#even when you know what you should have done

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

the day you left michael kaiser was the day you died.

you didn’t lose your life, but you surely lost your heart. too many pieces of it had been left fragmented and taken by kaiser for you to be able to fix it ever again. you were only seventeen, and yet it felt like you’ve gone through a lifetime of heartbreak. leaving kaiser was both the most divine gift you have ever given yourself, but also the greatest mistake you have ever committed.

you had met him when you were five. round, rosy cheeks from the frosty winter air were covered in fat tears. you had gotten lost, and you couldn’t find you parents. eventually, you reached the neighborhood park. crouching in the wood chips, with grime and bruises littering his body, was a young michael kaiser of the same age.

he had never spoken to anyone his age, let alone a girl. when you shoved yourself down onto the near frozen swing, still sobbing and sniffling like a baby, kaiser didn’t know what to do. in the end, with his broken grammar and rude words, kaiser wanted to comfort you. he want to try to stop you from crying; after all, it reminded him of himself whenever his father beat and choked him. “what the fuck are you crying about? you look disgusting.”

if kaiser knew gentle words, he would have spoken them. if he knew a lullaby, he would have hummed it. if he knew how to comfort someone, he would have done so. but at age five, he didn’t know anything but swear words. after all, those were the only things that he father ever communicated to him in. at his words, you only sobbed harder. “s-shut up!” kaiser exclaimed. however, you quickly stopped crying once the realization hit you: he wasn’t angry at you.

“i-i’m sorry. i just can’t find my mama and dad.” you whimpered. kaiser nodded. you wiped your tears away, teardrops nearly frozen from the cold. kaiser pointed to a large building next to a collection of houses.

“there’s a shitty station there. a useless piece of shit like you should go there.” kaiser muttered, his voice peculiarly calm for someone who is uttering the nastiest of words. you only blinked a few times in confusion at his vulgarity before grinning brightly, your tears having all been wiped away, and thanked him.

at that moment, you both fell in love with the other. it was only supposed to be a stupid childhood crush that would last a month or two; it wasn’t supposed to be serious. it was just supposed to be cute and temporary.

if only that was the case.

after that day, you continued to visit kaiser every day at the park with a bag of bread from the neighborhood bakery. bread made from garlic salt and sugar and buttery, still warm and soft. for years, you never dared to ask why kaiser was always having fresh new wounds painted on his every day. only years later, at thirteen, did he finally tell you about his family life. you wanted to tell the police, but kaiser swore that he would rather die than end up as an orphan.

when he was fifteen, he got arrested. you knew that it wasn’t him; it wasn’t his fault. he would never steal from a jewelry store. you knew he stole, but he didn’t care about superficial riches like jewels and gold. you waited outside of the police department for two whole days without food and sleep, waiting for kaiser to have his name cleared. finally, some soccer scouter managed to bail him out.

that was the day you started dating kaiser.

he began playing for bastard münchen only a week after his release. you stood by his side, always supporting him, and being next to him, always loving him, always making sure that he knew you love him. at first, kaiser was almost the same, although much more rude to his new teammates. but he still remained as soft as he could with you, never raising his voice or a hand with you.

he began to change at sixteen.

he was cold; distant, even. he still loved you, you knew that for a fact. but soccer was always the only thing on his mind. you knew that he was justified; after all, soccer brought him self-satisfaction and love. he felt human if he played soccer, and you could understand why he was so obsessed with soccer. but not to the point where it was detrimental to his health.

kaiser choked himself.

you always knew that he hurt himself, but you always stopped him the moment you caught him, always begging for him to stop, and that he mustn’t do something like that. you begged for him to take therapy sessions, go to a psychiatrist, something, anything. kaiser only shrugged off your concerns and told you that you worried too much. but the moment you caught kaiser’s fingers wrapped tightly around his throat, unable to breathe and saliva escaping from his lips, you knew that he’s gone too far.

you had come up to him, begged him to stop. pulled his fingers away from his throat by force. after an hour of coaxing and coddling, he finally stopped for a week before continuing again. you knew that it wasn’t your problem to deal with, but you still felt so guilty about it.

kaiser told you that he loved you that night.

you dealt with him for another year. he was still so superficially obsessed with soccer; obsessed with crushing and destroying his opponents like the opposing teams on a chessboard. but you couldn’t bear it, he was nothing short of cruel to ness, and he was just like a monster when he was playing against another team. he smiled when someone on the opposing team started crying. he never treated you like that, but you didn’t want to take any chances. you knew that he would treat you just like that soon enough.

that day, you broke it off with him.

you knew that it would hurt you both, you knew that this decision would haunt your days forever. but you couldn’t deal with this anymore. you couldn’t continue to see the boy you loved spiral into insanity, with all of your efforts and begs going to waste. you were too horrified to tell him in person, so you only left a note.

over half of your once shared apartment’s furniture was destroyed that night after kaiser read the note.

he truly went insane. the one person who he ever truly loved, the one person who ever loved him, the only person who comforted him through his shitty childhood, gone and only leaving him a note. he went insane trying to find you; he texted you millions of times, called you and facetimed you thousands of times, but you never responded.

and now, at age twenty, kaiser still never moved on from you.

during matches, his eyes always scan the stands, thinking that maybe you’d come. maybe you got bored, or maybe you wanted to mock him, maybe you wanted him back, or maybe you just wanted to beat the crap out of him after drinking a bit too much. whatever the reason, kaiser just wants to see you happy. he wants to see you laughing. he doesn’t care if you don’t take him back; as long as you’re safe and happy and healthy, then he’ll be fine.

you weren’t fine. college was killing you, and you were still a virgin who never went out to parties. you still silently watched over kaiser; searching up his name often, reading news articles about him, and watching clips and videos of him on youtube. seeing him healthy made you happy, even if he wasn’t constantly in the best emotional state, especially in that strange blue lock facility that he went to when he was nineteen.

january twenty-sixth.

not only was bastard münchen playing against fc barcha today, but it also marked the fifteenth anniversary of when you and kaiser first met when you were both only five. today was the day where you decided that for the first time in three years, you would go see kaiser play. just as a physical to see if he was okay, and for no other reason. no, this because you missed him. no, this wasn’t because you were still in love with him and just wanted to see him again and wanted to know if he still loved you. surely, he wouldn’t even see you. nope, nope, not at all.

at least, that was what you hoped.

you sat in your plastic blue seat of the stadium, waiting to see kaiser again. you weren’t used to this; you were always in vip seats at his game, and this was the first time you weren’t. oh well, it was still watching the same game at the end of the day. plus, vip seating would only make it easier for kaiser to see you.

as kaiser stepped out and onto the plastic green grass, his eyes scanned the crowd once again. this would be the last time he will ever do this; if you’re not even going to be here today, then he’s sure that you’ll truly never attend any of his games. he knows you best and you know him best, after all.

left to middle. no sign of a goddess like beauty anywhere, so you weren’t there. middle section. no sign of an angel anywhere either, so you weren’t there. finally, there was only the right left. please, kaiser begged that you would be there. even if you were on your phone the entire match, kaiser couldn’t care less.

one by one, his eyes drifted through the crowd as he nearly reached the end. his eyes slowly dimmed; were you really not there? was he really never going to see the love of his life again? but then he reached the end, and his eyes widened, glimmering underneath the sunlight. and despite the fact that it was a harsh winter, the warmth and love in his eyes could melt all of the ice and snow outside.

it was you.

your eyes locked for a moment, and in that moment, there was no one else. for a moment, soccer didn’t even matter. it was just you and him. he mouthed your name, your eyes widening a fraction, before you turned red and looked away. kaiser almost laughed out loud before walking away to the center of the stadium, feeling as if he could score fifty goals. you really came; he really got to see you again.

during the match, every damn time kaiser scored a goal, he always made some sort of gesture to you, whether it’d be blowing a kiss to you or waving to you or just staring intently at you, the media went crazy over it—because it was just so obvious that those gestures were meant for you.

after the match, you walked through the stadium as quickly as you could, wanting to leave and not wanting to get bombarded by the media. you completed your task; you came to see if kaiser was okay. and he clearly was perfectly fine, so you had nothing to worry about.

that was until you felt the calloused grasp of a hand on yours.

it’s been three years, but you could recognize that feeling anywhere. the exact same way of lacing your fingers together, the exact same warmth and same feeling. the exact same hand.

mihya’s hand.

you turned around in a flash, tears brimming at your eyes unknowingly. why were you crying? you weren’t supposed to get emotional over seeing him again. not until you saw the tears stinging mihya’s eyes, tears glossing over his eyes like the most expensive and yet beautiful porcelain china.

your mihya.

“mihya…?” you mumbled, your voice the hum of a lullaby. you expected yells if this were to happen, you expected interrogations and questions and threats, you expected blackmail, you even expected to get hit by him.

but none of that came.

only the feeling of another hand tilting your chin up before cerulean eyes glimpsed into yours, looking at you as if you were the most precious and beautiful thing in the world.

“you’re as beautiful as the day i lost you.”

a/n: YES A HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON REFERENCE EEEEEE

[hansoleil]

★ ˙ ̟ ─── . “chris”.

— chan × reader. — 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: smut. — 𝘄. 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2217. — 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: afab reader, unprotected sex, creampie, dry humping, daddy kink, degradation & inappropriate language. — 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: i love me an obsessed ex-boyfie [🍽]

𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔. you can't get over chris.

The studio door unlocked with an electronic noise. You didn't make a fuss about entering — it wasn't your first time there, and it probably wouldn't be your last.

"Took you long enough.", he mumbled without bothering to turn around.

"There was too much traffic," you threw your bag on the couch behind him, sitting there right away. The sound of the keyboard echoed in the room for a few more minutes, as if it was inside your head. There was no room for shame, you'd been in this position more times than you'd like to admit.

The chair finally turned around, letting you see the man for the first time that week. Okay. Maybe there was room to feel ashamed. You followed his eyes scanning your body from head to toe, lingering on your legs that were barely covered by the short dress you were wearing — it used to be his favorite, you didn't expect a different reaction.

"So? What have I done to deserve the honor of your presence?", the sweet tone dripped with sarcasm, as if the cynical smile wasn't already a great indicator.

"Cut it, Christopher.", you weren't in the mood to entertain his jokes today. His shameless laughter made you question whether being there was really a good idea, but unfortunately, you needed him.

"Oh, you mad, princess? No need to stress. I'll fix your issue right now." he pressed his tongue against his cheek, smiling mischievously — he was always a tease. He spread his legs even wider, settling himself in the chair. Chan looked at you as if he expected something from you, smiling when he noticed your shyness. "Are you gonna just sit there? We both know why you're here." conceited, he said as if it was obvious (and it really was). You stood up, feeling even more embarrassed, but didn't exactly know why — Chris knew how to make you shy, even after so long. "Take off your panties while you're at it." You gave the man an offended look, as if he had insulted you. "What? You wanna get fucked, don't you?" the man let out a chuckle. You reluctantly took off your panties, there's no arguing with facts, and sat on his lap right after.

Your body and mind felt like two different entities that didn't have the same goal. There was a voice in your head telling you how wrong that was, but you could barely hear it. At the end of the day, it was Christopher. And, somehow, he was still yours. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with it. Not with you in his lap.

Grinding against him like a kitten, your nose pressed to his jawline, breathing in his scent. Chris always had a "manly" scent, you couldn't really explain what it was, but it turned you on — and that was the biggest problem when it came to the man: everything about him turned you on and you feared you'd never be able to let him go.

"Why are you so needy, princess? Your little boyfriend can't handle you?", he asked mockingly. His skilled hands lifted your dress so he could knead the soft skin of your ass — he was obsessed with that part of you, squeezing and playing with it whenever he could.

"He's not my boyfriend, Channie. I only went out with him a few times," you justified the fact for the thousandth time in god knows how long. There was no point, you knew Chris would still bring this up in the future.

"So you should stop giving hope to the poor guy. He must think he has a chance with you," he looked at you smugly. Chris was convinced that he was the only man for you — the fact that you had returned to his lap once again only confirmed the theory.

"I like him though...", it was a lie. You said it just to mess with the man's ego, because even if he knew the truth, he would still feel a little threatened.

"Oh, do you?", his voice full of disbelief. "So you're calling him when you want to fuck? Tell me.'", one of his hands grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him. "What's the point of breaking up with me if you can't get off my dick, hm?", his eyes fixed on yours made your body shiver.

Christopher's pretty lips were all you could pay attention to, trying to get closer, as if they were calling your name. He knew how obsessed you were with his lips — no wonder why you kissed him every five minutes when you were still together. Having that in my mind, you were sure of how merciless his next actions were. Your movements were suddenly stopped, the man's hand tangled in your hair, keeping you in place.

"No.", the warning came coldly, but not enough to hide how pleased he seemed with your disappointed expression. "There's no point in making that face either. "No feelings" remember?", he reminded you of the rule you made sure of repeating every time you asked to meet him. "You're the one who wanted it to be like this.", it was painful for him and he wanted it to be for you too. Despite missing your lips as badly as you did, he would deny it, because maybe that would force you to take him back — you both knew he was trying to wear you down, but you were too stubborn.

"Chris, you said that-"

"I said I was going to fuck you, I never said anything about kissing you. You're not my girlfriend, remember that too?", irritated, he interrupted you. It was stressful having to continue with this dynamic just because that's how you wanted it to be. Chris was aware of your reasons, but what was the point of not taking him back if you always ended up at the same place every time? Christopher wasn't able to understand. He had already made a thousand promises in order to change himself, to be better for you... but none of them seemed to convince you. On the other hand, he also wanted to have the courage to get over you and end things for good. However, nothing seemed to overcome how fucking crazy he was about you.

You nodded in defeat, the sadness in your expressions almost making Channie give in. Almost. But he knew just how to fix your disappointed face. The man hurriedly pulled down the straps of your dress, letting the fabric rest below your breasts. Wasting no time, he sucked on them, letting the saliva drip on your skin. Even bitting on them just to feel you pull his hair.

He pulled you by the waist, positioning your body right on top of his cock — the thin fabric of his pants letting you feel almost all of it. He left a slap on your thigh, silently demanding that you start moving — his busy mouth was only able to emit an almost annoyed hum. You grinded down carefully, speeding up as soon as you realized that the position was perfect to stimulate your clit. You could feel him throbbing under you and that was too tempting.

You struggled to get him out of his pants, wanting to feel it closer. Sitting right on top of it when you finally managed to do it, now grinding the wet length against your panties — the movement hitting just right on your swollen clit. You moaned softly, mentally thanking the soundproof walls of the studio.

"Channie.", you knew you could cum like that, but you didn't want to. He finally stopped sucking your tits.

"What do you want now, princess? I'll be good today, I'll even let you choose.", his fingers opening your folds more, making you feel his cock with more intensity. "Want my tongue inside your little pussy?", he rubbed his nose against yours as if he was going to kiss you — it was pure teasing. You shook your head, face frowning, it was pretty obvious what you wanted. "Oh, so you want to get fucked already, sweetheart? Are you that needy?", if you were being honest, that was the only thing on your mind — you didn't even think you needed to get stretched out first. He nodded, your innocent face making Channie smile nastily. "Get on all fours then, princess. I'll give it to you just the way you like it."

[...]

Your nails almost pierced the sofa's fabric, it wasn't your fault though, you needed to take the sensation out on something. You felt him so deep, filling you to the brim, making a mess out of your little hole. In moments like these, you lose all your composure. Swore you could go as far as shamelessly admitting you were fucking addicted to his cock — and you would probably feel pathetic after the high came down, but Chris had the ability to make you act like a bitch in heat. The horniness always spoke louder than you ever could, forcing your body against his, trying to fuck yourself harder. But a sudden slap on your ass made you halt your attempts.

"Can you fucking stay still?." he sounded irritated, your walls tightened almost immediately — a detail that didn't go unnoticed by him. "You know better than move when I'm fucking you. Thought I already taught you that, princess.", his hand tangled in your hair again. He made pressure, forcing you face against the couch. Thrusts getting slower, it was all on purpose — he wanted to punish you little.

