your dirty clothes and stuffed them into a mesh bag in your go bag; and Hotch felt like he’d been punched in the stomach.

He hardly ever saw you dressed this casually. Your hair was down, fluffy at the crown from blow drying it, and wearing a large oversized t-shirt and shorts, as well as colorful fuzzy socks on your feet. But your face—it made him stop cold. Your eyelashes were wet with freshly shed tears, your eyes were rimmed with redness, and your cheeks were spackled with flush.

Hotch said your name, but he was interrupted.

“Hotch… just—hold me,” you said pleadingly, your voice cracking slightly.

Wordlessly, Hotch opened up his arms to you while he was sitting on the bed, and you fell into him, burying your head into his chest while your body spasmed with sobs.

He didn’t even care if you got snot on his dress shirt. Whatever comfort you needed that he could afford you, he wanted to give it to you. A washable shirt was nothing compared to the weight you seemed to be holding inside.

Soothingly, Hotch rubbed your back while his chin rested on your head and whispered, “Hey, hey.”

You continued sobbing, and tentatively his hand moved up to your hair, stroking it softly. Soon, the shaking and spasming ceased, and you just leaned into him, and the first breath you exhaled seemed like it released twenty pounds of burden from you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked gently, his hand roving politely over your back. He couldn’t help but think about how the cotton shirt under his hand was the only thing separating him from your skin; probably just as soft and gently dewy if your face was any indicator, but he pushed it away as soon as the thought came—now was not the time.

You were quiet for a moment.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Hotch said quietly, “but I know that talking about it… it can help, getting it out in the open.”

“I don’t want to burden you, Hotch. This case was heavy for all of us,” you all but whispered, almost muffled by his shirt.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed you shutting down after a case. Especially pertaining to child abuse. I’ll respect your privacy, but you need to know you don’t have to bear this on your own.”

You chewed your lip as tears threatened to spill over again, contemplating your options. Lie to your boss and evade the question? Pretend everything was okay? Maybe tell him you’re emotional because you’re on your period?

Finally, you lifted your head away from his chest and looked at him. It was almost breathtaking how much comfort and care you found in Hotch’s face, and it sent a shiver down your back as the kindness in his warm brown eyes melted you.

“Hotch…”

“Aaron,” he urged softly, “call me Aaron. Don’t you think we might be beyond work nicknames now?”

“Aaron,” you tested out the name on your tongue like a foreign object as your tone lowered, “I… I have a history with…. sexual abuse.”

“It’s not in your file,” Hotch said, concern creasing his face, and a little bit of his professionalism seeping in.

You shook your head. “It wouldn’t be. I had it sealed away.”

“But-“

“I knew it would affect how people, especially employers in our field, would look at me, Hotch,” you said, “especially as a woman. I… I’m considered weaker emotionally, at least from the stereotypical level anyways. Swimming with this upstream in my public record would’ve held me back. I hold up, and I save my breakdowns for when I get home. And in my defense, this is only the second one I’ve had since I started working at the BAU.”

Hotch looked at you, his brows slightly furrowed. “That… makes sense. But I still wish you had told me- or at least one of us- about this. We could have helped you reach out to resources. You… didn’t deserve to carry all of this by yourself, especially when you know your cases might trigger you.”

“It’s taken me a while to trust anybody with this,” you said softly.

He’s silent for a moment, his hand stilling while it was smoothing your hair. “Do you trust me?”

“I trust you every day in the field with my life, Hotch.”

“Aaron,” he reminded you, “You do. But… do you trust me with your past?”

“Yes,” you murmured.

Silence fell between you as you both seemed to become aware of what was happening in that moment.

Your head was on his chest, as it moved up and down with every breath. One of his hands was in your hair while the other was resting on your back. Your hands were splayed on his shoulders. His lips were only mere inches from the crown of your head. Your legs were resting between his. You were in his arms and the shiver of sadness that came with crying was being chased away by the warmth of them around you.

The temptation on Hotch’s part to kiss your head, your nose, your lips, it was almost surmountable. But he didn’t want to take advantage of your vulnerability, or his position as your superior. He couldn’t do that to you.

So, you did what any subordinate would spontaneously do when they’re a little fatigued by his politeness- you reached up and kissed his face, only missing the corner of his mouth by half of an inch.

He said your name almost in a gasp.

It was such a simple thing, but it shifted the world underneath you both.

“I’m your superior,” Hotch reminded as much to himself as to you, “we can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

“You’re emotionally vulnerable right now. I’m your boss and you’re my subordinate, so there’s also a power imbalance. And I- I’m so much older than you. You could have any man you want, you don’t have to settle for me.” His voice cracked almost minutely when he mentioned settling, but you heard it.

You scoffed as you lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not settling, Aaron. I don’t know who told you that nonsense, but no one is settling by… by being with you. And… I may be emotionally vulnerable, yes,” you admitted before your tone turned soft, “but I’ve… I’ve been wanting this for a long time.”

Hotch felt surprise jolt through him and he tried to lean up a little more even with you on top of him, though his hand still cradled the small of your back. “Oh, really?”

“Are you really so surprised?”

“You’re just…” he struggled to find the right way to say what he meant, “you could have anybody you want, you know? I’m a middle aged man headed towards being over the hill, with emotional baggage, and a young son.”

“You’re also emotionally constipated,” you said with a small smile tugging your lips.

He chuckled quietly, and you felt the vibration of it from his chest. “Is that supposed to convince me?”

“It means I’m aware of your shortcomings, Hotch. Or what others may view as shortcomings.”

There was another beat of silence, then things started moving like a whirlwind.

He rolled you over so that you were underneath him, and his nose rubbed the side of your face as he lowered his mouth to your ear. “You really need to start calling me Aaron during these intimate times, don’t you think?”

You gulped as you looked up at him.

“Are you sure you want this?” Hotch asked quietly, “I would feel… so guilty if you ended up… regretting this later. It’s okay to take a bit longer to think about it.”

There was a hint of passion in your voice as you tilted your chin up to him. “You don’t know how long I have been thinking about this, Aaron Hotchner.”

That lit a fire in him that he didn’t know he had a wick for, and his hands slid over the sides of your face as he tilted your head up towards him, inspecting the flush that had formed on your cheeks.

“You’re so beautiful. I’ve always been aware of it, did you know that?”

You opened your mouth to answer, and he covered your lips with his own, feasting on you like a man starved. It wasn’t long before his tongue asked entrance, and you granted it, his tongue grazing against yours.

You weren’t sure how you expected Hotch to kiss. Passionately? Without a doubt. Fervently? Definitely. But you didn’t realize “reverently” and “frenzied” were adjectives that could be used together, and yet it was perfect.

You hadn’t realized you were doing it, but you were grinding against him, his slacks rubbing against the cotton of your shorts, eliciting moans from him that you’d never heard before, but felt like music to your ears as it sent a shiver down your spine. In response, his hands slid to your breasts, his thumb rubbing against your nipples through your thin T-shirt in gentle circles as the rest of his hands cupped your breasts.

“Someone didn’t wear a bra,” Hotch said almost cheekily.

“I wasn’t exactly expecting to get felt up tonight,” you laughed.

“I suppose not. You really are beautiful, you know that? And seeing you under me… I never thought you could get prettier, but apparently it’s possible.”

“Aaron…”

Hotch continued rubbing your nipples, gently, but with enough friction that it shot pleasure through you. “That’s right, sweetheart,” he whispered, “Aaron.”

“Do you mind doing me the honors of removing my shirt? Please?” You asked.

“Thought you’d never ask,” he breathed, kissing your forehead before he gently set about removing your shirt, shimmying it over your head before tossing it unceremoniously on the AC unit under the window.

You watched nervously as his eyes roved over your chest, almost feeling the burn of his gaze on your skin. But then he began leaning down and kissing a path from your collarbones, down to your belly button.

“Sweetheart, your breasts are magnificent,” he whispered before pressing kisses to each of them, “they’re just right for me.”

“Are you so easy to please?”

Hotch kissed your breasts again in answer, slower this time, as he nipped and sucked on the skin, leaving hickies in his wake. He chuckled to himself as he looked at his handiwork.

“I truly hope you weren’t planning on wearing a low cut shirt tomorrow.”

“I wasn’t, but I guess you eliminated that choice for me.”

He smiled, almost deviously, if you could believe he was capable of it. “You could, but I think you would have to answer some… piqued interests. But I also think… one part of you wants to show everyone, that you were marked, by me. And…” his voice lowered, “I can’t say I hate the idea of it.”

Before you could form a reply, he inched down towards your nipples and took one into his mouth, sucking on them gently. He wasn’t at all surprised when he felt your fingers thread into his hair, tugging at them the more he played with your nipple with his tongue.

Before he switched to the other nipple, he looked up at you, almost ironically puppy dog-like. “Are you enjoying this, my dove?”

“Yes,” you panted, “I’ve… I’ve never had this done to me before.”

He froze where he was. “None of your other partners did this for you?”

You shook your head.

“Amateurs,” Hotch muttered to himself before licking your nipple, wetting it.

Before long, he was back at it, sucking your other nipple, far less gentle than the way he had started, and his hand squeezing and kneading the first breast.

“Dear god-”

He completely unlatched from your breast to smirk at you. “I’m afraid God has nothing to say in this little foray.”

Impatiently, you reached up to unbutton his button up shirt feverishly, your fingers clumsily clashing into each other. Hotch chuckled at your excitement.

“You’re so cute when you’re eager,” he murmured to you, his own fingers reaching down to assist you in unbuttoning his shirt.

“Do you know how often I’ve wondered what you look like under here?” You asked as your eyes watched more and more of his chest expose.

“I’m not exactly… Derek in terms of body shape,” he confided. “And maybe at one point, I would have rivaled him. But I’m afraid my abs have… congealed a bit, especially since I became a dad.” He unbuttoned the last button.

“If you think that will deter me one bit, you have another thought coming, Mr. Hotchner,” you said sassily as you began pushing the shirt off of his shoulders. It was your turn to marvel at him and his body- his arms were toned, his chest had polite smatterings of hair and, much like Hotch in every other facet of his life, a happy trail that could only be described as neat and tidy. He was right that he wasn’t built like Derek, but in every line of him, you could tell he held incredible strength even for the average middle aged man, even if he had an adorable hint of tummy that you wanted to press kisses on. The scars from Foyet did not escape you, and you respectfully reached to trace them with your fingers, a ghost of pressure. To know that he endured that, and thrived in spite of it… you felt soft towards this stern looking man.

“You’re sure you still… want a piece of this?” He said almost awkwardly with a smile.

“If I wasn’t sure before, I know I am now,” you assured him as you kissed the underside of his jaw, “you’re beautiful.”

“I’m… beautiful?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t tell me no one’s called you beautiful before?”

“Handsome, sure. Beautiful… no.”

“Well that’s just sad,” you pressed a kiss to one of his pecs, “because it’s the goddamn truth.”

You’d never seen him blush before, but you smirked with satisfaction when he turned red from his ears down to his neck.

“Are you ready to take this to the next level then?” Hotch asked, his hands moving down to the waistband of your shorts, playing with the drawstrings while he waited for your confirmation.

“Absolutely.”

With shaking hands, he began pulling down your shorts, tugging them down until he could discard them across the room, leaving you in your cotton underwear.

“You’re so wet already,” he said with a small smirk as his fingers touched the crotch of your underwear, hooking it to the side before ultimately deciding to just take it off entirely, as He quickly yanked it off and sling shot it.

“Those were my nice pair,” you mumbled, though you were thrilled at being completely exposed to him, feeling the crisp hotel air against you.

“I’ll buy you some more if they’re ruined,” he promised as he moved further down your body.

“You’re so perfect, you know that?” Hotch said as he began rubbing your clit. You squirmed but you couldn’t stop the moan that sprang from you.

“That’s my pretty girl,” he praised you, “the noises you make are almost provocative, sweetheart.”

“You’re too good,” you said breathlessly, the tightness in your stomach overwhelming you. Hotch chuckled as he kissed the side of your neck, careful not to leave a mark, knowing you’ll still have to ride on the jet home with the rest of the team tomorrow.

“I’m not sure if that speaks well of me or poorly of the guys you’ve been with before, sweetheart, we’re just getting started here,” he deflected slightly. He continued rubbing your clit, the circular motion sending jolts of what felt like electricity through your body.

Your hands instinctively reached to the side and gripped the sheets when he began sliding a finger in tentatively, his thumb on your sensitive nerves now, keeping the circular motion going. His eyes searched yours, those eyes slightly darkened by warm lust.

“Is this good?” Hotch asked.

“God, yes,” you bit out.

He hummed a noise of acknowledgment while he slid in a second finger, emitting a moan from you.

“You’re so tight, darling,” he murmured, “am I going to need to stretch you out a little before we get to the main event?”

“It’s been a while,” you admitted.

“How long?”

“Before I moved to Quantico.”

Hotch was quiet for a moment, surprise registering on his face. “Baby, that was… at least over a year ago.”

“I’m so busy with work that I hardly have time to meander into the dating scene. Haven’t really wanted to either.”

“Maybe we could talk to your boss about that,” he said teasingly.

You were about to respond when you felt his third finger slide in, and you took a deep breath.

“That’s my good girl,” he breathed into your ear, his voice low with desire, “taking me so well while I fill you up with my fingers, and taking those deep breaths.”

His fingers pumping in and out of you made you gasp and grasp the bed sheets even tighter between your fingers. You hadn’t, in a million years, thought you would be in a position where Aaron Hotchner was between your legs, pleasuring you with his fingers. Those fingers you had studied for months, fiddling with pens while he listened to others talk, and fantasized what they could do to you. Now you were feeling it, you were finally feeling what exactly those fingers will and can do to you- and the answer was “make you feel fucking amazing.”

The combination of his fingers inside of you and his thumb on your clit was too wonderful to describe. You could write a sonnet and it still wouldn’t completely encapsulate how you felt.

“I think I’m ready,” you whispered.

“Are you sure, baby?” He murmured, “we don’t have to hurry. If it’s been awhile for you, then I think we should take our time. You deserve to be completely ready and comfortable.”

“I want to make you feel good too,” you said, glancing down at where you could feel his erection against your leg. Hotch blushed slightly.

“This isn’t about me, sweetheart. This is all about you. And you make me feel good when you feel good, making all those pretty sounds for me, knowing I’m the one who makes you feel like that, and that I’m the one with my fingers in your pretty pussy.”

You shivered again, but you bit your lip as you looked down at him.

“I still need to put my mouth on you, baby. Do you want that? To feel my lips on you while my tongue finds your swollen clit?”

“I… you don’t have to, I know some guys don’t-“

“Don’t tell me you think it’s an action of sacrifice on my part,” he scoffed with a smile, “like I said before, I want to make you feel good. I would be honored to eat you out, darling.”

