#i have so much more to say about this lol

[mariasont]

That anon was living under a rock because your smut fics (all of your fics tbh!) I reread wayyy to many times, lol. But if you’re taking smut requests, I’d love to see more bimbo!reader and Hotch! I can’t get enough.

I’ll take anything!! But more specifically, their first time, all of that built up tension (that you write so perfectly!) finally breaks!

Anyways, I never send in requests but I saw a window of opportunity and had to take it, haha.

Third Date Rule - A.H

summary: the third date proves to be worth the wait when you and hotch experience your first time together. pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, sexy time, fingering, oral fem receiving, p in v, they did not in fact wrap it before tapping it and it's not really discussed so yeah idk about that one, aftercare wc: 7.7k

This was so overdue.

Technically, it's only been three dates. Technically.

But if you count all the years you'd known him, the months spent daydreaming about this moment, the weeks of waiting while he played the world's longest game of restraint, then really, you should have had him naked ages ago.

And if Aaron (which still feels like a thrill to say — Aaron — because you're dating now and you can freely call him that) wasn't so stubborn and noble and insufferably gentlemanly, you would have.

But tonight was finally the night. The third date. The sacred, hallowed, much-debated, universally accepted gateway to getting into the sheets. And yes, okay, maybe you barely survived the wait without jumping his bones, but that's hardly relevant now. The point is, you did it.

And now you're in his lap, his tie wound tight around your fingers, his tongue deep in your mouth, and gods, if this night didn't end with him inside you, you might actually die. 

Like, literally. Heart failure. Sudden death.

This was premeditated. At least, for you. You moisturized like your life depended on it, doused yourself in perfume that could be classified as a controlled substance, and selected a bra that made your tits look so insane, it might actually be illegal in some states.

And then you spent an embarrassing amount of time picking the perfect dress that says oh, I'm classy, but also please take me home and rip this off with your teeth.

You pull away, just enough to see him. To take in the slow bloom of pink trailing from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, the way his pupils are so wide they’ve all but erased the brown of his eyes. And his lips — swollen and red from kissing you — part like he was debating how bad it would be to drag you right back in. You wouldn’t mind.

“Aaron,” you sigh, fingers burying into his hair, marveling at how absurdly soft it is, how freely he lets you have this piece of him. “We should go to bed.”

For a second, he locks up. Not hesitation but calibration, a body processing desire so sharp it might break him. You feel it in the way his chest expands, in the quiet exhale through his nose.

"This wasn't my plan for the night," he murmurs, voice softer now, not strained, but steeped in something much gentler. Something careful. "I wasn't —," He shakes his head, like the whole concept doesn’t sit right in his mouth. "I don't want you to think this is just —,"

"Sex?"

You can see the way he wants to argue, like he wants to carve the word out of the air and replace it with something that means more.

"Yes."

You can’t stop the stupid, lovestruck smile pulling at your lips. Maybe it’s the wine from dinner finally working its magic. (It’s not.) Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, all serious and earnest, like you’re the only thing in existence, and if he blinks, you might vanish. (It definitely is.)

A laugh bubbles up, light and giddy, body not knowing what to do with all this adoration. You lean in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, just to see if he’ll let you. (He does.)

“Are you serious? If you just wanted sex, you wouldn’t have spent actual years pretending my very dedicated, very expertly executed attempts to seduce you weren’t happening.”

His brow arches, but you see it for what it is — a stall. “Expertly, huh?”

"Remember that heatwave last summer? When I just had to eat a popsicle at my desk every afternoon?"

His eyes darken like the memory is playing in high definition behind his eyes.

"I remember."

"Do you?" Your fingers slip beneath his color. “Because —” You tilt your head. “I always seemed to finish them standing in front of your office —"

You don't even get to finish your sentence. 

One second, you’re speaking, the next, you’re airborne. Lifted clean off the couch, legs locking around his waist automatically, arms thrown around his shoulders like you planned this all along.

You didn’t, but you wish you had. 

Not that it matters, because he’s already moving, already walking straight to the bedroom.

You bury your smile against his jaw, letting your breath tickle against the shell of his ear as another giggle slips out. It couldn’t be helped.

"I really hope you know," you whisper, “that I am, like, stupidly excited for this. Like, counting down the days excited.”

Aaron sets you down on the mattress gently, but his body doesn’t follow right away, hovering over you.

"You're not making this easy for me."

You ignore him because you’re much more distracted by how insanely soft his sheets are. That was your first thought when your back hits the mattress, hair fanning across the pillows.

For a fleeting second, you wonder if he’ll catch the scent of your perfume tomorrow. If he’ll notice the ghost of you when he lays down alone.

Your second was that this is so not the time nor place to get emotional. 

But this is his space. His bed. His room.

It’s tidy, but somehow not sterile, everything having its place, but not afraid to be used. A book sits on the nightstand, a book mark sticking out mid-thought. A photo frame faces the bed, though from this angle you struggle to see what’s inside.

There’s his suit jacket from yesterday, draped over the back of a chair, a little rumpled. 

And maybe it's silly, but you feel weirdly honored to be here.

You should probably be processing this moment, what it means to be here, with him, like this. Instead, you take a second to admire the view.

The lamp softens the sharp lines of his face, making him look almost gentle — which is funny, considering how you hoped to be thoroughly destroyed by him.

Something expands inside you, stretching against the walls of your chest, something too big, something that terrifies you.

So you do what you do best. You deflect.

“I can’t believe I’m about to sleep with my boss.”

He doesn’t even try to hide his exasperation, his forehead dropping into the crook of your neck. “Sweetheart—,”

"What?" You giggle, letting your fingers slide through his hair, letting your nails rake lightly over his scalp. "It's true."

His sigh is nothing short of pained, but then he kisses your cheek anyway, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. You were starting to feel like each was a thinly veiled attempt to tame you.

"Please don't phrase it like that."

"Yes, Mr. Hotchner." 

Every self-satisfied thought evaporates the moment he kisses you – really kisses you.

It’s not just a meeting of lips but a focused intensity, tongue sweeping inside your mouth and suddenly nothing before this mattered, because clearly, clearly, every kiss you’ve ever had was just practice for this one. 

Your body responds before your mind can catch up, spine arching and he doesn’t stop you, just kisses you with a hunger that makes teasing obsolete, that makes breathing secondary to the way he’s taking from you, giving to you, all at once.

His lips wander, dragging across your jaw like he’s leaving invisible ink behind, pressing something permanent into your skin.

You hope you’ll wake up tomorrow and still feel him there.

Your hands move to the nape of his neck, drawn by craving, by the need circling inside you like a ribbon of fire.

It stretches outward, licking at your skin, threading through your veins. His hands hold you still, spanning over your rib. His breath fans over your pulse, and you swear he can feel how fast it’s racing.

You should be gloating right now. This is, after all, exactly what you wanted, what you worked for. A biting remark sits on the top of your tongue, but then his mouth moves, and he finds it.

That wicked, traitorous little dip beneath your jaw that turns your entire brain into pink, glittering static. He pauses, listening, feeling, before sealing his mouth over it again, tongue dragging over the sensitive skin like he’s testing a theory that he already knows the answer to.

Your fingers clench in his hair, a startled sound choking in your throat before you can stop it. And then, the bastard laughs. Not sweet, not kind, but low and sharp and smug because he knows exactly what he’s done. 

You had the upper hand. Past tense.

"There it is," he murmurs, pressing another kiss there, his tongue flattening over it just to make you squirm. "You want to know how I figured this out?"

You hum, or try to. But it’s pathetic because you’re barely conscious, every cell fried to uselessness by his mouth.

He mimics you, just to be an ass about it, mocking the dazed little sound like he hasn’t just reduced you to it. "You always reached for it when I looked at you too long."

Your mouth opens. Closes.

"Or," he continues, "when I stood too close to you at the coffee machine. You'd fidget, tuck your hair behind your ear like you weren't thinking about it." His exhale burns against your pulse. "Cute."

You gasp, a little offended, mostly turned on. "Oh, wow. Profiling me? At work? That's, like, wildly unethical."

"Didn't need to," he murmurs. "You were practically begging me to figure you out."

His mouth is perfect in the way lightning is perfect – striking, searing, and completely out of your control. It’s perfect enough that you can pretend not to hear him.

He sucks, slow and hard enough to tear a sound from your lips before you even know it’s there, something that feels like vulnerability in its purest form. Something you would never willingly give him.

His laugh is quiet, wrecking, as he pulls back, lips slick with your skin. "That good?"

His mouth makes quick work, over your collarbone, down, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, down, branding every inch of skin he can reach. 

He stops at the neckline of your dress, and suddenly, you can't think about anything except how it's still on.

You want to strip it off, want to offer yourself up as a willing sacrifice, but you’re well aware that if you try, if you even reach, he’ll stop you. Or worse, he'll make you wait. He'll slow you down, draw it out just to watch you squirm because patience is his weapon of choice, because he lives for making you suffer.

His teeth graze the swell of your breast, just enough to sting, and whatever fragile grip you had on yourself disintegrates on impact. Your hands fumble blindly for his face, fingers shaking, needing to see his eyes.

"Please, Aaron.” It’s an exhale, a prayer. “Need you."

You see the ripple of tension along his throat. And for one tiny, blinding second you think this is when he finally snaps, abandons his tolerance and just takes you.

"You don't know how long I've wanted you like this," he rumbles. "I'm going to take my time."

You whine, frustration bleeding from your fingertips where they clutch his shoulders, fingers digging in like you can physically push him into moving faster.

He does not move faster. 

His hands slide up to the straps of your dress, as he drags it down with all the urgency of a leisurely Sunday stroll. 

Your mind is halfway through an exceptionally justified complaint about how slow he is moving when he folds the dress.

Folds it.

Sets it aside. Doesn't toss it.

And that may be the hottest thing he's ever done.

Because you know he knows. He’s always known. Known that your things aren’t just things — that your dresses, your heels, your overpriced lip glosses aren’t frivolous, aren’t some shallow indulgence, but tiny, curated pieces of you.

He has listened to you decide between two pairs of shoes that are, for all intent and purposes, identical. He knows jasmine is mysterious and vanilla is flirty, knows that you’ll debate your right to own the same three shades of pink. 

And instead of dismissing it, instead of rolling his eyes (though he does that too), he folds your dress. As if it matters.

You stare at him, somewhere between melting and spontaneous combustion, and he simply raises a brow. “Something wrong?”

"No." You shake your head for emphasis, voice a little too weak to get the point across. "Just thinking I might have to marry you."

His hands settle at your waist, fingers tracing over the pink lace like he’s trying to process it, like if he touches it enough times, it’ll confirm that this is actually happening and not some cruel illusion. His thumb brushes the scalloped edge, breathing shallow. You were pretty sure he’s currently having a full-scale existential meltdown over lingerie.

"Agreed," he murmurs, distracted, hooded eyes still glued to your chest. "I think the courthouse opens at eight."

Your giggle stutters, hiccups right out of you, because his hands are suddenly everywhere, roaming with no clear plan, just a man in crisis over how much of you he wants to touch first. His palms skate over your stomach, down your thighs, up over your breasts.

"So, this is all I had to do to convince you to do what I want?"

His mouth follows, retracting the path of his hands, rewriting, reworking, perfecting – because apparently, the first time wasn’t good enough, wasn’t thorough enough. 

"You think this is what did it for me?" His voice is hushed. "You could've walked into my office six months ago and told me to get on one knee.” A kiss, open-mouthed, starving, just below your navel. “I would've done it."

Six months ago. You don't know if you believed that.

Except now you're spiraling, backtracking, rewinding, piecing together little details like some lovesick conspiracy theorist with red string and a bulletin board. Every interaction, every loaded glance, every time he let you get away with high-level flirtation without so much as a blink. You thought you were testing him, but what if he was never fighting at all?

And before you can even recover from that, before you can file an official grievance about why no one told you sooner, his hands squeeze at your thighs, his mouth so close to exactly where you need him, and his voice —

"You're so beautiful."

His nose presses into the damp center of your panties, and your hands fly to his hair so fast it’s practically reflex, breath stalling in your chest like your body forgot how to function for a second. 

This is everything. What you've wanted, dreamed of, written in the margins of notebooks (hypothetically, of course).

It should be perfect, but suddenly, it isn't.

Uncertainty slips between the cracks, heat turning into something less solid. You don’t have time to find it, to name it, because he’s already there, already sensing it, already fixing it before you even know what’s wrong.

"Hey." His voice hooks into you, gently reeling you back from wherever your brain was about to go. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"No, I—," The words come out far too fast and desperate, and you can't decipher why it's so hard to say. "I do want to. Obviously." The nervous laugh that follows is definitely not your usual flirty confidence. "Have you met yourself? Because if you haven't, I would love to introduce you. Tall, devastatingly handsome — you'd love him."

His move curves, but his eyes stay patient and focused, giving you a second to breathe.

"It's just..." Another pause, another frustrated sigh. "I haven't been with anyone in a while."