"Channie-"

"Shhhhh. Like that, see? Stay still.", he whispered, burying himself deep inside and grinding into your cervix. Chris smiled mischievously when he saw your legs trembling, he loved how dumb you got for cock. You were drenched, slick running down the inside of your thighs. It was good, but it wasn't enough. You wanted to be fucked for real, you needed Chris to break you — the way he always did.

"Daddy, please...", you pleaded with the sweetest tone you could muster. Even with your face muffled against the couch, you knew he could hear it. The nickname wasn't used for nothing, you knew very well what it did to Chris — it was one of the man's biggest guilty pleasures, something he only let slip out when he was almost out of his mind.

Your memory full of all the times he had asked you to "let daddy fill your little pussy" when he was right about to cum. There was no better time to take advantage of it — the length spasming inside you only confirming the fact. You heard the man mumble something you couldn't identify, his hand letting go of your hair and gripping your waist tightly. You knew you had won him over. The thrusts increased the pace.

"Fucking slut.", an intoxicated smile decorated his features. Oh, you were so sure you won him over. His calloused hands forced you against his hips as if you were a toy, you whimpered, unable to deal with the change in pace. You felt Chris slap you a few times, he seemed not to be measuring his strength, hitting you without mercy.

"Channie!" you complained, but it was just pretend — you both knew.

"So I'm not "daddy" anymore? Hm? If you want to act like a whore, you gotta learn how to take it.", he sounded groggy. You throbbed, getting wetter — if it was possible. He brought one of his hands to between your legs, desperately playing with your clit. "Daddy's little slut gonna cum? Yeah? You're squeezing me so fucking tight, baby.", your body writhed, unable to handle it.

You were barely able to grasp when you tipped over the edge, your eyes squeezed shut, releasing a few tears in the process. The man didn't stop thrusting. He used your sensitive body, almost as if he couldn't hear the painful way you whimpered beneath him. It was delicious and torturous at the same time.

"Gonna cum inside you, love. Ah! Fuck, l-like that...", he moaned in a daze, not even aware of what he was saying — a clear sign that he was right about to cum. "I fucking love you... you're mine, love. R-right? Mine.", his body trembling, the orgasm taking away any and all signs of sanity for a few seconds. Chris' soft moans made you squeeze tighter, messing with him even more, filling you up until it leaked.

It took a while for your sensitive bodies to calm down.

Chris was now resting on top of your body, holding his own weight to not crush you against the sofa. He stood up suddenly, his presence disappearing for quite some time. Mind still hazy, you felt him turn your body around, opening your legs to clean the mess he made. You were exhausted, usually falling weak like this whenever you two had sex — Channie was the perfect sleeping pill, he always put you to sleep.

A soft blanket was placed on top of your body and your eyes closed almost automatically. You felt a long and soothing kiss on your lips, body lighting up, you couldn't hold back a smile. You missed this so much... you would even feel a little sad if you weren't so tired.

"Good night, love.”

# — © 2025 hansoleil ᯓ★ masterlist.

[homunculus-argument]

Do you have any advice for a scared and VERY behind-on-learning-adult-things 20-year-old who's trying really damn hard and yet nothing ever seems to be working?

You're not behind, you've just been spending your time learning things and skills that everyone else hasn't needed to learn. There's no deadline on learning adult skills, all the rules are made up even though you know you're still expected to know and follow them.

One thing you should know is that it's not against the rules to be scared or admit that you don't know things. The people who taught you otherwise were wrong. It's better to just tell people "I'm sorry, I have no idea how these things are supposed to be done, and I'm a bit scared" than to try to manage on your own. People are more likely to be kind and understanding if they can see that you're trying, and just not sure what you're supposed to do, than if they see you just be incompetent for no apparent reason.

And if you have no idea where you should go, any direction except down counts as going forward. Keep trying things, different things, same things from different angles, even things you don't think would work or should work, but don't commit to anything permanent that you can't wiggle away from. Don't sign contracts that bind you for more than 10 years and don't have kids, before you know 100% what you really want. You know that you know for sure when you don't have to ask "how do I know if I know for sure?"

Anything that's not destructive counts as doing something constructive. Just keep trying shit, just pushing random buttons until something works. Something's going to click eventually.

[vvampirelust]

cnc mention beware

been thinking about a prison au scenario where Abby fucking owns the place. she’s top dog, no one’s messing with her. especially with her right hand, Ellie always watching her back. you need anything at all, you go to them. or one of their lackeys as a face to face is something to be earned. get on Abby’s bad side? let’s just say Els has always had a knack for shivving.

so imagine Abby setting her sights on you. suddenly paying attention and noticing you around more often. you’ve always steered clear of her and her lackeys, all the stories more than enough to put the fear into you. to say the least, it’s a shock when one day Abby eyes you in the cafeteria, wolf-whistling as if you were a piece of meat. “where’ve you been hiding gorgeous?” she drawls, not waiting for an answer as she passes by. ellie close at her heels, throwing you a smug, knowing smirk. leaving you flushed and confused.

since that day, she’s everywhere. lurking around every corner with a new compliment rude remark as if she knew you were coming. and she did. if Abby wants something, she’ll get it. hell, she’s even started holding up food lines to let you go before her. now Abby’s had her share of flings but even Ellie could tell there was something different about her interest in you. seemingly so innocent, she wonders what the fuck you’re doing in a place like this. and that makes Abby curious, it makes her crave you. whispers already spreading that you’re her prison wife.

okay so with that said and done

justttt thinking about how Abby and Ellie would sneak into your cell one night, you sleeping soundly and unaware. ellie would have your arms in her hold, ready to pin you down the moment you stirred in your sleep. which wouldn’t take long as Abby tears off the thin sheet, your bottoms and panties following suit, stripping your unconscious body. before crawling between your legs, flashing Ellie a wicked smile and burying face first into your cunt.

idk should i make this into an actual fic orrrrr

[writingsbytee]

THE HOTLINE

SEX OPERATOR TERRY RICHMOND x BLACK FEM READER

*Remember, you are in charge of your own consumption. 18+ up audiences only; minors, please don’t interact!* THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION AND HAS NOT BEEN PROOFREAD

*Please do not plagiarize, repost, or steal my work. This doesn’t count for re-blogs!*

SUMMARY: Set in the early 2000s. Taking your best friend’s tipsy advice, you decide to call a sex hotline for help with dirty talk and your overall insecurities surrounding sex. When you call your local sex hotline, you get more than what you bargained for when Terry pics up the other line. 

PAIRING: Terry Richmond x Blaire (reader)

WARNINGS: 18+; explicit dirty talk, mutual masturbation

AUTHOR’S NOTE: My brain is being CONSUMED by Aaron right now, so enjoy this piece that's been sitting in my drafts for months because I was too scared to finish it!

WORD COUNT: 3.7k

TAGLIST

@blackgurlnhermoods @theereina @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @uzumaki-rebellion @keehendrixx @keyaho @megamindsecretlair @dxddykenn @pinkkycherrishh @pinkkycherrish @episodes-ff @kimuzostar @urfavblackbimbo @kianaleani @shallipii @pocketsizedpanther @mymindisneverhere @onherereading @nayaesworld @earthchica @simplyzeeka @skyesthebomb @gg-trini @blyffe @melalsworld @mogul93 @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @sweettea-and-honeybutter @notapradagurl7 @miyuhpapayuh @playgurlxoxo @yassbishimvintage @dbaileyblog @jimmybutlrr @versaceslutz @ruewritesoccasionally @kaylalb @rose-bliss

Divider: @anitalenia

“I’m sorry Blaire, I just don’t think we’re sexually compatible,”Devin, your now ex, says. Popping the top off a bottle of Don Julio, you start to make yourself a drink. 

“Okay, you can see yourself out” you say, not even bothering to look at him.

“So that’s it? We’re just done?!” Devin shouts.

“Well according to all the bitches you’ve been talking to, this is long overdue. So Devin, like I said, please get the fuck out of my house,” I look up at him, flashing a sickeningly sweet smile.

“Good luck finding a man who’ll fuck a frigid bitch like you,” Devin snarled, grabbing his coat. 

You rolled your eyes and scoff, trying to act like his words don’t phase you. The rapid beat of your heart says otherwise. “Just get the fuck out,” you say, now bored with this interaction. Devin huffs more insults at you as he grabs the rest of his shit, leaving for good. When you hear the click of my front door, you lock it, grab your drink and settle into the sofa, cutting on the TV. 

You’re on your third drink and feeling a little tipsy, when your home phone rings from it place on the coffee table. A small smile graces your face when I see your best friend Nina’s name on the caller ID. 

Blaire: “Hello?”

Nina: “So, how’d it go?”

Blaire: sighs “We never even made it that far. He broke up with me.”

Nina: “He’s a fucking asshole! All because you and sex don’t have a good relationship?”

Blaire: “Apparently, we weren’t sexually compatible. I mean, he never made me feel comfortable. Never tried to get me in the mood, I’m not just a ‘get up and go’ kind of girl. I need romance, sexual tension, and desire. Devin never tried to help me overcome my insecurities around sex, as long as he got off it was fine.”

Nina: “I’m so sorry boo, you deserve so much better than that!”

Blaire: *voice breaking* “I don’t know what’s wrong with me! I don’t want to be like this forever, broken”

Nina: “You are not broken. You just haven’t found anyone who you’ve felt vulnerable enough with to let that side of you come out. Wait, have you tried calling a sex hotline?”

You nearly spit out your drink.

Blaire: “You’re kidding right? No I haven’t tried one, I wouldn’t even know what to say”

Nina: “That’s the thing they’ll do all the prompting for you. It’s helped me just overcome the underlying embarrassment that I’ve had with dirty talk. You should definitely give it a go Blaire. What do you have to lose?”

You contemplated the idea, it never occurred to you to try a sex hotline for your chronic bedroom shyness. What the hell, it couldn’t hurt and, if it turns out to be a complete failure you won’t call ever again. 

Blaire: “Okay, give me the number.”

It’s 11:30 and you’re settled in bed in an oversized tee and fuzzy socks. Twisting up your light pink hair into a claw clip, you flop onto your stomach, turning on the TV. Your  twinkling lights reflect off your tumbler, bathing your room in an ethereal glow. The crumbled piece of paper sits on your nightstand, taunting you. Worrying your lip between your  teeth, you try to weigh the pros and cons. 

“Fuck it,” you mumble, reaching for your phone and the number. With shaky fingers you dial the number, your heart rate skyrocketing when you hear the tell tale dial tone. 

“Thanks for calling ‘the hotline’, how can we help you come today?”, a sultry woman’s voice answers the phone.

“I- I don’t really know what I need,” you say, a slight tremble in your voice.

“Well that’s okay sweetie, what do you want to get accomplished tonight?” the mysterious woman asks. 

“I just want to feel more comfortable talking dirty, and taking initiatives when being intimate. I’m tired of feeling sub-par when it comes to sex. I want to be desired like every other woman” you  said, twirling the phone cord around your finger. 

“Okay, I think I have someone for you. Are you interested in men or women?” She asks.

“Men please,” you say, timidly.

“Perfect! Terry’s going to knock the shyness right out of you. Hold a minute while I connect you. Just remember sweetie, relax and have fun.” With that, she disconnects our call and I hear the beeps of her transferring me. 

There’s a pause on the other end before you hear a throat clear, “Hello?”, a voice that sounds like melted velvet bleeds its way through your phone speakers almost causing you to drop it.

“H- Hi”, you say, the nerves clear as day in your voice. 

“Hey now, don’t be nervous, we're friends, aren’t we baby?”immediately your pussy quivers at the tone of his voice.Who knew a man could sound so sexy? Just the sound of his voice alone was enough to melt the panties of every woman in a five mile radius.

“Sorry, I’ve just never done anything like this before”you said, nervously.

“Well, let’s start slow. I’m Terry, and you are?” Terry asked.

“I’m Blaire. It’s nice to meet you Terry” you say shyly. You hear a raspy chuckle on the other end of the line before Terry says, “Pretty name, and I know the face matches.” Terry stopped tossing the stress ball between his fingers. Something in her voice caused him to lean forward, wanting to hear more, know more about the stranger with the voice like silk.

“What brings you to my little corner of the world, beautiful?”Terry asks, a curious frown on his face. This didn’t sound like one of the usual women he’d talk to. She sounded softer, sweeter, like she had no business calling a sex hotline.  Normally, he’s not supposed to ask for names. Keeping the anonymity was a  part of the thrill for most people, but he also wanted to know your name for his own personal stalker-ish reasons. 

You groan, an embarrassed laugh leaving your lips, “My boyfriend broke up with me today because we aren’t ‘sexually compatible’”

Terry feels his frown deepen in sympathy, “I’m sorry to hear that love. Break-ups are never easy, and let’s face it if you guys aren't ‘sexually compatible’, he probably couldn’t make you come anyway.”

A satisfied smirk makes its way onto Terry’s face when he hears your laugh on the other end of the phone.  

“C’mon sweetheart, tell me I’m wrong,” Terry coaxed, wanting to hear more of your voice. A dramatic sigh leaves your lips as you flip over.

“You’re right. He never made me feel anything south of the equator, which is probably why the sex was horrible. Like not even a twinge,” you finished with a giggle, the liquor getting to you. 

“Well I hope I’m more successful,” Terry says, his voice dropping an octave. You’d only been on the phone with him for a few minutes, but his voice was already working its magic on you. The flush of heat, leading to the gentle flip of your belly. A welcome feeling that you thought might never return. 

“You’re already doing more than he ever did,” you mumble, getting up. 

“Oh am I?” Terry asked, the smirk on his face beginning to darken. He was going to have fun with you.

The silence on your end of the phone was beginning to stretch. Your mind begins to wander, wondering if you made the right decision.

“I’m sorry! This is my first time doing something like this and I don’t know how I should act.”

“Just be yourself baby. I’ll take the lead if that’s okay with you?” Terry asks. He can already feel his balls tightening. Her voice, her innocence, it was beginning to affect him.

“I’d like that, thank you, Terry” you say, settling deep into the comfort of your bed. Your plush pillows surround you while your silk sheets rub against your freshly shaved body. 

“What are you doing now?” Terry asked. Another giggle left your lips as you replied, “Laying in bed watching jeopardy, and talking to you of course.”

“I see we have something in common, I’m a Jeopardy fan myself. Now, tell me beautiful, what are you wearing?” Terry asks, his voice dropping an octave. You feel yourself dampen between your legs at the question. 

“Just an oversized t-shirt and fuzzy socks,” you say your voice taking on a breathy tone.

“I want you to do something for me,” Terry asks. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable.

“That depends, what do you need me to do Terry?” you ask, a smirk slowly spreading across your face. 

“You’ll let me know if anything I say makes you uncomfortable, yeah?” Terry asks. 

A small hum leaves your lips, your horniness hits you all at once. Blanketing your brain in a haze, “Yes, Terry. I can do that,” your voice already taking on a breathy tone. A low groan leaves Terry’s lips on the other side of the phone. He flexes his hand, itching to wrap it around your throat. 

“Good, I want you to relax for me baby, can you do that?” Terry said, palming his hardening dick.

“Can you help me relax Terry? I’m sound wound up,”you say, not knowing where this burst of confidence came from. It must be the liquor, you thought. 

“Easy love, just breathe for me yeah? Do you want me there with you? So I can rub you down, feel your muscles relax and loosen under my touch. Imagine us lying together, skin pressed close, hearts beating in tandem. I can make you feel so good baby.”Terry coaxed, his own breathing slowing to match yours. His words painted a comforting picture in your mind. You could feel your nipples beginning to harden under the thin sleep shirt. 

Your breathing picked up, his words, his voice igniting something in you that you thought had long been extinguished. Desire. Your body started to warm as horniness hazed your vision. 

“Mm, I wish I could see your face, Terry. I would love to see who’s behind the voice that has my panties so wet,”you purred. Terry’s eyes widened on his side. Your increasing confidence was turning him on, making him hot under the collar. 

“Damn, baby I wish I could see you too. I’m loving this confidence, now tell me sweetheart are you relaxed?” Terry asks. He raises up from his lounge chair in his studio, yanking down his sweats, boxers, and grabbing his baby-oil. 

“What can I say? You bring it out of me. I’d be more relaxed if you were here with me, but this will have to do for now,” you tease. 

