#horrific embarrassing morning after

[joznii]

octopus

[devil-in-hiding]

Duuuuuuuude I just have to say that I just went on the most awkward first date. Like this guy asked ME on the date. I get there, he doesn’t even open the door for me, he doesn’t pay for my ice cream (which like I get that I’m an independent woman and everything but like it’s just chivalry idk) and just also he barely talked to me, I was the only one asking getting to know you questions or otherwise we just sat there is complete silence. Also he like stared at me the whole time and it was super uncomfortable. So I was just thinking like assistant reader telling the 141 guys about something like that and all of them boasting like “I’d treat you way better” and stuff like that

Please this has assistant!reader all over it i love

Coming into the base the morning after a h o r r i b l e date, absolutely horrific. Sitting at your desk with a pout on your lips, typing away at some mission report Price had asked you to review for him, when you hear the heavy fall of boots stop next to you.

“Lieutenant.” You greet, voice short and you can see Ghost frown at you. “Wha’s the matter with you?” He questions, crossing his arms over his chest, and you could just see the raised eyebrow.

You don’t meet his eye, fiddling with your fingers before he’s flicking you between the eyes with a sigh, pulling away before you can slap his hand. “I asked ya a question.”

“Do I look like one of your runts?” You snap, only to let out a shrill squeal when he grips the arms of your chair and yanks you up to him, bending down so he’s almost nose to nose with you.

“Spit it out.”

“Am I boring?” You blurt, and for the first time in the two years you have worked for Price (by extension, his team), you see a genuine look of surprise in his eyes.

“The hell you mean ‘borin’?” Ghost tilts his head, eyes narrowing and you fidget in your chair, this is the LAST man you’d have thought you’d be having this conversation with. “It’s just… I went on a god awful date last night and he made me feel like I was the most boring person on the planet. He just kept staring at me, like a staring contest. I kept trying to get to know him but he just kept shrugging, I don’t think he spoke three words and it was so fucking uncomfortable Simon.” You’re embarrassed at the tears brimming your eyes, rubbing at your eyes with the palm of your hand, sniffling.

You chance a glance at his face, and you can see the look of annoyance in his eyes, and you curl in on yourself. “Sorry, I-“

“What kind of daft cunt ruins a chance with you?” He scoffs, and your eyes widen but Simon just keeps on. “I mean, really love, where the hell did this man even take ya?”

“Ice cream…” You reply weakly and Simon lets out an honest to god snort, shaking his head. “You don’t even like ice cream that much, I woulda taken ya to that little bake shop around the corner that you love so much.” He huffs, and your heart flutters, heat crawling up your neck. “How-“

“And you are not borin’, if you have failed to notice, you bring a certain… warmth to these cold bastards.” He nods towards Price’s office, his eyes crinkling around the corners and you feel your own smile tugging your lips.

“Really?” Your voice is small, but Simon just leans a little closer, and you swear his eyes dart down to your lips.

“Why dontcha let me take ya out properly, yeah?”

[ceilidho]

sirius c

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 7; ghoap x reader) [tags: noncon, implied cheating (in the context of Ghost's refusal to be a negotiation king lol), very nsfw] masterlist

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No one tells you what to do when you finally notice the larger animal watching you from the thicket. 

It's been awhile now, you suspect. So long that it's managed to follow you all the way home.

Now they insist on helping you around the shop while you try to work. Try being the operative word. It’s hard to get much done with Simon scaring off all the customers and Johnny dogging at your heels, practically glued to your hip. You briefly consider stabbing him with the snips but then think the better of it. Simon’s stare follows you too closely for you to think you’d get away with it. 

Plus, after this morning—you cut that thought off at the root lest embarrassment make your eyeballs burn right out of your head. Despite the fact that he never brings it up, you can’t shake the thought that Simon knows. His face is just as expressionless with the mask off, which rests like a heavy weight on the kitchen table, imbued with a meaning too potent, too loaded, for you to fully digest or, really, understand in any concrete way. 

But the glint in his flinty eyes flirts with amusement. Brushes close to it. 

“What?” you snap, eggs dangling precariously from your fork.

His stare hasn’t wavered once since sitting you across from him. He doesn’t smirk nor snicker, but you can feel the laugh like a phantom limb that aches until you try to scratch it. He has a face carved from marble or granite, subject to some horrific fate. A statue pulled down from its pedestal and hauled into the river, now dragged out waterlogged and barnacle-crusted. Something terrible happened here and now something else wears its face.

His knees knock against yours under the table again, forcing one leg to spread to accommodate him. You stare at the elbow resting on your table as he chews off the end of a strip of bacon.

He doesn’t say anything, but you know he must have heard you and Johnny in the washroom earlier in the morning. Simon hadn’t even attempted to feign sleep when you’d come out flustered and turned around, stomach in knots. 

You can’t even look at Johnny for help because he stands behind the two of you at the counter, no space for him at your small kitchen table. Your life isn’t built to accommodate two men of their size; it’s hardly able to hold space for just the one.

Nevertheless, they stretch it to fit their needs.

Begrudgingly, you have to admit that Simon does help you out around the flower shop. He fixes the door to the supply closet that always jams, hoses down the sidewalk in front of the store where someone vomited near the entryway the night before, and even gives you a couple hours alone to yourself when he drags Johnny with him to do the bouquet deliveries. 

They come back with coffee in takeaway cups and pastries in a waxy bag and you nearly moan when you notice the label on the cup. Coffee from the good coffee shop across town. You actually moan when you sink your teeth into an almond croissant and then blink your eyes open wide when you hear Johnny groan in response. 

You steel yourself to keep your knees from knocking together.

It’s been a week since you saw him last. Hard to believe. You’ve been distant, rightfully so, contemplating the state of your relationship and coaxing yourself to the brink of texting him that it’s over, only to give up at the last possible minute. The tides receding again. 

You don’t think about how much you missed him. 

Since this morning, you’ve been on edge. Half tempted to corral Johnny into your apartment upstairs for some alone time. You don’t think Simon would allow that though, whether out of some sadistic glee in seeing you squirm or out of jealousy. It doesn’t seem unlikely. He acts like Johnny is his to do with what he pleases, and Johnny beams up at him like the sun and lets him.

You hadn’t realized there had been a third person in your relationship. Now it feels like his presence has always been felt. You can’t imagine Johnny without the half-shadow cast over his face.

All day, you wait for Johnny to break. Part of you hopes that it’ll be sooner rather than later. Unless he’s been entertaining someone on the side—and, for reasons unbeknownst to you, you discount that thought the second it comes to you, sure that you’d know if there was another woman—it’s likely that he hasn’t fucked in a week. He acts like it too, hovering close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Every accidental step back comes with a chance of landing straight into his arms. 

When you touch his arm gently to ask him to help you move a heavy flower pot, he looks down at you with irises gone black, ready to fuck on a dime. It’s not the right place or time, and you’re still tremendously pissed at him for letting his superior grope you in front of their whole platoon or whatever, but you’ve also gone a week without his dick, and you’re starting to think that your pride shouldn’t get in the way of good dick.

But then he looks over at the hulking figure haunting the doorway and draws back. The shadow on your relationship again. The tension breaks. Even though he postures and flexes when he helps you move the flower pot, it doesn’t come with an invitation to sneak away to your apartment upstairs. Johnny grits his teeth and holds himself back because Simon tells him to; because, in Simon’s own words, he’s a good lad. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask Simon when Johnny goes to take a leak, but he just stares at you with eyes still darkened by poorly wiped off eye black. 

The oxygen is sucked out of the room when it’s just the two of you. He’s imposing from afar, accentuated by the innate knowledge—gleaned just from looking at him, nothing more than that, just the size of him in his line of work—that he’s the most dangerous thing around, but with no one else to hide behind, you can’t help but feel like a trapped animal. 

“Means he knows who’s in charge,” he says. 

Like that’s supposed to tell you anything. 

The air still crackles with tension when Johnny comes back. He glances around almost nervously, pupils dilating. 

“The two of ye finally gettin’ on?” he asks.

There’s a moment where you consider ripping the veil down and saying, no, we aren’t, Johnny. You quisling. You can see exactly how uncomfortable I am. It’s more than visible; it’s oozing from my pores. You’ve let a wild animal into my house and now it won’t leave. In fact, it’s pissing on my sheets to mark its territory. You let it in knowingly, and even though you know something’s wrong, you’re letting it get worse.

Simon’s smile is severe and whetted when he cuts off your train of thought. “Reckon we're getting on like a house on fire, eh?” 

You can’t muster more than a weak smile and nod in response to that.

Around mid afternoon, a regular client calls in with a large, last minute order. You accept it because it’s nothing you don’t already have in stock, but it means you have to close the shop early to work on her order and then load up the van to drive to her place to drop the flowers off.

“I’ll come with you,” Simon grunts when you flip the sign and tell the two of them about your plans.

You freeze, a shudder rippling down your spine. “That’s not necessary—I can do it myself.”

“Don’t care.”

“I do it all the time when you’re not here!”

“It’s not up for debate,” he says, eyes going hard. Daring you to argue.

You’ve been getting the sense all day that he’s been trying to corner you, trying to get you on your own. You evade his efforts like a prey animal, but all that does is make him work harder for it. 

You look to Johnny for any kind of reassurance, someone to back you up and agree that you’re more than capable since you do this all the time, but he just grins from behind the counter where he helps cut lengths of cellophane and ribbon for the bouquets. “Aye, hen, let him help. Ye cannae carry all of that yourself.”

Your brain clicks back on when you’re barrelling towards your client’s place at breakneck speed, far too fast for a residential road. It’s not you driving though. Simon has himself parked in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel and the other dangling loosely out the window. His driving makes your stomach churn, nausea brewing. You bone-knuckle the grab handle reflexively. 

“Could you slow down?” you hiss out through clenched teeth.

Simon ignores you until you start to scroll through your phone to distract yourself. He transfers the hand on the wheel to jostle your knee with his free hand. “Eyes on the road.”

“I’m not even driving you,” you squawk, heart thudding in your chest when his hand doesn’t lift off your knee. 

“Tell me when to turn, doll.” The pet name makes your stomach jump. When he says it, his hand tightens over your knee, thick fingers with scraped up knuckles curling around, the width of his palm wider than your kneecap and you stare down dumbly, rabbit heart careening at the same speed as the van. 

You’re so dumbfounded that you nearly miss the street. He takes the turn suddenly when you mention it instead of making the sensible call to go up the next street and then come back down, and you swear and yell when he nearly takes the van onto the right two wheels. 

The sweat is still dripping down the nape of your neck when he parks in front of the client’s venue.

Simon ignores any attempt of yours to help unload the van. All you can do is watch helplessly as he carries multiple arrangements into the venue at once, leaving you to handle the contract and payment collection. The situation is spiraling rapidly out of your control. 

Your client, a housewife about a decade or so older than you, eyes him as he passes with two flower pots tucked under his arms. 

“I didn’t know you changed staff,” she murmurs, eyes following him into the next room and lingering on the backs of his thighs when he bends down to deposit the flower pots, making the material of his pants strain tight around his glutes and hamstrings. 

“I didn’t,” you protest, shaking your head. “That’s—he’s my boyfriend’s coworker. Um, his boss, I mean. I think. He’s just helping out for the day.”

“Well, I know how I’d like him to help out,” someone else giggles. One of the venue staff, judging by her uniform. Even your client titters at that.

Simon’s more approachable with the mask off, it seems. Still verging on the preternatural, but at least without the mask he seems more human. All six-foot-five-inches of him, arms and legs packed with a generous helping of muscle and fat; a square jaw must be appealing to any sex-parched person within range. It makes your jaw clench.

“Here’s your receipt,” you grit out before ripping it off the payment terminal and handing it to her. She blinks at your dour mood, unused to a less than professional version of you, but that’s what Simon’s presence does to you. Sours you right up. A lemon squeezed right into the mouth.

He’s posted by the van when you come out still scowling and itching for a row. He frowns at the look on your face. “Fix your attitude. You’ve already upset Johnny enough.”

You halt in your tracks, dumbstruck. “I’ve upset Johnny?”

“Yeah. So fix it before we get back.”

You’ve officially reached your limit. All day, you’ve been waiting to go nuclear, bad mood settling deeper and deeper into you because you’ve never been good at managing your anger. The audacity to blame you for this whole situation nearly makes you lose your head. 

Simon looks almost bored when you stomp up to him and stab a finger into his chest. You pointedly do not let yourself focus on how little his chest gives beneath your finger. “All of this was your fault for sexually harassing me in the first place. I don’t even think you were ever sorry for that—this all just feels like some fucked up attempt to break me and Johnny up.”

He stares down at you. “You think I want Johnny for myself?”

Heat flares under your collar, but you push on. “I do. And you know what? You can have him. I don’t need this. Johnny clearly values your approval more than mine anyway or none of this ever would have happened once he caught you groping me in broad daylight. If you want him so bad, nothing I do is going to work, so why even bother? He’s yours. The both of you can fuck off when we get back—I’m sick of having you in my space.”

The tirade leaves you panting by the end of it, and then you look into his eyes. 

You wonder if it’s a universal phenomenon to sense the moment when you’ve made a grave miscalculation. It must be. The feeling is overwhelming; for you, it throbs in your very bones. 