Your cheeks were pink from the slightly crass words. “I didn’t even know you knew-“

“Just how old do you think I am?” Hotch rolled his eyes. He gently slid his fingers out of you and you barely stifled a groan as you felt the loss.

“So do I have your permission?” He asked, kissing your neck again.

“Yes sir.”

He smirked up at you as he bent his head towards your core. “You’re calling me sir now?”

“Terrible habit.”

Feeling Hotch’s lips on you was like nothing you’d ever felt before, but the moment his tongue began lapping at your clit, rolling it around and sucking on it, you don’t know where you went. Everything melted away, and all you felt was him.

Occasionally his eyes would flit up from his task and gauge your reaction, but every time, he knew you were more than satisfied. You grasped the bed-sheets tighter still, your head tilted back as a loud moan you didn’t realize you were making left your lips.

As his tongue searched relentlessly, hitting nerves you forgot you had, your legs jerked in response. Without even looking, his hand grasped your hips, stilling them firmly.

“Oh my god-“ you groaned.

Hotch moved away from you, his lips and chin covered in your juices, but a devious smile alighted on his face. “I take it that you liked it?”

You panted a few breaths. “A little.”

“Ah, yes, a little is what got your cum all over my face- imagine if it was a lot?” he chuckled as he moved himself up your body to kiss your lips, your juices meeting your tongue.

“Aaron, I…” you hesitated for a moment. He raised his eyebrows at you.

“Yeah?”

“I think… I think I want to do this again. When we get home in Quantico. And… I want to save the… you know, actual sex, for then. In one of our actual beds. Am… am I being too presumptuous?”

He kissed your forehead. “You would’ve been a fool if you thought I was going to risk it all for a one time thing, sweetheart. Of course I want this again, you’re not being presumptuous.”

Hotch moved to climb off of her, but you grabbed him by the belt loop with a hooked finger and a raised eyebrow, emboldened by your arousal.

“Where do you think you’re going?” You asked.

He chuckled. “As much as I loved eating you out, I can’t live with your juice on my face, dove. And… I figured you were signaling to me that we were done for the night, so I was going to clean you up.”

“We’re not done.”

“No?” He raised an eyebrow.

She glanced pointedly at his erection, tenting his slacks.

“Oh… darling, we don’t have to-”

“I know we don’t. I want to.”

Hotch leaned back on his knees. “Darling, I-“

“I hate having to keep interrupting you, sir, but perhaps losing the slacks will help us to continue this conversation.”

He reached down for his belt buckle with a laugh. “Bossy, aren’t we?”

Within a few seconds, he had unbuckled and his slacks beside the bed. Through his boxers, the outline of his dick was prominent, and you felt your mouth salivate at the sight of it.

“You did this to me, baby,” Hotch said softly.

You blushed, still looking at him, but your hands reached for the waistband of his boxers, and inched them lower.

“Damn, sweetie, do you have a permit to conceal this large of a weapon?” you drawled as you stared eagerly at his dick, the pre-cum gathering at the tip of it as it stood tall.

He chuckled, his cheeks turning pink. “This one and a few others.”

“How do you want us to do this?”

Hotch hummed. “On your knees on the floor, sweetheart. Do you need a pillow?”

You clambered off the bed and got on your knees, waiting for him to follow suit.

He stood in front of you, almost hesitant, but the moment you gingerly grasped his dick, something in his eyes snapped into action, and his hands grasped your hair, tugging at the roots slightly.

You licked him from balls to tip, and under your touch, you could feel him shudder.

Experimentally, you swirled your tongue around the tip, then eased it into your mouth until you felt him hit your cheek

“Fuck-” Hotch rasped, his grip in your hair getting tighter, “you’re teasing me, doll.”

You looked up at him with arched eyebrows, deviousness reflecting in the glint of your eyes.

“You’re such a sweetheart, you know that? All those times we were on cases and you’d do those cute little mannerisms of yours. You’d tap your finger to your chin, or you’d part your lips when you would lift your head to look at something. Or when you would drink your coffee and widen your eyes at me over your mug. You’re just- fuck.”

Of course, that sudden expletive was because you’d mischievously pulled a bait and switch and taken him all the way to the back of your throat, opening up wider for him.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he cursed, “sweetie, you’re marvelous, I- shit.”

You looked innocently up at him, although the slight shift in movement almost made you choke.

“That will teach you, you cheeky- oh god, I don’t know how much longer I can keep…”

Ropes of cum spilled down your throat, and somehow you swallowed it all, though it took a lot of effort to do so. After it dissipated, you pulled away from him, just sitting back on your knees and looking up at the beautiful man before you, his hands in your hair. To the eye that didn’t know anything about him, he was just an average middle aged man, but to hers, before her stood a man who had been through so much, and loved and cared despite the risks involved, and whose strength was unmatched.

Hotch gently pulled you to the bed and laid you down. “I’m going to be right back, sweet thing,” he said as he kissed your forehead before going to the bathroom to retrieve wet wash rags.

Thirty minutes later found you on his chest, skin to skin, and his arms around you gently.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” You asked.

“Probably, but what?” He replied before kissing the crown of your hair.

“When you said you noticed all of the cute little mannerisms I apparently do.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating his chest under you. “Absolutely I do. I’ve noticed from the beginning, when you applied for this job and came in for an interview. You kept touching your neck when you were nervous or felt vulnerable.”

Your eyebrows collided. “You were still in the process of divorcing Haley at that time.”

“I can’t say I immediately fell in love with you at first sight,” he admitted, “but I can say I felt like I met someone I thought would be nice to have around.”

“When… did you realize you liked me in a… in a different way?”

Hotch stroked your back. “When you remembered Jack’s birthday and sent home a little present by me to him.”

“God… Hotch-“

“We just went through all of this for you to call me Hotch? Really?” He smiled cheekily.

“It’s a habit! Anyways, you… you’ve known for that long? And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to cross any lines that I shouldn’t have,” he said simply.

“We’re going to have to figure out how to deal with the fallout from here, you realize that, right? And Strauss.”

“God, I didn’t think I’d hear Strauss brought up post coitus,” Hotch groaned. You laughed heartily.

“Let’s just… keep it between us. Just for now.”

“For now,” he agreed. You snuggled into his chest, and fell asleep like that.

Of course, you forgot that he left a mark on your collarbone when you had to untangle your limbs from him the next morning to pack up and get on the jet and go home. You couldn’t use the curling iron excuse, not that far down. And it was simply too hot for a turtleneck. So, before you boarded the jet, you made up your mind to gaslight everyone. And you meant everyone.

“Am I crazy or is that a hickey?” Derek pointed out when you sat across from him at the four seater, closest to the window. Hotch lifted a brow and widened his eyes at you from where he was sitting, conveniently facing you at the two seater behind Derek.

“God, Derek, don’t you know anything? This is a birthmark.”

“A… a birthmark?” Derek sounded bewildered. “Girl, I’ve known you for almost over a year now. You didn’t have a birthmark.”

“You didn’t notice? I’m almost hurt, Derek Walter Morgan.”

“That is not my real middle name, you know that, right?” Derek leaned back in his chair. “Where could you have possibly gotten any lovin’ from, hm? I know it wasn’t boss man.”

“You know, Derek is right. I don’t remember you having a birthmark,” Spencer jumped in from where he was perched on the couch across from you guys.

“Oh c’mon, Reid, like you’re the most observant person in the room!” You said with a smile.

“I know an iron burn when I see one and… sorry, but that’s not it,” Emily quipped.

“It’s just a birthmark- have you guys considered concealer exists? What’s next, you guys believe Emily naturally has berry red lips too? Gullible.”

“So… why did you leave it off today?” Rossi asked, obviously suspicious.

“I woke up late. Didn’t have time to do my makeup routine.”

This begrudgingly seemed to suffice most of the team, but Rossi was no fool, and he noticed Hotch’s t-shirt under your flannel, and winked at Hotch, who only rolled his eyes, then glanced at you, a vulnerable smitten woman among profilers.

[keigo-chan]

I Don’t Know Where To Put My Hands

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Keigo comes home, just for a bit, in the middle of spying on the League of Villains. He needs you, he needs this. And you love him. What else is there to say?

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings/Tags: Pro Hero!Reader, No Gendered Pronouns for Reader, Reader Has a Vagina, Extremely Dubious Consent, Unhealthy but Loving Relationships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Emotional Masochism, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injury from Sex, Fluff but Evil

FULL TAGS/NOTES ON AO3

Communication from Keigo had all but disappeared after the battle in Kamino. He didn’t even text anymore. He certainly didn’t call. He didn’t even send mail, or notes, or anything. Civilians spotted him, even around the very city they lived in, as the tags you had alerts on for notified you, but he didn’t make any effort to contact you.

You tried to be calm about this. He was still alive. That’s what mattered. If he wasn’t trying to talk to you, it was because he couldn’t.

But that was a scary thought, too.

You thought about asking the Commission for a short leave. It was the Holiday season, so many other heroes were beginning to stagger out their own leaves. But that only made you more hesitant to do so in turn. Your agency- Hawks’s agency- was always close to reaching ‘understaffed’ numbers. You wanted to be there to help fill in the gaps. Especially with the biggest gap right at the helm of the agency. What was important these days, as the voice in your mind that sounded a lot like Keigo reminded you, was how the public saw the heroes. The best thing they could do was bring hope- so you kept busy making public appearances, trying to just keep up with him.

When you finally got home at the end of that week, the end of your set of patrols, you were exhausted. You were distracted by your phone when you unlocked your door and went in. You tripped over the threshold of it, barely catching yourself with your wings. You looked back at your stoop for what had made you fall, and saw a red book waiting for you.

Attached was a note. “From: K”.

Your heart dropped. You lunged for the book at once, picking it up and flipping through it. Just like you suspected, there were many highlighted portions.

You and Keigo had been working side-by-side for years, and though actual partners for longer, you knew a couple of the more intimate details of what the Commission dragged Keigo through. You’d known for a long time that skills associated with espionage would be necessary. The two of you had made up your own.

You flipped through the book, barely registering what it was even about, as you hurried to shut the door and locked all the locks behind you. You fluttered about quickly, drawing the curtains and blinds while opening the book with one arm. There was nothing else written not in code. You settled in on the couch and began to decipher.

You used a cipher, always based off of a word or phrase or date only you would know. The cipher that worked would correlate to the level of danger they were in or amount of secrecy they needed. You worked your way up three levels, to the day of your anniversary.

‘Being watched by LOV.’ Reading that alone had made the ever growing anxiety worse. Is that what he was doing? Something involving the League of Villains? ‘No big danger now. Keep ear to ground. Lay low. Attack in four months. Hope to come home for New Years. Miss you. Love you. Be safe. Keigo.’

You sighed out a long breath you didn’t know you were holding, shutting the book and resting your forehead against it. He’d held this book, had written in it with care. You wished he had left anything else, though the messy handwriting on his note was nice. 

All of the feathers you’d had from him had faded, gone a very dark, dull red- a sign that they had died. Keigo no longer had control over them, and could no longer hear or feel through them.

If they were going to attack in four months, did that mean that he would be away until then?

You tried to clear the thought from your head. He was on a mission. Clearly one that even he took seriously. For now, you needed to take over as the cool-headed hero that everyone wanted. For now, you needed to take care of the Agency. Keigo’s image as a hero didn’t need to suffer, even if he was away.

You could do this. You would wait for the next couple of weeks, until you might be able to see him again. Keigo wouldn’t have mentioned it if he wasn’t decently sure that he’d be able to come back.

He’d be alright on his own. He’d be alright on his own. You set the kettle on to boil and made his favorite tea. It gave you an idea.

Over the next couple of weeks, you left things out for him. Boxes outside with small notes, assurances left in code. Sweaters and smooth pebbles and old trinkets they’d collected over the years, so that wherever he laid his head to rest, it would feel a little more like home.

He took them. Sometimes it was overnight, sometimes days or a week went by without them being taken. But he always did, and he always left something in return. A shiny, pink shell. One of his feathers. One of the silver rings he always wore, too big to fit anywhere but your thumb. You took to wearing it around at once, rubbing it when you were nervous or overwhelmed, thinking of him, thinking of his hands.

 New Years came limping around the corner. You sent everyone in the agency home with warm smiles and their much-desired bonuses. You went back to your own home alone, shuddering under your coat. The Christmas tree had already been put away- because it had never gone up. You and Keigo always took it out together, decorated it together.

You hadn’t spent a Christmas without Keigo before since you’d met him. Even before you were dating, when the two of you found out you had no one else to spend it with, the agreement to visit each other came almost immediately. That very first time, you’d waited to put up the tree until that very day, and you hadn’t managed to finish decorating until he’d gotten there. You were ashamed- but he was just excited. He asked you, stars in his eyes, if he could help. He confessed, words rushed and still half-flying, that he’d never gotten to before. You didn’t ask and he didn’t offer. You handed him a box of mismatched ornaments gladly. 

That night, you’d sat around the tree, the sight of threadbare branches and two gifts perhaps looking pitiful to anyone else, but there were lights. Keigo had gone and gotten lights mid-way through, saying he’d been struck by inspiration, and he hadn’t come back for quite a bit since most of the stores were closed, but they were beautiful. You’d turned the rest of the lights in the house off and just basked in the warm glow of them. They reminded you of Keigo’s eyes, a bit. That was the first time you’d rested your head on his shoulder. He wrapped his wing around you.

You couldn’t help but be upset that he hadn’t even mentioned Christmas, much less apologized for missing it, even if it felt a little childish. You felt homesick more often than not. All you wanted to do these days was lie in bed, lounging around in his baggy clothes, twirling dead feathers between your fingers.

You left him a gift before Christmas. When you saw that he still hadn’t picked it up the next day, all you could do was sigh. By the time New Years came around, the gift remained by your doorstep. You began leaving less and less, just to stop crossing that threshold.

You baked cookies that night. You lit candles and dimmed the lights and listened out for sparkles and fireworks all over. You’d started hating fireworks when you started dating Keigo. He’d made a joke once about having to fly through them and it made you sick to your stomach just thinking about it. He was as flammable as a bundle of dry straw. The heater was on, but you still wore one of his old, tacky Christmas sweaters around. You popped open a bottle of Champagne and poured yourself a glass.

You had a bad feeling, but you pretended like you didn’t. You glanced at the clock. Keigo wouldn’t have given you false hope- no matter how optimistic he was. But eventually, the clock struck eleven, and you were two glasses of champagne and batches of cookies in, and there was no sign of him. 

You groaned when you finally heard the clock mark the hour, resting your forehead on the cold of the kitchen table. 