"That's okay, we can take it slow." He moves so that he's hovering above you again, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, his smile just amused enough to leave you flustered. "How long?"

"May."

"May?"

"Yeah, like, May. Three years ago."

Aaron just stares at you, processing. You can see the gears turning, the little mental loading wheel spinning, his expression caught between stunned and deeply interested.

His fingers creep up, sliding under your ribs, just close enough to the heavy swell of your tits to remind you exactly where you are. What he was doing to you before you so rudely derailed this into actual conversation.

"Really?"

You pinch his arm. "Hey! That is not an absurd amount of time."

"No. I know. I didn’t say that," he says quickly. "I'm just... surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His lips part and he immediately shakes his head, exhaling like he's physically trying to dispel what just ran through your mind, knowing exactly where your thoughts were.

"I just mean — I don't know how every man you meet doesn't immediately worship the ground you walk on."

"Oh, well, they do." You smile. "But I was only ever planning on letting one of them take me to bed."

You reach for his dress shirt buttons, tugging insistently, but your hands refuse to cooperate, not properly communicating with your brain.

It's his fault, you decide.

He looks too good, and it was extremely hard to focus on anything but that.

You have no idea how you survived dinner. Or the car ride home. Or even the eternity it took to get past the door, because that was definitely a struggle considering your mouth was all over his, tasting the whiskey he’d barely touched, before he could even get the key in the lock.

You spent all night picturing this, the way his hands would feel in you, the way his mouth would taste, the way his suit would look crumpled on the floor.

Which, in hindsight, probably meant you were a pretty terrible dinner guest. Nodding, smiling, pretending to listen, all while barely holding back the need to ride him in public.

Aaron laughs, clearly entertained by your struggle, and then, because he’s nothing if not arrogant, he starts undoing the buttons one-handed, to be a show-off.

It’s rude, really. Because now all you can do is watch, helpless as he peels himself open to reveal golden skin, dark hair dusting over firm pecs, trailing lower, disappearing beneath his belt. 

Your manicured fingers glide over the broad expanse of his shoulders, pushing his shirt away like uncovering some lost Renaissance painting that scholars would kill to get their hands on — something that should be in a temperature-controlled glass case, not just here, sprawled above you like he belongs to you. Which, he does, because he’s just letting you do this, letting you look. And you look. He is art. No, better than art. Art is stationary, lifeless, some brushstroke interpretation of what beauty should be. But this, him, he is warmth and breath and muscle.

Museums wish they had something this valuable. They’d burn down in despair if they knew he existed just for you.

"May," he muses, letting the word roll off his tongue, turning it over in his mind. "That's an oddly specific answer."

You make a vague sound of agreement, mostly just to acknowledge that yes, technically, he did say words, but you’re too busy to actually care. Too busy with spreading your hands over the planes of his chest, with grabbing at his belt.

"You were hired in May three years ago."

Your hands freeze. 

"That's... um weird." A slow blink. "Weird that you know that. Weirder that you noticed."

You work his belt loose, tugging it free. It’s meant to be a distraction, a well-placed touch to shift his focus from his revelation.

But then your plan backfires spectacularly because he’s hard, thick, unreasonably big and suddenly your fingers feel useless.

Aaron makes a sound — half a hiss, half a laugh — and his hands snap to your wrist, catching you before you can explore further, like he knew you were going to do that. "It’s okay, honey."

"I—I don't—," You blink up at him, floundering, desperately trying to sound casual. "That's, uh, I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

Aaron’s smirk deepens, his grip on you slackening just enough to trick you into thinking he’s going to be nice.

But then his other hand moves, slipping between your bodies, sliding beneath the heat trapped between your thighs, finding the neediest part of you, and pressing.

Your whole body jerks, a startled gasp catching in your throat as sensation flares — hot, sharp, mercilessly good.

His fingers start to move, rubbing tight circles against you. Your hands cling, one locked onto his bare shoulders, the other pressing against his dick, desperate to make him feel even a fraction of what he's doing to you.

It earns you a groan, low and gritty, hips twitching against your palm, his breath is hot against your lips, his mouth hovering just barely out of reach.

"I won't tease," he promises, but the way he bites at your bottom lip feels like a lie. His tongue is quick to follow, flicking over the welt he’s just left, soothing the burn before sealing it with a kiss, just this side of messy. “Three years… that’s a long time.” His lips skim yours again. “For both of us.”

A pleased sound bubbles up from your throat, slipping between his lips, that makes it obnoxiously clear just how much you love those words. That is a sentence you’d like embroidered on a pillow. Maybe cross-stitched into a nice, elegant frame for your future shared bedroom. 

"Oh," you sigh, a smile stretching against his lips. "I really, really, like knowing that. That's, like, incredible news."

Your brows scrunch, and you pull back just an inch. 

"Just to be clear, though, you do mean in a wow, you've ruined me for other women way, and not in a I've been to busy for a sex life way, right? Because those are two different things, and I need to know which one we're working with here—"

Aaron huffs a laugh and instead of answering with words, his hands slip into your panties, fingers finding your clit without prelude. Skin to skin now, no fabric, no flimsy barrier. Just touch.

His fingers dip lower, dragging through the slick, indecent in how easily he moves through the mess of you. He makes a noise — nearly a groan, mostly a hum of appreciation, of possession — before he spreads it, smearing your own arousal over your clit, rolling circles.

"Oh, wow, sweetheart."

Your thighs fall open like you have no say in it — because you don’t, because every instinct in you is reaching for him, needing it like a fix.

And maybe, maybe that should be embarrassing — the obvious, shameless way you seek him out — but it’s a gorgeous kind of humiliation, a flush that spreads lower.

"Well," you gasp, chest rising in stuttering little pants. "Y—you kept me waiting forever."

Aaron hushes you with a soft tsk, his fingers pressing, stroking, coaxing you into sweet, mindless submission. Every movement feels preordained, like he already knows your body, like he’s a man who’s spent years thinking about this.

"I know, sweetheart," he soothes, murmuring it against the fragile skin beneath your ear, punctuating it with a kiss. "But I think I'm making up for lost time pretty well."

"I guess," you manage. "Th—that's acceptable."

Aaron chuckles, the vibration traveling straight into your skin. His lips descend, an idolization thing, but it’s the kind of devotion that sets you on fire.

His hands spread over your thighs, parting them gently.

Your underwear drags down, slipping over your thighs, grazing the curve of your knees, and then off. And suddenly, there's nothing separating you from his eyes, from the way the air licks over you, cool against the sticky heat between your thighs.

His lips part like he wasn't expecting to fall apart so easily. Like he thought he'd have more time, more control. And the power in it, the sheer, intoxicating power of knowing he's just as affected as you are, that this is breaking him open, makes your skin fizz, burn, ache for him even more.

If someone had told you a year ago that Aaron Hotchner, mister all-business-all-the-time, would be between your legs, staring at you like he's never seen anything more perfect, you would have said something nonsensical. Something about fate. Or destiny.

And you would have been right. Because you always knew this was a definite.

"Oh, honey.... You're gorgeous," It's almost a whisper, like the words were dragged out of him against his will, stolen straight from his lungs the second his eyes landed on you. His gaze drinks you in, head tilting, lips parting, tongue skating over the swell of his bottom lip. “I knew you would be, but…”

A sharp, sizzling spark races up your spine, white-hot and unbearable, but when it should tip over into relief, it withers into frustration. The kind that makes your body revolt against the absence of touch. Your hips buck, thighs squeezing as if you can somehow force the friction you’re being deprived of.

"Give me a second, baby," he teases, caressing his nose along the inside of your thigh. "Just wanna look at you."

His mouth moves in decadent passes, open-mouthed kisses pressed into your inner thigh.

Another kiss. Then another. So close.

Then he detours. Veers off, pressing his lips into the dip of your hip instead, dragging his tongue along something that is not your clit.

"So perfect."

His fingers prod through your folds, parting you, fingertips wading through the slickness pooling at your entrance. The sound that spills from him is sinful.

All of your muscles coiling tight, every inch of you scorching with unmet need and just when you think you're going to have to beg him, just when the words start to form —

He gives in. 

His tongue is there first, dragging a flat, broad stripe through your center, licking over every hypersensitive inch of you before looking up at you through hooded eyes. You swear you nearly come from the sight alone.

"Knew you'd be sweet."

Aaron doesn't waste another second, burying himself in you, mouth moving like he's been ravenous for this. 

His grip is firm as he spreads you wider, keeping you at his mercy. His lips wrap around your clit for a split second before he moves again, tasing, licking, humming, lapping up everything you're giving him.

It's messy. Wet. Dripping. His mouth moves as he tries to wreck himself on you. Each second convincing you that he wouldn’t mind suffocating here if it meant another taste.

His nose nudges against you, the angle so cruelly perfect it sends another violent tremor through your body, legs jumping against his shoulders. Your fingers grasp blindly for purchase, gripping the sheets, tangling in his hair, at anything you can reach. 

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs into you, words muffled by your pussy. "Let me hear you."

"Oh — " The sound falls from your lips, your eyes squeezing shut like you can block out the overwhelming pleasure if you just try hard enough.  "Oh, that's — "

Your hips stutter, thighs tightening around his face.

Aaron chuckles darkly, and you feel it more than you hear it, the sound pulsing through your core.

You’re not sure you have a body anymore, not sure you exist outside of this moment. You’re just sensation, just trembling atoms held together only by his hands, his breath, his voice. There’s no past or future – just now, just him.

If this is what it means to transcend, to be unraveled and rewritten in the same breath, then let it consume you whole. You could die like this, and it would be the kindest death you could ever ask for.

A single finger ghosts over your entrance, teasing but never quite committing. He dips in, just the barest of intrusion, and you shudder, clenching around nothing because it’s gone just as fast. 

He waits, just long enough to hear the next breathy fussing before finally spearing back in. Your eyes flutter shut, breath breaking apart in little puffs.

The sounds coming from your cunt should embarrass you, sticky, so shockingly loud that if your brain was working, you’d be mortified. But it’s not working. Not even a little. 

His hand flattens over your stomach and suddenly the pressure doubles, triples.

"Tell me, baby," he murmurs, "feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes, yes, oh my gods, Aaron, I—"

Your normal senses have left the building. Packed its bags, hit the road, abandoned you to whatever dark magic this is. Because this —this isn’t how your body works. This isn’t how guys work. You don’t come from this. 

But here you are, hurtling toward it at full speed and all because he decided you would.

It’s happening too fast, the pressure stacking. Your thighs shake open, stomach clenching so hard it aches. Your mind is lagging behind, still reeling, still trying to rationalize but it doesn’t matter because your body has already made its choice, has already given in, has already decided this is happening, whether you’re ready for it or not.

"Aaron, I think—,"

Aaron just groans, finishing your sentence for you, lapping up your confession with his tongue,

"I know, baby." Hot air blows against your swollen clit. "Let me feel it."

It crashes over you, back bowing off the bed. Your body splinters apart, thighs trembling so hard you couldn’t stop them if you tried. The edges of your vision smear into nothing as the pleasure consumes everything in its path. 

His mouth stays on you, tongue and fingers pushing you through the aftershocks until you’re clawing at the sheets, until that pleasure tilts so far into oversensitivity that makes you unaware if you’re pulling him closer or pushing him away.

Your limbs feel like liquid, consolidating into every inch of your body, melting into the mattress as Aaron moves to be face to face with you.

He's looking at you like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to this planet, and maybe he is, because when his lips get close enough, you tug him the rest of the way down, crashing your mouth into his in a way that's all sloppy desperation.

You can taste yourself on him, can feel the way he groans into it when you sigh against his mouth, all soft and dreamy and drunk on gratification. 

When you pull back, your fingers card through his hair, fixing nothing but feeling everything.

"Oh my gosh," you gasp, dissolving into giggles, toes curling as you flop back against the pillows. "I knew you'd be good at that, obviously, but I wasn't expecting all that. Like wow, you should get a certificate of excellence or something."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you sigh dramatically, "Or like, a trophy, a raise, a sash that says best head giver in gold letters—," You pause for a breath, sucking in air like you just realized how winded you are.

"— and I mean, I've never come like that before. So. You should probably put that on your résumé."

When Aaron presses against you, you feel every inch of him. Thick and unfortunately still restrained. His slacks are a cruel barrier, the rough drag of the fabric catching your clit in a way that rips a whimper straight from your throat.

His teeth scrape along your jaw, then he's mouthing at your neck, sucking, teasing, marking you.

"Firstly," he murmurs. "I hate the idea of anyone else touching you."

An involuntary shiver rolls through you.

"And secondly," he continues, "the fact that they didn't even know how."

Your hands are frantic as they fly to his waistband, fumbling a bit, the last hindrance between you offensive in its existence. 

"Well, yeah," you sigh, looking up at him through fluttering lashes, glossy lips parted just for him. "I mean, you're literally the only one who's ever known what to do with me. That has to mean something, right? Like, cosmic destiny or whatever."