Simon’s expression never changes, but the light behind his eyes starts to flicker in a different way, and you are suddenly conscious of him not just as a man but as a man paid to kill. A professional at that. At least a dozen bodies under his belt and likely more, and yet you stand chest to chest with him like you’re somehow tougher than that; like all those bodies mean nothing, like his knife hasn’t quenched its bloodthirst ad infinitum, like his arms haven’t felt a neck crack until it’s become a habit, an easy kill, a morning fix. 

You’ve never felt more like meat than under his gaze. 

“Get your ass in the van,” he commands, and you listen because your mouth has gone dry and you understand now, somewhere deep in your reptile brain, a little creature hissing at you to turn and run, that he doesn’t warn. He just does. 

Humiliation festers under your skin when he buckles you in. Your mouth opens on a smart remark until you catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye and it’s all anger leaking tar, mafic lava dark and flowing, smooth and lobed and striated with hellfire. 

You think at first that he’s just going to drive you home. Your words might have offended him, but the lack of refutation makes you think that at his core, he must agree. Simon is just another man with an unholy allegiance to ego, an ugly incarnation of desire and pride that you might have briefly mistook as a person as complex as yourself until he snuffed that inkling right out with a hand on your ass. 

Then, lost in your thoughts, you miss when he pulls over and puts the van in park. 

You hear the click of your seatbelt, but your head doesn’t have time to turn before Simon hauls you over the center console and into his lap, a hand already clamping over your mouth to muffle your scream. 

“I’ve had enough of the fuckin’ attitude, girl,” Simon snarls into your ear, shoving his hand down the front of your pants without any preamble, the stretchy jogger fabric not putting up any resistance. “I haven’t got the patience for it. We’ll sort you out and knock these stupid notions from your skull.”

You must shriek under his palm because his fingers tighten, digits pressed into your jaw to the point of aching. It’s hard to tell under the white hot fear that washes over you, nearly blinding you. 

If it bothers him to find you dry under your panties, he doesn’t say anything. Calloused fingers spread your labia wide and trace over your clit lazily, trying to coax the slick out of you. You squirm in his hold, desperate to somehow wriggle out, but Simon chooses now to give you a glimpse of his strength, holding you tight to his chest. No matter how much you squirm, there’s no way out of his hold. Shouting behind his palm doesn’t help either; Simon just curls his hand tighter over your mouth. 

Horror blooms in your chest when your core starts to warm up at his touch. The first traitorous bead of wetness nearly has you apoplectic with rage. His fingers saw up and down over your slit until he thinks you’re wet enough to handle two fingers shoved knuckle deep. 

“Enough of that,” Simon grunts when you yelp and knee the underside of the steering wheel in your haste to get away. “It’s just two. You’ve been fucked before; you can take it.”

Your knee aches from slamming into the steering wheel, but it’s nothing compared to the ache of his fingers stretching you open, the skin around his knuckles delicate and febrile. For all his flaws, Johnny loves getting his mouth on your pussy before trying to cram his cock in, addicted to the taste of you on his tongue when he’s got you folded in half and taking his dick like a champ. Simon seems like he wouldn’t mind railing you in the back of the van without any prep whatsoever. 

“Can’t wait to break you on my cock,” he growls, his breath hot over your neck, and lust stinking up the van so bad that the air is nearly rancid with it. Sulfuric. “You think you’ve had it rough with Johnny? You don’t have a fuckin’ clue what you’re in for with me.”

His hunger is a noxious, billowing cloud. Miasma like. It threatens to smother you. His shaft is hard under your ass, evident when he thrusts his hips up. Your ensuing yip makes him grunt, gratified, like his pleasure comes part from your shock. 

“I’m not explaining this shit anymore. This is the way it’s gonna be from now on—no discussion, no arguing, no nothing. It’s not up for negotiation.”

Simon’s fingers piston into you without remorse, brutal hunger foisted off on your body. You again try desperately to push away from him, almost levitating out of his arms until he forces you back down and bites down hard over your clothed shoulder. The horn stays silent when you try to honk it, mocking you somehow. You wonder if anyone would hear your muffled cries from beneath Simon’s hand if they happened to pass by, or if they’d chance a glance into the van and see the devil himself playing with your pussy in his lap and keep on walking. 

Your body plays you for a fool though, sweltering under his touch. When he growls in your ear, your pussy clenches up nice and tight, and slick drips down your inner thighs. 

A third finger nearly makes you choke on your gasp. You go quiet after that save for the occasional whimper, all of your energy concentrated on accommodating his fingers, each as wide as almost two of yours. A fourth almost doesn’t feel fathomable, but then he sinks it into you and every thought leaks out of your head.

“Christ, you’re a dream when you shut your mouth, aren’t you, doll?” Simon breathes, nosing the corner of your jaw. “Johnny picked a nice little cunt for himself.” 

He doesn’t pick up on the irony somehow. Even shaking in his lap, your brows furrow at his words, a barb on the tip of your tongue until a glob of slick leaks from you and wrenches you back out of your head. 

He clicks his tongue against his teeth all condescendingly when your breathing goes hitched and panicked, so close to coming that you feel a hairsbreadth from it. When you jump at the sound of his tongue snapping in your ear, he chuckles, the broad chest at your back shaking with his laughter.

“There we go,” Simon murmurs, rubbing a soothing hand over your belly. “Tired, eh? Just need to come and have a nap. I know Johnny left you hanging this morning. Poor girl.”

You hadn’t even noticed that he’d dropped his hand from your mouth to your stomach, but there’s nothing to do about it now. All you can do is lean back against him and stare at the fine, blond hair on his knuckles as he drags it over your belly button in slow, languid strokes. 

“Oh god—” you groan when he thumbs your pearled clit and sinks his fingers in as deep as they’ll go, your hole stretched too tight. 

Sweat beads on your hairline. It feels like tears might be leaking down your cheeks, but it’s hard to say. The only thing you can do is focus on not coming apart at the seams.

The air in the van is moistened by your breath, the windows almost completely fogged up. Your lower back aches from arching into his hand. When it comes out in a sob, he tells you he’ll have Johnny massage it when the two of you get home. 

“It’s always gonna hurt a little with me,” Simon says, and you almost mistake it for apologetic until he pulls you into an open-mouthed kiss that makes you twist your neck and ignores the way you whimper into his mouth.  

You nearly black out when he finally makes you come, your head tipping back and resting on his shoulder. You tense in his grasp and open your mouth on a soundless moan when your walls spasm around his fingers. Nothing you can do but let it happen. Like splintering down the middle. It hits you so hard that your belly cramps. 

Shame hits you so much harder. A half second after, like the sky splitting open and a voice thundering down, you know what you did. 

Your leg gives a feeble twitch when he pulls his fingers out, his palm soaked with your juices. You’re a limp mess of sour sweat and come in his lap, reeking of sex musk and a warm, spicy scent. 

You squeal and jolt back to awareness when he pushes a finger back in, sensitive to the point of pain. “Simon, I can’t—”

“Hold still; m’not done yet,” he cuts you off, irritation layered in his voice again. 

You don’t have to endure it for as long this time at least; he paws at your overworked sex and pants in your ear like a bear. Luxuriating in the soft, wet folds of your pussy. His touch isn’t clumsy, but it feels like he’s making up for lost time. It almost makes you wonder how long he’s wanting to get between your legs, but that thought evaporates when he reaches further down to press his fingers against the rim of your other hole, chuckling into your hair when you clench up. 

Then, after a few minutes, he pulls his hand out of your joggers and pats your belly with his wet fingers, leaving dewy strands of your juices on your skin before helping you back into the passenger seat. You don’t even have it in you to protest when he buckles you in again. You even accept it when he leans over to plant another wet kiss on your mouth, one with too much tongue and too much teeth, come drunk and aching for any kind of affection. 

“Sweet as pie, eh?” Simon rasps, eyes half-lidded and heady. Almost lovesick. “Couldn’t have asked for better.”

You stare at the side of his head as he drives the two of you back to the shop, eyes glued to his cauliflower ear. Rough son of a bitch. Brute strength hewn into his bones, covetous need in his veins.

And this is what your boyfriend thought was appropriate to bring home. 

He stops one more time to feed his cock down your throat before you make it home. Your tongue curls around the mushroomed head of dick when he drags your head down, the wiry hair at his crotch tickling your nose. The scent of him here is pungent, musky. Old lichenous rocks and rust like blood on your tongue. You’re so pliable that you hardly even gag when it touches the back of your throat. 

His come is still hot and tacky on your tongue when he pulls you into his lap to let you cry it out, wiping up your tears with a rough thumb. It’s a while before you manage to settle down again. 

Johnny’s still beaming behind the counter when you come in, Simon at your rear to keep you from running, his hand planted firmly at the small of your back. You can barely look your boyfriend in the eye. You’re afraid he’ll see it plain as day on your face, hair mused and lips swollen from sucking his lieutenant off in the van on the drive home. 

“The two of ye have a good time all by yourselves?” he asks, either deliberately ignoring the obvious or naively trusting. You don’t know which would be worse.

You can hear the dry grin in Simon’s voice. “We had a nice chat, didn’t we, doll?”

All you can muster is a weak smile and croak, “Yep. We did.”

You hold off a flinch when Simon’s hand slips down and grabs a handful of your ass.

[pedroscowgirl]

Our little secret

aaron hotchner x afab!reader

fluff/ bit angsty ?

don't read if you're uncomfy with pregnancies or if you don't like them!

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, throwing up, anxiety , secret relationship

summary: You and Aaron Hotchner are secretly dating while working a BAU case when you start feeling sick, blaming it on food poisoning. The truth, however, is that you're pregnant, a fact you’ve been hiding from the team and Hotch

wc: 2k

A/n: this is a short one srry

The day started like any other—early, cold, and demanding. You and the rest of the BAU team were called to the scene of a particularly brutal murder. The sight was horrific, even by your standards. As the team gathered around the body, discussing the unsub's potential profile, you felt a wave of nausea rise in your throat.

You've seen worse. You’ve been to enough crime scenes that the blood and gore should be something you’re used to by now. But this time, it felt different. You tried to focus on Hotch’s voice as he calmly led the discussion, but the queasy feeling in your stomach was only getting worse. Your vision blurred slightly, and you knew that if you didn’t leave now, you were going to embarrass yourself in front of everyone.

You quickly excused yourself, turning on your heel and walking away from the scene as fast as you could without drawing more attention. As soon as you were out of sight, you broke into a run, reaching the nearest alley and doubling over to vomit. The sickness was sudden, but the relief was almost instant. You leaned against the wall, catching your breath and trying to steady your heart.

“Hey,” a voice startled you. You looked up to see Emily standing a few feet away, concern etched across her face. “Everything okay?” she asked, her eyes scanning your face for answers.

You wiped the back of your hand across your mouth, embarrassed to have been caught. “Uh, yeah. I think I got food poisoning or something,” you said, trying to shrug it off.

Emily didn’t seem entirely convinced, but she nodded slowly. “Alright. Let’s head back.”

Together, you returned to the crime scene, hoping no one else would notice your sudden absence. But of course, as soon as you rejoined the group, Morgan was quick to ask. “You good?”

You could feel Hotch’s eyes on you, and for a split second, your gaze flicked to his before you answered. “Yeah, just food poisoning,” you repeated, your voice a little too casual. You hoped the explanation would suffice.

But Hotch raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. You’d been spending a lot of time with him lately, especially with the two of you sneaking around during the case. You’d shared several meals together over the past week, and if you were sick from something you ate, wouldn’t he be too? His mind was already working, but thankfully, he didn’t push the issue—not yet.

The nausea didn’t go away after that day. Every morning brought new waves of sickness, and every time you thought you were getting better, it hit again. You were careful to hide it from the team, but you couldn’t hide everything.

It didn’t take long for JJ to notice. She caught you sneaking off to the bathroom more than once, and after everything she went through with her own pregnancy, she didn’t need much to figure it out. She pulled Emily aside during a quieter moment, her voice low as she shared her suspicions.

“I think she’s pregnant,” JJ whispered, glancing over at you as you leaned against the wall, looking pale.

Emily’s eyes widened. “What? Is she even dating anyone?” she asked, surprised. “I mean, not that she has to be dating anyone to be pregnant, but you know…”

JJ shrugged. “I don’t know. But I recognize that look.”

Meanwhile, you were doing everything you could to keep yourself together. During another meeting later that afternoon, the team was deep in discussion about the unsub’s motives and next moves when you felt another wave of nausea. You excused yourself quickly, heading for the bathroom once again to throw up. When you returned, Hotch was waiting for you, his concern clear in the way he looked at you.

“Maybe you should stay in the hotel, rest up,” he said, his voice gentle but firm.

The suggestion hit a nerve, though. You were already feeling on edge, not just from the constant sickness, but from the stress of keeping your relationship with him a secret. Add to that the fact that you’d just confirmed your pregnancy with a couple of tests you bought in a small pharmacy that morning, and the last thing you wanted was to feel weak or out of control.

“I’m fine, Hotch,” you replied, your voice more stern than you intended.

His brow furrowed in confusion. He didn’t understand why you were suddenly so defensive. The two of you had always been careful about how you spoke to each other in front of the team, but this time, something was different. You could see the wheels turning in his mind, but for now, he let it go.

