#for once i can confidently say i am not into this man at all in the slightest so i need this to cease before i drive myself insane 🙏 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

myloversgone · 2 days ago

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(Okay, brain, let's try this once more and do it right this time)

Awesome fic as usual, dear @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior! I've missed reading and commenting your stories🥰

I believe SPN con experiences are unique to each person, but I love how you captured the atmosphere so well in this story!

Some highlights under the cut:

He was so unbelievably tall in person, so solid, and if possible, even more gorgeous than he was on film. That magnetism he had, the kind that lit up the screen so easily and quickly drew everyone into the characters he played, was on full display and almost too brilliant in real life.

I can't even believe I'm saying this, but I can attest it's all 100% true. He is all of that and much more in real life. How am I still alive? No idea. But you nailed the description of what is like to meet Jensen, Linda! I love how perceptive you are and the way you describe feelings so accurately! Amazing, amazing writer 🩷

Another thing is that, based on what we know about Jensen defending people from bullies in the past, this realistic aspect makes this story even better!

Also, the TS song lyrics? Super fitting to the plot! It hit me right in the feels.

Despite the fact that she was in it, it was a beautiful picture.

Because she's in it, it was a beautiful picture. I'm glad he showed her that <3

Jensen leaned forward and slid his big hand into her hair, holding her head in place as he pressed his mouth to hers gently, taking teasing sips from her lips and making her whimper slightly. She was embarrassed by the sound, but it made Jensen tighten his grip in her hair and growl slightly into her open mouth, finally sweeping his tongue inside and completely devouring her.

GAAAAHHH! *dead*

But instead he looked right at her in the audience, standing up quickly and crooking his finger at her, beckoning her forward.

THE GIF IS EVERYTHING!!! 🔥🔥🔥This man has no right to do shit like that. He's gonna kill us all, istg!

“So you’re the one my boy wouldn’t shut up about last night. I know him pretty well, so I feel completely confident that I’ll see you again soon.”

Awwww, Jared 🫶🏼 Luckiest woman in the world!

Such a lovely, hot and fluffy story! It warmed my heart and made me want to experience a con again. While I can't, I'll re-read it a couple more times 😉

Sexy Baby?

(x)

Summary: Y/N is humiliated. Can meeting Jensen make things better? (P.S. Sometimes I hate writing summaries. 😩😄)

Pairing: Jensen x Plus-sized!eader (Y/N)

Warnings: None really. Embarrassed reader. Hurt reader. Body shaming asshole. Kissing. Fluff. Jensen being the ultimate, incredible man. 😁❤️

Word Count: 4,168

A/N: This fic was a request by a lovely anon. It turned out fluffier and less smutty than I was originally thinking, Nonny, so I hope it still works for you. ❤️

This fic also incorporates this gif request sent in by @suckitands33 for my 2K followers celebration. Here is the gif I reference in this fic:

(x)

This was meant to be a drabble request, and looking at the word count you can see that this is most decidedly NOT a drabble. 😄 But I hope you like what I've come up with anyway. ❤️

If you enjoy the fic, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment. It means a lot. ❤️

A/N 2: As always this fic is about a different, multiverse version of Jensen, who is single. This is a complete and utter work of fiction.

It was one of Y/N’s most humiliating experiences during what should have been one of her most exciting moments.

She'd waited years and years to get to a Supernatural convention. She'd been a fan of the show for a very long time, and she simply adored the whole cast. The camaraderie of the boys and the kindness of the whole SPN Family had helped her through some very dark times.

So to finally be at a con, and standing in line, waiting for a photo op with her absolute favorite actor of all time, Jensen Ackles? It felt like a dream.

But she was so nervous. She'd never met anyone famous, let alone the guy she'd had a crush on for nearly half her life. Jensen was beautiful beyond words, sexy and charming, and everyone seemed to fall in love with him. So meeting him was daunting to say the least.

As she approached the front of the line she finally got a look at him as he posed with other fans. He wore a slightly distressed, light beige sweater and tight fitting black jeans. He was so unbelievably tall in person, so solid, and if possible, even more gorgeous than he was on film. That magnetism he had, the kind that lit up the screen so easily and quickly drew everyone into the characters he played, was on full display and almost too brilliant in real life. She felt her lower belly tighten as butterflies erupted inside her.

Finally, when Y/N was second in line, Jensen looked over and caught her eye, giving her a little smile and a wave. She blushed beet red and waved back, feeling like a complete idiot, but beaming nonetheless.

The woman in front of her walked up to Jensen and made a suggestion for a pose. One of the handlers seemed like they weren’t sure about allowing it, but Jensen waved away their worries, smiling at the fan and nodding, saying something that made her giggle. Then he wrapped his arm around her back and under her legs, picking her up from the ground. The woman squealed slightly, but then they did the pose. The woman had her arms flung wide in celebration, smile shining, and Jensen had his mouth open in a comically huge smile. It looked like they’d both won the lottery or something.

It was adorable.

Then it was finished and it was Y/N’s turn. She tried to take deep, steadying breaths as the previous fan said goodbye quickly. Before she walked up though, a staff member approached Jensen. He looked like he worked for the venue and not Creation, because he wore a uniform with the hotel’s name emblazoned on the back. Jensen’s smile shrank as he walked up; he didn’t look particularly happy to see him.

The guy said something about switching rooms for autographs and Jensen just nodded. Then, as he was leaving, he looked over at Y/N waiting to be next, and turned to Jensen with a mocking smile.

“Wouldn’t try that last pose with this one.” He said with a nod towards Y/N at the front of the line.

Y/N felt like someone had kicked her in the stomach. All the air left her lungs and her eyes welled up instantly, her chest was immediately on fire from the shame she was swallowing down in big gulps.

She’d been chubby her whole life; she couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t dieting and desperately trying to lose weight. It was her biggest insecurity that she couldn’t slip under 250 pounds no matter what she tried. She’d been that weight for a decade or more and no amount of dieting or exercising seemed to change that.

She was also tall for a woman, and so she often felt like…how did Taylor put it?

Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby And I'm a monster on the hill

And now here she was in front of the man she’d dreamt about and fantasized about for so long, and this was how he was going to see her now - the way this jackass saw her.

She felt sick to her stomach.

She let her glance skitter to Jensen, but he wasn’t looking at her, he was glaring at the guy who was starting to walk away. He followed him and in two long strides caught him, grabbing his arm and spinning the guy around to face him.

They were close enough now that Y/N could hear what they were saying, even though Jensen was speaking in an angry, whiphard, whisper.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

The guy flung his arms out. “Come on, man. It was just a joke.”

Jensen shook his head and his face was like stone. “No, it wasn’t. And you know how I know it wasn’t a joke? Cause it wasn’t fucking funny. You’re an asshole, and if I catch you saying shit like that again about anybody here, I’ll be talking to your boss, and letting them know that we'll be looking for another venue next year.” He gave him a humorless smile. “And I’ll be sure to tell him just who he has to thank for that.”

The guy mumbled something that must have been an apology because Jensen let go of his arm and the guy beat a swift retreat. Y/N watched Jensen take a deep breath and then he approached her at the front of the line.

She knew the people around her had heard what the guy said because they were calling the guy a prick too and telling her to ignore his bullshit. The woman behind her, who she’d never met, was rubbing circles on her back, trying to soothe the pain the jackass had caused.

That kind gesture along with the way Jensen held out his hand towards her and smiled so warmly, made tears start to fall silently. She couldn’t help it. She took Jensen’s warm hand and allowed him to pull her over to stand in front of the camera, quickly brushing her tears away with her free hand.

She’d never wanted to be in a picture less, and as they approached the spot, she shook her head and tried to pull her hand free.

She cleared her throat and stared at the floor. “Maybe, I’ll just…could I just get the picture with just you in it? Any pose you want to do will be fine.” She said, her slightly stuffy nose muffling her words.

Jensen turned back to her and tilted his head to catch her eye. “I can, if you want, but I’d sure love a picture with you. Whaddya say?” He asked with a bright smile.

Y/N realized it would be physically impossible to say no to this man, so she shrugged and walked into position in front of the camera.

“What pose do you want, sweetheart?”

Y/N swallowed hard and forced herself not to cry. “Would you just…I’d just like a hug, if that’s okay.”

Jensen nodded. “Absolutely.”

So he opened his arms and Y/N stepped into them. She wrapped her hands under his arms and around his ribcage. His left arm was closest to the camera and he wrapped that one around her shoulders. His right arm came up over her shoulders too, but he used that hand to press her cheek to his chest, and he rested his chin on the top of her head. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply.

She’d never felt so cocooned in safety in her whole life. His arms were strong around her, applying just the right pressure to make her feel completely protected. After the way her heart had just been pulverized, it felt healing. She wanted to stay right there forever.

She heard the click of the camera, though, and opened her eyes. Jensen kept her wrapped in his arms for a little longer, before giving her an extra squeeze and stepping back.

“Thank you.” Y/N said shyly.

“Thank you.” Jensen responded, cupping her shoulder briefly. “Take care. Hope to see you again this weekend.”

Y/N nodded, grateful for his kindness, but recognizing that he felt bad for her too which brought on more embarrassment. So she just nodded at Chris who was snapping the pictures, and took off out of the photo op area.

She went to the bathroom immediately and locked herself in the stall, allowing herself to cry quietly at length. For more than half an hour she sat in the stall, covering her mouth to keep from making too much noise. But finally her tears slowed and then dried up, the crack in her heart receding into just another scar there. She stayed in the bathroom another twenty minutes, dabbing at her puffy eyes with cool paper towels.

When she felt she was presentable enough, she finally left the restroom and headed over to pick up her photo op package. As she stood by the table, waiting for hers to show up, one of the women she recognized as a handler approached her.

She smiled kindly, though she seemed a little frazzled which Y/N could definitely understand. “Hi! We actually picked up your photo op. If you follow me, we can get it for you.”

Y/N thought that was a little odd. Was there something wrong with the picture? But she nodded and followed along quickly as the handler practically sprinted away.

They walked down a hallway in the hotel and then through a couple of doors until they emerged in a mostly empty hallway, just a few employees scurrying around busily. Finally the woman she was following stopped and knocked lightly on a door, waiting a moment and then opening it and showing Y/N into a beautifully appointed suite. The furniture was subtly luxurious and elegant, the floors and fixtures were cool and understated while still being sleek and trendy.

But by far the most beautiful part of the room was the man sitting on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, with what looked like a script in his hand.

He looked up as they walked in and a smile broke out on his face as he dropped the script onto the table in front of him. “Hey! We found you! Thanks Amanda!”

Amanda nodded and shot him a smile. “No problem!” She said as she spun around and took off, closing the door behind her and suddenly leaving Y/N alone with Jensen.

As though he was reading her mind, Jensen pointed towards the door. “If you’d feel more comfortable, we can open it again.”

But Y/N couldn’t have felt less afraid or worried about her safety being alone with the man in front of her, so she just shook her head. She was bound to act like an idiot in front of him and the less prying eyes watching that the better.

Jensen smiled. “Okay, well do you want a drink? Help yourself.” He said, pointing to a table with coffee, tea, and water bottles. “We could probably get you a coke or something, if you’d rather.”

She shook her head again, but forced herself to utter words this time. “No thank you, I’m fine.”

“Okay, well in that case you’re probably wondering what the hell I tracked you down for.” He said with a soft smile.

Y/N smiled back. “A little.”

Jensen waved at the spot beside him on the couch. “Wanna sit down?”

She took him up on that offer since her knees were a little wobbly and she didn’t really trust them.

He reached over to the table beside the couch and pulled up a glossy 8x10 photo. “Well, to begin with, I do have your photo.”

He handed it over and Y/N felt herself blush. Despite the fact that she was in it, it was a beautiful picture. Her eyes were closed and so were Jensen’s as he held her protectively cuddled against him. The picture would always remind her of just how safe she’d felt in that moment, and she was grateful to take it home.

“Thank you.” She said quietly. “You were great.”

“And you were beautiful.” He shook his head. “No, you ARE beautiful.”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush an even deeper red. “It’s really okay, I’m fine. I mean the guy was a jerk, but you don’t have to try and make me feel better. It’s hardly the first time.” She shrugged. “I can take it.”

Jensen shifted slightly closer to her, turning on the couch so he was facing her. “I’m not trying to make you feel better.”

She shot him a disbelieving look and he chuckled. “Well, I guess I am, but that’s just a bonus of telling you the truth. And the truth is, Y/N, you're beautiful.”

Y/N shot him a slightly wide-eyed look. “How do you know my name?”

He pointed to her picture and smiled. “I got it from the photo op package. Promise I’m not psychic. Or a stalker”

Y/N giggled and covered her mouth at the sound, apologizing. “Sorry.”

Jensen reached up and pulled her hand away from her smile. “Don’t do that. Don’t cover up your laugh and certainly don’t apologize for it.”

Y/N shrugged again and looked down at her lap and the hand that Jensen still held. He came slightly closer and tipped up her chin.

“I wanted to see you because the last thing I wanted was for you to walk away from this weekend thinking less of yourself because of some asshole with a big mouth and a mean streak. It was…”He took a deep breath. “It was bothering me a lot.”

Y/N was frustrated with herself that she couldn’t stop the tears that formed again at Jensen’s kind words. She dashed them away quickly with her free hand.

“Sorry.” She apologized again. “I know I don’t owe some rude jackass my tears and hurt, but sometimes it’s hard to just shove them down, you know.”

Jensen cupped her cheek warmly and brushed his thumb across her cheekbone. “Don’t shove them down, sweetheart, throw them away. His words are bullshit. They’re just wrong. Wanna know how I know?”

Y/N nodded, completely mesmerized by his mossy green gaze as he answered, his voice vehement. “I know he’s wrong, because it’s obvious for anyone to see that you’re utterly beautiful.”

Y/N started to scoff, but he cut her off. “I wanted to kiss you. Still do.”

Y/N choked heartily on the words that sputtered out of her, forgetting how to breathe normally. Jensen looked slightly abashed and it was his turn to stare at his lap. “God, I hope you don’t think I’m some creepy weirdo. I’m not…I don’t expect anything from you…this isn’t…”

He sighed. “Shit, I didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that. I just wanted to try and make you understand that I’m not lying to make you feel better, I’m not just trying to make a sweet girl feel better about herself, though I want you to. But I wanted you to know that I was and am genuinely, undeniably attracted to you. From the moment I looked over and saw you standing in that line.”

He shrugged and shifted back slightly. “But I totally get if I’ve creeped you out and you wanna go. I’m sorry.”

But Y/N just stared at him bug eyed. She spoke softly and slowly, still stammering slightly. “You wa-wanna kiss m-me.”

He gave her a lopsided smile and a shrug. “It’s the truth.”

“Since you saw me in line?” She said by way of clarification.

He nodded. “Yep.”

She blinked rapidly and then bit her lip. She caught the way Jensen’s eyes flickered down to her mouth and the way his gaze heated, setting her body on fire.

“Oh my god.” She whispered in disbelief. Then she shook her head and grinned at him. “Well, I’ve wanted to kiss you for about a decade…so…” She trailed off and Jensen gave a surprised laugh that turned into a warm and mischievous smile.

“Well, in that case,” he said slowly, “I think you should go first.” He tapped lightly on his cupid’s bow mouth, indicating that she should kiss him there and Y/N thought she might actually pass out.

She leaned forward tentatively, her head cloudy and the world around her surreal, and pressed her lips to his very briefly and gently before pulling back.

Jensen opened his eyes and a slow sexy smile spread across his face. “That was sweet, darlin’. But I gotta say, ten years of thinking and that’s all you got? I’ve been thinking about you for barely two hours, and I can promise you, I imagined way more than that sweet little angel kiss.”

Y/N felt her lower belly clench with want. “Okay, then show me.” She said, hardly able to believe her daring.

But it felt like she was being presented with a buffet of her favorite foods when she’d been starving and there was no way she was going to pass up the opportunity in front of her.

Y/N grabbed onto Jensen’s soft sweater and fisted it in her hands over and over, reveling in the feel of hard muscle beneath her palms. Jensen kissed her long and lustfully. His left hand stayed bunched in her hair, but he let his right hand slide up and down her arm before he slid it around to push against her back, just between her shoulder blades.

He pressed her tightly to his chest as he continued to rob her of air. Finally, he broke off the kiss, leaving them both panting as he pressed his lips just beneath her jaw and down her neck.

Her mind felt like it was on fire, everything was spinning and the world was just going too fast. As though he really was the psychic he denied being, Jensen seemed to know she needed to catch her breath, figuratively and literally, and he pulled back to press his forehead to hers.

“Sorry, got a little carried away.”

She shook her head vehemently. “No, no…that was…you’re perfect.”

Jensen chuckled. “You stole the words right out of my mouth, sweetheart.”

When they’d regained their breath, Jensen kissed her chastely and then tucked her hair behind her ear.

“So, you going to the panel tomorrow?”

Y/N nodded and gave a soft smile. “Of course.”

“Do you have plans tonight?”

Y/N felt like her heart might actually burst. She shook her head. “None that aren’t breakable.”

The next day at the panel, Y/N sat in the third row, feeling as though the whole world was brand new.

She could still hardly believe it, but the night before she and Jensen had gone out to dinner at a very nice restaurant, and the conversation between them had been remarkably easy and laced with laughter and fun.

After dinner they’d gone for a long walk and talked some more before finding a quiet park bench and making out like teenagers. Jensen’s mouth had branded her skin as his alone, and she knew he owned her now, body and soul. She was pretty sure he felt the same way, or at least something like it. He’d been very open about how much he wanted her, vocal in his desire and need for her.

It was the first time in her life that she’d felt truly, unequivocally beautiful and it opened up the world around her; colors seemed brighter and she knew that she was glowing.

Barely twenty-four hours after standing heartbroken and humiliated in Jensen’s arms, she sat in the audience, watching him on stage, feeling alive and truly happy in a way that was a little scary, but wholly exhilarating too.

The panel was wonderful; the boys were hilarious and warm as always. As the music started for the last question, Y/N expected Jensen to go off and sing with Rob as he usually did. But instead he looked right at her in the audience, standing up quickly and crooking his finger at her, beckoning her forward.

Amanda, the woman who’d brought her to the hotel suite yesterday, was standing at the end of the row, and gestured for her to leave her seat and follow her to the stage. Y/N was shaking from head to toe as she followed her up the stairs to where Jared was waiting for her, escorting her over to Jensen who took her hand and led her back to the chair sitting in the middle of the stage, helping her hop up onto it.

She looked out across the huge audience and panicked a little at the size of the crowd, until she made herself actually look at everyone’s faces. They were all smiling and beaming at her, and she thought of the boys’ oft repeated phrase: “You’re surrounded by family.” She suddenly felt a sense of belonging that was almost unprecedented in her life.

The music ended and the audience’s cheering fell away as Jared looked out at the crowd. “Everyone, say hello to Y/N! Y/N say hello to your SPN family!” There was more clapping and cheering as Y/N waved shyly. It occurred to her then, that she hadn’t told Jared her name, which meant Jensen must have told him about her. At least, enough that Jared agreed to break the usual routine of the last question going to one of the people standing in line.

Y/N felt a little guilty that she was taking their place, but when she looked at the women standing at the microphones she could see them smiling and clapping along.

Jensen put his arm around her shoulders and she shivered. Raising the microphone, he shot her a mischievous smile before speaking.

“So, Y/N, how was your evening last night? You enjoying yourself?”

Y/N blushed beet red, and just nodded. Jared punched Jensen lightly and took pity on her. “Do you have a question for us?”

She wasn’t prepared at all, having never expected to be in this position, but she gave it a go as both boys lowered their microphone so she could speak into it.

She took a deep breath. “I wasn’t expecting to be up here, so I don’t…I don’t have a question ready, but I’d like to take a moment to say thank you.”

She looked out at the audience. “Some of you were in the photo op line with me when I experienced something really embarrassing. Every one of you were kind about it and supportive, and I greatly appreciate it.”

She looked at Jared. “You promote so much love and support in your AKF campaigns and with all of us fans, and I’m so grateful for that because you encourage us all to be better people.”

Jared put his hand on his heart and looked down at the ground, humbly accepting her gratitude. Then she looked at Jensen and her eyes welled up a little.

“Jensen, you made me feel truly safe and beautiful at a time when I would have sworn that was impossible, and whatever happens in my future, I’ll hold on to that feeling for the rest of my life and keep thanking you, always.”

Jensen leaned down, and for a wild moment she thought he might kiss her right on stage, but he just kissed her cheek and gave her a hug. But his voice was low and seductive in her ear.