Aaron shoves his pants and briefs off, barely sparing them a second thought, and then he's back, fitted between your thighs.

"You already know the answer to that." His lips brush your temple. "I'm the only one who knows how to handle you. And I plan on proving it."

"Yeah, okay," you say, squirming beneath him. "Not gonna argue when that sounds like the best idea ever."

You've seen a lot of versions of Aaron. You've seen work Aaron, serious and bossy, looking at crime scenes like he can hear the evidence whispering just to him. You've seen grumpy Aaron, glaring over his coffee when you talk too much at morning briefings (but you know he likes it, he just won't say). You've seen soft Aaron, the one who lets you steal his jacket even though you definitely don't need it.

But you've never seen this Aaron. This post-kissing-you Aaron. Lips slick, still damp with you, evidence of where he’s been, what he’s done.

His eyes flick to yours, and there’s no shame, no rush to wipe it away. If anything, he tilts his head, letting you see it from a better angle.

"You're so handsome, Aaron." Your voice trembles. You don't even know if you said it out loud or just thought it so hard he must have heard it anyway.

"And you,” he murmurs, tracing his thumb over your cheek, “are so damn sweet, honey."

You beam at that, overwhelmed, so unbelievably happy that your thoughts are practically spilling out faster than you can catch them.

"Okay so I just need to say — this is so exciting, like, you do realize I've had a crush on you for years, right? And now this is actually happening, and that's just — wow."

You suck in a sharp breath, nails dragging over the thick muscles of his arms, across his shoulders.

"I mean, it's us, Aaron. Can you believe that? Like, I feel like this has been building for so long and now I'm just — gods, you're so hot, this is actually distracting me. I can't even finish my own thought —,"

You laugh, because you already feel so full of him and he isn't even inside you yet.

"And I know you're being all careful and slow because you're sweet and romantic and, like, the most perfect man alive, but also —,"

You grind up, chasing friction, his cock sliding just right over your clit. Your breath stutters, hands fisting at the nape of his neck as you try to remember what you were saying.

" — I'm literally at your mercy right now, so you should probably take advantage of that before I —,"

"You talk so much, baby."

And then he shuts you up. Hard.

His mouth rams into yours, ingesting the comment, the breath, everything.

He doesn't rush. 

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance before he finally, slowly, pushes inside.

It knocks the breath from your lungs. Your mouth parts against his, lips catching on his as a little sigh slips out. Your nails dig into his shoulders, helpless against the way he's opening you up. 

He stills, a sharp, fractured inhale slicing through the air, fingers digging into your hips — hard. He is struggling. You can feel it. The way his cock twitches inside you, like his body is screaming at him to move.

"I-I'm good." Your laugh wobbles, catches at the edges, barely disguising how badly you want him to believe you. "You can keep going."

"You're tensing because it's been a while." You don't mean to, but your body reacts before your brain can tell it not to, stiffening. Stupid, stupid. His exhale is shaky, and his lips press against your cheek. "I know that. I expected that."

You swallow, but it doesn't help.

"I also know that you think if I notice, I'll stop." His forehead rests against yours. "But I need you to hear me, baby. I'm not stopping."

His lips graze yours.

"I'm going to work you through this. Just let me in, princess."

And the second you do, the second you finally give in —

He groans, pushing deeper, stretching you completely, filling you to the hilt. 

"There we go," he breathes, wrecked with praise. His hand presses to your lower belly, feeling how deep he is, how well you take him. "That's my good girl."

Your head tilts back, lips parting, body doing the melty thing that feels really, really nice but also really, really dangerous because you swear you're seconds away from levitating straight out of your own skin.

"Okay, so I did think this would feel good —," Your fingers twitch against his chest, nails raking lightly over sweat-damp skin as another sharp moan tumbles free. "— but, um, wow, this is like — this is so —,"

Your words taper off, get lost somewhere between your psyche and your mouth, because oh. Oh, wow. He's so deep, so heavy inside you, pressing into places you didn't even know existed.

"Go on, baby," he murmurs, a smirk plastered across handsome features as he dips his head. "You were saying?"

"You know," you gasp, words all flimsy and loose, like they've been shaken up inside you, "I kinda always wondered how big you were —"

Your breath hooks halfway through, hiccups on a moan, brain scrambling to keep up with your mouth, your mouth scrambling to keep up with — him.

"Not that I, um — I stared at your pants or anything —" Another sharp inhale, another desperate moan, your walls fluctuating and squeezing around something too thick. "I mean, I try not to because I'm a professional —"

An involuntary clench makes him curse, makes his fingers dip into your hips, makes his head plunge forward hard against your shoulder.

"Honey, shit—,"

Your lashes flutter. "What?"

"Sweetheart, if you keep squeezing me like that while you ramble about my cock, I'm not going to last."

Your mouth clicks shut promptly.

"That's what I thought."

Hotch rocks his hips, just once, a sharp gasp fissuring from your lips like you weren't expecting it. 

"Jesus, sweetheart. You're trembling." He cups your cheek, his thumb skimming over your bottom lip, eyes dark and aflame. "Does it feel that good?"

You nod, and he hums, dragging his cock almost all the way out before pushing back in. 

His hand drags down your waist, spans over your belly, fingers pressing like he's charting the way he fits inside you.

"I used to tell myself I wouldn't do this," he admits. "That I wouldn't touch you. Wouldn't ruin you like this."

Your head lolls back, eyes fluttering, lips parted prettily, gasping as he rocks into you again, and again, and again. You shake your head, or at least, you think you do.

"You don't —" You try to shape words, but they liquefy on your tongue. "Don't ruin me, Aaron, you — oh, you make me —"

Hotch's throat bobs, his pupils blown.

"You make me so, so good, so soft, so perfect."

His hand cups your jaw. "You're already all of those things, sweetheart."

"Not before you," you sigh. "I've been waiting so long, Aaron, so, so long —"

"I know, baby," he groans. "I know."

His hand veers between your bodies, his fingers finding the swollen, neglected bundle of nerves.

“Aaron — oh, wait, wait, wait —,” Your hands shoot up to his shoulders. “I don’t know if I can, I mean, I can, but it’s just —,”

His cock throbs inside you, his rhythm stuttering for half a second before he finds it again, harder this time, his fingers matching the pace.

“Too much?”

“Yes, no, kind of? I don’t know, I can’t—,” You choke on your own breath as another thrust knocks every last rumination from your head. “I can’t think.”

“Good.” His forehead presses against yours, his lips parting against your mouth, panting, his control slipping. “I don’t want you thinking. Just feel me, sweetheart. Feel what I’m doing to you.”

Your body is shaking, shaking so hard that you don’t even know if you’re moving or if he’s just pushing you through it. 

“I know, baby. But you can take it, can’t you?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter, body twitching. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises, groaning as he grinds into you, stretching it. “One more, honey. You can give me one more.”

It hits you slowly, unwinding through your organs like smelted honey.

“Oh, oh —,” Your breath falters, mind going blank, the pleasure overwhelming every nerve in your body until you can’t do anything but let it consume you.

“Christ,” he groans, feeling you clench around him so tight it nearly undoes him.

You barely register the way you’re gasping, twitching, babbling out breathless little moans, vision blurring, and for a second you think you might black out.

“That’s it, princess,” he rasps, fucking you through it the reverberations. “So, so good for me.”

His pace turns shallow, sharp, chasing the tight, perfect squeezing of you still thrashing around him.

“You’re so tight, honey,” he grits, hands bruising your hips, your breath still catching from your own orgasm.

You’re too gone to respond, too wrung out to do anything but whimper as he takes you, using your body to pull himself over the edge.

He groans, low and deep, his fingers tangling in your hair, his mouth ghosting over your cheek as he finally breaks.

A shudder, a muttered curse, his body jerking, hips slamming into yours as he spills inside you.

He doesn’t mean to collapse, you know that, because even as his body gives out, his arms brace, still trying to be careful, even now. You want to cling to him, lock your legs around his waist, but you barely remember how to move, so you just let out a sleepy sound, nuzzling blindly at his throat. 

He murmurs something low, something that sounds like praise, maybe worship.

His lips press to the side of your face, half-gone and still recovering, and then his muscles tense, trying to lift himself off you.

Your arms wind around his neck before he can get too far. 

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, “I’m crushing you.”

“Don’t care,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse. “Feels nice.”

“You did so good.”

When he finally pulls out, you feel the loss and everything that comes with it, his release sticky and warm beneath your thighs. 

Aaron disappears into the bathroom, and you barely have time to miss him before he’s back with a warm cloth in hand.

You giggle, squirming before he even touches you, already restless, and the second he presses the cloth to your inner thighs, you jerk, laughing helplessly.

“Oh, wait —,”

Aaron sighs, one hand pressing against your hip to keep you still. “Sweetheart. You have to let me clean you up”

“But it tickles—,”

He smirks and continues his work. “How do you feel?”

“Like I saw god actually,” you ramble, kicking your feet against the sheets. “Or, like, like, if I had to describe it, I’d say I transcended reality for a little bit —,”

Aaron just chuckles, pressing a kiss to your knee as he finishes cleaning you up. Each swipe reminds you that your legs might not be on speaking terms with you tomorrow.

When he’s done his mouth finds yours again. It’s easy to kiss him. If it were physically possible to stay attached to him, twenty-four hours a day, you’d gladly test the theory.

“Worth the wait,” he breathes into your mouth.

“Well, yeah,” you murmur, smirking up at him. “I figured it would be for you.”

He laughs.

“Yeah, baby, you were good,” he mutters, kissing right over your stuttering pulse. “You were so good.” Another kiss. “So good I’m already thinking about the next time.”

Your heart hasn’t even slowed down, and you’re already thinking about the next time. Already plotting, already ready to drag him back down and see just how quickly that next time could turn into right now. But before you can so much as tug at him — Aaron is rolling out of bed, pulling on his pants, disappearing into the kitchen.

You mean to protest, to demand why he left you alone in a post-bliss haze, but then he’s back, pressing a glass of water into your hand, watching you drink it like it’s his personal responsibility.

Then comes food, something light and something he feeds you between kisses, between lazy murmurs about nothing. 

At some point, the blankets are back over you, his lips pressing against your forehead, his voice saying something about getting some sleep before you got any ideas, before pulling you against him.

You hum, content and drowsy, shifting a little, rolling over to get more comfortable —

And then your eyes land on that photo frame from earlier. You had a clear view of it now.

It was you.

It takes you a second to place it, but once you do, you almost laugh. You know this photo — because Garcia took it. She printed it out months ago, probably as some ridiculous gag, and stuck it to Aaron’s office wall with a bright sticky note that read your favorite obviously. You’d rolled your eyes at the time, called it workplace favoritism, but he’d never taken it down. 

And now, somehow, it’s framed. On his nightstand, like he’s been looking at you every night for —

You don’t finish the thought.

Instead, you just smile, huge and uncontrollable.

He doesn’t say anything.

And you don’t need him to.

Because you already know.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[carnalcrows]

SUB JJK HEADCANNONS !!

content warnings: 18+, twt links (you need a twitter account to open the links), unspecified sexual activity, the links are pretty inaccurate, since the bottom is much smaller, but oh well lol, intentional lower case

sukuna initially doesn't seem like the type to be submissive, but oh, how wrong you were. this man YEARNS. he has so much to do in his everyday routine, do you expect him to be in charge even in bed? god no- it's almost pitiful, the way he sucks your cock, looking up at you doe-eyed as you sit on his throne. (might make a fully-fledged fic of this haha)

higuruma is a very pent-up man, it doesn't matter how he relieves his stress, even if it means that you have to be balls deep inside him. hours and hours of working on cases do take a toll, all you wanna do is help your dear husband out <33

nanami is a workaholic. im not even exaggerating, this man has almost never taken a break his ENTIRE life. you decide to change that by practically tying him up to your shared bed one evening and having your way with him. his legs are shaking by the time you two are finished, but it is so worth it.

geto is skeptical at first, one of those monkeys want to fuck him? ha, the nerve. fast forward to 5 minutes later and you're holding this man in a mating press and fucking his brains out. taunts slip from your mouth, turning him on even more. "what's that, slut? letting yourself get fucked by a mere human? i didn't take you for a common whore." the man whines at the degradation, but he doesn't stop you, i don't think he can!

gojo doesn't even hesitate when you bring it up lol, this man is IMMEDIATELY on his knees for you. imagine holding him up, facing a mirror as you pound into him from behind. his mind is high on your cock and his ego, he looks so pretty in that goddamn mirror, that he won't stop yapping about it, even as you use his ruined hole. the problem is that he is such a brat, you just gotta fuck the attitude outta him.

toji does it for the money. it's as simple as that. he finished a bounty for you, and you asked him of this for an extra price. who in the right mind would say no? imagine him riding you, hands on your shoulders as your cock pistons in and out of his hole. even if he is the one getting fucked, it doesn't seem like it. he likes to be in charge if possible.

choso MY BABYYY!!! god he is so obedient, always listening to whatever you say. his body complies too, back arching to its limit as you pound into him, holding his knees at his shoulders. tears hold so prettily in his eyes as you kiss them away. he just wants to be good for you <3

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Series Synopsis: When the husband you’ve never met returns from the war you’ve never understood, he comes bearing a strange and inexplicable gift — a prince in chains who he refuses to kill.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mydei x F!Reader

Chapter Word Count: 10.2k

Content Warnings: pls check the masterlist there is. a lot. and i’m not retyping all of that LOL

A/N: I AM SOO SCARED TO POST THIS NGL LMAOAO like i said in the warnings i literally. have not played amphoreus yet. idek anything about mydei SDKJH i am so worried i will disappoint everyone who's expressed interest in reading this HAHA i was also. not expecting anyone to do that tbh. BUT thank you all for your kind words on the masterlist and i hope this lives up to expectations at least a bit!!

