#chosen very much wants people to lean on but is afraid of hurting people

[i3utterflyeffect]

I can sorta picture Vic in the human au 'knowing' a lot about humans (he does not) and maayybe being a bit calmer than Chosen because of this... (All their knowledge would basically be wild interpretations of reality lol)

Also I feel like Cho and Vic might kinda bond...? (It really depends if this is before or after the box) I kinda feel like they'd have somewhat similar ways of coping

I'm rotating this au in my micro-brain

it's probably before the box but i love hitting vic with hammers so much i need to kill them so bad. it's a pathological thing it has to happen. bonks them bonks them bonks them bo--

anyway i feel like victim logically would be focusing all of their study on the weaknesses of humans and how to get the upper hand in a fight which. the first part makes them extremely nervous about their new status as a human and the second part is now completely obsolete considering they are not a stick anymore!

victim also very much hates being human considering they consider being a human to be a moral sin at this point (subconsciously or otherwise) and they're VERY alarmed to discover that no humans, in fact, have survived complete decapitation, meaning they STILL DEFINITELY SHOULD NOT BE ALIVE

[thenatallie]

A decent lady

Part II

Description: You are Feyd's first concubine ever. You are terrified while being dressed up for him. He is thrilled while he waits for you and already has dirty thoughts and plans for you. You are finally presented to him... Warnings: Becoming sexy, if that should be a warning at all. Next chapter is gonna be a heavy smut, so MDNI.

***

You found yourself in a bath with herbs and rose petals, bald servant women were washing you and washing your face repeatedly, because you couldn't stop crying for being doomed for life. You realized immediately that you were going to be sex slave of that young man that you knew nothing about. They were scared because your eyes were already red and swollen. "Stop crying, please... You won't be pretty for our Lord. How can we do your makeup?", one girl said. Elder woman added: "We could be... replaced if we don't get you pretty in time." Between your sobs, you managed to ask who their Lord is. All the servants immediately started staring at you and quickly exchanged glances between themselves. One finally said: "Our Lord Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen." "Feyd-Rautha??!", you screamed in terror. The man known for being psychotic and killing people for fun! "Shh, don't yell, please! Walls have ears, someone might think that we speak bad of our Lord", one of servants said and gave you a concerned look. You understood her fear, poor woman. You stopped crying, and instead od that, you froze. "What is he going to do to me, is he going to hurt me?", you asked quietly, with shivery voice. The woman gave you a piece of friendly advice: "You just need to be obedient and adress him as Lord Na-Baron. Do whatever he says. So far, he never hurt ladies he has chosen. And remember - you should feel honored that he chose you." You took a long deep breath, realizing you really need to put yourself together to go through that nightmare.

***

Meanwhile, Feyd anticipated your arrival into his chambers any minute. He felt thrilled for what he wanted to do with you, his very first concubine. His perverse desires woulld be satisfied whenever he wanted. He just needed to seduce you, to drive you mad for him first, for there is nothing honorable about forcing his lovers to be. Seductuon should not be that hard despite the circumstances, Feyd thought. He knew women too well for quite some time now. Only a few of them were afraid like you when met him, but surprisingly quickly changed their minds. Except... except you were the most beautiful one he's met, you had blond wavy hair, you were slim and with really nice curves, with your eyes blue like his, your porcelan tan almost fair as his. Nevermind the fact you were a real mess that day, trembling for being traumatized. That excited him further as he was thinking of all the seductuon scenarios with you. He wandered how much more appealing you can get when dressed up only for him. He awaited you. He was nonchalantly leaned on a table, wearing black sheer tunic that almost completely revealed his godlike torso and veiny hands. A long, also black, heavy and layered skirt started little below his waist. His leather black boots were elegant, adding a fine touch to the outfit. Feyd was awaiting you while slowly sipping a glass of a dark, thick bittersweet liqor, occasionally licking and biting his lips at the thoughts of you.

***

The agonizing moment had came. Two servants took you into the dark chambers decorated by weapons and different metallic figures. They made gesture to present you to Feyd, bowing, then quickly went out and you heard the sounds of metal door closing. You dared to look at him. You did your best not to show fear, but you felt it anyway. Your eyes were first captured by his unreadable but predatory gaze. The you felt something else, too. Something that made you shift your eyes to his lips. They were so pink, plump and wet. Than your eyes wandered lower. His whole figure caused a faint thought somewhere in your mind that this situation might be a little easier than you think, a little more applealing even... You blushed and looked at the floor. Feyd red you easily, putting very content smirk on his lips. He finally spoke in a raspy voice: "Come here, little swan. Don't be afraid, come closer."

***

[relicsongmel]

Was doing some thinking today and realized that one of the reasons I'm really drawn to Kieran is because he's a rare example of a character that's shy (and usually good-hearted) but still has some rougher edges to him.

I feel like all too often shy characters are shoved into being portrayed as either "smol bean who would never hurt anyone and just wants friends uwu" or "brooding loner who snaps at people to cover up the fact they don't actually know how to socialize" with not a lot of wiggle room in between. While I can and do enjoy characters that (arguably) fall into those respective categories, they're a bit reductive in the sense that things are very rarely that black and white in reality. Even the kindest people have a limit to what they can tolerate. They have bad days or respond poorly to events around them that cause them stress. And the same can be said in reverse as well—point being, people are multifaceted and don't always behave as predictably as we'd like to think.

And I think Kieran reflects that dichotomy perfectly. When we first meet him, he's meek, timid, and relies heavily on his more brash and forceful older sister to help him navigate social situations where he would otherwise lose out on something valuable because he's too afraid to come forward and ask for what he wants (like how she has to ask the player to battle him on his behalf). He's often quick to cower whenever she starts to get heated, but he's also not afraid to point out when he thinks she's wrong and sometimes even gets sassy with her himself. He's undeniably sweet and gentle and shows eagerness to make friends with the player, but he becomes much more curt when he notices we're lying to him about Ogerpon. The rest of the Teal Mask storyline shows him fluctuating even further—yelling at Carmine and the player for keeping secrets from him, punching things in fits of anger...then backpedaling and apologizing for the trouble he caused a few scenes later. Spreading the truth about Ogerpon to everyone in the village to help make her happy...then selfishly demanding a battle to see who's worthy of being her Trainer when she has already clearly chosen the player.

After being lied to and suffering repeated losses at our hands (including the Pokemon he's idolized all his life choosing us over him), he leans even more heavily into his bitter side during the Indigo Disk—being cold and ruthless to pretty much everyone around him, but at the end of the day it's primarily overcompensation for what he perceives as his own personal weakness (because he's still just a kid trying to be taken seriously). He's shown to drop the act on multiple occasions—most notably when he's caught off guard by our appearance at Blueberry Academy and at a few points during the Area Zero expedition. He antagonizes the player up until the moment of his defeat and tries to catch and use Terapagos in a last-ditch moment of desperation that ends up going horribly wrong, but after everything resolves he's quick to admit his mistakes and asks the player for forgiveness and if they can still be friends. After the epilogue he's mostly back to his old self, but still seems to get worked up when provoked (e.g. when he yells at Drayton for refusing to stop calling him "ex-Champ" in one of their League Club Room interactions).

And I think this varied and sometimes contradictory behavior is precisely why Kieran is such a cohesive and believable character—because it shows how even kind, well-meaning people may have a hidden darker side that can show itself under the right circumstances. How they might let their insecurities get the better of them. How a shy, timid kid might not have the experience to know how to deal with sudden feelings of frustration and/or jealousy that are far too strong to keep to himself, so he lashes out as a result. How despite all this he remains kind, sensitive and loving at his core and shows willingness to learn from his mistakes. And that is what makes him so compelling to me.

[punkinspice]

If you don't mind my asking, are you still Christian? I have seen your posts over time about leaving cults and whatnot, and I was curious how that impacted your faith.

Hello! I don't mind you asking at all, and I am happy to talk about it, it's just that it's a very touchy, complicated, controversial and long answer that I don't always know how to answer it in a way that makes sense. (this may get really deep)

If I were to be 100% honest, I will admit that I personally no longer believe in or identify with being a Christian or the Christian faith.

As to what I believe in currently, or what I'd call myself now? I really don't have an answer to that. I guess you could say I'm currently leaning more towards being an agnostic and sometimes atheist? But honestly, the things I may agree with today, may change tomorrow. and I'm sure the things I will believe in currently will be completely changed in a year. And.... I am ok with that. I want to be questioning and to have an open mind to things, opinions and questions and to have the permission to be wrong and to change my mind on things as I learn new or more information.

This is not a choice that I've come to easily, or glibly. It's been a process I've been in the past 3 maybe 4 years of my life, and I think in the last year is when I've chosen to leave the faith. It's a place I never thought I would be in and it's involved a lot of pain, confusion and trauma and healing in my life. There is a whole ton more I could go more deeply into, but I don't feel this is the right post to do that, and I don't quite have words yet to explain or describe everything.

As far as the cult thing goes, there were and are a lot ways that I was raised and taught to believe in, that by definition, was a cult. There were a lot things that were abusive and still traumatize and cut into me deeply and I am in the process of recovering from and untangling the things that were taught to me and it still brings up a lot of trauma for me, of which I am thankfully getting help for.

I also joined a well known Christian organization around the age of 21/22, and was in it for over 2 years, until Covid hit and I had to go home. And the more time I was out and after a ton of research and studying, I will be honest and say that that organization is a cult, and it did leave a lot of mental and financial wounds on me that I am going to be recovering from for a long time. Did I learn a lot from that experience and grow from it? Yes I did, but it is an experience and chapter of my life that I am glad is over.

I know that from the short examples that I've given it's really easy to say that that really wasn't true Christianity, or it was just people poorly misrepresenting the word and love of God, or worse, blaming me and saying that I was never a Christian to begin with, which I can't even begin to explain how much and how deeply into the faith I truly was, and how hurtful that allegation is.

...And maybe all of that is true... And maybe it isn't....

There is a lot of pain, betrayal, anger and grief that I am still healing from and will be healing from for years to come. I don't want to live in a state of bitterness and anger and blame of the things that were done to me. But I also want to admit and be honest about the wrongs that were done to me and the abuse that was done to me in the name of Love.

I need time and separation, but mostly I need love and understanding. It's one of the most painful and isolating experiences I've ever gone through in my life, and so utterly earth shattering and life changing and most of the time you can't even talk to your family or friends about it because you are so afraid of the way they will react and what they will take away from you.

A lot of this is very surface level of my journey through this "deconstruction" of faith if that's what you want to call it. There's so much more that I could go in depth in, but again I don't always have the words or mental fortitude to really get into a lot of things.

If you still have questions I'll try my best to answer. I know this is a really sad and hard thing for a lot of people to hear, and yeah.

It is sad. It's devastating.

There are days I wish could go back to the way it was, or that I could fully go back into the faith.... but I can't. And, despite the excruciating pain and grief that I've been going through, I ironically feel so much more freedom and peace than I ever did in religion. Which I know is hard to comprehend... it's hard for me to explain.

I'm sorry for the ramble and the heaviness. But I guess now's as good a time as any to finally admit this about myself and where I am at.

My final thought is to please have so much grace and understanding to people in your life who are going through a similar process to me. If you have friends or family in this same process, please just be kind to them. They didn't ask for any of this, and many times these doubts and questions came from things out of their control, and they're simply trying and surviving the best they can. There is so much pain there that I'm sure they haven't expressed to you because they are afraid of losing everyone and everything that they love, simply because they do not believe in the same thing anymore. So just love them, and hold space for them and don't argue or defend, as that will only push them away further. And also be open to them. They may have very important and valid insights to things that you may have become blind to. If you really believe in a loving, kind and gracious God then he would be doing those things for these people 10 fold.

[mini-and-mighty]

Okay okay okay okay

Don't mind me, just going to hyper-analyze this scene which has lived rent-free in my head for at least a decade if not longer.

Okay so there's so much to talk about this scene as far as the conversation and how it fits within the larger narrative of SW. (Anakin reassuring his apprentice that you can't save everyone, and that losing people is an inevitable reality of command in war while simultaneously destroying himself trying to save everyone he cares about)

But rn I just want to focus on the physicality.

For the whole scene leading up to this, Ahsoka has been looking Anakin in the face. She doesn't even look away when he says that he's disappointed in her- instead she looks up! She's hurt and confused and guilty and looks to him for guidance rather than being afraid of his judgment.

But there's this exchange right before that first gif:

"But sometimes you get carried away!"

"All that means, is that I understand what you're going through."

And then Ahsoka looks away. He understands, but he succeeded. She's supposed to be living up to his legacy, she's supposed to show that she deserves to be the Chosen One's padawan. But she failed. That shame is what pulls her away.

Anakin tries, but when she doesn't look at him, he pushes her shoulder back and leans down to her level to make sure that she can see the sincerity in his face when he says "It wasn't your fault."

Ahsoka doesn't look away again until Anakin lets go of her shoulder, but she's not shrinking away from him like she did before. Her eyes are low, yes, but she's not hunched over. Her posture is neutral as she's trying to process what he's telling her and manage all of the very strong emotions of the moment.

AND CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE NEXT LINE IN THE SCENE

Right after this, Rex approaches them and gives Anakin an update on the situation. But if you listen, you can literally hear Anakin's tone shift mid sentence. The first time he responds, he's still very much in 'Master' mode. He's focused on Ahsoka, his voice is that same quiet firmness that he's had throughout the rest of the conversation.

But when Rex continues, saying that the Council wants a report on their progress, Anakin shifts. His posture, his tone of voice, and his expression all changes as he turns to talk to Rex, going from Skyguy back to General Skywalker.