That evening, back at the hotel, you finally had a moment to yourself. The stress of the case, the secrecy of your relationship with Hotch, and now the realization that you were pregnant had all been weighing heavily on your mind. You paced around your room, trying to figure out how to handle it all. How would you tell Hotch? Would he be angry? Would he even want this?

A knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts. You opened it to find Hotch standing there, his expression softer than usual.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. You hadn’t expected to see him this evening.

“I just wanted to check on you,” he said simply, stepping into the room when you gestured for him to come in.

“Thanks,” you muttered, unsure of what else to say. You were too tired to keep up the pretense, but you weren’t ready to have the conversation you knew was coming, either.

Hotch looked at you, his concern deepening. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked, his voice soft but cautious.

You didn’t have time to answer. The nausea hit you again, and you barely made it to the bathroom before you were throwing up once more. Hotch followed you, kneeling beside you as you sat on the floor, resting your head against the cool tile.

“How is it that you have food poisoning, and Jack and I don’t?” he asked quietly, his hand resting gently on your back.

You let out a soft, bitter laugh, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “You know, Hotchner, for a professional profiler, you really suck at this.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard by your words. “What do you mean?” he asked, still confused.

Taking a deep breath, you realized there was no point in hiding it anymore. You looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m pregnant, Aaron,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

The silence that followed was deafening. Hotch just stared at you, his expression unreadable. The longer he stayed quiet, the more your nerves began to fray. You weren’t sure how he would react, and the uncertainty was eating away at you.

“Aaron… please say something,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

He blinked again, still processing. “I… I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, his voice quiet and full of emotion.

Your heart sank at his hesitation. You had feared this might be too much for him, that maybe he didn’t want this as much as you were starting to. But just as you were about to apologize or say something to ease the tension, you saw the tears well up in his eyes.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Aaron?”

Before you could react, Hotch leaned forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. “I’m so happy,” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. He held you tightly for a moment longer, his hand gently rubbing your back as he tried to process everything. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, feeling a strange sense of calm despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling around you. The silence was comfortable, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to just exist in it, soaking in the relief that came from finally telling him.

Aaron pulled back slightly, his hand moving to cup your face. His thumb brushed your cheek, and he gazed at you with a soft, adoring expression you rarely saw from him in public. It made your heart swell, and you could see how much he meant those words.

“I love you,” he whispered again, his voice filled with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. You smiled, your hand resting lightly on his chest, feeling the warmth radiate from him.

He leaned in, his lips inching closer to yours, but before he could kiss you, you instinctively put your hand on his chest and gently pushed him back. "Aaron…" you began, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment. "I literally just threw up. You really don’t want to kiss me right now."

Aaron blinked in surprise and then chuckled softly, a rare sound that made your heart skip. "I don’t care," he said, the corners of his lips turning up into a small smile. He leaned in again, but you kept your hand firm against his chest, shaking your head.

"I care," you insisted, giving him a playful glare. "Trust me, you’ll regret it."

He laughed again, the tension between you easing, and nodded. "Alright, alright," he conceded, his voice warm and full of affection. "I’ll wait. But only because you insist."

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a little lighter as you sat back, leaning against the bathroom wall. The reality of the situation was still sinking in. You were pregnant. With Aaron’s child. It was overwhelming, but having him by your side made it feel less terrifying.

He sat down beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he took your hand in his. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice now more serious. "With all of this?"

You looked down at your intertwined fingers, the weight of the question pressing on you. "I… I’m scared," you admitted quietly. "I don’t know what’s going to happen. With the team, with us…"

Aaron nodded, understanding the unspoken worries. "We’ll figure it out," he said gently. "One step at a time. You don’t have to do this alone."

You squeezed his hand, the reassurance soothing the storm in your mind. "What if the team finds out?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "We’ve been so careful. But now…"

Aaron sighed, his thumb absentmindedly tracing patterns on your hand. "We’ll cross that bridge when we get there," he said after a moment. "Right now, you need to focus on taking care of yourself. And… if it comes out, then we’ll deal with it together."

The weight of his words settled over you, and though the fear was still there, it was more manageable with him by your side. You rested your head on his shoulder, the exhaustion from the day catching up with you. "What if I’m not ready?" you asked, your voice so quiet you weren’t sure if he heard you.

Aaron gently lifted your chin so you were looking into his eyes. "You don’t have to be ready right now," he said softly. "We’ll figure it out as we go. I’m here for you, always."

Your heart swelled at his words, and despite everything—the nausea, the uncertainty, the secrecy, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe things wouldn’t be perfect, and maybe you weren’t fully prepared, but you knew you weren’t doing this alone.

Leaning against him, you closed your eyes, finally allowing yourself to relax. He held you close, his presence steady and comforting.

But just as you were starting to drift into a peaceful moment, a knock came at the door.

"Y/N?" It was Emily’s voice, followed by a second knock. "You in there?"

Your eyes shot open, and you and Aaron exchanged a look. Panic quickly replaced the calm.

"I think we’ll need to discuss our cover story soon," you muttered with a smirk, earning a quiet laugh from Aaron as he helped you to your feet.

taglist (lmk if u wanna be added): @looking1016 @pear-1206 @doe-eyed-diva @ssa-aaronhotchner @sweetpinkchampagne @totallyjovialblaze @pastelpinkflowerlife @donttrustlove @actualdeemon @jencole214 @fandomawesomeness @devilslittlehelper @mrs-ssa-hotch

[ziggyzolch]

Queen Bee-atch Ⅰ (Regina George x Reader)

Summary: You, a self-proclaimed loser, are going into Junior year with one goal in mind: Avoid Regina George. Nobody notices you, so it shouldn't be too hard…right?

✮✮✮

Light seeps through the blinds and birds start to make themselves known with their melodic chirps. Aggressive rustling can be heard from outside your door as you throw a mini tantrum on your, now ruffled up, sheets. Sleepless nights weren't new to you, but they don't get any less frustrating. You stare at the ceiling for a good 30 seconds before finally pushing yourself off your bed. Walking to turn off the air conditioning, you trip over god-knows what and fall flat on your face. The first day of junior year and you're already contemplating ending it all, on the floor of your dump of a bedroom, laying next to a-

"My mascara!", you exclaimed as you sat up. You lost that thing ages ago. You get up, taking the mascara with you and make your way into the bathroom. Becoming a junior wasn't anything you cared for. After sophomore year, the illusion of high school you created in your head had melted away, leaving behind a hollow teenage girl that just wanted to get it over and done with.

Putting away your mascara, you catch a glimpse of yourself in your mirror. A bed-head ridden girl with deep eye bags, which only seem to become more obvious with each passing day, stares back at you. "God, I look horrific," you thought out loud. A habit, in hindsight, you needed to rid yourself of. Going through your morning routine, you think about the coming school year. 11th grade! Will this be the year you reinvent yourself? You could completely change yourself; The way you walk, talk, act, and dress!

...

Who are you kidding.

After successfully poking your eye with your eyeliner three times, you're done. You peak your head out your bathroom door, glancing at the cat-themed clock you've had since you were a baby. It's 8 am. Classes start at 8:15. Curses fall out of your mouth. Did time warp halfway through your routine or something? Running out of the bathroom you quickly change into your clothes, a worn out band T-shirt and black cargos. You can hear your mother cursing at you from downstairs as you make your way out your room. "You're going to be late on your first day, seriously?" Your mom deadpans as you reach the bottom of the stairs. "Whatever, mom, they don't even care."

Walking to school instead of letting your mother drive you was probably not the best idea, but you're too far from the house to care right now. You turn the final corner and arrive at your final location, North Shore High School. Approaching the doors, you can already make out two students face-mashing each other through the window.

���✮✮

You've been a student at North Shore since freshman year, but anyone could mistake you for a new student, if they even noticed you that is. You pride yourself in being able to blend in with the crowd. This school was filled with losers, so you fit right in. They had already been assigned, so you made your way through the various cliques grouped up in the hallways and to your locker. As much as you hated this place, it's what you're used to. You'd have a hard time adjusting to a new high school, at least at this one you knew who to avoid. You don't even think about it anymore since you don't run into them much- nevermind. "Watch it, freak!"

Great, of anyone you could've bumped into, it's the queen bitch, Regina George. "Whatever." you mumbled and began to walk away when you were pulled back by your bag and shoved back into the lockers...hard. "This is the part where you apologize, Gerard Way." she spits at you while holding the straps of your backpack. A bit of black eyeliner and suddenly you're emo at this school. She was a couple inches taller than you, making it all the more embarrassing, looking up at her. Wriggling around proves unsuccessful. Is there a gym-bro buried beneath her layers of pink and pretty or something? Getting out of her grip doesn't seem like a possibility, so you begrudgingly mumble out a "Sorry..."

She stares at you for a few seconds too long.

"Uhm...can I go now?" You ask. "Yeah uh, sure, whatever." She finally lets you go and storms away towards her group of all-mighty "biatches", or "Plastics" as some (mainly Damien and Janis) call them.

So much for not being noticed.

✮✮✮

A/N: this is my first time writing, so any constructive criticism would be great! forgive any awkward wording or corny-ness. There are more chapters up on my wattpad and ao3, same username for both. @ziggyzolch

[devildomwriter]

Obey Me as Disenchantment Quotes #1

Lucifer & Satan: *Laughing maniacally*

Simeon: “While I question their evil motives, it is nice to see them happy.”

Barbatos: “Now announcing the triumphant return of our heroes from their quest that we all privately thought would fail.”

Mammon & Leviathan: “…”

Lucifer: “How do we even know it worked.”

Solomon: “Oh but it must have worked. Now to test it, we need a volunteer to kill you.”

Belphegor: “Dibs.”

Barbatos: “How can you keep messing up a recipe with two ingredients?”

Solomon: “If you ever run into trouble give them this note.”

MC: “Kill me?”

Solomon: “Thirteen gave it to me, now I give it to you.”

Leviathan: “I’ve been meaning to…but the thing is, I…so you see…well, I’m glad we had this talk. How bout you talk now?”

MC: “But you haven’t said anything yet.”

Belphegor: “Well I was waiting to tell you until after I was dead so I wouldn’t have to tell you.”

Mammon: “Now just keep holding on, okay. Just keep holding on.”

MC: “It’s okay, it’s okay Mammon, I always wanted to go out while I’m still young and hot.”

Leviathan: “I didn’t want to tell you because I’m terrified of female emotions.”

Satan: “No, no, no, I was mostly raised by Lucifer. And a bunch of friendly drunks down at the pub. They taught me the fine art of stabbing.”

Barbatos: “It’s just too painful seeing the truth all the time.”

Solomon: “Ah, that’s why humans tend to avoid it.”

Belphegor: “The profession left without me.”

Diavolo: “Oh, that’s too bad.”

Belphegor: “I blame myself, cause I didn’t even notice.”

Solomon & Barbatos: *fighting*

Asmodeus: “Guys, guys come on. I’m much more embarrassed than I am aroused.”

Asmodeus: “MC, you poor baby. What a horrific day you’ve had. Let’s have too much wine and forget about it all.”

Beelzebub: “How’d you become a weird talking cat.”

Satan: “You keep shoving waffles in your mouth while I think of an answer.”

Thirteen: “I’ll use my skills as a hunter and Raphael will use his diplomacy to stab them with a broom handle.”

Solomon: “I used to spend many nights up here. Watching the sky, the moon, the neighbors.”

Lucifer: “This is your home. You’re free to explore.”

MC: “Wow, what’s behind that door?”

Lucifer: “None of your business nosy.”

Mammon: “Maybe you were overcome by chimney fumes. It happens quite frequently in a place like this with no chimnies.”

Satan: “What family curse? You mean insanity?”

Leviathan: “No, don’t be crazy. But yes I mean insanity.”

Asmodeus: “You guys are heavy. Do I really need both of you?”

Solomon & Satan: “Yes!”

Asmodeus: “Damn, I hate democracy.”

Mammon: “I knew you could count on me!”

Simeon: “What’s this called again?”

Mammon: “A a massage. It’s like a light well intentioned beating.”

Diavolo: “You’re clearly upset.”

Lucifer: “I’m not upset!”

Diavolo: “You said that like you were upset!”

MC: “Come on Belphegor be reasonable!”

Belphegor: “Never!”

Satan: “We’re gonna have to wing this in a dangerously half assed manner.”

Mammon: “That’s the Morningstar way.”

Asmodeus: “There’s plenty of fish in the sea, Sol.”

Solomon: “Like hell am I marrying another fish woman.”

Lucifer: “Disappointment’s a form of caring.”

Diavolo: “Tell me, where are you from.”

Solomon: “A country setting, it’s kind of like a farm but more stabbing.”

Simeon: “This whole thing feels like a weird dream.”

Mammon: “Or scurvy. When does scurvy kick in?”

Lucifer: “Believe it or not I know what it feels like to be burned alive by a mob of idiots.”

Beelzebub: “Oh, sweet butter, you’re the only thing right with the world.”

Solomon: “Morning, Belphegor! Care to try my new cure all? It wards off the deadly plague.”

Belphegor: “I’m actually hoping for death. Thanks though.”

Mammon: “For the first time in my life I feel completely calm and—“

Mammon: *Gets attacked by hawk*

Satan: “I’ve loved you since the moment you killed my brother.”

Mammon: “You don’t scare me! I was born scared.”