“ I love how you’re opening up for me baby.”Terry said. His balls aching with a need to release. You were doing a number on him and you didn’t even know it. Sure he got off with a client every one in a while, but there was something about you that drew him in. Making him want to know more about you, and not just sexually. 

“Are you wet right now pretty girl?” Terry asks, his hand coming up slowly to stroke his dick.

“If I wasn’t I am now,” you say with a slight giggle.

‘That’s my girl,” Terry chuckles. “Put two fingers in your mouth and swirl them around. Let me hear it,” 

A nervous laugh leaves your lips, “You want to hear it, Terry?” Terry groans at the way your name leaves his lips. “Yes baygirl, I want to hear every noise you make. I want to know what I do to you, how I make you feel. Every moan you release is all mine, so you better make sure I fucking hear it.”

A whimper leaves your lips at the dominant tone that Terry’s switched to. As if on autopilot, you bring your hand up to your lips and slide two fingers in. The slick wet noises of your fingers being wet by your tongue travel from your ears to Terry’s. A small moan releases from you at the pure nastiness of it all. Your drool practically leaking down to your wrist. 

“Listen to you, moaning already. You haven’t even touched that pussy for me yet. Blaire, is she wet for me?” Terry groans. His dick bobbed with attention, begging him to wrap his fist around it and tug. 

“I’m so fucking wet, Terry. My thighs are sticking together, when can I touch myself baby? I need to touch myself,” you moaned around your fingers. 

“Soon baby, take that shirt off for me, I need you naked for what I have planned,” Terry rips his own shirt off. His chocolate nipples tighten as they meet the cool air. 

“Rub your nipples for me Blaire. Tease them, tug at them, coat them in your drool until they look like shiny hershey kisses” Terry’s voice had taken on a hard edge, he was getting close and he barely touched himself. As he heard the sweet mewls you released he knew he needed you, and not just for phone sex. 

“You’re doing things to me baby. I usually don’t get like this but I need this, I need you. Can I have you Blaire? Will you be mine?” Terry sounded like a desperate man, begging for pussy but he didn’t care.

“Yess baby I’m yours, I’m yours!,” a high pitched moan leaves your lips as you tweak your right nipple a little too hard. The pain sent a jolt of pleasure right down to your clit. You couldn’t believe yourself, you were opening like a flower to a man you’d never met. 

“Your fingers are now mine baby girl, visualize me tracing my hands along your inner thighs, tracing patterns. Grabbing onto your luscious thigh kneading and tugging, slowly making my way upward, but not close enough to where you want me.”Terry voice lowers, the huskiness of it sounds like a growl. 

“Can I touch myself please Terry? I’m so wet” your moans spurring him on. 

“Can’t say I’m surprised baby. You’ve been wet since you heard my voice haven’t you?” Terry purred, his voice a seductive rumble. “Take a minute and focus on how wet you are. Feel it pooling between your legs, dripping down your ass, and wetting up your sheets. Feel how your body responds just at the thought of me, of what I plan to do to you when I finally get you alone.” Terry’s breath hitched as he listened to your needy whines and whimpers. 

“You want to touch yourself, don’t you baby?” Terry asks. Your reply is almost instant, “Yes please Terry! Can I?”

“Go ahead baby, give yourself some relief. But just know it won’t compare to how my fingers will feel, my lips, and my dick in that wet ass pussy,” his voice thick with need. “Make sure I hear everything, every moan, every gasp, the slick sound of your fingers as they play with my pussy.”

Your fingers glide down your body to come in contact with your wet pussy. A mess of whimpers and moans can be heard through the phone. “Tell me what you want to do to me Terry, are you  going to make me feel good?” you ask, a panting mess.

“I’m going to make you feel better than good baby. Fuck, my dick is rock hard for you Blaire,”Terry moaned, you could hear the slick sounds through the phone as he stroked himself. “I can’t wait to sink this dick deep inside of you, to feel that tight pussy wrap my dick in a warm, wet hug.” Terry’s hand moved faster, pumping his shaft with an increasing urgency as he continued to describe his fantasies out loud. 

His voice dropping to a husky purr, his voice dripping with raw, unbridled lust. “Oh baby, I can’t wait to have you spread open so I can claim you as mine. Eat that sweet pussy until you’re crying, begging me to stop,” his free hand cupping his heavy balls as he stroked his aching dick. 

You’re a moaning mess on the phone. Practically hypnotized by Terry’s words, “I need you, Terry!’ the needy whine left your lips without a second thought. When you dialed your local sex hotline you never thought the man on the other line would excite you, let alone hurl you toward one of the best orgasms you’ve had in months. 

“Fuck baby, you have no idea how much I need you. How bad I want to feel that pussy come for me,” he rasped, his breathing ragged. 

“Tell me how bad you need me baby,” You moan, your fingers form a mind of their own as they find their way inside your warm cunt. Breathless pants and whimpers bleed through the phone spurring on Terry’s need to get you as close as he is. 

“I’d drag you onto the nearest flat surface and fuck you however you want me to. Do you like it rough? I’ll give it to you rough. What about loving and soft, because I can do that too, baby. Your pleasure is my only concern..fuck. I’m hard as fuck for you baby,” he palmed his aching dick harder, the friction sending jolts of pleasure down his spine. 

Your fingers found your g-spot during Terry’s rant, eliciting high pitched squeals from you. “Terry, you have no idea how bad I wish you could be here with me. Nobody’s ever made me feel..unh. Feel like this before”

Terry’s chest heaved with a shuddering sigh at your confession. His heart ached at the longing in your voice, he had to meet you. “Babygirl, I’ve never felt like this before either. I want to meet you baby, can I do that? Can I meet my pretty girl?” This call reduces you both to babbling messes, too consumed in each other to pay attention to the outside world. “If I could only be there in person, baby, feeling your soft lips against mine, tasting how sweet you are,” he murmured, his thumb rubbing over the sensitive head of his dick. 

“I’d fuck you right here on this call, if technology allowed. I’d push into that tight pussy so deep, so hard, that you’d for- forget your own name,” Terry’s voice dropped to a sensual purr, his imagination running wild at the thought of finally getting you alone.

“Come to me, Terry! Fuck! I need you here, I want you baby please! Can’t you hear how wet I am for you? How bad I want you, don’t leave me hanging, please,” more needy cries leave your lips and meet Terry’s ears. He was going to lose his mind if he didn’t have you. 

Terry’s breath caught in his throat as he listened to your sultry whispers, his mind reeling with the intensity of his arousal. “Blaire, baby, you’re killing me with these sexy ass words of yours. I can almost feel your breath on my ear, begging me to take you harder, deeper,” he groaned, hips rocking instinctively as he continued to stroke his engorged member. 

With a deep breath, Terry opened his mouth to say something that would absolutely get him fired, “Give me your address sweet girl, and I’ll be there. I’ll fuck you all night, every way you want me to, don’t you want me there with you baby. I’ll take care of you, I’ll hold you, please you in ways you’ve never felt. Just a few numbers and a street name and I’ll be there.” The horny declaration leaves his heaving chest, but Terry doesn’t regret anything. He just hopes you’ll say yes and give him that address. 

You contemplate the idea. Should you really give your address to a phone sex operator, no matter how sexy the voice. Your buzz had mostly worn off, in its place a crippling horniness. Terry made you feel things you thought were once dead inside you, how could you deny yourself the opportunity that is this man. Being a single black female in a semi-big city, you weren’t an idiot. You had protective measures in place. So with a sigh and a shy giggle to read off your address to Terry. 

“Can you do something for me Blaire?” Terry asks, yanking his sweats up over his aching dick. It’s taking everything in him to stop, but he has to get to you. He has to meet the vixen that's taken hold of him almost instantly. 

“Anything,”you say, so delirious right on the edge of cumming.

“Don’t come until I can get my hands on you,” Terry hangs up the phone, promptly ending your session. Your chest heaving in frustration and desire at Terry’s command, you had something for his ass when he got there.

OH MY GOD!! OBVIOUSLY THERE’S A PART 2 COMING!! 

I could never leave y’all hanging like that, but be warned it might be a while. Getting back into the groove of things and starting a second job has taken up a lot of my time. I’m finding my footing though so more consistent work will be coming. As always I always accept criticism, but please be gentle, I’m a tad but sensitive about my writing. Send me asks and requests, I love reading what you guys come up with! I love y’all to the moon and back thank you so much for consuming my work. 

Until Next Time

Tee <3

[ghost-proofbaby]

GHOOOST i saw your valentine blurb event and thought i’d drop in something! 🥹

24 hours eddie has been living in my mind rent free and i can’t help but feel like he’s the type to act tough and all that, but instantly melts into a gooey simpy lovesick puddle the second you call him “baby” ❤️ like yeah he likes to be called nicknames like ed or eds, but petnames??? he’s done for. just turns into a blushing blubbering mess. especially with the way he has repressed all his emotions for so long, it’s fun to kind of tease him and call him “handsome” “pretty boy” “baby boy” just to see him break his facade and just unapologetically be the golden retriever that he really is ❤️❤️❤️

i think my favorite thing about this vision is the way he would try to fight it so bad. hiding his face in your neck and blushing all terrible and gaaaaaaaahh. i hope this does it justice <3

warnings: fem!reader. reader is described to be wearing a dress, makeup, earrings, and heels. not edited. set in twenty four hours universe, after the story!

“Eddie!” 

No answer.

“Eds!” 

No answer.

“Edward Munson!” 

Your patience is wearing thin as you finally pop on the back of the earring you had been struggling with. The studs weren’t even anything fancy, hardly worth all the time you’d just spent fighting with it, but you were determined to look nice. 

Valentine’s Day. A day meant to be filled with blissful serenity and endless heart eyes, that was really only becoming the bane of your existence. 

“I swear to God,” you mumble to yourself, huffing a bit as you try to clean up the mess you’ve made of the bathroom sink. Makeup everywhere, various pieces of jewelry scattered, your curling iron still warm on the edge of porcelain. You decide rather quickly it’s a mess to be dealt with later tonight. Or tomorrow. Or next week. “If he’s still fucking with that bike.” 

The sharp clicks of your heels transform as you walk from tile to laminate-wood flooring, becoming a bit more dull and less obnoxious as you take the hallway by storm. 

Next year, you’re telling Steve to go fuck himself if he tries to lure you and Eddie into another double date. 

“Eddie, we only have thirty minutes until we nee-” you stress as you reach the end of the hall, cutting off entirely as you catch sight of the living room. 

Of the living room, and your boyfriend. 

“What is that?” 

You think you might actually kill him. 

“What?” Eddie doesn’t even look up at you, and you make a mental strike against him, “I told you, I’m working on the bi-”

“Yes,” you cut him off, taking a few harsh steps into the very crowded living room, “You were supposed to bring up a part of the bike. Why is the entire bike in our living room, Munson?” 

You mean it – you’re going to kick his ass by the end of today. 

His bike is propped up there, right in front of the TV, entirely blocking the pathway to the balcony. The bike that should be outside. The bike that certainly has God knows what all over the tires, and is sitting right on your rug you just bought for the living room. 

Eddie stops his tinkering with whatever piece he’d removed from the bike to work on on the coffee table, abiding by your rule of having a towel down below it to avoid getting grease everywhere, “What do you mean?” 

He’s playing dumb. And he probably thinks he looks cute as he does it, but no amount of fluttering lashes or boyish grins can soothe your irritation. 

“You’re an idiot, but you’re not stupid,” you hiss as you cross the room and stand right in front of him, only seeing the crown of his head as he keeps his eyes dipped low in shame, “When did you… How did you…. When the fuck did you bring the bike up?” 

You can hardly manage a fluent sentence as you look between Eddie and the bike, mind blown in the truest sense. 

His voice is a mere murmur as he fiddles with one of his wrenches, flipping it over a few times before he answers, “While you were in the shower.” 

“How?” 

“The frat boys downstairs,” he rushes out in one breath, eyes still locked on the ground rather than you. “I, uh, paid a few of them to help me lug it up.”

You sigh heavily, throwing your head back before you move to the couch and dramatically throw yourself down with defeat, “You’re a real pain in my ass, you know that, Munson?” 

“You say that like it’s new news,” he says as he twists to finally look at you, eyebrow quirked and the shadow of his dimple making an appearance while he fights a smug smile, “I think you’d be more worried if I wasn’t being a pain in your ass.” 

He’s right. It doesn’t slow the roll of your eyes, though. 

“You know I love you, right?” you say, suddenly using a sickeningly sweet tone as you lean in closer to where he sits on the ground. His face falls a bit, confusion lacing his brows together, “But, baby, if you keep this up… I’m going to kick your ass.” 

He should look a whole lot more scared than he currently does as you deliver the threat, but he entirely throws you off when he grins. 

An ear splitting grin, spreading cheek from cheek, radiating with anything but trepidation. He lights up, posture perking up as he looks at you with soft eyes. It looks as though you might have told him you loved him for the first time all over again, as though you’ve just reminded him of how you wanted to spend your life with him rather than said you were going to kick his ass. 

The fight and issue at hand is momentarily forgotten as he whispers, “What did you just call me?” 

“What did I just call you?” you question incredulously, leaning back fully, wholly concerned now. Maybe you should call Steve and cancel the date, “I- I just threatened to kick your ass, and you’re making heart eyes at me, asking me what I just called you?”

You rewind a bit in your brain, going over the moment again, trying to figure out if you’d let something unusual slip. Deciphering any moment that might have pulled this reaction from him. 

You come up empty. Nothing. 

“Did you just…” he trails off, cheeks surely aching as they shine with a bit of natural blush, “Did you just call me baby?” 

Oh. That. 

You look about the room for a second, taking in this predicament you’d gotten yourself into, “Do you not want me to call you that? I just-”

“No!” he rushes to stop you before you can take it back, “I mean, it’s fine. That’s not the issue, I just-” 

He cuts off, and you realize just how flustered he is. 

Now you’re smiling, right along with him, “You like it?” 

“Sort of,” he shrugs, going a bit shy on you now, “It… I mean, if you want to start calling me stuff like that, I don’t mind. It’s fine. It’s cool.” 

“Baby,” you say in place of his name, so naturally, like honey. You’re leaning forward once more, entering his orbit as you softly tease, “You’re blushing.” 

The words turn him even more scarlet, “Fuck off.”

“What?” it’s your turn to act innocent, rearranging yourself on the couch to be more comfortable, “I thought you said you liked it when I called you stuff like that-”

Eddie movies quickly from the floor, gathering himself up in record time that would have had him groaning in protest on any other occasion. You’ve hardly leaned an elbow back on the couch’s arm when he gets on top of you.

Even if he’s trying to stop you from all your taunting with his words, his kiss says otherwise.

It’s hot, heavy, desperate – like alarm bells might be ringing in his head and telling him to run to the nearest safety of your lips. You welcome him in, of course. Take his lips right between yours with an eagerness to match, forgetting all about the lipstick you’d just applied moments before. Thighs spreading to bring him home to you, arms quickly searching out solace of all the skin below his Deftones t-shirt. Straining biceps as he holds himself over you, squared shoulders as he balances to stay right where he belongs. His chest even heaves ever so slightly with little gasps between kisses, both your lungs needing air despite the magnetic protest between you two. 

“God,” you gasp out during one of those short breaks, making him divert a kiss to the corner of your mouth instead, “If you’re gonna kiss me like this every time I call you baby, I should do it more often,” he grunts, and tries to reignite a kiss, probably just to shut you up. You don’t let him, turning a cheek and forcing his searching mouth to plant a peck there instead, laughing a little, “Maybe I should be sure to use the nickname during dinner with Steve, hm?” 

“Don’t you dare,” he groans as his lips seek out your jaw and neck next, peppering kisses between words. For each syllable, there’s a smack of his lips against your skin. 

You ponder back to the time before you saw this side of Eddie; before someone so soft, so caring, so affectionate existed for you. It’s hard to even recall all those times now with the puddle of a man hovering over you. 

“No?” you hum, head thrown back, letting him have his way as your fingers toy with the band around his bun, “What about pretty boy instead?” 

Another groan, vibrating against your skin. 

“Or handsome?” 