It's such a short scene but what I love about animation as a medium is how intentional the creators can get with telling their story. They only have a limited number of frames and the Clone Wars team packed a ton of emotional resonance into every single one.

.

.

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Okay, we now return to your regularly scheduled programming.

jedi june 2024 — 30 instances of jedi bonding day 29: ahsoka tano & anakin skywalker

the clone wars, 1.19 storm over ryloth

[assertequals]

invariant

I'm standing in front of my apartment with the keys in my hand, hesitating to open the door. Just go away, I think to myself. If you run away he's never going to find you. I know that's not really true. He always finds me. Always.

I put the key in the keyhole and turn it slowly, carefully, like that's going to do something to calm him down. When the door opens just a little bit I peek inside. I can't see him anywhere. I enter the foyer and push the door closed behind me.

When I enter my bedroom I find him sitting on the bed with his back towards me. I let my bag fall to the ground and lean against the doorframe.

"How did it go?" he asks in that soft voice that would sound sweet if I didn't know him better.

"Nothing much." I try and fail to make it sound nonchalant. "They didn't agree with my assessment."

"How much did you get?"

"50."

He turns around, and the stone-cold expression on his face is exactly what I was afraid of. "You're a disgrace," he says, and his voice is now just as stone-cold, none of that fake softness left over. "There are people your age making 80, 90, 100. You can't even manage 70?"

There's a part of me that wants to argue with him, that wants to say things like I'm not a disgrace! and I'm worth more than just how much money I make!. I know better than to listen to that part.

I try to think of something better to say, but then he jumps off from the bed with such force, and grabs me by my waist and throws my whole body against the other side of the door frame, and then he lunges out and I try to dodge him but it's no use, he knows exactly what I'm going to do, and he hits me right in the stomach, and all I can think of is please stop! but I know he's not done yet. He grabs my waist again, pulls me towards him and throws me back against the door frame a second time, and then a third time, and then he just throws me to the ground, and I can feel that dull pain in my back that's become so, so familiar. Then he walks out of the room, and I know it won't be long before he's back, and I know what he's going to do and I'm so, so scared, and I think just run away! but I know I can't.

I slowly catch my breath and sit up. I touch my head and feel relief when there's no blood on my hand. I look around the bedroom. Everything is as I left it. He clearly hasn't been doing much all day, other than waiting for me to show up.

My teddy bear is squished in between two pillows on the bed. I get on the bed and grab it, and pull my knees up to my chest and hide my face in the soft, fluffy material.

Soft. Sometimes I think all I need is some softness. Some gentleness, forgiveness, empathy. But here's the thing: I only have this one life, just like everyone else only has their own life, and there isn't much softness in it but I still have to live with it.

After a minute or so I hear him come back. He lays down a towel on the bed in front of me and sits down on it and places a little sachet next to him. Then he takes the teddy bear from me and tosses it to the side, and then he pulls off my hoodie in one swift motion and tosses that as well, and then grabs my naked forearm with both of his hands. He lets his fingers run over the skin on my forearm, up and down, until he finds a spot. Then he reaches into the sachet and produces a razor blade, wrapped in a thin sheet of paper. One of his hands is still holding my forearm, the other unwraps the blade, takes it in between two fingers and brings it to the spot that he's just chosen. He lets it touch my skin lightly and moves it up and down a bit, trying to find just the right spot. Then, when he's found it, he presses the sharp metal into my skin and begins to slowly drag it across, millimeter by millimeter. He always goes slowly, maybe because he wants to be precise or maybe because he thinks it will hurt more that way.

Here's the thing: It doesn't actually hurt very much, not at first. It hurts a little when he goes over the same spot multiple times. But it's not all that bad. Not physically, at least.

He makes three cuts each in three places. When he's done, he takes a disinfectant wipe to clean the blood and puts a band-aid over the wounds. It itches like hell, but it's something I'm used to by now.

We all should have someone to keep us humble. To remind us of our weaknesses and our failures and all the ways that we fall short of the people around us. I have someone. And it might hurt sometimes, but it's necessary.

That's why I can't run away from him: Because he needs to be here. Because I won't ever improve without someone to remind me what needs improving.

Because sometimes, being hurt is just what you need.

[justdontaskme]

Don't Let Go (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

A/N: Didn't think I'd have another one up so soon. Thank you for the love on the last one! Hope you enjoy this one too! This one is like a continuation of this fic, but it also can be read alone. Also that Spain vs Finland game! I had so many emotions!

You were lying awake quietly in bed, your head rising and falling with Alexia's breaths from its spot on her chest as the midfielder continued to snore away. It had taken her quite a while to actually fall asleep last night, but once she did she was completely out. 

Normally, Alexia would be the first between the two of you to wake up, but these last couple of days had been extremely draining on her. You couldn't blame her. All of her plans and goals had changed in a second. Her dreams crushed. You just wished there was something you could do to help besides just sitting there.

Since she officially got the news of her torn ACL, your girlfriend had been hiding her emotions about sitting out for what could have been her breakout tournament. While many people already knew how amazing of a player she was, you knew she had her sights on bringing Spain up to that next level. 

It was starting to worry you. She hadn’t cried or grieved. Instead, she just stared off into space and tried to put on a happy face when around her teammates. But you knew it was her pretending that everything was okay. 

After many long talks and assurances that you would support whatever decision she made, Alexia chose to remain with her team and cheer from the sidelines. 

The decision didn't surprise you much. Her love for the sport surpassed the love many claim to have. And while it may hurt sitting on the sidelines, you knew she wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Plus, she wanted to be there to encourage her teammates and make sure they knew how much she believed in them. 

Just a few short minutes later, Alexia’s alarm went off, breaking the peaceful silence and waking your sleeping beauty from her much needed sleep. You were still amazed that she could wake with the first alarm, whereas you had to set three or four to make sure you weren't late to anything.

From your spot, you turned your head just enough to see her begin to stir. One arm blindly reached for her phone to turn off the alarm, as her eyes struggled to open.

"Morning, babe," you whispered, afraid of destroying the tranquility of the morning. 

"Why are you awake?" Alexia seemed genuinely confused to see you up before her. She actually had to do a double take. 

You shrugged, grabbing her arm resting on your hip and wrapping it around yourself more tightly, "Couldn't sleep. Your snoring was very loud."

She didn't laugh but you saw the slightest uptick of her lips and considered that a win. It was more than you’d been getting lately. It was followed closely by a glare in your direction, “I do not snore.”

“Whatever you say, babe,” you rolled your eyes but leaned up just enough to press a kiss to the underside of her jaw. 

With your help, Alexia went to the bathroom to do her business and get ready for the day. You kept the door open so you could rush to her if needed while you went about to gather her clothes for the day. Alexia had chosen to accompany her team to training, so picking an outfit was easy. 

After brushing her teeth and washing her face, you helped Alexia back to the bed so she was off her feet. You helped her change her clothes, teasing her as you pulled off her night clothes, kissing all of her newly exposed skin. She rolled her eyes at you, shoving you away lightly, but you saw the smile.

In appreciation of your efforts, she dragged your head to hers, so she could kiss your lips. And you were never one to turn down her affection. You felt her tongue just peeking through when the two of you were interrupted by a knocking at the door. 

A quiet groan left your lips before you pulled away, apologetically, pressing one more kiss to your girlfriend’s lips. Alexia seemed surprised to see a man rolling in a cart. 

“What’s this?” she asked as you thanked the staff member, who placed the plates on the desk before leaving. 

“I thought we could have a nice little breakfast together. Just you and me,” you answered, grabbing Alexia’s plate and walking it over to her. “I know you haven’t had much of an appetite, but I still think you need to eat something.”

Despite how much she loved her teammates and their support during this hard time, Alexia had a hard time having meals with them. So, to spare her the awkwardness and pain, you had placed an order to have breakfast delivered to the room in the morning. 

You had kept it simple with an omelet, a piece of toast and some fruit, which thankfully, Alexia picked at and ate most of. But only because you would literally reach over to feed her and reward each bite with a soft peck to her lips. 

Her mood seemed just slightly brighter than it had lately, and you patted yourself on the back.

After breakfast, you helped clear the plates, so Alexia could relax in bed while you got ready for the day. As you finished getting yourself ready, you turned to see Alexia waiting for you near the end of the bed.

"Can I wear this?" Alexia asked.

Your attention turned towards the item in her lap, where she was gingerly holding the black hat you’ve been wearing since the Italy game. It was nothing special, so you were a little surprised to hear her ask for it. Nonetheless, you'd give her whatever she wanted. 

Without answering, you walked over, taking the hat from her hands so you could place it on her head yourself. After making sure it was fitted on her head, you brushed her hair back, cradling her face in your hands. "What's mine is yours," you said before bending over and laying a soft kiss on her lips. 

As you returned to your full height, Alexia leaned forward, turning her head at the last minute so her cheek was resting against your stomach. She didn't say anything, but you knew she needed this. Her arms were wrapped tightly around your waist as you rubbed her back in soothing circles. While Alexia still had yet to fully express her bottled up emotions, you did notice her need for your physical touch. 

"Ready to go?" you asked her, double checking that you had your phone, wallet, and keycard. She nodded her head, thanking you as you grabbed her crutches and held the door open for her. 

The two of you were sitting on a long couch in the lobby, you on one end by the armrest, with Alexia’s back leaning against your side, her leg propped up on the other end of the couch. A random passerby may consider it rude, but you didn’t care. Your girl mattered more. 

Eventually, her teammates made it down, Mapi and Leila spotting the two of you first. The Melis made their way over, waving at you with their usually infectious smiles slightly dulled as they approached. 

“Hola,” Mapi said, crouching slightly to help Alexia off the couch as she made a move to get up. 

"I'll be here when you get back," you told her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "My phone is on so call or text if you need anything from me, okay?"

She nodded at you before moving towards the entrance of the hotel, Mapi right behind her.

“She’ll be okay,” Leila said, wrapping you in a hug you didn’t know you needed until now. “Are you okay?” 

You knew a little about injuries, having had to sit out for the past couple of weeks with a lingering injury that never seemed to go away. But it seemed like a minute inconvenience compared to Alexia’s situation. 

“I will be,” you said, trying to be convincing as you rubbed your forehead against Leila’s shoulder. 

“We are here for you, too. Do not forget that, hermana,” Leila said. 

When you pulled back you found her eyes bearing into yours as she tried to find any sign of you spiraling. She knew better than to push you. So, when she found nothing, she decided to let it go for the time being. Your best friend said goodbye and promised to keep an eye on Alexia while they were gone. 

With nothing else to do until Alexia and the girls were back, you and Alba, who had flown in with Eli the day before, decided to explore the city a bit. The two of you were definitely in need of a caffeine fix. 

Thankfully, you and Alba got along quite well. In fact, there were times that Alexia would be more annoyed than anything about how well the two of you got along. It always came at her expense as the two of you easily teased her mercilessly about anything and everything. 

Honestly though, Alexia couldn’t be happier that you and her family meshed well. Family was everything to Alexia, so it meant the world to see her family accept you with open arms. 

Having her family there had helped, but not as much as you had expected. Your girlfriend’s eyes lit up and instantly watered when she first saw them, but being the stubborn and strong woman she was, Alexia held her tears back. Not even her mother’s loving embrace could tear down her walls. 

It made you frown. Since the incident, Alexia had been bottling it all up inside of her. While she expressed her frustrations and disappointments, you had yet to see her grieve the momentary loss of her first love. Soccer was her world, and it was now just out of reach. 

After finding a nice coffee shop within walking distance of the hotel, you and Alba placed your orders and went to take a seat. 

“How are you doing?” Alba asked, not even easing into the conversation. 

“Me? I’m doing fine,” she fixed you with a look that told you she didn’t believe you.

“It’s just me, Y/N. You can tell me how you’re really feeling. I know this is a lot for you, too,” she reached across the table, lightly laying her hand on top of yours. 

You sighed, “I hate that I can’t take her pain away.” Your hands began to fidget with whatever was in reach. “She didn’t deserve this.”

“Life is unfair sometimes, but trust me. You being here and helping her through this means everything to Alexia. My sister is lucky to have someone like you who cares and loves her so much,” Alba stated, her tone leaving no room for arguments. 

“I wish I could do more. It hurts me to see her in such pain,” you added on, the need to vent finally hitting you without the guilt of unloading onto your girlfriend or your friends who needed to stay focused on the tournament ahead of them.

Alba was shaking her head at you, “There’s nothing else you can do but be here for her. And you are doing a wonderful job. Don’t undermine how much you mean to her. Do you hear me?"

You nodded your head, "I hear you. Thank you."

“You are like family, Y/N. Never feel like you can’t come to me or my mama for anything,” at those words, you felt your eyes start to water.

“Thank you,” you repeated, wiping the tears from your eyes before they could fall. Managing a few deep breaths, you regained your composure, returning Alba’s embrace fully to express your gratitude.

Eventually, your drinks arrived and you and Alba diverted to lighter topics, such as her next vacation plans and her work. 

Halfway throughout your conversation with Alba, you finally get a text from your girlfriend. At first it's just a text saying she missed you. How she wished you were there with her so she didn’t feel so lonely sitting all by herself. 

Soon the texts were accompanied by videos of the girls training. They included both highlights of the drills and what she thought they needed to work on. You tried not to laugh at your girlfriend's inability to forget about the game for a second, but you also knew that this was how she was dealing with it. 

When she texted you saying that she would be heading back to the hotel soon, you and Alba decided to head back as well. 

You make it back first, falling back onto the bed and turning the TV on for some white noise in the background. 

When Mapi finally showed up to drop Alexia off, you could tell your girlfriend was exhausted. She didn’t say anything as she entered, instead going straight to the bed while you had a few words with the blonde centerback.