[shaunamilfman]

Lucy MacLean x Wastelander R HC's

you start looking at her in a new light after she sets off a grenade that takes out a room full of enemies. you're so impressed with her that she doesn't have the heart to tell you that she just accidentally tripped into a row of shelves and knocked an old grenade on the floor. 

“you want the head?”/ Lucy, love-struck “i mean if you're offering.” a pause, thinking over what you just said and looking disappointed. ”wait– did you say the head?"

most shocked look ever watching you loot bodies. on her high horse talking about “stealing is wrong” till you agree and say you just won’t be able to have dinner that night then. suddenly she’s willing to make exceptions to her morals, go figure.

whenever she starts talking too much, you start describing the most horrific looking monsters you've fought. she's following silently behind you in horror for a good mile before she manages to shake that description off and starts talking just as eagerly again. the silence was nice while it lasted. 

Lucy pretends to not know how to do things so that you’ll teach it to her as an excuse to talk to you but takes it way too far. you’re like, “what do you mean you don’t know how to open a can?” while she looks visibly upset that you don’t wrap your arms around her to show her how like she’s seen in those pre-war movies.

uses your rations to try to tame herself a pet while you're camping for the night. you’re looking everywhere for your last box of sugar bombs only to find a shameless Lucy feeding it to the ugliest animal you’ve ever seen as she tries to entice it to do tricks. She insists that she doesn’t understand why you’re mad about it but you can’t help but notice she never uses her rations for it. you end up getting so mad that you can’t even speak to her, which turns out to be the most effective punishment you ever could have come up with. she’s sitting there and begging you to talk to her because she's going crazy without human interaction (it's been five minutes).

you’re surprised and a little sad to see that Lucy isn’t in the camp when you wake up the next morning but it’s fine. You don’t need her anyway, right? You try not to look relieved when she trudges in halfway through taking the camp down covered in soot and grime and collapses in her cot as she holds up a pristine box of sugar bombs she spent all night searching for.

Lucy sees you smile one (1) time and will not get over it. “you have such a pretty smile, you should really smile more. you know it really lights up your face and…” on and on for like ten minutes. The type to grab for your face to pull the sides of your lips up to make you smile. You’re still visibly frowning, just with your lips pulled up at the sides. Lucy’s so frustrated with you mostly because she realized you’re actually really nice to look at when you aren’t glaring at everything. 

Lucy would call you lover unironically. goes through a million different terms of endearment before finally deciding on that one. it was one of the least embarrassing ones that she suggested so you wearily let it happen. walking for miles with Lucy trying them out initially like "honey. baby. teddy bear. big teddy bear of death? murder bear? no, okay, got it. sweetie. babe…” 

pretending not to know about things Lucy is referencing to see how long it takes for her to realize you’re messing with her. she's talking about her book club and you’re like “book? what's a book?” and she’s spiraling trying to explain the concept of written word to you

no concept of flirting. give her your absolute best lines and she's like “haha… okay?”. got to be as blunt as possible. tell her you want to fuck and she's like “oh yeah, sure.”

[radiant-reid]

just saw the post abt having to explain to spencer the talking stage then an actual relationship and how he overhears her telling someone she doesnt hv a bf maybe a blurb/fic on that idea?

Spencer steals glances at you every morning while you make your coffee and chat with Emily. It's so apparent to everyone what he's doing that JJ and Morgan have taken to stealing things off his desk, seeing how much they can take before he notices.

One day, when you're walking back to your desk you make a comment that has his interest piqued even more. "No, I don't have a boyfriend at the moment. I'm enjoying being single."

Spencer's heart sinks at your words, his mind instantly conjuring images of your dates. Dates that should mean he's your boyfriend, right? So why are you telling everyone you're single?

His head is spinning with confusion, and it's turning to anger pretty quickly. Are you ashamed to be with him? Surely if you're enjoying being single, that means you're dating other people or that you're not even interested in him.

He can't believe it, his emotions swinging from anger to sadness. It's unbelievable and you're breaking his heart.

Before you're even sitting down, Spencer's getting up and rushing to the bathroom to calm his racing heart rate before he has to be sick.

Your conversation doesn't even remain in your mind while you continue your day. What feels odd is Spencer freezing you out. Usually, on boring paperwork days, Spencer will tell you fun facts or dumb science jokes just to break up the repetitive work and horrific nature of your files.

He doesn't. Not a single comment comes your way, not even when you ask very open-ended science questions, basically inviting him to ramble about his favorite topics. None of it entices him.

His sarcastic remarks come just after lunchtime with a snappy attitude that irritates you. You're worried about him, firstly. Something must be wrong in his personal life to have him like this, but you can't help feeling a little angry that it's all being directed at you.

You were just starting to really like him and now he's turned around and shown you who he really is just because you're arguably who he's closest with. He's quickly becoming not the type of person you want to be with.

When you're the last two people in the bullpen, you realize you can't let him stay there all night. No matter how annoying he is, you're his friend, first and foremost, and he's clearly going through something.

So you approach him. "Hey, do you want to get dinner?" You ask.

"Not with you," Spencer replies coldly and totally uncharacteristically.

That's your breaking point. "What's wrong? Seriously, you've been horrible to me all day and I can't think of anything I've done to offend you."

Spencer sighs and it's weirdly more regretful than angry. "I... do you remember what you said this morning?"

You frown, unsure of what exactly he's referencing. "No?" Then you quickly add, "But I want to make things right."

"You said you didn't have a boyfriend." He feels pathetic saying it. The idea that someone like you would never be interested had been slipping from his mind, but now that concern is at the front of his mind.

You're only more confused then. "I don't."

"I thought I..." His cheeks flame up with embarrassment and he puts on a front of nonchalance. "I thought I was your boyfriend, okay? That's it."

Oh.

You wish you could have given Emily a different answer that morning. You would have proudly told her that Spencer Reid is your boyfriend, but you couldn't.

"You never asked me." You say softly, shuffling awkwardly on your feet.

"Did I need to?" He wonders dumbly, and it's very obvious that he's just unaware.

You shrug, explaining your point of view. "I thought we were still at the talking stage."

"The what?" Spencer asks.

"Like when you're just talking and casually dating, trying to work out if you're friends or if there's a romantic connection." You describe.

He nods softly before his heart sinks again. "I'm sorry, I'm an idiot." You're easily the best thing that's been in his life for a long time, and now he's totally ruined it. If you didn't think he was too inexperienced before, you do now.

"You're not, not provably." You break the awkward silence and tension that's fallen over the room, making him chuckle a little. "And I like you, exclusively."

Spencer's frown is adorable but it's concerning large this time. "Really? Still?"

"Mm-hmm." You assure him. "As long as you promise to talk to me when something's wrong instead of icing me out."

He stands up quickly, nodding. "I swear and I'm really sorry." He promises you. "So would you like to go to dinner? As boyfriend and girlfriend?"

You try to suppress an inappropriately large grin. "I would."

Spencer doesn't hide his smile and he's awkwardly tripping over his bag and feet to meet you around his side of the desk. "Let's do it." He smiles softly at you, offering out his hand for you to hold.

You take it happily, walking to the elevator with him. "Let's do it, boyfriend."

[killerlookz]

i hope this doesn’t put any pressure on you because its not meant to at all but can u give us a preview of anything in your drafts 🥲

yes! absolutely i can <3 here's an extra long preview bc i haven't published anything in a hot min:

preview of the heartbeat!au "honeymoon phase" fic:

warnings: rpf below, do not proceed if you dont fw that but this is in rpf tags so why were you even here to begin with

The light of your phone sears into your eyes, a start contrast from the dark of your bedroom. By now your circadian rhythm undoubtedly in deep disarray. However bad you knew staying up way into the early hours of the morning was, you couldn't seem to rip yourself from the distraction of the blue light, perfectly coded algorithms keeping your anxieties at bay.

For the last week of your life your usual peaceful sleep had been ripped through by horrific nightmares, leading you to prefer to just skip sleeping all together. Of course, you knew that wasn't exactly possible, but maybe if you could just avoid falling asleep until the sun came up you could finally be freed of those dreaded night terrors.

The mattress dips beside you, a groan falling from Joost's lips, peacefully asleep next to you. It had been hours since you had said goodnight to each other, since he kissed you with the promise that you two would soon would be deep in slumber. You hadn't bothered to tell him about your nightmare issue, it had felt so childish. You had only been together for a few months now, your relationship seeming far too fresh to deal out what you had deemed "embarrassing" information. Besides, what was he to do about that? It wasn't like he had the power to change the workings of your subconscious mind.

The comforter slips from Joost's shoulders as he shuffles in his sleep, rolling from one side to another, now facing you. You finally pull yourself from your endless scrolling, turning your head to get a look at Joost. He's illuminated just right by the sliver moonlight that peaks through your curtains. The corners of your mouth peak in a slight smile, a rush a warmth running through you as your eyes finally settle on him.

You couldn't believe your luck with him, desperate for friends outside of your classmates after making the leap of faith to transfer schools and move to a different country for your final year of university. You'd been working as a waitress in Amsterdam, which, all things considered wasn't an ideal position for you, given your less than stellar Dutch, but locals were usually sympathetic to your situation, and tourists hardly spoke Dutch anyway. The day you had met Joost had started as what you had postulated to be the worst shift of your life. Hungover during a rush that seemed to last for hours, constantly seated with the most impossible to please customers. Once you were out of the weeds you had been seated with what you were promised to be your last table of the night, trying your best to suppress a groan and an eye roll as you walked up to the table, your eyes immediately falling to Joost, who had been there with what you would eventually learn were his closest friends.

You had thought you known the type, unruly hair, and scattered tattoos, dressed head-to-toe in Supreme, a cocky smile pressed to his lips. Attractive no doubt, but a type. The type that was undoubtably too interested in the Soundcloud rap scene, probably attempting to make it in that space too as a cheap rip-off of Lil Peep. The type to blow all his money on what streams his mediocre raps did get on box-logo shirts and supreme branded underwear. You could already hear the surface-level introspection of his lyrics, writing about how sad and heartbroken he'd been left by all the girls in his life when in reality he was nothing more than a fuckboy with a shitty nail polish job.

Being young and living in a city you had seen the type before, served the type more than a handful of times since you had started your job. They were always the same, traveled in large groups, like that was their "entourage", usually loud, demanding, and obnoxious, thinking their 2,000 Soundcloud streams, hundred dollar T-shirts and knock-off designer shoes made them a celebrity. They'd flirt with you and act aghast when you dared not to flirt back with them.

You had thought you known the type. But when you had gone up to begin helping his table, your previous perceptions had immediately been shattered- immediately becoming even more attractive upon your realization that he wasn't the worst. There was a quiet flirting underneath his goofy- yet reserved demeanor, the type of flirting you didn't mind and eventually reciprocated when he'd become a regular.

It was apparent that you had gotten the fuckboy thing all wrong. When he had finally got the courage to ask you out he hadn't even seen particularly in a hurry to sleep with you, though that wouldn't stop you from giving it up that night.

As Joost softly snores from beside you, you can't help but want nothing more than to be fitted snuggly between his arms, head pressed to his chest- listening to his heartbeat as you fall into a deep, peaceful sleep. But your current aversion to sleeping aside, you can't bring yourself to potentially wake him to do so.

You take your eyes from him, focusing back on the harsh light that burns into your retinas, continuing your scrolling, barely distracted by another long groan leaving Joost's lips.

"Ga slapen," (go to sleep) His voice surprises you, slow and thick with sleep- you hadn't expected him to be awake.

"Hmm?" You hum, pretending to not have heard him, you set your phone down on the bedside table and focus your attention to Joost.

"Hoe lat is het?" (What time is it?) He yawns, struggling to open his eyes.

You don't want to answer, knowing he'll question you on why you're up so late.

"Go back to sleep," You coo, hoping he'll be tired enough to listen without any resistance. You reach out a hand, slowly carding your fingers through his hair. You lift some pieces that had gotten stuck to his forehead with sweat, Joost was the type to overheat in his sleep, furiously kicking the blankets off of the two of you in the middle of the night, or perhaps worse rolling over onto you while he slept, causing you to suffocate in his humid body heat.

"Nhn, nhn." He tuts, his eyes finally opening entirely, "Je kan niet zomaar (You can't just)- Nhn, You can't just rub my head back to sleep." English finally coming back to him as he sits himself up against the pillows, his head now at your shoulder height in your upright position.

"I tried," A small smile pokes at your lips.

"Why are you awake?" His questioning isn't interrogative, still clearly very sleepy as he nuzzles his head into the pillow, "What time is it?" He asks again.

"I don't know," You mumble, your voice dipping out, answering more-so the latter question.

"You can't lie to me," Joost presses his forehead to your arm, snuggling in to you. How true that was. It surprised you how fast he was able to learn you- the subtleties of your mannerisms, able to pick up on your true emotions from the smallest tells.

"It's late," You simply respond, "I'll go to bed soon." Trying to avoid any further questioning.

"Not soon," Joost whines, his voice stifled by where his lips touch your skin. He throws an arm around the front of you, "Now."

You can't do much besides sigh in response, fidgeting under the comforter to sink down to his level. Your face is right in front of Joost's now, the warmth of his slow breaths ghosting over your skin.