This time, he nips the sensitive spot below your ear with his teeth in response.

You gasp, half from the bite and half with faux enthusiasm, “Oh! I know! I’ll take one out of your books and call you sweetheart.” 

He finally moans in annoyance, and you know it’s all an act as he faceplants into your chest. You can feel his smile, radiant as ever, muffled by your skin and dress. 

“You’re such a pain in my ass,” his echo of your earlier words come out around the cotton neckline, “You know that?” 

You ruffle the kinks of his curls at his scalp a little, giving a scratch for good measure, “Yeah. Tell me something I don’t know, handsome.” 

The full weight of him falls along your body finally, and he has a boyish glint when he raises his head. Seeking hands find promise along your hips, bunching the fabric of your black dress up into his fists before he’s kissing you again. 

A little less hot, a little less heavy, a little less desperate. Just as rewarding as before, though. 

Somewhere between simply nice and deathly devoted, you two let your mouths explore at a leisure pace. His lips, the apples of his cheeks, the line of his jaw down to his chin – no space is left unkissed, and you finally notice the smear of red lipstick. 

“Oh, shit,” you laugh out, not sounding the least bit sorry as you look at the fading marks left behind, “I got my lipstick all over you.” 

When he lifts from the crook of your neck, you catch the stain feathering out around his own lips, a bit smeared along his chin, “And you. I dunno if we can go to dinner lookin’ like this, doll.” 

You get it. His reaction to your slip of a pet name. 

You have the same reaction as he does it to you, gut fluttering and chest buzzing with tenderness at the sentiments. It’s a simple thing, probably a bit cheesy and cringey to outsiders, but it works between the two of you. You like hearing him grant you the pleasure of a nickname, whether it be sweetheart or doll. You love the hidden devotion beneath the delivery, whether it be idiot or fool. 

There’s always an unspoken my in the mix. A certain sense of belonging to him that you can’t really explain to others without being looked at as if you’ve grown a second head. 

Why would you want to belong to another person, in any sense of the word? 

The answer feels simple enough when you look up at your boy, covered and pretty in Maybelline’s “Ruby for Me”.

“You’re not getting out of this double date,” you whisper back, still toying with his hair, still looking up at him with all the love you’re capable of growing within this chest of yours. It’s a bit more than yesterday, that much you’re sure. Each day, he finds a way to push the limits just a bit more, make a little bit more room behind your ribs for all the affection you hold for him, “If I’m stuck in this impending disaster, so are you.” 

He sighs, head slipping into the crook of your neck, “Yeah… Yeah, that sounds about right.” 

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” 

“Me? Disappointed with you?” he gasps, breath hot on your skin still as he snuggles in a little closer, grips the soft fabric of your dress a little tighter, “Oh, never.”

“Oh, so you decide to sound sarcastic instead?” you’re fighting a grin, trying to find a reason to be mad at him again. Hell, you even glance at the motorcycle in your damn living room to reignite the smallest of sparks – nothing, “You wound me, pretty boy.” 

“You’re all about stealing my lines tonight, I see,” he teases as he finally begins to peel himself away from you. He’s all soft – soft eyes, soft smile, soft cheeks, soft flush. Soft, soft, soft. “I guess if there’s no way to convince you to stay home instead of going to this stupid double date, we both gotta get cleaned up now.” 

You adore him. If you could bottle up all that softness you’re witnessing with your own two eyes just for a rainy day, you would. 

He starts to stand on his knees, moving to leave you entirely and take all that mellow delight away from you too soon, when you lock your heels against his lower back. 

Wrapping your legs a little too tightly around his waist, you raise a brow, “You may not be able to convince me to stay home entirely, but… no one ever said you couldn’t convince me to be about, let’s say, ten minutes late.” 

He tilts his head at you, eyes wide, “Only ten minutes?” 

“Okay, you’ve twisted my arm. Let’s make it fifteen.” 

He crashes back into you in an instant, both of you giggling in the process. 

With the weight of your pretty boy between your hips, and the caress of his lips against your chest, you accidentally make it nearly thirty minutes late. You don’t really care – not when it comes to Eddie.

[canine-witch]

What Do People Desire From You ~ Pick A Pile

I channeled a question today through a song. The song is in French, but the album art was a young lady looking behind her, her back facing the audience. The question "what do people desire from you" popped into my head, and I decided to make this reading to bring clarity.

Drink some water, pick a pile, and feel free to reject what does not resonate. Check at the bottom of the reading for channeled songs.

☁️ kofi - pac masterlist ☁️

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *

Pile One: The Carousel

People desire your destiny. You are beginning something new. Maybe a new job, a new hobby, or moving out of your current home. People around you can sense that you're going through a transition for the better, and want what you have.

You may not see yourself the way that others do. You may feel like you are running in circles, trying to catch up to everyone else. A force pushed the oracle card indicating this, trying to hide it from view. People do not want you to know that this period of questioning who you are and why you're doing any of this, will lead to a better life. They are scared of you leveling up, and leaving them behind.

Your best option at this moment is to lay low. Take time for yourself, find direction in your life. Know that you have enough time to do all you need and then some. It may not feel like you are moving forward, but all that you are accomplishing is not in vain. Don't let them cover your star, move in silence and grace, and learn all you can.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *

Pile Two: The Fountain Stairs

People desire your spirit. You may be a reader yourself, or some kind of energy worker or psychic. You have won multiple conflicts in your life, coming out on top and letting your light shine. You may be shy and wary, but this is because you have overcame much alone, and you aren't willing to get into more fights. People see this, but they are still fighting their own battles, and want you at their side.

There is something about you they cannot have. You have a heavy energy of creation and manifestation, able to make what you desire become reality. Others don't understand that the reason you are able to do this is through hard work, work they can do themselves. This is not a talent, this is a skill you have developed. They want you to fight their demons or others with them.

You need to look in yourself and ask if you truly want to fight with these people, or for them. You are weary from life, even if you are a young person, and you are not willing to break your personal peace at this point. But, these people could mean something to you, or be able to stand on their own eventually. Listen to your heart, draw cards for yourself, or have a reading done with the question, "Should I fight for them?". Your answer can only come through your spirit.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *

Pile Three: The Aviary

They desire your mind. You are highly gifted, highly attuned, and highly intelligent. You may feel trapped in your own mind, unable to escape your own intellect. You may be able to recognize patterns before other people. You have avoided much disaster and conflict through your intelligence, some battles you didn't even know you avoided. You are highly attuned to justice, blind to your emotions and relying on logic, even while perhaps being a spiritual person. This aspect of swords with you has caused conflict, many have said that you don't feel enough emotion. But, they secretly admire you and desire your intelligence.

They are envious of your intelligence. Often in our world, people place intelligence on such a high pedestal, and think that your life automatically becomes easier when you are as smart as you are. You have left many places with people like these, jealous people who always tried to one up you and halt your progress, without looking inwards to their own strengths.

You need to just be yourself. Don't worry right now about expressing yourself emotionally. You need to accept your logical side before you even think to begin working on emotions. People who wish you the worst are oftentimes the one begging you to respond in anger or sadness, when that isn't you, no matter how "healthy" it may be. This does not align with your personality. Use your head, learn all you can, and accept you are not a person who's first idea is to work off emotions.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *

Pile Four: The Garden Windows

They desire your ability to detach. You may have been told before that you are quick to anger and overly aggressive. That you must be gentler and give people second chances. You know that your strength keeps you safe and keeps people out of your life, and you are angered by people's insistence to coddle them. I am seeing a strong force with you, one that is highly intuitive and spiritual. You know yourself, and you know what is good for you. You are able to easily leave situations which are not in alignment with your higher self nor what you need at this time. People envy this ability to detach and want better for yourself.

They want your fire to be settled, like a campfire. They want to warm themselves and their egos with your praise and attention, but they have not earned it. I am feeling a heavy sigh or speaking from anger with your energy right now. But, your confidence in yourself is faltering, as it seems nowhere is the right place, and nobody is the right person. Do not stray off your path. Those who leave and fall away, do so because they cannot walk this path with you. You are facing the darkest parts of yourself and improving your mind and soul every day.

You expect greatness of yourself, and those around you. This makes you a true friend. Be patient, be still, ask questions, and live with your lonliness, even learn to cherish it. You are your own best friend, and you can never leave yourself. Learn to take the best only, even if it hurts sometimes.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *

Channeled Songs:

Pile One: did i tell you that i miss you by adore

Pile Two: Hate by ThxSoMch

Pile Three: Teen Idle by Marina (and the Diamonds)

Pile Four: YKWIM? By Yot Club

pac requests open! Thank you so much for your time and energy, have a wonderful day!

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *

[fromchaostocosmos]

You should also have a legal document, I think it called a living will, stating what you want done in case this should happen, who you want to be in charge on making medical/mental health decisions for you if you are not in state to be able to make them for yourself.

Because when you have a document like this it is a legally binding one and anything like medications you do not want to be put, treatment facilities that you prefer or do not wish to be sent, etc all have to be as far as I understand used as rubric for your care even should you have a trusted person put in charge of your care.

In fact I would say that anyone with mental health issues especially if you have needed inpatient treatment should have one of these as a safety net.

I believe that a living will also covers things like if, G-d forbid, a person is in a long term coma what they want to happen with them, again who should be in charge of making their medical decisions, and such related things.

I do think it is something worth looking into. A lot of mental health community services (like the kinds that are non-profit and offer services in a community) sometimes offer this as one their services, the creating of your legal will and getting it filed so it is legally binding.

I don't know if any of the government mental health services do you would have to check for your area.

99% of "mysterious disappearances" esp of people in their 20s who start acting weird for 48 hours and then vanish are not mysterious, thats just when a lot of reality-obliterating mental illness tends to kick in and it's pretty easy to get a short circuit in your brain that makes you go family guy death pose in joshua tree national park. it's not any less tragic, it's just a documented phenomenon and not particularly predictable. its a big reason the medical advice is for people with a family history of schizophrenia to completely avoid weed and psychedelics. "people just go crazy sometimes" is a principle of human health that used to be a lot more accepted prior to the american midcentury and to a certain extent thats a healthier way to conceptualize and prepare for the risk, as opposed to the modern assertion that anyone acting weird is dangerous and broken forever.

[pinkyqily]

BABY - JUJU WATKINS X READER

Summary: juju fucks around and finds out but fixs her shit in time

Contains: angst-fluff, cursing, suggestive part near the end.

A/n: mini valentines Day fic gonna ignore the fact this is 2 days late, I hope you enjoy this one and happy readings readers, as always, feedback, thoughts, or commenting your reactions are appreciated 💕.

Today was valentines Day, you planned a whole dinner night at your place every were was decorated, and you made yours and juju favorites food, brought all types of snacks and drinks.

Not wanting juju to worry about anything and because you wanted to treat her right after the rough week, she was having.

You sent her a message around 12 in the afternoon that after her practice, she should drop by because you had something planned out for valentines Day.

She only reacted to the message, and you went by doing what needed to be done before she came.

Only to find yourself waiting for your girlfriend, as the day already ended and it was already nighttime already.

you texted ju multiple times, only to be left on delivered. You sent her one more message before leaving it. feeling disappointed and a lump in your throat, meaning you were about to cry. Fuck her because you didn't.

You we're used to people disappointing you, but it was never the case with juju. She was always attentive and tried being there when she could. Her pulling this, especially on Valentines Day made you upset and hurt.

After giving ju the benefits of doubt, you decided to pack everything in the fridge because throwing shit out in this economy was not it. You left the decorations as it's but turned blowed out the heart-shaped candles.

Making sure everything was placed where they belonged, you turned off all the lights and made sure your doors were locked and went straight to bed.

Scrolling on your feed, all you saw was happy couples celebrating. Even rayray was celebrating with her own girlfriend, but yours was nowhere to be found. The universe was playing with your heart strings, and it hurts.

You were about to sleep, but someone banging on your door pissed you off even more. You tried pretending that no one was here

but by the sounds of the banging, that person wasn't giving up until you opened up.

You dragged yourself from bed knowing the person was about to get it especially if that stupid neighbor of yours who can't take a hint. You opened the door only to be met with a juju who had gifts, flowers in her hands and special guest duce.

You wanted to close the door on her, but she had her hands and legs blocking you from it.

"Baby, please, i know you're mad, and I'm sorry for being late." She told you, looking apologetic.

"Your apology is a little too late right now." You told her, getting annoyed instead of the upset feeling you had before."

"Valentines Day isn't over yet let me just make it up to you, plus you can't be that mad I brought our son with me." Gosh you didn't want to let her in, but everything about her was making your whole body feel hot, and she could tell.

"Whatever, only because you brought my favorite." You told her, finally letting her in. "Brought these for you." Handing you a bouquet full of roses.

You took them only to throw them at her face. Just because she apologized doesn't mean you didn't feel sassy. She didn't say anything, only picked them back up, grabbed you by your waist and gave it back to you.

The rest of your valentines night went smooth. You and ju reheated the food you made together set the other decorations in your settings area. Everything went well she apologized again, telling you funny stories, making you laugh.

As the night was coming to an end, you both seatt down on watching a movie, but juju wasn't paying any attention. Because her hand kept sneaking up your satin valentines robe set.

She started touching you all over your body, moving slowly to kissing you her hands went back to where she had them.

Things were getting hot as you pulled off her shirt, leaving her in her sport bra. You pulled her into another kiss, as she was setting the tone you both got interrupted by a barking sound.

"Oh my gosh, he just had to disturb us". She said, rolling her eyes.

"Happy valentines Day babe". You told her as you laughed putting back your robe on.

[kiwriteswords]

So I have another request 🥸☝️

I had this idea about a 5+1 story and this is definitely your thing so I guess it’s the perfect moment to tell you about it and of course feel free to do it or not (I promise I won’t be sad if you don’t)

The thing was “5 times reader took Hotch on a date and one time he did” and in my head it was something like he hasn’t been on date for a long date or he always went on “simple” dates and doesn’t have anything special to tell or another amazing reason you’ll find because your brain is beautiful and reader decide to take him and of course the last one he’s the one who does

Not sure if it’s clear and maybe it’s not even a good idea 😂 but here it is and thank you for being amazing 💖

Everybody Knows You're All I've Got [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 5.3k|| AN: Ahh, I love this! Thank YOU for being amazing and always so kind! I really appreciate all of the support and requests! I hope this is what you were looking for! <3

Tags/Warnings: female reader, 5 +1, best friends to lovers, Oblivious Hotch, Grumpy x Sunshine, Reader has an ex-boyfriend, reader hints at being bisexual? (easy to miss tbh), fake dating, first dates, slow burn, Jack Hotchner TW (for those who don't like him included 🤷‍♀️) Hotch is a rusty boyfriend, Reader takes care of hotch bc he sucks at caring for himself

Summary: Five times you took Hotch on a date and the one time he takes you on one.

I. 

When you started at the BAU, it wasn't just the beginning of a new job but the start of an unlikely friendship with Aaron Hotchner. 

To many, Hotch was a mystery wrapped in a suit, always reserved and meticulously professional. But to you, he was a puzzle waiting to be understood, a person who just needed a bit of sunlight in the often shadowy world of the BAU.

You were everything Hotch wasn't outwardly: bubbly, openly kind, and radiating empathy like warmth from a fireplace. Where the weight of the job furrowed his brow, your smile seemed to light up the room, often bringing a much-needed lift to the team's spirits. 

It didn’t take long for you to notice the little things that could bring a momentary smile to Hotch’s often impassive face--a perfectly timed cup of coffee after a long night, a gentle tease to crack his professional veneer, or a supportive word after a tough case.

One chilly October afternoon, as the leaves painted the world in hues of fire and gold, you approached Hotch with an extra ticket in hand. There had been a buzz about the new play in town, something about it transforming the mundane into magic, and you thought it would be the perfect escape from the reality you both faced daily.

You had heard Hotch speak here and there about theater-related things. On the outside, looking in, he didn’t appear to be a theater geek at heart, but the subtle notes and references he made or picked up on had him found out by you fairly quickly. 

"Hotch, you're coming with me to the play tonight," you declared with a grin, waving the ticket like a magic wand.