She told you how Alexia had been mostly quiet the entire training, rarely talking to anyone and when she did, it was usually a very short conversation. Not even some of the team's crazy antics were able to pull a smile onto her face. After thanking Mapi for the update and her help, you went back inside, eyeing your girlfriend who hadn’t moved after placing her crutches by her bedside. 

Even though she didn’t ask, you helped settle her up against the headboard, adding a few of the extra pillows underneath her bad knee before taking your spot next to her. Alexia seemed lost in thought. Silently, you reached over, grabbing one of her hands and pulling it into your lap so you could rub soft circles over her knuckles. 

It was quiet between you two as you were scrolling away on your phone and catching up with some of your national team teammates, allowing Alexia the quiet time she needed to process her thoughts. When you felt a tug on your hand, you put your phone down and gave her your full attention.  

“Thank you, mi amor, for everything,” Alexia said, lifting the hat off and handing it to you.

You shook your head, pressing it back into her hands. While it was such a simple garment, you liked to think Alexia pulled some comfort from your hat. It was one of the very few things of yours she could wear with her Spanish gear, “You never have to thank me, Ale. I would do anything for you.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” you smiled at her, leaning over to press a kiss to her lips. You couldn’t help the smile forming on your face when you felt Alexia’s hand on your cheek to pull you back in when you started to draw away. “Te amo, Ale.”

“Te amo,” she whispered back, her eyes beginning to water as she looked into your eyes. “Can you hold me?” she asked, her voice cracking. And that was when you knew she had finally reached her breaking point. 

“Always,” you answered, scooting over so that your legs were pressed against each other, your arm going around her shoulder as you pulled her into you as best you could without further injuring her knee.

Alexia did her best to hide her face in your neck as your cheek rested against the top of her head. You couldn’t see her face, but it didn’t take long for you to feel the cries wracking her body. 

You let her have her moment, your hand rubbing up and down on her arm as you whispered little affirmations into her ear, each one followed by a soft kiss to the top of her head. 

“I got you, Ale,” kiss, “Let it out, babe,” kiss, “I’m here,” kiss, “I love you.” 

While it hurt to see her like this, you knew it was exactly what she needed. You had been waiting for this moment, where she finally expelled all the emotions she was drowning in. Now, she could move forward and enjoy her time here with her team.

Minutes passed, maybe even an hour before you felt Alexia’s sobs soften, her body sagging into yours. You moved away just enough to take a look at her. She had cried herself to sleep. 

You would never understand how the world could be so cruel to someone like her, but you knew you would spend the rest of your life doing whatever you could to give her everything she wanted in life.

[pallastrology]

leo: venus vs. mars

venus

leo venus is more nurturing. like a lioness, they are protective and really dote on their loved ones. they aren’t entirely selfless with the attention they give; they hope for love and praise in return. they have big hearts and want to be loved the way they love

they are more dependent. leo venus tends to seek validation and soothing from others, especially when it comes to romantic relationships. they are sensitive and self-conscious, and are easy to offend. they can easily become codependent in relationships, because they forget their own strength and feel they need to lean on someone else for support, when in reality, they are fire signs, and have a strong spirit

they tend to be more artistic. less brash, they have more patience to stop and admire the arts. they have less creative energy and are more prone to creativity-block, but appreciate the aesthetic of life. you see this love of everything beautiful and moving in every part of them; their style, airs and favourites, their playlists and even the scribbles on their shopping lists

mars

leo mars is more stubborn. with mars, we can really see the fixed side of leo clear as day; they know what they want (even when they don’t), and they stick by it. loyal to a fault, leo never finds it easy to change their stance, and this is something that comes out differently with both placements. while leo venus tends towards codependency, leo mars can be stubbornly independent and struggle to compromise or admit they’re in the wrong - even when they know it themselves

they are more romantic. that same stubbornness has the added benefit of making them decisive and self-assured. when it comes to romance, they aren’t afraid to take the reins, to ask for what they want, and to shower their lover in affection and praise. they are active partners, and don’t give up on love easily

they are more creative. while they may not have the same artistic touch that leo venus has, mars in leo is a very creative placement. drawing on their massive reserves of energy and determination, they become masters at their chosen art form - as long as they enjoy it. passionate, with a lot to say and more to prove, this placement really is a powerhouse of creativity

both

both placements are proud and encouraging. they really do brighten up the room, with their sunny disposition and cheerleading personalities. they love to lift others up as much as they love to be lifted up, and you’ll never feel unappreciated with a leo for a friend. they celebrate their loved ones, almost idealise them at times, and the warmth they give off is almost addictive

they both love to love, and need to feel adored. their loved ones are their pride and joy, but they need to feel they are just as loved. they can easily become jealous and feel left out or alone, and just want to feel included and treasured, the way they treasure their people

they both fire up easily. neither are really interested in holding grudges, being jealous, or getting called hot-headed, but they can’t help it; they are personally affected by almost everything that touches them, in some way. they have very large emotions that can get the best of them quickly if they aren’t careful, and are easily hurt by slights. the good news is, they appreciate the positives in life just as much

both placements need creative outlets. as I mentioned above, both placements are creative and artistic in their own ways, and with their large emotions and egos, leos need somewhere to put everything down. their chosen art form is often an extension of themselves, and clicks with their personality beautifully. they put a lot of themselves into their creations, and can be incredibly attached to them

[scuttling]

Lavender

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 9,244 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad's Best Friend Friend From Work Hotch, Me turning a naughty, smutty story into something way more aka my specialty, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Semi-public sex, Office sex Summary: You absolutely dread going home for vacation, to your sickeningly cheery childhood bedroom and opinionated parents, but meeting your dad's friend from work at a stuffy cocktail party has the potential to make this a vacation you'll never forget.*Requested by anon, severely altered by me 😅 Link to A03 or read below! Most people would jump at the chance for an unexpected two week vacation, but you are not most people. When your boss emailed you to inform you that there had been some kind of glitch in HR’s system and you actually had two weeks of paid vacation that were set to expire, your anxiety had kicked into high gear. There isn’t enough time to coordinate travel with any of your friends, too short notice, and you’re kind of afraid to travel alone, though you’d never admit it, so that’s out.

There’s always the prospect of hanging out at home, catching up on all the shows you started but never had time to finish, doing things you’re always too busy for, like cooking and cleaning out your closet and going to the animal shelter to pet the dogs and cats.

Unfortunately, those dreams are crushed when you accidentally let slip during a call to your parents that you have the time off, and they literally insist you come home, will not let you get off the phone without confirming your plans.

You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.

The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.

“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.

“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.

“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.

“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.

“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.

“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.

“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.

By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”

As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.

“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.

You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.

Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.

You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.

You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.

“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.

“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.

“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.

“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.

“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight—or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”

“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.

“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.

“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.

“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.

“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.

You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.

It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.

At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.

If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.

“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.

“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.

“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.

“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.

“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”

“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”

You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.

“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.

“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.

“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.

“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.

“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.

“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.

“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.

“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.

“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.

“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.

“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.

“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.

“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.

“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.

“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.

“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.

“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.

“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”

Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”

That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.

“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”

He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.

“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.

“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.

“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.

“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.

“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”

You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.

“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”

He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.

“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.

“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.

“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”

“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.

“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.

“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”

“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”

“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”

“Right. Please continue.”

“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.

“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it’s something you don’t ever really lose.”

“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”

“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.

You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.

“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.

It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.

“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.

Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.

“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.

“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”

He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.

“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.

“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.

When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”

“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”

He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.

Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.

It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.

He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.

“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.

“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.

You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.

He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.

“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.

You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.

He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.

“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.

“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.

You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.

With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.

You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.

“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.

“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.

“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.

He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.

The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.

Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.

You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.

“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.

“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.

“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”

You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.

“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.

“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”

God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.

“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.

“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.

“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”

You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.

“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”

“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.

“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.

“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”

He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.

“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”

You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.

“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.

“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.

He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.

As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.

He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.

“Aaron!”

Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.

“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”

“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.

“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.

“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”

“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”

“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.

“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.

“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.

“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.

He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.

“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.

“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.

You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.

“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.

“That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.

“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.

“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”

You groan, roll your eyes.

“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.

“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.

“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.

“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.

“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.

He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.

You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.

“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”

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Just Hold Me

I had a dream that got stuck in my brain, so I decided to turn it into a Loki x fem!reader fanfic. Here it is. Please be gentle this is the first but of my writing I've shared.

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Summary: After a rough battle fighting with the Avengers you skip the party to recover in your room at the Avengers tower. There you're visited by a drunk Thor and a comforting Loki.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warning: non consensual kissing, mention of assault, pain, mention of death, they all need therapy

What to expect: Me turning a dream into a Loki fluff therapy session.

From your room in the Avengers tower you could still hear the sounds of the party. Another victory for the team meant another raging party to celebrate. You loved a good party, but you had taken a few too many hits during the mission and had chosen to head back to your room.

A knock sounded at your door, "Y/N, are you there?" You heard the gruff voice of Thor.

The god of thunder and his brother Loki had become members of the team after defeating the Dark Elves in London. There had been a drunken night when Loki confessed to you he had considered faking his own death and stealing the throne of Asgard. But Loki had chosen to help fight, winning the battle and the approval of the Avengers. Not everyone had accepted them completely, but you understand that people were capable of change and had become friends with the pair.

"Y/N?!?" Thor called again, pounding a little harder on the door.

You rise from your bed and walk to the door, opening it you find a very clearly drunk Thor. It took a great deal of drinking to get the god drunk. You chuckle thinking about how much he must have consumed, but then notice that his eyes are full of tears.

"Thor, what's wrong?"

"Can I come in?"

Normally you didn't let anyone into your room. You were a fairly open person, happy to share, but your room was your safe place to get away and recharge. Standing there, leaning slightly against your door frame Thor looked completely broken, so you open the door and gesture for him to enter. Leaving the door open you follow Thor into the room.

You weren't sure how to handle having a guest in your room. But Thor walked over and sat on your bed, like he owned the place. "I'm sorry to bother you, I just, I was at that party and everything was good. You know we had that Asgardian wine brought in, so much better than anything here on Midgard. But then I saw a woman in the crowd that looked just like her. And I thought, I don't know, I thought maybe she had only faked it, maybe she'd just been lost and now she'd come to find me. I ran over to her, but the woman was just some stranger."

From your spot learning against the wall you asked, "Who do you mean? Jane?"

"Ha, I've lost her too. I seem to lose everyone I care about. But no. I thought I saw my mother"

That broke your heart. That same drunken night when Loki had confessed thinking of faking his own death, you two had also talked about Frigga's death. Unsure how to comfort the god then you had sat with Loki, holding his hand while he cried. Loki had been so close with Frigga, a part of Loki had changed when the guard had delivered the news of her death. Being in prison unable to even attend the funeral had stirred a desire to be a better person in Loki.

Even though you had seen Loki's grief, somehow Thor had seemed stronger, less affected, but Frigga was his mother, too. The loss of a parent is a terrible thing to deal with no matter how strong of a person you might appear to be. And clearly alcohol made the Asgardians emotional wrecks, because here now was the god of thunder sitting on your bed, body racking with sobs.

You sat down next to Thor, reaching to take his hand. Instead Thor pulled you into a crushing hug. Your first instinct was to pull away from the pain, you had really taken a beating in that fight. But Thor was your friend and he was hurting inside, so you relaxed. Rubbing circles on his back, you whispered "it's ok, you're ok" while you let him cry on your shoulder. The two of you sat like that for a long while before Thor released his hold on you.

You were about to ask Thor if he was feeling better, when he looked down at you and leaned in to kiss you. A million thoughts ran through your brain all at once. Fear struck you the strongest, and you scrambled away, backing up until your back was against the headboard. "What are you doing?"

"Um, kissing you," Thor said as he crawled toward you, hovering over you he leaned to try and kiss you.

"Well, stop it" you put your arms in front of your face trying to push him away. "Stop it, stop it, stop it"

Thor's strong arms easily push your own hands out of the way. But just as Thor leaned in towards you, he was ripped from on top of you.

Frightened, you look up to see Loki shoving Thor away, placing himself between you and Thor. "The lady told you to stop. What has gotten into you brother?"

"You don't know anything stupid brother, just leave us alone" Thor lunges for Loki, but Thor is still far too intoxicated to stand a chance in a fight. Loki easily pushes back and Thor nearly crashes into the wall.

Before Thor can lunge again Loki summons a pair of daggers and points then at Thor. "Brother you're drunk. You need to calm down. I don't want to hurt you, but if you try to hurt Y/N, I'll have no choice."

"Brother you wouldn't dare."

Loki points the daggers more directly at Thor "I don't know what is happening here but you know that I will do anything to defend a lady's honor."

"Oh, so you're just such a hero now? A perfect little prince charming? You're not defending anything. You're just jealous because Y/N invited me into her room and not you."

You stand up, careful to stay behind Loki. "Thor, nothing was going to happen between us. You came to me, crying and I offered you a hand to hold because I knew you missed your mother. You hugged me and I let you because you are my friend. But that's it. You are my friend and I don't want any more than that. You should thank Loki for keeping you from doing something you'd have regretted."

"You think I'd regret kissing you?"

"No, I think you'd regret kissing someone who didn't want to be kissed. You'd regret taking advantage of someone you cared about."

"I, I thought you'd want to kiss me"

"You buffoon, not everyone wants to have their face crushed in by your giant head."