You spent the day of your wedding with a man made of marble — a stand-in for your new husband, who was off fighting in a war of the kind which had neither cause nor, seemingly, end. The statue was carved in his image and sneered down at you as you whispered to it, swearing vows of duty and obedience and docility, but, in spite or maybe because of its detached lifelessness, you found its presence to be a kindness. What did it say of your husband, that you preferred the company of that dead stone to him? Perhaps very much, or perhaps very little. 

He is a generous man, the servants assured you, giggling amongst themselves, exchanging knowing looks as they dragged you into the foreign palace where you would spend the rest of your days. You will want for nothing.

It was draftier than your home, the wind bouncing off of the white walls and nipping at you skin. You spent your time buried under seven-and-twenty layers of furs and fabrics, lying in an unfamiliar bed and flinching away from the shadows upon the ceiling. This was an idle and dull way to waste away your existence, and yet you could not bring yourself to do anything else, trapped in the mire of waiting and waiting for your husband’s return.

He came back in the third month, which was as auspicious as anything. They loved that number here, you had come to find: three, the symbol of fortune and fate, of magic and mischief, of power and punishment. Three vows sworn; three blessings granted; three months passed before you finally met the man you had married.

There was much fanfare about his arrival. When you peered out of the window, you saw that the streets were stuffed to the bursting with throngs of people shoving one another around, hissing and biting as they craned their necks. At first it surprised you — was he truly so loved here, even when he was elsewhere despised? — but then you realized that it was not your husband upon his charger that they were all lined up to meet. Rather, it was the procession following him which captured their interests, the spoils of war which he displayed with a juvenile, worthless pride.

A triad of elephants covered in finely wrought armor, their heads hung low and resigned, their plodding walks spiritless and lame. A herd of sheep with silver wool, dotting the dark cobblestones like a cluster of stars, stumbling along at the prodding of a soldier-turned-shepherd. A wagon filled with spears and swords, ostensibly once neatly stacked, now a matted mess of steel and bronze. Vases carried in the arms of the younger men, overflowing with coins that trailed after them like breadcrumbs, snatched up by the most daring of the onlookers, who did not fear rebuke. And, finally, in a place so honorable it could only have been mocking—

“Lady,” a soft voice said. You drew your coat tighter around you, although today was, by all accounts, warm for the season, and pretended like you did not hear the girl. She sighed and then tugged on your arm insistently; perhaps it was improper, but there wasn’t anyone who would chide her for it. “You have been summoned by his majesty.”

Hadn’t you known this would happen eventually? Hadn’t you expected it? You had had your time to come to terms with it, which was more than most got, and so there was no excuse for the reluctance which choked your throat and stilled your footsteps. This was your duty, this was what you had sworn, and so — and so you could not hesitate.

“Lady…” the girl said with another sigh. You pretended to be all-consumed with the action of closing the curtains, your back to her as you struggled to force a smile onto your face. When you deemed your expression acceptable, you spun around and nodded at her.

“It will not do to keep him waiting,” you said, motioning for her to lead the way. She did so without complaint, perhaps relieved that you were not giving her further trouble; even now, the servants did not know what to think of you, could not quite fathom what category of being you were. Some were fond of you, but most treated you with a careful distrust that you could not blame them for, even though you sometimes wanted to.

The grand entrance hall of the palace opened to the mouth of the road, which swelled out into a sprawling courtyard. Its centerpiece was an enormous fountain which sprayed a fine, cool mist into the air no matter the time of year, and it was by this fountain that you waited, wringing your hands as your husband drew nearer and nearer. Belatedly, you thought that you should try to conceal your distress, but there was nothing to be done about it now. The best you could do was say, if you were asked, that it was simply the joy of a bride faced with the prospect of a reunion with her beloved. Nobody would question that, although then again, nobody questioned you very much in general, so it was doubtful that you’d even have to use the quick excuse.

Your husband’s warhorse was a sprightly, slender beast, its coat the dappled grey of royalty, its face pretty and dished in the way of the Eastern breeds. When it paused in front of you, it shoved its black muzzle into your shoulder, nearly knocking you down, and then it stomped its hoof when your husband tightened the reins, pulling it back before dismounting and handing it off to a waiting stableboy. 

“My apologies, dear lady,” he said, bowing before you with as much gallantry as you had been told he possessed. His voice was gentle and amused, his face even more handsome in flesh than it had been in stone; you should’ve, by all rights, felt pleased. You were married to this man. You belonged to him. How many women wished to be in your place? Yet all you could muster was fear, throttling and all-consuming. He was beautiful in the way of a snake, and you knew without knowing that he was poised, in some way, to strike.

“It is alright,” you said, disguising the tremble of your voice with a broad, false grin. “I am glad to finally make your acquaintance…my lord.”

The address was unfamiliar on your tongue. What would your younger self, that girl who had never known subservience nor strife, say if she saw you ducking your head in defeated compliance? How she would laugh! How she would pity you! My lord. But he was exactly that.

“The sentiment is returned in full,” he said, and then he extended his arms in a grand, sweeping motion. “Indeed, to celebrate this momentous occasion, I have arranged for you a gift!”

“A gift?” you repeated. Certainly, you had asked for no such thing, and you did not have the time to school your face into neutrality, naked surprise flashing across it. Your husband chuckled at the sight, nodding at you.

“I have brought the finest of plunders for you, dear lady,” he said, and your stomach twisted into knots at the familiarity with which he spoke to you, as if you were affable lovers instead of strangers. “Even your father’s treasures, vast and bountiful as they may be, cannot compare to this!”

The mention of your father stabbed at your heart, and hidden in the folds of your coat, you clenched your fists. Your father, the richest man in the world…and yet your husband dared compare his meager gift to that? You wanted to spit in his face that for your third birthday, your father had gifted you a villa made of gold, the walls inlaid with gemstones and painted with flowers. Indeed, you might’ve goaded him in such a way if you had the capabilities, but then you noticed what the army-men were bringing forth and your mouth suddenly refused to move.

It was the prisoner, the one kept in a place of honor by your husband and his soldiers, the one who the entire empire had ridiculed as he had been paraded through it like a champion hound. He was tall, towering over the army-men flanking him, and although his eyes drooped nearly shut, there was a heat to his demeanor, a severe, ferocious anger which shone through his exhaustion. He seemed like more of a half-tamed jungle cat than a man, and indeed when he halted before you, you half-expected him to snarl, to bare bloody fangs and lunge at your throat with fingers like claws, like swords, tearing through your neck as if it were paper.

“When he’s like this, you almost forget what a monster he can be,” your husband mused, reaching out and flicking the man on the forehead with a snicker. “Isn’t he all but lovely? Oh, don’t worry, dear lady, he can’t do anything to you. He’s under the influence of a sleeping draught at the moment, and anyways, those chains are thrice-blessed. It’s perfectly safe.”

The chains he spoke of were as gold as the man’s hair, looping around his wrists and forearms, curling over the red marks emblazoned on his shimmering skin, weaving in between his legs and around his torso. They were sturdy and gleamed with the power of their three blessings, and although you still understood little about this strange place with its strange power, you could tell that it would take a great force, greater than was possessed by any mere man or deity, to break them.

“He’s the prince of Kremnos,” your husband said when your shock stretched on. “A right beast, I’ll say. We almost fell to his efforts, but in the end, we bested him — as you can see. What do you think? Do you like him?”

“He’s — it’s — horrible,” you said, your skin crawling the longer and longer you stared at the prince, your words a jumble, your head spinning. You wanted to be anywhere but in this courtyard, in front of this fallen man, who was kept alive for — for what? For amusement? For play? As a gift?

“Isn’t he?” your husband said, patting you on the shoulder with a grim smile. “And now he is yours.”

The thrice-blessed chains flashed in the sun, and you shook your head, both in refusal and to clear your vision of the blinding, searing spots they left in it.

“I have no need of a prisoner,” you said, and although your tone remained ever-muted, you spoke as cuttingly as you could manage to. “What will I do with him? Why do you torture him so? You bested him; if he was as fierce an opponent as you claim, then the least you owe him is a death with dignity. Kill him and be done with the matter. Why have you brought him all this way? I don’t want him.”

“He will die, eventually,” my husband said. “I shall execute him myself when it comes to it, but the time is not yet right. I don’t expect you to understand such matters, and neither should you trouble yourself with doing so…but know this, dear lady: you cannot give back a gift once it has been freely given. You can do what you’d like with him now that he is yours, but you cannot refuse him. Perhaps that is how affairs were conducted in your backwards land, but here it is not so.”

You wanted my land, you longed to say. You took me from my father and wed me to a statue in search of it. And still you call it backward? But you could not, so instead, you turned away — away from the prince, who was close to crumpling and only remained standing out of sheer will, and away from your husband, who beamed as if he had done something great or wonderful.

“I will retire now,” you said. Do not follow me. This remained implied, unsaid, but a fool your husband was not, and so he only hummed in agreement.

“Be well, dear lady,” he said. “My messengers have told me that you are having difficulties adjusting to the climate here. I shall be sure to pray for your feeble constitution.”

“Thank you, my lord,” you said, stiffly, primly. It scratched like bile and you hated every minute of it, but you had no recourse for the matter, so you swallowed it down, as you always did and always would.

“And what of the prisoner?” he said. “Shall I send him to a jail? Do you think he is better suited for deprivation or pain?”

They meant to make him shatter, to methodically yank him apart until he faced death with the dull eyes and swayed back of an over-aged broodmare. You supposed to them it was meaningless — why should they show consideration or kindness to a man who would never show them the same? — but you were no warmonger, and that apathy did not cling to you yet. The prince was a beast born of sun, a wild, vicious creature, and if he really was slated to die, then you wanted him to meet his end as just that, nothing less. 

“Leave him be,” you said. “Treat him as well as you are able.”

“He would’ve killed me,” your husband said, a low note of warning in his voice. You shrank into the safety of your clothes, as if they were a shield against his vexation.

“But instead you will kill him,” you said. “So how does it matter? You said I could do as I like; well, this is what pleases me. Don’t prolong this anymore than necessary.”

You darted back into the palace without waiting to hear his answer, your jaw burning and your footsteps heavy against the mosaic floor as you ran all of the way to your chambers and slammed the door shut behind you.

For three days and three nights you did not leave your room, taking all your meals in seclusion, refusing any visitors that might attempt entry. You could not help it; the thought of seeing your husband or any of the soldiers made you want to weep — you! Who never wept, even as a baby! So you claimed that you were terribly unwell, that you could not stand for fear of collapse, and that managed to ward away your husband without incurring his wrath, even though it was only a temporary solution.

As the sun set on the fourth day, there was a knock on your door, and you were about to call out that you had no interest in conversation when someone hissed through the crack in the entrance: “Lady, I come not on your husband’s behalf but another’s. There is trouble, and you must attend to it.”

“What?” you said, scrambling to your feet, crouching by the entrance, pressing your ear to the wooden door without opening it. “Who is this? Who are you? Speak plainly, so that we may understand one another!”

There was a shuffling sound, and then an exhale. You worried with the collar of your shirt as you waited for them to continue, your arms pulled tightly around yourself, your brows furrowing together as you chewed on your lower lip.

“The prince of Kremnos,” they whispered. “He calls for you.”

“Are they mistreating him?” you said, straightening and flinging the door open. “The prince, are they — hello?”

The hallway was devoid of life. You peered down it, craning your neck this way and that, but it was placid, showing no signs of having been disturbed. Shutting the door slowly, you leaned against it, holding your head in your hands. Was this place driving you to insanity, then? And if it was, then why could you not have thought of something more pleasant than summons from a prisoner — prisoner!

Wasn’t it your duty to make sure your husband had held good on his word? The prisoner was yours, though the notion of ownership sent unpleasant shivers down your spine and didn’t feel quite right — perhaps a better way to think of it, then, was responsibility. He was your responsibility, and maybe the strange vision had been nothing more than a reminder of what you owed the man.