“You’re more than welcome, sweetheart, and thank you for yesterday, and hopefully, for later tonight too?”

He pulled back slightly and Y/N blushed at the look of hunger in his eye, but she nodded her head quickly. “God yes.”

His smile was wide as he squeezed her hand and helped her hop down from the chair, waving as she left the stage with Jared and tossing her a wink that made her right knee wobble slightly, so that Jared had to steady her.

He chuckled as he helped her down the stairs and then gave her a bear hug at the bottom. He whispered in Y/N’s ear as the band played loudly and Jensen sang joyfully with Rob.

“So you’re the one my boy wouldn’t shut up about last night. I know him pretty well, so I feel completely confident that I’ll see you again soon.” He shot her a grin and squeezed her shoulders.

Y/N moved off to the side, not bothering to go back to her seat, just looking up at the stage and knowing in heart of hearts that this weekend had changed her whole life.

@lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33

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@arcannaa @viviwatchestv @winharry @ladysparkles78 @kr804573

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@whimsyfinny @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl

@eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

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@fanfic-n-tabulous @traiitorjoe @lastcallatrockysbar

#spn fic rec #jensen x reader #jensen ackles rpf #jensen ackles fanfiction

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girlivealwaysbean · 21 days ago

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#bro why is everyone growing up and away and trying to figure out their lives and careers and loves #and im just sitting here missing them?#like sure im trying to figure out mine too we're all that age so I don't resent them for it #but why don't they miss me? why don't they feel empty when they haven't talked to me in a long time?#like. didn't they feel very light and happy after talking to me like i did with them don't they have a bad day and think that oh ill #talk to me and it will all feel okay even if it isn't just for a minute?#oh ny god i feel so pathetic asking this but like why am i suddenly crying now???#like my bestf. she's so busy in her new internship in mumbai that she can't be bothered to text me back #a simple yes no question for days. like i understand you have cool new office and work and friends and your stupid fucking ex #that you couldn't stop crying about to me living in that city with you but what about me? what about us?? what about you saying #that you're my first bestfriend i haven't told this to anyone else this is forever everyone else judges me but you're the best #like i just feel like if you're going to leave me then don't fucking say shit like that to me??#okay oh my god this is so irrational but i literally can't stop crying and it's definitely pms like i checked #she's not even leaving she's just suddenly busy and adjusting it's only been like a month #but i hate this stupid fucking knife like fear that as soon as someone is a little busy or seems like they're pulling away a little my #brain is like okay they hate me they're going to leave me so pack your bags we're leaving first #like i know a better solution would be to just tell her that hey dude i fucking miss you and i saw this show and remember how you used to #love peter kavinsky because he was adorable and i want to sit and watch it with you and just why aren't we back in school #where we are basically forced to hang out for like 7 hours because im so sick of only seeing you like once in 2 months for a few hours #like i know it's not your fault and we're just growing up and in different directions but just please like five more minutes can you stay #i don't even have the confidence to say anything to her lol she's my only friend like if even she gets mad and leaves #but i know that's not how healthy relationships work. and ugh my sister is so fucking far away i can feel it everyday #in the 5 and a half hour time difference. i hate this i hate everyone everyone has to go so far away #i hate living in this empty fucking house and being responsible for my own emotions fuck this isse accha toh living with dad hi hai #atleast when im there there are only 2 emotions anxiety and boredom. now i have a whole house to myself to cry whenever I need #for however long i need in a locked room. really looking forward to adulting haha i can see just see myself succeeding so well🙄#man this is crazy im gonna go do jumping jacks or something so this comes and goes faster #umm #dni

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privatelife · 1 month ago

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been unspeakably horny for like 3 weeks straight im starting to get scared. well anyway. happy year

#scared bc for some reason my brain keeps forcing images of one of my coworker's into my periphery and i do NOT like him like that !!!!!#for once i can confidently say i am not into this man at all in the slightest so i need this to cease before i drive myself insane 🙏#one time like many many months ago idek how long ago me and him and someone else were talking in the office and #idk what it was the angle we were standing or the lighting idk what but he fluttered his little eyelashes and i got instantly wet #it was so weird and sudden and most of all unconscious that i had to walk away #usually i'd have to establish To Myself . In My Brain that im attracted to someone before i have a bodily reaction to them if thatmakessense #ever since then i have been. concerned #but anyway hes a 30-something receding hairline doomer libertarian former army guy. so NO !!!!!!!!#on the other hand he's got rich lesbian moms who already like me 🤔 on the other hand they are old republican white ladies.#on the one hand he's always pretty nice to me even when i dont deserve it and he says yes ma'am when i ask him to do things 👀#on the other hand he will adjust his balls no matter the situation or setting it pisses me off every time.#AND HE STINKS sometimes which is probably the worst of all #but above all else he is the spitting image (and personality) of charlie kelly . truly a mixed bag #anyway i think the scary part is i do think that if i really truly wanted to i could fuck him at a moment's notice i get the feeling he'd be #down. but with all the negatives ik i dont actually want to im just lonely and want some validation more than anything else #so i shant do a thing about it. but tell that to my pussy!#2025: i am mature now. but i be knowing things.

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housederiva · 3 months ago

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Here's every version of the letter the Inquisitor gets from their LI plus Varric (which didn't make me cry at all)

If your Inky didn't romance anyone:

Inquisitor, Greetings from miserable, rainy Minrathous! (Don't tell Dorian I called it that.) The rotten weather here is making me nostalgic for Skyhold. The mountains were freezing, but at least the air didn't smell like wet garbage. We'll have to get in another game of Wicked Grace, soon. Harding picked up the trail again. I'd tell you not to worry, but I know how useless that is. Instead, I'll just say: I've got a great team on this. Neve could stare down the Maker, and wait until you meet Rook. He's/She's/They're a natural: Smart, resourceful, completely unpredictable. You'd like him/her/them, as long as you don't try to beat him/her/them at cards. Chuckles'll never know what hit him. I'll write again once we have something solid for you. Drinks at the Hanged Man are on me when this is over. Take care of yourself. Varric

Blackwall:

My love, You have summoned me to Minrathous, and I will answer your call, as soon as responsibilities here in the South allow. I have missed being by your side. Will these troubles be the last we face? The world seems always to conspire, through duty or disaster, to pull you away from me. I do not resent it. You are dedicated to purposes far larger and more significant than myself. I hope you do not think me a fool for hoping that one day, your only concern will be the color you wish our walls to be painted, or the flowers we will plant beside our gate. I'm partial to carnations. Yours always, Thom

Cassandra:

My love, We are no strangers to duty, or the separation it demands of us. You head for Tevinter, and though I want to go with you, there is work we both must do. I will not falter in the tasks that wait before me and I pray my actions, in whatever measure they can, will keep you safe. The others see only confidence in my resolve, but you have always known more than mere appearance. I confess to you, and you alone, that I am afraid. I'm afraid of what may happen, that Thedas will face such turmoil as it did before. I know not what awaits us. Yet even in the face of uncertainty, there are two things I cannot doubt and never will. The first is that our paths are never separated long. That I will find you at my side when I need you, as you will find me at yours. I will play my part in this and follow as soon as I can. The second thing I never doubt is you. Whatever lies before you, trust yourself. Trust your heart as I trust it. It will not lead you astray. Yours, Cassandra

Cullen:

The top of the letter has been punctured by small, sharp teeth, leaving most of a beloved name and a few sentences chewed to read. I fear the puppy started on this letter shortly after I did. I'd start over, but I must send this tonight if it's to reach you. Matters are settled here and I make for Tevinter as soon as possible. I almost believed chaos might spare us this time. I can't say I wished to see Minrathous before now, but I am eager to see you. I long to see your face and know that you are all right. You are I've There's I wish I was better at putting into writing all that's in my mind. For now, simply know that I love you. It is the most cherished constant of my life. The days ahead will not be easy. I know there's much you carry, more than many realize. But whatever you must face, you will not meet it alone. You have my sword, my counsel, my - I could write this list forever when all I mean to say is this - Whatever you need of me, I am yours. Cullen

Dorian:

Amatus, I'm writing. Again. Yes, the sending crystals still work and yes, you'll be in Minrathous in a few short weeks. But a letter, written in blind longing, is real. It can be touched, and it can be held, when ink and paper must substitute for your skin on mine and my breath in your ear. I used to scoff at frequent declarations of affection. Trite, I thought. Save them for rare and precious moments. But time and love are no longer things I care to squander, especially not as we race again toward calamity. And so, in each of these fleeting, ephemeral seconds, I will tell you that I love you. Whether penned or spoken, or conveyed by glance or action, I love you. In this moment, and in all the moments to come, for as long as they do, I love you. I will find you soon. Yours, Dorian

Iron Bull

Hey, Kadan, Not the first time we've marched toward different battles. I know you're keeping the crap from catching fire up in Tevinter. Wish I could be there, but I'll make sure there's a world for you to come back to when you're done dealing with crazy vints and stupid Antaam and whatever other crap Solas kicked up. (Shit, the Antaam. Remember when I was worried what would happen if I went tal-vashoth? That right there!) I know you're gonna be careful, and you've got Morrigan there. Just take care of yourself. If anything happens to you, I'm going to have to take Krem and the Chargers and stomp across all of Tevinter to come get you. It'll be a whole thing, and you know it'll upset Dorian. Being apart from you made me realize something else. I spent so long being whatever the Ben-Hassrath wanted me to be. An investigator. An agent. A mercenary sending reports. These past years, since the Inquisition ended, I've been able to just be what I want to be. And what I really want to be is yours. I like the person I am when I'm with you. So come back safe. Love, The signature appears to be a stylized rendering of the Iron Bull's head.

Josephine:

My Dearest Lord/Lady, I have spoken to friends in Minrathous. They offer us their hospitality, not to mention shelter from the worst intrigues of the Archon's Palace. While you're well acquainted with the roving eyes of grand courts, please take care. Tevinter's regard can be the oldest and cruelest of them all. The family writes the weather back home is beautiful. I do miss our quiet times together. There is a question I've wanted to ask you for so long. I would like to pretend I have been busy, or it was not the proper time. But, if I am being honest, I only waited because I have been afraid of choosing a poor moment. Please, let me make a promise to you here. When we return to Antiva, I will ask you, on the steps of the estate, if you will do me a great honor. And I dream you will say yes. Always yours, Josephine Postscript: I cannot believe it nearly slipped my mind. Yvette and Lord Otranto send their best wishes, and hope to see us back home in time to welcome their third child.

Sera:

(An artistically doodled journal page presumably from the Inquisitor's partner, Sera.) Keep this as close as I need you. (A drawing of a pile of flowers, with lines like it's moving, an arrow pointing to it labeled "us.") - North again, Mini-wrathus still stuck up its own pucker. - Magiturds are scared of us. They don't even know. - We work with Maevaris, right? She's wow. - So many Friends! Jennies in all the walls! - We kill him this time. He took from us twice! (A drawing of a cracked egg scribbled out, with "can't even joke" in letters that tore the page.) - Still thinking of you sideways. - Never mind the Dalish, here's the Veil Jumpers! Tempest-kin! (A drawing of a tall, shorthaired elf (Sera?) and Irelin brandishing two fingers, backflipping as a tree explodes in runes.) - The memory thing makes my head spin. If that Rook doesn't take it, throw it out. - Tell Morrigan ppbbth! for me. - I'll also tell her ppbbth! She knows why. - Tell them to Stripe. Him. Up. I wanted more books. (More heavy scribbles that tear.) - You meet; I'll keep you safe. Then I'm your time off, and you're my time on. (The last section has different colored inks, like Sera has returned to it several times.) New naked names: -Sweet-tits (scribbled out) -Bestest (scribbled out) -Loverly (scribbled out) -Lovey (scribbled out) -My-for-always-and-ever - name's not too long, time's too short. -But "Sweet-tits," though (scribbled out)

Solas:

Vhenan, I do not know if you will see these words. My ritual is ready and will soon be set in motion. Perhaps when you read this the world will be as it once was, and you will see why all I did was necessary. I cannot ask your forgiveness, but I hope you come to understand. That night in Crestwood, when I shared the truth about your vallaslin... you do not know how close I came to breaking. I could have shared the truth, or even put my plans aside and simply stayed with you as Solas... as I wanted. I regret the pain I caused you. What I feel for you will never change. The note is unsigned, but the handwriting is Solas'.

#dragon age #dragon age veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #datv #veilguard #solas #sera dragon age #josephine montilyet #the iron bull #dorian pavus #cullen rutherford #cassandra pentaghast #blackwall #thom rainier #cassandra allegra portia calogera filomena pentaghast #the inquisitor #veilguard spoilers #I haven't seen a post with them all together yet so here we go #long post

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mommypieck · 1 year ago

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⌗︙・brothel owner geto ⸜⸜・

brothel owner geto says he doesn't have a favorite worker... until it comes from you. his whole face lights uo when you come running to sit on his lap. he opens his arms so you can jump into them, showing geto how much money you made. as much as he wants to listen to you rant about different costumers, he's more interested in that bra you are wearing. his hands cup your breasts and he squeezes them together, few bills falling from your bra.

"is that a new set?" he asks with his hands still groping your tits. you don't mind, you love when mr. geto touches you.

"mhm," you nod your head, throwing your arms around his neck, "i picked it because it's your favorite color." suguru almost melts when you say that.

he takes your hand, leading down back to the apartments where you take care of the clients. when the door closes, he has his mouth on yours. he kisses you hungrily, opening the bra to let your boobs free. he puts pressure on your shoulders, telling you to kneel in front of him. you smirk, knowing exactly what he wants to do. you pull his pants down, his cock hitting you in the face. it's your favorite cock.

"how much do they pay you for blowjob, 30$?" he asks you and you not. he sends you a sweet smile, "i have to raise your prices."

he thrusts his cock in your mouth, making you choke a bit. after all, he's the biggest cock you take at this job. you lick at his base, loving how heavy he feels in your mouth. geto sets his own pace, thrusting in and out of your mouth just like he likes it.

all those dirty man always wait for you to do something but geto is confident and he knows what he wants. that's what you love about him.

your hand cups his balls, stroking it while he uses your mouth like a toy. you close your eyes, something about him just using you is so calming to you.

geto thought about it a lot and maybe it's town to do what he wanted to do for a long time.

"open your mouth." he tells you, tapping his cock on your tongue before he shoots his cum deep inside, some of it landing on your face.

that's it, he decided what he wants to do with you.

"baby, do you want to only work for me?" his question confuses you a little, you're working for him right now.

"but i am working for you." he chuckles at your response.

"i mean only for me. i would be the only one fucking you."

you furrow your eyebrows. does he mean that he wants you to be his personal escort?

"but im gonna miss the sex." you whine. he smiles at you, "don't worry, baby. we're gonna have a lot of sex. maybe i'll even get you pregnant. you're gonna understand once you're with me."

#jjk smut #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru smut

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subbmissivesuccubus · 9 months ago

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I don't know if this kink has a name but I am just obsessed with super casual boob play lmao

Also!!?? Thank you guys for helping me reach 2K followers! It's so exciting and i've been having so much fun writing and reading the smut on this website. Here's to many more stories which hopefully give you the tingles <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Alright, so that's the groceries we need for this week."

"Mmm."

"Oh, don't forget to buy flowers! It's my moms birthday tomorrow."

"Mmm."

"Are you even listening?" you asked, crossing your arms over your chest as you glared at your boyfriend, the man simply staring at you.

"Mmm."

"Ok, so that's a no." you said, rolling your eyes before snapping your fingers in front of your boyfriends face, the man jumping and blinking a few times as he was brought back to reality.

"Can you pay attention now?" you asked sternly.

"Sorry. I was too busy staring at your tits." he said honestly, making you sigh. There he goes again with his very obvious boob obsession, your man having a clear fetish for your breasts.

"Well, if you continue to ignore me, you won't see my boobs for a week."

"Or, you flash them to me now, I promise I'll remember every single word you say."

"Oh my God."

"Come here, baby. Come here." he begged, hands reaching out to quickly grab you by the hips and drag you forward, his nails digging into the fabric of your skirt as he all but manhandled you onto his lap, smiling at you as he got your legs to straddle his waist.

"You're a degenerate." you snarled as you placed your hands on his shoulder, more than familiar with this particular song and dance.

"I'm your degenerate. And besides, this is your fault you know." he said, casually fisting the hem of your t-shirt before pulling it up, "If you didn't have such perfect titties, I wouldn't be like this!"

"So you weren't obsessed with boobs before you met me?" you questioned, allowing him to tug the t-shirt upto your chin, the man greedily looking at your bra covered breasts. Not having the patience to take the shirt off of you completely, he simply pulled it over your head so it looped around the back of your neck, your arms still in the sleeves but he didn't care as all he wanted was access to his favorite part of you.

"Of course not." he said confidently as he all but face planted into your cleavage, groaning in delight as he pushed his face in as deep as he could go, "I only got obsessed when you came into the picture."

You huffed, trying to fight the blood rushing to your face and between your legs as you fisted a hand through his hair, tugging at it a bit as you got his attention:

"Are you going to listen to me now?"

"Mmhmm." your boyfriend groaned, nodding a yes against your boobs, truly happy being surrounded by your plump flesh. Sighing, you once again told him what he needed to buy for groceries, allowing him to grope and kiss you wherever he wanted. His tongue ran over your skin, huffing and humming in response every time you asked him if he was listening.

He soon pushed your bra up as well, too eager to bother unhooking it as he placed it against your collarbone, the elastic of the band digging into your skin and making your tits look even more delicious than before. He opened his mouth and took a nipple in, closing his eyes as he started suckling gently, his arms wrapped around you and pulling you in closer.

"H-Hey..." you moaned, gripping his hair tighter as he suckled on you, "It's getting late. You need to leave before the stores close."

"Mmhmm. I know." he muttered against you, tongue coming out to flick at your nipples a few times before he moved to the other breast, giving her the same treatment, "Just- fuck- give me a minute."

You sighed, jumping as you felt his hands move down to your ass, taking greedy gropes of your butt as he lost himself in the sensation of your breast in his mouth.

Yeah, you were not getting your groceries today.

~~~~~

You slipped away from the group of friends in the living room to your bedroom, wanting to get your phone which had hopefully finished charging by now. As you were checking your phone and responding quickly to a few messages, you suddenly felt a hand on your waist that swiftly moved upwards and groped your right breast.

"Eh-hey!" you hissed softly, head snapping back towards your boyfriend, his touch so familiar that you instantly knew it was him, "Cut it out! We have guests!"

"I know but I just need one suck, ok?" he asked even as his other hand came up to start unbuttoning your shirt dress, "I'll be super quick, I promise."

"You- ah!" you squealed as he got the buttons undone enough to expose your bra, his fingers digging into the cup of the right side to pull it down, revealing your bare breast to the crisp air. He turned you around and quickly bent down and took the nipple into his mouth. Your head kept snapping between him sucking your nipple and the door, on edge as if anyone walks in, it would be very obvious.

Your man groaned as he suckled on your nipple, eyelashes tickling your skin as he closed his eyes. The sound of the TV and chattering was loud enough to thankfully drown out his groans, your boyfriend suckling you so hard it made your toes curl.

"Wh-you-" you hissed as his hand quickly pulled down the other cup of your bra and exposed your other breast, "You said only one!"

"I know but I can't not suck her too!" he protested, giving your left nipple a greedy lick, "she'll get jealous!"

"What the fuck are you talking abooouuttt!" you gasped as he suddenly took the nipple in and sucked on it as well, just as vigorously. You stood there for a few seconds, allowing your maniac of a boyfriend to suck and feel you up before he finally pulled away.

"Just what I needed. Thank you baby." he said, kindly helping you stuff your tits back into your bra and right your dress, giving your tits a final squeeze before he walked out of the room, leaving you a frustrated mess with your nipples tingling.

What a menace.

~~~~~

It was movie night, one of your favorite ways to spend time together. It was always a treat to just relax with your boyfriend, put on a random movie, eat popcorn and talk.

And of course, he also loved that he gets to play with your tits the whole time.

You huffed as your boyfriend pulled you onto his lap, his legs spread wide to accommodate you between them. Bowl of popcorn in hand, you munched away at the treat even as your man slid his hands up your shirt, aiming for your breasts.

"Ew, why are you wearing a bra?" he asked, clicking his tongue as his hands got in contact with the soft fabric.

"Sometimes I like having my boobs supported by something, ok? Fucking sue me."

"You don't need a bra to support your tits when you have my hands. I'm taking it off."