"Hush Loki," you walk toward Thor, Loki tries to pull you back behind him but you touch his arm gently, and step forward. "Thor you know I do care about you, but I don't feel that way about you. Look, I know you have had a lot to drink tonight. And you have a lot of emotions running through you. I mean you thought you saw your mother, that has to be really hard to deal with. But you made a mistake."

"I thought, I just. Uh, I'm sorry"

"I know. Right now I think it is best if you go back to your room, get some sleep, and we can talk more in the morning, once you're sober."

"But,"

"You heard her brother. She is giving you a very generous offer. If you don't accept and leave now, I will make you. And I won't be nice about it."

With a final look at you, Thor leaves your room.

Once Loki is sure that Thor is gone, he sets his daggers down and turns to you. You register that he chose to set them down rather than magic then away, but chart it away as a question for later.

Approaching you, hands raised like you are an animal he is afraid to spook Loki asks, "Y/N, are you ok?"

"Yes, yes. I'm fine." Which is a lie, you're anything but ok. Unsteady on your feet, you nearly collapse.

Loki reaches to catch you and leads you to sit on the bed, "oh Y/N, what did he do to you? I'll kill him if he has hurt you."

"Thank you, but I'm actually just a little worse off than I thought from that fight today. All this has just made me extra aware of how tired I am."

"I'll go get Banner or Strange, or one of the others."

"No," you reach and grab onto his arm.

He looks down at the way your hands tremble as they hold onto his arm. "But, Y/N, you are unwell."

"I'm not sick. I'm not injured, well not more than normal after a fight. I'm just tired. Honest."

"Well then I'll leave you to rest"

But you only hold more tightly, "please don't"

"Don't what?" His breath catches as he looks down into your eyes.

"Please don't leave me. I don't, I don't want to be alone right now."

"Ok, I'll stay." Loki sits next to you, shifting his arm to take your hand. You rest your head on his shoulder and look at the interlocking of your fingers with his.

"Thank you."

"Thor is a buffoon, but I don't think he meant to harm you. He's not used to anyone not wanting him. Not that what he did was ok. I'm not trying to say it was ok."

"Loki, I know. I understand that he was hurting. And I guess I'm a beacon of comfort and he mistook that for romantic attraction. Honestly I think he would have stopped once he realized what he was doing. But I'm still so glad you were there."

Despite Loki's comforting hold, and the circles he was tracing with his long thumb, your hands still shook. "Y/N is there something more bothering you?"

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. "When I saw your brother crawling towards me, I got so scared. I didn't see Thor, my friend. I saw that crazy guy from the factory today."

You could feel the moment the switch clicked and rage burned in Loki, "Wait did something happen? I don't remember a guy. Did this guy…, did he …, do something to you? I will end him."

"Oh Loki, my sweet murderous Loki. You actually already did."

"What?"

"You probably don't even remember, it was the heat of the battle. I'd gone in to clear the next room when I got knocked down and bumped my head. When I woke up, one of the baddies was dragging me by my ankle into the office, muttering about a sweet reward. How much fun he was going to have with me. He was reaching for me when you stormed in. I don't think you even saw me behind the desk, but you grabbed the guy before he could touch me. I didn't see what you did to him, but I heard it and it sounded very bloody."

"Oh gods, Y/N, I had no idea you were there in the back office. That guy looked deranged, even if we hadn't all been given orders to kill on sight I would have killed that man. If I'd known you were there I'd have made sure you were ok."

"I hid under the desk until you'd left and then I ran straight back to the jet. I felt so bad for not helping more with the fight, but…"

"Y/N, no one would ever blame you for running. That's not something anyone should have to face. Oh gods, and then my stupid brother had to come in and loom over you."

"He didn't know."

"No but that doesn't mean it wasn't terrifying, just the same."

You can't find the right words, and simply give a small nod. After a second of silence the question pops back into your brain. "Why did you leave your daggers on my nightstand? Why didn't you magic then away like you normally do?"

"Oh, uh, I was going to offer to let you borrow them. Just in case Thor tried to come back and visit."

"That's really sweet, but I've never been good with knives. I don't know if I'd even know what to do with them."

"Hmm well is there anything I can do to make you feel safer?"

There was a moment when you thought about saying, no. Telling Loki you'd be safe with his daggers, and sending him back to his room. But you couldn't do it. You could not send Loki away. Not when he felt like the only safe thing in the world. A breath of air after you'd been drowning all night. So you asked what you really wanted, not caring that it made you feel vulnerable.

"Can you hold me?"

"Are you sure you want that?"

"Yes I'm sure. I mean if you don't want to, I won't make you."

Loki gingerly wraps his arms around you, until you squeeze him half to death and he returns with a proper hug. Still holding you he says "I just didn't know if you'd want to be touched after… today and then my brother"

"You are not a brutish villain and you are not your brother. Do not take this as anything but a compliment, but right now the fact that you're not a big oversized muscle man is really comforting. And well neither men got the chance to do anything because of you."

"Y/N, I am so sorry you had to go through all of this. But I'm really happy that you find me comforting. I have done some terrible things that I deeply regret. And I've been afraid for so long that I'd never be able to find someone who felt safe around me."

"Everyone in this tower has done things that they can't take back. Things they regret. Including myself." You breathe in the scent of Loki, winter frost mixed with leather and metal, wondering when that scent had become so comforting to you. "But for right now, your arms feel like home and I don't want to ever leave."

"I will be here to hold you as long as you need."

"I'm going to take you up on that offer, because I might have a concussion, so you're going to have to watch me to make sure I don't die while I sleep."

"Humans are far too fragile."

"That we are. But that's an issue to deal with another day. Right now I just need you to hold me." You whisper as you lie yourself down, pulling Loki down with you. Carefully he wraps his arms around you pulling your little spoon body against his own big spoon body. Listening intently to your breathing as you drift asleep, Loki decides that he never wants to stop holding you.

[crazywritingbug]

Lessons

A/N: Thanks to @thebiggestnaturaldisaster for suggesting this! I love the concept and did my best, though I'm not sure about the ending. Let me know what you think!

Jack Frost x Fem! Reader

If there was anything Y/N had learned in her nineteen years of life it was this; even the best people will make stupid decisions, all the while believing they were right. She’d done it more than once, was it so hard to think that Jack would do the same? But then again, this was extreme.

“Okay North,” Y/N sighed, rubbing at her temples. “Go over this one more time. What happened?”

North shook his head, leaning back in his chair across the table from her. “You don’t believe me, little one?”

“Pitch attacking the pole, getting Jack alone in a sphere of black sand for three minutes then Jack helping Pitch after they came out of it, is kinda hard to believe.” Y/N claimed, waving away the elf that offered her a cookie. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s missing here. What was said or done in those three minutes?”

“I do not know what was said.” North shook his head before pointing to his bandaged feet. “I know I have frostbite.”

What was there to say to that? It just seemed so impossible that Jack Frost, guardian of fun, the cheerful winter spirit and her best friend of three years would turn on the guardians like that. How could three years be undone in three minutes? What could Pitch have possibly said or done to get Jack to join forces with him? Threaten him? No, they’d beat Pitch before, threats would be useless. Bribe him? With what? Jack had his memories and believers. Mind control? That was outlandish and way beyond Pitch’s skill set? So what had happened? Some combination of the three? And what were they going to do about it?

A chill slipped down her spine. Jack had switched sides. He was one of the bad guys now if the worst really had happened. The Guardians would fight against him and she had no control over that. She was just a girl, they wouldn’t listen to her. And how far would they go? How far would Jack go? Or Pitch? How far? Death? No...she needed to stop this before it started.

“What can I do to get Jack back?” Y/N asked, and North cracked half a smile.

“Talk to him, Little One.” He sighed, picking up a snow globe that had been resting on the desk. “Bring back Jack Frost. You might be the only one who can.”

The world she stepped into was one of snow and wind that knocked her off her feet into a snowbank. A blizzard? Jack had created a blizzard? She’d known he could do it, but she’d never thought it would be this powerful, with snow flying so fast it bit into her skin and created a whiteness so thick she couldn’t see her hands as she staggered to her feet. Why would he make it this strong? Why would he create it in the first place? Unless he really had turned to the dark side?

“Jack!” She screamed it into the fury of the storm, getting only a mouthful of icy snow in return. Where was he in this mess? How was she supposed to find him when she couldn’t even see anything but white?

Y/N jumped as a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, capturing her in a familiar embrace. Jack. He was the only one who ever hugged her like this, from behind, arms crossing over her so that one hand rested on her shoulder and the other on her waist. She sighed, leaning back into him as the wind slowed and the snow subsided into a few fluttering flakes, bringing the bare forest into view. Nothing but snow, trees, and sky for miles.

“What are you doing here?” Jack’s voice was soft with worry, his breath a chill on her ear.

“I’m here because you are, Jack.” She tried to look over her shoulder at him, to see more than the frost blue sleeves of his hoodie. Wait...that was wrong, his hood wasn’t blue, it was black, a deep black in a violent contrast to the frost that fringed it. This really wasn’t right, just how far was he going with this? He loved the blue, it was his favorite color. Would he really change it? Why was he changing allies and clothes? What had Pitch said or done?

“What happened at the Pole?” Y/N kept her voice soft, but it was like she’d shouted with how he pulled away. The snow crunched under her sneakers as she turned to look at him. It wasn’t just the hoodie that changed color, there was black sand caught up in his hair, turning it a pale gray, almost the same grey as a corpse’s skin. He wasn’t smiling, and his eyes were...guarded, untrusting, hard. He was so many things at once, standing there in the aftermath of the snow storm; powerful, dark, and...afraid. She could see it in the way he gripped his staff until the tendons in his hands showed, the way he shifted on his feet, and the way his gaze flickered from one spot to another. It almost broke her. How could she help him? How was she supposed to fix this? What had happened to him? This wasn’t the Jack Frost she knew, the one she -secretly- loved. That Jack Frost was open, happy, and brave, and lost somewhere inside of whoever this was standing before her.

“Jack, you’re my best friend,” Y/N tried to keep her words from sounding like the plea they were. “What happened? Why are you working with Pitch Black?”

He wouldn’t look at her, glancing down at his feet instead. “He showed me some things.”

“What things?” She shook her head slightly, trying to clear the disbelief. “What could he possibly show you that would make you turn on everything you believe and stand for?”

He didn’t answer, the silence filling the space between them, the tension almost screaming at them in those moments.

“I showed him you.” Pitch materialized, stepping out of the shadows behind Jack, a smile on his face that had a chill slipping down her back. “I showed him all the terrible things that could happen to you, things he’d be powerless to stop unless the world believes in, and fears him.”

Oh. Wait, Jack was so concerned about her that he turned on the Guardians? Did he really care about her that much? Was it possible he loved her as she loved him? Was there really a chance of that? No, this wasn’t the time to think about that, to face that the love she had for him from the very moment they met could be returned. From the very moment they met...

“Jack,” His eyes met hers, rich with so many emotions it was heartbreaking. “Do you remember how we met?”

A smile flickered on his face. “Yeah, you were watching Jamie and Sophie, you took them to the pond to go ice skating.”

Y/N nodded. “I slipped on the ice, but you caught me. You’ve always caught me, Jack. Nothing can hurt me when you’re around.” For a moment, the really Jack shone through, a flicker of happiness in the storm.

Then Pitch spoke. “But he can’t be everywhere at once can he? Can’t be at your side every moment of every day.” The happiness vanished as more words poured out of Pitch’s mouth. “But if the world feared him, the storms and cold he could bring, nobody would dare to touch you, nobody would ever hurt you. You’d both be untouchable, and I can make that happen. Can the Guardians?”

“I’m…” Jack paused, seeming to search for words even as Pitch laid a hand on his shoulder in a grip that even she could see was tight. “I’m just trying to protect you.”

Tears pricked at her eyes, blurring her vision. That was so incredibly sweet, and so wrapped up in delusion. How was she supposed to counter that? How was she supposed to explain to him that enveloping the world in darkness and ice wouldn’t keep her safe? He’d gone this far to do it, what would it take to make him see this wasn’t going to work?

“This isn’t the way to do that.” She shook her head and swiped at an escaped tear. “You’re going up against the Guardians, and even if you win, you know you’d never forgive yourself.” She wiped away another tear, they were coming faster now. “I don’t know if I would. I would try, but I don’t know if I’d be able to.” She sucked in a shake breath and held his gaze. “Please Jack, I love you, don’t do this.”

Jack didn’t move, didn’t say a word, as if he’d been -ironically- frozen. Not even Pitch moved, just the soft fluttering snowflakes that drifted down from the sky and caught in their hair. The whole world was holding its breath, waiting for Jack to decide. How would he choose? A week ago, she’d thought she’d known, but now, after this, what would his answer be?

Finally, after an infinite moment, he smiled and held out his arms, shaking off Pitch’s hand. Oh thank the moon. It was as if every weight had lifted off her shoulders as she ran the short distance to him, right into his embrace as his staff fell to the wayside. A relieved laugh escaped her lips as she clung to him, burying her face in his hoodie, feeling his heart beating rapidly in time with hers, his arms around her, and his fingers tangling in her hair. He was back, Jack Frost was back.

“I am so sorry Y/N,” His words were a soft murmur in her ear, but he could have yelled it for all she cared. He was back. “I just want to keep you safe.”

“Then you shouldn’t have chosen as you did.” Pitch’s voice answered before she could. Before they could even respond pain exploded in her side. Sharp piercing pain mixing with a deep screaming agony that turned her legs to jelly beneath her. It was only Jack’s arms that kept her from collapsing as the world came into a strange sort of focus, like a camera bringing one thing at a time into a sharp contrast and blurring the rest. The warmth of the blood seeping from around the knife blade. The panic in Jack’s voice as he said her name. The coldness of the snow and his hands pushing her hair back out of her face as he looked down at her. The rolling clouds above.