He looked up from his paperwork, the corners of his eyes crinkling just so, a sign you had come to recognize as intrigue mixed with resistance. "You should take a friend...or perhaps a date," he suggested, his voice steady but his gaze flickering away momentarily.

Hotch had always been a fortress of solitude, his emotions guarded like the secrets of the cases you worked on together. But over time, you'd learned to read the subtle shifts in his expression as if they were confessions.

You leaned against his office door, your smile unwavering. 

"But I am taking a friend, and honestly, I can't think of anyone else I’d rather have as my date tonight. You deserve a night off, to be wined and dined and just...have fun." You shrugged. You knew this man, out of anyone in this building, likely hadn’t had a night out of fun since 1997. “How long has it been since you've done something just for the joy of it?”

Hotch paused, the word 'date' hanging between you like a challenge. His jaw set, a classic Hotchner move before surrendering to a situation outside his control. "I'm not sure I'm the best company for something like that," he countered softly, almost vulnerable.

"Which is exactly why you should come," you insisted. "You spend so much time taking care of everyone else here, Hotch. Tonight, let someone take care of you. Plus, I love your company, whether it’s here dealing with unsubs or outside where we can actually enjoy ourselves." You paused, “And you know me,” You smirked, “I’m really not going to let this go.” 

There was a long pause, a silent conversation passing through the air as he considered your words. Finally, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he accepted. "Alright, I'll go."

The theater was an antique jewel in the heart of the city, its walls lined with velvety red curtains and golden lights that cast a warm glow over the buzzing audience. As the curtain rose, the stage transformed into a magical realm, pulling you both away from the grim realities of your daily work.

The play was a vibrant affair, with actors breathing life into their roles with a passion that made you forget the world outside. Throughout the evening, you watched Hotch, too, seeing him genuinely engaged, a softness in his eyes that you seldom saw at work. 

During intermission, over glasses of wine, you shared light, easy conversation that danced around personal edges, revealing layers of each other previously tucked away behind professional facades.

"Thank you for bringing me," Hotch said as you walked out under the canopy of stars. His voice was low, sincere. "It’s been...more enjoyable than I anticipated."

"You're welcome!" you beamed, feeling a swell of happiness at his admission. "See? The world outside the BAU isn’t so bad, is it?"

He allowed himself a small chuckle, the sound mingling with the crisp night air. "No, it isn’t. Especially not with the right company."

The evening ended with a promise of similar outings, an unspoken agreement that both of you would take turns pulling each other away from the shadows of your job into the light of life outside it. It was simple, an easy friendship blossoming quietly into something that neither of you had expected but both secretly hoped would continue to grow.

II. 

You burst into Hotch's office with a flair that would rival any stage performance, immediately drawing a rare smile from him despite the obvious panic etched across your face. He set aside his paperwork, an unspoken signal that he was all ears, and patiently waited for you to gather your thoughts.

Despite the clear panic struck on your face…it was amusing to Hotch. Cute even. Your typical calm, cool, and collected personality seemingly faded now. Your flustered state was something that Hotch found endearingly human, a contrast to your usual composed demeanor. 

"Hotch, I have a...a situation," you gasped, struggling for breath as you stopped in front of his desk. The rare sight of your disarray pulled a smile from him, a softening around his eyes that encouraged you to continue.

Catching your breath, you finally blurted out, "My ex-fiancé is coming to town, and he's...he's engaged now!" You paced a small circle before facing Hotch again, your hands animatedly moving as you spoke. "And, of course, he wants to meet for drinks to introduce me to his fiancée."

Hotch's eyebrows raised slightly, a silent prompt for you to continue.

You exhaled sharply, the words tumbling out. Complete and utter word vomit. Word salad. Word soup…all over Aaron Hotchner’s perfectly perfected office. "I might have, sort of, told him I was seeing someone too--just to sound less...pathetic." You met Hotch's gaze, a mix of embarrassment and mischief in your eyes. "And I said it was you. It had to be you."

"Me?" Hotch's voice was calm, but his surprise was evident.

You nodded vigorously. "Yeah, I mean, it couldn’t be Derek; he’s all action-hero, way too macho. And Spencer? He’d inadvertently make me look dumb with all his factoids. And Rossi...well," you chuckled nervously, "he’s great, but he could practically be my dad!"

You paused, a playful glint appearing in your eyes. "I even thought about taking Emily, you know, referring back to my experimental college days," you joked, watching Hotch’s reaction carefully.

There was a moment of stillness as Hotch processed your train of thought. Finally, he leaned back in his chair, the corners of his mouth twitching into an almost imperceptible smile. "So, I'm the safest choice for a fake boyfriend, is that it?"

"Exactly!" you exclaimed, relieved he wasn't upset. "You’re respectable, you’re responsible, and let’s be honest, you can scare him a little if you do that...stern FBI look.” You paused, trying to convey the other reason behind this…this choice. Hotch had become someone you deeply cared for. It was evident to everyone. “And not just safe," you corrected, your tone earnest. "You're...you make me feel secure. You're the one person here who always has my back."

Hotch considered this for a moment; then his expression softened--a new understanding dawning between you. "When is this drink supposed to happen?"

"Tomorrow night," you replied, your voice a mixture of hope and anxiety. The relief in your voice mirrored the relief in your stance.

Hotch nodded slowly, then stood up from his desk, a decisive look replacing his initial surprise. "Alright, then. It seems I’m your...boyfriend for the evening. We might as well make sure your ex realizes what he’s missed out on."

Your relief was palpable, and a genuine smile spread across your face. "Thank you, Hotch. Really, I...this means a lot to me."

“I’ll be there--not just as your fake boyfriend, but as your friend."

Your heart fluttered unexpectedly at his words, warmth spreading through you at the thought of him standing by your side. "Thank you, really, Hotch. Really…honestly, this means everything to me."

The rest of the day, you found yourself catching Hotch's eye a few times, each glance exchanged, building a silent, mutual understanding. It was an odd, unexpected partnership, but as the hours passed, a curious anticipation grew within both of you about the role you were about to play.

The following evening at the bar was like stepping into another world. The dim lighting cast a warm glow that softened the sharp edges of Hotch's usually stark features. He stood there, not as the BAU chief, but as someone altogether more approachable, dressed in a smart casual jacket that hinted at the man beneath the badge.

"You look...not like Agent Hotchner," you commented with a teasing tone as you approached.

"And you look like someone who definitely isn’t nursing a broken heart," Hotch replied, offering his arm in a gentlemanly gesture that you didn’t expect but appreciated.

The night unfolded with an ease that surprised you both. Hotch played the part perfectly, charming yet subtly protective, casting doubtful glances from your ex that you couldn't help but feel satisfied to provoke. With every laugh and shared glance, the line between pretense and reality blurred.

As you left the bar, Hotch’s hand brushed against yours, a touch that lingered longer than necessary. "You know," he said quietly, stopping to face you under the soft glow of the streetlamp, "you don’t need to pretend to be anything you're not--not with me."

Your heart skipped a beat at the intensity of his gaze. "Maybe next time, we won’t have to pretend," you suggested, the words hanging between you like a promise waiting to be kept.

Hotch studied you for a moment, his usual reserve giving way to a tender sincerity. "I’d like that," he admitted, and in his eyes, you saw not just the stoic chief but a man who had begun to see you in a new light, just as you were seeing him.

As you walked away together, the city around you faded into the background, leaving only the possibilities of what might come next--a future neither of you had anticipated, but both silently hoped to explore.

III. 

On a brisk morning, as the case stretched on and lunchtime approached, you could feel the gnawing emptiness in your stomach. Seated beside Hotch in the car, an hour away from the rest of the team, you were certain he must be just as hungry--even if he never complained. From what you'd observed, Hotch often neglected his own needs, always focused on the job or caring for his team.

He was the kind of man who seemed to subsist on sheer willpower--and far too much coffee, which, as you often joked.

Coffee shouldn’t count as a meal. 

Dessert? Maybe. With extra whipped topping and mocha drizzle. Lunch? Never. 

You wished somedays you’d just pack him a sandwich. It was hard to picture the man devouring a peanut butter and jelly, but a grown man’s got to eat! And from the looks of it, he rarely prioritizes that. The thought made you smile, a brief respite from the growling of your stomach.

The world outside painted a stark contrast to the warmth inside the car. Bare trees stood sentinel along the frost-lined road, their branches swaying in the cold wind that whispered promises of an impending winter. The car's heater hummed softly, a counterpoint to the rhythm of the road beneath the tires.

Glancing over at him as he drove, you noticed his focus was unwavering, his hands steady on the wheel. The rumbling of your stomach broke the silence, making it impossible to ignore any longer. Without a word, you leaned over the console and started typing into the GPS.

Hotch shot you a curious look. One eyebrow raised before darting back toward the open road. "What are you doing?"

"We need food, Hotch. I’m starving, and I know you haven’t eaten either," you said, inputting the address of a nearby diner you’d quickly looked up. The promise of a simple but comforting meal seemed like the perfect break from the stresses of the case.

He briefly glanced at the screen before returning his eyes to the road. "We should really get back to the precinct, join the team," he argued, his voice steady but lacking conviction. 

"Hotch, we’re no good to them if we’re hungry and irritable," you countered, meeting his gaze with a playful yet firm look. "And I’m about to get very irritable if I don’t eat something soon."

"I don’t get irritable," Hotch said, a faint smile playing on his lips despite his attempt to seem annoyed.

"You will be if you don’t eat," you teased. "Now, follow the GPS. I’m ordering us cheeseburgers and fries. And if you’re good," you added with a cheeky grin, "I might even treat you to a milkshake."

That seemed to amuse him, a spark of warmth lighting up his usually reserved eyes. With a resigned chuckle, Hotch finally nodded and turned the car in the direction of the diner.

As you both walked into the diner, the shift in atmosphere was palpable. The cozy warmth, the smell of coffee and fried food, offered a much-needed respite. 

You slid into a booth, the red vinyl squeaking under you, and Hotch took the seat across, his body language relaxing as he perused the menu you handed him. The corner of his mouth twitched upward in amusement at your noticeable relief.

"See, isn’t this better than a cold sandwich in the precinct?" you asked as you handed him a menu, your tone light and teasing.

"It is," he admitted, his gaze lingering on yours a moment longer than necessary. "Thanks for taking care of me."

The conversation flowed easily as you waited for your food, touching on light topics that didn’t involve work. It was a side of Hotch you rarely saw--relaxed, even a bit playful, especially when you joked about how he deserved a day off now and then.

When the food arrived, Hotch seemed genuinely pleased with the hearty meal, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction in seeing him so. As you both ate, the playful banter continued, and you teased him about his choice of milkshake flavor--classic vanilla, to match his no-nonsense personality.

"You know, for someone who claims to be all business, you sure enjoy vanilla quite a bit," you quipped, taking a sip of your own, more adventurous, chocolate shake.

Hotch looked up, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Maybe I just appreciate the simpler things," he retorted, his voice low and teasing in a way that sent a thrill through you. “And the company isn’t bad.” 

You caught the twinkle in his eye, and it sparked something bold within you. "Well, if it's the simple things you appreciate," you started, a playful edge to your voice, "I might just have to take you on more 'simple' dates like this. I mean, if the company isn't bad..."

Hotch's smile broadened a rare and full grin that reached his eyes, softening the usually stern lines of his face. "I wouldn't object to that," he admitted, his tone suggesting he was more pleased by the idea than he let on. "It seems I've been missing out on quite a few simple pleasures."

The light banter, mixed with the warm glow of the diner and the comfort of the meal, wove a moment of connection that felt both exhilarating and natural. As you both laughed, the air between you filled with a sense of possibility, a hint that this could be the beginning of exploring not just crime scenes together but something much deeper and personally rewarding.

The meal ended too soon, but the light-hearted mood lingered as you both headed back to the car. As Hotch drove back to the precinct, the playful ease between you felt like a silent acknowledgment of something deeper, something neither of you had expected to find in the midst of a tough case.

The ride back was quiet but comfortable, filled with shared glances and an unspoken agreement that this, whatever it was that was blooming between you, was something worth exploring, no matter how cautiously. The seeds planted during that fake date had started to sprout, and as the landscape rolled by outside the car windows, so too did the possibilities of what might come next.

IV. 

The evolution of your relationship with Hotch had been as subtle as the change of seasons, marked not by grand gestures but by shared glances and small touches that lingered a bit longer than necessary. These were the silent confirmations of a deepening bond, one that had maturely navigated the boundaries of professionalism and his life as a dedicated father.

Recognizing the significance of his role as a father and wanting to affirm your respect for this vital part of his life, you planned an outing that would comfortably include his son, Jack. The idea was simple yet thoughtful--a paint day at a local studio, a space vibrant with color and creativity, perfect for Jack, whose love for painting Hotch had mentioned in passing.

When you shared the plan with Hotch, his response was unexpectedly moving. His eyes, usually guarded and holding the weight of his responsibilities, softened remarkably. "This is really thoughtful of you," he said, his voice tinged with a sincerity that resonated deeply within you. "Jack will love this, and honestly, it means a lot to me too."

As you entered the studio, the warmth inside was a stark contrast to the chill outside. The walls were adorned with splashes of color and shelves lined with ceramics and canvases added to the eclectic charm. Jack's excitement was infectious; his energy seemed to fill the room as he dashed about, choosing his materials with serious cconsideration

You picked a mug to paint, selecting colors with a playful eye, while Hotch chose a plate, his attempts at painting it more comical than artistic.

"You might stick to profiling, Hotchner," you teased gently, watching him struggle with a paintbrush.

Hotch looked up, amusement flickering across his face. "I think you might be right," he conceded, and even Jack chimed in with a giggle, enjoying the sight of his dad out of his usual element.

Jack, inspired by the day's activities, decided to paint a canvas depicting the three of you playing soccer--a scene from his imagination that warmed your heart. It was touching to see how he included you in his artwork, a sign that he was accepting you into their little world.

Throughout the day, the chemistry between you and Hotch was more apparent than ever. Every shared smile, every light touch while passing paint jars, seemed to underline the deepening connection. It was clear that something more was there, something neither of you had fully acknowledged yet. There was a comfort and ease between you, a natural fit that felt like it could seamlessly extend beyond these shared moments into something lasting.

As the day wound down, you looked at your finished mug, Hotch’s humorously bad plate, and Jack’s heartfelt canvas. There was a profound sense of accomplishment and happiness. Jack’s energy never waned, and his chatter about where he would hang his painting in his room filled the space with joy.

Driving back, the car was filled with a comfortable silence before Hotch finally spoke, his voice laden with emotion. "Today was perfect," he said sincerely. "Thank you for setting this up. It's...it's not often we get to do something so normal, so fun."

"It was my pleasure, really," you responded, your voice soft, conveying the genuine joy you felt. "I loved every minute of it, Hotch. Seeing you and Jack like this, it’s...it's wonderful."

Hotch glanced over, his expression thoughtful, the setting sun casting shadows that played across his features. "It's new for me," he confessed, "letting someone into our world this way. But it feels right...with you."

Your heart fluttered at his words, the weight of them carrying a promise of something deeper, something that was slowly taking shape between you. "I'm glad," you murmured, reaching over to squeeze his hand briefly, an affirmation of the bond forming among the three of you.

The drive back was quiet but filled with an unspoken acknowledgment of the budding relationship that was no longer just a possibility but a burgeoning reality. As you watched the scenery blur by, you realized that this day hadn’t just been about painting or playing--it was a canvas for what was to come, a beautifully unfolding story that you were all painting together.

V. 

Navigating the intricacies of your evolving relationship with Hotch had been like reading a novel written in a familiar yet indecipherable script. 

You weren't someone who needed everything spelled out,who required every emotion or intention to be neatly labeled like items in a catalog.

However, as your interactions deepened--marked by those unmistakably boyfriend-like gestures, from the way he'd casually touch your back guiding you through a doorway, to how he'd drop a coffee on your desk exactly the way you liked it--questions began to surface in your mind.

What exactly were you to each other?

Sure, he acted like your boyfriend, did things that a boyfriend would do. 

There were those long drives from crime scenes where you'd debrief not just on the case but about life, hopes, fears. 