Before you could even protest, your man slid his hands to your back and unhooked the bra masterfully, practically an expert at it at this point. He was about to push the straps down your arms and pull the bra out from under your shirt but then he realized- why are you wearing a shirt? You might as well be topless as he was going to play with your boobs the whole time anyway.

So with your shirt and bra tossed onto the floor, you tried your best to focus on the movie playing on screen even as your boyfriend happily groped away at your tits. Ample flesh spilling out between his fingers, he squeezed you like a toy- like your tits were something he could use to alleviate stress. Occasionally, he'd flick his fingers over your nipples, working them up to stiff peaks before gently pinching them between his thumb and index finger. He'd place his hands underneath your breasts, cupping them before he bounced them up and down, loving the feeling of your heavy flesh landing on his palms, the ripple of your breasts on impact instantly making his cock hard.

And of course, as usual, once he was done playing with his hands (which was practically an hour long activity), he'll move onto his mouth. Your body automatically moved along with him as he lifted you up a bit higher onto his lap, looping an arm over his shoulder so he had the space to lean down and take a nipple into his mouth.

"Y-You're not even watching the movie, are you?"

"Mm-mmm" he responded, shaking his head no against your breast, his response making you shiver. You rolled your eyes and continued to watch the movie, failing at it even before he started sliding his hand into your pants.

~~~~~

Of course, your boob obsessed boyfriend can't sleep unless it's on said boobs.

"Take it offfff!" he whined, wrestling with you as he harshly tugged at your shirt.

"It's cold!" you protested as you tried to pull the fabric back down over you, "I'm going to freeze!"

"I'll keep you warm! You know the rules- no clothes in bed."

"You're wearing clothes!"

"Yes but I don't have a pair of delicious tits that are just begging to be suckled!"

"Oh my God- fine, how about this?" you asked, slapping his hand away from your shirt before you pulled up upto your chin, flashing him your bare boobs, "Just get in here and I get to keep the shirt on."

"...Why didn't you just say so?"

You grunted as you were tackled, pushed to lie down on the bed as your boyfriend landed on top of you, face first into your tits. You pulled your shirt over his head, covering the dopey smile on his face as he used his hands to push your tits against him, shaking his head from side to side as he motorboated you.

He thankfully still had some sense to pull the blanket over the two of you and you were able to dim the lights, whipping your phone out so you can get some screen time before you went to sleep. You felt wetness on your left nipple, your boyfriend finally done with shaking your fat tits in his face.

His tongue ran in circles over the hard bud, dragging it slowly as he knew he could take his time. He started flicking your bud harshly, his hot tongue making you shiver with each flick. Eventually, he sealed his lips around it, groaning happily as he started to suck. He was noisy- moaning like he was eating a delicious meal and the slobbering noises of him feasting on you making your ears ring, the pressure he used to suckle on you keeping you on your toes.

As he sucked on the left one, his hand came up to play with the right, toying with her as he got her ready to be sucked next. He rubbed the nipple around with his thumb before pinching it gently, giving her a few twists once in awhile. He was latched onto the same nipple for almost 30 minutes before he moved onto the next one, but not before dragging himself from underneath your shirt and pushing the fabric upto your chin.

Fuck it. You were falling asleep and now your body was running hot so you didn't really care.

"Baby... I want-" he gave your nipple a kiss before he snuggled his face into the fat of your breast before looking up at you, "I want to drink your milk. Make it for me."

"How many biology lessons did you fail for you to think that's possible?" you asked, your eyelids drooping and voice heavy.

"Why are you not pregnant yet? I cum in you like, everyday."

"...You know I'm still on birth control."

"I know but I'm confident I can defeat it."

"Mmkay, keep dreaming. Now shut up- i'm gonna sleep."

"...Stop taking your birth control."

"I'm not having a baby just so you can drink some breast milk."

"Of course not. We'll have a baby because we're in love and we'll be together forever!"

You opened one eye and looked down at him, letting him know you were not impressed.

"...And so I can drink your milk."

"Just keep sucking or sleep."

He pouted before he took your left nipple into his mouth.

~~~~~

Gojo Satoru, Haibara, Shanks, Sanji, Luffy, Ace, Kaeya, Kaveh, Childe, Cyno, Itto, Uzui, Sanemi, Eren, Jean etc. etc.

#subby writes #demon slayer smut #kimetsu no yaiba smut #genshin impact smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo satoru smut #uzui smut #one piece smut #shanks smut #luffy smut #sanji smut #haibara smut #ace smut #kaeya smut #childe smut #itto smut #sanemi smut #eren jaeger smut #jean smut

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rafescvntyclubgf · 1 month ago

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𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕨𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕪-𝔽𝕚𝕧𝕖: 𝔽𝕖𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕟’ 𝕃𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕪

𝙷𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚢!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: mutual pining, swearing, drinking, rafe and the reader are intoxicated, oral (male + female receiving), bathroom sex, semi-public sex, spanking, unprotected p in v, pullout method, rough oral, dirty talk, praise wet + messy, cum tasting

📖 All of my asks got deleted 💕😭 so I'm not sure who requested this, but thank you! When you're getting hit on by a loser at your local college bar “boyfriend” Rafe comes in to save the day.

Masterlist

Reader’s POV:

The crowd's roar is deafening as you sit pressed against the glass of the college hockey area. The game had barely begun, but the energy was already electric—hit after hit, shot after shot. Your friend Lexi shouts and claps, pulling you out of your daze as she bangs her wool mittens against the glass.

Rafe Cameron… Your eyes track him as he streams by confidently, his red and black jersey rippling behind him as he skates, dodging the defenseman on his way to the net.

You smile, biting your lip as you look at the man before you. He sat two rows ahead of you in your accounting class, the two of you exchanging no more than two words all year. Still, there’s just something about him that has your heart racing every time you see him.

“You’re staring,” your friend smiles, looking at you from the corner of her eye. She lifts her draft beer to her lips, grinning against the rim before sipping.

“What?” You giggle as you stuff your hands in your pockets. “Am not.” You lie as the warmth of your little crush creeps up your neck, pooling hot in your cheeks.

“Yes, you are, she teases. “And, honestly, I don’t blame you…”

You roll your eyes away, but you can’t get the smile off your face. Rafe skates by the student section, glancing briefly at the glass as he cleans the snow off his stick. The corners of his lips curl into a smile, making your pulse skip, but you quickly shake it off.

I mean, it was a good shift… He had to be happy about that; you explain it away.

After the game wore on, the players moved faster, hits got harder, and the scoreboard stayed locked at an even 2 to 2. You could feel the determination and intensity radiating off him every time he hit the ice; you couldn’t take your eyes off him—like you would’ve regardless.

With less than a minute of play, Rafe broke away from the traffic with the puck on his stick. The crowd rose to its feet, getting louder and louder the closer he got until he drew his stick back and fired at the net. The sound of the rubber puck clanged off the pipe, and the crowd went wild when the red light flashed. The buzzer drones, its sound quickly swallowed up in the Goal Song.

You jump to your feet, clapping and cheering with the crowd. Rafe skates toward the middle, grinning as his teammates mob him, but once that celebration breaks apart, he turns to the student section, helmet off, hair wet with sweat, staring directly at you, smiling, sealing the deal with a cheeky wink.

There was no mistaking it… The look, the smile, the wink. It was meant for you and you alone.

“Did you see that?” Your friend screams before you can even fully process what happened.

“I… Uh…” You stammer, looking at her to confirm what you saw before you say anything, knowing full-well she could be asking about the goal and not Rafe.

“Oh, please,” Lexi scoffs teasingly as she shoves you away. “That shit was for you, and you know it.”

The car ride to the bar was filled with music and laughter. You can't help but get lost in your thoughts. Replaying that moment a few times before opening Instagram, fingers hovering over the search bar.

“Just do it,” your friend laughs, watching it all; face twisting slightly as she catches you debating.

“I didn't ask you,” you chide light-heartedly.

“You’re thinkin’ about followin’ him… Just do it,” she challenges you.

“Do you think that he would have followed me if he was interested?” You ask as you look at his handsome profile picture.

You hesitate for another second, looking through a couple of his newer pictures. And just when you’re about to take the plunge, you look up at the little heart in the right-hand corner, seeing a new notification. New follower, Rafe Cameron.

Your eyes widen on the screen, and you and your friend gasp in unison. Before you can even think about it further, she clicks the little blue confirm button for you.

“What the hell?” You scold her, slapping her away.

“I’m invested, I’m sorry,” she laughs. “What? Were you gonna say ‘no’?” You shake your head ‘no’ and smile, looking at your new friend, feeling your excitement rise.

The bar downtown is packed with post-game and Saturday night traffic. The music is loud, and the energy is high as students pour in to celebrate the hockey team’s win and the start of winter break. You push through the crowd, making your way up to the bar. You order a few mixed drinks before snapping some pictures.

”Ooh,” Lexi coos. “That one’s perfect.”

You upload the pic of the two of you holding drinks, tagging the bar. It wasn’t entirely intentional—or that’s what you told yourself. If Rafe just happens to see it and shows up? Well, that was just a beautiful coincidence.

The night rages on, drinks flowing, conversations blending into laughter, more friends arriving, turning your little group of two into a full-on party. You start to relax a little more, feeling the liquor course through your system, and then you feel something else as a large hand rests on your lower back.

“Hey, Babe.”

Your eyes widen, and you freeze, hearing a voice you were not expecting nor wanted to hear. You turn slowly, coming face-to-face with Mark, a guy from your accounting class, too. The kind of guy who made you excited about the semester’s end. Unfortunately, he was the type of guy who never took ‘no’ for an answer…

“Hi, Mark,” you mumble, keeping your tone flat and uninterested, knowing that even the slightest bit of kindness would be confused for much more.

“You looking stunning tonight,” he praises as he steps even closer, making you take one step back.

“Thanks,” you sigh.

“You here with anyone?” He asks curiously as he scans the crowd. Your friend looks between the two of you—her judgment of his hidden piss-poorly. The girl was unapologetically Team Rafe all the way, and Mark Lundell is no Rafe Cameron.

“Just my friends,” you say as you swirl your finger around lazily, gesturing to your group gathered around.

“No invite?” He fake pouts and you feel your body recoil when you hear it. Mark seems to notice your disdain, but it doesn't stop him from trying. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you in possessively. You rest your hand on his chest, pushing away slightly, but he doesn’t get the hint.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you-”

“No thanks,” you shout over the music, not even curious about what he meant to ask.

He chuckles and scoffs playfully, turning his hat to the back as he moves his face closer. “Hey-Hey, don’t be like that,” he soughs.

You close your eyes, swallowing thickly as he continues to talk, wondering what it’s gonna take to get him to fuck off- “She’s with me,” Rafe’s voice rolls through your mind like a sweet dream.

You turn, breath catching as you see Rafe walking in, just a few feet separating the two of you with his big hands stuffed in his jacket. His sharp gaze locks on Mark, and he gives him a little whistle and a nod, kindly telling him to ‘fuck off.’

Mark scowls, looking down at you and then Rafe. “Cameron?” He asks. The two boys are familiar with each other from the gym locker room—exchanging glances when the baseball boys leave and the hockey boys arrive.

“I’m her boyfriend,” Rafe says smoothly, eliminating the space between you. Your heart stutters at the word, but Rafe doesn’t miss a beat, reaching behind you to shove Mark out of the way before taking his “rightful” place at your side.

“Since when?” Mark asks as his expressions shifts.

“Since none of your fuckin’ business, Lundell,” Rafe smiles, his tone calm but firm.

“You know, if you’re not interested, you can just say that,” Mark snaps, recovering from his bruised ego by turning to the bartender, gesturing for a new bottle of Coors. “You don’t need to be a fuckin’ bitch-”

“The fuck was that now?” Rafe smiles, his eyes wide and wild as he separates from you, standing toe-to-toe with him. Mark doesn’t back down, his chest puffed as he looks slightly up at Rafe.

Rafe bites his lips, holding back a laugh, his relaxed demeanor’s somehow more intimidating than any show of aggression.

“Call her a fuckin’ bitch again, and we’re gonna have a problem…”

“Oh, yeah-”

“Honestly, bitch. We already have problems because regardless of who the fuck I am, she told you no… And you kept pushin’,” Rafe hisses, emphasizing the final word with a rough shove.

Mark’s a big guy himself, who doesn’t move too far, but the contact made him flinch, leaving Rafe holding back yet another chuckle.

“Walk away,” Rafe mumbles, his voice low and steady.

Mark’s dark eyes lock on yours. The bartender walks over, resting his beer on the bar top. He takes his out, snagging the bottle off the hardwood before rolling his eyes and sucking his teeth, disappearing into the thick college crowd.

You breathe deeply, letting out the deep breath you didn’t know you’d been holding in, quickly turning your attention to Rafe.

“You okay?” He asks protectively as he twists toward you.

You look up at him, your heart racing, and you nod, “Yeah… Thanks for that.”

“No problem,” he shrugs it off. Rafe rests his hand on your lower back, making your heart race, lighting you on fire as he flags down the bartender himself. “You want a drink, princess?”

Before you can overthink it, you rise onto your tippy toes, kissing his cheek. Rafe freezes, a soft, shy smile spreading on his lips, making her feel weak.

“Truly… Thank you,” you whisper. “Do you want a drink? It’s on me,” you assure me, turning your attention to the bartender as she arrives, but you can tell Rafe’s mind is still stuck on the kiss. “Rafe?” You giggle, resting your hand on his chest, feeling his heart bang underneath.

“Uh… Yeah. I’d love that, sweetheart. A Coors. Thanks.”

You order your drink, and Rafe reaches over you, his arms a little longer. He passes the bartender his card instead, starting a tab as you protest, but he just rolls his blue eyes and smiles.

The rest of the night is a blur of laughter, easy conversation, and alcohol. Rafe’s charming, funny, and much more than the reserved guy you had seen in class.

You talk about everything—school, hockey, your favorite places in town—and with every passing minute, your little crush blooms into something more. You feel comfortable, like you’ve known each other forever. And to Mark and the rest of the bar, that little boyfriend title he used honestly looked like the real thing.

At some point, the drinks catch up with the both of you. Rafe leans closer, his breath warm against your neck, making you turn into him. The boy quickly pulling you up onto his lap.

“You know…” He says, his words slightly slurred. “I’ve had a big fat crush on you all semester.”

Your eyes widen on his, hands resting on his chest as your mouth falls open in surprise. “You have?” You practically gasp, making him laugh at how happy you look with his admittance.

“Mhmm,” he hums as he wraps his big arms around your waist, moving closer. “You’re so—fuck,” he chuckles as the words get caught on his lips. “You are so fuckin’ pretty.” You laugh and shake your head. “What?” He asks bashfully.

“You, Rafe Cameron, are the prettiest boy I have ever seen-”

“I’m pretty?” He chuckles, lifting his eyebrow as he points to his chest.

“Mhmm…” You giggle.

“Well, shit… Thank you,” he smiles and flutters his lashes playfully.

Just like Mark did, Rafe grabs his hat, twisting it to the back, trying to eliminate the space between the two of you, but unlike the boy before, your tummy only fills with butterflies. Rafe tips his heavy head against your temple, chuckling drunkenly.

“I’ve had a crush on you too,” you admit, and as soon as the last word leaves your lips, he’s wrapping his big arms around you, pressing a rough, wet kiss against your cheek, making you squeal.

“The fuck you have?” He asks as he pulls back fast.

“I’m serious," you giggle as you turn to the side, looking directly into his gorgeous eyes.

Rafe bites his lip, studying yours, his glassy gaze hanging at half-mast. “Well, shit… S’my lucky night. Huh?” He asks.

“Feelin’ pretty lucky myself,” you whisper as the two of you get closer and closer. The air between you feels electric—charged with the buzz of too many drinks and sexual tension. Rafe’s gaze flickers between your eyes and lips, the two of you not realizing how close you’re getting until your lips connect.

The bar around you hums in the distance, and it feels like just the two of you for the moment. It’s uncoordinated—but perfect in its imperfection. Your lips move against his, making heat radiate through your body. Rafe smiles against your lips; you return the same, the pair of you pulling apart, giggling like teenagers caught in the act.

You look at Rafe—that same fire lit his eyes that’s burning in yours. He holds your cheeks in his hands, desperate to kiss him again.

“Should we-”

”We should,” you hum.

“Do that again. Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” you giggle. Rafe guides you off the stool, pulling closer, the two of you stumbling slightly, giggling before your lips find each other again.

“We’re kinda drunk,” he whispers against your mouth.

“Is that okay?” You breathe, just hoping he’ll say ‘yes.’

“It’s okay with me. Is it okay with you, princess?” He asks.

“It’s okay-” You pant as your lips crash into his, warm and messy. You let out a soft moan against his lips, hands scratching into the hair at the nape of his neck as his hands roam your body. His grip on you is firm—yet another assurance that he wants you just as bad.

The world spins around you, your head fuzzy from the drinks and your perfect kiss. You break away just enough to grab his hand, tugging him toward the hallway. "Where are we-" Rafe starts, but you cut him short with another kiss, this one hungrier, more insistent.

"The bathroom," you whisper against his lips, feeling him smile again. Rafe draws back, looking both ways before opening the door. The two of you kiss your way inside, pushing back into the first open stall.

Rafe grabs your hips in his big hands, pulling you into him. You can feel his semi-hard cock pressed against his jeans, getting stiffer every second. You let out a breathy sigh against his soft, sweet mouth, Rafe taking the opportunity to slide his tongue inside as his lips move against yours.

He rolls his back against the bathroom wall, making you gasp as his thigh splits your legs. He leans back slightly, guiding you closer, leading you to grind your aching clit on his upper thigh. Rafe smiles against your lips as you take his wordless direction. He moves his hands from his lips to your ass, squeezing as you rock with the tempo of your kiss.

You gasp as you feel his cool hands rest against your tummy, your little breath turning into a deep, needy moan as he cups your laced-covered breasts in his rough hands.

You continue to grind as his lips press roughly against your neck, sucking with a bruising strength as you feel a warmth spread through you, little pangs of pleasure spurring from between your thighs.

You draw back slightly, biting your lip as you ride his leg. Rafe stares back at you, the look in his eyes painting a filthy picture of the two of you doing so much more. Thinking about you riding him just like this, your warm, wet cunt hugging him tight.

You can feel yourself soaking through your panties with each swivel of your hips. You grab his beautiful face, pulling him in for another kiss, hungry for more. “Rafe,” you whisper needily, your name leaving his lips so sweetly, making him moan into your kiss.

“Yeah, pretty?” He rasps, this voice sweet and thick like honey.

“Can I?” You ask shyly, but honestly, it’s why you brought him in here in the first place, desperately wanting your lips wrapped around him and maybe more…

“Can you what, princess?” He drawls before taking your bottom lip between his teeth, biting and tugging, making chills fall down your spine.

“Can I suck your cock?” You ask gently, feeling Rafe let out a breathy laugh like he can’t believe those words are leaving your sweet lips.

“You sure, baby?” He asks as he reaches his hand down, already working on his button.

You move down to your knees, looking at him through your lashes. “M’sure,” you smile. “Very, very sure.”

You grope his clothed cock with one hand, drawing his zipper down with the other before lowering his pants just enough, looking at his dick tented under the cotton, a wet stain of precum gathered on it. You wrap your lips around his tip, wetting Rafe’s boxers, making his breath catch in his muscular chest.

You suck the taste off, quickly pulling down his boxers too. Your eyelashes flutter as you take him in, his tip still weeping precum, long and thick… You release a desperate moan, thinking about what his length would feel like pushing in and out of your wet cunt, wondering if you could take him all.

You stroke him slowly, watching his eyes fall shut, head falling back on the metal partition. Your heart sinks a little, seeing his head sticking out over the top of the stall about four inches; those concerns quickly wave away as you hear a deep groan leave his lips.

Rafe looks down at you again as you hold his throbbing dick in your hand, running your tongue along his length before teasing the tip. Your hand drifts under his t-shirt, fingers working up his cut abs, feeling the little divots under your fingers deepening with each sharp breath he takes.

“Shit,” he pants as you bind your lips around him fully. Rafe wraps his hand around the top of the bathroom door, squeezing tightly as you take him to the back of your throat, bobbing again and again.

Rafe’s head falls back, knocking against the wall, making his eyes double at the loud sound; the man quickly shushing you with a finger up to his pretty lips and a playful smile like you had anything to do with that noise.

You wrap your lips around his tip, sucking, causing him to buck his toned hips, pitching his long cock in your throat. You lift your hand, slipping it through the slight space between his body and jeans, cupping his heavy balls in your hands.