“Y/N, stay with me.” Jack’s voice again, quick and fear filled. “Please, stay awake, stay with me.” The focus adjusted again, this time on the tears that were filling his gemstone blue eyes and rolling down his cheeks. He was crying, it wasn’t that bad was it? The pain was already numbing...or maybe that was just her body shutting down. Was this what it was like to die? What would come after? Would it be like sleeping? Would she see Heaven? Would her family know what happened? Would they be okay? What about Jamie and Sophie? They were such sweet kids, would their new babysitter know that they loved to go to the pond or that Sophie liked to have her hair braided and shouldn’t be trusted with scissors? Would Jack be okay? He looked so scared, his hands pressing against her side, covered in blood. Would he know just how much she really loved him? How much she wish she had the chance to do more than say it? That she wanted the chance to live it? To show him that she loved him with more than she could even put into words? That all of it, his laugh, his jokes, his voice, bravery, creativity, and even just the way he moved, was her favorite thing about him.

She tried to form the words, to tell him it was okay, to say that she loved him one more time as she reached up and wiped away the tears, but her mouth wouldn’t form the words as her eyes slipped shut.

“Y/N! No! Stay awake! Please!” Jack’s voice echoed in her ears as the darkness swallowed her, so still and quiet. Silent like she’d never imagined, but this wasn’t it, she was moving. Up, she was moving up towards a light. Huh, apparently the cliches were right. But nobody had ever mentioned the voice that whispered out of the darkness.

“You’re not done yet. Somebody would miss you.”

It all came back at once. The cold, the sobs, and the faint light from the sky above. The shock left her breathless for a moment, and then gasping for air. What had just happened? Had she really died only to get sent back? That was not what she expected. But Jack...he was the one sobbing, the most broken and shattered sound she could imagine. It crushed her heart, shattering it into broken, grating pieces.

“Jack?” Her voice came out softer than she expected, as if her body wasn’t used to having her in it again, letting alone speaking. Maybe that was why it was so hard to get her eyes open before Jack was gathering her up into a hug so tight it bordered on painful. It was if that was what it took to wake her limbs up to return the hug, for her to hide her face in his shoulder. Holy cow, she was alive! Pitch Black had stabbed her and she died but she was alive! Wait he’d stabbed her...she wasn’t bleeding! There was no pain! It was like nothing had happened.

“I’m okay Jack!” She wasn’t sure if she was laughing or crying, the relief was overwhelming. “I’m okay!” Jack pulled back slightly, his eyes wide, looking her over before he laughed.

“You’re okay!” He exclaimed, the biggest smile she’d ever seen on his face. Then his hands were on her face and his lips on hers. Y/N melted into the kiss, into the sweet moment. It was so gentle, so tender, and so much better than she would have dreamed. She never wanted it to end, never wanted him to pull away, even if he did rest his forehead against hers, noses bumping, as he let out a breathy laugh.

“I shouldn’t have waited so long to do that.” His gaze held hers, so overwhelmingly loving. “I love you, Y/N. I am way too lucky to get a chance to say that.”

“We both are,” Y/N said, “Just please, don’t ever do something like that again.”

“I won’t, I promise. It was stupid of me…” Jack pulled back, shaking his head. “I don’t know why helping Pitch Black would ever work…” He paused and his smile vanished. “Pitch! We need to stop him!” He scrambled to his feet, pulling her up with him. “He’s going to go after the Guardians again, after what I did at the Pole, I don’t know how long they’ll be able to hold out.” He snatched up his staff, looking up at the sky, then back to her. “Did North give you a way to get home?” She nodded, “You go save the world, I’ll be fine.” He grinned at her as he caught her around the waist, pulling her close into another kiss. It was almost better than the first. But this time, as she pulled away, she reached up and ruffled his hair, shaking out the black sand. “There, that’s better.”

“I’ll see you soon.” Jack smiled at her one last time and then he was gone. Y/N lingered though, not touching the snow globe that was in her pocket. How had so much happened in so little time? Talking Jack down, dying and then coming back, and finally knowing that Jack loved her? Had it really all happened in less than a day?

Sighing she looked up to the sky feeling the snowflakes fall on her face and melt. Yeah, a lot had happened, meaning she had a lot to be grateful for, she had a chance to be grateful for. She got to tell Jack she loved him, got to see him make the right choice, and find out that he loved her right back. She might not have gotten the chance to say or do any of that. It could have all been opportunities lost with her life. She should have done and said it sooner. Huh, there was another lesson: don’t hesitate because it could all end in a second and the chance to do or say that thing would be gone.

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[tennessoui]

You know one of my favorite Star Wars fic tropes? Evil, feral Anakin being horribly mistreated his whole life and hurt, and then being comforted and nursed back to health by Obi-Wan. And instantly imprinting on him, like, in a "I will kill anyone for you" way. Could be any Obi-Wan! Nice Obi-Wan for that sweet sweet hurt/comfort and kisses and turning Anakin from his murderous ways with the power of kindness! Evil Obi-Wan for sweet double trouble action and delicious obsession with each other!!

this is also one of my favorite star wars tropes!!! i love a needlessly protective and feral Anakin who distrusts everyone except for Obi-Wan.

unfortunately. um. this went a little sideways. and there is no being nursed back to health. but there's some delicious obsession and protectiveness and also future mutual obsession so i'm counting the prompt fill as like 3.5 out of 5 stars for following the prompt, which is. let's be honest, higher than most of my prompt fills. this is a bit dark and contains references to mind tricks, but there is no sex or kissing that could be construed as dub con. just like. dub con emotions i guess

(2.2k)

Quinlan has that look in his eyes, as if he’s about to say something that he knows Obi-Wan won’t like.

Carefully, Obi-Wan puts down his cup of tea and laces together his fingers in his lap. He can already feel a seed of anger blooming inside of him. Since Anakin has re-entered his life and the Temple, he’s found that this deep, swirling rage is harder to give to the Force. And easier to feel at a moment’s notice.

Like almost all the differences in his life now, this can be put on Anakin through no fault of the boy’s own.

After all, Obi-Wan thinks to himself, it is much easier to feel this sort of fury at the galaxy’s injustices when living with someone who has suffered most all of the most grievous kinds.

“Just say it, Quinlan.” Obi-Wan says.

Vos clears his throat. “Where is...your charge?”

“My charge,” he repeats, unimpressed. “You know his name.”

“I know both of his names,” Quinlan fires back. “Does he prefer Anakin or Vader?”

The anger inside of him grows larger at the mention of Vader. As if Anakin would ever prefer the name Sidious gave to him. As if he had chosen it for himself.

As if the Jedi had played no part in the birth of Vader.

“Anakin is asleep,” is all Obi-Wan says.

Quinlan makes a show of peering down the hallway of Obi-Wan’s quarters to the two closed bedroom doors. “In whose bed?”

His hands tighten into fists beneath the table. “That is a bold accusation to make.”

“Why?” his old friend’s posture is forcibly casual, slumped in his seat and hand loosely wrapped around his cup. Obi-Wan wonders if this is how he looks when he’s undercover on missions. The thought settles heavily into his stomach and makes him sit up straighter. If this is a mission to Quinlan Vos, then what is his objective? What does he want with Obi-Wan?

With Anakin?

“The boy’s legally allowed to spread his legs for anyone he wants, Obi-Wan. He's nineteen and everything.”

Obi-Wan can feel his teeth grind together. The fury in his chest is building at an alarmingly fast rate. The thought of anyone touching Anakin like that when the boy’s so obviously traumatized and in need of a tender hand--if he were a lesser Jedi, he’d snarl at Vos to leave.

“Any consent Anakin offers anyone would be dubious at best,” he snaps. “He is nineteen, but he has spent the past ten years of his life being tortured and enslaved by Darth Sidious.”

Quinlan narrows his eyes and looks over Obi-Wan’s face. “That’s not your fault,” he finally says quietly, leaning forward as if to grip his arm before he thinks better of it. “Obi-Wan, listen to me. What happened to Anakin is tragic. Awful. Despicable. But it is not your fault.”

Obi-Wan looks away, his jaw clenched tightly before he forces himself to relax. “I only blame myself for not verifying what I was told.”

“Do you blame the Jedi Council then? For sending the boy away?”

“My master begged me to train the boy, Vos. And while I was in the Halls of Healing, they sent him back to Tatooine. And no one ever checked to make sure he got there. Sidious grabbed him because we--because they allowed him to. And then spent ten years torturing and breaking down a child right under our very noses! Who would you blame, Vos?”

“Sidious,” the other man answers easily. “The Council had no way of knowing that Sidious even knew about the boy, that he was in any danger at all--”

“He was nine!” Obi-Wan roars, slamming a fist on the table, unable to swallow the dark, heavy fury anymore. “He was a child. A slave! They were going to send him back there!”

“To his mother!”

“To his chains,” Obi-Wan corrects fiercely.

Vos purses his lips and crosses his arms. “He is not a child anymore, Obi-Wan. He’s a killer. He’s dangerous. It’s worrying to me that you can’t see it. Or don’t want to see it.”

Obi-Wan wants to scoff. Anakin Skywalker is not dangerous. The boy gets night terrors, begs to be let into Obi-Wan’s bed, and can only sleep if he’s being cuddled up against his chest. He holds his blasted hand in public because he’s terrified of being separated from Obi-Wan again. He’s refused to even touch his lightsaber since the first night Obi-Wan stumbled upon him, bleeding in one of the lower levels of Coruscant. There are some days he won’t even let Obi-Wan touch him to hold him, and he shakes apart in the shadowy corner of his closet, reliving traumas Obi-Wan can’t help him with.

Dangerous. Dangerous.

“No, Obi-Wan, come on. You have to see. The boy’s turning you against the Jedi, against the Council!” “He doesn't need to," Obi-Wan says coldly. "The Jedi seem to be doing a fine job of that themselve."

“That's what I'm talking about!” Vos exclaims, waving an incensed hand. “The Obi-Wan Kenobi I knew would never say that! He would never think a bad thing about the Order, let alone say it! Let alone threaten to leave in the middle of a war if the Council didn’t grant him permission to keep the boy in his rooms! People talk, Obi-Wan! They’re not being kind!”

A thought bubbles up in Obi-Wan’s mind, vicious and sharp. Obi-Wan should not expect kindness from the Jedi. Not about Anakin. Everything they’ve ever done to and said about the boy proves that. Obi-Wan would have to abandon Anakin again to ensure the Council’s kindness and trust in him.

Obi-Wan would rather die than abandon the boy now when he needs him so obviously. He’d rather Fall than turn his back on Anakin, even if that’s what it took to stay in the Order.

“I think you should leave, Vos,” Obi-Wan murmurs quietly. “I think there is little left to say.”

His old friend stares at him from across the table in shock before he stands up without another word. At the door to his quarters, he freezes but doesn’t turn around. “You are attached, Obi-Wan. The Jedi Council will not stand for it. They will not allow it to continue.”

There’s something off with his voice, but Obi-Wan is too concerned with what he’s said to focus on anything else. “What do you mean?” he asks sharply, springing to his feet.

But Vos just shakes his head and leaves.

Obi-Wan collapses back into his seat as the door slides shut behind the man, his head buzzing with thoughts. That had sounded like a warning. Would the Council be so bold, so cruel, as to separate Obi-Wan and Anakin forcefully?

Yes, the thought flashes across his mind, followed by a swell of fury.

And then there’s a sleepy little questioning tug on the bond stretching between him and Anakin. His charge must have just woken up and found Obi-Wan still missing.

Obi-Wan tugs back, helpless against the urge to comfort Anakin. The bond explodes in a tidal wave of joy, the way it always does when Obi-Wan uses their illicit connection to communicate. He hadn’t in the early days, too afraid of the Council and the Code to do something so forbidden.

Now he cannot seem to muster enough regard for the Jedi to care. It is nice to feel Anakin in his mind, where he belongs. Where he’s always belonged.

---

In the bedroom that Obi-Wan keeps on insisting is not theirs, Vader allows his eyes to open as he slips out of meditation. He had been too forceful there at the end with Vos, fed him the exact words he needed him to tell his new master.

That sort of mind trick is too sloppy and easily discovered. It is much harder to trace emotional manipulation, especially over time. He’s been doing it for months now, the Jedis’ mental shields no match for his raw power trained to be sharp as a vibroblade.

It’s all just been a matter of slowly strengthening the other Jedis’ already existing mistrust and doubt about him, all the while crying to Obi-Wan about his past and his fears. It served to highlight the Jedi hypocrisy to his new master, and when he felt that first seed of anger grow in Kenobi’s mind, he encouraged it to grow faster.

The downside, of course, has been that Obi-Wan sees him as a scared child in need of protection. Vader is working on that too though, lengthening the touches they share and letting his shields fall at inopportune moments, like when he’s playing with himself in the fresher, so his master understands that Vader is capable of bringing him pleasure of all kinds.

It’s very important Obi-Wan understands that he can get everything he needs from Vader alone. There will be no one else, for either of them.

Sidious will die soon. The Jedi will die sooner. Vader and Obi-Wan can take their proper place, as Emperors of the Galaxy.

After Obi-Wan falls, of course.

It won’t take long now though.

Joy at the thought of one day looking into Obi-Wan’s golden eyes pushes Vader out of their bed and into the common area. He rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand a few times, and then it’s Anakin who’s crossing the space separating him from his master so he can settle in Obi-Wan’s lap.

Obi-Wan accepts him into his arms immediately, and Anakin has to fight the urge to smile in victory as he squirms in an attempt to get comfortable, only stopping when he’s straddling his master, sitting directly over his cock.