You waited until it was midnight, when you could be certain that your husband would not rise from his slumber at the sound of your activity, and then you donned a pair of slippers and a cloak, throwing the hood on and retreating into the billowing depths of the fabric, so that your face was obscured from prying eyes. Of course, there would not be very many of those, not at such a late hour, but you did not want to risk even one person recognizing you and reporting back to your husband, whose reaction to this escapade you could not foretell.

Although you were not so familiar with the palace’s layout, as you had never spent much time exploring it, most constructions of this nature followed a similar plan, and you had grown up in exactly such a grand, sweeping home, so you found the doorway to the cellar in record time. As the palace had no towers, the cellar was the only logical option for the keeping of such a dangerous prisoner, and you had no doubt in your mind that this was where you would find the prince, if he was still somewhere that you could find him.

The half-moon was your only witness as you fumbled with the lock, trying every key in your possession until one finally slotted into place and turned. Wincing as the door heaved open with a profound creak, you yanked it shut behind you quickly, without ceremony, lighting a small candle and using it to guide your way down the dark stairs, rushing so that you were out of sight in case someone came to investigate.

You did not know how long you walked for, but eventually the stairway ended, giving way to cool, damp earth. The must of uncut stone permeated the thick, heavy air, and the adjustment of your eyes to the surrounding blackness was slow, the pain of it only alleviated somewhat by the little candle’s valiant flame.

“Come to toss scraps at me?” The voice was rumbling and low; in spite of its weakness, you could hear a sneer in it, a disdain in the rough baritone. “You needn’t try again. Like I told you, I won’t eat your trash.”

“No,” you said. “I’ve brought nothing with me.”

There was a brief pause, and then: “You sound different than the others.”

“This tongue is foreign to me, as it is to you,” you said. “I cannot speak it in the same way as those who were born here. Verily I have been instructed in the art since I was but a child, for my father must have known in that manner of his what would eventually become of me, but I will never lay claim to it the way that a native of this empire would.”

“You’re his wife.” Chains clanked, the harsh drag of metal against stone reverberating in the cellar, and then you felt more than saw his looming countenance, filling what you had mistakenly believed upon arrival to be an empty room. Swinging your candle before you so that it was close to your heart, you gasped when it reflected in a pair of eyes glaring at you from mere paces away, the irises possessing a hollow and impossible brilliance in the way a pair of fading embers might. 

The chains now only encircled his left leg, binding him to the wall but leaving him otherwise free to move as he liked within the length of his confines. He had been stripped of armament and adornment alike, his mane of hair tangled and falling lank about his broad shoulders, yet for all of these injustices, you had no doubt in your mind that he was anything but a prince. He had a dignity to him, a hard-won pride to the straightness of his back and the firmness of his gaze; before you could chase it away, the thought came to you that there was far more intrinsic nobility to this man than there was even your husband.

“I suppose that I am,” you said.

“Have you come to gloat about your craven lord’s cowardly victory, then?” he said. The chains were pulled taut, so he could come no closer to you than he already was — you were sure of this, but you were still a slave to your instincts, which urged you farther and farther from him with every second. He watched you go with some measure of delight, like he was relishing in this power which you had inadvertently gifted him, and when you skittered to a stop, he huffed. “There is nothing to be proud of, and you look a fool for suggesting there might be.”

“I was just…” you trailed off, because it suddenly felt entirely absurd to suggest that you were inquiring after his wellbeing. What did it mean, the wellbeing of a doomed man? What reason would he have to believe your intentions? “What is your name?”

“My name?” he said with a brittle, incredulous laugh that rapidly descended into a cough. “Why? Do you wish to curse your husband with it? Does your language not have gods you can swear on?”

“You’re sickly,” you said, frowning and ignoring his jabs.

“You have torn me from the sun and chained me in this dingy room, and yet you have the gall to be surprised by that?” he said, scoffing. “You’re more of an idiot than that husband of yours.”

“I did no such thing!” you said. The defiance took you by surprise. You had forgotten what it felt like to defy someone, to disagree and resist their words, to feel alive with resentment and bad-temper. “I didn’t wish for this. I didn’t wish to keep you here anymore than you wished to be kept!”

“Is that so?” he said, and then he grinned at you, but it was less of a smile and more of a threat. “Then free me.”

“What?” you said.

“If you don’t want me, then free me,” he said.

“You’ll kill me if I do,” you said uneasily, shifting from foot to foot. 

“I give you my word that I will spare you,” he said, placing a solemn hand over his heart. 

“Not the others?” you said.

He did not respond, which in and of itself was a response. It was one you shouldn’t have liked as much as you did, but in truth the prospect of such a slaughter made your fingers twitch towards him. Only for a moment, and immediately, you shoved your hands behind your back, but it was too late — he had seen, and he raised his eyebrows at you in return.

“Well, anyways, it doesn’t matter,” you said hastily, hoping to distract him before he could comment on the treason. “I couldn’t free you even if I wanted to. Your chains are thrice-blessed. I didn’t know what that meant until recently, but now that I do, I understand why you have been kept without even a permanent guard.”

“Blessings,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t tell me you put genuine stock into that drivel.”

“Perhaps the gods of other lands have forsaken their subjects, but this empire is known as the birthplace of every divine act, and so deities still sometimes glance upon its people and offer up their favor. Thrice-blessed chains are one such offering, for they are in fact more like contracts than they truly are chains,” you said. When he did not interrupt you with any snide remarks, you were emboldened to continue. “They can restrain anything, even a god, but this strength comes at a cost: they are conditional. If their captive can understand this condition and meet it, they will crumble into dust, but until then, the chains remain unbreakable.”

“What is it?” he said insistently, reaching out his hands like he was going to grab you and shake the answer out. He fell short, grasping at empty air, his muscles straining against the chains which, true to legend, did not falter. “This condition. Whatever it is, I will do it. You only need to tell me and I will do it!”

“I don’t know,” you said. His lip curled, and you shook your head frantically. “No, no, I’m telling you the truth, I really don’t know! Only the wielder and the gods he prayed to can know for certain. The conditions are decided arbitrarily, without trend or reason. It could be anything from singing a song to moving a mountain! At least, that’s what I’ve gathered from the little I’ve read on the topic.”

“The wielder — your husband, then? That’s easy enough. Bid him to tell you, and then relay to me his answer,” he said.

“Easy enough? Not in the slightest. He would just as soon do your bidding as he would mine,” you said. The prince squinted at you, and evidently he must’ve determined that you were serious, for he broke into that awful laugh again, the one that must’ve once been handsome and full-bodied but now was little more than a rattling plea for air. 

“You are pitiful,” he said. “I thought that you must be some great, fearsome empress, as wicked as your husband, but you are just a frightened mouse of a girl. You would not survive a day in Kremnos, you know. It would crush you.”

Duty. Obedience. Docility. They were branded onto you, swirling letters that you had unwittingly carved into yourself with every wedding vow you spoke, and you could not escape them any more than the prince could escape his chains. If only you could argue with him, tell him that once upon a time, you had been someone unrecognizable from who you were now…but already, you had tested their limits. Your tongue was frozen in your mouth, refusing to move in anything but accordance with your oaths, and so you only clasped your hands together.

“If you say it is so, then it really must be the case,” you said. “Farewell, prince of Kremnos.”

“Farewell,” he said, but it was clear he did not mean it. “Dear lady.”

“Don’t call me that,” you said, recognizing the provocation for what it was. “You are not my husband, nor do I wish for you to be.”

“Then what should I refer to you as?” he said. “Your excellency? Your grace? Your most exalted highness? Your holiness, the saint of the realm?”

“Here, I am only known as lady,” you said quietly. “But I bore a different name before. I cannot…I cannot say it anymore, but if you ever come to know of it by other means, then please call me as such.”

Morning brought with it a freezing palm pressed to your brow. It startled you to consciousness both because of its temperature and its temerity, for you could not fathom who had dared to enter your room without your permission, and while you were asleep, at that! In the haze of your sleep-addled mind, a rebuke rose to your lips, but then someone clicked their tongue and you fell silent even as you clambered to a more alert state.

“Your fever has finally broken, dear lady! You do not know how overjoyed I am to hear it,” your husband said, helping you into a sitting position, one hand cradling the back of your neck and the other holding up a glass. You blinked, trying to clear the fog from your vision, swallowing down the water he poured down your throat without objection.

“Fever?” you said.

“The ailment you have been suffering from,” he said. “I was told it was a fever of some sorts. I bore it quietly, the prospect of your malaise, but today I could not stop myself from checking on you. I had some dreams of playing the nurse, but here you are, entirely well! Such a miraculous recovery.”

His grandiose words masked suspicion with affection, but he did not make any further accusations, for just as you had sworn to heed him, so too had he promised to trust you. His vows had been made to a portrait of yours, as well as written in pig’s-blood and sent to you in a sealed envelope. You could recall them with perfect clarity, the way the stench of iron clung to the parchment as you unfolded it and rang your fingers over the lines, which were grouped in stanzas of three. 

Trust. Favor. Companionship.

You spent the entire day with your husband, although you had neither the desire nor the will for it. You hardly ever had the desire or the will to do anything, of course, not nowadays, but this was the worst of all, because your husband was not just a reminder but the very reason for everything which had happened to you. Still, you could not refuse, so you trotted along at his side, motionless as he showed you off to his officers, his advisors, and even, at one point, his cousin, who could not be less interested in you if he tried.

“Brother,” he said boredly, for indeed he and your husband were the only children of their respective fathers, and so were more like siblings than anything, “you have better things to be doing than showing off a woman who doesn’t bear showing off in the first place.”

“Are you saying that she is somehow deficient?” your husband said, swelling up with righteous indignation. Anyone else might’ve lost their head for the statement, especially given how blandly he had said it, but his cousin was above reproach, being the only person he really loved.

“I’m saying that she looks ill with misery,” his cousin said, and then he sighed, returning to his book. “I’m not so sure the lady has recovered from her illness. You ought to be more cautious with her, that’s all.”

His cousin was younger and handsomer than he, and as the two of you walked away, you thought that you would not have minded marrying him as much. Though perhaps this was a paradox — after all, if he had taken you in the manner that your husband had, then you would have hated him, too. It was your lot in life, then; always you would detest whoever you wed, whoever stole your freedom in that way and bound you to them with the cruel ropes of matrimony.

The hall where you took your dinner was like an enormous cavern, so large that you felt like your voice might echo if you spoke. You and your husband were the only ones in it, which heightened the effect, and every clank of his silverware against his porcelain dishes resounded in your ears like discordant bells.

“My prisoner,” you said after a long time had passed wherein the two of you discussed nothing. Your voice was dry with disuse, and you pushed the food on your plate around without attempting to eat, although it was all appetizing and you were certainly hungry.

“What?” your husband said, covering his mouth with his hand as he chewed.

“My prisoner,” you said, clearing your throat but keeping your gaze trained firmly on your food. “The prince of Kremnos. Is he well?”

“You’re asking after his health?” your husband said with a chuckle. When you did not laugh or otherwise indicate that you were joking, he frowned at you. “You needn’t fret. As you requested, I am treating him as well as I am able. Far better than he deserves.”

The image of the prince, chained and kept in darkness, the only sound his persistent cough and unsteady breathing, given scraps for sustenance and mice for company, flashed across your mind. 

“I wish to see him,” you said. There was a warning in the back of your head — duty, obedience, docility — but you ignored it as best as you could, stabbing oversharp fingernails into your thighs, hard enough to draw blood and distract you from the dangerous line you tread. “My lord, I wish to see the prince and ensure that he is alright with my own eyes.”

At this your husband did not even pretend to humor you. He burst into a raucous fit of cackles, his fork and knife clattering to the table, his eyes watering at the corners. You waited for him to stop, picking your own cutlery up in vain before setting it down and folding your hands in your lap.

“No,” he said. “I am afraid that I cannot allow that, dear lady.”

“You cannot—” you began, but it was too much, you had stepped over that precarious boundary, and now you were frozen. Gulping, you counted to five before continuing. “He is mine. He is mine, you said it yourself, so why — can’t — I — see — him?”

Each word dug into you like gravel, and you knew that you had lost this argument before you could even attempt to have it. How could you ever win? When you had sworn thrice over that you would be tractable, how could you ever try to be anything else? Your intentions did not matter as much as the execution, not to the number three and the power it lent this empire.

“How obstinate,” your husband said, appraising you with a new eye. “I am sorry, dear lady, but as my cousin said, you are still weak. It will do you no good to be faced with such a base creature. You can see him again on the day of his execution.”

“Yes,” you said through gritted teeth, which was not as much as you wanted to do but was as much as you could, at present, manage. “Might I be excused?”

“Excused? You haven’t eaten anything,” he said, pointing at your plate. True to his word, it was untouched, and you picked it up, holding it close to your chest as you stood. 

“My stomach is protesting,” you said. “I will take it to my room and eat it later. If it pleases you.”