"Fuck, princess," he groans, "I’m gonna cum.” You take your cue, gagging on him, salvia and precum drooling out of the sides of your lips. He bites his lips, stiffening deep moan.

You rest your hands on his thighs— Rafe’s muscles quivering underneath your palms. He cups the back of your head in his hands, tugging you as close as he can get as he cums deep in your throat.

His breath shudders as you draw out the last bits of his pleasure, swallowing it all as he looks down at you in a drunken, lust-ridden daze. Rafe pushes out a sharp breath as you pull off his cock nice and slow, cleaning off your lips with the back of your hand as he helps you off the floor, leading you back to him. You pant into your kiss, your deep breathing competing with his. “That was so fucking good,” he mumbles.

“Mmm… Glad I could make you feel good,” you whisper as you tug up his boxers, trapping his hard cock in the band of it, not wanting to pressure him into more, given you were the one that pulled him in here in the first place. “Should we head out?” You ask, between soft kisses.

“I don’t wanna,” he mumbles. “Do you?”

You giggle against his lips, moving a little closer. “No… I just don’t wanna pressure-“

“Pressure me?” He asks in disbelief, stopping you before you can finish the thought as his big hands cup your cheeks, pulling you into an even deeper kiss. “You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

“I don’t know,” you giggle lightly.

“You can use me however you’d like, princess,” he whispers. “Told you… It’s my lucky night. I’m feelin’ lucky. I’m gettin’ lucky. This is the best night I’ve had in a very long time,” he mumbles the last three words between tender kisses. ”Let me taste you, sweetheart.”

”Yeah?” You ask softly.

“Fuck, yeah…” He hums as he fingers the button of your jeans. “Let me get you good and wet first, hmm?” He asks as he rolls you against the wall.

Rafe tugs at your pants just like you did, making you gasp, pulling them down just enough to get at your panties. He slips his big fingers into the waist pant, spreading your legs slightly, making you whimper as he runs two big digits through your slick folds.

“Shit, pretty. Fuckin’ soaked f’me already,” he hums against your lips. “Bet you’d feel so good wrapped around my cock.” He pushes his fingers inside you, making you reach for a breath; Rafe curls them, drawing out a moan from your pillowy lips.

“I want that so bad,” you pant as you stare into his sin-darkened eyes as he starts to work even quicker, broad palm smacking against your puffy clit repeatedly, making it that much harder to hold back your sounds of pleasure.

“You want my dick, princess?”

“Mhmm…” You hum needily.

“Think you can wait?” Rafe teases as he twists his hand, making a moan rip from your throat that has you both looking at each other in shock, fighting back a laugh that quickly turns into another whine as his rough thumb circles on top of your clit.

You bite down on your bottom lip, tossing your head back, and just when you think it can get any better, he moves to his knees, flicking his tongue across your clit, making your muscles jump as his fingers continue to dart in and out. Rafe chuckles against your clit, the warmth of his voice making you whimper, toes curling, fingers twisting in his hair.

“Just like that, Rafe… Don’t stop,” you plead as you feel yourself about to lose control completely.

“Cum for me, princess,” he hums against your sex, the vibrations sending you over the edge, leaving your body fluttering around his big fingers, muscles trembling uncontrollably. He doesn’t stop until your body relaxes fully, you fighting for a breath as you slump against the bathroom wall.

“Holy shit,” he practically moans as he rises to his feet again, his handsome face flushed, chin glistening with your arousal. You pull Rafe to your lips, tasting the two of you together, your body feeling like it could float away.

Rafe pushes you into the wall, his cock hard just like it was before—his want for you practically oozing off his skin. “So, should we get out of here?” He teases you with your own words, chuckling against your lips as you giggle against his; Rafe has no intention of leaving unless that’s what you want. You have no intention of leaving either as you tug at his jeans and boxers again. “Need you so fucking bad,” Rafe mutters as he turns you around, grabbing your wrists, guiding your hands on the wall in front of you as you push your ass onto his hard cock.

Rafe’s hands drift underneath your hockey jersey, lifting it slightly as you bend over. “Gonna get you one of my older jerseys when we get home, aight?” He hums, smacking your ass with his big hand.

“You’re takin’ me home?” You ask sweetly.

“Yeah, baby… ‘Course I am,” he drawls as he leans in, pressing his chest against your back, pushing a gentle kiss on your lips as he traces his fat tip through your slit, bumping your clit, making you gasp.

“We doin’ condoms or what, princess?” Rafe questions as he bullies your hole, bottom lip tucking between his teeth, teasing himself with your warm, wet pussy praying you’ll say ‘no.’

“Boyfriend privileges,” you giggle as you look over your shoulder and smile, giving him a little wink.

“Fuck, I love the sound of that, baby-”

You draw in a sharp breath against as Rafe thrusts into you slowly, his fat tip filling you before he presses in inch by inch, finally bottoming you out. His hands rub along your lower back, letting you adjust to his size; your cunt pulling him in just like he imagined, leaving him tossing his head back to the ceiling.

Rafe grabs your hips, grunting about how tight you are as he pulls out to the tip, shoving himself back inside, making you reach behind your back, wrapping your trembling hand around his wrist to steady yourself and keep from crying out.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the bathroom, but you couldn't care less. And neither does Rafe, slapping your ass again, making your pussy tighten around his fat cock as he ruts into you quicker and harder.

“Holy shit,” you whimper, your bottom lip quivering in overstimulation.

“Mpfhh…” He grunts, pounding into your soaked center again and again. “So good, princess… Taking me so fuckin’ good. You gonna cum? Fuckin’ cum for me,” he begs as he pulls you back fast, pistoning his hips, fucking you on his dick as your fingers spiral on your clit.

“Oh—Oh, fuck. Rafe,” you squeal as you cum around his cock. Rafe’s jaw tightens, using his last bit of power to fuck you through your orgasm, and the second he pulls out, you gasp, feeling his climax land hot on your lower back. His cum pools in the dip of your spine, rolling down your warm skin.

Rafe clutches your hips in his hands, taking a deep breath as his throbbing dick resting on your ass. The two of you panting and groaning, coming down from your highs together.

He cleans you off, helping you back into your clothes between soft kisses and sweet nothings. Rafe looks at your sweater, scrubbing off a little bit of cum caught on the fabric, making a joke about how he’s technically on the back of your jersey now, making the two of you laugh way too hard.

Rafe’s hand is warm in yours; his firm yet gentle grip guides you through the packed bar. Laughter and music swell around you, but all you can focus on is Rafe’s touch and his thumb gently brushing against your hand.

The two of you step up to the bar at the same spot where you started your night, standing side-by-side with your knight in shining armor. You glance up at him and smile as he orders you two drinks before closing your tab.

Rafe kiss-swollen lips curl into a small smile as he feels the heat of your gaze out of the corner of his eye. He grabs the check off her hands, scribbling a tip and a total. Rafe sets it down and moves a little closer, stepping chest to chest with you; your back backed up against the bar. His hair is messy from your bathroom romp; slightly mussed, a soft purple mark forming on his neck from your lips, a particularly rough kiss.

Rafe grabs your hand, flipping it over, pen hovering over your palm. You watch as he works: his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth, his chicken scratch handwriting tattooing your skin, but the words stop your heart.

Tomorrow night 7 pm Luna Rosa I like you a lot -RC

You blink, rereading it like your brain is playing tricks on you. But then he looks at you—those intense, drunken eyes locked onto yours—and kisses the back of your hand.

“I mean it, princess,” he mumbles softly. “In case you had any doubts.”

You rise on your tippy toes, kissing his cheek again like you did earlier in the night before tucking yourself in his neck. “I really like you too, Rafe,” you whisper.

When you pull away this time, he’s not just stunned silent; he’s ready. Rafe cups your cheeks in his hands again, kissing you deeply, pulling you into his arms, and there is absolutely no doubts. ♥️

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bluebellhairpin · 6 months ago

Text

Cregan Stark X Wife!Reader

Summary: Preparation to leave to Castle Black for the winter months is well under way, and you're reluctant to be left alone in Winterfell. Cregan, having had the same worry, provides what could be a solution. A solution with a name. And fur. (wc. 2.3k>)

Warnings: Reader has she/her pronouns + fem bodied. Pregnancy. Assassination attempt. Unnamed character death. Blood + gore. Cregan wants to be a girl dad. Unedited (lol).

Listening to: 'Wolf at Your Door' by Chole x Halle - "When you're laying in your bed at night, when the air's just a little too quiet, better hope that you're saying your prayers."

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Ko-Fi || AO3 link

Winterfell was a somber place when the cold rolled down from the north.

Although only ten men were sent to the wall every winter, everyone left behind knew someone who was sent away. No matter how short of a life you lived, you also always knew someone who died there. Indeed, life on the wall was as harsh as the force it existence kept at bay.

For you though, the man you lost always returned. The last three winters had you spend upwards of three months without your husband - and in turn rising to take his place as custodian of Winterfell. No matter how busy the role kept you, it never helped you miss Cregan Stark any less.

With winter approaching once more, each moment with him seemed to not be enough. Yes, the Wall was dangerous, and even Cregan was never guaranteed to return, but this year there was something else that willed you to want him to stay. Something else that made him want to stay too.

“Each day my resolve seems to crack,” he told you one night, fire cracked in its hearth as you both lay under blankets of fur. His hand rested protectively over your belly. “Already now I can see our babe grow, and I know I’ll not only be missing you but her too.”

“‘Her’?” you hummed, head turning to nose his cheek. “Such a confident tone, my lord.”

“I am confident.” he replied, turning to press a soft kiss to your lips as his hand idlily rubbed along your stomach.

“And if you needed an heir at the end of this cold winter, what then?”

“If my lady wife deems me worthy, we might try for one again.” he said, sedating what could’ve been the start of your mood change with words almost too sweet to be coming from the frosty king in the north. “But that is something we can decide once all three of us are safe together when summer rises.”

Cregan’s soft words and warm breath on your cheeks made your mind wandered to a time not so far away where you wouldn’t have his heat so close. A time when his comfort was going to be gone.

“I’m going to miss you.” you said, turning into his hold more, and he let you snuggle into his chest. “This time will feel longer than all the others.”

“I doubt that will be the case for you.” he said, lips moving from their place pressed into your hair. “Winterfell will keep you busy, between that and resting for the babe’s sake, you won’t have time on your hands for much else.”

“I may not want to rest.”

“You will. The Lord of Winterfell commands it.”

“The Lord of Winterfell won’t be here, he cannot have a for sure say in what I do or do not do.” You felt him smile into your hair, and you pulled away with a twitch of your own mouth. “What?”

He pulled away a little too, shyly smiling down at where you still laid. He was acting far too coy to be considered normal.

“I might not be leaving you completely alone.”

“... Cregan.” you started, sitting up on our elbow.

“I was going to show you on the morrow, but since you’ve forced my hand -”

“-I? Forcing your hand?”

“- Since you forced my hand,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he slipped out from the bedcovers, “I will be right back.”

“What…” You tried, but your voice tempered out as he swiftly made his way from your bedchambers.

Sighing, you sat back in your pillows, arms folded, and refraining from pouting. It wasn’t long into your settled position of guessing what in the seven kingdoms your husband was doing before he was back.

Cregan had clearly gone outside, snow settled on the top of his hair and along the shoulders of the fur cloak he snatched before leaving. In his arms was something squirming. You frowned, eyeing the movement under the cloak as he strode over.

“What is that?” you asked.

“A protector for the Lady of Winterfell, as per the orders of her lord husband.” Cregan said, and let the squirming mass break free from his hold onto the bed.

It was a… pup? No not possible, it was too big. From how it acted it was a few months surely, but it was just so big. Then you thought some more. Could it really be?

“A direwolf?”

“Not any direwolf. Yours.” Cregan said, rounding the bed and settling back at your side. “A protector to be at your side when I cannot. I’ve been training him and he follows commands well already. By the time I leave he should be grown to the size of any regular dog - then at least twice that when I return.”

While he spoke, the pup sniffed around your bed covers, curiously wandering on unsteady feet. You had to admit, he looked gorgeous, all black fur, with green eyes, and you didn’t doubt he would grow to be a fierce thing. But sometimes that wasn’t always good.

“Cregan, are you sure about this?” you asked. “It’s… he’s a direwolf, not a dog.”

“I’m sure,” he said, lending his arm out. The pup stepped closer, licking Cregan’s fingers and settling on its belly with its nose on Cregan’s knee. “They’re our house symbol. The direwolf are as Stark as I am, they know who we are, and they can be as loyal as they are fierce. That’s why I wanted to introduce you before I left. He’s going to be yours, loyal to you.”

His arm wrapped around your shoulder, and like second nature you made yourself comfortable by his side. The pup shifted too, now his nose was itching closer to you, wanting to know who this new person was.

“I supposed you ought to tell me what I'm going to be calling him then.”

“You can call him anything you like,” Cregan said, “But I’ve been calling him Striker.”

Five months passed, and Cregan was right. You were never without anything to do.

The babe growing inside you made mornings rough, and you often weren’t seen before noon, especially in the earlier months. The rest of your day was spent catching up on what you’d missed while resting, and then catching up on what you missed while catching up. Then the evenings were spent with Striker.

He had grown on you, just as he had grown physically. Cregan was still able to lift the wolf when he left, but now you doubted it. He was already well on his way to rivalling a regular wolf in size. Despite how intimidating that might’ve been, you couldn’t be more fond of Striker even if you tried.

Your belly swelled, and with it so did the direwolf’s protectiveness. Your handmaids were tolerated, your guards struggled to be in the same room, and when the maesters dared tough you Striker had to be sent out of the room. Walks around Winterfell were soon out of the question, at least if you were to bring the direwolf along, since he took to growling at everyone who stood too close.

Cregan really picked well, Striker surely was serving his purpose, and soon he earned his namesake.

Word came from Castle Black that Cregan was going to return, that the Winter had been fended off once more. That brought joy foremost to you, but really all in Winterfell knew what that meant, even if Westeros didn’t. It was cause for celebration when they returned.

It also gave a false sense of security. Winter was gone, and so was the evil - but evil didn’t just come from the north. It could come from anywhere.

You’d settled into bed for the night, Striker laid beside you, head facing towards the door, and your hand rested on his flank as you looked over one last paper. He growled, and you petted his fur, silently reassuring him that it was just a guard passing outside - but then his head lifted, and turned toward your window. His sudden, still alertness put you on edge.

He’d been hostile before, but this was aggressive.

Candle flames flickered, Striker’s fur stood on end beneath your palm, the latch on your window clicked open, creaked open, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. A cloaked figure slipped into your room, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to cry for help - nor to remember anything Cregan had taught you. But you didn’t have to.

The figure, a man, unsheathed a knife, and with the glint of steel in the candlelight Striker struck. He surged off the bed with a vicious bark and bit into the man’s arm, snarling all the while and all but went to tearing the man to shreds.

The commotion had people coming in through the door, and the sight had you still rendered motionless and speechless.

The man’s cloak was torn away, and by now he was pinned to the floor, blood pooling on the stone as he fruitlessly tried to get Striker off him. You barely registered your guard, Gunther, asking you what was happening.

“He came in the window. He had a knife.” was all you could say. You could guess he was saying things to calm you down as he pried your fingers off your bedsheets that covered your swollen belly - he was probably trying to get you out of the room so you didn’t see the mess. It was too late for that. The man was a whimpering, bloodied mess on the floor by now, and no one had yet been brave enough to pry Striker’s jaw off his shoulder.

Gunther had an arm around you with your hand in his, guiding you away. Others attempted to move closer, either to help the man or take him away - but Striker was still growling.

“Striker, here.” you called, just finding your voice enough for it to carry over the commotion. The direwolf looked up, and seeing you being led away, he relented, fitting into your side with ease.

The three of you walked away. Now you were away from the scene you could think again and guess you were going down the hall to another room, one you decided you’d stay in until Cregan returned.

You looked down at Striker, threading your fingers though the fur at his neck.

“Good boy.” you said, stroking between his ears.

“He sure is, my lady.” Gunther said, “Who knows what could’ve happened if he didn’t act so fast.”

You smiled a little at that, at how right Cregan was in leaving the direwolf for you. He was meant to be company, a protector second - but tonight he proved to be as good, as loyal as any of your guards. He proved to be the real sigil of House Stark - just as Cregan told you he was.

You reached the door of your new room, and as your hand lifted off Striker’s back you noticed it chill with the cold night air. Turning your palm over, you saw red - and Striker’s nose made home in your fingers, licking away every drop as if it wasn’t ever there to begin with.

A week later, Cregan returned.

You had been in a foul mood for the past three days, since the maester had put you on strict bed rest because of the babe. Therefore you had been deemed unfit to greet your husband at the gate as he finally came home. In your defense, it definitely seemed like a good reason to be sour.

So you waited, sat on a chaise, with Striker’s head in your lap pressed to your stomach.

You could hear a commotion outsider, which only made your face scrunch in annoyance - not just at missing out but also at the pity looked you knew your handmaiden would be giving you. She offered to go fetch Cregan, and you nodded her leave with a wave of your hand.

“He will be here soon.” you said, cradling Striker’s muzzle in your palms.

“Indeed he will.” Cregan said.

“Oh, Lord Stark!” your handmaid said, startled. Your head turned, and you saw him standing in the doorway.

“Cregan!” you said, grin covering your face - and even after such a long time away, Striker seemed to recognize him, for he didn’t growl, and his tail started thumping against the rug.

“My love,” he said, shedding his great sword carelessly, and sunk to the floor beside where you sat. You heard your handmaid mumble a goodbye before stepping out and closing the door behind you. “Are you alright?”

“I couldn’t be better now.” you replied, feeling tears welling in your eyes as you took in your husband's face for the first time in months. He looked tired, older, but as you took his face in your hands his cheeks felt exactly the same as they were when he left. “I missed you so much.”

“I heard about what happened the other night. I -” he said, mouth hanging open in what could’ve been shock, in his eyes there could’ve been anger. Vengeance would do nothing now, the man was dead, he bled out before anyone could decide to give him mercy - undeserved or otherwise. But as Cregan leant forward to hold you into his arms, his warmth felt like nothing else except fear. “I can’t believe I could’ve lost you.”

“You didn’t.” you said, taking an arm away from being wrapped around his shoulders to pull his face away from your chest. “You provided the means for me to stay safe long before you left. Striker was better than any guard. He was fearless when I was frozen. I owe him my life, all because of you.”

Cregan’s face turned soft, and he smiled at you. He leant forward and kissed you. For the first time in too long, his lips move against yours. You felt his jaw move beneath your palm as his fingers grazed your neck and held onto your hip. When he pulled away, he kept your head cradled close to his.

“I love you.” he said.

“I love you too.” you replied, and he smiled, pressing another kiss to your lips, then your cheek.

“Now tell me all about how my little girl is growing.”

#cregan stark x female reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #hotd x reader #hotd x you

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sttoru · 1 year ago

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‘your lover may not be the best in showing his affection for you, but when he does try, it’s always in the ways you least expect.’

☀︎｜tags. toji fushiguro x female reader. fluff, slight angst, suggestive. subtly implied age gap (reader early 20’s, toji early 30’s). size difference. mentions of hickeys. reader gets called ‘princess / little girl.’ based on an anon request.

“am home.” toji announces under his breath after locking the front door. he kicks his shoes off and makes a beeline towards your shared bedroom. as expected, you were there, body wrapped in a thick blanket to protect it from the recently cold temperatures.

you smile and toji’s fatigue becomes nonexistent. it was like he hadn’t just fought for his life for almost two hours straight — making money to quite literally survive. and to provide for you in the best way he could.

“ah, hi, babe! welcome hom—” your sentence was cut short by a heavy weight settling down atop your chest. toji’s body presses you back into the mattress, big hands instantly searching for their desired destination; that being your waist.

his warm breath - the heavy sigh that carried his worries - instantly softens the look in your eyes. it was this vulnerable side of your lover that you adored most. it wasn’t a sight you got to see often after all.

toji wordlessly attaches his lips to your exposed neck as he withdraws the blanket from your body. even though he has yet to utter a single word to you, his actions told you all, “missed you, toji.”

he mumbles something incoherent in response which you could guess were words of acknowledgement. you were ticklish, your skin tingling with every peck left by the dark-haired man whom you loved dearly.