Why were you so miserable without him? You obviously could never know, but you were willing to bet money on the idea that Keigo was not nearly as shaken up about it when he was away. In fact, the more dangerous a task he was about to embark on, the happier he seemed to send you away. A familiar coil of bitterness rose up in you. After all this time, he didn’t trust you. He didn’t think you could hold your own, not next to him.

But maybe he’s right, You mused, munching miserably on your cookie. After all, he goes away and I spend all my time sick and moping and thinking about him. God, I really am useless.

Maybe you should get a cat. Keigo was never their biggest fan, and they didn’t do well around his wings, but you really wanted one for times like these. And if he was going to spend this much time away from now on, what did it matter?

You were idly scrubbing a dish when the clock went off at midnight. Screams erupted from every direction around you, the sound of illegal fireworks, the cheers of loved ones celebrating with one another.

Honestly, you thought you’d be more sad, and angry, and disappointed. But you weren’t. The hour passed and it was the next year and Keigo wasn’t there to celebrate- like he always was- even though he said he’d try to make it and it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as Christmas. There was no one to call, no one to text. You finished washing the dish and downed the last of your glass, before pouring yourself another.

You settled onto the couch. You weren’t ready for bed yet, not with the sounds outside. You scrolled through a million shows and movies before settling on one you’d seen a million times, like white noise. It was past one am, and you had finished up your millionth game of Sudoku when you heard someone at the door.

Fear rang through you, at first. You were alone, you were tipsy, and your hero brain whispered that nobody would hear your screams with the din of New Years around you. You jumped to your feet the best you could, setting aside your glass and phone at once, preparing to defend yourself when you heard keys turn the lock.

It was Keigo. Of course, of course, it was just Keigo.

All of the resentment, all of the bitterness, all of the anger you told yourself you’d take out on him softened at once when you caught sight of him. Not only because he looked more tired than you’d seen him in a long time- with uncharacteristic bags under his weary eyes, slumped shoulders, and wings noticeably smaller than usual- but just because…

Because it was Keigo. Because, miraculously, he looked like he needed you more than you needed him. 

“You’re awake.” He sounded surprised. He didn’t look it. Maybe he was too tired to even look surprised. He locked the door behind him, but didn’t move from across the room.

”I was-” You words caught around the lie. “I was waiting for you.” But he beamed, and you were glad you hadn’t told him the truth. Oh, Keigo. Always the optimist.

“I’m home now.”

“Yeah,” you walked to him, pace increasing with every step, until you were flinging yourself into his arms. Keigo, for his part, was more than ready. He caught you easily, and no more conversation was needed. When you kissed him, his face and nose and mouth were all cold, and he held you like a dying ember. The way you fell into each other reminded you of the moment you’d managed to catch him after the battle in Kamino, behind the alley, a moment you had been unable to stop yourself from replaying and replaying and replaying.

There was no thinking to be done while you were kissing, your mouths opened immediately for each other’s. You wrapped your legs and arms around him, indulging both of you in the kiss. He turned the two of you, pressing you flat against the wall. His kisses fell against your chin and neck, and then all at once-

“Keigo!” You gasped, which was the only thing saving it from being a scream as Keigo sucked at the skin on your neck hard. You squirmed, thrashed really, in his arms, trying to push him away, but it was fruitless. “What are you- Keigo, oh my God-” Your voice was just a whimper by the end as he barely even reacted to you. “W- wait, you can’t-”

The Commission had strict rules involving appearance. Some were obvious: no alterations may be made to the uniform without going through one of their designers, heroes must appear at the scene relatively kempt (unless coming from another battle), tears or rips must be mended by next appearance. But there were other, unwritten rules, pertaining to the professionalism of the costume. No hero could be caught drinking or smoking in their uniform. No hero should be seen doing non-heroic activities in their uniform. And, of course, famously, hickeys were not allowed to be showing while they were in uniform.

Everyone claimed to have a friend of a friend who had gotten in trouble for it, to the point that it was just something heroes knew to avoid while participating in… more illicit activities. But it had happened closer than that to the two of you. In fact, Keigo had once gotten in massive trouble when the Commission caught him with a hickey that you had given him. It was (mostly) an accident, and they hadn’t suspected where it actually came from, but he was put on night patrol with no breaks for the next couple of weeks.

You were extremely apologetic, but not enough to accompany him out all of those times.

Ever since then, you were both careful about it. After all, they really didn’t need the scrutiny that the Commission was trying to protect them from in a roundabout way. Not only would Hawks’s fangirls go ballistic if they thought he was actually seeing someone, but it would invite people to speculate on who. And nothing good would come of that. 

This was to say, it wouldn’t be good if either of you showed up to your job with a lovebite visible on your necks, and concealer could only last for so long in a job like yours. The two of you whined and bitched about it, but for the most part, you reserved your marking for things below the collar, even if the ‘claiming’ of it all was half the fun.

Until tonight, apparently. Keigo was still sucking and biting at your neck like a man starved. “Sorry- sorry,” It sounded genuine, he sounded almost hurt him, but he didn’t stop. “Need- Need something permanent- need it to last-”

And it did hurt. You weren’t prepared for the sharp heat of it- but it was good. It was so good, Keigo’s lips wrapped around such a sensitive part of you, making you feel a mind-numbing pain derived intimately from his own mouth, his face buried into your neck, while he was holding you close together. And he was marking you. He was marking you and everyone would know you belonged to someone and entirely irrationally, for a split second, you hoped they would know it was Keigo.

He growled and pressed open-mouthed, sloppy kisses to your neck, before licking a stripe up your throat and swirling his tongue over what must have been the forming bruise. your head was going fuzzy from the abuse of your neck. You barely recognized the usual care he treated you with, even in their most morally bankrupt moments of fornication. Instead, he bit down on another part of your neck and started the process again.

You threw your head back and gave in, moaning and bucking your hips against him. This only seemed to egg him on, as his kisses grew more frantic and messy, and a heavy sort of note joined his panting, like he was moaning with every breath. 

Your neck was starting to feel wet at this point, but you didn’t care. You could feel every move he made down to your pussy, and it was leaving no room for anything to go to your brain.

Several marks later, Keigo finally seemed to remember that there were possibly other ways that he could have you- though he didn’t give you any warning of this thought at all before he pulled you away from the wall and fell to his knees. This would have been alright, hot even, if you weren’t still attached to him. You yelped as they dropped, performing a clumsy combination of your arms flailing and still clinging to Keigo as he went down. 

But you didn’t collide with the floor, you were simply on his lap now, nails digging into his clothes and back. He took the second of your confusion to tear off his work jacket and reveal the compression shirt underneath. You dearly loved the eyeful of his lithe muscles you got through the tight fabric. You ran your hands over his chest and shoulders appreciatively.

”You know, you could have given me a heads up,” You meant to scold him, but it came out more as a sort of pout. But Keigo didn’t laugh like he usually would have, didn’t even smile. He sort of frowned distantly as you spoke, staring only at your lips. “Keigo?” You brushed a lock of flaxen hair behind his ear. “Are you oka-”

”No,” He shook his head, his voice thick with something you couldn’t name. He took an unsteady breath and shook his head, looking somewhere just past you. “N- no, I’m-” The glint in his eyes wasn’t right. You were contemplating it when he sprang back into action. He lunged, pinning you under him on the floor, but his arms had broken the worst of your fall. Still, you cried out in surprise, Your world suddenly in an entirely different orientation. Keigo licked and nibbled at your ear as he pulled off your- his- sweater roughly, the friction of it burning for a second. He tossed it aside carelessly before returning to his position right on top of you. His hands squeezed and groped at your chest painfully- and not in a good way.

Your head spun. What was going on? This was nothing like Keigo. Even when he was rough, it was usually only because you had asked for it, or confirmed it was what you wanted at least once. Every once in a while, you even had to egg him on. But this- this felt careless and crude, bouncing between the two extremes of him being too intense and not there with you at all. 

“Ow,” You hissed, but it was really more of a whisper. You were almost afraid to snap him out of the trance, even as he bruised you in places you weren’t accustomed to. “Ow-”

”Please,” He whined. His mouth was against your chest, he had begun to work his way down. He sounded… truly pitiful. “Please, I- I need- I can’t-” He sat back up and away from you, running a hand through his hair, only for half of the strands to fall back into place right after. You finally got a good look at him, closer now than across the room. He was frantic, searching. His eyes darted around your face wildly, but he didn’t seem to find what he was looking for. “Please.” He slumped down again on top of you like his strings had been cut, all at once, landing hard onto you.

“Are you on something?” You wondered aloud. “It’s- it’s fine if you are, but you should tell me, Kei-chan-”

”No, no.” He shook his head frantically. “No, I swear, I just-” He tugged at your pants. His eyes grew pleading, beseeching. “Please-”

This wasn’t how you pictured their reunion. But he was looking at you with those desperate eyes, and you could only ever be the personyou were. 

Keigo was hurting. You could help him. As always, you could do your service by helping him, by being at his side.

You didn’t speak. You just nodded. Keigo breathed out what could only be a sigh of relief and tore your pants off. You were wet, your moments of hesitation unable to strip that awaym  especially not when Keigo spread your legs and dipped his fingers into the place that you had wanted him for weeks. Thankfully, he didn’t finger you. You shuddered a bit to think of what his thick, rough fingers would have felt like inside you in this state. Instead, he pressed a kiss to your knee and then tapped you gently on the ass. ”Flip over.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice.you turned and assumed your position, ass in the air and face against your arms on the floor. There was a second where it was just ou, in the dark, your face warm with your breaths and the sound filling your ears. Maybe- maybe it would be easier this way, unable to see his face.

There was no preamble before Keigo slammed in.

”Oh my GOD!” You shrieked, nails digging into the hardwood floor in front of you and leaving gouge marks in their wake. “Oh my fucking God,” He took you with a speed and strength that truly belonged on a battle field. Every other stroke or so hit your cervix, entirely bottomed you out with that thick cock of his, a Russian roulette of pain that entirely cleared your mind. 

”Fuck,” He cursed. He gripped your hips brutally, but you didn’t even feel it over the flood of sensation below it. He pulled you back and forth against him like you were an to for him to use, something small and thoughtless he could move as he pleased. “Fuck, yes,” He hissed through his teeth sharply. “Holy fuck, you take it so good, look at you- taking my cock so fucking good.” He babbled.

”Please,” You choked out, eyes rolling back so faryou couldn’t see anything other than stars. “P- please,” A broken gasp wracked through your chest like a sob. In fact, you rather thought you were sobbing. Your fingers and hands jumped and convulsed, just trying to hold on, to regain any sort of footing as he fucked you into the floor. you didn’t even know what you were begging for. For him to stop? For more? For him to hold you, just hold you, so you could sit in the silence and look at the Christmas tree?

Your safeword danced on the tip of your tongue. You wished you could say that you hadn’t used it to be a good girlfriend, that you’d suffered through it all silently because it was clear he needed you, that you were kind and benevolent- but the truth was that you simply couldn’t even string enough of a thought together to control your tongue enough to say it.

”Please-” He panted, pleaded, “Baby, say my name-” His voice broke around the syllables. “I- I need to- pl- please, saymyname-”

“Kei- ei- go- oh-” Each sound was broken up by the bounce of you against his cock. You couldn’t speak properly even if you wanted to. You slurred his name, your tongue too heavy in your mouth, too confusing to move properly. “Kei- go!”

“Yes, yes, yes,” He whined, bending over your body. His chest pressed against your back. He was all over you, inside you, above you, all-encompassing. Each thrust sent your body back and forth against the floor, scraping against the skin of your face and arms. Your knees ached from holding yourself up on the hard surface. Your legs trembled, weak with the strength it took to even stay up. “So tight, so fucking tight-”

”Keigo- w- wait, please-“ You gasped out, but the words were unintelligible to even your ears, too breathy and muffled and confused, too pierced through with your moans. Instead, all Keigo heard was ‘please’. The next couple of thrusts were even harder.

Your mind and body couldn’t take it any longer, you tensed, trembled so much your limbs began to hurt, and came so hard you saw white. The scream you let out was guttural, and gave its way into sobs. Your whole body gave out, but unfortunately, Keigo’s grip didn’t relent, he hardly even noticed. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease-”. You keened pitifully. “Keigo-”

His grunts and noises had become animalistic. There were no more words or pleas from him. Instead, he moaned his own release, slamming into you with absolute abandon, finishing inside you by using his body’s weight to pin you all the way to the floor. You were squeezed between the two unrelenting surfaces, as Keigo came as deep as he could possibly go, gravity assisting him in his terrible mission.

Finally, finally, he was still.

He breathed heavily above you as you shook and trembled and just tried to do the monumental task of catching your breath or moving your limbs. Your hands shook so hard it looked like you had tremors when you tried to draw them back into yourself.

Every body part that you could think of ached in one way or another. You tested different parts of yourself, operating them like a puppet who had just gained control of their own body. It was a long while before Keigo let up, long enough that you had almost forgotten it was him on top of you. You lifted your own face from the floor. It was wet. You hadn’t even realized you were crying or drooling. Your hair stuck to your face with tears and sweat. you took a deep, shuddering breath.

Keigo pulled out. You felt his soft cock slip out of you and were astounded that the now-feeble part could have done what it just had. You remained on the floor, little will to move, no capacity to consider what he might think about it.

He laid his hand on your hip. ”Hey, do you wanna-” But you jumped. You hadn’t meant to. But it was a motion so sudden it startled him. He blinked. And it came to him. The scene, the house, his love- it all finally appeared in front of him. “Oh my God-” He breathed, expression stricken and horrified. “Oh my God, baby bird, I- oh my God-” You tried to push yourself off the ground, but your arms gave out underneath you, and it looked downright painful as  youfell. Keigo pulled you up at once and flipped you over, as gently, but quickly, as he could.

Keigo hoped, prayed, that it wasn’t as bad as he suddenly remembered it all was- 

When you turned, something in the back of your head warned you to school your expression into a more neutral mask, but it was too slow and quiet. But every bit of the shock and confusion you felt must have been evident on your face, because when Keigo turned you around, he shattered.

He dissolved into sobs, curling and melting onto you, into you. It only took a split second before you, too, were crying, until you were both wracked with it, holding each other. Clinging tighter than ever before.

There was nothing else to do.

*****

You woke first the next morning- and you woke in pain. The way your insides ached made you feel like maybe the phrase ‘rearrange their guts’ wasn’t as fun as it was before. You realized, when you went to the bathroom, that you had been bleeding. A wave of sickness. You put on a pad and walked carefully back to bed.

The noise of the bathroom alone had woken Keigo. He locked eyes with you as soon as you came out of the restroom. Your heart sank. You immediately tore your own away. You were really hoping he wouldn’t wake for a while. He sat up as you got into bed, back towards him. Neither of you said anything for a long moment. 