He wraps his arms around his master’s neck and buries his face in the juncture between his shoulder and throat.

Feeling daring, he licks slightly at the skin there, just to feel the way Obi-Wan’s hands tighten on his hips. “Missed you,” he murmurs, inhaling greedily.

Nothing in the entire universe smells as good as Obi-Wan, holds Anakin as gently as Obi-Wan, cares as much about him as Obi-Wan does.

He’d kill everyone in the galaxy for his master, if it was asked of him. He wouldn’t even think twice about it. And one day, soon, his master will feel the same.

Especially when his pesky Order has been dealt with, an execution order stamped with Sidious’ name. The only good thing his old master has ever given him.

The Jedi will die, Anakin will be blameless, and Obi-Wan will be safe from harm’s way. That’s why he’d had to push Vos so messily at the end there. Obi-Wan needs to be safe before the planned Order #66, and there’s no telling what Sidious will do now that Anakin has escaped.

“I heard voices,” he prompts, when Obi-Wan seems content to just sit silently and trace shapes on the bare skin of his back.

Obi-Wan hums. “Yes,” he admits. “An...old friend came to visit.”

Anakin bites gently at the skin of Obi-Wan’s throat and pulls back enough to make eye contact. He doesn’t know if his eyes are blue or gold right now, but either way Obi-Wan seems entranced by them. Riveted.

He pouts. “Your old friends never stay around long enough to meet me,” he says with a tremble in his voice, as if he cares about Obi-Wan’s old friends.

Obi-Wan reaches a hand up and thumbs over Anakin’s bottom lip. Anakin holds his breath. It’ll ruin everything if he sucks at it right now, despite how much he’s craving to map the whorls with his tongue.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan breathes out, and Anakin changes his grasp so he’s now holding tightly to the front of his robes. “I must tell you something you may not want to hear.”

The Dark inside of him roars and snarls at this statement. If Obi-Wan has decided to make him leave, Anakin will not go quietly. Anakin will kill the entire Jedi Order himself, until this glowing angel--so warm, so bright in the Force--only has him.

“The Council will try to take you away from me,” his master murmurs.

Anakin makes his eyes go round and wet. It’s not even that much of an act: he just has to think of Obi-Wan agreeing with his stupid Council, and suddenly he’s appropriately tearful and afraid.

“No, no, Anakin, don’t cry,” his master croons, grasping the back of his neck and touching their foreheads together. Then, in a firmer tone, he says the words Anakin has been waiting to here for months. “I will not let that happen. We must leave the Order. I’m sorry, dear one. I can only imagine how much you wanted this place to be your home.”

Anakin has to rip his head out of Obi-Wan’s grasp and bury it in his neck so his dear master can’t see his smirk. Oh, Obi-Wan. The man may never understand that the only thing Anakin wants is already holding him tightly against his chest.

But Anakin will remind him. Anakin will remind him for the rest of his life.

“When do we leave?” Anakin whimpers, wondering if he’s overdoing it slightly, but Obi-Wan’s grip on his back only tightens.

When Obi-Wan speaks, his voice doesn’t waver at all. There’s not a single shred of indecision in his force signature either. “Tonight,” his master says, brushing a barely there kiss against the crown of his head. “We leave tonight.”

Vader smiles in bliss and burrows impossibly further into his master’s arms, nipping at his master’s skin again, just because he knows he will not be pushed away. This is the safest place in the galaxy, and now it will be his forever.

Victory tastes sweet. Obi-Wan’s skin tastes even sweeter.

[wonlouvre]

pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff and future angst word count: 3.2k WARNINGS: ANGST, VIOLENCE, GUNS

a/n: we are nearing the end guys :( and i promise, it’s a HAPPY ENDING! but for now we have to face the angst, i’m so sorry. disclaimer!! as i have said from the previous parts, i am not well-versed with investigations and court procedures. PLEASE CORRECT ME IF I’M WRONG. thank you very much!! please enjoy this new part and hit my ask box with what you think of it <3

nine: grief | masterlist

Wonwoo has had difficult times in his life and he has managed to overcome them all. Growing up in the public eye, fulfilling duties decreed to him even before he became a teen, a break-up, excelling both academically and physically and most of all, loving himself for who he is. He knows his parents did everything in their power and love to make it a little easier for him. They are the reasons he kept going and going. 

But his heart can’t seem to carry this overwhelming heaviness. 

His parents wanted to end the engagement immediately. It was an argument, an angry one. His mother had her ears closed even before he could speak meanwhile his father’s closed lips already said it all. Of course, he was defensive. He understands his parents concern for their citizens, but nothing is final until a verdict is reached. He has to come back to Jung and Sam and he has to come back to you. Surely enough, when he stepped out of the doors of his home, he had chosen love over duty. 

It’s just that he didn’t know that you had different plans. 

“Where’s the pretty lady?” Sam asks out of the blue while he plays with the new toys Wonwoo brought for the kids at the welfare.

He has been visiting them frequently, at least four times a week in between his hospital schedule. Especially after you decided that he should distance himself from you, he has been in and out of here because the boys are one of the only reasons he’s here other than you. He’s hoping you only meant a break if that’s what you wanted. Because he’d give it to you with as much distance as you want just come back to him. Come back to him because he doesn’t and can’t let you go. 

“She’s a bit busy now,” he tries to make up an excuse and Sam raises his sparkling eyes at his face, probably searching for some truth in his lie. 

“You look different when she’s around,” the young boy says and goes back to his toys. 

Wonwoo’s ears perk and his brows knit in question. “What do you mean?”

“Jung thinks I don’t see it, but his face,” Sam explains and gestures to his tiny yet swelling cheeks. “It changes because of this girl here that I think he’s crushing.”

Wonwoo can’t help the growing smile on his face. “Jung has a crush?”

“Yes.” Sam bobs his head cutely. “You’re just like Jung with the pretty lady around.”

“How about now?” He asks the observant boy who purses his tiny lips before narrowing his eyes at him. 

“You look a little sad.”

Wonwoo didn’t need to ask who’s the pretty lady Sam was talking about because to him, you’re the only pretty lady in his life (second to his mother of course even though she’s angry at him at the moment). He tried to not make it obvious. He doesn’t want anyone to see him that the controversy and your father’s arrest is breaking the two of you apart. He can’t let them see him falling apart for that matter because he wants you to see him confident and strong. 

He doesn’t want to further fuel your doubts and fears. If he can’t support you closely, he’ll do his best to support you even from afar.

That’s why life for him continued. He goes to work, attends to his patients and co-workers needs, he eats, he exercises and he even entertains drinking with Soonyoung despite having to take care of him because of how fast he gets drunk. 

It’s an ineffective distraction because he misses you terribly. He misses going to your office just to take you away from your computer, he misses driving around town with you in the passenger seat and listening to your stories, he misses sleeping over at your apartment after a tiring day shift, he misses your warm and welcoming embrace, he misses your shy and soft kisses against his lips, cheeks, nose, forehead, neck and everywhere else.  

Did he tell you he misses you?

He sends you messages every day. He doesn’t call and he doesn’t wait for a reply. He just wants you to know that he’s here whenever you’re ready. Jeongyeon is kind enough to keep him in the loop, but the updates are very minimal because she’s still your subject and she doesn’t want to hurt you any further. 

For a moment, Wonwoo was afraid to take the leap. But when you asked him if he still wants to marry you which could be equivalent to you ending things, he had to. If you stay or not, he had to say it with all his heart. You had to know because he was sure that whatever it is his whole being is feeling, it’s only for you. 

“I love you.”

Your heart drops at his confession, making you sob to the palm of your hands. He can’t do this to you right now. It’s already hard and painful. You want to be selfish, but it would be wrong to let him suffer with you when he has been nothing but kind and honest. 

“You’re not your father, Y/N,” he promises and holds your hands down. “Please look at me.”

You shake your head, sniffling. You want to scream you love him too. But the words are nothing but a lump at the back of your throat. You continue shedding your tears and the sight breaks Wonwoo’s heart. 

“It’s okay.” He lifts your head up by your cheeks. He wipes your tears away even though it’s futile. He wishes to share with your anguish, but he also respects the desires of your heart. 

His smile was small when he leans down and briefly presses a kiss to your trembling lips. You accept it, fearing it might be the last. You also listen to his last words before he leaves with his bag and coat because it also might be the last time you’ll ever hear them.

“I love you.”

The rain patters on the roof of the car when Wonwoo’s words echoed inside your head. Just the thought of what had transpired the last few days brings tears to your eyes. You haven’t seen him since that night and the longing is unbearable. You wish to hear his voice, feel his touch against you or just see him. But you can’t and you have to persevere through it because you owe justice and accountability to your people.   

You haven’t spoken to your mother even if you tried. She’s just tired, so tired you can’t bring a word out of her. You try to be understanding and a little more patient. After all, getting over a betrayal doesn’t happen overnight. That’s why you continued working even though almost every client you have has backed down and declined your services. Nonetheless, you still go to your office every day as if everything is okay. You drink your coffee, you run over your files and even do a little organizing and disposing here and there. 

Your father’s first trial is today and you’re on your way to speak to him at his detention center. This is the first time you’ll see him aside from the television and newspapers. You’ve been crying ever since he got taken away. You can’t help it. You already know the truth and there’s no blinding away from it. But you want to hear from your father, whom you thought you have known all your life. You want his truth and maybe find some closure. 

When you arrive at the parking lot, the rain has ceased and little by little the temperature is rising again. You really wish things were different. Something in you wishes that this is a set-up. You wish that your father was innocent and only being framed. But there is a bigger something that’s telling you to throw away those wishful thoughts because it’s wrong. 

You ask yourself, am I angry at my father? while walking to the entrance leading to the visitor’s area. I should be, right? You argue because your family name and career is tarnished. Your upcoming marriage is no different which is most likely to be over. 

“Hi my darling,” The King, stripped from his expensive suit, greets you with his usual smile.

The glass between you and your father is clear enough to see that he doesn’t look good. Your father used to look every day ready with his suit on and slick back hair. But right now, he doesn’t. Tears well up in your eyes but you hold it in. It will take a long time to get used to seeing him like this. It will take a painfully long one.

Maybe you’re not angry. Maybe you’re just hurting.

“Hi dad,” you greet back. “How are you?”

The old man smiles and warms his thighs with his hands while looking around the small room. “I’m okay.”

You nod and the cold silence engulfs the room. 

“I’m sorry darling,” he finally says and hearing those words made you burst into tears. He sees you crying and this is the first time he can’t reach his hand out to wipe the tears away. “I’m really sorry that your father’s greed has left you and your mother a wound that might never heal.”

Greed. The news, the Royal Police, the prosecution and everyone else were talking about this. They’re still talking about this. It’s scandalous, it’s controversial. It’s unbelievable too. How could the head and protector of the kingdom do this? 

How could your father do this?

“Dad,” you sob. “Dad.”

“I know,” he tells you. “I know.”

“Please tell me they’re lying,” you begged, your voice shaking.

“I cannot betray you any further, my darling,” he sadly says. “I have to set you all free from my lies.”

You harshly rub your fingers against your eyes, trying to dry the tears that won’t stop from falling. “Who’s Kim Mingyu?”

The alarming buzz! blasts, indicating that your time’s up. You’re quick to your feet and hold your sweating palm against the glass. Your father mirrors your action but it didn’t last long because he was being handcuffed again. 

“Remember,” he says, struggling a little against the two uniformed men. “You are your own person, my darling.” 

Maybe you’re not hurting. Maybe you’re grieving because you just lost your father. 

You know who Kim Mingyu is. You already knew before you could even ask your father. You just wanted to know how your father met him and entangled himself with such a man. What led him to fall for his lies and money that he could trade every ounce of dignity and integrity in his being? Something of that sort. 

Kim Mingyu’s mining business was proposed to the Secretary of the Trade and Industry Department. A mining business that will have children go underground for long agonizing hours. At first, they were immediately rejected knowing that there’s an obvious and strict law disallowing foreigners to the kingdom’s mineral resources. Much more the exploitation of young children. But, Mingyu was ambitious and a sniper to every man's weakness. It didn’t take long for the Secretary of the Trade and Industry to bite. It was easily followed by the Secretary of the Justice Department and your father. They all, among many others, eventually fell for his trap. Everything worked out for Kim Mingyu. 

Your hip is against the hood of the car as you watched the prison guards surround the vehicle your father will ride to the court. Everyone is on high alert. Well, they should be. No one else is more high profile than a criminal king. It’s only the first trial but you’re already more than aware of how things will turn out in the end. 

You clutch the lifebuoy pendant of the necklace you’re wearing, nervous and trying to keep everything together.

You could leave now, but the time and opportunity to see your father is running out. This prison is the only place you could linger just to see him, even for a short while. You won’t be able to follow him at court because Seungkwan advised you not to. Which you understand. This whole case involving your father is already causing a media frenzy so staying away is the smart thing to do. 

As you wait, your phone suddenly rings with an unknown number flashed on the screen. You blink, wondering who could it be at this hour. After a beat of hesitation, you answered and held the phone against your ear. 

“Hello?”

“Ah, Princess Y/N. How’s the King doing?”

You’re not that forgetful to not recognize this voice. “Mr. Kim, how did you get my number?”

“That’s not important right now,” he dodges the question. “What’s important is what I am about to tell you.”

“What do you want from me?” You say with gritted teeth and from your peripheral you can see the guards scramble. Your father is about to come out.

You can hear him scoff. “I don’t want anything from you, Your Highness. But listen…”

Your heart starts to beat faster. It’s a hard visual but your father is nearing the exit. Your bottom lip is starting to hurt from how hard you’re biting it and the few seconds of pause and suspense that Mingyu’s giving you is not helping at all. 