“were ya waitin’ for me?” toji’s voice was muffled, his mouth busy kissing and sucking your skin. his rough fingers move under your clothes and run up to your shoulders—freeing them from the straps of your top.

you tilt your head to the right so he could gain more access to your skin. you didn’t protest nor said anything about toji’s sudden display of affection. you rub his back and allow a hum of satisfaction to escape your throat, “mhm. was waiting for you all night.”

your voice sounds like a soothing lullaby to the older man. a heavy breath leaves his lips and his sloppy kisses on your neck and shoulder blades abruptly come to a halt.

toji rests his head in the crook of your neck. the pad of his thumb travels up and down the marks he had left—his saliva subtly glistening under the light from the bedside lamp.

��tsk. i told ya not to stay up f’me, princess.” your lover grumbles with his tired eyes half-closed, fingers not stopping their rubbing motion, “but i guess there’s no point in tellin’ you that right now.”

toji still can’t understand why you go to great lengths to show your love for him. he’s a cold hearted assassin, a man whom is feared by many including his own clan and yet you love him unconditionally.

despite it all — he still appreciates the fact that you stay up to welcome him home. even if he may not directly show that said appreciation.

“‘i told ya not to stay up for me,’” you teasingly mimic toji’s deep voice and can only laugh at your own antics afterwards. however, a sudden pinch to your side makes you squirm and yelp. it didn’t stop there; toji took the opportunity whilst you were caged underneath him to remind you of who’s boss.

soon enough your high pitched squealing and broken giggles is all the noise that fills the room.

“whadd’ya say there, little girl?” toji grunts as he blocks your futile attempts to escape. he could see the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, your body writhing around the best it could and your little hands trying desperately to push him away.

you shake your head and continuously apologise between loud giggles, vision blurry from the tears of joy. there’s a triumphant smirk on toji’s face once he notices how quickly you gave up your act of confidence, “heh, that’s what i thought.”

one of his hands gathers both of your wrists and effortlessly pins them above your head. with a grin, your lover kisses his way down to your neck again — this time being more passionate.

you take the chance to calm yourself down, chest still heaving with each breath. a pout forms on your lips, but was swiftly replaced by a content smile due to the giddy feeling in your chest.

it’s playful moments like these that remind you of the many reasons why you’ve fallen in love with a man like toji. to others, he might be nothing but a monster—a ruthless and cruel individual—but to you, he’s everything you need and vice versa.

toji’s lips were soft, yet lightly rough to the touch. they’re chapped from the cold temperature he had to withstand when he was outside. you felt bad; you had been laying in bed all night, wrapped up in multiple blankets whilst your lover was quietly suffering.

you know that if you tell toji your current worries, he’ll brush it off with a simple ‘tha’s just how it is’ or a ‘don’t worry ‘bout stuff like that’. still, you cannot help but be concerned about the way he easily disregards his own health.

“toji,” you call out his name as his kisses reach the curve of your breasts. the older man lifts his head in response, eyebrows slightly raised at the sound of his name leaving your lips.

you push down the lump in your throat. your warm hands cup his face and you could feel his stubble prickling your palms. you lower your gaze to the rest of his body — finally getting a good look at his worn out physique.

there were faint droplets of blood hidden right under the collar of his shirt. ones toji probably forgot to wipe away after his mission. his black shirt clings to his torso, the dark spots of sweat subtly evident and the small tears in the fabric proof of his hard work.

you could care less about the fact that toji hadn’t taken a shower before cuddling with you. the first thing he did when stepping into the apartment, was to search for you. that alone told you enough: he needed the comfort your presence brings him — he just didn’t know how to convey that message.

“kiss me.” you whisper and your lover immediately complies with zero hesitation; that’s exactly what he had waited for you to say. his lips crash down onto yours, his large hands hold you by your waist and his tongue brushes against yours like it was the first and last time you’d kiss.

toji’s breath hitches the moment he feels you tenderly scratch his arms with your nails. you always do that to calm his nerves after a stressful day—grazing the tips of your nails back and forth against his bare skin. and it works wonders each time.

“fuck,” the dark-haired man curses in a low tone. his grip tightens on your body and his lips detach from yours. you notice the look in his eyes once he opens them; the look of pure love for you, “i missed you so much — so fuckin’ much.”

you softly giggle at his passionate words and steal another kiss from him before settling back against the pillows. your hands travel upwards to play with his damp hair whilst your legs wrap around his waist.

toji gladly accepts your affection and settles down on top of your body again, careful not to completely crush you with his weight. his face was buried between your breasts, taking in the familiar scent of you which calms him down even more.

“i’m glad you’re back home.” you whisper lovingly whilst continuing to massage his scalp. your tired lover answers with a curt nod and a sigh — this time one of content instead of exhaustion.

“yeah, home.” toji wasn’t referring to your shared apartment. he was referring to you; his forever home. there was an overwhelming amount of love in his heart for you and only you.

if only he could properly express those feelings to you. if only he could express himself.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #toji x you #toji fluff #jjk x y/n #toji x y/n #female reader

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samara444 · 8 months ago

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how much longer will you delay the life you deserve to live?

do you understand, theres a version of you RIGHT NOW whose sitting with your s/o all cuddled up, falling asleep in their arms, feeling safe and loved….while you are here fucking complaining??? theres a version of you right NOWW, whose getting princess treatment, everyone is falling in love with them, they feel so confident and happy in their body, so in love with their life, and you would rather be here WAITING and TRYING?? instead of HAVING MF??

theres literally a reality where YOU, not anyone else, but YOU. YOUR consciousness. whose out their enjoying every single thing that they wanted to have for years. they are sitting in their dream city, all relaxed and satisfied and happy, with a huge smile on their face, love and relief in their heart, looking around and wondering….damn i really made it didnt i, while you are out here looking around and wondering why it isnt here yet???

EVERYTHING WILL CHANGE ONCE YOUU DO. you need to stop fucking delaying your dream life. how much more do you want to wait? how many more techniques do you want to do? when are you going to have it man? because it can be next month, or in an year, or 5 years, or a decade. you can wait your whole life for it goddamnit….orrr…you can have it NOW. right now.

cut the bullshit man, but honestly who tf enjoys waiting? its iterally like that kendrick lyric im obsessed with rn "why you trolling like a bitch aint you tired" literally, ARENT YOU TIRED?? because i am. i amm fucking tired of continuing the same cycle of victimisation and limiting myself. its so much easier to just let go. let go of all these steps to do and techniques to try and time to wait on.

just CHOOSE. to have it. right now. what more can i say which already hasnt been mentioned here before? we have all read this before. we all know this man, so why tf arent we APPLYING?? so let me repeat myself one last time….how much more do you want to delay your dream life? its your choice. now or never.

-love, sam <3

#reality shifting #law of assumption #shifting #shifting realities #desired reality #reality shift #shiftblr #law of attraction #law of manifestation #master manifestor #manifesting #manifestation #31/05/24

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mrs-weasley-reid · 9 months ago

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TEN'S A GOOD NUMBER

Aaron Hotchner x psychiatrist!reader

Sypnosis: After Aaron's traumatizing encounter with Peter Lewis, he's sent to you, but who knew a profiler is the worst patient you'll ever have? Warning: enemies to lovers— ish(?) angst. a dash of fluff. light mentions of death and trauma. a few curses. went ballistic— it's lengthy, so pace yourself. A/N: loosely follows Mr. Scratch timeline for three seasons.

Monday, May 4, 8:34 AM

Aaron Hotchner sits across from you.

He studies you in every detail like he's about to take an exam, and you're the topic.

The weight of your scribbles—light, almost featherlike. Ink leaves a soft trail of words, a map of your thoughts, your perception of him.

The speed of your hand. Swift and elegant. Each movement portrays a scene in a movie. As if they're telling a quiet story, your story he is yet to unravel.

The way you deprive him of eye contact.

What are you hiding?

Why can't you look him in the eye?

The occasional nod to remind him that you're listening—not like anything's coming out from his end.

In conclusion, just about everything you do, really.

To Aaron, you're a cheat sheet. His way back to the field, to work—the part of his life that cannot be halted despite the need for a break.

"Your hand is heavier," Aaron vaguely goads.

You silently stare at him, waiting for the rest of his thoughts to spill out of his mouth.

"Usually, you write like you're afraid to puncture the paper, but just right now, your strikes are deeper. Your grip on your pen is also tighter. Am I annoying you?"

Creative.

You think to yourself as he rakes his eyes down the canvas of your face, blank and land of nothing but mirroring eyes.

Although you prefer Aaron's comment about your new lipstick and how it makes your skin glow—something about your prospect of finding a lover—fifteen minutes into your session. You didn't peg him as a man who knows his lipstick shades, but you stand corrected as he says coral with the utmost confidence for a man who wears his tie like a choker.

Aaron does it all the time. Every five minutes, he says one thing he's noticed about you and then proceeds to zip his mouth, denying you details about him like you're some hired criminal paid to torture the King's hidden fortune out of him.

And as per your entertainment, you'd do something out of your character to throw him off. If you can laugh at his gullibility, you would.

His goal is to intimidate you. Pressure you. Make you tick like every other serial killer he's encountered. Because he'd really rather be across an unsub than you. Aaron would rather be the one to ask questions and not you. In his eyes, you're no better than a small-town detective ignorantly interrogating a serial killer for a cheap gas station robbery, unaware of the skeletons in his closet.

At this moment, Aaron ponders why he agreed to meet with you once a week only to sit in almost absolute silence for about an hour, then go about his day like he hadn't just wasted minutes of his—and your—life.

It's always the same.

He arrives, flaunts his profiling skills for an accumulated total of twelve minutes, and then sits across you like a rock for the remaining forty minutes.

Aaron could've talked more, but...

He despises you.

Well, not you, per se. He despises the profession, and you just happen to choose it as your career. Nonetheless, Aaron generalizes and includes you on his list.

He finds it unnecessary and a waste of one's valuable time. Presenting a series of well-thought-out facts that he's sure Spencer Reid will enjoy. A list of reasons why talking to a psychiatrist isn't as helpful as people perceive it to be.

Aaron spits the words 'family' and 'friends' for the sake of ease and comfort as if he doesn't flinch at the words 'your father' and his face hasn't been frozen into a permanent stern. Because why talk to someone who doesn't know you when there are people who know you best? He lies through his teeth. He lies to himself.

Then, there's you.

You don't know him enough to trust his lies.

"Profiling me won't get you cleared," you state out of the blue. "This is our seventh session, and you haven't said anything." You add, finally lifting your gaze.

Aaron feels taken aback. He'd never encountered a shrink with such pride at their job—they managed to infuriate him. You infuriate him.

Now that you've granted him the wish—your eyes meeting his—it's having an effect on him instead. One that he wishes he didn't feel creep under his skin, stimulating the anxiety he's worked hard to ignore.

Still, Aaron squares his shoulder, "Nothing is wrong with me," He claims like he's not feeling the pit of his stomach churn with every word. "I'm only here for the formalities." He says.

"Ahh," You deadpan, pulling your eyes down on your clipboard. Hushed scribbles echo in the room. "Is that what you told, Dr. Briar? Or Dr. McCormick? Stiles doesn't seem to remember you at all—"

"They deemed me fit to go back to work, which you don't seem to realize." Aaron cuts you off. He doesn't notice the slight lilt of his voice. How a vein peeked on his forehead as he furrows his brows.

You have an effect on him, and Aaron's in strong denial.

"How?" You lean a bit, propping against your lap. It's the first time he's ever let himself tear out of his 'I don't break' shell. You consider it a crumb of a breakthrough and a laughable stain on your pride.

Challenging his stability—you raise your brows—makes him tick.

A faux frown draws on your face—patronizing, "Did you play a staring contest, and they lost against you?" You notice the little twitch of his eye masked as a blink.

It's a little unprofessional to provoke your patient, but you do, anyway.

This one's been particularly adamant about manipulating you into permitting him back to work like you were born yesterday. You think it hilarious how smug he's been for the past six sessions. It is as if you didn't spend almost half of your life devoted to the study of behavior. Like you hadn't figured out his plans from the get-go.

Profilers. They catch a criminal out of idea of sorts, and they think they can read everyone. It makes you want to laugh while pointing at him.

Aaron stares at you with his usual stoic expression, intimidating eyes filled with unforeseen horrors, and a straight mouth that's no use in your four walls.

He decides then that he hates you with a passion.

You feel a vibration on your wrist, "Would you look at that? Your time's up, Hotchner." You withdraw, straightening your back as you scribble yet another word Aaron is curious to know.

If he only knew you're not really writing anything new about the nature of his mental state or anything legible at all, you imagine Aaron exploding like a stack of case files blown by harsh wind.

But can he blame you when he's given you nothing to write?

"Agent Hotchner," He corrects with gritted teeth. Aaron's jaw clenches as he pierces his gaze through you. His hands intertwined with each other as if he's preventing himself from clawing at you.

You smile at him, "In this room, you're just Aaron Hotchner. A patient. A case." You know the specific word will piss him off, much less the motherly tone you paired it with.

A tactic. Unlike him, you don't need a team of agents to get a rise out of a culprit. The bare idea of you, a stranger who has access to his life on a piece of paper, is enough a stimuli to get an individual aiming at your neck.

"So, between you and me, I think you should start talking if you ever want to fly to wherever city your team wanders in. The longer you take, the less progress we make, and the less progress you make, the more possible that the bureau will assign a new psychiatrist for you." You say nonchalantly, letting his anger lead him right into your trap.

The words float like small fire specks of dust, both dazzling and dangerous to the eyes. Getting assigned to a new psychiatrist is like getting an easy case directly handed to Aaron. However, it also means he'll have to restart his psych evaluation process, and he knows firsthand how time-consuming that is.

"But, then again, who knows? Maybe the next fella will let you slide like the others did. Or you'll have to attend a series of sessions again for a lengthy psych evaluation. I've got friends too, you know? They might do me a favor and make your life more… difficult." You're bluffing. In no way, shape, or form will you jeopardize his health, even if Aaron's the most stubborn patient you have ever met in your lifetime.

His nose flares as he stands up. You know that he's done and murdered you in his mind at the way he's glaring at you with invisible daggers, but you play it well and act blameless.

Aaron marches out of your office with blazing hatred. You watch as he dulls every vicinity he's stepped into like death taking a stroll. A part of you is apologetic to his colleagues. They'll be having one hell of a day.

Retreating back inside your office, you plop on your chair behind your desk as a heavy sigh escapes your lips.

You stare at Aaron Hotchner's patient chart.

"What am I going to do with you?" You ask rhetorically in the air.

Aaron Hotchner is—for you at least—a special case. A case so intricate you had to be careful how you'd tread the water, wary of its fragile ripples.

When Aaron's chart landed on your desk, you immediately knew that he'd be toilsome. He'd make it his goal to skip the talk and jump back onto another case. The same routine he did with his old therapists and psychologist, anyone that was able to write a note and say he's fine when he's really not—never have been for a long time.

You already had enough patients on your plate, but you just couldn't say no to your favorite Italian patient; you only had one. You're the best bureau-mandated psychiatrist. His words, not yours.

Then, again, you never fail to mentally brag about how easily you read Aaron just from his chart, his image, and the first step he took to get inside your office. You read him like an open toddler's book, a piece of cake.

During the first session, you learn how badly Aaron's last case had affected him. The intonation of his voice. The way he'd shake his hand, your hand. His scorn. His fiddling fingers.

It's amazing how he's managed to divert his anger towards you instead of the man who traumatized him.

Melodic ringing snaps you out of your trance.

Aaron Hotchner might just get what he wants.

Sunday, May 10, 11:51 PM

A sniffle tickles your nose as you lay flat on the carpet floor of your apartment.

Your face stings from tear stains, and you muse how horrid you must look after your makeup runs dry. Your chunky heels were still on. In a minute or two, you expect one of your feet to cramp.

The day has been hostile towards you.

The mind, which used to be an oasis of positive thoughts, has gone draught. Sleep begins to blur your vision, and you don't hesitate to let it take over.

Until a bombarding knock jolts you up.

"I'm here! I'm here! Calm down!" You shout as you swing the door open. A familiar man stands in front of you with a dour face. Your eyebrows narrow tightly, "Mr. Hotchner—"

"What did you write?!" Aaron badgers as he storms inside your apartment like he owns the place. He pivots on the balls of his feet once he's reached your living room, glowering at you with scalding fury. "I was relieved to know that you released me from your care and looked forward to my clearance. So, tell me why a random therapist called me this morning to confirm an appointment I didn't even know I had. What did you write on my report that I have to go through this again for the second time? Is dealing with your sick games not enough? I'm fine. I know I'm fine. I'm straight in the head to go back in the field. I aced the psych evaluation questions. Your sessions are the problem. You're the problem." His ears, face, and neck are burning red. If he's a cartoon character, you imagine he'd be steaming with smoke by now.

Quite surprised; you're standing speechless. You're watching Aaron like he's a crazy old hag yapping about the Revolutionary War and how she hates not having the power to shoot every redcoat for the sake of rage.

You head towards your sofa, taking a seat.

Aaron examines you in confusion, furrowing his brows.

After a moment, you look at him expectantly. "Don't be shy, Mr. Hotchner. By any means—" you nod towards the armchair across you, glancing back and forth between him and the empty space "—continue with your thoughts. You already started. Might as well let it all out."

He only clenches his hands inside his pockets as he bores holes into your head.

What a sad little man.

You scoff in your mind.

You lean against the back of the sofa, tilting your head to meet dagger-like brown eyes aiming at you. "No? Suit yourself, then." You shrug, feeling the soft cushions under your palms.

"Let me remind you that I'm a federal agent, and I can make your life a living hell if I want to." He threatens, glaring at you as if the twitch of his eye is enough to make you combust into thin air.

But all you see is a child on a tantrum, deprived of getting what he wants.

"Answer my question. What. Did. You. Write?" He growls.

Silence coats the two of you.

His heavy breathing fills the deafening air. Your nonchalance fuels his hatred more than ever and the sentiment is beginning to emit from both ends. It takes a lot out of you to think of multiple ways to sprinkle some salty sense onto him without stinging his wounds.

One thing you learned well enough in time is how good Aaron is when pushing someone's buttons. A perk of his prosecutor days and seasoned by his bureau career.

He's just troubled.

He's just in denial of his own pain.

You chant the words in your head—uncertain of its purpose. Detachment ironically detaches from your senses like old velcro.

"You're not the first agent in my office, Mr. Hotchner. And frankly, you should be thanking me for taking you in. Unlike your old therapists, I actually read through your chart and took the time to understand you to the best of my ability. I cared—" Shocked as he is, your eyes subtly widen.

Before you can continue Aaron speaks over you, "I do not care about your pity. What I wanted was for you to do your damn job and clear me back to work. But that's just little to no pay for a shrink, isn't it? You need messed up people to stay messed up so they can continue knocking on your door." A clear hint of a demeaning smirk flashes across his face.

The sheer irreverence makes you dizzy. The calm snaps, banishing kindness and composure out the window. And rage knocks on your door.

"That's the problem. You don't care. You don't care about yourself." Your tone is sharp—stern.

You knew. You knew from the moment his file thudded on your wooden desk. The moment SSA David Rossi charmed his way to get your favor. You know that Aaron Hotchner does what he believes is right. Not because the unit chief title has gotten in his head. No. Not the slightest. But because he only cares about his values and people.

And you're neither.

It's not you to hold grudges. So, you had it down and set before you accepted Rossi's request. You had it tattooed in your mind that no matter how sharp-tongued and insensitive the man before you might be, he's still just a man under the weight of the world's greatest horrors.

You cannot break. You're not allowed to break.

Pieces of you shatter at the realization that some patients under your care inevitably slip away from your fingers. How your promised oath to do no harm did nothing—not enough to stop the monsters that haunt the world. Not enough to stop you, Aaron's psychiatrist, from dumping your own frustration onto him the same way he's currently doing to you.

But you're not Aaron's psychiatrist today. You're not anything today. You're not on the clock. And no one except Aaron—to your demise—will ever witness such an ugly sight. If ever he shuts up about his dilemma, that is.

"I did my job exactly as I should." You declare, licking the bottom of your lips. Damned the Hippocratic Oath. You wonder if the healing gods will forgive you.

You really shouldn't say the words that are about to leave your mouth, but you've been taking whatever hostility he's got for the last two months; the capacity has reached its limit. A little bit of harshness wouldn't hurt, would it?

"When are you going to admit that the reason you can't sleep at night is not because of all the serial killers you claim I prevent you from catching?" You finally stand. You are a few inches shorter, yet you have never felt taller than you do right now.

You grit your teeth as you move closer to Aaron, almost a breath away, tiptoeing. "When will you admit that the mighty SSA Aaron Hotchner, unit chief, doesn't blink, not once, because he's afraid he'd become the very thing he promised to put away." You raise your brows, challenging him.