You gave in. You flipped over towards him, tossing an arm around his lap, your forehead against his hip. He rubbed a hand down your back, almost on instinct. You hated the way his hand jumped away once he realized what he was doing like nothing you’d ever experienced before.

You gave a gentle demand, ”C’mere.” He obliged at once, shifting down to rest next to you. You were careful not to make eye contact, even as he stared at your face, watching your expressions like- well, like a hawk. You adjusted until you were lying on his chest, arms curled around him. He was sleep-warmed. Comfy. Smelled familiar.

It was still Keigo. 

Just Keigo. 

Always Keigo. 

Only Keigo.

”I’m bleeding.” You said softly, shutting your eyes. You didn’t know why. You didn’t want to guilt him. You didn’t really even want him to know. But you felt like he needed to. Deserved to, even. You listened to the sharp breath he took.

”Fucking shit,” He breathed, and that was it for a moment. You pretended like you couldn’t hear him crying. He pretended like he couldn’t feel you do the same.

”Will you make me some tea?” You asked quietly, when you had both gone still and silent again. Keigo jumped up at once. He was just in his boxers, the ones he had pulled on last night when you had finally gone to bed in a daze.

”Yes. Yeah. Of course.” He nodded, looking grateful for something to do. He hurried off to the kitchen at once. You laid on in warm space he had left on the bed. You tucked yourself in and sniffed the pillow he’d been lying on deeply. It smelled like him- like the man you knew and loved. In the kitchen, pots and pans moved around, water ran, the stove clicked to life.

It wasn’t long before the smell of food filled your nose instead. It smelled like grilled fish and rice. After another couple of minutes, he walked in, holding your favorite mug.

”What kind?” You asked, pointing for him to set it down on the bedside drawer.

”Your favorite.” He didn’t even let you react before he hurried out, “ButIcanmakeyouadifferentone! I just- I thought that I- I guess I could have asked-” He winced at his own words, and you sighed.

”It’s fine, Keigo.” But your voice sounded tired, even to you, and his name rang cold. ”Thank you.” He hesitated. You buried yourself deeper under the covers. You just… didn’t want to hear it right now. Thankfully, whether he got the message or simply couldn’t decide what to say, he walked out of the room once more. After another ten minutes, you finally stood and came to the kitchen, wincing as you did so. He smiled when he caught sight of you, but the worried furrow in his eyebrows didn’t unknot.

”H- Hey, good morning. I made breakfast.” He gestured around at the spread. You eyed it over. “I- um- there’s fish and rice and miso soup and a rolled omelet- I made coffee, too, just in case- or we could- we could always order takeout or-”

”Hey.”you put your mug down on the table and walked towards him. His wings drew up, somewhere between fear and shame. He seemed to balance on a knife’s edge as you stood in front of him. You leaned forward and rested your forehead on his bare chest. “It’s okay.” You said softly, wrapping you arms around him and stroking at his back, between his wings.

Keigo nodded shakily, before finally hugging you back.

”I- I just- I didn’t feel like me when I came in last night,” He babbled against the top of your head, “And I’ve- I’ve felt really lost in the mission, all of my interactions are being watched, I could only step away last night because-” He took a breath. You felt the shudder in his body. He was tense, like he wanted to hold you tighter, but was too afraid to. “I wanted to come back and feel like me, I wanted- I-“ You hushed him. Keigo buried his face deeper into your hair. ”I’m…” Keigo started. You tensed. “I’m so-”

”Don’t.” You snapped.

You had an unspoken agreement- the two of you never apologized. You were almost proud of it, your ability to move on from mistakes and stupid things the other had said. You gave each other space any time you had an argument, and came back with level heads and open arms. This was the first real thing either of you had, they were both bound to make mistakes. You were happy you both knew that, and found something that worked for you guys, even if other people didn’t understand it.

Hearing him almost do so now made your throat tight and eyes burn.

”No, really, what happened last night-”

”Takami Keigo.” You wrenched yourself out of his grip, instead grabbing him by the arms, pinning them to his side. The cruelty in the sneer and look and touch and name shocked him like ice water. “It’s fine. I said yes. I could have used my safe word. I ask you to be rougher all the time. It-“ You cleared your throat. You removed your hands. “It is fine. I need you to drop it.”

Keigo stared, face to face with bared teeth and anger. “Okay.” His voice was just a whisper.

You stared for one last minute before letting go and turning away, back to your tea.you took a long, deep draught, before something caught your eye. He looked where your gaze fell. It was a mirror, in the hall. You touched your neck. “I forgot about those.” You hummed, looking thoughtful. Keigo couldn’t discern anything else from your expression, so he said nothing. 

He turned away and grabbed a couple of dishes and began to plate everything up for the two of you. Before you sat down, he grabbed a pillow from the couch and placed it under you without a word. For this, at least, you were grateful. 

You ate in silence for a while. It wasn’t exactly comfortable. He found it a little hard to look at you, now, close up. He wished he could have been pleased to see you all marked up, but instead, you just looked… bruised. Battered. The way you did after a battle didn’t go your way. There was an exhaustion in your eyes you couldn’t fake and you didn’t bother to hide.

“When are you leaving?” You asked, your voice carefully free of any inflection. He bit his cheek. Usually this question would be asked with the clear wish that it wouldn’t be for as long as possible. But today, he was unsure.

“I was-” Any strength in his voice broke. “I need to leave tonight.” He admitted. You were entirely still for a moment, but just a moment. You resumed eating, without even looking at him the whole time.

“Alright,” Was all you said, soft and small and sad. Your utensils clicked, but otherwise, it was silent.

*****

The first day of the New Year was difficult. For once, you found yourself glad that Keigo was leaving. No matter what you did, you couldn’t get rid of the silent stiffness that permeated all of your interactions. Perhaps the distance would do you good for once.

When night fell, Keigo had to leave. He stood by the door and you came to say your goodbyes. He held his arms out tentatively, and you fell in at once. He squeezed you tightly. You squeezed back.

”How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know.” He answered honestly. ”…Probably at least another three months.“ Your heart sank. You knew that, but to hear it was another can of worms. “But I will visit before then, I promise.”

”Okay,” Your voice was hollow with unshed tears. As he made to pull away, something desperate in you woke at once, and you held on tighter. “I- I miss you so much when you’re gone.” You rushed out, like he didn’t know that already. “This mission was so sudden, I went from seeing you all the time to not at all, and I don’t know what you’re doing or how dangerous it is, and I don’t even have anyone I can talk to about this because you’re who I talk to about things, please don’t leave me.” Your pathetic plea rang in the air for much longer than was comfortable.

He spoke, “I’ve been seeing you online again.” Picturing him seeing all the embarrassing headlines and memes and photos from your recent appearances made you groan. “You have no idea how proud I am of you, or how much I miss you, too. I’ll tell you all about it the second I can.” He pulled away a bit, cupping your cheek in his large, warm hand, lifting your chin to look at him. “I don’t- I don’t want to do this again, okay?” His gaze was loving, and sincere. You nodded, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks silently. “I don’t like it either, I promise.” He kissed your forehead. “Be brave, okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded, but the lump in your throat and chest hadn’t gone away. He hugged you again, and you both rocked back and forth and back and forth.

”Hey,” He said seriously. “I love you.”

That was another thing you didn’t say. Or, at least, it was very rare. You really only said it when you didn’t have to actually… say it. You wrote it in notes in code or texts. Occasionally, during a very intimate moment, or if you weren’t sure you were going to see each other again.

You swallowed, wondering which one of these things was true now.

”I love you, too.” He wrapped his wings around you. Their hold was soft and strong, and you felt like you could breathe easier, even if your chest was tighter.

Finally, finally, you pulled away. ”I’ll see you soon.” He promised, and your lips met for one last kiss.

”See you soon.” You repeated throatily. You waved with a miserable little half-smile as he slipped out the door, taking his bright red wings, all the color, and your heart from your world.

When you went out the next day, you remembered Keigo’s present and groaned unhappily, having forgotten to remind him of it- but when you went to check it, you saw that he had taken it, and left something in its stead.

It was a tiny box, covered in shiny, red wrapping paper. You stepped right back inside your place and tore it open, finding a ring box inside the first. Inside was a silver band made of metal feathers widing their way into a ring. Your mouth fell open at that alone, only to realize that there was an extra slit in the box.you checked the larger box it had come in. Inside was two photos- one that must have been of the advertisement, with your ring and a thicker-banded version of it- and the other was one of Keigo.

In the photo, he was somewhere far in the sky during sunset, pink and purple and orange and lovely all around him. He was beaming, always so handsome, but glowing with the halo of the sun and his smile. His wings were a blur behind him, but in front of him, his gloveless hand was fanned out, showing off his own ring from the matching set.

You laughed through tears, sliding the ring onto your finger. It seemed he hadn’t forgotten about Christmas, after all.

[prophecyofwinter]

Se Rĩna Qilōni Iprattan Se Jēdar | II

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary | Saera Targaryen daughter of Jaehaerys I ran away from Westeros to escape her fate. 45 years later her daughter Y/N Targaryen, with invitation from King Viserys, wishes to go back.

Tags | Slowburn, TargCest, Smut, Standard ASOIAF content, Aemond and Reader are First Cousins Once Removed, tags to be added.

Authors Note!: I am so sorry for not updating in a while! Finals season happened back in May and I haven’t been wanting to do much since. I am back now tho! I will be releasing chapter three tomorrow at 11am EST!

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | Masterlist

Chapter II | Bastards and Brothers

You were set to arrive in the port of King’s Landing in just a few hours. To be back on solid ground would be a gift from the gods themselves. Sleep escaped you, only being able to catch up in small intervals. The bed was itchy and bumpy, the blankets while silk didn’t add much comfort and they slipped and slid all night long.

A bang knocked at your cabin door, startling you before you realized it was Vaegon making sure you were awake.

“Fuck off! I can barely sleep and you are not helping!” you screamed at him through the closed door.

“We will dock in a few hours, get ready! Do you need help getting ready sister?” Vaegon said very boldly, you could hear the smile on his face.

You cringed at the idea of Vaegon helping you with anything of that sort, you swear he has some kind of sick fancy for you. Perhaps he’s more Targaryen than you in some ways.

“You can jump off the ship and see how deep the water is…” you said under your normal tone, turning over in your bed to hopefully get a few moments longer.

“What was that?”

“Leave!!”

——————

An hour passed by and you had given up on sleeping and committed to getting up for the day. This was one of the biggest days of your life, that being said, you were taking it pretty slow.

Taking your time with your hair and makeup, making sure it was enough to look your best but not to make it look like too much. Your mother had taught you how ladies in King’s Landing did their make up. Having grown up around Prostitutes and other people of that sort, how you had done your makeup made you feel naked.

For your hair you managed to put together delicate braids and wrap them into a bun in the back of your hair, allowing the rest of your hair to be free and rest as it pleased.

Once you had gotten to your clothes you ran into a small problem. You couldn’t get into your dresses without assistance, your mother had been the one to tie your corsets and must have forgotten to tell you how to do it yourself.

You were stuck with lots of pretty dresses but no way to put them on. Your eyes dragged across the room and fell on the chest with your dresses from Essos. Ones that flowed freely with nice and airy fabric, the dresses that made you most comfortable.

You couldn’t call anyone in to assist you and most certainly not Vaegon. Ugh. All the people on the ship were men, you had no other woman to assist you.

Your first appearance couldn’t be in an undone untied dress…

Opening the dark wooden chest you dug in search for a certain dress. There it is!

You pulled out a deep red dress made of airy semi-sheer fabric. The top started with a choker that split into two pieces of cloth that covered your breasts but leaving an opening in the middle for cleavage. An intricately designed gold belt holds it together leaving the rest of the dress to flow freely as it pleases. Golden arm bands added on as accessories of course.

While you are sure this dress wouldn’t go over as well as the other dress you had. There was no way you could put on the westerosi dress by yourself!

Once you have gotten yourself fully ready, you hear shouts from above from the crewmates indicating you will arrive any moment now. You take a few moments to look yourself over, straighten the skirt of your dress out, and check for any imperfections in your makeup.

With a final huff you open your cabin door and attempt to exit but are interrupted by your brother standing directly in front of the door, making you shriek and jump back.

“What is wrong with you!” You spit angrily at Vaegon. You could deal with this behavior in Volantis where he was constantly busy with training and hardly ever around. Now he’s gonna be able to breathe over your shoulder at all times and sniff your hair or whatever the fuck he does.

“I have to escort you sister, you never know who may lurk about.” He says with no reaction to your piercing shout. He steps out of the way to allow you to move ahead of him as he trails behind you.

Silence hangs for a few moments as the two of you walk throughout the ship to get to the deck. Vaegon brakes the silence abruptly with his invasive question-statements.

“I thought Mother told you not to wear those clothes anymore.”

“It seems I am wearing them anyway.” You replied blankly and walked at a slightly faster pace.

“If you needed help with the corsets I am more than obliged to-“ before Vaegon could finish you stopped in your tracks and whipped your body around to face him with a sharp finger.

“There will be none of that! I am to be legitimized and wed! I will not allow you to ruin any of this for me, you keep that tongue to yourself or I will ship you back to Volantis without it.” You growled through gritted teeth.

Without giving him a second thought you turn right back around and all but run to get up to the deck without your brother.

—————

Aemond began his day as normal, waking far earlier than any sane man. Had an easy breakfast of bread with berry preserves, assorted cooked meats, and a cup of wine. However mentally, his mind couldn’t fit another thought less it breaks out of his skull.

“You’re having me what?!” Aemond said with his mouth agape with shock.

“I didn’t have a choice in the matter, Aemond! The letters were already sent and replied to by the time I found out!” Alicent attempted to calm Aemond but he shook himself out of her grasp.

“You would have me wed a bastard from Volantis? What, just because one Targaryen left to become a whore?” Aemond couldn’t believe that his father somehow managed to condemn him even further.

“I would have never orchestrated this. But, everything is set and there is nothing to be done. This is your duty now Aemond.”

Aemond barely had time to prepare himself for basically the first day of the rest of his life. He never knew how he would marry, or even if he would marry at all. His meekness as a boy never allowed him to interact with girls his age. His disfigurement made it so potential marriages wouldn’t even be considered because he scared the daughters.

Against his morals but, a blind marriage to this woman that hadn’t the faintest idea of him maybe was his only option.

Alicent knew a thing or two about Y/N from being around Targaryens for most of her life.. She did tell him of her beauty, as beautiful as her mother. That her mother denied any and all propositions made toward her daughter, certainly a virginal girl.

Her father is unknown, as it goes for most bastards. However, her father seems to be present in her life despite his lack of physically being there. Between the wealth of her mother and father, the girl doesn’t want for anything.