He was there, always somehow there, in ways that mattered. But without the explicit affirmation, a tiny part of you lingered in doubt. It wasn't that you thought he might be seeing other people--Hotch barely had time to eat properly, let alone date multiple people. But clarity was something you craved, even as you thrived in the gray areas of life.

Deciding to address these swirling thoughts directly, you leveraged your day off--an all-too-rare occurrence that felt like the universe’s nod to take action. With your usual blend of brightness and empathy, you picked up your phone and dialed Hotch’s number. 

The call was quick; the invitation straightforward but imbued with all the significance of stepping into new, uncharted territory.

"Hi, Hotch, it’s me," you began, your voice carrying a cheerful lilt that belied the butterflies doing somersaults in your stomach. "I was thinking, since we both actually have a free evening, maybe we could go out for dinner? I’ve made reservations at that new place we’ve both been curious about. If you’re up for it?"

There was a brief pause, and for a second, you wondered if you’d stepped over an unseen line. But then his response came, warm and unmistakably pleased. "That sounds great, I’d love to. What time should I pick you up?"

The simplicity of his acceptance, the ease with which he stepped into the space you’d opened, lifted a weight off your shoulders you hadn’t fully realized you'd been carrying. 

As you hung up, a smile played on your lips, mirrored by a warmth that spread through your chest. This dinner would be different; it wasn't just about enjoying good food or making casual conversation. It was about defining what was between you, about giving shape to the connection that had grown, subtly but significantly, over the countless shared moments.

That evening, as you prepared for the date, every choice--from the dress you wore to the perfume you dabbed behind your ears--felt imbued with intention. Meeting him outside your place, you noticed the effort he’d put into his appearance as well. Gone was the standard FBI suit, replaced by something softer, yet equally compelling. His smile when he saw you was enough to set your heart racing.

From the moment he opened the car door for you, everything felt right--effortlessly falling into a pattern that seemed to have existed for years, not just the recent weeks of growing closeness. The conversation flowed freely as you drove to the restaurant, filled with the usual banter and warmth that had become a hallmark of your interactions.

At the restaurant, your dynamic was unmistakably couple-like, drawing knowing smiles from the servers as you laughed and shared food across the table. It was remarkably natural, the ease between you, as if all your prior interactions had been rehearsals for this very moment.

Midway through the meal, buoyed by the comfort that had defined the evening, you decided to address the ambiguity that had lightly clouded your relationship. "Hotch, I’ve been wondering," you started, your voice soft but direct, "what exactly is this for us? I mean, we’ve been spending so much time together, and it feels like…well, like we’re a couple. But we’ve never really talked about it."

Hotch paused, a forkful of dinner halfway to his mouth, and his expression shifted to one of mild embarrassment. Setting his utensil down, he met your gaze; his cheeks tinged with a rare flush. 

"I...I’m sorry; I suppose I should have brought it up," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of chagrin. "I’m not very experienced with how this is supposed to go. Things have been going so well, I didn’t think to...well, make it official or ask properly. You know, the whole…dating protocol."

You reached across the table, covering his hand with yours, squeezing it reassuringly. "Hotch, I don’t need any grand gestures or formal declarations," you said warmly. "But I think some clarity would be helpful, just…so we’re on the same page. Clarity is comforting, especially with something as important as this."

Hotch smiled a genuine, relieved smile. "Then let’s be clear: I’d like nothing more than to be considered your boyfriend if you feel the same way.” He paused, his eyes locking with yours, "How about you let me take you on a real first date after tonight? And I promise, it won’t be like the casual outings we’ve had before."

"You mean all those times we grabbed a coffee or had those long drives weren’t dates?" you teased,your voice light, trying to ease the intensity of the moment.

"They were...unofficial dates. Practice, if you will," Hotch replied with a laugh. "But from now on, I promise, nothing but the real thing."

The promise of a 'proper' date, laden with Hotch’s earnest intentions, filled you with a delightful anticipation. It wasn’t just the thrill of formalizing your relationship but the realization that you were both navigating this new terrain together, equally invested and open.

+1

As the evening approached, the flutter of anticipation was palpable. You had been on dates before, but the buildup to this particular outing with Hotch had an entirely different tenor. 

His promise of a "real first date" had left you curious and, admittedly, a bit exhilarated. Despite his claim of being rusty, the effort he put into planning the evening suggested otherwise.

Hotch arrived right on time, looking every bit the part of a gentleman set to impress. His usual dark, work-appropriate suits were replaced by a tailored charcoal blazer that complemented his stern features, softened tonight by the hint of a smile as he greeted you. 

As Hotch presented you with the bouquet of lilies and wildflowers, their scent subtly mingling with the evening air, it was the perfect prelude to an evening that promised to be anything but ordinary. 

His eyes held a gleam of anticipation as he asked, "Ready for an adventure?" His voice was light, but beneath it, you could detect a current of genuine excitement--a hint that tonight was about more than just dinner.

The drive led you away from the familiar lights of the city to a more secluded bistro overlooking the water, known for its privacy and exquisite views. The table was set in a quiet corner of the terrace, draped in soft white linen and lit by a single, flickering candle that cast a warm glow over the setting. The backdrop of the slowly setting sun, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, made the scene almost too picturesque to be real.

Throughout dinner, Hotch was both attentive and charming, effortlessly leading the conversation through laughter and deeper, more introspective topics. 

"I’ve been out of the game for a long time," he admitted as you both looked over the bay, "but I wanted tonight to be special. I wanted to show you how much I appreciate everything you do, not just for me, but for Jack as well." His words warmed you more than the evening air. "You see me in ways I didn't realize were visible," he continued, his gaze holding yours. "The way you care for those around you, especially Jack and I, it’s more than just empathy--it's genuine love."

Your hands touched as you both reached for your wine glasses, a spark of connection in the simple gesture. “I see the same in you, Hotch. The way you balance everything, yet still manage to make us feel...important,” you replied, your voice soft but clear over the gentle lapping of the water below.

Dinner unfolded beautifully, each course a delight not just to the palate but as a discovery of shared tastes and preferences. With each dish, you learned something new about each other--preferences hidden beneath daily routines, stories from the past that had shaped your tastes.

As you shared a dessert, Hotch pointed at your plate with his fork. "Are you sure you’re ready to share that? It looks too good to split fifty-fifty."

You eyed the last piece of chocolate mousse, then back at him with a playful challenge in your eyes. "Maybe I’ll reconsider based on your performance review of this date."

Hotch leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "In that case, I’d better ensure the evening ends on a high note." His light-hearted tone matched the sparkle in his gaze, making the simple act of sharing dessert feel like flirtatious banter.

As you walked along the port after dinner, the moon casting shimmering trails across the water, Hotch nudged you gently with his elbow. "So, do I get bonus points for choosing a place with a view?"

"Maybe just a few," you conceded, nudging him back. "But only because you seem to know the way to my heart--through scenic views and excellent food."

The laughter that followed was easy and genuine, drifting into the night air and mixing with the rhythmic sounds of the waves. "You know, I think I’m getting the hang of this dating thing again," Hotch said, a note of mock pride in his voice.

"Just keep up with me, Hotch. I have high standards for second dates, remember?" you teased, your smile reflecting the joy of the evening.

Hotch's laugh echoed softly in the quiet night. "Is that a challenge?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

"It might just be," you replied, matching his tone. "I’m curious to see what you’ll come up with next.

The night ended with a promise of more to come, not just another date, but more moments like these--shared, special, and sincere.

As Hotch drove you home, you were indeed head over heels, not just for the man who had meticulously planned this perfect first date, but for the one who had shown you his heart, beautifully open and invitingly warm. It was clear that whatever lay ahead, it would be a journey worth taking, together.

[sluttysnowangel666]

Pentagon - thanos/ choi su bong x reader

request/summary: at your friend nam gyu’s request, you accept an invitation to “black out night” at his club, where he also invited his friend thanos. you both cross paths, leading to an interesting… discussion.

pairings: su bong/thanos x reader

warnings: smut, club hook up, fingering, p in v, unprotected, fwb mentioned with nam gyu, drug use.

use discretion when reading past the line. not responsible for the content you consume. 18+, mdni

———

“You’re such a fake friend!”

“Oh, Jesus, Nam Gyu. Will you grow up? It’s a Wednesday night-“

“But it’s black out Wednesday!” He whines, throwing his head into your pillow.

He’d been begging you to come to his stupid club for weeks, but each time you only responded with a “Maybe. I’ll decide for sure later,” which you never ended up doing. Now, the night before had finally came and you were set in your decision that no, you would not be attending.

“Yeah, which means Thanksgiving is Thursday-“

“What makes you think I give a fuck about some stupid American holiday?” He yells.

“What makes you think I give a fuck about getting black out drunk at your stupid club?!” You yelled back, the words coming out before they could stop. Your hand flew over your mouth, and Nam Gyu’s playful demeanor changed. “Nam Gyu, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“Whatever. See you after the holiday, I guess.” He says, grabbing his coat to leave.

“Wait, Nam Gyu, don’t go. We still have to smoke, Nam Gyu!” You called after him, as he quietly closed the door behind him. You sighed.

“Fuck.” you had really done it this time.

You hurt his feelings when all he had wanted to do was spend some time with his friend at his club since you never go out. And now that you had dug yourself into this hole, the only way you could dig yourself out was by going.

You texted and called his phone, but he didn’t answer. And at this point, the only way to get his forgiveness was to just show up.

So, you took an everything shower, laid out one of your few dresses best fit for a club(a cute little short and black strapless dress that wasn’t leaving much up to imagination), and then went to bed.

Of course, you didn’t sleep well. Your mind was racing with thoughts of what tomorrow night would hold, because you weren’t one to make the best decisions when drunk. In fact, you and Nam Gyu had hooked up once or twice after attending his club and getting too hammered. It would probably happen again this time, but you felt like you owed it to him after your outburst.

The night eventually came, and your outfit was was jaw dropping. The second you stepped out of the cab outside Club Pentagon, all eyes were on you.

You stepped inside, the music and bass thumping your whole body. Men were throwing themselves at your feet, but you had a mission. A mission to find Nam Gyu, get wasted on free drinks, and head back to his place to hook up.

You weaved through the crowded dance floor to the VIP area, assuming he’d be in his usual booth.

“You can’t come back here.” The bouncer outside the section says, placing an unnecessary hand on your chest. You stared up at the tall guard, his height towering yours.

“I’m here to see Nam Gyu, I’m his friend.”

“Are you on the list?”

“I don’t think so, he didn’t know I was coming. Just go tell him it’s Y/N.”

The bouncer turns, eyeing Nam Gyu’s usual booth that was covered by a curtain.

“He’s busy.”

“Bullshit, you didn’t even check.” You say, but he ignores you. “Please just let me in, he’s literally my best friend.”

“Then why haven’t I ever seen you before?”

“I don’t come out often. Just come on please?”

He eyes you, saying nothing.

“Pretty please?” You bat your eyelashes at him.

He was just about to fold, when a man walks up beside you.

“How’s it goin’, brother?” The bouncer greets him much more politely than he did you.

“Not too bad. Should be under Thanos.” The man says. The bouncer checks the list before nodding and lifting the red rope. Just before the man crosses, he glances at you. His gaze lingers, squinting as he attempts to put a name to your face.

“Hold up, I know you.” He says, pointing. “Uhh… fuck… I think it’s… Y/N, right? Nam Gyu’s little side piece.”

“We’re just friends, actually.” You respond, a slight hint of venom on your tongue.

He smirks. “Sure.”

You roll your eyes, ready to give up and turn to go to the dance floor, before he stops you.

“Wait, aren’t you coming back here?” He asks.

“Nam Gyu didn’t put me on the list.” You say. He laughs, assuming a deeper meaning than what there actually was. It felt pathetic, appearing as if you were just a little forgotten floozy chasing after Nam Gyu.

“Come on, señorita.” He says, holding his hand out to you. You don’t wanna accept, given his cocky nature, but you also don’t wanna be on the cramped dance floor alone.

You take his hand, and he gives the bouncer a slight nod before pulling you towards Nam Gyu’s booth. He pulls open the curtain, revealing Nam Gyu with his jeans slightly lowered, legs spread, getting what appeared to be one hell of a blowjob.

“Whoa! Get the fuck-Oh, shit! Y/N, my girl, what the hell are you doing here?” He asks, way too happy to see you, given you interrupting him. The girl pulls off him, covering her face in shame. He pulls up his jeans and fixes his belt as the girl runs off.

He leans over the table to hug you. “Ew. Don’t touch me.” You say, holding up your hands and leaning away in disgust.

Thanos laughs, reaching his hand out to dap up Nam Gyu. “How you been, brother?”

“Can’t complain.” Nam Gyu says, giving him a ‘bro hug’ and leaning back into the leather couch. The table in front of him is a wreck, filled with empty glasses and lines of coke just waiting to be snorted.

“Help yourselves.” He says, noticing you staring at the table.

“I think I’m okay.” You say, disdain in your voice.

“Such a priss.” Thanos mumbles, loud enough for you to hear, his voice laced with a challenge.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” You spit at him.

“No.” He says, shaking his head with a grin.

“I didn’t think so.”

He smiles even wider. You roll your eyes, taking the rolled up dollar bill from his hand.

“Whoa, Y/N. Don’t think you need to prove anything to this guy.” Nam Gyu teases.

“Trust me,” You snort a line, then look at Thanos and say, “I know.”

His smile falters, just slightly, knowing you’d won the battle.

But, would you win the war?

As the night begins Nam Gyu orders rounds and rounds of shots for you all, back to back, non stop. You grew more drunk with each shot, and your body fought you to force them out everytime you forced one down.

Thanos inched closer to you as the night progressed, until eventually his thigh was touching yours.

His rough jeans scratched your bare leg, but you were so far gone you hadn’t paid it any mind.

“So, Y/N,” Thanos drags your name on his tongue. “What does someone like you do for a living?”

“Someone like me?” You ask, sipping on your drink.

“Yeah, someone so… uptight.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes and setting your drink down. “You’re so insufferable. How does anyone stand to be around you?”

“Usually they’re sitting.” He jokes, nudging your knee with his.

“Hm. Well maybe I should stand then.”

“You never answered the question.”

“Huh?” You ask, already having forgotten it in your drunken state.

“What do you do for a living?” He asks, irritated this time.

“I’m an assistant attorney.” You say.

“Well, maybe you can help me with a crypto problem of mine then.”

“You’re on your own there.” You say. “What do you do for work? That is, if you even work.”

“So mean.” He teases. “I’m a rapper.”

You laugh, so hard that your stomach hurts. You’re leaning over, gripping his arm for support as you try to pull yourself together as best you can. “Oh, my god. It makes so much sense.”

He’s not smiling. In fact, he’s irritated at how unserious you’re taking him.

“Sing to me.” You slur.

“I said rap, not sing. Learn the difference. Since you’re so smart, with your fancy lawyer degree.”

“Aw, okay, don’t get your panties in a twist.” You laugh at him.

“Don’t make me take yours off.” He attempts to tests the waters, but he’s so drunk he just dove straight in. His breath catches as he waits for your response, he knows for sure he scared you off now.

“I’m not wearing any.” You respond, smirking. He smirks back at you, amused by your warm and flushed cheeks. He glances past you at Nam Gyu, dead asleep on the other couch.

“Rap to me.” You pull his attention back to you.

He pulls something out of the air, free styling to the beat of the music that radiates through the club. The words go in one ear and out the other, but you’re still pretending to listen.

You nod and laugh, so drunk. He laughs back, reeling you in with that sweet smile and those pearly white teeth.

He rests his hand on your knee, drawing little circles. He’s waiting, testing, challenging you.

Your hand grabs his, moving it slowly up your thigh, all the while staring into each other’s souls.

Thanos fingers graze your inner thighs, feeling the heat of your cunt through your panties.

“Liar.” He says, his face inching closer to yours.

“Where’d I lie?” You smirk, your fingers grazing up his chest and to his neck.

“You said you weren’t wearing any panties.”

You’re both so close, yet so far.

“Guess I’m just full of surprises, huh?”

“Yes, you are.”

You break, closing the distance between you both as you grab his collar to yank his lips into yours. Your teeth clash together, the kiss rough and drunk and desperate. So desperate, so full of need.