“Very well,” he said, waving at you. “I shall pray for your health, dear lady. Sleep as late as you’d like tomorrow, but once you are awake, I implore you to join me in my preparations. There is a grand celebration in the afternoon, as a marker of our victory against Kremnos, and I have been summoned to speak; if you could muster some words as well, it might hearten the people and warm them to you.”

“Yes, my lord,” you said. “I shall think of something.”

“See to it that you do,” he said, watching you with an unreadable expression on his face as you left, your footsteps growing faster and faster until you were all but racing to your room, your head spinning and palms clammy like you had gotten away with some great crime. 

Tonight, there were no strange voices beckoning you, but that did not stop you from staying awake far past the moon’s rise, waiting until it hung over the clocktower before picking your way back to the cellar, your heart pounding as you crept back down those dark, endless stairs, an actual lantern in one hand and your plate in the other.

The prince was still there. You had half-expected him to have disappeared, to have turned out to be some figment of your imagination, but he was leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest and his lips pursed as he watched the light of your lantern approach. When he realized it was you, his eyes narrowed, and he tucked his chin to his chest in what you could only assume was a stubborn display of the meager strength he had left.

“I brought food for you,” you said, setting the lantern on the last stair and presenting the plate before you. “Please eat it.”

“What do you think I am?” he said. “Some kind of a dog, such that I am eager for  you to foist your refuse on me? Hardly. Take it and leave me at once.”

“You’ll waste away,” you said. “You are only doing yourself a disservice! This is my own dinner, which I have gone without so that I could bring it to you. Does that make it easier to stomach?”

“Shall I sit on the floor, then, and eat it with my hands?” he said with a disparaging smile. “Will that amuse you? Is that why you’ve come? I heard your husband, you know. ‘Do what you’d like with him now that he is yours.’ How joyless your life must be, to think that this is what you entertain yourself with!”

“It is joyless,” you bit back, and your eyes widened at the freedom of the declaration. “It is! But you are not my — you are not some kind of amusement, I resent that you — I even spoke against my husband for you, and you say that! Fine, then. Starve, you thoughtless simpleton! Starve and die for all the good it’ll do me!”

You turned on your heel and stomped towards the stairs with the graceless irascibility of a child, not even sparing a glance over your shoulder at the prince. He was quiet, but you knew from the heavy weight of his stare on your back that there was something like turmoil brewing in his mind, a turmoil which weakened your resolve with every step you took away from him.

It was to your credit that you made it all of the way to where the lantern was sitting before you wavered, your stride shortening until you halted in place. Scrunching up your face, wondering when you had developed this love for punishment, for strife and conflict, you allowed your shoulders to sag in acceptance.

“Dispose of this before anyone comes to see you,” you said, shoving the plate into his hands before he could protest. “I suppose it matters little how you do it, but you must, or else I will be convicted of treason, and where will that leave us? Imprisoned side by side and left to rot together.”

He did not respond until you were almost out of earshot entirely, and then he coughed. You could not tell whether it was to capture your attention or to clear his voice of any residual hesitance; regardless, he accomplished both objectives, as you lingered for a moment longer than you would’ve.

“Ten,” he said. “That’s how many times I could’ve killed you in the time you’ve been here. But I—”

You continued walking before you could hear the rest of it.

You woke up the next day in better spirits than you had in some time, and in fact when a servant announced that you had a visitor, you opened the door with a new vigor. Upon realizing that the man in front of you was not your husband but rather his cousin, you thought that you might die from the glee of it all. Taking his arm, you allowed him to escort you to where the imperial contingent was setting up for the festival, at a grand stage which took up most of the square and was already laden with visitors at its base.

“It is a relief to see you recovering so well,” your husband’s cousin said. “The rumors in the palace are that you’ve contracted some illness of the chronic variety; in truth I believed them, especially after our meeting yesterday, but today I see that you have been revitalized. Did you rest well last night, then? I heard that you did not eat your dinner, but you must’ve taken it in your room, yes?”

You had done neither of those things, and his questioning did make you pause. What was the cause of your good mood? You had gone to sleep for only a short time, without much of anything in your stomach, and your situation had not improved any, so why did you feel, even if only marginally, as if you were something like yourself again?

“I suppose it must be something like love,” he mused, without waiting for your answer. 

“Ah, pardon?” you said, startled from the winding turns and byways of your thoughts at the strange declaration.

“To think that even a day in your husband’s presence has cured you to such an extent,” he explained. “Surely it is love? I cannot think of any other name for it…but I apologize! It is not my place to inquire, nor to speculate. I trust you will not tell my cousin about this?”

He had, in the taken-aback blink of your eyes and the pinch of your brow, found what he was seeking: a demure shyness which he could only comprehend as a lack of affection. You knew, then, that you had passed the test of the man, who had not believed any more than your husband that you were truly ill.

“I will take your leave,” he said, and then his palm clamped down on your shoulder. “But I trust you know this: however much you may love your husband, he is a difficult man to be loved by in return. If ever you are in search of solace…there are places you may turn to, dear lady.”

“What did he say to you?” your husband said, appearing at your side with his expression arranged into something like a frown. “I could not hear. Was he bothering you? I am sorry if he was. He has always been headstrong.”

“He was not bothering me,” you said, incapable of lying to your husband with any great skill but remaining certain that it was absolutely imperative you did not divulge his cousin’s secrets to him. “We spoke as family members might.”

If he recognized your evasive language, he did not comment on it. Instead, he stroked his chin in thought, and then he directed his attention towards the stage, where one of his generals was beckoning him — and, by extension, you.

The sun hung high in the sky as you ascended to the podium, though its rays did not dare touch you, disguised in your husband’s shadow as you were. Your vows tied more than your tongue, after all; your entire being, everything but your heart and your mind, were trained and twisted into the picture of submission, and soon those, too, would fall, leaving you a husk which could do nothing but nod and follow along.

Your husband did not need to start with any address. His mere presence was enough to silence the gathered empire, every single onlooker leaning towards the stage in eager anticipation of his words. From your vantage point, it was like the swell of a tide, crushing and suffocating, inescapable in its overwhelming intensity, but where you withdrew, your husband brightened at the weight, lifting his head and squaring his shoulders.

“Mydeimos,” he said, over-enunciating every syllable. The word, unfamiliar and foreign to your ears, had a rhythmic, marching cadence, more suited to a battle-cry than a formal declaration, and it seemed you were not alone in your thinking, for it had all the effect of one on the crowd.

A heckling clamor burst from them, the individual words indecipherable but for brief snippets. Demon. Monster. Warmonger. Kill. Curse. Blood. Kill. Kill. Kill! Your husband waited for them to quiet of their own volition, and only then did he venture to continue, this time with a wide, beaming grin.

“Mydeimos has fallen. The prince of terrors is no more!” he shouted, raising his fist in the air to thunderous applause. “Without him to lead the army, Kremnos will surely follow suit. Their lands will be ours within the year, of this much I assure you! Our empire will soon be the most prosperous in all the world. Even the great lands of the Southern Sea will pale in comparison!”

Your heart twinged at the mention of the Southern Sea. You could envision it even now, the streaks of salt left on the cliffs where the water lapped at them, the ripples in the placid blue where the balmy winds skimmed along the surface, the moon-white sand as it clung to the crevices of your feet and hands.

When you were younger, your father would take you on his boat and dip his fingers into it, urging you to do the same. You would ask him why and he would answer, always with a laugh or a smile: of all the jewels in my treasury, my darling, the Southern Sea is the second-loveliest. Then you would ask him which could be the first, if even the sea was not its equal, and he’d press his damp hands to your cheeks and kiss your hair and say you, my darling, you and only you.

“What a horrible thing he was,” your husband said. “Mydeimos. That wretched excuse of a man…the world is all the better now that he is locked away. I watched him — watched him, good citizens, with my own eyes — tear out a man’s heart with naught but his nails and teeth! Even now I can imagine it…the tips of his canines dark with pierced flesh…bits of entrails coating his fingers…the heart still beating in his palms…he looked the proper part of a devil, and I was certain that I had died and found damnation!

“But as I said, he is no more. Our army prevailed, as we always have, and as we always will; I made Mydeimos beg for mercy with my sword at his throat and my foot upon his inhuman heart, and then I dragged him back so that all of you could see what he has been relegated to — a chained puppy, given to my dear lady as a pet and kept as a servant until the day of his execution.

“For the surest way to kill a Kremnoan is to destroy their pride, and the prince of terrors has more pride than most, so we must endeavor to strip him of it, systematically and fastidiously, until even a child can cut him down!”

Your husband concluded his speech and pulled you forward simultaneously, with a great flourish which invited praise and drew attention to you both. You swallowed, your mind racing at breakneck speed, far too quickly for you to make any sense of the things you were saying until you were saying them.

“I have not seen the prince of Kremnos — Mydeimos — since the day that he was brought to me,” you said. The applause that had begun faded as soon as the soft words sparkled into existence, and the many eyes of the audience blurred together until you could pretend like you were alone, like you were speaking to nothing but small, bright stones reflecting your own sentiments. “But as my lord husband said, he was proud. I feel as though I have never seen a man prouder. Even after his loss, he remained proud. Even with nothing else left, he clung to that pride, that assurance…I remember thinking to myself that it was, in its own way, admirable. That he was admirable.”

Your husband’s arm around your waist grew tighter with unspoken warning, though it needn’t have. You had said all that you wanted, all that you could, and now there was nothing left but the judgement of the collective.

“Lady!” someone shouted, the singular soul brave enough to speak. She was a woman — you wondered if this was what bolstered her confidence, a perceived kinship between the two of you for that fact alone. “Do you fear the prince?”

“No,” you said, and although you had meant it only as a vague and empty placation, you were surprised to find that it rang true. You were not afraid of him, and it wasn’t his chains or his infirmity which caused this emotion to surge in you; rather, it was what he had told you last night, that declaration he had made with the utmost of seriousness, which you had not even allowed him to complete. “I am not. He cannot harm me.”

You knew your words would be interpreted as faith in your husband and the empire, and furthermore that this misinterpretation would curry favor with your subjects and your lord alike, so you did nothing to correct it. Yet you would know, and would hold close to your heart the knowing, that it was not your husband who you held faith in: it was Mydeimos, the prince of Kremnos, who might’ve killed you ten times over but had instead let you live.

“You have much to improve in terms of your orating,” your husband said coldly as the three of you — him, his cousin, and yourself — returned to the palace.

“I thought her speech was excellent,” his cousin said, shooting you a sly smile behind his back. “Very concise, and of a good style. It’s a gift to be able to convey meaning so succinctly. You ought to nurture it.”

“She certainly conveyed a meaning,” your husband said. “It remains to be said what value that meaning truly holds.”

“Is that for you to decide? Ah, brother, don’t be a curmudgeon, I am only teasing you! You spent so much of our childhood poking fun at me, so how can you fault me for paying you back in kind?” his cousin said.

“You need some lessons in respect,” your husband said, but without any real bite behind it. His cousin snickered before sobering, shifting his weight toward you.

“Will you take your dinner in your chambers again, lady?” he said. You nodded.

“If it does not offend,” you said. 

“Do as you please,” your husband said. “Though I expect you’ll do that anyways, sworn to me or not. Isn’t that right, dear lady?”

You couldn’t think of any response which would be satisfactory, so you said nothing, allowing the two of them to escort you to your room, where you waited with bated breath until the night fell and you could return to the cellar.

The entire way down the stairs, you turned the name over in your mind, polishing it in the way waves polished driftwood, battering it with incessant worry until it shone, uncanny and unrecognizable. Mydeimos. Mydeimos. Mydeimos. The prince of terrors. The man who had torn a heart out with his teeth. What did it say of you, that you were making your way to exactly such a knave? With trepidation, of course, but what did it say that you were still doing it anyways? Perhaps very much, or perhaps very little.

“There is an odd pattern to your footsteps,” he said before you could even greet him. He stood as he always did, prepared for a battle that he would never again see. “Or perhaps it is your breathing, or something else entirely.”

“What do you mean?” you said, putting your lantern and the dinner down in the space between you both. “I walk and breathe as I always have, as others do.”

“I know you,” he said, disgust mingling with the barest traces of awe in his tone. “The door to this cellar opens frequently. All manner of men come to visit me, to mock me from their places at the bottom of the stairs, lambasting me from the safety of their distance. I recognize few, and  I remember fewer — nor do I have any great desire to — but when it is you, I know. From your very step, from the very creak of the door, I know. I cannot understand how or why, but I know.”

“My husband told me your name,” you said after a pause, when it became clear he was not expecting a reaction from you. Motioning towards the food in a gesture you hoped he took to kindly, you continued: “I did not ask him, but he mentioned it in passing, so naturally now I know it.”

“I see,” he said, and although his gaze flicked towards the ground, he did not move. You remembered, then, what else your husband had said in that speech of his, the vainglorious words echoing in your ears: for the surest way to kill a Kremnoan is to destroy their pride, and the prince of terrors has more pride than most, so we must endeavor to strip him of it, systematically and fastidiously, until even a child can cut him down!