“Listen you sick---” He cuts you off and your blood runs cold.

“I’m going to kill your father.”

What is the fondest memory that you have of your father? 

They’re too many to count and every memory with him, small and big, will always mean everything to you. But as an example, it would be the day you finally took oath as a lawyer. He didn’t tell you, but he, together with your mother, was secretly present at the venue. He told you beforehand that they shouldn’t go because he didn’t want the people to make you uncomfortable and steal the spotlight. You ignored his lame excuse of fame and told him that he can do whatever he wants. 

But he was really there. Tears brimming on his eyes together with pride beaming on his heart. Your mother had to calm him down because he got a little out of control, almost screaming with all his chest at the venue that you’re his daughter. 

You only found out when you hopped on the car and they’re inside with a small cake, flowers and party hats on, shouting loud congratulations and surprise simultaneously. 

Your father was always there. Your parents were. 

You remember those when you ran and pushed your way against the guards blocking your father’s view. You were frantic as you screamed at them to get your father back inside. You fought with all your strength and thrashed against their hold just to reach your father. When you slipped away from them, you ran again, fast. 

You did your best to not get caught. You just have to be close to your dad and push him back inside. You just have to be close to him. You just have to protect him.

You have to be there for him. 

“Please stop!” You shout when another guard takes hold of your waist, locking you to the ground. “You have to bring my father back inside!”

“You’re Highness, please calm down!” The guard shouts back and you fight against him. When he didn’t let you go, you stomped the heel of your shoe on his feet, making him fall in pain. 

“Dad!” You call when you’re finally nearing him. His head lifts up at the sound of your voice and searches for you among the sea of men. “Please! You have to take him back inside! I received a call from Kim Ming---”

BANG!

BANG! 

It was searingly fast. Your whole body collapses on the sweltering concrete before you could reach your father and when his eyes finally find you, you are already swimming in the pool of your blood.  

“It’s always good to see you Mrs. Wang,” Wonwoo compliments the old lady who’s starting to frequent the emergency room. “But not in this manner.”

The old lady gives him a cheeky grin and pinches one of his cheeks. If Wonwoo doesn’t know any better, she’s doing this to not get scolded any further. 

“Your blood sugar is high and I don’t think your granddaughter appreciates her grandma endangering her own life,” he lightly scolds her, if that’s how he can put it. He’s still a doctor after all. “She loves you and she wants you to be healthy when she walks down the aisle in the future.”

Mrs. Wang gives him a silent nod at the mention of her granddaughter, promising that she won’t disobey anymore. That relieves Wonwoo, his lips lifting in a smile. He signs her clearance and hands it back to the nurse. After a few more instructions, he takes his leave and walks back to the information desk. 

He takes one of the patients charts to read. The phone rings and the nurse in charge immediately picks it up and answers. At first, Wonwoo didn’t bother looking up from the paper because emergency calls happen every three seconds. But when there was an eerie silence amidst the loud and busy room, his curiosity made his head tilt up only to get surprised at the widened eyes the nurse was giving him. 

He was about to ask what’s wrong but when he heard the sound of the siren nearing, he ignores his suspicions and runs to the entrance. 

The ambulance parks at a safe distance and the paramedics get out. They move quickly to get the patient out and when they see him, their mouth falls open but no words come out.

Wonwoo didn’t notice so he proceeded to ask, “How’s the patient?”

“Wonwoo!”

Soonyoung almost tripped on his feet as he tried to get a hold of his friend. He takes his arms and tries to pull him away from the ambulance he’s about to open. Wonwoo is starting to get irritated at the bizarre and disconcerting feeling that’s starting to settle in the emergency room.

Wonwoo knocks him off with a glare. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Wonwoo, please,” Soonyoung begs with an unsteady voice, clinging to his friend. 

“Female, late twenties, two gunshot wounds,” one of the paramedics finally yet carefully reports while the other opens the doors of the ambulance. “It’s Her Highness, Princess Y/N.”

Wonwoo roughly removes his friends hand from his arm to step closer to the ambulance and when he sees your lifeless body, he didn’t waste any more time and helped the paramedics move the stretcher out. Soonyoung can see his friend’s hands shaking as he takes hold of the bloodied gurney. He knows he has to stop him right now. 

“Baby,” Wonwoo calls as he runs and wheels you inside. You can’t hear him, but he has to try. He observes proper protocol of transferring you to the bed of the emergency room before applying more pressure to your wounds. You have lost a lot of blood already and it’s not helping Wonwoo that he can’t see your eyes.

“Please, please, please,” Wonwoo whispers as he removes all the obstructions on your body and when his eyes catch the necklace he gave around your neck, his legs grow weak and removing it from you made his tears fall.

“Baby, please,” he pleads. “Open your eyes, hmm?”

Soonyoung steps in together with the doctor who will perform the surgery and take everything from here. He slowly pulls his friend away from your body. Wonwoo didn’t protest anymore, there’s nothing in him left to do so. Your blood is in his hands, in his white coat, it’s everywhere. 

This is not the distance Wonwoo wanted. 

He can’t be apart from you forever.

[tartagilicious]

💌 how long can you chase a dream before it becomes a nightmare?

[6:47PM] “please.”

his eye is painfully empty as he crouches over your torso, studying the fear in your expression with blank curiosity. It’s as if you’d regressed months back to when you’d first met. kaeya is no longer yours, but in this moment, you almost stop to wonder if he ever was. 

“are you really going to do this?”

the small blade shaped from ice that lies limp in his hand has yet to make a move towards you, but its existence in itself is troublesome. though physical, it represents something much larger between you — or rather, lack thereof. 

you want to tell yourself that there’s no reason to be afraid, no reason to not expect him to back down even if it is momentarily, but your immediate fear is telling. 

kaeya and you had started as friends adventuring together and eventually, you learned to rely on the laidback knight. but learning of his betrayal to mondstadt had put all of that on hold.

suddenly, he was no longer the charming man who would touch ice-cold fingers to the back of your neck and walk you home from angel’s share at night, nor the person who would kiss you like a man starved and flaunt being your other half. now, he’s simply someone who you need to regard as an enemy — a threat.

it’s other loose ends that you think ultimately shatter that reality, though. the same man that had chosen to betray the city and people he grew up with lies above you with a killing intent that seems far too hesitant to be genuine. 

“kaeya…” a careful hand reaches up to catch his jaw, forcing his gaze towards yours. very little changes in his expression as he holds your gaze, but the slight twitch of his lip gives you hope.

“don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

these words tear it apart. you don’t say anything. fear paralyses you for a few heavy moments as you realise that kaeya is completely serious, and that if he wants to, he will be the one to put a knife in your gut. 

your hand drops. “...what did I do wrong?”

he doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t ponder either. it’s as if the question is obvious, only berating your inept mind for failing to draw the simple conclusion. you assume you should think the worst, almost naturally, but as you open your mouth to speak, what you hear surprises you.

“nothing.” kaeya’s voice is monotone, though his gaze goes over your face almost lazily, taking in every gap and divot. his gaze is drawn to a dark mark on your neck, to one amongst many, lingering “it was never you.”

it was the things you knew. 

he doesn’t have to say it. 

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, voice suddenly painfully tight as a seizing wave of sadness sweeps across your chest. “i’m so, so sorry.”

a small glint of confusion shines from the depths of kaeya’s good eye, brow twitching downward. 

“you told me not to get curious over and over, now they’re making you do this.” a low sob escapes your quivering lip, and kaeya silences you quickly with a palm laying gently over your mouth.

they. the abyss order. 

you’d been intertwined with them since the moment you appeared in teyvat months ago, yet you hadn’t realised just how literally your connection had grown to be. kaeya is a man of many words, and it was never hard to leave a conversation with him having not talked about a single concrete thing — he was secretive about his personal affairs in his own right. 

but for him to be someone with such a complicated past, it was only so long before you stumbled upon something you shouldn’t have, tumbling deeper and deeper until reaching the point of no return.

he shushes you lightly and leans down over your body to place his other hand on your head, gloved fingers moving in comforting motions. you look up at him with vision blurred by tears, but you don’t miss the melancholy expression of a man who has long lost a war. 

kaeya’s palm over your mouth turns into a single finger with time, but he doesn’t quit shushing you for all it’s worth. his tone slowly grows shaky as the situation finally reaches him.

“i was supposed to do this a long while ago, you know.” as his voice wavers, his lips morph into a deeper frown. you try your hardest to school your expression. “but every time i tried, i couldn’t-- i couldn’t bear the thought of causing you harm.”

your heart thumps beseechingly. it feels like your own emotions are betraying you, fear bubbling against everything in you that pushes it down, and contempt for those who had though to put you in this situation rising above.

kaeya’s gaze is entirely too human as he leans forward again to press a feather-light kiss to your brow, hovering for a moment, as if taking you in. you shudder at touch of his lips to your skin.

“i digress, that time has come and gone even now.” a breath freezes in your throat, anticipation hanging thick in the air. “it’s been a long while since I’ve thought of stifling you as I was originally ordered to, but it seems your charms really are as inescapable as you boast.”

a man of many words, but nothing concrete? you shut your eyes, tears sticking to your lashline like glue. how unfortunately true that jab at him could be at times — though the pressure of being a blade’s reach from death may also be interfering with your own processing ability. 

he finally sits back, lifting both a metaphorical and physical weight from your chest. the small dagger shaped from ice clatters to the cobblestone beneath you with a resounding clink, the signing of a contract or a meaningful promise. 

before kaeya can so much as even get a breath out, you bolt up and wrap your arms under his shoulders. the man stiffens briefly, caught off guard, then melts into your form rather easily. a quiet sigh blows lowly and warm on your neck. 

you’re unsure if this sudden act is one meant to subdue him or one of relief, but it hurts to dwell on either too much. 

“I’m sorry.” your chin digs into his clothed shoulder in an effort to keep the tears at bay. “I can’t do it.”

he says this, but he had seemed so ready with his hidden knife, so prepared for any consequences your death may have brought, while the possibility of what could have been haunts you. 

a simple apology isn’t what you want, nor what you need and deserve, though you don’t trust yourself right now. too easily did you fall back into kaeya’s arms, readily accepting his love and the complications that came with it even if he had taunted you half to death. 

while you believe him when he says that his motives aren’t his own, perhaps the work of a puppeteer or adjacent, the blatant fear that still takes your heart captive is reason enough to be wary. 

but for now, you think, I need to have this moment. 

after all, his arms around you give you enough hope to dispel the thoughts that threaten to launch you to the stars. 

… 

[meant to kill you to lovers. ’while enveloped in duty as they go, love is as unpredictable as the jobs the pride themselves on.]

[ezgithechaotic]

The Parent Trap | Chapter Six; to love someone else

pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

AU: The Parent Trap,  dad!harry

series summary:  Identical twins Benjamin and Edward, separated at birth and each raised by one of their biological parents, later discover each other for the first time at summer camp and make a plan to bring their wayward parents back together.

chapter summary; There are so many thing to say, but so little time for Harry and Y\N. 

author note; well hello there, ı’m back. It’s been really long and I’m so soryy about it. But I guess you guys are used to it. I will try to write the next chapter soon! Don’t be shy to send me a message if you would like to talk and be friends. I don’t bite, I promise! 

I’m sorry in advance if I have any fault. English is not my first language. My askbox is always open if you want to talk. Please leave a comment about what you think, love you.  

Taglist is open. Please send me an ask or comment if you want to be tagged! (22\30)

The Parent Trap Masterlist,  main masterlist 

Life had a funny way of bringing people together, and it had no interest in their desires. Sitting on one of the blue couches, a coffee in her hand, the only thing Y\N wanted to do was run away and never look back. But she wasn't eighteen anymore; she had learned that running from your problems only circled you back to them. So, she did what every reasonable person would do, stayed put. But now, seeing her hand shaking while holding the silver spoon, Y\N was questioning every decision she ever made that brought her to this point. 

So much for getting over him Y\N, well done. 

"You look good." 

The moment words left his mouth Harry cursed himself silently. You look good. Of course, she did. Is that what he all had? After almost nine years, Y\N still made him tongue-tied. He wasn't the Harry who stood in front of thousands of people to perform; he was a boy again, and he hated it. He was eighteen again, seeing his producer's sister and thinking, maybe he is capable of love. Despite feeling like it was yesterday, Harry wasn't eighteen anymore. He didn't have the opportunities to be stupid and in love. It had been a long time since Harry had lost that chance. Wishing he could say sorry and explain anything wasn't going to solve anything, and it surely wasn't going to bring him his old Y\N, who was naive enough to fall in love with a worldwide star. She knew better now. So, maybe the only thing he could come up with was you look good. 

Even though a moment of sadness passed her face, Y\N was quick to pull herself together. She put a kind smile on her face, the way she did when one of her customers made her feel tired, but she still had to keep going. Harry had seen that smile before when he told her he had to cancel one of their dates, again or when he told her that they couldn't be seen together in public.

"You look good too." 

There it was again, her velvet-like voice. Y\N had always amazed Harry; she could be kind to everyone no matter what, even when the person across her was the reason for her broken heart. Neither of them dared to ask about their sons and each other. How would you ask about someone you chose to leave behind? 

"Can I..." Y\N could feel her anxiety riling up. She took a deep breath and tried sitting more straight. "How is he?" 

Harry's heart almost skipped a beat. He couldn't decide if he was stupid to send him away. Would it be less awkward if Benjamin was there, or would it be a dread to explain to him why his mother was standing in the middle of their guest room? 