Still, it goes against all he’s been told his whole life… Her being a pure-blooded Valyrian may help him forget who she is socially but only in the moment. Legitimized or not.

At the same time he couldn’t help but worry what she’d think of him. He could imagine the look of disgust turning into fear into disappointment. When he beds her on their wedding night, would she even look at him?

—————

You have to wait for the boat to fully settle into the dock and it is the longest minutes of your whole life. You can see the clearing of guards with their silver armor shining from the sun above. A carriage behind them, no doubt holding Prince Aemond inside. If you had lost it mentally maybe you’d jump off the ship, but for now you must go the proper way off.

Unfortunately, Vaegon has found his way to the deck of the ship. Taking his place behind you, you knew it was him based on the clanking of armor and the feeling of eyes burning into your back.

“I’ve heard Prince Aemond is a rather good swordsman. Even better than you brother. Though… that’s not much of a competition.” You laugh to get under his skin.

Vaegon had constantly worked for years on his swordsmanship. Never seeing much of real battles himself but practice is practice.

As children he would pretend to be a mighty knight with a wooden sword. Occasionally the brothel worker your mom had to look over you two would pretend to be a princess that needed to be saved. Of course you were the only princess he wanted to save… you cringed and shivered at the thought.

“You are very funny sister. Maybe I shall duel him and blind his second eye hm?” Vaegon leaned closer to you to whisper into your ear.

You only clenched your fists and held your head higher, the ship being fully docked and ready for you to step down. But you couldn’t let him get the last word in.

“Cunt”

———

🏷️ : @toodlesxcuddles @blackgirlmagicforever

[the-ineffable-dance]

Holy Palmers Kiss

Throughout their history together, the romance between Aziraphale and Crowley has mostly been expressed through incredibly subtle ways. It's been centuries (if not millennia) of nothing more obvious than a surreptitious brushing of hands or yearning looks when they think no one is watching. And of course, when they have plenty of deniability.

Good work, Aziraphale... hand on the chest of the Thin Dark Duke, and if anyone asked, you were just making sure that young lady didn't get bumped.

And this is for a very good reason. It quite literally isn't safe for them to be openly romantic with one another, even now. Demons like Hastur and Shax are constantly popping up... Michael and Uriel are always watching... eyes are everywhere.

They have certainly gotten closer to being open in the years that separate the two seasons. Crawley sprawls all over that bookshop like he has a personal vendetta against chairs - removes his glasses as soon as he steps foot inside (which is an incredibly coded action that I would love to take a more in depth look at in the future) - gives up the keys to the Bently... And Aziraphale himself has those longing looks - calls him up to talk enough that Crowley knows his "tones of voice" - and then, we get The Ball.

Technically, The Ball is for Nina and Maggie... or at least that's what Aziraphale says. We get the lovely little moment in the pub where he and Crowley try to come up with the best ways to get humans to fall in love with each other. But the moment Aziraphale mentions Jane Austen having characters dancing with each other and realizing how in love they were, I think at least for him the focus changes to this... THE BALL IS FOR CROWLEY. And once he starts giving away books to make sure the ball will be perfect, there can be no question. The entire idea is a way for him to be able to dance with Crowley.

That's why, for me, the most romantic moment in all of Good Omens, at least from Aziraphale's point of view, is this moment right here.

Vavoom! Sorted! Look at the way Crowley even curls his fingers around Aziraphale's hand! This is peak Aziraphale romance as a fan of Jane Austen.

But he's also a fan of Shakespeare. Even the gloomy ones. And every time I watch this scene, I'm reminded of a different ball from one of the gloomy plays that Crowley would hate and Aziraphale would swoon over. Romeo and Juliet. A fitting parallel to an angel and a demon being in love.

In Romeo and Juliet, at the end of the first act, is another ball. Romeo tries to get Juliet to kiss him, and she turns him down with this...

"For saints have hands that pilgrim's hands do touch/ And palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss"

There's quite the back and forth here between Juliet and her Romeo about hands and lips and such, (and eventually Romeo gets his way) but the parallel for Aziraphale in this exchange is unmistakable. He, as the angel, is the saint (and stand in for Juliet), Crowley his pilgrim. Snogging in public would be absolutely out of the question for our dear prim and proper Aziraphale... but this is a chaste kiss, and one that he is showing the world. A public declaration of his love for Crowley. A Holy Palmer's Kiss.

It's certainly debatable if Crowley would have picked up on it. Like a lot of their coded language there are times when one of them misses what the other is trying to say. But in my opinion, this was not only a public declaration, but his confession to Crowley. This is his "I love you" as much as "I forgive you" is.

Just for fun, here's how Romeo finally gets his kisses (but let's have Crowley stand in for Romeo and Aziraphale for Juliet, shall we?)

Cro. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged. (They kiss)

Azi. Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

Cro. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged. Give me my sin again. (They kiss again)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Great Expectations 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Professor Holmes’ class is your most difficult, but he’s about to make it even more challenging.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (modern AU)

Note: monday

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Friday arrives too quickly for your likely. Amid the usual cluster of readings, lectures, and assignments, you have Professor’s Holmes’ additional task to add to the pile. It feels unfair that he would point out your own efforts only to force more upon you. His praise hardly seems like that in retrospect. 

That you did the readings likely made your experience simpler, though the vague instructions leave you uncertain. No rubric, no objectives, no outline. Your format in the usual style and triple-check the word count before you resign yourself to fate or fortune, whichever favours you. 

As usual, Professor Holmes prefers a physical copy, neglecting the digital workspace designed by the campus for ease of access. He doesn’t seem to be the type for the easy way out, does he? You try not to malinger on your gripes and head off, promising to reward yourself with a double whip frap for your work. It’s certainly more than you’ll receive from your professor, even if you do manage to gleam your first A+ from the man. 

The softness of autumn mingles with the crispness of early winter. You mourn the orange and yellow leaves as they start to curl at the edges and brown, blowing across the pavement and catching on pantlegs and tree roots. Midterm season is almost over but it won’t be long before finals rise to haunt you. 

You come up the Herringbone building and look up at the romanticist arches and columns. The esteemed architecture has you feeling even smaller. Surely, the professor will only add to that. 

Inside, the air is dry from the heat blowing from the high vents and curved staircases crest the foyer. You follow the left one up and continue along to the small set of steps that lead up to a hallway with only three office doors. Holmes is at the very end. You went there once before when you needed to be signed into the course; he was certain to make you wait then threatened not to sign the form at all. 

You stop and stare at the frosted glass with his pedigree emblazoned on it. You contemplate just shoving the paper through his slot but the light is on. You raise your fist and gently tap on the wood. You bounce on your feet as you wait, tugging at the itchy collar of the blue sweater dotted with little clouds. In the warmth of the stuffy building and under your wool jacket, it’s stifling. 

You hear movement from within and ready yourself for the encounter. You don’t think you’ve ever talked to Professor Holmes without some degree of awkwardness. On your end, of course. He can’t be bothered to care what others think of him. 

The door opens and you try to smile but it feels like chewing rocks. He looks back at you without an ounce of emotion. You gulp. 

“Um, Professor, I have my paper--” 

He’s already walking away as you stand dumbly in the doorway. You blanch as he circles back to his desk and sits heavily in his seat. He leans forward and dips his head, bending over an open leather folio with a lined pad within. A curl falls onto his forehead and he reaches without looking for the pipe propped up on a mahogany tray. 

“Come in,” he says before he puts the pipe to his lips and bites down. He teethes on it as he snatches up a pen with his other hand. You warily obey and cross the threshold. 

“So, um, here you go,” you near the desk and lay down the stapled paper. He doesn’t look up. “Erm, thanks, professor. I hate to disturb, so I’ll just leave it here--” 

He sighs and sits up, flicking back the curl as he replaces the pipe on the tray, “they won’t let me light that, even with the window open.” 

You glance over at the drawn curtains and nod, “oh.” 

“You’re the first,” he interjects before you can summon any sort of response. 

“Ah, oh--” 

“You are rather quick, aren’t you?” He challenges as he rolls the pen between his fingers, his shoulders spreading wide against the puckered leather chair, “fleet of foot, as some Victorian ponce might say. Quiet.” 

You blink and purse your lips, giving a shrug. 

“You didn’t say hello,” he intones, “it is courteous when you see an acquaintance to greet them, though I suppose etiquette does continue to change.” 

“Um, I didn’t want to... impose?” You murmur. 

His expression remains cryptic. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused or something else. 

“So you didn’t,” he shrugs, his vest bracing on his chest. 

“Sorry, er, sir. But um, there’s my paper, I’ll... let you be. I’m sure you’re busy enough--” 

“Terribly busy,” he confirms dryly. “Since I’ll have a new batch of papers to mark, I’ll be kept well in hand.” 

You clasp your hands together and sway, “right, uh--” 

“And you’ll be off like the rest of those dull girls, paying no mind to the real purpose of study, but rather the wordly pleasures of the modern campus. All that pumpkin spice and such.” He reprimands. 

“Oh, uh, professor...” you know better than to argue. He is set in his ideas of his students and what should make you any different than the rest. 

“Right then,” he reaches for your paper and barely glances at the title page. He flips to the short essay and his eyes skim. He reaches for the antique pen and marks up the page as he goes. He hums as he scratches with the nib. “Good point but clunky prose. No, redudant.” He scribbles his comments in the margins. He turns to the second page and sighs. He closes it and holds it out. “You show comprehension but you need refinement.” 

“Um, thanks, er...” you take it hesitantly and back up again. He watches you with his bold blue eyes, not showing a single crack in his veneer. 

“Go off and enjoy your weekend, don’t fret over the fault of others. Certainly, you show more promise than most who haunt my lectures,” he says. His tone is flat but his words are praising. The contradiction has you off-foot. 

“Thank you, Professor, have a good weekend too.” 

He doesn’t respond as he puts his attention back to another stack of papers. You turn on your heel slowly and scurry to the door. He clears his throat and you stop. 

“Perhaps I mightn’t have such a tedious weekend.” 

You glance back but he still has his head down. You nod and leave him be with a sharp inhale. You hold your breath in until you close the door from the other side. 

Only a few more weeks and you’ll be through this class. Hopefully, you won’t ever have to face the heart palpitations that come with each encounter after that. For now, you will focus on the last paper and the eventual exam. Those are hurdles that look higher the closer you get. 

📕

There’s a cafe off campus you prefer. The library kiosk and the franchised booth in the Student Rec Centre are always overcrowded. This place isn’t so bad. A local mom and pop with a single barista. Maude, the retiree turned businesswoman, works slowly but efficiently. Traffic matches her pace but is enough to keep her thriving. 

“I’ll bring it to you, dearie,” she smiles as she hands you a plate with a crumbly scone on it. You thank her and go to find a seat. 

The place is homey. The seating is mismatched. There are armchairs around a low coffee table, some long tables with thrift store dining chairs, and square table in the corner with two benches and some stools. The rug that stands center to the sitting space is faded but its patterns still visible. 

You claim one of the armchairs near the bookcases and sit. Despite the tense submission, you’re glad not be stressing over another mark. Another A- to add to the rota in Holmes’ class. You could do a lot worse given what you’ve overheard from your classmates. 

The door opens and closes, letting in a chilly. You keep your coat on as you balance the scone on the coffee table. You’ll wait until you have your mocha and savour them together. It’s a rare treat but the dropping temperature coaxed you into it. 

A familiar baritone pricks your ears. You glance over before you can bury your nose in your phone and flinch. What luck. You almost doubt it’s a coincidence. Twice in a row you’ve managed to stumble upon the Professor outside of class. 

Your shoulders sink as you turn back and plant your elbow on the armrest, shielding your face behind your hand. What do you do? Your mind races. Despite what he said in his office he does not radiate welcoming energy. You can’t just flee and leave your order behind; it isn’t fair to Maude and you wouldn’t want to waste the money. 

Professor Holmes’ voice carries. He orders a black coffee and two shortbread biscuits; the Saturday special. The elder barista takes his order and as usual, bids him to sit down so she can bring it to him. You chew your lip as time ticks on. Make up your mind. 

Too late.  

“Pardon, oh,” Holmes approaches and gives pause as you look up at him. “You aren’t reserving these for your friends?” 

He gestures to the other arm chairs. You shake your head and clasp your phone tight in your hands. He dips his chin and sidles around the coffee chair. He removes his jacket and hangs it on the rack between the bookshelves. He lingers there as he browses the titles on the spines. 

Maude appears with your mocha in a large mug on a matching saucer. You thank her as she sets it by your scone. She calls over to Holmes, “I’ll have your coffee and biscuits in just a moment, dearie.” 

He turns his head and nods but says nothing else. She shuffles off and you lean forward to take your mug. Somehow your chocolatey treat doesn’t seem so sweet any more. He backs up and lowers himself across from you. You shyly return his gaze over the brim of your cup. 

“You come here often?” He asks. 

The question has you off-guard as much as his presence. You slurp noisily before you pull the cup away and put it down. You take the napkin by your scone and wipe your lips. 

“Sometimes. Once in a while. Er, I... I make my coffee at home. Tea, more often.” You clamp your lip shut before you can ramble on. 

“Mm, yes, I prefer tea as well. I was suggested the dark roast here by a colleague however.” 

You don’t know what to say. You’re entirely unprepared for the conversation. You’ve never thought much of what he might speak of outside his lectures. His interests, you assume, would align with his expertise. 

“You are enjoying your time? You haven’t any schoolwork?” He asks. 

You slant your lips one way then the other. You look down at the bag by your feet and back at him. He wears a wool sweater with elbow patches; not quite casual but casual for him. 

“I was going to do my readings...” you say. 

“Ah,” he sits back in the chair as Maude brings his coffee and biscuits. He thanks her tersely. 

You bend over and reach for your bag. You slide out your notebook and open it to the printed articles stashed between the pages. You hope it’s enough of an excuse not to talk as much. 

“My class?” He asks. 

“Yes, sir, er, Professor,” you answer. 

“Those are available digitally, as I understand.” 

“I know, but I, er, prefer print.” 

“Mm, yes, it does permeate more effectively, doesn’t it?” He intones. 

You agree with a silent nod and try to focus. You’re too shy to check if he’s watching you but it feels like he is. He sighs and sips from his cup. 

“What were you on the hunt for then?” He asks abruptly before you can read the introduction for the fifth time. You look up, perplexed. “At the craft store?” 

You open your mouth then pause. Finally, you summon the answer, “thread.” 

“Thread?” 

“Yes, I... make little things. Sometimes. It wasn’t urgent. I don’t have my sewing machine in my dorm and... no time.” You shrug and let the papers lay flat on your notebook. 

He considers you as his cheek dimples and he leans his chin on his knuckles. He looks down at the cup he holds over one leg. He sucks his teeth. 