“Mydeimos,” you said, and then you sat on the floor, which was made of a cold stone that shot chills down the backs of your legs. Resting your elbows atop your thighs and your chin in your hands, you blinked up at him. “That is what he called you. ‘The prince of terrors.’”

“How unimaginative,” he said, and you suppressed a shudder at his glare, which was baleful and acute as it settled upon you. “My-deimos. Many-terrors. Yes, that is my name, though that ridiculous nickname is of his own invention. The Kremnoans would laugh if they heard it.”

“He said that he watched you tear out a man’s heart with your nails,” you said, and then you glanced at his lips, simultaneously and unconsciously wetting your own with the tip of your tongue. “And your teeth.”

He bared those very teeth, white and glinting, in a barking laugh — as much an expression of warning as it was humor. “My teeth! Your husband is one for fiction.”

“And — and he spoke of how he defeated you,” you said. At this, anything resembling mirth vanished from Mydeimos, and he grew curiously immobile — you almost thought that you had frightened him into the grips of memory, but then you realized that he was not frozen as much as he was waiting.

“Did he?” he said. “And what did your husband say of my defeat, dear lady?”

“He  made you beg for mercy with his sword at your throat and his foot upon your inhuman — upon your heart,” you said, correcting yourself for the slip of the tongue, finding no merit in telling him about that particular detail. “And then he dragged you back here.”

The longer Mydeimos remained silent, the shallower your breaths became, a cold fist forming around your heart and squeezing, the muscles in your arms and legs contracting, protesting their inactivity. You needed to run. If you were wiser, if you had anything resembling self-preservation, you would run, would flee and hope that you were fast enough to make it to the stairs before he pounced. 

You supposed you lacked both wisdom and self-preservation in spades, for you remained on the floor, peering up at him and praying that he could not read your mind, could not comprehend the depths of your thoughts.

“So that is his story,” he said. “I should’ve known he wouldn’t tell his people the truth.”

“He made it up,” you said rhetorically.

“You don’t sound surprised,” he noted.

“It is not — it is not —” You gnawed on the inside of your cheek, trying to come up with some way to circumvent your wedding vows, some way you could impress upon him what you were trying to say. “When we were wed, it was said that I loved him madly and completely, that I bawled to my father until he allowed me to come here.”

“Then it is not his first time dabbling in such falsehoods,” Mydeimos completed. When you nodded, he snorted. “You cannot speak ill of him, can you? Is it magic?”

“In the way of this land,” you said with a shrug.

“What an emperor,” he said. “So he can neither bed his wife nor win his battles without the use of tricks and obfuscation? Where I come from, they have a word for those like that, but as it is foul, I will not trouble you with hearing it.”

“What do you mean?” you said. “Ah, not by the foul word…that is, what tricks do you refer to? If the story he told is inaccurate, then how did he really defeat you? For surely he must have, or else you would not be here.”

“He did not defeat me,” he said. “Believe it or not, but that is the truth.”

“How?” you pressed, for you had already eschewed wisdom once and did not mind doing so again.

For a moment, it was as if the sun shone down upon him again. You saw him as he was on the day he met you, or perhaps even before — the prince of Kremnos, sleek and powerful and indomitable, red marks blooming in place of the scars he would never receive, eyes ablaze in his hollow face, hair as wild and untamed as his spirit.

“He surrendered,” Mydeimos said, scowling. “Our numbers were smaller, but Kremnoans have never cared for things like odds. We were winning, indubitably we were winning, and your husband knew it as well as we did. They attacked us in our own territory, fought us with our own weapons…how could we have lost? We would’ve wiped them out, but your husband and his men raised their white flags, and so we ceased to attack them.

“I went to parley with them, to negotiate the terms of their surrender. In a show of goodwill, I agreed to your husband’s request to come unaccompanied. His men were exhausted, and I found it honorable that he was putting their wellbeing first, so I ignored my instincts and the warnings of my advisors, going forth alone, leaving my armor and weapons as I was instructed to.

“That was my mistake. I should never have expected honor from a serpent, whose nature it is to bite. The surrender was a ploy; I was met by hordes of guards, each with a spear pointed at my heart. Even then, I fought. Do not think I met my end willingly, dear lady — I fought and killed as many men as he threw at me. I could’ve killed them all, I would’ve killed them all, but right as I was about to, he threw these chains at me from the corner where he hid. It should not have worked, his aim and the strength behind it were both lacking, but it was as if the metal had a mind of its own, and before I knew it I was bound.”

“As I told you, they are thrice-blessed,” you said. “Divine. They long to fulfill their purpose, and will do anything to that end. If it defies the laws of nature, well, what are those laws compared to the ones who wrote them? Those men were only a distraction. Once my husband received these chains, there was nothing which could’ve changed your fate.”

“What sort of a god favors a man who feigns surrender?” Mydeimos said. “What kind of deity loves perfidy?”

“I have often asked myself the same questions,” you admitted, half-expecting yourself to be unable and closing your eyes in relief when you weren't. “Why is it that he is the one they champion? What justice is there in that? He must have been a saint in his past life, to be treated as he is. A saint, or a martyr, or something like that. Something wonderful to the point of deserving so many miracles in this next iteration of his.”

You chose your speech carefully, injecting as much resentment into it as was needed to convey to the prince what you really meant, but not enough that you seized up into inaction. Not enough that you strained against the hold that your vows held over you.

You heard him exhale, and at this, you allowed your eyes to flutter open once more, peeking up at him and immediately wishing you hadn’t.

Whatever had briefly rallied in him, whatever fervor and fire he had briefly regained…it was gone. It was gone, leaving him fractured and bereft, forlorn instead of fearsome, prisoner instead of prince. Your husband had done that to him. Your husband had destroyed him, as he had destroyed you, and it was this reflection of your own fate which tore at you the most.

Breaking off a piece of bread, you dipped it in the long-cooled sauce pooled in the corner of the plate, and, without a word, held it out to him. He eyed it suspiciously, and for a moment you thought he might refuse it. The beginnings of an argument bubbled to the surface, but it never had the chance to take shape — before your lips could so much as part, he knelt across from you and took your proffered hand by the wrist.

Holding it in place, his thumb digging into your pulse like a reminder that he didn’t want this, didn’t want to accept your help, he used his free hand to swipe the bread from your palm. Then, his brows heavy, low over his eyes with mistrust and reluctance, he shoved it into his mouth and ate it.

taglist (comment/send an ask to be added): @mikashisus @ivana013-blog @mizukiqr @shehrazadekey @simp-simp-no-mi @reapersan @casualgalaxystrawberry @secretive3amramenmaker [if your tag does not show up in grey, that means tumblr had an issue with it, sorry! sometimes it does that sadly]

[qqueenofhades]

Gotta say, it's heartening to see just how terrible a time these GOP chucklefucks are having. This administration and its cronies are even MORE disastrously incompetent than last time, and that's saying something. Yeah, the next several years are still gonna suck, but at least we can laugh at these shit-for-brains assholes continuing to run head-first into the brick wall of their own incompetence. And perhaps even prevent the worst outcomes.

Honestly, the biggest fear for everyone was that giving the fascists four more years to plan and actually write down all of Project 2025 would mean that they were focused, competent, stone cold driven, ready to actually work to change things for real, and otherwise buckle down and be -- well, if not something approaching competent, at least effective. Or the fear that the American public, being fickle and underinformed at the best of times, would just sit back and let them do it. Because, yknow. Half this godforsaken country did just somehow shrug and vote for the orange monster again, so.

But that said, as I pointed out earlier today, it IS fucking heartening to see that they're the same mean, stupid, chaotic shitbags as ever, they really decided to go for the shock-and-awe LOL WATCH US BLOW EVERYTHING UP!!! approach that has gotten them nothing except turbo-sued and enraged the entire country, they basically united the entire world against Russia and for Ukraine in literally ten minutes yesterday (hope you enjoyed that little clown show, Vladimir!) and furthermore, nobody is afraid of them, which is death to fascists. I often point out that fascists desperately want people to be afraid of them and think they're cool, competent, unstoppable, and suave. They also especially, incredibly, desperately hate being laughed at and mocked. They can't stand it.

As such, the fact that they're just the same as ever except worse, and are not magically more competent (in fact, much worse) and are their own worst enemies, does in fact bode well for our ultimate ability to get through this. They will break shit, they will needlessly alienate friends and allies, they will torment every vulnerable group they can just to be dicks, and all of this was just so avoidable... but. Nobody likes them for it, even the people who deluded themselves into voting for them. They're scared little chickenshits who are having a bad bad time that will only get worse, especially if they actually try to cut Social Security and Medicaid, which is basically the death knell of stupid things to do in American politics. Because they just can't help themselves, but this is really, REALLY not going to work out well for them. It just won't.

As such, when they're already running from the heat ONE MONTH into the Glorious Eternal Rule of King Donald, like the little pissbabies they are, it tells me that there is literally no way they're gonna manage four years of this. They just aren't (and Deo volente Trump will finally have an aneurysm and die facedown in a Big Mac before 2028). To say the least, the 2026 midterms are gonna be interesting, especially if the GOP keeps digging their own grave, and yes.

As I keep saying: things are bad. They will get worse. But these miserable jabronies are just as pathetic and beatable as they have ever been, they did not suddenly get magically competent at being pointlessly evil, the country is showing out with a spirited will to make them suffer immensely for every braindead numbnuts piece of Nazi performative cruelty they attempt and often fail, and in these dark times, every day that we can fight back matters a lot. It’s working and we have gotta keep doing it. Idk about you, but I feel energized by seeing it. So yeah, say it with me:

STAY! STRONG! AND! KEEP! THEM! SCARED!

The end.

[mylovesstuffs]

Habits OT13 picked up from being with their s/o

Request: Hello can i request: habits svt got from being with their partners?pls🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

Seungcheol – Checking in more often

Before dating you, he wasn’t the type to text much. But now, “Did you eat?” “Did you get home safe?” “Feeling okay today?” He started doing it because you always checked on him, and now it’s second nature.

Jeonghan – Saying “I love you” more often

He always showed love through actions but because you’re someone who expresses affection verbally, he started doing it too. Now, he randomly whispers “I love you” when you least expect it, even in the middle of teasing you.

Joshua – Mimicking your slang & speech patterns

If you have specific phrases or a certain way of talking, he 100% picks it up. One day, the members hear him say something like “Oh, slay” and immediately know that’s from you lol (reminds me of, very demure very mindful video of Joshua).

Jun – Adopting your little happy dances

If you do a little wiggle or jump when you’re excited, guess what? Jun does it now too. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until someone points it out.

Hoshi – Subconsciously leaning in for forehead kisses

Since you always give him forehead kisses, he now leans his head forward whenever he’s near you—whether he’s sitting next to you, hugging you, or even just standing around. It's muscle memory at this point.

Wonwoo – Laughing more openly

He’s always had a quiet, subtle laugh, but after dating you, he’s more open with it. You make him so happy that now he laughs more freely, even throwing his head back sometimes.

Woozi – Saying “hmm?” whenever he doesn’t hear something

You always go “hmm?” instead of “what?” when you don’t catch something, and now he does it too. The members were so confused when he started doing it because he never used to.

Dokyeom – Holding onto your sleeve or hand while talking

Since you have the habit of lightly grabbing his sleeve or hand while chatting, he unconsciously started doing it back. Now, when he’s excitedly telling a story, his fingers find your wrist without thinking.

Mingyu – Making your favorite drink/snack without thinking

It started when he would see you make the same drink/snack every day. Now, before you even ask, he’s already preparing it for you. Muscle memory kicked in hard.

Minghao – Subconsciously mirroring your habits

If you tilt your head when thinking, he does it too. If you rub your thumb against your lip when focused, he’s caught himself doing the same. He mirrors you a lot without even realizing.

Seungkwan – Complaining about things exactly like you do

You have a very specific way of ranting, and now, whenever he complains, he sounds just like you. The members immediately clock it when he says something in your exact tone and phrasing.

Vernon – Listening to your favorite songs on his own

Since you always play certain songs, he started liking them too. Now, you’ll catch him humming your favorite song while doing random things, and when you ask, he’s just like “Oh yeah, it’s good.”

Dino – Copying your way of texting

If you use a lot of emojis, type a certain way, or have a texting quirk, he now does too. The members were so confused when he suddenly started sending hearts or using cute speech.

[joojconverts]

4T3 Conversion of HistoricalSimsLife's CC Catalogue

So… here we are, haha! This is the grand project I’ve been working on for about three months now! I made a promise to all of you, so I’m here not only to fulfill that promise and make a bit of a comeback but also to celebrate reaching the incredible milestone of 3,000 FOLLOWERS!!!

I’m so grateful to all of you for everything that has happened since I joined this community, it’s one of the little shining points of my life, lol. So, let me give back by bringing your sims MORE THAN 150 pieces of CC, including clothes, hairstyles, accessories, and buy mode objects!