Aaron's face morphs into bewilderment and perturbation. His brows are sewn shut. His jawline pops out as he grinds his teeth.

Resentment. Fury. Vexation. Chagrin.

All Aaron felt was anger.

Antagonized.

A walking tower of pure acrimony, finger-pointing towards the innocent.

"Don't you dare compare me to those— I'm anything but." He towers over you, losing his words through the stream of lividity flooding all over his senses.

"Do you really believe that?"

Aaron studies your face. It's different. It's raw and maimed. A squeeze of guilt whispers, but he shoves it quickly.

"What did you write?" He asks once more, earning a scoff out of you.

You step back, staring straight into his glare. Crossed arms tight against your chest. Brows rest over your deadpan eyes.

"While SSA Aaron Hotchner is proficient at his skills and rather placid in physically and mentally challenging situations, I strongly recommend further evaluation in psychotherapy as his emotional capacity is at its limits. The stress accumulated from the job itself has given him little to no time to allow himself the indulgence to properly process certain impacts of the stimulus he encounters on the job. Will update after further observation. Is what I wrote… so far."

You pause.

"Aaron Hotchner is an insufferable, pompous idiot who's afraid of nothing but himself. He is incapable of stepping off his pedestal and refuses to cooperate while complaining about the consequences he himself caused. He has been through enormous trauma. It will be torture to try and help him cope properly. I do not want him in my care as he is a danger to his own progress, and I don't want any part of it. Is what I wanted to write."

Silence.

For him to reflect.

For you to breathe.

Aaron's frozen before you. A pale statue bleached under the moon's harsh reality. Words that used to be superficial insecurities float in the wind of truth, forming into a cage he's sentenced for life.

Your fuse still runs—a long time coming from two months of his deliberate disrespect. The silence annoys you, so you break it. "Excuse my hostility. No one's invaded my privacy and barged into my household at such an unreasonable hour before." The impassive smile on your lips can haunt anyone.

Maybe you've gone too far.

Maybe it's evil to say such blunt things to someone fragile.

But Aaron started the countdown. He lit the fuse. Now, you're exploding right before his eyes, reaping what he sowed. And he's forced to eat up all the debris.

His eyes twitch, scanning your face for any sign of bluff, any sign of fallacy. Any sign that he successfully pissed you off and your words were nothing but overwhelmed impulse.

"I—" he closes his mouth, then agape. Any sign. Aaron will take anything besides the forthright expression on your face. He inhales, "I'm sorry." The sound dies before it can roll off his tongue.

It's like watching a bully shrink into the tiniest man who's ever lived.

Okay, maybe you were a little bit brutal.

You gulp as guilt creeps along your veins, wishing that someone out there would just do you both a favor and snipe you out before the embarrassment settles.

Drawing in a gentle breath, you take another step back from Aaron with a delicate voice, "You're not starting a new evaluation, but you're not done either. I transferred you under someone else's care because of personal reasons. My life doesn't revolve around you, Mr. Hotchner. So, if you have nothing else to say, go home." Your eyes drift to the vast selection of objects in your living room to diffuse the growing pity you can't help but harbor.

Only then does Aaron discern his impulsivity. Internally arguing with himself as he allows himself to look at you. One thing he's never done since the moment he met you with screwed brows and unwavering bias. His gaze instantly softens like a thick fog around him finally dissipates. Like he's achieved a clearer vision.

The first thing he notices is the state of your face. The dry mascara that drew faded stripes down your cheeks. Your puffy eyes are now faint pink, but he recalls them being red when he arrived.

Then Aaron brings his attention to your black dress. It's a simple formal, mesh midi dress, but he admits how it elegantly fits you. But he doesn't say it aloud because there's only one reason why you'd wear such an article of depressing clothing.

As if your words and his own realizations aren't enough, he gets a glimpse of the clock on your wall that reads 12:03 AM.

His blood suddenly stops flowing—skin clammy and pale. Aaron's lightheaded from guilt and penitence.

Without another word, you lead him towards the door, swinging it open. The past 24 hours already drained you, and Aaron just about made it fifty times worse. All you wanted was to get a shuteye.

Aaron swallows the shame and makes his way out. Before he leaves, though, he turns to face you once more. Genuine curiosity pinches his brows.

"Why didn't you just clear me out like the others did if I was such a difficult case?" The word tastes bitter in his mouth. What used to be a desired flavor turned rotten on his palette.

He asks with utter softness, leaving you skeptical to respond.

"Same reason why you kept attending my sessions even though you clearly hated it." You slightly close the door, only leaving enough space for the two of you to see each other.

He looks at you like the answer's all over your face but written in some foreign language he's not familiar with. Aaron barely opens his mouth when you answer the question in his mind.

"You needed a place where you can just be."

The door shuts.

Friday, June 19, 11:02 PM

"I didn't know where to go."

You pore at Aaron Hotchner with nothing but a flimsy robe to prevent his imagination from going rampant—and dirty.

It's eleven in the evening. It's been one month since you last saw him. It's been a month since he barged into your apartment like an entitled brat. It's been a month since you let your emotions take over. It's been a month since the two of you revealed parts of yourselves either of you don't dare think of.

A month and no contact.

You didn't wonder; just hoped and prayed that Aaron finally finds it in him to let go of the emotional turmoil that's torturing the soul out of his body.

Sighing, you step aside and let him in, closing the door behind you like it's normal to stop by one's ex-psychiatrist's apartment in the middle of the night without prior notice and, most importantly, without meter to run the minutes he's inconveniencing you.

Aaron walks in, and the heavy humidity of arousal immediately hits him.

Oh.

Well...

If he had something to say, Aaron kept his mouth shut. He is at fault for driving straight to your place like he's your bestest friend. So, he doesn't mention it, ignoring the fact that you're barely clothed.

Besides, after your last interaction with him, Aaron's certain he didn't have any prerogative in how you'd like to spend your Friday evening.

"Take a seat. I'll be with you in a minute." Your steps are light behind him—feet nimbly grazing the wooden floor.

He turns to face you but quickly averts his gaze to avoid the glistening sight of your thighs. "Thank you..." He does his best to sound normal, choking in between syllables.

Aaron begins to regret his decision. Though, not enough to leave your place.

You disappear in the corner of the hallway. Allowing Aaron to finally release the breath he didn't know he was holding.

With you out of sight, his mind deliberately wanders...

What were you doing?

Aaron shakes his head vigorously like a worm under a storm of salt. The thought is undiscovered—untouched territory, forbidden to be exact. Should he form such thoughts, he'll do it somewhere else or rather about someone else.

Just as he caters to the sudden dizziness caused by his action, a man, half-dressed, walks past him, cursing under his breath and buttoning his shirt. Aaron's eyes widen a little, keeping his stoic face.

Oh, that's what you were doing.

Ick—as Aaron would like to call your visitor—had brown and curly, unruly hair. He was tall and definitely had a face, which, Aaron assumes, is nothing like the one he envisioned you're attracted to.

Somehow not a pleasant discovery compared to what he attempted to imagine—you, alone.

Ick looks at Aaron with a scoff echoing out of his throat, "Oh, what a surprise! She's a slut." He states smugly.

"Or she just wants someone better." The words spill out without hesitation, fired on sight. Aaron doesn't know where the boldness came from as he leans against the seat with a cocky smirk on his face. Definitely no more perplexed than the uncertainty of anger boiling inside of him. He glares at the man either way.

The man scoffs again before leaving with a couple more insults that Aaron thinks he's lucky to whisper, or your visitor would've left your apartment in an ambulance.

Ick slams the door, shaking the vase on the accent chest by the entrance.

Where did that come from?

He's questionably not as big of a hater as he was before, but Aaron can't determine the motivation that made him act the way he just did with a person who has business with you, which he should have no interest in.

Moments later, you come back, fully clothed, in an oversized hoodie and a pair of wide-leg linen pants. Comfy and a 180 contrast on how you dress at work, plus the garments you had on minutes ago.

You make a beeline to your kitchen, "Water or scotch?" You holler out, opening cabinets with a creek on their hinges.

The question is rhetorical. You place a glass with brown liquid glinting under the warm ambient light on the coffee table in front of Aaron, then plop on the armchair across from him, catering your own glass.

He stares between you and the glass while you kiss yours, never breaking your gaze. You hum in delight, making a popping sound with your lips.

Aaron opens his mouth and then closes it, falling into a cycle like a fish underwater. How should he explain himself? How does one explain why they're bothering their ex-psychiatrist past working hours? After making a scene a month ago? He swallows the thick void in his throat.

"Don't talk, just drink. Sit here for an hour. Then, go home." You say, opening up a book that's been sitting on the table since he arrived.

Aaron feels a surge of relief. He reaches for the drink and lets the smoky taste trail down his throat without hesitation. He wouldn't have guessed you as a fan of scotch—or anything not clear or fruity. This is the first he's seen you without some sort of filter he can't read through, and the observation prints you under a new light.

The silence comforts him. The occasional scrape of paper against paper with each flip of a page provides him reassurance. The company he finds within your presence gives him solace.

You let him be. Asked no questions, reading in peace like he was just any other friend who needed company.

He does as you said. Indulging in the hour of tranquility and stillness. His nerves tame. And he forgets why he went to you in the first place.

Why did he go to you?

Of all people. Of all the friends he brags about. The family he cherishes. His feet dragged—drove him to you.

The onerous unit chief chose to wander to your front door, sipping scotch as he enjoyed the silence and absence of others' guilting worry and constant craving to make him feel better when all he wanted was peace and letting the ache pass in gradual acceptance.

By the end of the hour, you call him a cab with the instructions for him to pick up his car the next day.

Aaron slept effortlessly that night.

Saturday, October 24, 9:24 PM

Aaron expected some sort of rejection or for you to slam the door close, or worse, ignore him as soon as you see his face through the peephole.

One can only tolerate a couple of unannounced visits from an insufferable ex-patient, right? He's surprised you haven't called the cops on him.

He skims your face for any sign of irritation or annoyance as soon as you reveal yourself behind your door, standing next to it to give him way. Aaron saw nothing but impatience.

You knit your brows, slightly tilting your head at his frozen build outside the frame of your door. "Well? Are you stuck or something? Get in, Hotchner—" You turn before you can even finish talking, disappearing down the small entryway.

He turns deaf for a moment. Your voice rings in his ears as if a bomb had just popped the only working drum he had left.

Hotchner.

Agent.

Mister—

Just Hotchner.

One simple change, and the light above your head suddenly looks brighter.

Like he's found something good. Something he can say he knows. Something he can trust(?)

"Don't forget to take your shoes off and shut the door!" You holler from the living room—unfazed.

Aaron flinches, snapping out of his trance. He wonders where you'd gone to, furrowing his brows, and yet enters your apartment with the permission you'd given him. He closes the door, pivoting on the soles of his dress shoes as he tentatively takes them off per your instructions.

He emerges back in your peripheral while you stare at the screen on your laptop, blue-filtered glasses back on. Your fingers hammer on the keys, soft sighs slipping past your lips every once in a while.

You glance at Aaron when his figure stays at the corner of your eye, cupping a coffee mug between your hands. "There's fresh coffee if you'd like. Are you hungry? I don't usually eat dinner, so I have nothing ready to eat, but I can whip something up." You blow over the surface of caffeine, and steam wafts on the tip of your nose.

"No—" He shakes his head, scoffing in confusion, "I'm sorry—"

"Apology accepted," You muffle into the mug.

Aaron's brows connect tighter, and his forehead creases. He looks at you like he's under an illusion, a hypnotic dream he can't quite distinguish.

"Hold on," He hoists his hand up as if to pause a scene in the movie. "I'm very confused. What is going on? Why are you being… casual and nice?"

"You say it like I'm incapable of human decency." Your back makes contact with the cushion of your sofa, pulling your legs close to your chest while one hand holds the handle of your mug. You roll your eyes when Aaron only stares at you, "Are you uncomfortable? Do you want to leave?"

Aaron shakes his head.

"Problem solved, then?" Confusion is still fresh on his blank face. You mentally smack your forehead. "There are patients who lack temporal sense, but turning them away when they clearly need immediate tending to would be a form of negligence on my part. So, feel at home." You theatrically stretch your arms, offering every corner of your space as his own.

"But I'm not your patient anymore. I've been back on duty for weeks." Aaron informs. Although he finds a place for his go bag on your floor.

If you didn't know any better, you'd assume he's about to stay for a sleepover—coming to your apartment late at night.

You wrinkle your nose, "Okay?" You look around as if someone else is in the room with you two. "Is that why you went here? You wanted to brag?"

Three months.

Aaron's been back to his usual routine for the past three months. And it's been four since he drank scotch on the very couch you're comfortably in.

A chuckle.

The sound tickles your ears, filling you with unexpected pride.

"No," Aaron shakes his head as the chuckle resonates through his chest. "I… I don't really know why I came here, if I'm being honest." He swallows air.

You nod, setting your laptop back on your lap. "Like I said, you're free to feel at home. Scotch is in the third cupboard. Coffee's in the pot. I've got some stuff to take care of, so help yourself." Your eyes are already fixed on the screen, hands jumping from one key to the other.

With your permission, Aaron ventures into your kitchen. Neat. Clean. Cozy. He somehow imagines you cooking as a hobby.

He settles for coffee. Asking you from the kitchen island if you'd like a refill—which you took without a thought, hoisting your cup up—and taking out a couple of his files to get a head start on his paperwork. He wasn't allowed to bring them outside the bureau's building, but it didn't matter at the moment.

Your apartment becomes a haven.

Aaron, for the first time in years, feels comfortable to slouch. He had no collection of when and how, but turns out he'd changed into a quarter-zip and one of his pajamas tucked in his go bag through the hours.

The two of you silently took care of your own thing until 1 AM strikes, and a yawn pulls you back into the earth.

You turn your head towards the kitchen to find Aaron scribbling over your kitchen island. He's sipping coffee—a fresh batch he made not long ago.

Stretching, you make your way past him. After placing the mug into the sink, you lean against it, crossing your arms as you stare at him. "Ten."

"What's that?" Aaron halts on his seat, lifting his head to look at you.

"I'm granting you ten visits," You announce.

"And that means?.."

Your face deadpans, and he does well at stifling a smile. "You can come here whenever you want—need, but only for ten free visits. It doesn't matter if it's late, too early, or unreasonable. I'm allowing you to knock on my door whenever you need. Any more than that, you have to attend my sessions in my office, where I get paid."

"What's the catch?" Aaron entwines his eyebrows, straightening his back as he props on the edge of the counter.

"No catch. Just one condition," You shift your weight on your other leg, "Don't come empty-handed. Food, drink, things, a person, anything. Bring something." Your brows hang on your forehead, anticipating any type of response.

Aaron weighs his choices. Calculated every possible outcome and benefit. He meets your eyes again. Index and thumb rubbing the growing stubble on his chin.

"Ten's a good number," He says as he nods.

Wednesday, March 2, 7:31 PM

Eleven months pass by in the blink of an eye.

It's the seventh time Aaron showed up without warning, and by this point in whatever acquaintance you two had, you aren't fazed or surprised anymore.

The fourth time he knocked on your door, he was carrying a hefty price of whiskey. An odd reason for a psychiatrist and a former patient to bond with, but you had no qualms about sipping neat whiskey that night.

At first, he stayed for an hour. Then, an hour turned into three. One time, a case hit too deep, and three became seven, but that only happened once—all you remember was a Wednesday night.

"Are you okay?"

Gentle sighs escape shivering lips. Tears pooling deep inside sockets.

One sharp sniff breaks it all.

You sob under Aaron's worried eyes as your grip on the knob almost snaps it off the door.

His brows twists and he reflexively yanks you by the back of your head into his chest, bringing you out of your apartment and into the complex's hallway.

"What happened?" He carefully inquires while he rests his chin atop your head.

You're a mess in his arms. Uncontrollable whimpers muffled in his soaked chest.

Aaron suggested that you two step inside for more privacy and heat, but he didn't complain when you two stayed frozen in the end of winter evening.

When it stops. The suffocating ache. You lightly push yourself off him, wiping the leftover tears off your cheeks—half of it already dampened his shirt.

Fifty-three minutes and seventeen seconds.

You cried to the point of dehydration.

"Sorry," you mutter, eyes down. "We should go inside if we don't want to catch hypothermia." You sniffle.

"Oh, we don't want that," Aaron attempts to joke, closely observing whether you'd react to it.

You didn't.

He closes the door behind him, following your figure as you practically drag yourself to your unofficial designated spot on the sofa.

"I know I'm the last person you'd want to hear this from, but would you like to talk about it?" He bites his inner cheek.

Nothing.

You only mold yourself into a ball.

Aaron hesitates whether to stay or leave you alone. It's true that you said he's welcome anytime, but you're definitely in no condition to entertain his own problems when you can't even look him in the eye the way you would, no matter how insufferable he is.

But he can't just leave you by yourself either. Nothing is stopping him, but he's not cold-blooded enough.

"It's not easy," Aaron fractures out of his trance at the sound of your small voice. You look at him with a tight-lipped smile. "This job, I mean."

You inhale a sharp breath, tucking your lower lip between your teeth. "I can be hopeful, positive, supportive… Everything to prove that a better life is possible, but at the end of the day, it's not my choice." You wryly chuckle. "It's the patient's. It's your decision to want to feel better. To want to change. To want to live—" You choke, and the tears flow once more.

"It's not about me, but I can't help feeling like a failure." Sobs spill off your lips, gasping for air. "I was supposed to make everything better. I was supposed to heal everyone and save everyone from whatever monster was hurting them. She said she's never felt so much better. She said it's the first time she felt so peaceful for years, Hotchner. She said she was looking forward to our next session. But she just… I didn't—" You gulp—struggling. "I didn't catch it. I didn't catch her lie. And hours later, I get a call from her mother telling me she— she died." Your hands shakily clasp your mouth to push the sobs back, but you fail.

Aaron doesn't know what to say.

But he knows what to feel.

He knows it well.

The guilt. The shame of never living up to your own promise. The pain of losing someone you swore to keep safe.

Then, it hits him like a wrecking ball.

How difficult of a patient was he before?

Has he ever made you cry before?

It's a stretch that you'd ever shed a tear over his stubbornness, but Aaron hopes you never did.

Because he's never seen anyone care so much despite getting all the hate. Despite taking all the blame. You stood your ground and became other people's foundation. You became their comfort.

You became the only thing that gave him serenity.

With the little time he's known you—a total of 43 genuine friendly hours—Aaron can testify in heaven that they had mistakenly dropped you into the earth. And he's never felt blessed to have someone like you. Never felt lucky enough to find someone with who he could feel broken as much as he could but never needed to save face.

So, he's heartbroken for you. And guilty that more than half of the time you'd known him, he made your passion a miserable experience.

And also guilty of developing feelings for you.

Saturday, August 13, 4:16 PM

"I'm not playing favorites, but your tech analyst definitely deserves better than being cooped up in the bureau's building." You say, plopping on the sofa with a soft bounce and a squeak from the coil spring.

Aaron hands you a glass of bourbon while sipping his own. Eyes fixated on the board on your coffee table. "I have no other choice. It's the only way to keep her safe. Unless you're willing to adopt her, I don't want to hear it." He chuckles, connecting his brows at the sight of your winning streak.

You two are playing Scrabble. It was Monopoly twenty minutes ago, but along the lines, you learned how butt-hurt a six-foot and two-inch man can get. Not an enlightening experience. It would have been two stars if you had to rate it.

So, you switched to Scrabble.

And Aaron is losing again.

Boy, were you so entertained.

He just came back from a fairly short case from Los Angeles. The case is not heavy or mentally draining—according to Aaron, but Jack's at a two-day sleepover, and Aaron has no idea how to spend the rest of his day—turning down Derek Morgan's and David Rossi's invitation to grab a drink at O'Keefe's with you in mind.

Aaron leans on the back of his seat. You don't know when your reclining armchair became his designated seat, but you noticed how lax he is in it and didn't question it further.

Months and months of relaxing stillness in your home—only ever full of bizarre surprises and irresistible joy whenever Aaron knocks at your door. With no means of communication or ever seeing each other at either workplace, Aaron's visits are welcomed but never fully anticipated. Thrilling.

Spelling the word 'loser' on the board with triple points, you bite the tissue inside your lower lip. "Maybe you can play Scrabble with her. Who knows, maybe you'll get lucky and win." You grin smugly at him.

Aaron gapes at you with a mixture of disbelief and merriment. He looks down on the flat entertainment, then back to you as he blinks. "You're cheating." He declares, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

A hearty laugh Aaron's never heard before roars out of you, and it's melodic to his ears. The meringue light spills through the forgotten open blinds of your window, painting your face with a dreamy filter. Aaron feels dizzy at the sight.