"Sleep now," Joost tightens the arm he had slung around you, using it to pull you closer to him. He's unbearably warm, but you melt into him anyway, turning on your side to press your chest into his.

"I can't."

"Not tired?" Joost asks, "Why not?"

"So tired."

"Then sleep." Joost puckers his lips, barely stretching out his head to press a kiss to your forehead. It's so simple to him just sleep, if only it was that easy for you.

"Can't Joost."

"Why not?" He asks again, pushing harder this time.

"Dunno," You hum, pausing for a moment trying to formulate the least embarrassing way to describe your situation, "Bad dreams I guess, I dunno." You speak quickly, hoping maybe he won't catch all of it, the processes of his brain slowed by sleep.

Joost suddenly becomes more aware, more awake, like you've said some sort of sleeper phrase to activate something in him.

"Could have just told me that, schatje." He coos, it's reassuring, and you suddenly feel so stupid for holding that in. "Could have told me that before I feel asleep without you."

"Seemed stupid." You sigh, pushing your face further into the pillow.

"Not stupid." Joost assures, "What are they about?"

"Don't know. Just- bad."

"I'm sorry." Joost frowns. You feel the arm that he holds around you sneak under the comforter, coming to snake around your torso, his hand pushing into your back to press your body closer to him. The front of your T-shirt no longer just grazing the bare skin of his chest, but rather the two of you have molded into each other. "What can I do?" His lips now pressed against your shoulder from this closer position.

"Nothing,"

"No?" He places a small kiss to your shoulder through the fabric of your shirt.

"Not unless you can go into my brain and control my subconscious and make me dream of like puppies and rainbows." You follow with a dry laughter, any real humor stifled by your exhaustion.

"Mmm, if I could I would liefje."

[birdkatze]

"But werewolves aren't real?" || werewolf! 141 x werewolf! reader Part 5

Future pairings = poly 141 x reader

Chapter pairings = everyone but Ghost/reader

Words = 1.3k

[Chapter 4] --- [Chapter 6]

Summery: After moving out of the big city and into the forest, you meet some men that might have some awners about whats been causing your pain.

Explicit under the cut

The creaking door causes Gaz and Soap to rouse slightly. You were still dead to the world and remained asleep in their arms. Both of the boys sandwiched you, keeping you warm and content as you slept, your arms wrapped around Soap as his head rested against your chest. Gaz was wrapped around your back, kola’d onto you with his face nestled against your neck.

Gaz tilted his head to the door and glared before closing his eyes again, already knowing from footsteps alone that Ghost and Price were here. Gaz didn’t get up, he was too comfortable and content to greet the two men. Ghost and Price were already on Gaz’s bad side and he didn’t feel very keen on forgiveness after last night.

The lingering scent of pain and sadness certainly didn’t help Price and Ghost’s case. The two men looked in, staring at Gaz, Soap, and you. They quietly walked down the stairs leaving the room the smell of guilt rolling off them. Closing his eyes, Gaz dozed back off happily.

Late in the morning, Soap started to wake up. His eyes looked around blearily, quietly grumbling  as he tried to fall back asleep. Then he caught the scent of Price and Ghost and sat up gently pulling away from the bed and quietly walking out of the room but before he could Gaz whisper shouted “Get some food goin’ and send Price and Ghost shopping..” before tucking his face against your shoulder again.

About 30 minutes later you started to rouse, yawning as you curled up against Gaz grumbling as the sun shined on your face.

“Duuuuuck” Gaz says in a soft sing-song voice “S’ time to get up..”

“Don’t wanna…” Whining you turn over to look at Gaz, unfortunately you felt too hot and didn’t have an ice pack in the bed. Pouting you mumble “fineee.” 

You and Gaz climb out of bed, “How do you want your eggs love?”

“I’m not a fan of eggs, um but I kinda like the kind with the runny center?” You look at Gaz unsure, you probably needed the protein but eggs just tasted bad in your opinion.

“What do you like for breakfasts?”

“Chocolate chip pancakes.” You admit feeling a bit embarrassed your favorite food was still chocolate chip pancakes.

 Nodding Gaz kissed your temple gently before walking out of the room in front of you and damn that ass. An odd anxiety passes over you as you stand alone in your room, the fact that Soap and Gaz weren’t in your sight was making you feel terrified.

As you went to the bathroom you tried to hurry through your skincare and peeing. You felt sick with fear as you finished up. Quickly putting on a robe you walk down stairs feeling drained and exhausted from last night and yesterday. You could have never predicted the events of yesterday. Jesus, werewolves being real? Four terribly attractive men waltzing into your life and all of them having the fattest asses known to mankind? The situation felt like a horrific fever dream.

Down stairs you find the other three, Price and Ghost sat at the table looking guilty. Soap was only covered by an apron, it was black had red ruffles and bows along the edges and straps. When Soap turned around to face you the apron read Don’t kiss the cook…Bend me over. Soap’s eyes lit up as soon as he saw you. If he had a tail it would have been wagging.

“Duck!” Smiling excitedly, Soap looked like he wanted to be right next to you and given the events of last night you also felt the same. “Your food is done!”

Sitting down at the table you smile at Soap preening under his care. It soothed the anxiety you had felt upstairs. He placed your food in front of you and it was chocolate chip pancakes! You look at it surprised, where had they gotten the stuff to make pancakes you hadn't had time to go to the store with how yesterday went.

“We got your groceries, Love” Price spoke up gently. He looked like a sad guilty puppy. It was shocking how Price and Ghost could look that way, both giant men who came off as unremorseful at first glance but now they looked like guilty puppies.

The glare Gaz kept shooting them was scathing. He looked so angry with them and was not afraid to make it clear. Gaz sat next to you and looked at you softly “Made them get ya the food on your list.”

You nod digging into your pancakes. Soap finishes up making breakfast for everyone fairly quickly, plating up the food and distributing it amongst the pack. Gaz’s plate looked scrumptious, everything looked perfect. Soap’s looked the same, the eggs were fluffy and the bacon was his and Gaz’s preferred crispness. Price and Ghost’s plates looked less than good, with the eggs looking flat and a bit burnt and the same with their bacon it was badly burnt. 

Breakfast was a quiet affair as everyone dug into their food. Surprisingly Ghost and Price cleared their plates, wolfing down the food quickly, so they didnt let it stay in their mouths long. 

After breakfast everyone went to the living room with Price and Ghost sitting on the floor and you, Gaz, and Soap sitting on the couch. Both of the men bracketed you, leaving you nestled between them. Gaz had slipped on some boxers at some point but Soap stayed naked looking fairly comfortable where he was.

 “What happened last night?” You ask confused looking at all of the men.

Gaz answered quickly “You dropped, happens when a pack or an alpha comes in and takes care of you and then leaves” Gaz glared at Price angrily, huffing “It’s rough and I’m sorry that you had to go through that, Duck, it wasn’t good of us to do that to you..” kissing you temple Gaz slowly mellows out a bit.

Looking at you sadly Soap rested his head on your shoulder, “It was a bad Duck, I’m glad we got there when we did…” 

Bristling Ghost and Price were starting to get frustrated. Ghost huffing angrily “Enough, we get it we should have stayed but fuckssake how were we supposed to know. We shouldn’t have had to take care of a stranger because contrary to either of your beliefs we don't owe Duck anything, you both disobeyed your head-alpha and now you are climbing all over this mingin’ slag! This is ridiculous!” Ghost looked at you with so much rage you shrunk into yourself, he said the nickname that Gaz had given you in a mocking voice, his teeth were bared and looked angry. Looming over you and the other two on the couch he growled “Th-”

Before he could start Gaz was on his feet and pushed Ghost back snarling at the alpha, “Step the fuck back Simon. You don’t understand and you won’t fucking listen, Duck is an omega can you get that through your thick fucking skull? Hmm? Do you not remember how I was when I joined you and Price? Fuck can you think before you speak, god you have no empathy or sympathy. Duck was in a dangerous sport-” Gaz frowned looking at Ghost betrayed and frustrated “God you are a shit alpha, go back to the den and figure your shit out because this is unreasonable and horrifying you freak” Gaz was shaking with anger “Look at Duck, their shaking! Can’t you smell the scent of fear, the smell of agony and sadness? No, no you can’t because you don’t actually want to listen! I can see why nobody wanted you as pack for so long. Get out!” Gaz pointed to the door enraged. 

Ghost chuffed “You three better ‘Give your 'ead a wobble and get back to the den tonight. I’ll be at the shop.” and stomped out, Slamming the sliding glass door. 

You were curled up shaking and looking terrified, Soap had pulled you onto his lap and had his arms wrapped around you. He reassured you softly, gently rocking you in an attempt to calm you down. 

Gaz sat back down and turned to Price “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I'm sorry.”

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Word count: 2500+

Warnings: nightmares; mentions of wounds, blood, trauma; Tamlin kind of breaks down (let's be honest: he needed a breaking point. That male holds everything in for too long🫂, but...)

Part XXIII | Part XXV

Night after night you woke up with a scream, covered in cold sweat. Your mind played games with you, bringing out the worst of the moments of your life, pushing you to live through them over and over again, twisting them in the most horrific ways.

It left you so disoriented that at first, you didn't know where you were or that it was already over. The only comforting and grounding thing that brought you every time back, was his hand rubbing on your back and his voice whispering you soothing words.

Every night awakened by your nightmares Tamlin slipped into your room, under your blanket and gently held you until you calmed down and eventually fell asleep again. His closeness, that sturdy presence, always lulled you into the dreamless slumber. You felt safe with him. He was like an ageless, indestructible stone that even the worst of the nightmares couldn't penetrate through.

Little you knew that he himself couldn't sleep, haunted by his own nightmares. That he waited every night, afraid to close his eyes, and welcomed any opportunity that would give him a reason to be with you in the same room, same bed and to hold you close. Your petite body in his arms was all he needed to feel at ease and sleep soundly.

Mornings were the most embarrassing for you, but you would lie if you said that you didn't enjoy them the best. Waking up so close to his broad, strong and very bare chest, surrounded by his calming scent, made your heart pounding hard, blood rushing to your cheeks. You knew he was awake because his heart echoed yours, matching with its speed. He certainly knew you were awake as well, but it took some time until he released you pretending to be just waking up.

You didn't mention it nor the reason that brought him to your bed and he did so, too. Thankfully, you had time to only exchange a brief greeting before Lucien came with some food and called for you. He never said a word about you two coming down side by side, although all his thoughts were written all over his face accompanied by knowing grin. You couldn't and didn't even want to imagine what he thought that you two did at night in your room. It was already hard to look him straight in the eye.

Tamlin grew stronger every day, but it wasn't before he got back to his original shape that his powers slowly began to return. Lucien waited a few more days and then he declared that it was the time for him to return back to his friends and to his duties. You were sad that you had to bid him goodbye even thought he promised to check on you two every few days.

Except of your brother's everyday visit and Lucien's occasional stop by, your life returned to its former ordinariness. In the morning you woke up, made breakfast with Tamlin's assistance and went for a walk. As before, Tamlin carried a basket for you while you collected different herbs, mushrooms and berries in it or you two sat by the river fishing.

You noticed that Tamlin was avoiding turning into his beast form and when he decided to go on hunt, he did so on foot with bow and dagger. He once again became a quiet companion lost in his thoughts, his smile became rare, sad and never reached his eyes. You wondered what caused that, but you fell right back into your previous habit of not asking each other things, not until the other one decided to share it.

He seemed to be especially distressed when your brother appeared on your threshold. The two of them were avoiding each other, never speaking a single word, not even exchanged a simple greeting. You preferred to stay outside with your brother and sit under the trees while talking, but when it rained you had to stay inside. At such times Tamlin always retreated to your room and returned only after Rhys was gone.

Rhysand, ever loving and protective brother, never forgot to check on you.

"You look tired. Did you sleep well?"

His words snapped you from your thoughts about Tamlin. You couldn't help it, but you worried about him and wondered what he was doing all alone now.

It was beautiful sunny day and sweet scent of blooming flowers wafted through the air. You were seated under huge tree, your backs rested against its trunk.

You smiled as best as you could. "I slept well. I guess I'm just tired and need more rest."

His eyes narrowed on you. "Do you again have nightmares? You know you can talk with me about anything." Suddenly he straightened up with wide eyes and sharp inhale as if only now something occurred to him. Then he glared at your cottage.

"I hope that he doesn't touch you or I will-"

"Rhysand!" You blushed fiercely.

He threw up his hands dramatically. "What? I'm your brother. I have a right to worry. He is a male and lives alone with you in the forest."

"But it doesn't give you a right to-to poke your nose into my privacy."

Frowning he rolled his eyes and crossed arms on his chest.

"But did he try anything?" he tried it again after few moments of silence.

You gaped at him in disbelief. "No!"

"You would tell me if-"

You hid your face in your palms. "Mother spare me," you grunted under your breath.

Rhysand grumbled something, but at least he stopped snooping into things that had nothing to do with him.

That day you were glad when he finally handed you a basket with your favourite pastries and fruits and left.

His questions made you think about the strange tingling sensation you felt every time Tamlin was too close or touched you. You still weren't ready to recognise your feelings and face them. With your newfound memories and everything that happened, it was too much for you at the moment, no need to say you were scared it would be just one-sided. Moreover Tamlin needed time to heal and you were afraid that your feelings, especially if they were unwanted, would only add to his already heavy burden.