His tongue sneaks pasts your lips, desperate to taste every part of your mouth. You taste so good; your lips the flavor of fruit and vodka.

One hand wraps around your throat, holding you for balance, the other moves your panties to the side to rub your wetness with his fingers.

You break the kiss, moaning.

“Shh. You don’t wanna wake him up now, do you?” He says, looking over at Nam Gyu, who was out like a light.

“Fuck, I-I don’t care. I want you.” You moan. The music was so loud anyway. You should be fine, right?

He slips a finger in you, drawing gasps and moans from your lips. You roll your hips into his fingers, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into you. You moan right in his ear, fueling him to fuck you with his fingers even harder.

He kisses you again, rough and sloppy. You’re too coked out to notice the way your lips are starting to bruise. Your nails dig into his arm, and your moans are trapped in his mouth as you inch closer to your release.

He pulls away, growing even more hard as he hears your whiny moans.

“Beg for me.” He tells you.

“You annoying fuck.” You moan, and he curls his fingers in you. “Fuck, fuck, okay. Please, please, Thanos. I need you to fuck me.”

He urges your finish and you’re a whimpering mess onto his shoulder, a string of curses and his name leaving your lips like a prayer.

He pushes down his jeans, taking off your pink panties and stuffing them in his pocket to keep as a reminder of you. If you had been sober you would’ve fought for them because they were your favorite pair, but unfortunately you were too desperate to be fucked to pay it any mind.

He thrust himself into you, not even wrapping himself first. Your nails dig into his back, moaning in ecstasy. His whispers in your ear are breathless and dirty, an attempt to make you a mess beneath him,

which was succeeding.

Tears pooled in your eyes, and you begged for that man in the most heartbreaking way. He was grinning ear to ear above you.

You, such an uptight little priss, falling apart beneath him.

“Who’s your daddy?” He teases.

“Ew, shut the fuck up.” You say in disgust, but the whine in your voice betrays you. He sucks on your neck, leaving bruised and purple hickeys on every inch. You were gonna be so screwed at work.

“You know you like it.” He groans in your neck. “Little prissy princess.”

You scoffed in response, still moaning. You hated to admit it, but you did kinda like it.

“Say you like it.” He slows his thrusts.

“No.” You moan. He slams into you, hitting your cervix. “Oh, god, I l-love it.”

He smirks, “You love ittt…?”

“Ugh,” you groan. “I love it, daddy.”

“There’s a good gjrl.” He picks his pace back up, fucking you relentlessly. You fingers trail under his shirt, clawing his chest.

“I’m so close.” You whine.

“Come on, then. Give it to me.” He growls. You come undone, screaming in ecstasy, barely even audible over the music.

But he hears it, and it pushes him over the edge. He spills into you, whining just like how you were.

He pulls out, sitting upright and fixing his jeans. The clarity hit him like a train, and he knew he was cooked. He needed to see you again, and you hadn’t even left yet.

He looked over at you, hand on your forehead as you caught your breath, legs spread and pussy on full display to him still.

He glanced over at Nam Gyu, who was laying down staring right back at Thanos. Thanos’ breath hitched slightly, but Nam Gyu just held a finger to his lips and closed his eyes, pretending he hadn’t even stirred in his sleep.

By the time Thanos looked back at you, you had fallen asleep too. He pushed your legs down so your body was straight, then he fixed your dress by tugging it down so far no one could even get an idea. He took off his jacket(his favorite one!) and draped it over your legs.

He got up and left, knowing you were safe with Nam Gyu there…

knowing he had to see you again.

[youwillalwaysbemine1026]

Bro, you’ve gotta be one stupid motherfuckers. I know I love you baby girl and I wish I could just fucking walk off and be like it’s whatever I don’t give a fuck but honestly I do because you got me fucked up. I didn’t realize how many posts I liked. But I’m telling you right now I promise you on everything I love I’ve never jacked off of that shit. I don’t even know how the fuck my dick will get hard from looking at some shit out of that dude… I love you baby by me. I just don’t know how to explain it other than the fact I’m just a dumbass. And don’t think shit through before I do it . I love you death baby girl and I appreciate you for trying to work with me and be honest and say go look at porn and that’s what I was trying to do but honestly that’s not where his conversation is going. I was wrong for trying to aggravate you and trying to stir the pot up When I’ve done that shit to begin with . I should be acting like an adult and express my feelings and words instead of playing games and doing stupid shit . I need change. I’m gonna grow into the person I wanna be. I don’t know what else to say, though baby I told you I was sorry. But at 3 o’clock in the morning, we were arguing and fighting my stupid ass brain thought that would be a good idea . Baby, I’m tired . I don’t have in me to waste time. All I wanna do is grow and move forward with you every single day baby 

[luveline]

can we get coworker James and reader not getting along despite having obvious feelings for each other and not knowing how to say sorry, so they really awkwardly try to play nice? maybe reader apologising with a kiss

coworker frenemies <3 fem, 1.6k

“It’s the wrong file.” 

“Nope. Open it up properly.” 

You roll James’ rugby stress-ball under your hand. “It’s not, I need the Lang and Co test reports from last year, this is dated from April 14th.” 

“That’s because the fiscal year ended on April 6th. If I send you something from before April, that won’t be last year, it’ll be the year before.” 

“No, we still have a month left in this year,” you argue, “so these are from two years ago.” 

You both turn to Remus. He tenses at the sudden silence, pen paused over blue post it notes. “What?” he asks finally. He doesn’t actually need you to repeat yourselves. “If you need a test report from the last fiscal year to cross check the RAS number, then you need one dated before April. We’re in the current fiscal year right now until April again.” 

“See,” James says. 

“That’s what I said, James.” 

“It is not.” 

You roll your shoulders. It’s what you’d thought you were saying. From the look Remus is giving you, James is the correct one, and you’re too confused about the logistics of things to argue your case. You should say Okay, alright, even apologise for getting wound up, but you hate being wrong when it’s with James, it’s like a flinch reflex. “I shouldn’t even be doing this, you’re supposed to double check this stuff before you send it back to me, the RAS number should be printed at the top,” you say with heat. 

“Open the files properly,” James says, almost spits, apparently more wound up than you’d been. As soon as he says it, all his fire burns out. He bites something back, clears his throat, an unarmed emotion on his face as his gaze dips to his coffee. “The RAS numbers are all in the headers. They’re just hard to see.” 

A few weeks ago his spitting retort would’ve made you laugh, or maybe made you want to hit him with your car, but a few weeks ago you didn’t know what it was like to be on James’ right side. You’re aware now of how it feels to have his hand on your shoulder, his smile pressed to the top of your ear. The idea of not feeling it again fills you with dread. 

“Sorry,” you mutter.

“I’m sorry,” he says back, sounding three times as awkward. “I shouldn’t have such an attitude. I’m just– hungry or something.” 

You don’t really like being snapped at, but James probably didn’t like being reprimanded for something he’d apparently actually done, so… You’re not sure where you go from here. 

Remus breaks the tension for you kindly. “Look, we don’t have to argue about the Lang and Co anything today, because it’s all properly finished. Finish checking the RAS numbers for the rest of them and then I can go over them after dinner.” 

“I doubt you’ll need to,” you say. 

“I know, but if I don’t and something is wrong, I’ll get the flack for it.” Remus rips a sticky note off of the pad and puts it on his monitor. “It’s alright. I’ll just glance at them.” 

You feel properly chastened, then, and retreat into yourself for a while. You hate feeling like this at work, it’s exactly how you felt when you first started. You haven’t been such a hindrance to their working for months. Your accounting team Smiskis attest to your burgeoning friendship with Remus and your more than that with James, each of them exercising. A week ago, James bought you a museum themed one, a little green figurine that pays homage to the Girl with the Pearl Earring. You’d laughed for ages, only bothering to stop when James had kissed you and asked if you were pleased. 

With the kiss or the Smiski is anyone’s guess. Sometimes you think James might like a performance report from you, a job well done sticker or something, but you don’t know if he’s bad or good or mediocre, he’s just James. He annoys you beyond words and he’s the kindest boy you’ve ever met. 

You work in tepid silence until dinner rolls around and Sirius swings by the desks to retrieve Remus. You’re relieved when James turns down their offer to go with them and quickly follow suit. 

“Will you eat with me?” he asks you. 

Which is nicer than pretending you’re eating together out of coincidence. “Uh, yeah.” 

“Are you done?” he asks, nodding at the computer. 

You click off your monitor. 

Together, you retrieve your Tupperware boxes from the fridge and steal the single sofa in the break room by the window. James cracks it open like you like without having to be asked, and you sit on his left side, close enough to touch him. On your best days you’ll eat thigh to thigh, shifting if someone comes in but otherwise comfortable. Today, the inches between you feel like miles. 

You don’t know what to do. You both said sorry, it’s not like you were furious or anything, but maybe James is more annoyed than he’s letting on? 

You try to think of what you can do as he peels his tangerine. The smell is sudden in the air, fresh, a tad sour now they’re out of season. 

“Do you want some?” he asks. 

You hold your hand out for a piece too early, he’s not done peeling, but he hurries and cleans the white strings of pith from the fruit and passes you two slices stuck together. “There, lovely,” he murmurs. 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

There’s nothing really for it, is there? You eat your tangerine and summon your courage, putting your untouched lunchbox on the table and turning in your seat. James turns to look at you too, locking eyes with you, hands paused in his lap with his own slice of tangerine waiting. “What?” he asks carefully, as though worried you have another bone to pick. 

You should ask if you can kiss him, but you can’t make the words form. Your lips feel sticky, citrus still sharp on your tongue. 

Tentatively, your raise a hand to his face. You feel his skin under your thumb, light stubble grazing your palm. Gentle, you work your fingers around the side of his neck and pull him toward you, raising your chin, but keeping your eyes opened. He doesn’t kiss you —James is eager now he knows he’s allowed yet he won’t cross boundaries, he’s careful with the word yes— but he doesn’t pull away. He lets you guide him to your lips. It’s only when his eyes shutter closed that you close your own, lips a hair’s width apart when you manage to say sorry again. “I shouldn’t have made out like you hadn’t done the RAS numbers,” you whisper. 

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You couldn’t have known I’d fixed the Lang and Co one’s already.” 

“I don’t like being mad at you anymore.” 

“Yeah, you do. You just don’t like thinking I’m mad back.” 

Your noses brush. “I don’t… it wasn’t fun for me, James. Us hating each other. You’re not a bad person, but it was quite miserable. I don’t want to go back.” 

“We won’t,” he says, pulling away before your lips can touch. You open your eyes and find him looking right at you. “I didn’t hate you. I didn’t always like you, but I didn’t fully hate you, either, n’ there’s nothing like that to go back to.” 

Being vulnerable is hard. You struggle to find the words. “I’m not saying it’s your fault or anything, I just really don’t want you to not like me again.” 

“I didn’t know you,” he says simply. You’re sure he’s done, but he pulls your hand off of his cheek to hold thoughtlessly to his chest. “And now I do. I can’t not like you anymore.”

“Do you think it’s normal that we still get mad at each other?” 

“Of course it is. Remus and Sirius argue every day, but they always say sorry.” 

You smile weakly. “We did that. Off to a good start.” 

James returns your smile tenfold, grinning as he squeezes your hand. “We’re off to a great start. It’s work that’s the problem, that’s all. Hate the James that’s your coworker and love the James who drives you home, hm?” 

“It’s the coworker one that I ended up really fancying,” you murmur. 

He goes pink with delight. “You fancy me?” 

“You’d hope so.” 

James peers down at your hand and gives it another tender squeezing. “Can I have an apology kiss or something? I felt like it was going that way but I ruined it, and now I’d quite like one.” 

“Can you kiss me?” you ask softly. 

James braces his hand against your shoulder and ducks in to kiss you. Chastely (lest someone see you snogging in the break room and get you written up), but a great kiss all the same. It makes your mouth tingle. It still feels exciting all these kisses later, better when James kisses your cheek and the side of your head in quick succession. 

“I don’t care that we argued,” he says, “I just don’t like how I acted, n’ I love how you look when you’re mad. It’s why I used to wind you up so much.” 

“You still wind me up now.” 

He tips his head to the side. “Exactly.” 

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

Falling Behind

Synopsis: The Prefect has ADHD and was medicated for it back in their old world, but when they go to Crowley for help getting a diagnosis here, he brushes them off. They proceed to struggle until finally breaking down. (+ Crewel basically steps up as a father figure)

TW: Pretty descriptive with the negative effects of The Prefect's ADHD, Talk of medication, The Prefect cries, Crowley says the usual things people who deny/downplay ADHD say, Crewel has the "Help me help you talk" with The Prefect, The Prefect cries and is overall just GOING THROUGH IT

NOTE: I went off of my experience as a person diagnosed with ADHD and medicated for it. My experience with it won't apply to everyone else with it, but rest assured this won't be a fic that portrays ADHD like a silly, goofy little quirk. (This is a pretty self-indulgent fic, tbh)

Many people who are diagnosed with ADHD and medicated accordingly have the thought cross their minds every once in a while of "Do I really need the medicine?" When you're on ADHD medication for long enough, you forget what it's like to not function at the level you do when taking it. The memories of the difficulty focusing can slip away with time and leave you doubting. You were no exception.

Key word is were.

When you got thrown into Twisted Wonderland you learned pretty quickly that the medicine in fact does help and that you in fact do need it.

But how would you even go about getting it here? You'd need a diagnosis and for that you'd need a psychiatrist and for that you'd need money (and an official identity which you did not have as an alien to this world).

You tried bringing it up to Crowley, but he brushed it off. He said the same lines you had heard 100 times before, many of which you found yourself thinking from time to time: "You just need to make yourself work. You're unmotivated." and, while he didn't say it out loud, you could clearly tell that what he was really saying was that you were lazy.

You suppose you should have expected as much. No headmage that gave two hoots about mental health would be running a school that has no student counselor.

After that interaction you had resigned yourself to the fact that you'd have to come to terms with being a student and doing schoolwork with no relief to your condition.

You tried your best, you really did. You sat at your desk for hours on end as you tried to finish a simple homework sheet, but hours passed with virtually no progress being made. You couldn't force yourself to focus. When you did your body protested. Your brain refused to allow a single proper thought to form and your eyes wouldn't focus. If you forced the issue further, it only got worse. Your brain and eyes felt somehow heavier than usual and sometimes you swore they were slowly liquifying to a goo in your skull.

You didn't bring it up to your friends. You felt weird talking about it with them. One too many times being told you were faking or doing it for attention you suppose.

Your grades began to slip. Deadlines popped up when you could have sworn you had more time. You made little mistakes you chastised yourself for. You knew the material. You knew you knew the material.

. . .so why were you messing up.

Assignments piled up and slipped through the cracks. It's not like your teachers could notice how out of character this was for you. They didn't know how well you typically functioned when medicated, and it's not like you told them about the disorder in the first place.

Each night you held back tears of frustration as you tried desperately to get any work done. You weren't one to cry easily. In fact, you hadn't cried since you got to Twisted Wonderland, and even before that it had been a while since you last allowed tears to drip from your eyes.

But everyone has a breaking point.

You had gotten so far behind on your assignments that it was decided you needed more than to simply stay in the classroom to work during lunch and you were put in after school tutoring (although it felt more like detention).

The first few weeks you managed to keep it together. You taped over the holes that chipped away into your composure and did your best to hold down the storm of emotions that thrashed violently inside of you.

Another day of after school tutoring came around. By now not even Grim was having to stay for these sessions. There were other students that were in them, but they were in a separate classroom. You knew what was happening even if nobody outright said it.

You sat in Crewel's empty classroom for the second week in a row. The clock on the wall ticked impossibly loud. Every sound around you was amplified tenfold and you could feel it wearing on you. Your arms shook in a sick combination of frustration and exhaustion as you tried in vain to get one question done.

You could feel the ugly jaws of your pent-up emotions gnashing away at your already tattered walls of composure.

Crewel sighed as you once again failed to answer the question: "Look, I really do want to help you, but in order for that to happen I need you to cooperate and listen to me. Right now, it feels like you aren't doing that."