Your smile is contagious, and out of nowhere, his heart starts to pick up as if he'd caught whatever illness your radiant lips had by only staring at it. The loose hair over your forehead frames your face differently—different good. Like you'd been glowing, and the watts in your core mysteriously increased, so you're as bright as the sun and as warm as its light.

"You're just a sore loser. Suck it up, Hotchner." You shake with mirth, casually running dainty fingers along the curve of your ear.

"Aaron," He blurts too fast, too soon—too late to take back.

With a nonchalant shrug, you rephrase, "Suck. It. Up. Aaron." Much more emphasis and friskiness.

You tease him more about his lack of greatness in board games compared to his undeniable talent in every case the BAU encountered. But Aaron's already dazed by your lips calling his name.

Without either of you realizing it, 4 PM became AM.

Talk about abusing one's privileges. Aaron's moderately good at that. You conclude he's simply a strutting opportunist.

After the longest winning streak you've ever had in your life, you and Aaron decided to take a much-needed break and fell into silent reading—or, in your case, grooming your schedule for the next five months.

Midnight strikes along the grumble of Aaron's stomach. You two were too quiet. It echoed all over your apartment. Both of you fell into an obstreperous fit of laughter for another hour, stopping for a minute in between only to laugh some more as soon as you met each other's eyes.

Now, it's four in the morning. You're busy munching on Chinese takeout from a 24-hour restaurant Aaron called in. He claims he has handsome privilege courtesy of the owner, which you mockingly laughed at, to his dismay.

"I'm still terrified." He blurts.

The case must've been very difficult, then. He lied yesterday. However, at this point in your friendship, you expect him to do so, even if it's obvious.

You'd long given up on coaxing Aaron to talk about the case that brought him to your office. Or any other cases that got him knocking on your door at the most unreasonable hour. You thought that the best you could offer him was the comfort that no matter how beaten up he looked, you'd ask no questions and let him sort his boggled mind until he was ready to talk about it.

Looks like tonight's the moment. It only took more than a year, so it is not a big deal—to either of you, at least.

He looks at you when you remain quiet, silently asking for your permission. You nod, and he continues, "What Peter Lewis did to me was terrorizing. I always wonder whether I'm making the right decision or sending my agents straight to their deaths. I second guess. I'm scared that a part of him is still in my head, driving me to make a fatal mistake." Aaron starts playing with his food, poking an orange chicken with his chopsticks.

The memory brings a tangy taste to his tongue, and Aaron can't help but cringe. It's the first time he's ever talked about Peter Lewis. Granted, Aaron spoke about the event numerous times but never about how it made him feel. Never how it broke him.

Is it weird to say you're a little proud of Aaron?

Of course, you don't tell him that. Not out loud. You know he knows you're proud of him. And that's enough said.

With a few audible chews—caused by a carrot bit stuck between your teeth—that somehow doesn't piss Aaron off, you swallow the food and draw your lips into a thin line. You place the chopsticks on the side, wiping the rim of your mouth.

You know he's watching you. Anticipatingly waiting for a response for anything other than the silence he's accustomed to.

"Breathe," You gently instruct, clear enough for him to hear but not too loud for Aaron to jump in shock.

And he does.

His shoulder blades rise and fall into a soft rhythm. Aaron was holding his breath, and you knew. Of course, you knew.

"Do you know the purpose of defense mechanisms?" You quiz him, earning a nod from Aaron, and yet no following answer. "You were already mad at me even before we met. And for what? Nothing concrete, I'm sure."

Aaron was about to object, but you raised your hand to stop him, "I'm not trying to attack you. All I'm saying is that rather than being in denial, you displaced your frustration on someone else less threatening—me."

Silence.

"I'm sorry—"

"I'm not done, shush!" You close your fist to mute him, cutting him off.

Aaron subtly rolls his eyes. He started doing so on his fifth visit when Aaron brought Jack and a few video games.

He told you that Jack's heard about your interest in a couple of games and wanted to play with you, but you know damn well Aaron bought the game for himself. Nonetheless, you entertained them by teaming up with Jack and obliterating Aaron. He vowed never to play against you ever again, at least not to your face.

"I would never know the pain and suffering that you went through. And somehow, even with that fact, a part of your life was in the palm of my hand. You had no control, but I did. So, instead of understanding the why, you hated the wrong who. And it's okay."

You take a sip from your straw, and a bubbly sensation fills you. Your tongue glides over your lips as you lean against the counter. "In short, for a man who's been through a lot, you know how to cope." A shrug ends your sentence, grabbing another bite of chow mein on your plate.

"Yeah, right," Aaron scoffs. The sincerity in your voice sparks something in him. It's giddy and tempting. But he can't possibly show the smile that's itching to spread his lips.

But his nonchalance may have triggered something in you because Aaron doesn't expect your next move. His neck felt like a snapped glow stick after you manually turned his head to face you—grabbing him by the space between his neck and chin. Aaron widens his eyes in the process.

"Listen here, you stubborn poopy head." You start, forehead creasing.

Aaron badly wanted to poke fun at your poor, intimidating skills, but he realized you didn't need any pointers just by the glare in your eyes.

"Peter Lewis got to your head, but that doesn't mean you were weak to let him. Yes, you fought through the influence of the drug heroically. Yes, you saved your agents and, most importantly, yourself. But it's still okay to be scared. It's okay that you feel broken. Who says broken things aren't great?"

It might be the sleep deprivation that's hitting Aaron, but he's very much enjoying your little fuse. How your words meant nothing like how you sound.

"That silver watch of yours—" you glance at his wrist "—has been broken for years, but I bet if you pawn it, it'll be more valuable than me. Antiques are expensive because they have unique histories. They survived beaten up, scratched, damaged, but still as beautiful as ever."

You're rambling, explaining more than you need to. Felt obligated to drill in his mind that despite the bad things, Aaron remains good. You're uncertain—clueless—as to why you felt the need to prove his praiseworthy, almost as if you're trying to convince yourself rather than him.

"From my observation, you're a sharper profiler despite all the things you went through. A part of you suffered and died in that house and many houses before. Of course, you'll be broken. You're a human being, Aaron. Act like one for Pete's sake!"

"I don't know whether you're being nice or mean." He chuckles with a mischievous grin, marveling at the way your eyes narrow as you look at him.

"I liked you better when you didn't talk." You tut, rolling your eyes.

For a moment, your senses heighten, and the simple brush of his hand against the skin over your wrist, as he takes your hold off him, sends billions of electricity throughout your body.

Aaron smiles—genuinely. "Thank you," He says softly, clearing his throat. His hand is still tight around your wrist. "You simply could've slammed the door the first time I knocked, but you always let me in. I appreciate you tolerating me."

You laugh, retracting your hands off his skin before you melt in his grasp. "I did not let you in the first time. You barged in like I'm some fugitive." You fix your posture on the stool beneath you, looking away.

His chuckle wakes the butterflies in your stomach, and you shove them right back down by stuffing your mouth with food.

Your eyes catch a glimpse of the time, "Y-you better go home and change before your son wonders why his father smells like Chinese food for Sunday brunch. Jack's a big fan of good 'ole syrupy pancakes, there's a good one by the bureau's building. Better hurry up and pick him up." It's amazing how much you almost choked and stuttered as you spoke, hoping that Aaron wouldn't question the way your demeanor changed.

Aaron takes one last bite before towering next to you, "Let me clean up. It's the least I can do for imposing half of your weekend." He insists, swiping the styrofoam off your hands.

"Glad you got manners," You nod approvingly, earning another chuckle from him, making sure you gave him enough space to move around without brushing any part of your body, or you wouldn't know what the brewing feeling in your chest would make you do.

You mindlessly peer at Aaron's broad shoulders and dark hair that looks so soft you wonder if it'll melt with your touch. You blink, catching yourself mid-swoon.

After a few minutes, Aaron bids you goodbye and you wish him well, asking to relay a short message to Jack.

"I think you're only nice to me because of Jack," He jokes, pivoting on the heel of his shoes to get one last glimpse of you.

You give him a tight smile, raising your brows as you shrug.

One visit left.

Thursday, May 5, 12:51 PM

The news said Mr. Scratch escaped prison. Peter Lewis is out and about, no doubt, planning serious harm against Aaron. You turn the TV off. The image shrinks into a small diamond spark 'til it leaves a dark screen.

Ninety-eight beats per minute are your normal, but you surmise it's about a hundred and twelve at the moment as your mind anxiously ruminates your not-so-favorite-unofficial patient's well-being.

You glance at your phone, debating whether to give him a call, but even if you gain the guts to do so, you don't have his number. Who knew that refusing personal contacts would backfire? Aaron can knock anytime, you said. It doesn't matter whether he texts or calls before, you said.

Now, you have no means of contacting him, and you refuse to resort to his ways—going through his file like he went through yours.

It's a shitty feeling.

You keep your fingers as far away from your mouth as possible, afraid you'll bite your nails to its quick. If Aaron was with you, he'd say something annoyingly witty about how your anxiety's too easy to read, and you'd be bantering back a remark about his tells that not many notice but sure slightly pisses him off that you know him like the back of your hand.

Eyes dart in the direction of your entryway, waiting for any distinctive sound only Aaron makes whenever he closes the door like a teenager coming home past curfew.

"This is driving me crazy!" You ruffle your own hair, rubbing your face in frustration.

Tempted to wait outside your door for Aaron to arrive, in need of a company. A once-in-a-lifetime bone-crushing hug, given by yours truly. Or open up the 1997 Old Forester bourbon on top of your shelf that Aaron's been eyeing for a year.

You need to know if he's okay. You need to see that he's okay. Physically, mentally, and emotionally okay.

No one ever knocked.

Friday, November 18, 2:33 PM

"Aren't you curious?"

You look at Rossi, "About?" Your eyebrows pinch together. You backtrack the entire session in your mind, trying to remember if there is anything you are supposed to be curious about.

There's none.

Rossi turns to face you, a hand emerging out of his pocket. "You're not curious where he's been? I've known him for years, and I've never been more curious about his whereabouts 'til now." The hand waves around as each syllable flows, and slices the air every emphasis he makes like a conductor of his emotions.

He usually talks with his hand whenever he's emotionally troubled, attempting to make a point to himself, justifying that his feelings are reasonable.

David Rossi has been your patient for years; you can write any and everything about him into a best-selling book.

"You said it yourself, Dave," You shrugged with your arms. "You've known him for years. He and I saw each other a couple of times during our physician-patient interaction. Any interaction we had after is just the two of us drowning in silence."

Aaron never knocked that day.

He hasn't redeemed his last visit for the past five months. While it isn't the longest time he's never stopped by, you're bitter about it.

You couldn't sleep for a week after Peter Lewis escaped prison. You were afraid that Aaron's name would flash across any type of screen or mark a headline on every article and newspaper. You had to take anxiety medication to stop your body from trembling whenever the thought of him crossed your mind.

It was hell.

The utter hopelessness and lack of courage teared you apart. The strangeness. The nonexistence. You don't reckon a conversation with Aaron that involves you and him. Only you or him or whatever depressing topic comes up. You're not even sure if you had actual conversations. Always wallowing in silence while sipping either scotch or coffee.

But you two had a deal. No catch. Not even feelings. Developing one for Aaron did not cross your mind when you granted him the power to bother you at any running time.

All of it is to say you wish you had known Aaron's last visit was, in fact, the last.

Rossi squints, "You're telling me the quietness you shared didn't matter? That his company didn't benefit you the same way it did for him?" He stands tall, pleased with his words.

It did.

Of course, it did.

And you loved every second of it.

Even if you realize it too late.

But you won't say that to Rossi. Or to anyone ever.

A sigh drops your shoulders. You give him a blank stare, letting his question hover for a moment. "What do you want me to say?" You continue packing up your things on your desk, breaking eye contact.

If you knew David Rossi like the back of your hand, David Rossi knew you like every family of the victims he managed to save.

Worried.

Heartbroken.

Hurt.

Aaron never told Rossi about any interactions with you after he was released from your care. It's information Rossi's only ever heard a confirmation from you. But he knew it from the moment Aaron came to work after his first session with you and couldn't seem to get the specific idea of you out of his head.

"We're doing everything we can to catch Peter Lewis. Aaron will be back, I promise."

Pause.

You fight your every single sense to remain composed. Hearing Aaron's name instantly made you crumble. The sound of it hitting your chest with such force you had to bite the tissue behind your closed lip. You badly wanted—needed to cry and throw a tantrum.

The inner ends of your brows lift up as you nod, "Good for you... and for him. I'll see you in two weeks, Dave." You dismiss, walking around your desk to push him out of your office.

"Wait, wait! Just listen!" You retract your hands off his back and let him face you. "He's okay. He and Jack are safe somewhere I, unfortunately, don't know." He tries to meet your gaze—successful. "But! But that's a good thing. Not knowing where he is while in protective custody is good. Safe. I just thought you'd want to know."

You nod, "Certainly a good information, Dave. But not really necessary." Your tongue subtly swipes the bottom of your lips. "Aa—Agent Hotchner was a patient. Anything outside of that is not my business." Liar.

Rossi tucks his mouth into a thin line, nodding. "See you in two weeks, kid."

Tuesday, March 27, 6:12 PM

It's a nice Spring.

Your hair dances like the breeze is music as you trudge back to your apartment against the rush hour sidewalk traffic.

A year and a half.

You moved to a different place since then.

Moved on— from something that never existed, but really, your old complex just ran out of business.

You couldn't possibly move on, even if you wanted to.

"Good evening, Mrs. Willows," You smile at the old lady as she steps on the base of the stairs.

Mrs. Willows was old, close to ninety. And she's the best landlady you've ever met.

She smiles back, "Oh, just in time!" She waddles towards you, scraping the soles of her flats against the creaky floorboards.

"Did you need anything, Mrs—"

The old lady doesn't let you finish when she yanks you back up the stairs. Confusion fills you, but if you are being honest, you're more amazed by her speed. You didn't know it was possible for her to have that much energy.

"There's this handsome boy knocking at your door earlier. So, I let him in."

You dig your feet on one of the steps, halting her. "Mrs. Willows, you let a stranger in my house?" Your brows knit.

She looks at you, "Well, I figured it's one of your patients." She shrugs.

"I wasn't expecting any home visit today." You announce, peeking at the top of the stairs. "And I would've been home if there was…"

You excuse yourself, cautiously walking towards your door. The floor plan is different from your old apartment. But everything still felt the same.

The anxiety of a random stranger going through your place left you rushing to the living room. You don't exactly let any random patient inside your home. It's usually the profilers that seem to have a liking to you that lucked the privilege to visit your home at any given time.

"I'm sorry, but you're gonna have to set an appointment at the clinic—" you abruptly stop, blinking.

Aaron Hotchner.

He's sat on the armchair, only lifting his gaze after he'd closed the book you were reading before you decided to step out to run some errands.

He is wearing a navy blue quarter zip sweater and a white shirt, peeking from under. It's paired with loose-fitting gray casual pants. Like his closet had an upset stomach and threw up all over him.

The bags under his eyes are almost invisible. It used to be a tint of greenish purple. A proof of his late nights and stressful days. He's caught up with sleep for a while now.

His hair, a little longer than you're accustomed to, somehow made him look young and boyish. Probably why Mrs. Willows referred to him as a boy.

It's quite an image. Not one you'd expect to see upon opening your front door, but you mentally admit liking it.

He looks refreshing and well-rested.

"I heard you started your own practice?" He didn't mean to form it as a question, tongue-tied by nervousness. He flashes an awkward, subtle smile, dipping his hands into his pockets.

Your lashes flutter like butterflies gliding through the soft wind of Spring, except you're struggling to go against the breeze, winded by the city pollution.

"H-have you eaten?" You ask, snapping out of your trance as you head to the kitchen. Great. A question for a question. You're as nervous as he is, and you don't feel the need to hide it, though you aren't inclined to admit it.

He chuckles, and it still makes you melt after a year of trying to remember how it sounds, "That's your first question? Not 'What are you doing here?' or 'How did you find me?'" He follows you to the kitchen, it's a lot smaller than the one at your old place but you had a dinner table now, which still feels like an upgrade.

You turn and face him, leaning against the counter, "I'll just charge the entire team on their next visit. But I have a feeling David's the culprit." You blurt, earning raised brows from Aaron. "Oh? They didn't tell you? Your team unofficially designated me as their psychiatrist. I guess they also kept an important information from you." You twist on your feet to focus on the produce you carefully picked in hopes someone would join you for dinner.

But you didn't expect Aaron to be that person.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No!" You almost stumble as you spin back to face him. "I'm in no position to be mad. If a patient doesn't need my services, then I have no say." You lick the lower of your lip, biting it as soon as your tongue glides past. Heat pooling in the back of your eyes.

Aaron steps closer, "I didn't mean to—"

"I told you I'm not mad."

"You're really going to lie to an FBI profiler?"

"Former," You correct him, sniffing as you fight the tears from rolling down your cheeks. Your head's tilted up, almost facing the ceiling. Anger and frustration hammer into your chest.

He rolls his eyes, trying to catch yours. "Former, right." He parrots with a little more sarcasm. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything... I needed to make sure Jack's safe." He softly speaks, making sure you understand every syllable.

It's your turn to roll your eyes, blinking and letting a tear fall in the process. "You don't have to apologize for protecting your son. I'm not evil, Hotchner. I'll do the same thing for my family. I'm completely indifferent about your disappearance, and i-it's allergy season. I'm fine." You wipe the tear stain off your face.

"I missed hearing you say my name like it's a foul word." Aaron smiles so brightly you thought you were dead and some divine was just using his image to guide you across.

"Seriously? That's what you took from it?" You shake your head, turning your back to him once more. "I feel bad for Jack now that you're a full-time father."

Aaron laughs, and by definition. "Oh, he's had enough of me." His eyebrows jump on his forehead, drifting his eyes aside as if he's replaying every instance Jack's complained to him.

You laugh, too. A full hearty laugh that seems to source from the casualty between the two of you despite the irritation you felt.

It's still the same. The ease. The effortless flow and connection despite anxious nerves. It felt like talking to an old friend you've known longer than you are alive.

You nibble on your lips, "So? You're off protective custody, or do I have to call you Brad?" You quiz airily, back still facing him to hide any form of amusement that's forming on your facial features.

"Brad?" He scoffs, crossing his arms and knitting his brows. He sounds about offended as if you'd disrespected his entire bloodline.

"Yeah, you look like a Brad to me." You remember a story from the women in the BAU. One that they happily shared one evening at Rossi's before they all begged to be added to your list of patients once you start your private practice.

Aaron lets out another scoff. "No, I'm just Aaron. Aaron to everyone. Aaron to you." He grumbles something under his breath that you don't hear, but a clear indication of his disapproval regarding the name.

You stifle a giggle, "Well, just Aaron. Consider yourself lucky that I got a free slot. I would've been with a patient by now." You state.

"Am I really just a patient to you?" Aaron inquires from behind you. He attentively observes for any subtle movement or expression in your voice. There's a longing look in his eyes that you aren't aware of. A frown drops his lips as he adds, "I at least thought we were friends."

"Mm," You hum a chuckle, "More like my stalker. But sure, we'll go with yours... friends—"

He spins you by the waist, and you're not sure if your initial thought of dreaming is ending anytime soon as your body tenses under his hold.

A small yelp squeaks out of you, hands flying behind you on the counter as if to hold yourself up from your wobbly feet. And you're certain both of you can hear the loud pulse on your carotid.

"Hotchner, what the hell?!" You chastise, pulling back, but to no avail. Caged and pinned by his strength, and you're too baffled to react accordingly.

"I'd like to redeem my tenth visit." Aaron smiles from ear to ear. You never thought it possible for a stern-faced man to ever grin this wide. To ever be this bright and bubbly.

Aaron keeps the two of you that way for a few minutes. His face is a few inches from yours. You can hear him calculating in his head.

Only the busy street outside and one of your neighbor's loud TV fills the silence.

"Your pupils are dilated." Aaron grins mischievously. He further scans your face, the same way he did when he used to be your patient, reading you like it's his job to know every micro-movement and expression you make.

Your eyes widen, "Stop—" Your voice barely comes out, breath hitching halfway through your throat. "—profiling me." The space between you and his body feels suffocatingly good. It's making you dizzy.

"Usually, you're composed, but you can barely look me in the eyes." His hands remain on your hips, and every twitch of it makes you stiff like a statue. "Am I making you nervous?" He quips wittily.

Like a switch, your heart rate steadies, and his image becomes clear.