With heart still pounding hard, you marched in and slammed the door shut behind you little bit too harshly. You left the basket on the table and angrily sat down in your armchair.

Tamlin poked head out from under the staircase where he was seated on his bed. His expression was tense but otherwise unreadable.

Carefully observing you he stood up and came closer. He got down on one knee next to you. Hesitantly, he reached for your hand. He sought out your touch after every Rhys' visit as if he needed a reassurance you were still here. It was so sweet, but at the same time the gesture was breaking your heart into pieces.

You squeezed his hand and tried to smile.

"Something happened?"

You shook your head. "Everything's alright. I'm just..a bit upset, I guess."

"Did he say something to you?"

"Not really. He was in a bit of a grouchy mood today."

He nodded, his eyes sliding to your lap. Ever since he turned back, he retained certain animal needs. Resting his head on your lap while being caressed, was one of them.

You breathed out deeply, already feeling better, and pulled him closer. Corners of his mouth turned upwards, emerald eyes shining bright. Making himself comfortable, Tamlin wrapped arms around you and closed his eyes. As soon as your hand touched golden strands of his hair, playing with them, his tense shoulders relaxed.

You stayed like this until both of you felt better.

The day slowly began to turn into night, the forest outside the window darkened. It was time to prepare a supper.

Without a word, Tamlin stood up together with you and helped you to wash the veggies and then mix ingredients in the pot.

You were cleaning and cutting veggies and gradually adding them to the pot. You were cutting carrot when a knife in your hand slipped and cut finger of your left hand. It wasn't a deep cut, but still some blood welled up and dropped on a cutting board. You'd never felt nauseous or had any problem when you saw blood, especially your own, but this time it was different.

You froze, watching another drop of blood sliding down your finger.

Drop

Screams of dying Fae echoed in your ears.

Drop

Stones painted crimson red, streams of blood running in between.

Drop

Your mother's last cry.

Drop

Your wings tossed into a dirt.

Drop drop drop

All your senses shut down at once, room went dark. You didn't know what happened afterwards.

Next thing you saw, was a canopy of green leaves disappearing in the darkness above your head, strong arms held you firmly.

"It's okay. You are safe here. Nobody's going to hurt you ever again. I won't allow it. Everything's fine now," a deep voice whispered soothingly into your ear.

Tamlin held you, rocking with you back and forth, repeating the reassuring words over and over again. One of his hands was gently combing through your hair, the other one was holding some fabric wrapped around your finger.

You blinked, trying to focus. "What happened? Why are we outside?"

His emerald eyes found yours, kind smile tried to beat over the pain, hide it.

"You cut your finger. It's nothing serious, I guess it's already healed."

You knew it was healed as well as you knew he sped up the process.

"But why are we outside?"

He looked away from you, his expression guarded. "You screamed and ran away."

You looked around, only now noticing the lack of the light. Your cottage was nowhere to be seen.

"I'm fast, but it took me some time to catch up with you."

"I'm so sorry," you tried to sit up, but he wouldn't let you. "I didn't mean to-"

"Don't apologise. I'm the one responsible for this. You suffer just because I was weak. I'm so sorry for this, Y/N. I wanted to apologise much sooner, but I didn't know where to start.."

"Tamlin," you whispered, reaching out your free hand to his face, but he shook his head dismissively.

"I'm responsible for everything bad that happened to you, yet you.. you showed me nothing but kindness.. you even saved me.. twice.. I don't deserve you.. any of this."

It was too dark even for your eyes, but you could swear you saw tears in his eyes before he closed them, turning away from you.

"Tamlin.. how can you say something like that. You saved my life. If it wasn't for you I would die that day. I'm alive just thanks to you."

He shook his head again. "You don't know everything.. You should really hate me.."

"No, I couldn't possibly."

He suddenly turned back to you, his hard gaze piercing you. You could feel tips of his claws poking your flesh. He heaved with effort to control himself, his anger. His arms slightly trembled. "But you should. If I wasn't such a weakling I could have stood up to my father and returned for you that night. But I didn't."

Shaking your head you opened your mouth to speak, but he wouldn't let you.

"When they returned I knew instantly they're up to something. I could feel unfamiliar scent on my father, saw him coming out from dungeon after hours being there. I overheard them talking about getting back with this, letting Night Court's High Lord suffer. I knew they had somebody down there, somebody important, but I didn't have guts to go there, not until I became High Lord. I found proof of you being there for who knows how long. Blood, bandages, medicines. If I wanted to I could have followed your smell, I could have found you centuries earlier. Yet I decided to do nothing. Nothing!"

He spatted each word out with such a self hate that your head was spinning. A single tear rolled down your cheek. You were at loss for words. He watched you with those cold eyes, waiting for your sentence.

However all you could say was, "Did you know it was me?"

His jaw clenched, claws fully sliding out. "No," he said, his voice hard. "I only found out when Rhysand appeared here on Solstice claiming you are his sister."

You swallowed hard while trying to sort your thoughts.

"But nevertheless, your pain, your fear, everything. I caused it. I." He beat his chest desperately, claws cutting through his shirt and skin. He ignored it all, eyes on you, pleading. When you didn't say anything, he pleaded more. "Say something. Tell me how much you hate me. Shout at me. Send me away. Command me to leave and never return back. Tell me you want me pay for that. Tell me you want to see me dead. Anything. Just say something already."

His voice finally broke with a sob. At this point both of you were crying.

You caressed his cheek. "I can't.. I don't feel any of those things.. I can't hate you because I-.."

"You what, Y/N," he sobbed, heaving heavily. His eyes dimly shone in the darkness.

Your palms started to sweat. You weren't ready for this, but you couldn't back off now. Tamlin was waiting for your answer as if his life depended on it.

"Because you what..?"

You swallowed, mouth suddenly as dry as sand of Summer Court. Your heart hammered in your chest.

"Because I," you stuttered. "I like you." Your voice was hardly more than rustle of leaves in the distance, but he heard it, anyway.

Tamlin whined like a wounded animal and squeezing shirt on his chest, he bent over, hiding his face in skirt folds on your lap. His shoulders were shaking uncontrollably.

You were shocked, unsure what to do. Your heart hurt, shattered with rejection. Because this was rejection, wasn't it. You wanted to cry hard, scream even, but you couldn't. Not here, not in front of him.

His claws slowly slid back in. With still hidden face he reached around your waist, pulling you closer and closer until you hardly could breathe.

"Thanks Mother," he breathed out into your legs. "I couldn't live if you said you hate me."

"What?" You weren't sure if you understood it correctly. Wasn't it rejection after all? Was he actually glad?

"I need you, Y/N. More than I need air," he said lowly, his voice muffled by your skirt. "Please.. don't leave me anymore."

"I won't," you whispered your promise, still not fully comprehending the sudden twist of the events. His mood twists were so confusing. One moment he was angry, full of self-hate, next one he pleaded for mercy.

All you had was a small bud of hope, warming up your insides. The tiny piece of hope that he and you.. that maybe one day there could be something, that maybe.. maybe your feelings wouldn't be completely unrequited.

Little you knew that those three simple words and your promise started a chain of great changes that could eventually lead to your own version of happily ever after.

Note: I'm not sure about this ending and honestly the more I reread it, the more I hate it. However, when I try to rewrite it, it ends up being even worse.. Seriously I thought about not posting this until I sort it out somehow, but weeks later I'm still at loss here. It's frustrating 😭

Also I didn't plan for Tamlin to break down. It was supposed to be a calm conversation, clearing things etc., but he decided he wants to shout and have some self-loathing moment here. I told him it was a bad idea. If only he would listened to me, it would be easier😮‍💨

Taglist:

@impossibelle @sevikas-whore @b0xerdancer @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @nocasdatsgay @yunloyal @nebarious @isabiss @st0rmyt @lilah-asteria @ubigaia @paleidiot @acourtofimagines @harahettania @talesofadragon @ceoofyearning

[konigsblog]

I feel as if König is allergic to peanuts and true oranges specifically

Peanuts make him swell up and fall to the ground like a lead balloon because he loses his ability to breathe while true oranges make him nauseous with cramps so horrific that he is very close to feeling what we feel when we get periods

But he is perfectly fine with things like pistachios and almonds or clementines and tangerines to the point he eats them daily. Due to him biting his nails to shreds from his anxiety you have to help him with the peels as he struggles to get his nails in while with pistachios he just squeezes them between his fingers to break the shell. Nine times out of ten when you bring a fresh five kilogram bag of pistachios home because you wanted to make some pistachio treats for him you will find him stuffing them into his mouth like a squirrel at ungodly hours of the night until two thirds of the bag is gone

He absolutely adores pistachio ice cream. He does not care if he is lactose intolerant he will take a pill to help him or he will endure the hours of cramps. He probably enjoys the strawberry and pistachio ice cream the most, the one that has strawberry chunks, pistachio bits, white chocolate, and biscuit crumble in it with honey glazed on top (it is the best flavour of ice cream and you can fight me on it) with Oreo cookies and cream being his second favourite

ozzie, you're so right !! i think it's peanuts specifically, although he's desperate for a taste of peanut butter, and can't help but drool at the sight of chocolate and peanut mixed together. he'll die for a bite, quite literally, but you have to give him his epipen, or drag him away from the kitchen.

könig has a big appetite, and a huge sweet tooth. he can't resist strawberry flavoured desserts, stuffing it into his mouth and hiding away, embarrassed as he has his cheeks stuffed full, like a squirrel almost... 🐿️

if you buy pistachio ice-cream, it will be gone the next morning... or, you'll find a half empty tub in the freezer, könig licking his lips, with his hand deep in a bag of pistachios. i love salted cashews, i think he'd love them too, they wouldn't last very long after being bought...

the chunks in the strawberry are delicious to könig, but i absolutely despise them! too chunky, i would rather be sick... with oranges, the smell makes me nauseous, it's such a prominent and noticeable smell and i'd have to cover my nose while peeling it for könig. one fruit, i believe könig would hate (that i also happen to hate) is bananas. the texture? too mushy... taste? it's indescribable, i can't... and the bruises on them? absolutely disgusting.

könig can be judgemental accidentally, and he will glare at the reader for eating mint chocolate chip...

könig bites his ice-cream, and i'm getting chills at the thought of it. he'll do it purposely to fuck with you (unless you're also evil, and bite your ice-cream... my teeth couldn't 😮‍💨)

könig would love cucumber, but hate brussel sprouts. it's not that he's picky – he isn't whatsoever – but sees no appeal in brussel sprouts! me personally? i'm the opposite, cucumbers are disgusting, you won't change my mind!!!

i wouldn't be surprised if könig liked bubblegum ice-cream – and if you like it, i... have no words.. 😣

[poraphia]

"Four Medium-Sized Coffees, One Big Fat Work Crush"

lvjy!wilbur x manager!reader 1457 words • 8.9.23 request by @mrssabinecallas! "lead singer will with a manager reader! they book all their performances and bring them coffee every morning, just happy to be there with Will and their friends"

requests are still open!! dont be shy :3 pt. 2 here <-

How to be a good tour manager: 1) Bring them coffee every morning 2) Don't fall in love with the lead singer

♡♡♡

Y’know, when I signed up for this job, I didn’t expect the roller coaster of emotions and action that would come with being an on-tour manager. 

I especially didn’t think I’d end up falling for the lead singer of Lovejoy, William Gold.

I have been a stage director for concerts for a couple of years now since I graduated from university. I worked for different venues, taking up jobs such as being in charge of soundcheck and directing the lights. After years of hard work and a resume of experience, I was finally offered my first opportunity of being an on-tour manager for a rising band that was touring the world.

I have to admit, it was different. I was constantly away from home and on the road. The one thing genuinely battling this homesick feeling was the constant adventure and excitement we faced in every city. From sitting awkwardly in an Uber as the driver told us horrific stories, to running around the late-night streets tasting cuisines we had never heard of before.

I remember on the first day, I was a nervous train wreck. I spent most of that night pacing around my hotel room while occasionally practicing in the mirror how to greet the band, how to talk to them, and how to even shake their hand. It wasn’t until the peak time of 4 AM I decided that I should keep things simple (and that I should probably go to sleep because I had to wake up in three hours).

I met up with the band at our first venue for a soundcheck. When I got the text that they were arriving shortly, I ran to the nearest cafe and ordered four coffees, each with a simple shot of espresso, two scoops of sugar, and a cup of milk. It was basic, and it wasn’t guaranteed it would be something they’d love, but I was far too deep to turn back around and return the coffee. Plus, wouldn’t that be a super awkward situation? Oh, hey Mr. Barista! Sorry, can you refund me these four coffees after I walked in the blazing city heat for roughly ten minutes before—

“Hi,” A deep, posh voice caused me to snap out of my thoughts. I looked around, not even realizing I was already at the venue, and the man was holding the door for me. He was tall with disheveled curly hair and he wore a striped T-Shirt with some basic black jeans. Glasses rested on the bridge of his nose but more importantly, there was the guitar case slung across his shoulder.

“O-Oh, thank you!” I stuttered, rushing past him to avoid any more embarrassment. He softly chuckled behind me before closing the door. I turned around, half-smiling to shake off the embarrassing situation I’ve seemed to stumble in.

“You must be (y/n), right? Our manager?” He asked, his eyes trailing from my face to my lanyard, to the cardboard cupholders presenting four hot and fresh beverages. 