"Look, I know we had an agreement." Y\N sighed. Harry didn't realize how much time it took him to come up with an answer until she spoke. "I only want to know how he is."

"He's... Well, he's good." 

Harry apparently lost his ability to form any good sentences that day, but it looked like he was talking to a brick wall. Y\N left her cup on the coffee table, now leaning and resting her elbows on her knees. 

"I feel like I'm doing a terrible job." Eyes fixed on the ground and watery, head between her hands, Harry couldn't remember the last time he had seen Y\N so vulnerable. "Edward is the sweetest boy, I swear. He's the perfect kid any parent could ask for. And I feel like I'm the worst mother for tearing him apart from his brother, for not giving him the life he deserves. And the only thing I can think of is would he be happier if he were with you." She was up suddenly, pacing around the room. 

"And how much I missed from Benjamin's life. Will, he ever know me, or Edward ever know you? Will they ever know each other? Will they ever forgive us for what we did?" She stopped, looking at Harry.  She couldn't remember how long it had been since she looked into his green eyes. She wanted to keep going. Scream, shout, cry. But she stood there, looking at him, waiting like he could give her an answer. 

Will I ever forgive myself for letting you go?

Y\N wanted to keep asking, but there was no point. She stopped a tear before it could reach her jaw, quickly. "God, I don't know how long I've been holding that in." 

Harry was dying to apologize, to ask if she was missing him as much as he was missing her. He was dying to fall at her feet and beg for forgiveness. Instead, he sat there, like an idiot.

"We were young, Y\N. We did what we thought was best. Wrong or right, there is no undoing it right now." 

Hearing her name roll off his sweet mouth woke something inside Y\N. She had so many things she wanted to say but didn't know where to begin. Her mouth was frantically opening and closing back again, but nothing came out. 

-

Sarah and Mitch were just outside the room, trying to listen to the conversation. "I swear he's so stupid," Mitch whispered. "Just say something!" 

"Hey, be quiet. I'm trying to listen." 

Before Mitch could say anything, he heard key sounds coming from the front door. He quickly turned to Sarah. "Camille wasn't visiting today, right?" He was praying that it wasn't Camille, but there wasn't anyone outside them who had keys to Harry's house. 

"Shit." 

-

"I know you're a great mother, Y\N; I know that. And I know we did wrong things, but that doesn't mean you're failing."

"I feel like I am." Y\N was still standing there, her fingers fidgeting with her white shirt. She wanted to yell, how could he possibly know what kind of mother she was? He was never there. Harry stood up with a purpose to walk to Y\N and maybe to hold her. But his actions stopped when the door to the guest room opened.  

And there she was, Camille Rowe with all her glory. Blonde hair sitting on her shoulders, red-colored lips, and long lashes, she looked like she came straight from a runway. And Y\N tried with all her might, but she couldn't hate her. Even though her pants were horrible, even though she always used her beauty to get away with her cruelty. And, true, the diamond ring sitting on her finger was no help, but still, she had no hate for her. It wasn't Camille's fault that she was at his feet, basically asking Harry to fix everything because she was too vulnerable.

How Y\N wished she could love somebody else that wasn't Harry. She wished she could move on as he did. But it was stuck, her whole life was stuck since he left her without any explanation. Sometimes she would feel so ready to love someone else, to find anybody willing to take her this broken. She tried so hard, lying to herself, making everyone believe she got over him. She didn't listen to any of his songs, watch anything that could be related to him.  She was running away for the last nine years, not once stopping and looking back. Well, look where it brought her to now, sitting in the same room with him and his fiancee, who had no idea how much history they had. 

"I honestly love everything piece you do." Did she? Y\N couldn't tell if Camille knew everything or not. But if she did, she was a damn good actress. And Y\N was terrified of what could come after this if she didn't leave that house right now. "I would love it if you worked on my wedding dress." 

Y\N's whole world was upside down at that moment. Her hair on her neck stood on end. Her whole body was shivering; she didn't know if it was rage or hurt. Still, the smile came up again. 

"I'm afraid I'm too busy with my new collection." 

"Well, I will have to find someone else, I guess." Camille laughed, her hand sneaking up Harry's leg. Y\N was burning, her blood felt like it was boiling inside her veins. She needed to get out of there, quick. "But I'm so glad Harry could reach somebody. He had been looking for that cardigan for days, now. I thought he was going crazy." She laughed again, unlike everyone else in the room but, apparently she didn't care. 

"It was no problem, honestly. Jonathan is a dear friend of mine; I was just doing a favor." Y\N couldn't believe how calm she sounded. Maybe she should have chosen to be an actress. 

"I'm sure you're very busy, but we would love to see you at the wedding. Right, honey?" Camille turned to Harry, waiting for his approval. Harry quickly nodded as if he was waiting to agree to everything she was saying. "Of course." 

"I'll have to see, I guess." Y\N didn't know how much longer she could pretend like everything bathed in sunlight. So, she got up, ignoring the shaking in her legs. "I should go, my team is probably waiting for me."

"It was lovely to meet you." Camille held her hand out. Her grasp was hard like she was telling Y\N to start running and never look back again. Still, Y\N stood her ground, firmly taking her handshake and smiling. Her eyes meet Harry's for a second. There were so many things she wanted to say, but she didn't think anything that she could say would turn this around. So, she lied instead. 

"Congratulation on the engagement. You two make a lovely couple." 

Y\N couldn't believe she could lie so effortlessly, without any trembling in her voice. Still, shaking Camille's warm hand and seeing her next to Harry with a diamond on her hand made her want to get in her car and run away to somewhere very far away that she could throw up. So, she did that. 

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[ballodellamarlena]

m o o n l i g h t

damiano david x reader + ex!gjon muharremaj (gjon’s tears)

genre: fluff, minimal angst

wc: 1.7k

notes: non-canonical OOC, also my first fic in a long time, this is a result of me ignoring my finals with a dash of projecting

feedback is appreciated! if you are interested in reading more i have more ideas :)

-

2021 just can't stop surprising.

In hindsight, it was worse for some in comparison to year prior, but life goes on.

And so does Europe's most famous song competition.

2021 just can't stop surprising. In hindsight, it was worse for some in comparison to the year prior, but life goes on. And so does Europe's most famous song competition.

2020's cancellation of Eurosong was devastating, to say the least, but now it's back and in full shine; different singers, different songs, lots of changes made. Your job as an audio technician swept you off to places you'd never thought you'd see. From concerts to musical artists in recording studios in their whole essence; the making of a song, the process fascinated you. It kind of didn't surprise you when you were accepted to be a part of Eurovision's sound squad. It was, after all, everything you've been working for.

It was not soon after Tel Aviv when you met Gjon in a recording studio, where you were temporarily stationed before departure to Rotterdam to start preparing for the next year. Gjon was a nice constant to your hectic life, always there to shine on a new perspective and always there to comfort you on your worst days. In turn, you were there during his journey to be chosen as Switzerland's contestant in 2020's Eurovision. You were there when he wrote his song about being and belonging. Your blossoming relationship became too great to ignore, and soon you became the team's sweethearts; his firm but soft composure meshing with your assertive and curious nature in the best of ways. You were not afraid to say that you knew him, and vice versa. Everything really was perfect. Until the epidemic hit.

It was like a domino effect, one thing encouraging everything else to fall apart. Being in a foreign country while it was in a state of emergency was not the most ideal, and it didn't really help your job. Your recently appointed position in Eurovision's sound squad was gone with the wind when the cancellation was announced, and so did Gjon's hard work. Tensions rose, and while your relationship was as healthy as could be, it simply wasn't enough. Or maybe it was never supposed to be something more than a prolonged period of deep infatuation between two human beings.

The departure was bittersweet, to say the least. But you knew, a year with him would never compare to anything else. You two parted gently, on a windy airport, almost ignorant to the tears in Gjon's eyes; you saw regret, pain, and fear, but you both understood that if you decided to give your all to each other before knowing what that 'all' even is, it would hurt much more.

You remember his arms around for the last time, whispering promises of sunnier days and warm reunions, the lump in his throat preventing him from promising you a better him.

You haven't been able to completely process his intentions, too keen on leaving. You were itching for something different, but everything seemed too claustrophobic in this state of the world. So you accepted the first job offer that presented itself to you and flew off to Sanremo.

-

"You okay?"

You turned abruptly towards Victoria, one of the band members you were here with here in Rotterdam in the middle of rehearsals and navigating through Rotterdam.

Your job offer as one of Eurovision's sound technicians still stood even throughout the epidemic but after Måneskin's success at the Sanremo Festival that granted them the first row in the finals of Eurovision you decided to stay with them, so the job kind of integrated being an official technician in charge of Italy and being their personal plus one.

You stared at Victoria with a blank stare, reminiscing the past short few months; Sanremo brought new experiences and new people. Italy's contest for the contestant at 2021's Eurovision started from square one, giving new chances.

Maybe Måneskin was just what you needed, the four of them. Victoria, Thomas, Ethan, and Damiano.

Damiano was a breath of fresh air. A breeze of fast wind. Assertive and confident. You couldn't deny it was attractive. You tried not to let his aura control your way of seeing him, but very soon you found him to be one of the best people you've ever met. You helped you express yourself more, welcomed you like family, made you see life and yourself like something more than you had originally thought. You two clicked, and between new friendships and an interesting job position you allowed them to take you with them to Rotterdam. And you did so without hesitating.

Besides, no one could deny something heavy between you and Damiano.

Back to the present, at Italy's table with the band and the delegation, Damiano comfortably sitting on your left, you stared at Victoria to your right, trying to come up with an answer when you heard it again.

"Will Switzerland's contestant please begin their rehearsal?"

And there he was, no different than that day at the airport. Last you heard about Gjon he came with a new song, after managing to keep his place as the contestant, something many preparing contestants had to give up prior to this year's competition.

You were sitting on the edge of your seat, elbows on your knees. You felt Damiano's fingers twirling one of your locks on the back of your hair, a bit uninterested to be watching somebody else's rehearsal while the band was already done with theirs.

"Yeah." you smiled lightly. There was no lie, why wouldn't you feel fine?

You felt Damiano's hand weaving with your elbow, pulling you to him, and you leaned back against the cushion, leaning your head gently against his shoulder. And if he noticed you seemed lethargic all of a sudden, he didn't say anything.

You stared intensely towards the stage, but relaxed and turned to the rest of your company after realizing this rehearsal only included the technical side of things. No song from him today.

-

22nd of May, 2021

Entirely skipping the semi-finals, you and your team only focused on your own band. Being one of the Big 5 was admirable, and everyone expected a show.

The clothes fit, the makeup was on, and the band was ready to enter the arena along with you and Italy's delegation. Nine pm was nearing and you were going to be sitting through all of the 26 songs, along with voting.

Songs went by fast, some fun, some less, but all were good until it was time for Switzerland. You were about to hear his new song.

Je vois derrière nous des morceaux de toi Et ce que la douleur a fait de moi

The somber tone, the lyrics. Your limited knowledge of french allowed you to understand the basic point of the song.

Nos deux cœurs sous la terre

He was still not over you.

But maybe he was but was singing about somebody else, you tried to rationalize.

Damiano squeezed your hand that you didn't even realize he was holding, you were so tense. The band was aware of your previous association with the Swiss singer, but you didn't even want to know what they were thinking about.

You only thought about the song. The melody, the words sang of his anguish, and it wasn't a bad song. You wanted so desperately to heal him but knew it was not your job to do anymore.

Comment soigner nos coeurs qui éclatent?

Your eyes made contact, and it was like going back in time. But all songs end, and so did yours.

The crowd cheered, it was a great performance. The table clapped and you watched him getting off the stage, not knowing what to think.

"It's going to be okay, carina."

That one pull you needed, and you didn't doubt anymore.

An hour and a half later, after Italy's performance, which was quite an experience, finals were coming to an end, and the voting began.

You will never get used to feeling nervous about getting results, even when you weren't the object of it. But watching Switzerland get so many points from the jury made it a whole new experience. Italy was places below and everyone was silent.

The televoting points change everything, it was unpredictable, just like the whole competition. You had Damiano's hand in your left and Ethan's in your right, squeezing them, but adrenaline prevented you to feel anything else besides your heartbeat.

You wanted them to win so bad. They worked so hard to get where they are today, and while all contestants deserved a chance, you couldn't not be a little biased.

The 318 points to Italy were a game-changer, the crowd cheered, Victoria and Thomas jumped and screamed, and Damiano pulled you up into a hug, cheering with them; they were in the first place now. Crowd's favorite, obviously.

All that was left to hear was the number of points for Switzerland.

You've got to be kidding me, you thought.

It was tension between Switzerland and Italy, and you honestly didn't know who would win. But did it really have to be the two of them?

You felt the cameras focusing and your table, And everything was silent. You felt Gjon's stare, piercing through you. But the only thing you could focus on was Damiano's skin touching yours, his fingers intertwining with yours, and you knew that no matter the outcome, everything would be okay.

But alas, the points weren't enough to overthrow Italy, and you grinned, suddenly feeling Victoria's arms around you and Damiano's tears of joy on your neck. Everyone's screams made it seem like total silence and you smiled big, proud of your friends.

You were so happy you didn't realize they were soon dragging you with them to the stage to perform once again. In fact, you never felt so happy, you even started to sing loudly with the crowd.

Damiano, in his whole element, shining with pride and glory, motioned you to the stage by the end, pulled you in, and kissed you deeply, holding you close, and silently thanking you.

You knew life wasn't always going to be this pretty, but you thought, maybe you could live in this moment for a little while longer, kissing your frontman and giving yourself completely to the blinding lights of a victorious arena.

It was time to move on.

-

a/n: this was so bad i'm so sorry