“Rather flat,” he dislodges his elbow and leans forward. “And what did you get? It smells intriguing.” 

“Mocha with peppermint,” you answer. 

“Mm, with whip?” He peeks at your cup and the melting glut of cream. 

“Yes, Professor,” you reply. 

“I think I might trade mine for the same,” he stands with his cup in hand. 

You watch him, confused and uneasy. So much for getting some studying done. You doubt you’ll be able to concentrate with him looming on the other side of the table. 

[bosbas]

Chapter 5: I fear I have fallen from grace

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 3.4k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, a small part of the dialogue is in French, our girl is in her feels asf, some small hints of ~feelings~, Eloise being the best

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

May 23, 1816 – Of course, this author saved the most scandalous tidbit for last. It seems something dark lurked beneath the waters of the seemingly perfect courtship of Lady Montclair and Lord Barlow. Yesterday evening, Lady Montclair retired early from the Bridgerton ball, citing a debilitating headache as the reason for her early departure.

And the Duke… Well, this author can say that he had a very productive evening, indeed. A quick trip to the private Bridgerton courtyard found him locking lips with Lady Barrington in what seemed like a very passionate affair. 

But what of Lady Montclair? One can be certain she has deftly avoided a most unfortunate situation, for what use is a Duke if he is not truly yours? Shall we witness Lady Montclair's endeavors for another match this season, or perhaps she will retreat to the sunlit hills of Tuscany? Hopefully, today’s races will reveal more about her intentions.

You crumpled the gossip column in your hands, eyes wide in shock as you felt your heartbeat in your ears. It seemed like the walls of your bedroom were closing in around you as tears blurred your vision. Surely this couldn’t be true. Surely Lord Barlow hadn’t completely betrayed you so far into your courtship. There had to be another explanation. 

The longer you read and re-read Lady Whistledown’s words, the more you needed to convince yourself that they weren’t real. You felt anger rising in your chest, your chest constricting as your breathing quickened. It had to be Louis. There was absolutely no universe in which you got so close to getting everything you had worked for only for it to be taken away from you in such an unceremonious way. 

You felt tears prickling your eyes and aggressively wiped them away, too angry to care about your appearance. 

Standing abruptly and rushing to your door, you slammed it open and yelled into the hallway, “Louis!” 

If he had somehow managed to create a fake Whistledown column as his idea of a sick joke, you were quite ready to kill him. But this was your only hope. It had to be him.

Not receiving a response from your brother, you desperately screamed out, “Je vais te crever !” (I’m going to kill you!)

Rushing out of his room, bewildered at your agitated state, Louis stopped in front of your open door. “Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas chez toi ? Arrête de crier.” (What the hell is your problem? Stop yelling.)

You shoved the crumpled gossip sheet into his chest, forcing him to take a step back with the force of your push. He steadied himself on your doorframe, a questioning look on his face, and you felt your hope dwindling.

Shoving the paper into him once again, you cried, “T'as vu ça? C'était toi qui as fait ça?” (Have you seen this? Did you do this?) Tears were streaming down your face as you unsuccessfully tried to contain your emotions.

Though it certainly would have been cruel of Louis, you wished more than anything that he had been the one to do this. That Lord Barlow's betrayal wasn’t real. That you would go to the races today and see the Duke and that he would greet you with a soft kiss on the back of your hand as the two of you walked pleasantly. 

But your hopes quickly came crumbling down. Louis looked as confused as you felt, and you came to the realization that Whistledown’s words were, in fact, accurate. You choked back a sob, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as you fought to keep yourself under control. 

“Attends, attends,” Louis said nervously (Hold on, hold on). 

Recognizing that you were very much in the middle of a crisis, but having absolutely no idea why, he grabbed your hands and gently pushed you back into your room. Sitting you both down on your bed, he took the paper from your hands and smoothed it out to read as he placed a comforting arm around you, rubbing your arm up and down. 

His comforting touch did away with the last of your resolve. You started crying freely, and you could do nothing but sob into his shoulder as he read, feeling him tense as his eyes scanned the words on the page.

As he got to the part where Lady Whistledown outlined the Duke’s promiscuity, he abruptly stood up, face contorted in what you knew to be fury. You would have been relieved that it wasn’t aimed at you just this once if your situation wasn’t so dire. 

“Putain,” he muttered under his breath (Fuck).

He grabbed your hand and dragged you down the stairs with him as fast as possible. You stumbled after him, anxiety mounting as you realized he was taking you to your mother. 

What would she think now that you had lost everything? You and the Duke were finished, evidently. But you were still unmarried. You were still out in society. Could you even bear the shame of having been rejected by Arthur? Would any gentleman ever look at you again, or would Lord Barlow’s impatience reflect too negatively on you?

After what felt like an eternity, you reached the open doorway of the sitting room. You could see your mother chatting pleasantly inside, and fear gripped your chest as you realized you were about to shatter any semblance of peace she might be feeling right now.

“Maman!” yelled Louis angrily as he stormed into the room, still clutching your hand.

Your mother let out a startled gasp, bringing a hand to her chest.

“Louis, darling, you scared me! Charlotte and Edward are here,” she said warmly, assuming that you and your brother were having nothing more than another silly argument that would be resolved in a matter of minutes. 

But Louis was not in the mood for pleasantries. 

“Y/N and the Duke are finished,” he announced, slamming the Whistledown column on the table in the middle of the room. 

You sniffled as you saw the looks of confusion on your family’s faces, no longer crying but your breathing was still uneven.

“Pardon?” questioned Charlotte. “I don’t understand; I saw them dancing last night! She’ll be lucky to receive a proposal this week.”

“He’ll be lucky if I don’t kill him,” growled your brother. 

“Louis!” your mother snapped, appalled by his language. “That is not-”

But Louis quickly interrupted, reading directly from the sheet in front of him.

“And the Duke… Well, this author can say that he had a very productive evening, indeed. A quick trip to the private Bridgerton courtyard…”

As your brother read, you saw the faces in the room slowly turn from confused to horrified, and you couldn’t help the choked sob that escaped your lips. Your mother quickly reached out to you, holding you tightly to her as you cried into her dress.

“Bloody bastard,” said Edward, shaking his head once Louis was finished reading. No one commented on his strong language, given that it encapsulated exactly how everyone else was feeling. 

“Louis, go fetch your father,” ordered your mother, immediately falling into her protective mode. 

Without complaint, Louis nodded and headed toward your father’s office. 

"Y/N, my love, I do apologize terribly. We didn't catch a glimpse of anything last night," Charlotte insisted, sinking beside you on the settee.

"If I'd laid eyes on him in that courtyard last night, he'd be wishing he hadn't walked out of there," your mother grumbled with an edge to her voice.

Slightly unsure about how to react to three emotional women in one room who seemed ready to kill a man, Edward fidgeted while he decided what to do. Of course, he knew he wasn’t the duke you wanted to kill, but it couldn’t hurt to be on the safe side.

“Shall I ring for some tea? Yes, I think I’ll go fetch some tea,” he bumbled, awkwardly patting you on the head and making his escape toward the kitchen. 

As Charlotte stroked your hair and your mother held you in her arms, you heard your father’s footsteps storming down the hall. 

“Louis has explained everything,” Philippe said, crossing his arms as he entered the sitting room. “Y/N, you must go to the races today.”

You no longer had any prospects and all your father could think about were the horse races today. Was he serious? 

“I can’t!” you argued. “I’ll be a pariah! Everyone knows I’m the girl who couldn’t keep a Duke.” You choked back a sob. 

“What exactly happened between you two last night?” probed your mother, wanting to know just how badly your reputation was damaged. 

Lady Whistledown’s account did not implicate you in any way, but Catherine knew how vicious the ton could be. She needed to know what level of damage control would be necessary to secure your standing in society.

“Nothing!” you insisted, sniffling. “He said he liked my necklace, we danced, and he asked to go outside. I was unsure about whether he wanted to propose or… do whatever he ended up doing with Miss Barrington.”

Louis’ eyebrows shot up, disbelief and newfound anger taking over his features. “He asked you to go to the courtyard with him? Alone?”

“Surely you said no! That’s ridiculous!” exclaimed Charlotte, equally as upset.

“I told him I had a headache and couldn’t stay the rest of the evening,” you said, fiddling with the hem of your dress nervously. “I don’t know what I did wrong! Should I have gone with him? Did I lose my only chance at a proposal?”

“You’ve certainly done nothing wrong,” your father shot back firmly. “No daughter of mine would act in such a crass manner, and the Duke’s shortcomings are most definitely not a reflection on you. Nor us.”

Your mother sighed. “He’s right, dearest. The Duke is simply a man lacking in character, and now the ton knows he is not to be trusted. It’s a horrible thing, what he did. But you’re not at fault,” she insisted, looking at your father. “Which is why you must attend the races today.”

You groaned at the prospect of facing the ton with their judgmental stares and wagging tongues. What your parents were saying made sense, though. You rubbed your temples, frustrated that you were now in such a precarious social standing. 

Perhaps you had been right at the beginning of the season. Lord Barlow, along with Colin and Nigel and the rest of them, viewed women merely as breeding stock. There was nothing in it for you. No hope of romance, no hope of ever finding someone who could respect you. 

“If you stay home today everyone will wonder if you somehow were involved,” chimed in Charlotte, ignoring your glare. “If you go and act like nothing is wrong, you can prove that the Duke is nothing but a man with a debilitating lack of self-control.”

You looked around to the rest of your family, who all seemed to agree with your sister. 

However, seeing Edward walk back into the room followed by a lady’s maid carrying a tray, you tried one last time to get out of leaving your home today, or for the next three years.

“What about you, Edward? Do you think it’s a bad idea to go to the races today?”

“Oh, certainly not! In fact, it might be the best way to assure your future,” he said sympathetically. 

You threw your head back in frustration. He had probably heard the conversation as he walked up and didn’t want to disagree with the rest of your family, you thought glumly. Nevertheless feeling quite defeated, you slumped back in your seat and crossed your arms.

“Fine. I’ll go,” you conceded as if you even had a choice. 

The horrible feeling in your chest had subsided somewhat, but you were still devastated. At least your family was on your side. However, you were still feeling dreadfully embarrassed, and you knew being out in plain view today would only make it worse. 

---

“And you saw them?” asked Eloise, a disturbed look on her face as she walked toward the bustling paddock. 

Colin nodded, careful to keep his voice down. “I wish I could claw my eyes out. I think his tongue was so far down that-”

“Colin!” scolded Violet, failing to hide her small giggle at her son’s retelling of the previous night. 

“I’m sorry, Mother, but it was a horrific sight!” said Colin, also struggling to contain his laughter. 

But as soon as your family came into view, the Bridgertons sobered. It might have seemed funny at the moment, but Lord Barlow’s actions had the potential to ruin your future. It was doubtful that they would, since you were from a titled family and had done nothing wrong, but Colin could sense the whispers and pointed looks aimed at you as you walked toward the racetrack. 

“Oh, Y/N!” called Eloise, quickly leaving her family as she rushed to your side. “Colin’s just told me what happened. He found Lord Barlow in the courtyard last night! Are you alright?”

Colin felt a bit ashamed of himself for making light of the situation as he saw tears welling in your eyes at his sister's words. The regret gnawed at him; he wished he could have told you himself, or at least had his mother break the news more gently. Yet, time had been against them.

For all the sorrow he felt at seeing you hurt, a selfish part of him couldn't help but feel a flicker of relief that the impending marriage was off the table. But he quickly quashed that thought, not quite sure where it had come from and not caring to understand why he felt this way.

You blinked quickly to try to keep your tears from spilling as you looked at Eloise making her way to your side. Taking a few deep breaths, you grabbed onto her hand. Nodding at the rest of your family, you waited until they were a few paces ahead of you to answer Eloise.

“Oh, El, it’s dreadful,” you sniffled. “I don’t know what I did to lose him is the worst part. I can barely believe it. I thought it was Louis at first, trying to wind me up.”

Eloise cooed sympathetically. “I know, it must be horrible. I have no idea how he managed to get into our private courtyard. But at least he hadn’t proposed yet! Seeing the kind of man Lord Barlow is, it’s lucky that this happened now and not three months into your marriage.”

“I suppose,” you answered, not quite ready to see the positives in the situation yet. 

Suddenly, you heard snickering behind you and turned to see two women who looked to be your age pointing at you and talking in hushed tones. 

Turning around back to Eloise, you hissed, “The nerve! Why are they laughing at me? It’s Lord Barlow they should be laughing at.”

“I assume they would be if he was here.”

“He’s not here?”

“No one’s heard from him since last night,” Eloise remarked, linking her arm with yours as she guided you back to the stands. “And it’s all for the better. I daresay I might have given him a swift kick to the face if I laid eyes on him today.”

You chuckled, the first glimmer of lightness since reading Lady Whistledown this morning, thankful for Eloise’s friendship. Giving her arm a grateful squeeze, you found comfort in her mischievous smile.

“Our mothers are likely already planning the Duke’s demise as we speak,” she quipped, gesturing towards where your families were seated together.

But a deep weariness overtook you at the thought of being the subject of ton gossip for the next few days. “It’s all anyone’s going to be talking about for the next week, isn’t it?” you sighed.

Eloise’s heart twinged with empathy, knowing the delicate balance you now faced in the unforgiving eyes of society. She wished desperately that your worth wasn’t tied to another man’s title or fortune.

“Well, actually,” she began with a twinkle in her eye, “the real scandal will be that the beautiful Lady Y/N Montclair is still unclaimed by any suitor. You’re in a prime position to be selective now! It might just be a bit of fun.” 

You shot her a wry look. “How much more selective can I get than a duke?”

Eloise was intimately familiar with the high pressure you faced to get married. She knew that you had been preparing for this your entire life, but she also suspected you weren’t entirely aligned with your parents’ view of marriage. She had seen the uncertainty in your gaze whenever Lord Barlow walked away, the fluttering nerves you disguised as excitement.

“Tell me honestly,” she pressed gently. “Is there not a small part of you, deep down, that feels a sense of relief now that your courtship with the Duke has ended?”

Pausing thoughtfully, you mulled over her words. Maybe you weren’t actually as attached to Lord Barlow as you thought. After all, you weren’t upset that you had lost him, only that he had embarrassed you and that you had to begin your search for a husband anew. 

With a tentative smile, you nodded, admitting, “Just don’t let my mother hear you say that.”

Stepping onto the stands, you and Eloise quickly found your way to your families. Unfortunately, the only empty seats were next to Colin. You were tempted to turn around and leave, but Eloise placed a hand on your back and pushed you forward, forcing you next to your least favorite member of the ton. 

You unsuccessfully tried to hide your disdain as you sat next to Colin, who looked the picture of serenity. It made you unreasonably angry that he seemed completely unaffected by last night’s events while you had to face the social repercussions. 