“Yeah!” I exclaimed a bit too loudly. Guess that’s another check on the list for what will keep me up tonight. “I, uh, I got these coffees for you guys! Just to help you guys out with the jetlag and all…” I trailed off in the end. But thankfully, the man smiled and took a random cup, slightly pursing his lips to retrieve the beverage only to flinch back, laughing.

“Holy shit, this is hot.” He chuckled. I couldn’t help but laugh along as well. “Oh, fuck, where are my manners– My name is Wilbur, Will, William, honestly call me what you like.” He shrugged. “My other mates are right there and are practicing on stage right now. There’s Ash, Mark, and Joe.” He pointed to the respective person, each calling out their name. 

We both began to walk toward the backstage area and continued talking. As Wilbur walked nonchalantly with coffee in hand, I struggled to catch up to his long strides while also maintaining the balance of the rest of the drinks.  “It’s a funny way how we all became a band actually–” He turned around. Noticing my struggle as he spared a few milliseconds so that I may catch up. Will chuckled before continuing to walk at a much slower pace.

Once we arrived in the backstage lounge, I pushed the door for him with my back. He thanked me before walking past. “Oh, (y/n), I would like to mention something–” He said, turning his head to face me. I tilted my head, anticipating. “Next time you get us coffee, I’d like mine with two cups of milk!” He smiled. “Although, it is perfect as it is anyway. I’m sure the rest of the band would love it.”

As I watched him finish up his coffee and make his way to the stage, my mind was set on a new goal:

“Find out Lovejoy’s desired coffee orders.”

From that day forward, I brought them coffee every morning. From meeting them on the tour bus, at soundcheck, to even waiting in the hotel lobby. I would listen closely to what comments they would make. If Joe slightly mentions to Ash he doesn't like sweet coffee, I'll remember to add less sugar. If I heard Mark asking around for creamer, I'll remember to put more cream. My petty rule for myself was that I wouldn't dare ask them directly about their preferences. It was a fun little game for me, and it only took Wilbur a little over two months for him to notice.

Wilbur and I were sitting in the tour bus booth area going over the set list when he brought it up. "Hey, (Y/N), can I ask you something?" He said, tapping at his cardboard cup. I looked up from the piece of paper I was writing on to meet his eyes. 

"I know what you're gonna ask– I've already asked the stage crew if we could add smoke for The Fall along with some more flashing lights during Warsaw." I explained, pointing at the paper with the pen I had in hand.

Wilbur let out a soft chuckle with the softest smile on his face. His hair covered a bit of his eyes but even then I could see the reflection of light making his pupils sparkle. His laugh caused a fluttering sensation in my chest. My hands and stomach tingled as if dozens of butterflies were dancing on my skin. Was I.. Getting flustered?

"No, no, I wasn't going to ask that." He spoke gently. I held my breath, a little embarrassed for my rambling. "Though I do appreciate it all. You've picked up so much about us as a band in just a couple of weeks." He held the end joints of my fingers between his grasp as he spoke, fidgeting with them as he talked. 

"Oh, well…" I felt the blush creeping to my face. "that is kind of my job." I chuckled.

"Also you've been getting our coffee orders perfectly I've noticed. Mark was raving to me earlier about how good it tasted. Ash even posted it in his story." Wilbur said, reminiscing on his mornings with his friends. 

I couldn't hold back the biggest smile on my face. It took every nerve of my body not to jump up on the table and do the goofiest, happiest dance of my life. Instead, I nodded and hummed, using my thumb to rub circles into his hand.

"I'm really glad to hear that. This is my first on-tour job, so here it's just–" I stumbled over my words trying to find the right phrases, but I was so overwhelmed with giddiness I just sighed. "Thank you…"

Wilbur looked back up to meet my eyes again. His cheeks were dusted with the slightest bit of pink as he examined bits of my face. I wanted to take in every feature of his as well. From the small mole near his eye to how pink his lips were. How pretty his lips are… they look so… Soft–

"(y/N)! Wilbur!" Mark called out from the other end of the bus. Immediately we pulled away from each other, sinking ourselves in our opposite-end seats from embarrassment. 

"Yeah?! What is it, Mark?" Will called out, but he dared not to turn around to face him. 

"We're in LA now! You guys ready for our last gig in the States?!" He asked excitedly.

Oh, God. 

It was the last gig. 

Which means… 

I looked over to Will, who also had a slight shock on his face as if it slipped his mind as well. 

This is it, I suppose. 

Who was I to think I would get my happy rom-com ending?

♡♡♡

my wilbur soot masterlist ~! a / n ~ i have a part two idea for this already omg should I do it?? reblogs and likes are super appreciated!! they be motivating me :33

[bejeweledblondie]

A Royal Baby

Captain John Price x F! Royalty Reader

Summary: the final part in my royalty series, I thought finishing it out with a baby would be best!

Warnings: childbirth, mentions of sex, nudity, throwing up & anxiety

Y/N had always loved waking up like this, wrapped in John’s arms. Inhaling his masculine scent of cigars & bourbon. She smiled to herself & ran her delicate fingers along his arm. They had been married for three months now & after a romantic honeymoon in the south of France they had returned to London. With his morning wood poking her the back she was reminded of the many times they consummated their marriage. She’ll never forget the embarrassment of a her security hearing them. Their welsh corgi a gift from Y/N’s grandmother jumped up onto the bed & started to lick her face.

She giggled & wiggled herself out of John’s grasp.

“Alright, alright I’m up.” She replied. John was still tuckered out from the flight home. She admired his chest leading down to his happy trail. “How did I get so lucky?” She whispered to herself. When she went to go swing her legs over to the side of the best to put her slippers on a wave of nausea washed over her. Hastily putting her beloved pet on the bed & ditching the slippers she sprinting to the toilet. Holding her hair back & lifting up the lid she emptied the contents from her stomach. Last night’s dinner was floating in the water in front of her. All the commotion must’ve woken John up as she felt his hand soothingly rubbing her back. Finally once she was done, she flushed the toilet & rest back up against John.

“Were you feeling this ill when we left Paris yesterday?” He asked still rubbing her back.

“I don’t think so, I don’t know what came over me I hate throwing up.” Y/N replied. “Let me brush my teeth at least so I can get this horrific taste out of my mouth. Then we will phone for the doctor to come take a look.” While she was brushing the taste of bile out of her mouth John was already one step ahead calling for the physician.

“He’ll be here in one hour love,” John said as he walked into the bathroom. “Why don’t you lie down for the remainder of time & I’ll have of the maids get you some tea.”

Soon enough within the hour there Y/N sat with an empty tea cup on her beside table & the Royal physician sitting beside her.

“Now you said you didn’t feel like this when you got home last night, right?” The Doctor asked.

“No I felt perfectly fine it was just this morning it came out of nowhere.” Y/N replied. John sat beside her holding her hand.

“Now I do have to ask,” the Doctor started. “You two have been sexually active I’m assuming?” A blush crept up on Y/N’s cheeks at the question.

“Yes,” John replied beating her to the punch. He knew how coy she was about their intimate life.

“Have you tried a pregnancy test?” She asked as she started to dig through her bag. Once she pulled one out & she handed it to Y/N. “Morning nausea is an early sign of pregnancy, & you had also mentioned previously your monthly is late. So it’s definitely possible. Go take the test & if it is negative give me a call. I have a great referral for the wonder OB if it’s positive.”

“Thank you doctor,” John replied. “Let me have one of the staff escort you out.” John lead the doctor to the door & one of the butler’s already stood there ready to escort her. Once he returned Y/N was already out of bed & urinating onto the stick. She laid out a piece of toilet paper & laid the stick on it. Who knew two minutes could by so slowly. Y/N was pacing the floor biting onto her nails trinternally processing what was happening.

“Love you’ll started a draft if you keep doing that.” John said & he walked over to comfort her. He outstretched his arms & pulled her in for a deep hug. “Whatever happens, remember I still love you remember that.” The timer had gone off signifying that the test was done. They both walked into the bathroom & Y/N took a deep breath before picking it up. She flipped the test over to see word “positive.”

Her whole body went numb as she read the word over & over again.

“It’s positive, John.” She replied & looked at him. “We’re going to have a baby.” He looked at her with wide eyes & pulled her in for a deep kiss. Once he let go he placed both of his hands on her head & smiled at her.

“I’m going to be a dad!” He cheered. “I cannot wait to tell the boys!” It had been a few months since he had seen his former team. Being married to a member of the British Royal Family meant he had to take more of a backseat role in the military. She knew he was desperately missing his friends & this would be a great opportunity for them to be reunited. She also knew how public her pregnancy would be & how much she’d have to do to ensure stress was a factor in creating problems for her health. Her hand rubbed small circles on her abdomen as she looked down. She was taking in John’s moment of jumping around out of excitement.

“Your daddy’s a little crazy, but you’ll get used to him.” Y/N whispered to her lower abdomen.

9 months later

Pregnancy was taking a toll on Y/N. The first couple of months had been a breeze she had been sporting a little beach ball bump for the first eight months. They knew they were going to be having a little boy which made John even more elated than he was because they’d get to do father/son activities. Now she was feeling like a whale, & her stomach was incredibly heavy. Her doctor had requested she stay out of public appearances & stay in bed. John had taken a leave of absence from his position with the military due to his wife’s state. He couldn’t bear to see her in this much pain.

The baby was now overdue & Y/N was pacing with her nurse in the comfort of their master bedroom to help see if it would induce labor. John sat in a chair with their beloved Corgi draped across his lap.

“Oh how I wish I could evict you,” She grumbled at her belly. “I know it’s probably warm & you get food whenever but you’ll have to stop freed loading at some point.”

“Love, why don’t you have some of the spicy Mexican food that the chef made for you? It might help with speeding this up.” He said. She waddled over to him with the nurse still holding her side. She took the plate from him & started to eat.

“I blame you for this,” Y/N said and pointed her fork at him. “You just had to be all sexy & down to-“ She stopped mid sentence. Both the nurse & John looked at her with worried looks.

“Darling what’s wrong?” He asked in a worried tone. He looked down at her pajamas pants & they were soaked. He took the plate of food out of her hands and put it on the table besides them. Looking down at the floor & he noticed a big puddle around her feet.

“I think my water broke.” She replied. A sharp pain in her abdomen caused her scream out a bunch of curses.

“We need to get to the hospital.” The nurse said. “I’ll phone the doctor, your highness get the baby bag & we will get her to St. Mary’s.” The nurse ran into the other room & John took hold of Y/N’s hand.

“How are you feeling love?” He asked. With tired eyes she glared at him.

“Wet.” She replied. “I need to change.” She waddled off with John quickly trailing behind her.

“Love,” John started as he watched her walk into her closet. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

“Ah ha I found it!” She cheered & stripped out of her now wet pajamas into a nightgown. “Much better.”

“Okay that’s great you look beautiful now let’s go before you have our son in our closet.” He said & gently guided her to the doorway. Baby bag in hand, they all quickly made their way down to were the ambulance was waiting for them.

Once at the hospital, they were put in a private wing & Y/N was hooked up to a bunch of monitors. Even with the epidural, labor was still a very intense process. It killed John to see her like this, seeing her in any pain caused him emotional distress. He never wanted to see her hurt like this. Soon she was fully dilated & ready to push.

“Alright your highnesses, are you ready to meet your son?” The doctor said as he walked in. He sat down right in front of her & put gloves on. Two nurses held her feet & legs in the air while John held her right hand. “When I say push, push.” The doctor instructed. “Take deep breaths in between. I can see the babies head. Okay. Push.” The doctor instructed.

With a bone crushing grip on John’s hand Y/N let out a strangled scream & pushed. Once she couldn’t push anymore she relaxed & took a deep breath. A nurse took a wet towel & brushed over her forehead. “Okay Push!” The doctor yelled again. The epidural had started to wear off & Y/N started to scream bloody murder as soon as the ring of fire started to happened.

“You’re doing great my love keep pushing.” John said & kissed her forehead.

“That’s great your highness, he’s so close keep pushing!” The doctor said & soon enough he caught the screaming infant in his hands. The wail of her son filled the room & Y/N started to cry. A nurse placed her son on her chest as they started to wipe off of the some of fluid from his head.

“Oh John,” Y/N said look at him. “He’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.” John said as he started to cry. “Thank you for gifting me the best thing in my life.” He placed a kiss on her forehead, & the nurse took the infant to clean him up.

After a few hours once Y/N was all stitched up & well rested she was holding her newborn son. He was latched to her breast & John was just in awe at the life that was created. His son was so little & he was just so beautiful. They had decided on a family name for him, James, named after Y/N’s paternal grandfather. It took a few days, but soon Y/N allowed for visitors to come in before they revealed the infant to the world. A slew of family & friends came to see the new edition.

Then the Task Force came by. Y/N was all dolled up in a dress for the reveal later on in the day. Simon, maskless & in casual clothing was holding the newest edition to the Price household. They came with gifts, including a camouflage onesie with a custom name tape on it, a baby blanket, & many other items. John & Y/N watched as the infant was cooing at Simon. His little body was able to fit in the crook of his arm.

“Oi you’ve had your turn let me hold the little lad.” Soap said. Simon passed the infant off to the Scotsman. “I want one.” As soon as the infant was placed into his arms.