You had had this conversation with him before; with all your teachers for that matter. You used to it. YOU WERE USED TO IT.

You chanted the phrase in your head over and over again.

"What do you not understand."

He didn't say it in a malicious way. He sounded genuine, just. . .exhausted.

He didn't know. He wasn't aware of the storm in your stomach slowly making its way to your eyes. He didn't know.

You don't blame him, but when he said those words you finally broke.

It wasn't anything grand or dramatic like you see in movies. A small catch of your breath in a short-lived attempt to hold it together and then tears. You choked on your sobs as you tried to quell them. The only thing worse than crying is crying in front of people.

Your knees curled up onto the bench, up to your chest, and you hugged them: trying to hide your face and muffle your sobs.

It was no use. Crewel already saw the tears.

He was momentarily stunned at how suddenly you seemed to break down and could only watch as your whole body shook with the sobs you were trying so desperately to hold in.

When he finally snapped out of it he was still unsure of what to do, so he did the only thing he could.

You felt his large, fluffy coat be draped over your shoulders before he somewhat awkwardly sat a comfortable distance away from you as he waited for you to calm down.

When your sobs finally quieted to small whimpers he apologized for making you cry.

You explained it wasn't his fault and, after a bit of silence, you explained to him what was wrong.

He sat with you and listened patiently as you told him about your ADHD, the trouble you'd been having since you got here, and finally recounted your interaction with Crowley.

He led you to the infirmary not far from his office, telling you he'd be back soon and to rest for the time being.

Luckily for Crewel, the headmage's office was just about as far away from the infirmary as it could be.

He could scream as loud as he wanted without disturbing you.

By the time he returned to the infirmary it was late. He was about to apologize for leaving you there so long but stopped himself.

There on the bed was your exhausted form curled up in his coat and sleeping peacefully.

The next day he asked you a few more questions, and the day after that, he accompanied you to the doctor's office. (you didn't bother asking how he managed to get you registered as an actual person)

You went through suspiciously less steps than you had back in your old world to get the diagnosis, but you just chalked it up to the fact that it was clear by your appearance that you had been going through it.

You got your medicine the same day. Wait. . .did Crewel just tell the pharmacist he was picking it up for his child?

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[heavyhitterheaux]

40-22

See Me Through You Fic

Synopsis: You and your husband watch the Super Bowl along with your best friends in NOLA

Pairing: Husband!Joe Burrow x Wife!Reader

Requested by: a gorgeous anon 😘💕

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Seeing as Joe was doing a press run the week leading up to the Super Bowl in New Orleans, you decided that the two of you should have a party for it at your new house that Joe had surprised you with as a Christmas gift. A party that would literally only be your best friends, but still a party nonetheless. He had noticed that you were missing being in Louisiana more than usual and it had actually been in the works for him to buy it since the beginning of last year.

In order to get your input without actually telling you about it, he would show you different pictures that the designer was sending Joe and as soon as you had given him the approval, everything was a go.

This was your first time actually seeing the house in person and you immediately fell in love. There was a hallway leading to what would be considered the man cave of the house and the walls were decorated with pictures of both you and Joe at your time at LSU. Seeing this definitely made a few tears slip out that you of course blamed on your hormones being all over the place.

Ja'Marr and Justin of course wanted to see the house and essentially invited themselves over, even though they were going to be invited anyway. You had sent a quick text to Erin and Alisha to see if they were free and they of course said yes to be able to spend time with you.

Joe told you that he could order food so that the two of you didn't have to cook and he didn't want you to be on your feet for a long period of time.

Of course he was met with resistance from you since cooking was one of your many love languages the last thing he wanted was an argument to come out of it. He knew once you made up your mind about something that it was the end of the conversation. But if it was something that he was dead set on not letting go, he had no problem letting you know how he felt. But for now, he would just help you with what you decided to make and make sure you got breaks in between.

As you were making your famous chili cheese dip that you knew was going to go in less than ten minutes, Joe had just finished seasoning the wings and was about to put them in the oven.

He had come up behind you and wrapped his arms around you and placed a kiss on top of your head.

“You okay? And are my other two babies okay?” He asked and you nodded your head.

“Yes, babe. I told you that I'm fine. And they're fine too.” You replied and gave him a small smile before he gently moved you to the side to open the oven.

“As soon as we're done, you need to sit down and put your feet up so they don't swell.”

“Yes, Doctor Burrow.”

“Princess, I'm serious.”

“I know, I know and I promise I will. Just have one more thing to make and then I'll sit.” You replied as you reached up to kiss him.

“What else do you need help with so I can make this go faster?”

“They’re just cheesesteak sliders, but if you can start cutting up everything that would be helpful.”

“On it.”

When all of the food was done, Justin was already in the kitchen so you told him to come and get his plate so that way you could sit down yourself.

“Justin, it’s hot on the bottom, take the sides of it.” You told him as he was reaching for it.

“Uh huh.” He replied as he was still looking at the television and not at you.

“Don't touch the bottom. It's hot, move your hand away from it.”

Justin once again nodded and you decided since he wasn’t going to listen to just let him learn the hard way.

“Ow! DAMN, THAT’S HOT.”

“I know and I told your stupid ass two times not to touch the bottom, but you were so interested in looking at the TV instead. And you better not break my damn plate either.”

“Joe! Your wife was nicer before you got her pregnant!” Justin yelled towards him and Joe looked at him confused.

“Says who!?” Ja’Marr asked as he immediately chimed in and you gave them both a death glare.

“No, Justin, you just like to do stupid shit.” Joe shot back and Ja'Marr stifled a laugh.

“Next time I'm not cooking shit for yall. I can't even see my damn feet and they're probably swollen and I'm stressed because I'll have to probably call 911 messing with both of you. Justin, take this plate and get out my face. IMMEDIATELY.”

“But we didn't ask you to cook since I…”

“Ja’Marr keep talking and I'm going to make sure the next time I cook for you will be at your funeral.”

Ja’Marr immediately threw his hands up in defense as you went to sit down while everyone fixed their plate.

“Damn that food is about to be good as shit. Baby, can I request meatballs?” Joe asked you and you stifled a laugh.

“SERIOUSLY?” Ja’Marr asked Joe as he shrugged.

“No, Joe you got it backwards. It's funeral chicken and baby shower meatballs.” Erin told him while laughing and Ja’Marr made a face at her.

“Not you encouraging his nonsense….”

“Well Erin come through with the meatballs for our baby shower.” Joe told her and she quickly agreed.

“All you had to do was say the word. Consider it done.”

“So, no one is going to mention how my twin is planning my funeral?” Ja’Marr asked the entire room and everyone gave him a blank stare.

“No.” Everyone replied and you couldn't help but to laugh.

“She’s older and she's pregnant? Yeah, not getting into that one.”

“Some friends yall are.”

The game was just starting and Joe told you to sit down while he fixed your plate for you. He made sure you were comfortable with your multiple pregnancy pillows and put your feet up for you.

“The Eagles have one damn job and if they don't come through, I will RIOT.” Alisha said as she sat to the left of you while Erin was on your right.

“You and me both.” You told her as you turned up the volume.

It was during the second quarter when you suddenly got bored. The Chiefs were playing like they had never seen a football before in their lives and you honestly couldn't believe what you were seeing.

“Are they really serious right now?” Justin said out loud and in disbelief.

“Apparently they are.”

“I told yall that they aren't as good as everyone thinks they are. Because they are playing like straight ass.” Alisha added and everyone couldn't help but to laugh.

“Jalen is cute.” Erin said and you gave her a small smirk.

“AHT! Princess, wipe that smirk off your face!” Joe said and you held your hands up in defense.

“But I…”

“Nope, don't even try it. I saw it.”

“I only have eyes for you and you know that! Last time I checked I am pregnant with YOUR children."

"Mm hmm. Sure."

"Such a big ass baby." You quietly said, but he still heard you.

"Want to repeat that Mrs. Burrow?"

"Nope, I'm good." You replied while taking a sip of your lemonade while both Erin and Alisha laughed.

“As I was saying before, Joe rudely interrupted. Have you seen the entire team!? It's a TRAIN. And I wouldn't get off until I had a taste of the entire roster.” Alisha exclaimed, and you couldn't help but to laugh.

"Alisha, I heard that." Joe said, and she held her hands up and acted as if she didn't know what he was talking about.

“You know that there's 52 people on the roster, right?” You asked her and she immediately nodded her head.

“Like I said before, it's a train.”

Joe was on his second plate of food and focused on the game when you decided to send him a text.

Wifey- Baby, I'm bored.

Joey- You don't want to watch the game?

Wifey- Yes, but at this point I want it to be halftime. But in the meantime could you do something for me?

Joey- Of course baby. What do you need?

Wifey- For you to put your dick inside me

As soon as Joe read the text, his eyes went wide and he glanced at you with a smirk on his face as he bit his lip.

Joey- We have seven minutes until halftime

Wifey- I'm not missing Kendrick so we have to do it now

Joey- Go upstairs and I need to teach you a lesson for having a smirk on your face about that quarterback who ISN’T me

Wifey- So dramatic as usual. Just like a Sagittarius. Smh.

Joey- Just you wait until I get you alone

Once you got up, Joe was following your lead and Ja’Marr suddenly made a face at both of you.

“Where yall going?”

"Just going to the bathroom." You told him, but looked at you confused.

"And taking your husband with you?"

"Look Ja’Marr! My whole body is swollen and I can't see past my boobs!" You exclaimed as you crossed your arms and continued walking towards the stars as Joe stifled a laugh.

“Those things are going to be Z cups by the time the twins get here.” Alisha said without hesitation.

"So, you don't know where your vagina is located anymore?"

“Ja'Marr, if your twin wants to get her cheeks clapped by her husband who has clearly done it multiple times before since she's pregnant, that's her business. That's obviously where they're going.” Erin told him and he made a gagging noise.

"Bam Bam, keep talking and I will choke you.”

“Wouldn't be the first time.”

"Unless you're volunteering to wipe my ass, baby brother. By all means, come on.”

“NO! I'm good!”

“That's what I thought and that's why you need to mind your damn business.”

“You're my twin so you are my business.”

By this time, you had reached the top step and rolled your eyes before you responded to him.

“Leave me alone, Ja'Marr!”

“Never going to happen!”

As you entered your bedroom, you were attempting to walk towards the bed before Joe tugged your arm in another direction.

“If I take you on the bed, you know for a fact we'll be up here for the rest of the game and you are entirely too loud. No offense, princess.”

“Hmm, good point. Bathroom it is. And if Ja’Marr would have minded his business we would have been up here sooner! We have like 4 minutes now.”

“Then stop talking and let me take care of my wife.” Joe told you as he leaned down to kiss you.

“You don't have to tell me twice.”

As you were coming down the steps, Erin was grinning and wiggling her eyebrows at you and you instantly laughed at her.

“Nasty ass fuckers. Couldn't have even waited until we left.”

“I seriously went to the bathroom, dumbass!” You replied as you took your rightful seat in between your best friends just in time to see Kendrick come on the screen when Alisha leaned over and whispered in your ear.

“I know that white boy be turning you every way but loose.”

You tried so hard to keep a straight face but failed miserably as Ja'Marr shot you a look.

“What are you two whispering about?”

“You'll never learn, will you?” You asked and he shrugged his shoulders before turning back to the TV.

“Probably not. You know I'm nosey.”

“And no lie was told.”

It was now the third quarter when the Chiefs finally decided to score, which clearly still left everyone unimpressed.

“See that's what they asses get for making sure we didn't make it in the playoffs.” Ja’Marr muttered to your husband who quickly agreed with him.

“Look, I'm just happy that I don't have to look at Taylor Swift for four quarters.” Erin confessed with Alisha letting out a laugh.

“And her boyfriend has done absolutely nothing this entire game.” You added before getting up and sitting on Joe's lap.

You sat to the side so that you could put your head on his shoulder and your feet in Ja’Marr's lap who quickly protested.

“Why are these things on me?”

“So they don't swell. Help a pregnant lady out. And besides I fed you and you're in my house. And I just got a pedicure so leave me alone!”

“She has a point.” Joe said and he crossed his arms in response.

“My going rate for babysitting those two when they get here is 50 dollars. EACH.”

“BULLSHIT. We watch baby uno for FREE.” Joe exclaimed in response.

“Because he's a low maintenance baby! Yall kids are about to be spoiled as hell with big ass heads that look like Joe. That last sonogram picture was wild. Count on having a c-section.”

“HEY! MY HEAD IS NOT THAT BIG!”

“Keep telling yourself that, Shiesty.” Justin muttered and it took everything in you not to laugh. You turned away from Joe, but he could feel the vibration of your laugh since you were leaning against him.

“My own wife laughing about jokes about me, I see.”

“Um, pookie… have you seen your baby pictures? It's always been big.” You asked him and he turned up his nose.

“I…forget about that Birkin you wanted for Valentine’s Day.”

“Hold on! Wait! I take it back!”

“Nope. Damage is done. I'm sleeping in the guest room.”

“Okay Mr. Dramatic.”

“AYE! ANOTHER TOUCHDOWN!” Justin exclaimed as he raised his arms in excitement.

“Andy needs to whoop everybody's ass on that field.”

“I think the Eagles got him covered in that department.”

“No 3 peat is happening at this point.”

It was now the final seconds of the fourth quarter and it was now set in stone that the Eagles had won. They were interviewing Jalen when a thought popped up in your head.

"I can not believe they got their ass beat this bad. I feel like a curse has been lifted." Justin said, and you stifled a laugh.

“I expect everyone in this room that has an NFL contract to be in the super bowl next year. Do with that information what you will.” You said and all three of them looked at you.

“If the front office actually gets its shit together so we can keep everyone we need.” Joe said before rolling his eyes.

“Are we going to make bets? I think we should.”

“Sure when the regular season starts, but my husband needs to take me to Disney World after he wins. And Ja’Marr is on babysitting duty.”

“Fine, 250 dollars an hour. EACH.”

"You must be out of your damn mind." Joe told him in response as he looked at him in disbelief while you were laughing.

[fierceawakening]

I'm going to be kind of a dick here too and say "what is the goal here?"

Because, while I think it is important to be visibly anti-Nazi (or whatever), I think where we choose to be visible can matter.

Years and years ago, long before Trump was anything but a weird racist ranting about Obama's birth certificate, I joined some leftist groups I now feel were high control and not very effective.

And they said... well not this exact thing, as this sounds like it's more about friend groups than family. And what they said was things like "if one 80 year old can understand not to be prejudiced, your uncle Jim is making a choice to be. And if you don't speak up, you're making a choice to let him be."

So I was at a family gathering, and my old relatives were talking, and there was a long history of Greek communities and Jewish communities having tension when they were young, and they said some things about Jews, using Greek terms that... well, I don't know if they were slurs or just "Jew" or whatever, but I found it weird and uncomfortable coupled with what they were saying (the thing about how Jews see themselves as "the chosen people" and this makes them do arrogant things, IIRC.)

I got upset, I said so, I stormed out.

The result of this was not my family members changing their minds or softening their rhetoric. The result of this was family gossip about how I'd been radicalized and there was something wrong with me.

It changed nothing, and some of these people died before I saw them again and had a chance to have a conversation about it. I still feel sad that some of these people may have died thinking I was their enemy, since I didn't really explain (or think, at the time, that I SHOULD explain) that I was saying "please don't do that" and not "I despise you utterly."

So... I think stands like the one I took, in public and loudly, CAN be good politics. But they're theater.

Who's the audience for the theater?

If it's the prejudiced person and they're deep enough in their beliefs they'll just deem you a Karen and look confused in the general direction of nice people.

If it's other people around in the public space, THAT can matter. But if you can, you should make sure that they heard the Nazi-ing that precipitated you calling everyone's attention to your comment or your flouncing. That helps ensure that people know why you considered it serious enough to call attention.

If it's your own conscience, that's okay too. But bear in mind that the universe is not always just, and people may just think you're being dramatic.

Especially if in your family or friend group, you're The Loud Leftist, as I was at the time.

Again, not saying don't do it. It's often needed. But do consider: is this something you will want to have done even if it bombs and no one sees the intent behind what you did?

If the answer is yes, THEN do it.