“I’m sorry about Lord Barlow,” he spoke softly, a hint of sincerity in his voice that caught you off guard.

You hesitated, the anger in you momentarily waning as you looked at him. It was a rare moment of vulnerability from Colin Bridgerton, and you found yourself unexpectedly moved.

“I’m sure you are,” you shot back, tone more biting than you intended.

“Pardon?” Colin’s brow furrowed, a touch of offense creeping into his voice at your sharp retort.

“Oh, spare me,” you rolled your eyes, a familiar frustration you only felt around Colin coming back to you. “You expect me to believe you just happened upon the Duke and Miss Barrington? It’s a bit too convenient, don’t you think?”

Colin’s eyes widened, a flicker of hurt crossing his features before it was masked by indignation. Did you really think he was capable of something like that? Of making up a lie that would sabotage your future marriage to a duke? The thought stung more than he cared to admit.

“Other people saw them, you know,” he retorted, a hint of anger seeping into his words. “And I wouldn’t lie about something like that,” he snapped.

The two of you had spent enough time that he was thoroughly offended that you thought so lowly of him. You were just entrenched in your grudge against him and refused to budge. He regretted trying to be agreeable at all. 

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow skeptically, feeling your own anger rise in response. “So they just magically appeared in your private courtyard without being given access?”

Colin opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. He was too angry, too upset that you thought so lowly of him.

“Fine,” he finally bit out, his jaw clenched. “Believe what you will.”

Colin turned away, unable to face you any longer. His reputation among the ton be damned; why did you think he was some kind of monster? He supposed he hadn’t made a good case for himself, tormenting you whenever possible, but he was still furious that you were acting like Lord Barlow’s actions were somehow his fault. Why was he chronically unable to be in your good graces?

—

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[rey-jake-therapist]

I just want to tell my fellow Haladriel fans one thing (spoilers ahead)

NO, don't blame yourselves for imagining that this relationship would be more complex and deeper than what we witnessed in episode 8. They gave this relationship big words such as, "cosmic connection" and "greater than romance". The second season showed Galadriel battling with her own feelings, on the edge of crying when Adar shared his own experience with Sauron, and admit that everything else was now "dull and grey". You didn't imagine this ! It all happened on screen !

Don't blame yourselves for thinking that Galadriel wouldn't straight out reject Sauron without having even a moment of hesitation : it was foreshadowed in the first episodes, through Gil-Galad and Elrond's words. Him pesting about the rings in two episodes, warning Galadriel against the possible implication of Sauron (who proved him right during the fight, by the way!) only to make a 180° at the last minute was certainly a choice, by the way, but that's another can of worms I won't open here.

Don't blame yourselves for believing that they had set up a complex character prone to temptation of power, who also misses the connection she thought she had with the man who manipulated her !There was nothing to warn us that Galadriel would suddenly cast all her doubts and feelings for Sauron away after just a two minutes conversation with Celebrimbor, or that Sauron only cared about his rings ; we saw him obsessed with Galadriel, it was clear as water !

That most of the script for season 2 was written before season 1 is not an excuse. These people said they had paid attention to the reactions to season 1... Well, now we know they've been reading Reddit.

Was it delusional to believe that we'd get a romantic kiss or Dark Galadriel following Sauron? Sorry, but yes. We weren't baited into believing that Galadriel and Sauron would ride off together under the sunset at any point, or even that they would admit being in love with each other.

But we were baited into believing that we wouldn't get a repeat of season 1. And yet, that's exactly what we got : Sauron (who displayed more genuine emotion after Celebrimbor's death than during this entire encounter) made his proposal again, Galadriel rejected him again, he took the piss again, and he stabbed her. Before that, he very awkwardly tried to sway her with a vision of Halbrand, but it was basically Annatar impersonating Halbrand really, and he disappeared in a second anyway, so... It could have just as well not been done. And it was all manipulation, anyway. Nothing genuine here. I found the sentence about putting a crown on her head and not resting until everyone worshipped very romantic ! Too bad it was ruined when he showed that now, he just wanted Nenya. It felt like something he used to feel, not something that he felt at the moment, which by the way is completely in line with Charlie told us in interviews. We should have listened to HIM, and no one else. Charlie spoiled the whole thing in interviews, we just were naive enough to believe that there was more to it. *Sigh*.

Don't blame yourselves for believing Charlotte Brandström when she said that "Sauron really loves Galadriel, and we'll see it at the very end". It's not your fault if you're not walking bullshit detectors !

Criticism is ok as long as it's constructive. Personnally, there's a lot of stuff I enjoyed about the Saurondriel scenes. The fight was awesome, they confirmed that Sauron used Nenya to communicate with Galadriel (when he repeated "aren't they the seeds you planted?") and probably stalk her as well.

I think Sauron didn't really want to kill Galadriel ; he wanted her to give him Nenya and would have healed her with it, I think. He could have just taken it by force and walked away with it, after all. That's another thing I like. But c'mon now, it was overall very underwhelming, and not a very good sign for what we'll get in season 3 for this relationship.

Just my two cents anyway. Don't feel bad, I swear it's not your fault if you believed we'd get a good and emotional finals.

[pickingupmymercedes]

And just like the sun, we will rise - Lewis Hamilton

warnings: slight mentions of nudity, w14, Mercedes team post 2021, angsty

wordcount: + 1k

a/n: This is my first fic here. I have been reading somethings here for a while now, but never quite really had the courage to post. So, kind of doing something I never thought I would.

Please, do send me thoughts, notes, ideas, corrections, anything really, I would love to hear you guys.

You walked into the en-suite defeated, head hanging low, throwing your shoes, bag and computer in the nearest surface, deep breath finally leaving your lungs after what felt like a lifetime of holding it in.

You all went into Sunday on a high, Lewis’ pole felt like a dream finally coming true after 2 years. Your promise to him finally a reality. A light at the end of a very dark and twisty tunnel, at last, shinning bright enough to be followed.

But, like it had happened for the past 2 seasons, the race came and the car showed its true colors.

A meeting with Toto and the legal team of AMG got you stuck on track longer than Lewis, so a quick hug and hushed kiss before telling him to go rest was all you two shared in the very public and busy garage.

You got to your hotel only hours later and in need of a good shower, a crappy tv show, a snack and something to make the guilt less pungent. 

You found him laying peacefully asleep in the sofa set in the corner of your bedroom, still in the pants he left the circuit. His phone, open on Instagram, on his hand. After tough races he’d usually crash like that, especially the ones neither of you would return home the same day, that night in hotel rooms reserved to the both of you only, you and him and whatever it was that was weighting on your minds and hearts.

You lightly ran your fingertips in his arm, watching as his eyes fought to open and focus on you, a lazy smile spreading through all his features.

“Hey, go to bed”

“Hi there, stranger”

“Things took longer than expected, I’m sorry”

“It’s okay.” He mumbled while getting up and pulling you tightly into his arms the second he steadied himself, that was before he felt you stiffing up at his touch.

“Hey, you good?”

“Not really, but I’ll be better after a shower, promise.” You pleaded into his neck, cutting him mid-sentence, hoping he would let it go, just this once, and ignore the unbearable ability he had to read right through you.

You sneaked from those strong arms, with quite some resistance, and gave him a sad smile in return before heading to the quietness of the bathroom, the safety of the shower pouring scorching water on your skin until the prickling sensation numbed your mind.

He was so quiet you only really realized he had gotten into the shower with you when he cleared his throat behind you. You sighed; you knew he wouldn’t let it go that easily, not after today.

 “I can’t promise to have all the answers, but please let me in” his voice made even smaller by the sound of water hitting the stone flooring.

 “I got way in over my head” You whispered after a while, turning to him and letting him really see you for the first time since that morning. He was met with a serene look on your features, a certainty he was certainly not expecting.

“I promised you something I can’t physically give you Lew. I can’t guarantee the team’s going to be back in winning ways, I’m sorry, I really am.”

Your statement didn’t really shock him, he had contemplated that quietly a few times before. But for the first time since he’s met you were openly admitting to him, in the secrecy of that bathroom in a hotel somewhere, that you were giving up.

“Talk to me.” He knew how to handle with angry, moody, sassy, overjoyed, happy you, but his fiercely headstrong girlfriend giving up wasn’t something he was used to.

You had thought about that from the moment the w14 got beaten right after the first corner of the race and it had eaten at you for hours until you couldn’t hold it in anymore and had talked to Toto in between meetings. He didn’t look surprise by it, he didn’t even seem sad, he had known from the get go in 2022 Mercedes wouldn’t be able to breach the gap and give Lewis the title he’d been stolen, at least not in the time the AMG board had set for Lewis.

“We don’t know where to go from here, losing those 3 positions at the beginning just showed we don’t have a p1 car anymore. We haven’t had one in a while huh?! I – I’m not sure we’ll get one in time… for you.” You serenely put you realization before him, looking at his features and posture, trying to read his reactions before he shook his head and took the step to close the distance between you two, bringing you out of the water and into his naked torso.

“That title dream was lost in 2021 babe. I told you that already. I’m in the sport for something bigger, and we – I, I need you with me on that, okay?”

“Okay” You whispered looking up at him, the certainty in his features enough to get you by that night.

Hours later, in the mess of the sheets, his warmth and the first rays of sunshine signaled the worst was over, and the tattoo on his back made sure to remember you that someday you two would, eventually, still rise.

[azsazz]

Here for You

Azriel x Reader (Zuzu Centered)

Summary: Anon Request: could we get something zuzu centered? we don’t get enough of the girls, and it would be so sweet to see az being a girl dad and y/n being a girl mom for a bit 🥹 maybe them being super excited to finally have a baby girl, when she’s really young or something? whatever you thinks best!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,076

_________________________________________

“C’mon Zuz! Keep going, you’re almost there,” Azriel shouts from your side.

You can’t contain the smile on your face, beaming as your daughter races across the open field on her little legs, kicking the ball with a determined look on her face. Her sleek black hair is twisted into tight plaits courtesy of her father, who had – like all things – studied the intricacies of braiding until he was near perfect. There had been many late nights you and your husband had spent together, letting him practice different hairstyles on you while you read, tucked up as far into his warmth as you could, giving him gentle reminders and praises on his final looks.

Zuzu also has dark streaks of paint on her cheeks, a gift from Uncle Cassian, who’d also given her a pep talk before her Moonball game had started. Between him, Azriel, and Rhys, you didn’t know who was cheering the loudest for your little girl, and your heart is bursting with joy at the pride your family is showing in the matching ‘Zuzu Rules’ shirts Rhysand had made for their final game.

Malos pouts where she’s been jostled in Azriel’s arms, on the verge of falling asleep when he’d excitedly begun cheering as Zuzu was passed the ball. Nesta notices at the same time, and is quick to take the babe and soothe her, waving a dismissive hand to Azriel who gives her an apologetic look for a brief moment before returning his gaze to the Moonball game before him. 

He’s nearly vibrating with excitement, and you’ve had to pull Baz out of the way as his wings flared when one of the children on the other team had stolen the ball from Zuzu. 

She’s certainly come a long way since her first game, where the same thing had happened and she’d tried to pummel the child into the ground for doing so. You had glared at your husband and his brothers who had all ducked their heads to hide the grins they were biting back. That was their girl.

Even your older sons had stopped their game of playing warrior to come cheer on their sister, their cousins pushing between all of the tall adult legs for a better view.

One of the children in a navy jersey chasing Zuzu towards the goal suddenly trips and falls into the grass with a surprised gasp but Zuzu doesn’t take notice. Unfortunately, you do, shooting Baz a warning look that says he’s going to get in trouble when he gets home. He’s only eight but he’s already learned a multitude of tricks with his shadows, and to an untrained eye they would’ve thought the child had merely tripped. You knew better than that, and by the way Baz switches sides with Wren so he’s standing further away from you with red cheeks and hunched shoulders, he did too.

Even Knox is intently watching his sister race across the grass. The midnight purple of her jersey brings out the ribbons in her hair, provided by her Auntie Elain and Uncle Lucien, who hadn’t been able to make it, as they were visiting Day for a surprise getaway. 

“Come on baby, come on baby,” you mutter under your breath as she goes. Two children from the opposing team are blocking the way and if she uses her wings again she won’t be able to join the team next season, so you pray to the Mother she doesn’t flare those little wings wide and sweep these kids off of their feet.

“Yes, Z!” Wren jumps, shouting at his sister as she side-steps the offending players. He’d taught her that move when Uncle Cassian hadn’t been playing very fair in the backyard. Everything she’s learned about Moonball had been from her brothers and the rest of her family. She’s a warrior through and through, tough as nails and never backs down even when she was learning with all of the roughness her brothers and male cousins showed. Asteria hadn’t shown interest in the sport, instead she liked playing with her dolls and putting them in poses to draw in her coloring book.

“You got this, Zuz,” Baz encourages, while Jax claps his tiny hands and chants her name over and over again.

Your entire family holds their breath as she sets herself up to kick the ball into the goal. The child in the goal has a ready stance that’s startling for that of someone so young. He looks nearly professional, arms spread wide, knees bent, with a determined look in his eye. He and Zuzu had faced off before, and even her brothers had complimented how good he was at the sport.

Zuzu had scored against him this season once. The other time she had the chance, the little boy had blocked her ball from hitting the goal and you almost hadn’t stopped the rest of your sons from running out onto the field to defend their sister from the goalie who had gloated more than Cassian when he’d won the annual snowball fight, a smug smile on his face.

She’d been more determined than ever, immediately asking her brothers to go out into the yard with the instruction not to go easy on her.

Zuzu cocks her leg back. There’s steely determination in her fierce eyes. Her mouth is set in a firm line as she stares down the child like he’s her worst enemy.

And maybe he is.

The entire field is silent as her leg swings forward. The ball goes soaring through the air, looking like a shooting star, and everyone waits.

The child in the goal pushes off of the ground, throwing his body sideways into the path of the ball.

But he’s too late.

Your family erupts in mass of cheers and excitement, storming the field to gather the star player in congratulations and celebratory hugs. 

She’s beaming, grinning like the day you and Azriel had told her that she was going to have a little sister.

Azriel hikes her up on his shoulders, spinning her around as the other parents gather their children and usher them away, but you don’t care, so utterly proud of Zuzu for scoring the winning goal of the game.

Her braids flop against her shoulders as she twirls, giggling like a mad woman and hands raised in the air in victory. 

“I did it! I did it,” she screams.

And you couldn’t be more proud.

[ninetqs]

trick or treat!!!

2024 season fwb lesbian lestappen fic i worked on for 3 days then abandoned (under the cut because nsfw)

It was always “princess” when she was younger, but not the flattering kind. When they called her that, they meant to dismiss her, to belittle her. You’re too pretty to belong here. You don’t really want this. They couldn’t stomach how well she drove, so they pinned her success on everything else. Her father, Jules—it surely had to stem from them, as if her talent were just a product of her surroundings rather than her own blood, sweat, and tears.