It's Aaron Hotchner.

Just Aaron, he said.

Warmth surges through your veins. You stare at the grin on his face.

Your head tilts, and you blink excruciatingly slow. "Are you trying to ask me out, Hotchner?" You mirror the trail of his eyes like a map.

Aaron beams like he'd won the lottery. Sending you impulsive thoughts such as kissing the smile off his face.

It's tempting and nauseating.

And if he doesn't stop, you just might.

"Ten."

Your eyebrows merge in confusion, "What?"

"Ten dates," He breathes as he looks you in the eye. "Let me take you out on ten dates. Then you can decide if I'm just one of your many stubborn patients or if I can be more. Let me make it up to you in ten dates. Please." He implores, hopeful, or rather knowing that you'd say yes.

And he'd be right.

All you want at that moment is to say yes.

But teasing him won't hurt, at least not you.

"And what's in it for me?" You try your best not to smile as you taunt him.

Aaron rolls his eyes, but his grin tugs the corner of his lips up. "You get unlimited access to me?"

"Wow, that's... very compelling." And you burst out laughing, folding on your stomach as you lean against his chest. You inhale, "Sorry, I expected better negotiation. Uh, any catch?" You say between chuckles.

He shakes his head, "Just one condition," He's chuckling now, too. Not immune from your contagious giggles. "I spend most of my days with you. Even if it's just sitting in silence. I want it to be with you." He lets go of one of your hips and tucks a strand behind your ear.

The giggles die down a bit, gazing at him with reverie. You nod after a few seconds, squeezing his arms. You lift yourself, tiptoeing, closing the gap.

You leave a quick, soft peck on his lips, smiling as you get back on your feet.

Aaron smiles, and you're as ecstatic as he is.

Another nod fills your chest with utter joy as you breathe in euphoria.

"Ten's a good number."

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #ssa aaron hotchner #fem!reader #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner criminal minds #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch #cm #criminalminds #bau team

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livingsurreal · 2 months ago

Text

More thoughts and theories about our favorite Necromancer

My darlings, I have too many thoughts and my obsession is running wild. (How I missed you, hyperfocus). If you have read my last meta post about our Emmrich, here it is: First Meta Post

That is not a required read however. I am still wondering why anyone is reading my word vomit U_U

Anyway, I love reading other peoples theories, so please, send me yours. <3 And a lot of thanks and love for all you darlings who make this fandom such a beautiful and nice place. Especially to @jaal-ama-daravv - who makes the most beautiful videos, and writes such wonderful character studies.

Warning, from here on there will be spoilers as well as mentions of sex. If you don't want to read about any of that, do not read the rest.

Also pictures and way too many words. This is a ten page word document, save yourself while you can. I tend to go off on a tangent once I start writing. I am also well aware that not everyone will agree. This is just my personal read on Emmrich.

Now, after my first essay I have some more thoughts on Emmrich and Rook and specifically their intimate relationship.

Emmrich is such an interesting and baffling contradiction. On the one hand he is confident, self-assured, all manners and poise. He is smart, and he knows it. He has special gifts, and he knows it. He is confident without being proud. He likes to teach others without being arrogant. He still likes to learn about new things and is, as far as I’ve seen, never judgmental about different beliefs and ways of life. (Unless someone treats him with disdain or bully him)

He is a man who is confident speaking of his thoughts and feelings and fears. How he just casually drops his thanatophobia is just astonishing. He is honest and open-minded in the best ways.

And then there is the other side of him. The wet kitten side of him. As open and honest as he is about his emotions, when we get to the meat of it, to the scary bit, the real feely bit, he locks up completely. As long as it is surface level (or he can pretend its surface level), everything is up for discussion. But once we reach deeper and touch *love* he gets so scared and refuses to admit and commit to his feelings. And as much *death* scares him, love scares him more.

So how does that influence his intimate relationship with Rook?

According to the banter with Lace “everyone knows about it”. He was rather surprised by that.

That tells us two things:

They were trying to be sneaky or at least keep their private business private.

They failed, massively.

Add to that Laces comment about them moving rather fast (when, where? I would have loved to have seen that. Comments like that just give me the feeling that we should have had some more cutscenes after the dinner date, to show us those two besotted fools).

But back to them moving rather fast. I would guess that they both did a lot of gazing lovingly at each other, blushing, spacing out while watching their darling, stollen kisses in the hallway when they thought no one was watching, stuff like that. Just being to besotted fools.

But moving fast usually includes sex. Lots of needy, sweaty sex. The inability to keep their hands of each other.

That moves us to the question of the day – did they have sex before their coffin time?

Let’s look at what we know about Emmrich. Emmrich is no virgin. That man has experience. He had past lovers. But what he tells us at that sweet diner date – “nothing serious for years.” We know not much else besides his crush on a boy in his youth and his fling with the Orlesian Art Lady. He is not someone to kiss and tell and that is appreciated. That man has class, and we love him for it.

So - nothing SERIOUS for years. If he hadn’t had ANY relationships in the past years, he would have said so. But what he says is that he did, in fact, have UNSERIOUS relationships in the last few years.

I would read that to be somewhere along the “fwb, lovers, affairs, paramours, companions, a fling, a little romance” line. Something not purely, but mainly physically driven. Someone you like and respect, you can go out and have a good time with, have lots of amazing sex with (b/c he is a living being and has his needs). Spending time with people he liked, was sexually attracted too, but nothing as serious as love. A physical relationship. A little thrill, some fluttering, but never that deep.

Not to say that those situationships would not have been romantic. He is (buried under all that resignation) a deeply romantic man. I am pretty sure he went on nice romantic dates with his previous paramours too. That this is something he just enjoys too much. Treating a companion with some quality time, not just in, but also out of the bedroom.

But after he’d given up on his dreams, he did not have any notion of those flings being more than a “enjoy the moment”. There was never the expectation of deeper feelings, beyond friendship, attraction and/or respect. All those romantic gestures were nothing more than a little bit of “play pretend”. To give himself the illusion of true romance, just for a little time.

Take the fact that you can go a “everything you do is creepy but I still flirt with you and I want you to throw me over that tombstone” and his comment on “the attraction of the forbidden”? This is not a relationship born of mutual respect and deeper feelings but out of purely physical attraction. And he is OK with that.

I want to repeat – Emmrich is very much okay with a casual, sexual affair. He does not require love to have a relationship with someone.

And then think about that Johanna calls Rook specifically his “paramour”. Which is a lover, especially an illicit one. This word was very specifically chosen by Johanna. For various reasons, I would think.

For one, I do believe that it is a dig at his dreams of the eternal flame. It’s a dig at him, that Rook is not his love, but his paramour. A lover for a time. To be parted from soon enough. B/c that silly dream of his, as if it ever would become reality.

Second, I think it is a comment on the way his relationships often went, especially in the past years. Those unserious flings of his. Never to amount to anything substantial.

Did he try to have something serious in the past? Oh yes, for sure. But it never worked out. Then he gave up his dream and just let himself have a good time with people he found to be nice and attractive.

To pick up my point of self-sabotage from my last meta post – I’ve come to a point where I believe Emmrich is a kind of chaser. I know someone like that and it’s so fucking tragic.

Emmrich feels deeply and strongly. When he falls in love with someone it’s a lot of emotion. But at that point it’s all dream, want, wish. As soon as someone returns these feelings - those dreams, wants and wishes become reality. And reality is scary. In this wishful dream about the eternal flame, there is no fear. No fights. No loss. But that is not reality. As soon as it becomes reality, he gets scared. Before, his feelings were no threat, because you can’t lose what you don’t have. Once those feelings are returned, there is a clear possibility of losing, of being lost, of being left behind.

Emmrich is not a chaser because he enjoys the hunt. He is a chaser because being loved by someone is scary. So damn scary. So, he starts to pick fights and is looking for excuses. From being the chaser, he becomes the chased. He is hunted by his fears, and his fight or flight instincts go all flight.

After years of this cycle he gives up. Resigns himself to flings and little romances without even thinking of more. Or so he thinks. Dreams like that don’t die, they just get buried.

And I’d think that there was not many, even of those short term flings, lately. His life revolves around work and Manfred.

Now remember he comments on Rook “showing unexpected interest in a new companion”.

First of all – unexpected.

They are a daring adventurer. He thinks of himself clearly as the more boring one, compared to Rook. He never expected any of those flirts. But he is clearly flattered.

Second – companion.

That was such a weird way of saying “hey do you like me?”. This whole “companion” thing does not scream “I have FEELZ for you/you have FEELZ for me” but rather, “I think you might want to spend some quality time with me”.

The possible answers - dashing good looks, kindness, his way of words.

He feels he is fortunate if Rook thinks him good looking. Hallo, Mr. Professor, sir… Have you looked in the mirror lately? Consider that he is meticulously grooming himself, takes his exercises daily in the morning. That man does not like himself aging. I think it is a reminder of how his pending death is a step closer every day. But it shows, to him, that his efforts of taking care of himself are not in vain. Or maybe it shows him that his age does not matter. Rook finds him attractive despite (or because) of his physical age.

Rooks comment on his very charming way of putting things makes him hope his years behind the lectern have proved useful. Hey *years* behind the lectern. Again, this is a way of saying his age is NOT a problem but a benefit.

If Rook remarks his kindness, he answers “you humble me”. It’s the one answer that does not touch his age/experience/looks. It’s a remark on an innate character trait he possesses. Kindness. His whole demeanor in this option shows he is actually touched. And maybe a bit baffled. He did not expect this, at all. Its like he sees his kindness not as an attractive trait. Which he should. He is nice without TM and its sexy as hell.

The next part is his statement “If your attentions go beyond charming flattery… that would interest me, indeed”. This reads to me not necessarily as “do you have feelings for me” but as “do you just enjoy the flirting, or do you want to do more than flirting?”

And oh boy, does he want to do more than flirting. I want to repeat my earlier statement – this man has given up on love. But some little fling with an exiting young adventure who was constantly, awkwardly flirting with him? Hell, yeah.

(I want to remind you that we were able to have mutually enjoyed flirts with Dorian as fem!Inky. You can flirt with someone and still never want to fuck them. And you are also perfectly able to want more than flirting without having deeper feelings. Like sweet, dump Shepaloo said it so eloquently “Lets bang, okay?”)

Again, I want to pick up a point of my last post, that this is all surface level thoughts. I do believe that their emotional attraction and depth of feelings go deeper, from the start. But how often does it take quite a bit of time to realize one’s own feelings. Especially this wonderful, silly man whose modus operandi is running away.

Now, an interested Rook can answer in an open “lets see where this goes” way. Mirroring his rather open idea of a little romance, a fling, some quality time. Something that does not have to end in an eternal flame, but a simple enjoyment and exploration of the moment.

Rook can also reply with a “I think they do.” – What Rook actually says is “I think they already…”

And conveniently Rooks answer here is cut short by our sweet boy Manfred. They get cut short, no matter what answer you choose, but in this specific case, I am convinced this was very much on purpose. What would the whole sentence have been?

“I think they already go way beyond flattery.” (?!?) Something along those lines. But that goes into danger zone. WAY into danger zone.

If Rook had finished that sentence, at that point in their budding romance? It would have been over before is all started. Too much, too soon. Too much for him, period.

Now we have the hard lock – their sweet romantic moment in the Memorial Gardens. And he is smitten. He fell hook, line, and sinker for his own play pretend. Just a little romance, but that man is falling, fast. (Not that he would admit that to himself).

A beautiful date, all arranged by Emmrich, to spend time with Rook. Because a couple should have a quite moment to get to know each other. I mean there were menu cards with gilded edges, ffs. And, oh yes, they were “lets dig into the feelings”, he said couple. He is falling, falling, falling fast. But it still hasn’t hit him, how deep he has fallen for his darling Rook. Poor Emmrich.

Then a fight, where we really see the wet kitten side of him for the first time. A little wet, feral kitten, hissing at the hand that’s trying to feed it.

Emmrich is lashing out for no good reason (or no good reason for anyone but himself). There is no real confidence there but a desperate act of pretending. An iron (slipping) grip, trying to control himself and the narrative. Shoulders squared, back straight, an arrogant stance, raised chin, turned half-away from Rook, and a condescending way of talking to Rook.

Like I said in my last post – he is working his way up to breaking up with them. And he tells himself it’s like ripping off a bandaid. Be strong and confident and say what you have to say, and they will see the wisdom of that.

It’s only that, they don’t. Because there IS NO wisdom in what he is doing right now. They don’t take his bullshit but throw it back at him. They don’t accept his mock excuses.

Look at him here, how he looks down ON them. I can’t recall any other time he looks down on Rook, despite him being a tall king.

Especially the route where Rook throws it in his face that he DOES in fact love them. Speak what he can’t even think.

“I can’t… At my…”

“I can’t love you. At my age…” Why not? Does he not deserve love, just because he is a bit older? It’s just heartbreaking how he views himself.

And again, he lashes out.

“I am perfectly serious.” So is Rook.

“One of us has to pay attention to these things.” As if Rook is not paying attention. They got to the meat and bones of his problem in just a few seconds.

No matter what route you go here, the gist is the same. He is scared shitless, treats Rook like a child, and goes on how the is the only one thinking the important thoughts.

When Rook in reality way ahead of him. They thought about it and came to the conclusion that being with Emmrich is a really good idea.

Rook knew they were falling for someone older than them. (Even if that age difference is just a decade, with a mid-40s Rook.) They knew it, and still went with it. They are not a child who is too inexperienced and stupid to make decisions about their (love) life.

But now, here, at this moment? Emmrich treats them with disdain. Like a silly little person, who does not think things through. He holds himself above them. Physically and mentally. They are too young, he knows better.

And not once has he done that before. He always treated them as an equal. He follows them into the most dangerous situations ffs. He trusts them with his life in a fight against would-be gods.

All that fear and anger at himself that reaches a new high get redirected at Rook.

The next day they are off to Tearstone Island. That night must have been hell. For both of them. But its going to get much much worse.

In any case, Emmrich seems to have come to some conclusion or realization, because on that island? He apologizes.

They both did react very emotionally, but he came at Rook with superiority and, to a certain degree, dishonesty. All fueled by his fear. So that he is the one to take the first step and apologize to Rook instead of doubling down? An important step. As I said in my last post – he NEEDED to be called out. A sweet and nice counterargument would not have had the impact Rooks raw an honest emotion hat on him.

Emmrich “Rook? Darling? I wanted to say-“

Rook “Yeah, about that argument…”

Emmrich “(Sighs) It’s no time to apologize, is it?”

And here we have the most heartbreaking line, in hindsight. “We’ll talk back home, Emmrich. I promise.”

(Narrator: but they would, in fact, not talk about it back home. Because someone would not go home.)

One fight and weeks of horror later, they find themselves in a private crypt and finally they do more than share a kiss.

Now - to the point I originally wanted to explore with this post – is this in fact their first time? (I am sorry, but my brain is a circle and nothing makes sense)

Let’s look at what evidence we have from the cut-scene.

Rook did not know he is an early riser.

That leaves two possibilities:

They never had sex up until that point.

They did have sex, but never spent the night together.

Now what does that mean?

This depends a lot on your personal Rook and how they feel about sex in general. If Rook wants to wait, or is not ready, he will absolutely accept and respect that.

But for the sake of this analysis lets go with the idea that Rook is not opposed to sex at an earlier date.

They never slept with each other

Why? He clearly was not opposed to casual relationships in the past. What would hold him back now? Especially if you recall Laces comment about them moving fast. Why not jump into the bedroom?

Now my first crack theory is that they get interrupted, like every time. (Rook interrupted The Dread Wolf, and now he cursed them to always be interrupted when they want to have some private time)

But now, in all seriousness, maybe it’s just that part of him DOES realize that this goes beyond a very unserious relationship. That they both have deeper feelings, that spark of something greater, something beautiful.

So, he holds back. He does not give his all. He is charming, he is flirty, he takes Rook on dates. But it’s all very technical. Very performative. Yes, he is a very romantic man, yes he enjoys those moments. But there is always a feeling of control.

Those moments when you see him let go a bit (that kiss beneath the eternal lovers, “I think, sometimes you indulge me”), are so beautiful and you glimpse a bit of the man behind those walls.

He has a tell, you see. (I am telling you about it further down)

But generally, he feels very much in control of himself. And to lie with Rook? To go all the way? Too dangerous. Who knows what happens in that sweet moment after la petit mort? What secrets would his lips spill?

2. They slept together, but did not spent the night together.

They do have sex, but sleep alone in their own beds. Casual sex is fine, but to fall asleep in each other’s arms? Too much. Too real. Sex okay, but sleepy post coitus cuddly? Woah, slow down your horses.

So, they have sex, preferably in Rooks bed. First, does he even have a bed? Second, it’s way easier to leave Rooks bed after the act, than throwing them out afterwards.

Oh, and how many reasons he has. Rook needs their uninterrupted sleep; they are stressed and must have proper rest. He wants to get some reading done before he retires. He needs to look after Manfred.

Oh, he is a bad liar, for sure. He is lying more to himself than to Rook. I would think that (if this is the build up to their fight) Rook realizes that he is giving poor excuses.

And the sex itself? A technical 10/10. He knows his anatomy, after all. But his heart is not really in it. He can’t allow himself to. He holds back, keeps a tight lid on his emotions. They both are well spent afterwards, but like so much else, it’s performative. Technically very well executed, but rarely do you see HIM, the real him, behind all that performance. Whenever something slips through, he reels back and closes up.

And then we are in that crypt. Rook was gone for weeks. The last thing they said that night before were words of anger. Rook called him out on his feelings and from that point on there was no possible way of lying to himself anymore. Those feelings were there. They were real. Rooks feelings were real. And those weeks spent in desperation, trying to get them back? Those walls came crashing down.

His true face, when all the walls are gone? You see that face when Rook leads him to the coffin. There is no pretense anymore. No performance. Just him, and all his love for Rook. The amount of emotion the animation team packed into those short moments in the cutscene? Mindblowing. Who ever crafted that expression on his face? They are the GOAT. I watch this part of that scene on repeat, and it never gets old.

So, I told you about how he has a tell, yes? Okay, two actually, but we all know surprised pikachu Emmrich. In that last scene it is resolved in the most beautiful way.

He looks down, when something touches him deeply, when he goes into his feels.

A few (way to many) examples:

And the worst wet kitten look? After the fight, when Rook leaves.

Its a look of shame. Of hurt. This man is hurting so badly.

Now here at the end we have that moment when Rook leads him to the coffin. His face turns down, like before. But here he looks up at Rook. He does not turn his eyes away but looks directly at them. Ahhh my heart.

Now, think about the fact that ROOK is leading in that moment?

In those moments where Rook leads or startles him (or is simply annoying enough so that the truth slips out), you see the most emotion from him.

Rooks flirting startles him, and he has a pikachu face reaction every time.

Their first kiss? Rook leans against the monument, and leans up, telling him without words that NOW is the time for a kiss. How can he not go for a second kiss?

That moment when Rook calls Manfred “our son”? He very conveniently ignores the word “OUR” and goes in defense mode over the word “son”. But called out on his feelings for Manfred? How can he deny them? He has tears in his voice when he says how he would not exchange this moment for anything? A real, deep emotion.

In their fight Emmrich is again all technical, all performance, so logical (or what he sells himself as logic). But Rook wrestles that moment from him and takes lead, calls him out on his bullshit.

In the crypt Rook pulls him up into a kiss and then leads him to the coffin, guiding him, taking him with them.

Most of the other times he takes the lead, very much in control. But the most emotions you get from him, are those times Rooks leads, when he lets go of this tight control over himself, or he is startled in to a reaction. For all the age difference that is played up in their relationship, in the important moments Rook is the one who guides. And he follows where they lead.

Those little moans he makes? If they did have sex before, I bet he did not make those sounds then. Where they did have some incredible sex, now they are making love. Open, vulnerable. He gives in.

And then they fall asleep together. Skin to skin, arms and legs intertwined. Their hands caressing, no sound but that of their heartbeats and soft breaths. Pure and utter contentment. In that moment nothing exists but them. Can you imagine that moment he woke up? The amount of emotions he must have felt then? This need to speak those little words? Those huge little words. He does not say them, not yet. But he is almost ready.

Finally, they stand there, on the battlefield of Elgar’nans madness. And he tells Rook. The last wall falls. Gives the most precious thing he can give to anyone.

“I love you.”

#emmrich #emmrich volkarin #emmrich x rook #emmrook #emmrich meta post #meta post #character study #dragon age #dragon age veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #da #datv #dav #surrealthoughts

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