“You can’t just go to the store & buy one MacTavish.” Gaz said. “You can barely take care of a goldfish.” James started to wiggle around in Soap’s arms & giggling at the silly faces he was making while mocking Gaz. A knock at the door turned everyone’s attention to the front of the room. One of the Royal advisors was standing there alerting them that in fifteen minutes they were due in the front for a photo op with the press. Soap reluctantly, handed the infant back to Y/N. They said their goodbyes to the team, & started to gather themselves.

“Are you ready to meet the world little one?” John asked as they exited the delivery room. “Come on love it’s time for the world to meet our son.” Side by side they walked out of the doors of St. Mary’s & introduced their first born son to the world.

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Random Thought: Bucky Barnes

Nightmares

Bucky has very bad nightmares.

It’s just normal for him at this point and he’s gotten used to waking up every night at some point, with a horrible nightmare.

The nightmares had made him a bit self conscious about being with you. You had slept together quite a few times but Bucky always left before the end of the night and it took him a while to realize it bothered you. Not realizing that it made you feel like he only wanted to sleep with you, he kept it up for a while. It was nearly a month before you told him how you felt and he swears he felt his heart break in that moment at seeing your sweet face afraid he was only into you for sex

He quickly broke down and told you the truth and you were very understanding. He didn’t think you wouldn’t be but he was embarrassed that he was a grown man having debilitating nightmares. You reassured him though, swearing that after everything the Sergeant had been through that it was more than understandable and that even people who haven’t been through horrific trauma have nightmares sometimes.

You convinced him to stay that night and it was the first time in a very long time that he slept in a bed. It was odd for him but holding you as you fell asleep actually assisted him in drifting off on the foreign feeling plush mattress. He did have a nightmare that night and you were awoken to the sound of him mumbling quietly, the words all being Russian meaning you couldn’t understand but it didn’t matter. You pulled his head to your chest and ran your fingers through his hair, jostling him as you did to ensure you woke him and the mumbling stopped as you ran your nails across his scalp and whispered sweet words to him as his eyes opened. He didn’t jump up or startle himself awake like he had told you, he woke gradually and calmly which was more than he had ever done before since being free and he clung to you tightly, face in your neck as he relaxed and actually drifted back off to sleep quite quickly. After that he slept through the rest of the night, staying asleep until his alarm went off at 7:00am.

You quickly changed his sleeping habits! You refused to continue to be awoken by a god awful alarm at 7 in the fucking morning so Bucky ditched the alarm, only waking early when he needed to, coming to very much enjoy sleeping in with you and having sleepy/snuggle days.

Sleepy days in bed or on the couch with you became his favorite kinds of days, not because of how often you would have sex but because you gave him something he hadn’t had since he was a child. Naps!

Bucky Barnes hadn’t had a nap since 1928 when he was 11 years old. It was very rare that he had a nightmare when he napped beside you but when he did, there you were to scratch your nails along his head and tell him that he was safe beside you like you did every night.

He had nightmares every night when he slept on missions, though there was rarely a time for sleep at that point. When he was in the field and he got some shut eye the nightmares always came crawling back, probably having something to do with being in an unsafe environment once again.

It didn’t take long for you both to decide him sleeping with you was actually helpful for not just his recovery but his overall mental state and he moved into your apartment. You were relieved as he would have access to a bed to sleep in every night, being appalled and outraged that Bucky didn’t have a fucking bed in his apartment.

The nightmares never went away and he didn’t think they ever would completely but they did lessen. So much so that he went an entire week once without having a single nightmare and you for sure celebrated that. They may never be gone but they’re getting better and Bucky is comforted in knowing that when he has a nightmare he will never again be alone for it

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Random Thoughts

[limehaspassed]

So i had an idea a slasher with an S/O who has PTSD from guns and they get mugged. So basically here is the plot. The slasher and the S/O go to a cafe! They have breakfast do some cutesy flirting and talk about their day than they leave. On their way home, The S/O finds an alley short cut home. They go in and than some men in their late to early thirties put a gun to the S/O's head. The men tell the slasher (who is in disguise as a normal person and the S/O knows) to hand them all the money they've got in them. And next is up to you!! Idm what slasher you put in but i at least want Bubba Sawyer, Jason Voorhees, Thomas Hewitt, Michael Myers, and Freddy Kruger. You don't have to add freddy if you don't want to, i don't like him but i do want to know how he would react in this situation!!! Bye!!!

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Slashers Reacting to a S/O

with PTSD

In which the slashers react to a s/o who has PTSD of guns. Slashers included are Bubba Sawyer, Jason Voorhees, Thomas Hewitt, and Michael Myers.

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Prologue

The first time you had ever seen a gun, it was when you had gone out to a local cafe with your partner that you encountered such a powerful weapon. The downside of ever seeing one is that you looked down the barrel of it, your body being held captive by fear and the threat of the gun firing while pointed at you, a tragedy within itself.

However, before you were forced under such horrific circumstances, you fancied a delicious breakfast, a perfect start to the morning.

“Good morning, take a seat wherever you like.” The waitress had greeted you, a warm smile on her face.

You smiled back and led the two of you over to a table. “This will do.” You said calmly, taking a seat at one end of the table while your partner took the other. You glanced up at them, flashing them a soft smile.

The waitress came back around and handed out menus before taking her leave again.

The two of you looked over the menu, you having to explain what some of the more intricate words were to your partner every now and then. Eventually, the waitress came back around and the two of you place your order. It isn’t long till the food came out, pipping hot and perfect for eating.

“Here you two are. Enjoy.” The waitress spoke.

The two of you were quick to dig in. “This is so good, almost as sweet as your kisses, love.” You teased, after taking a bite of your food.

Your partner nearly chocked on their food, not used to such compliments. You chuckled and continued eating, making small comments about your partner every now and then, enjoying the way they looked away in embarrassment.

You two quickly finished eating and you paid the bill. You soon found yourself walking home. It was starting to get dark overhead, rain settling in, so you decided to take a shortcut through an alleyway you frequented. However, this time, you were unoccupied

“Stop right there.” A man said, placing a gun against your head. “Give us all your money!” He yelled, his voice harsh, far worse than the thunder that stormed overhead.

You looked at the man before glancing over at your partner, noticing that they were about to attack. They met your eyes and you held up your hand, telling them to stop.

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Bubba Sawyer

Bubba listened to your word, staring holes in the men that held their gun at you. He watched as you handed over the money, slowly and cautiously. He remained still, following your orders, staying the good boy you had always deemed him to be.

“Is that all you got, bitch?” The man with the gun asked you, his voice cruel and full of malice.

You nodded and he gave a dismissive grunt. They left soon after, leaving you alone with Bubba, who was quick to walk up to you, looking over you with worry.

“I’m fine, dear. Let’s just get home.”

About a week later, you were met with a gun again, a victim having stolen a gun from the house, pointing it at you just before Bubba was about to attack. They held it against your head and you could feel your body start to panic, tears quickly entering your eyes.

Memories of the robbery came flooding back and you were stricken with fear, frozen in place. You don’t even know how Bubba took the person down, you just remember his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. You remember the way he held you so gently, as if you could break if he held you too tightly. You remember crying into his chest, shaking and trembling as you let the panic leave your system.

Bubba made sure to keep guns out of your sight after that, not wanting to see you in such a state ever again.

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Jason Voorhees

Jason listened to your words, not moving an inch. He quietly watched as you handed over the money, noticing the way your hands shake and tremble, fear evident in your every move. His hands clenched at his sides and he glared holes into the man’s head. He hated them, he hated this situation. He wanted nothing more than to punish the man for even looking in your general direction.

“Is that all you got, bitch?” The man said with a snarl.

You had went to say something but Jason had already moved, grabbing the man’s gun and throwing it aside, ripping it from the young man’s grip with ease. You watched with fear as Jason grabbed the man by his throat, a snarl practically ripping from his throat. The man strained and cursed, trying to escape Jason’s grasp but nothing was stopping him.

“Jason, stop!” You yelled, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He ignored you, blinded by rage. The man soon went limp, no oxygen left in his brain. Jason dropped him and looked at the other one. He went to lunge but you grabbed his hand, pulling as hard as you could. You nearly fell forward with how quick Jason had moved.

“Please, Jason, quit it out.” You begged, tears brimming in your eyes, you refused to let them fall.

Jason glared at the man. The man took this as his queue to leave, sprinting out of the alleyway. Jason didn’t turn to look at you until the man was out of sight.

“Sorry. He called you a mean word.” He signed, looking at you with regretful eyes.

“It’s alright, just help me clean this up.” You motioned to the body.

Jason nodded and got quick to work.

The second time you were faced with a gun was when one of the counselors at Camp Crystal Lake decided to fight back, holding you hostage to keep Jason from attacking them.

You were immediately sent into a panic, your mind running a million miles an hour. You were horrified, more horrified than you should have been in such a situation. You knew Jason would fix this but you couldn’t help but overthink, you couldn’t help but doubt his abilities, especially since you could feel the cool texture of the barrel.

Jason was quick to unarm the person, quickly getting to you. He scooped you into his arms and held you close, rubbing small circles into your back as the counselor laid dead at your feet.

Your breath quickened as you saw the dead counselor, you began hyperventilating. Jason held onto you tighter, forcing you to use him as a grounding tool.

You held onto him tightly as you tried to correct your breathing. It took you a bit but you soon calmed down, relaxing into his grip. He didn’t let you go for the rest of the night.

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Thomas Hewitt

Thomas was reluctant to listen but he did either way. He would listen to your every word, no matter what it was, even if he felt his opinion was the better option. He wanted the two men dead but you had said otherwise. This left Thomas in a state of near panic, he wanted to kill the two men but you had ordered him not too, he found it difficult to uphold your word.

“Is that all you got, bitch?” The man with the gun asked.

“That’s all I have.” You looked at the man momentarily before looking back over to Thomas, making sure he was following your words, you could tell he was having a difficult time listening.

“Tell anyone, you’re dead.” The man snarled, taking a step backward, his gun still pointed at you. He slowly walked away with the other man, their attention both still on you, the gun still aimed at your head.

They turned the corner and you let out a sigh. Turning to Thomas, you looked up at him with nervous eyes, afraid that he would criticize your weakness, your submissiveness to the attacks of others. However, it wasn’t a critique you were met with, it was a protective embrace.

Thomas was quick to wrap his arms around you, holding you close as if you would fall apart if he let you go. You could practically hear him growling, he was seething with anger. His grip around you tightened even more.

He didn’t let you out of his sight for the next week, constantly by your side, protective and possessive over your every move.

The next time you saw a gun was when Hoyt had pulled it out to deal with a victim. You didn’t technically see it but you heard it one evening while you were doing the dishes. You immediately dropped the plate you were drying, being sent into a state of panic as memories of the robbery came flooding back.

Thomas had witnessed this panic strike you and was by your side in seconds, pulling you close to him and holding you. You latched onto him, your eyes filling with tears, overflowing and soon falling to the ground.

Thomas hummed softly, a technique you had used to calm him at times. It was effective and you soon found yourself calming down. It wasn’t long until Thomas felt you relax against him.

His worry was replaced with anger, anger at the men, anger at Hoyt. He hated seeing you in such a state, he hated not seeing his sunshine happy. He vowed to limit the usage of guns around you as much as he could, not wanting to see you look at him with those panic stricken eyes again.

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Michael Myers

Does not listen at all, he immediately goes to move, attacking your attackers before they could even say their next word. He’s quick with killing them, not wasting time to watch them die, he wanted them dead quick and fast, wanting to immediately get the threat away from you.

The only person that could threaten your life was him.

“Michael, I said hold off.” You spoke, your voice still trembling with fear. The gun being pointed at you had gotten you quite worked up.

Michael shrugged his shoulders, looking at you with the same unbothered expression. He didn’t say nor did he sign anything. He simply watched you, awaiting his thanks.

You knew what he wanted but you refused to give it to him, mad that he disobeyed you. You didn’t want those men to die, even if they threatened your life, you just weren’t that type of person.

“Just…just clean up the mess.” You turned away, not wanting to look at the dead bodies.

Michael reluctantly got to work.

Later on, about a week later, you were faced with another gun, this time it was pointed at Michael. Your heart rate increased and your breath came out in shallow gasps. You were freaking out, you didn’t know what to do. You wanted to help but you were frozen, the memories of the robbery entering your head again.

Michael noticed this and he was thrown into a fit of rage. He ran at the person, who shot the gun, hitting Michael in the shoulder, but it didn’t stop him. Michael grabbed the person and threw them harshly against a wall, the gun sliding across the floor, stopping by your feet. Michael attacked the person, continuously hitting them until well after they were dead.

He then turned to you, noticing the gun by your feet and how your eyes were glued to it, tears falling harshly against the floor. He kicked the gun away and grabbed your hand.

He wasn’t an emotional guy, he wasn’t a touchy man either, but he was okay with hand holding, so he took your hand, squeezing it as you cried.

You moved and wrapped your arms around him, crying against his chest. He let you stay there until you calmed down, not pushing you away like he usually did.

He squeezed your hand once you calmed down, causing you to look up at him.

“Thank you.” You whispered, to which you received a small grunt. You gave a weak smile and hugged him one last time while he was still allowing you to be so close.

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Thank you for reading loves 🖤