No matter what she did, how well she performed, it was always too pretty, too privileged, too lucky.

Until the wins started piling up. Then “princess” took on a new flavour, but it still didn’t taste any better. Now it’s said with a smile, a nod to how perfect she looks even after hours in the cockpit. Her dimples, her curls that never seem out of place, her lashes that stay long and dark. 

There’s only one person who can get away with saying it without lighting that spark of irritation.

“You are such a princess,” Max says with a chuckle, her eyes dropping to the bright red panties Charles is wearing. Still, somehow, despite Max’s best efforts.

“Not everyone fancies going commando in public,” Charles huffs, though her cheeks betray her.

“I wasn’t judging. I think they’re cute.” Max pinches the edge of the fabric between her fingers, pulling lightly at the hem. “They’ll look even cuter around your knees, though.”

Charles rolls her eyes, but the flush deepens. “Just get on with it before I change my mind.”

Max doesn’t hesitate. Her hands are strong as she lifts Charles by the thighs, positioning her with ease, before yanking at her panties with a deliberate roughness. The seam catches against her skin, sending a sharp jolt through her, heat pooling low in her belly, spreading like wildfire up toward her chest.

Months of dancing around each other, teasing, resisting. And for what? To give in so easily?

She squirms under Max’s gaze, feeling exposed, too open, laid out on the scratchy hotel bed. But exposed is exactly how Max likes her. There’s no question about that.

“You’re very pink down here,” Max observes. “Little princess with her princess parts.”

Charles swings a leg over Max’s shoulder, a warning more than a real kick. “You are so annoying,” she says through gritted teeth. “You can put your tongue to better use, no?”

“Your wish is my command,” Max drawls, and lowers her head to do exactly that.

-

Max’s tongue is sharp in ways that aren’t limited to her words. No matter how many times this happens, Charles is always surprised by how deftly she works her, mouth hot on Charles’s thigh.

“Let me—” Charles thrashes, but Max’s arm is secure around her stomach. “Let me, fucking—not like this,” she whines.

She hates it when Max makes her come before Charles can put so much as a hand on her. It feels a bit like she’s losing at something. Even though Max always insists she’s happy on her knees, Charles doesn’t buy it. Nothing feels better than being worshipped.

Max, predictably, ignores her and pushes a third finger in, her tongue tracing a slick pattern up her belly. “You come best when you have a little bit of a hard time with it,” she says.

“Fuck you—”

Max’s palm grinds against her clit, and Charles grunts. When she glances down between her legs, Max has a cheeky grin in place.

“I’ll fancy my chances with that,” Max replies easily, and nips Charles’ inner thigh like a cat. Charles throws her head back and moans.

There will never be enough time. Not enough to catch her breath fully while her heart races like a jackrabbit, and certainly not enough to do everything she wants to Max.

“Roll onto your stomach and spread your legs.”

Charles obeys without thinking. The first orgasm rolls through her when Max pulls at her hair, grinding her own cunt against Charles’ hips, dripping onto her. Then the second comes after Max forces her head down and rims her, the thumb on her asshole sending shudders through her whole body.

She never gets Max on her back that night.

[whoistrash]

Why change matters and how Amphibia did it better than The Owl House.

"Watching and Dreaming" made me cry a lot during its premiere. I was amazed and, I'd say, dazed by it. Then I forgot about it for a while. Now I finished re-watching Amphibia for the first time since TOH ended. My hype died down, and I have some thoughts. A lot, actually.

Amphibia's ending was incredibly painful and made me sob like a baby for two whole weeks the first time I watched it. That's because it was not only beautiful and heartbreaking, but truly GOOD. Brilliant, actually. I absolutely agree with a statement that any other ending would literally be a contradiction to the whole main plot, especially Anne's arc. The girls had to learn to let go in order to grow as individuals - the thing they had the biggest problem with. Saying goodbye was the only logical option, plot-wise. It still hurt like hell, though. Separating the multidimensional, against-all-odds relationships (especially my beloved spranne. Ouch, ouch, ouch). The Owl House does no such thing - everybody stays together. They live happily ever after.

Paradoxically, I think that it's the main reason why I'd choose "The Hardest Thing" over "Watching and Dreaming" every single time. I know we shouldn't really compare them in EVERY aspect, since TOH had way more things to deal with in the final episode, but the fact that Luz got to not only stay, but to freely travel between worlds as she pleases really took the whole "growing up and finding your true self no matter what the other people do/say about you" thing out the door. Luz from season one, episode one, and Luz from the finale are not really that different. Well, she certainly became more traumatised and depressed than before, but in terms of personal growth? Nope. Luz - from the very beginning - was cheerful, open, caring and very selfless, willing to literally help every stranger she met no matter how it would affect her. She had little to no boundaries, but, well, you can't argue that she was A GOOD, SELFLESS PERSON. Now, we could say that her arc here would be learning that sometimes you should put yourself before others, that you can't save everyone, that you can't trust every person you meet. And she learns it! She fucking does! She helps Philip not knowing who he will become, and then suffers from the consequences, because she helped the wrong person. And then it's all erased, when she saves Collector's life and meets Papa Titan (or whatever we call them).

I have so much to say about this. All of TOH's "villains" (Amity, Lilith, Hunter, The Collector) that were given a redemption arc literally get turned into lifeless, edgy trauma dumpsters, that suddenly loose all of their previous character, quirks and sass (well, maybe except for Lilith, she just started to express them differently, I think, but still, it was WAY too big of a change). I won't dwell on it (since many, many fans called it out already - as they should), and will focus on something different. The only one marked as irredeemable is Belos. Good. Okay. He's irredeemable, because he's a white, christian puritan who won't listen to anyone but himself. Also a genocidal maniac. That's the lesson for Luz here. "You can't save everyone. Some people are just straight up evil". And it's very, very true. But.

From all of the "villains" I mentioned before, Belos is the one that had the most reasons to, let's say, take a dark turn. Those reasons are what makes him irredeemable - he's just too convinced he's right, because, in his mind, he has evidence to prove it. But how do we learn about this? Maybe by seeing his part of the story? Maybe by learning about his brother and Evelyn, about their relationship? It couldn't be straight up awful, since Philip literally brought his brother back to life over and over again, he wanted his brother, or at least the picture of Caleb that satisfied him the most. There was more to it than only "you betrayed me and now I will hate you forever". Do we get to see any of that? No. Instead we get an all-knowing, all-doing being that literally choose Luz as "the one" for being kind and trusting, that convinces her that Belos is, indeed, a lost cause. Do you see where I'm going with this?

Luz, the person that on the literal episode two was told that there is no such thing as a "chosen one" and that she can't always hop into action to save everybody, because, it's, well, not always possible, DOES EXACTLY THAT in the finale by taking a bullet for The Collector, the, you know, very freshly redeemed and suddenly cute and funky villain, whom Luz trusts immediately. AND SHE IS REWARDED FOR IT BY BEING MADE THE CHOSEN ONE. BY A GOD-LIKE BEING THAT CLAIMS TO BE ALL-KNOWING AND CAN DECIDE WHO IS RIGHT AND WHO IS WRONG, BECAUSE OF PERSONAL (King) REASONS. Just like, you know... Belos? The irredeemable villain? And then Luz lets go of the moral dilemmas that's been keeping her up at night for the past months, makes up her mind, defeats the bad guy, learns nothing, and gets to stay in the Boiling Isles and on Earth. With her beautifully redeemed girlfriend and friends whom she kept secrets from and lied to out of fear of being ostracised (you see the pattern here, right?) for, again, months.

I love Amphibia. I love The Owl House. But Amphibia handles it's "villains", generally wronged characters and the whole change/no change thing way better. Well, maybe besides the Core - they got a bit wasted in my opinion. But still. Sasha. Grime. Marcy. Andrias. Anne herself. They learn and change. And more importantly, they face consequences and come to understand and accept them. There's no "chosen one" here. Anne gets the proposition because she's the first one to use the music box for good in literal millenia. A fact, plain and simple (not an opinion based on personal motivations), that makes sense plot-wise, and adds so, so much to Anne's arc. Because Anne from season one, episode one wouldn't care. The one from the finale cares very damn much. And that's the biggest difference.

Saying goodbye makes the message way stronger. The more I think about it, however, the more I'm starting to be afraid that there's no The Message in The Owl House to begin with. Luz learns very little, yet ends up with everything she ever wanted. There's no power behind it. The "find the right people and choose to trust them, not everyone will be your friend" and "some things are out of your control, some people are just bad" aspect is even weaker, as proven by basically the whole season 3. I will end it by my favorite quote from Amphibia, that I think about on daily basis. Have a good day, y'all.

"Change can be difficult, but it's how we grow. It can be the hardest thing to realize you can't hold on to something forever. Sometimes, you have to let it go; but, of the things you let go, you'd be surprised what makes its way back to you."

[celestial-jazzie]

Hypothermic Health Risk (sdv)

Pairing: Harvey x farmer OC

Summary: Farmer Maia stays out too late during the coldest months of winter and her husband Harvey has to come to the rescue

The sun had started setting hours ago, and the cold had made its way under her gloves and into the very bones of her fingers as soon as she'd stepped outside that morning. Tending to the animals and the garden alongside her husband had stopped her feeling it so much, for being around him was warming in itself, but Harvey had now gone back inside to finish up the week's patient notes under the shelter of the roof. The rest of their land still needed clearing, and only one of them had the axe experience to complete the job. She wouldn't have minded at all if it wasn't the coldest day of winter, or at least felt that way. Hands locked around the axe, she felt her eyes closing with the setting sun. The six o'clock start was getting to her more than usual, but the patch she was working on was so nearly done. Another swing at the tree and it fell, leaving the trunk to be chopped up and collected to either allow Robin to build something out of at a later date, or firewood. Likely the latter, for without worrying her husband too much, winter on the farm didn't allow for excessive spending. That being said, he'd seen how small the crop hauls were at the moment. Just a few more trees and then she could call it for the day, despite the heaviness of both her arms and her eyelids telling her that it just wasn't possible to keep going.

Harvey was onto his seventh reading over of his notes, onto the third spellcheck and grammar review of them to the point where they were no longer simple notes. It felt impossible for him to do the next task of making dinner before his wife came home, or at least until he knew where she was, that she was safe. And right now, he knew she was outside chopping wood, but she was taking far too long for him to feel content. He fought with himself, was he being too worried? Would she start finding that annoying rather than endearing, especially when there was only so much he could give back to the farm? After getting too distracted by his own anxiety to continue his eighth re-read of his notes he came to the decision that even if she was absolutely fine, checking on his wife wouldn't change anything for the worse, and would certainly allow him to continue with his own day. She probably just needed a reminder of the time, it wasn't unlike her to get distracted in her work and forget to stop. It wasn't unlike either of them to be so absorbed in what they loved, and it was why they became so close in the first place. He half expected the door to open and for her to appear as he moved his pile of papers to one side and buttoned up his coat in preparation to face the weather outside, so when she didn't, the pressure to make sure she was okay only doubled. 

She'd stopped for a quick break, she'd told herself, and had tried to count the seconds but was slowly forgetting how to string the numbers together in a sequence. Leant over her axe, she'd found closing her eyes was incredibly comforting, and the chill of the season was slowly leaving her almost so suddenly that the urge to remove her coat had started creeping up on her. Following it immediately was a sense of dread. She'd stayed out too long. 

What had started as a calm walk out across their land had ended as a terrified run as he spotted her right against the cliff edge, lethargic fingers struggling to undo the zipper of her coat. He was trained to be accustomed to the signs of hypothermia, which was very valuable knowledge in such a rural town.

"Honey, you need to keep that on, it's below zero out here," he gently reminded her, taking her hands and moving them away from her coat. 

"Doesn't feel like it," she mumbled, falling easily into his arms and instantly giving up on anything else. It was safe there, and dark, and so incredibly comfortable. 

"You need to come inside, I'm already worried about you," he gently told her, but without saying a word it was clear she was reluctant to leave. It didn't take him long to realise that her collection of tools was what was keeping her back, they weren't cheap. One arm still in contact with her, he began to collect them up. "Let me take these, we can leave the wood for tomorrow." Taking the axe from her last, she snuggled against his left side with her arm around her as he carried her tools against his right. The walk back might be longer than it needed to be, but as long as she was okay, that didn't matter too much.

"I'll teach you how to chop it," she muttered to the snow immediately in front of her, unable to lift her line of vision much higher. While her husband guided her back to their house, she didn't need to.

"You'd be most welcome to," he softly smiled, seriously entertaining the idea for a moment. "Come on."

Frustratingly, most of his equipment was in the clinic. He only kept the more basic versions of his equipment on him, and they were certainly high quality enough, but they weren't the highest and giving his wife less than perfect treatment felt jarring in his mind. It was his best option while reluctant to leave her on her own, and feeling it unfair to call Maru to run such a small errand for him so late. Besides, his wife was in such a condition that the ear thermometer he kept with him would give out an accurate enough reading. 

Her worst and most obvious symptom was easily how quiet she was. During every other medical exam or procedure, both things he'd performed for her or occasions prior to moving to Pelican Town she'd told him about, she'd talked throughout. As he processed the numbers on the thermometer, Harvey realised she hadn't said a word since she'd come inside. The only thing that reassured him was that she was still clinging onto a healthy enough number for her state to not technically yet count as hypothermia. 

"If you were any colder I'd be calling an ambulance out here," he told her, packing his own equipment away and returning to hold her, all the covers and blankets they own wrapped around themselves while she held onto a mug of hot chocolate. "Maybe even driving you to the nearest hospital myself." Brushing her hair away from her face, he kissed her temple, hopefully making it clear he wasn't just in doctor mode and that if he was, he'd come out of it now. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't feel that bad," she said. How much effort talking took was obvious. "I thought I could do it."

"You don't have to apologise, love," he told her. "I'm only worried about you. I worry about you a lot."

"I know." She took another sip of her hot chocolate, more out of her own want, rather than just to please him. "I appreciate it. I appreciate you." 

"And I, you," Harvey told her. "Can we have a slightly lazier day tomorrow? You can help me tend to the animals and crops, and then we can spend the day indoors?" He realised the question he really needed to ask. "Can the wood wait a day?" She looked at their fireplace and the stack of wood beside it. 

"One day," she agreed, emotionally coming around to the idea far faster than her logical brain was. "If you'll cook for me."

"I assumed that went without saying," he smiled. "I'd like to keep you awake a little longer, make sure you're warmer before we go to sleep, if that's okay? Tomorrow we can do nothing but sleep if that makes up for it."

"You're the doctor."