You’ve probably already guessed that I have A LOT to say about this set, so please, follow me after the cut! 💖

Hope you like it, enjoy!

In this compilation are included sets, mini-sets and standalone pieces that the original creator made! Posepacks, patterns, mods, and pieces categorized as “modern” are not included! HistoricalSimsLife has a lot of 3T4 conversions, and naturally they're also not included EXCEPT for the ones that are mesh edits (e.g. here and here)! TSM to 4 conversions are also not included, as you can find every item converted to TS3 here by votenga! I also re-converted CC that I had previously converted before, such as the printing press set and the dandy suit!

————— —————

I'll link the CC just so you know what I'm talking about!

Known Problems:

Most of the time the sleeping animation that comes with the One With Nature mod looks off when making your sim sleep under the prehistoric lean-to shelter. I'm not sure why but instead of sleeping horizontally they sleep vertically, so they clip with the branches that are on the floor. Two times while I was testing they slept horizontally tho, so I'm not sure if I can fix it. Sorry!!

The drawer (chest) of the Kativip Library set doesn't have an animation!

The telescope's eyepiece looks a bit off when a sim is using it. The way the mesh is made is very different from ts3's telescopes, and it would be quite hard to make it looks seamless and also it wouldn't look good, as ts3's telescopes all look kinda silly imo hahah. Hope you don't mind it very much!

The celtic cape might clip depending on the clothes being used and the animation being played!

The round weave rug of the Rustic Living Set generates some white lines when zooming really far out. I thought it was UV map, but I tweaked it and they're still showing up. It's only apparent if you look closely tho!

LIGHTING GLITCHES ONLY APPEAR ON CAS!

* Note that teens and elders have neck gaps. This is sadly the price for having them available! For teens, try using this and this slider by gruesim!

Please let me know if you find any problems!

————— —————

ALL OG CREDITS GO T​O @historicalsimslife, Kativip and EA/Maxis! IT'S NOT MY MESHES, AND IT’S NOT MY TEXTURES, I JUST CONVERTED THEM TO THE SIMS 3!

————— —————  

Buckle up now...

NOTES & INFO:

The whole catalogue is quite low-poly and gameplay friendly, so don’t worry about that!

The whole catalogue is categorized into folders once you extract the zip, so you can pick and choose if you're playing in a specific era!

The buy mode items have collection files so you can find them a lot easier (except for the crib, the map painting and the aztek sink)! Just put them inside your "collections" folder in ts3's documents folder!

I highly recommend using the One With Nature mod by @spheresims while using the prehistoric collection!

The printing press letter plate works as a functional computer, and it's categorized as so!

The printing press desk and chair both have 4 matching presets! They're all different wood presets!

The hollow food storage works as a functional fridge for your prehistoric sims!

The Pile of Rocks cave works as, you guessed it, a cave! Actually no lol, it works as a tent, and your sims can sleep inside! It also has 5 presets, all stone textures, first one is an overlay, the rest is recolorable!

The sleeping underlay works as a sleeping bag! It has 2 recolorable presets!

The Skyrim lean-to has 2 presets! First one has an overlay texture, second one is recolorable!

The prehistoric lean-to shelter has 7 presets. The last one (fur) is recolorable, the others are overlays!

The rustic living set has two bed frames (single and double bed) and two matresses! All you need to do is to put the bed frame first, and then the matress on top of it, now you have two separate objects that can be customized!

The weave rug has 6 recolorable presets!

The round weave rug has 7 presets, and they're all combinations of recolorable and overlayed parts!

Both love seats and both bed frames of the rustic living set have 3 presets, different types of wood! Not recolorable.

The matresses also have 3 presets, they're combinations of overlayed and recolorable parts!

The old map painting has 4 non-recolorable presets!

The aztek sink has 4 presets, and they're combinations of overlayed and recolorables parts except for the last one! It also works as a functional sink!

The two empty boockases of the Katvip library set work as displays, so there are many slots for you to put decor on!

All hats/caps are hat-slider compatible and unissex!

The Dandy Lady hat (renamed it from ts3's hairstyle) has 3 different versions: One with feathers (that I made), one without them, and one without feathers nor decorations (renamed as Gone to Riding Hat)! You need to have V1 installed for the textures of the other two to show up, as they're linked!

The maid dress has 4 different versions (i know the post says 3 but it's 4 lol), as you can see on the preview! They work just like the Dandy Lady hat, above!

The Pirate Dress has an overlay you can find in accessories! Using it with the outfit you can recolor the belt and the buckle! If you don't use the accessory, those parts will just be a usual overlay texture!

You need to use a no feet mesh to use the Boy's 1700s Frock Coat, you can find one here!

The Boy's 1700s Frock Coat has has an overlay accessory, same thing as the Pirate Dress! With it you can recolor the belt, the pockets and the buckle!

The Edwardian Tea In The Garden dress has 6 presets, 5 of them are floral overlays, and the last one is a solid version.

The Regency Morning Dress has 11 presets. First one is a solid version, the last four are patterned overlays, and the rest are recolorable patterns.

The Ester Wedding Dress has 4 recolorable presets, the patterns of the bodice change!

The Simply Rococo Dress has 15 totally recolorable patterned presets!

The Embroided Rococo Dress has 2 presets: the first one is the original texture as an overlay, and the second one is a recolorable version of it (though not as good, since it's a very complicated texture).

The Vintage Men's Exercise Outfit has 6 patterned presets, all recolorable!

The Edwardian Men's underwear and the Edwardian Men's nightgown both have 2 presets, one striped and one solid. Both recolorable!

The Dandy Suit has 9 presets, first one's solid and the rest are patterned, all recolorable!

The Celtic Warrior Outfit has 2 presets. In the first one the plaid is an overlay, original texture. In the second one you can change it however you want using CASt!

The Bodacious Boy Suit has 2 presets! The mask is different, so you can recolour different parts!

The Vintage Girl's Dress With Bows has 8 presets, one of them is a solid version, another one is a recolorable patterned preset, and the rest are patterned overlays!

The Colonial Living Girl's Dress has 5 presets, last one is a solid recolorable version, and the rest are patterned overlays!

The Victorian Tweed Dress Top has 6 presets. The last one is a totally recolorable preset, the other 5 are overlay presets!

The Celtic Dress Top has 2 presets. First one is a long sleeved version, and the second is a vest like top with long sleeved white shirt underneath. Both recolorable!

The Victorian Tweed Dress Skirt has 6 presets, same thing as the top!

The Celtic Dress Skirt has 2 presets. First one has an apron with it, and the second one doesn't! Both recolorable.

I think that’s all haha! Now to the download! <3

G-Drive |  Dropbox

☕  buy me a coffee or become a patron!

————— —————

Credits & Special Thanks:

@historicalsimslife, Kativip and EA/Maxis for all the meshes and textures! Check out the full catalogue here!

Thank you @deniisu-sims, @suteflower, @sideshowsnob and @twinsimming for the general support (and help, where needed lol) when creating this collection!

💖 @eternalccfinds @katsujiiccfinds @sisilou @darkccfinds @xto3conversionsfinds @wanderingsimsfinds

[complete-clownery]

some fun facts about this whole picture

(also just because I share all of this with you guys, nothing is set in stone, if you have your own theories that's the coolest thing ever!!! Share them with me please!!)

🍜Some of y'all said that Macaque was sitting alone but believe me just because Bai He turned around to chat with MK and Mei she is only there because Macaque came and Macaque is only there because Bai He begged him to tag along,

THEY COME IN A PAIR DO NOT SEPARATE IN GROUP PICTURES!!!

🍜 You might have noticed that some of the chopstick holders and sauce holders have stickers on them. Those were put there by MK. He first did it when he was much younger to help decorate the shop because he overheard a convo between Tang and Pigsy discussing renovation and finances - it was a whole thing - Pigsy even got mad at MK, but they figured it out eventually and nowadays when the stickers get too worn MK replaces them with new ones

🍜 Mei is showing Bai He a puppy video you can hardly see it

🍜 Mei hardly even touches Red Son in the illustration, Red Son is just completely distraught by the idea of being so close to someone. (He's very embarrassed they might be blushing a bit too (I just weren't able to draw that properly lol))

🍜 Yeeah Yeah okay,,, I know there is a shadowpeach shaped question in the room bugging your minds like: omg clownery is it on purpose that they are the only characters that we can't see the faces of???

🍜MK is sitting on the outside of the boot because he keeps on getting up and helping pigsy around (it's not even a conscious decision anymore, whenever they sit down with the others he sits somewhere, where he can easily get up to land a hand to Pigsy (or to anyone in general))

Except from this one ;]

And my answer to that is: I made this drawing on a whim, I started drawing it purely to mess around with perspective and expected to give up halfway bc it looked ass, I could have hardly given it any deeper meaning or thought. How could've I possibly planned anything? The core elements of this picture are all developed while I was drawing it...

See when I sat down and got an idea about a group picture I wanted to differentiate the celestial monkeys (excluding MK) from the main group

This picture takes place some time after season 3 and a bit before season 4. I would like to say that Wukong and Macaque are not a part of this group. Especially in season 3 both of them have done terrible shit and regardless of where they're sitting and what they are doing, they're not part of it all.

For Macaque this is pretty easily illustrated, he is the one who stands out the most, not a lot of people want him there since they did try to kill members of the group even if he was under the influence of LBD. He's at a different table. MK invited them bc MK genuinely wants to be friend Macaque, but this was already stated: Bai He wants Macaque to be there - I have a lot of head canons about their relationship but I'm not going to talk about this here cuz this rant might get even longer - but Bai He at first was scared as fuck with Wukong around, she only felt better when Macaque was there. She has gotten better since then, as you can see she's pretty comfortable with MK and Mei (even Red Son surprisingly), but she still needs Macaque there.

Well for once he is turned away from the pov, we cant see his face already distancing him from you guys the viewers.

Making Wukong stand out and look isolated is a bit more tricky... He's in the group seemingly chatting with Sandy, he's there, part of the whole thing, but there are subtle hints about his environment and body language you might notice:

Also I think It has been made pretty evident in the show that Wukong loves eating right? If he was perfectly at ease he would at least have 3 bowls of noodles, yet he barely touched anything, he's not eating.

His body language is also closed off, arms crossed, legs just next to each other tightly, he's not comfortable, he's somewhere else, Sandy is there but his talking at Wukong rather than talking to him.

I mean he almost got Mei killed and the whole plan screwed since he was unwilling to cooperate and share his plans with the others. I like to think that Mei just straight up ignored him for a while,, same with pigsy,, those two had enough of Wukongs past getting MK in trouble, they do not like him (and them being so buddy buddy with him in later seasons is annoying af to me,,, maybe season 5 gets some form of pass, because more time has passed and Wukongs actions in season 4 were considerably better, but they were waaaaay too comfortable with him at season 5,,, it bugged me a lot)

I think they're also very aware of each other's presence (I have a whole au that plays between season 3 and 4 explaining how Macaque started living on the FFM with Wukong, so in that context,,,, damn they are having a BLAST especially Macaque, he would like to be anywhere but near Wukong :] )

🍜Also they're sitting away from each other as far as possible, and (this was not planned and got pointed out by one of my friends) Wukong is sitting closest to the sun and Macaque is the one who is in the shade the most

Sorry about the big monkey rant, I am just so extremely shadowpeach pilled that it distracts my brain form everything else

And once again: I tell all this stuff to you guys, but feel free to come up with your own theories about the illustration, details, backstories, whatever you have in mind. You guys have different interpretations makes it all the more fun!!

Please share your theories with me in the comments I would love to hear them 🍎🍊🍊

I'll edit this if I have more ideas 💡

Wow okay

[mythalism]

You seem to be both a solavellan and mythal fan so maybe I won’t get shot for this question lol

Veilguard was my first game. I kept default settings, which meant solavellan world state.

I genuinely wonder: what makes people think Solas loves Lavellan? Or that if being with Mythal possible, he still would choose Lavellan?

He is so clearly not over Mythal. Last game is filled with references to their connection, she herself confirms that both still love each other. He is very protective of her while arguing with Elgarnan. Statues of them everywhere, him painting and playing songs about her, his very own room having statues of Mythal… In the end he discloses he does it all for her, refuses to stop after Lavellan’s appeals, and only does so after Mythal shows up.

In comparison, Solas describes what he had with Lavellan as “entanglement he selfishly grow close to” he both regrets and cherishes. Most of the romance is carried on Inquisitor’s shoulders, as she both explicitly tells what he means to her, reaches out to him and ultimately shares his burden of atonement.

I couldn’t understand why this ship was so popular, so I watched solavellan romance in DAI. And while it was beautifully done, having the context of Veilguard, I just keep seeing Mythal in every “we shouldn’t”/his face after balcony kiss/ultimately abandoning her in the end. It feels almost unfair and cruel for him to enter another relationship while his heart isn’t free. And to visit Lavellan’s dreams afterwards

What am I missing?

a lot of people would shoot you for this. but dont worry i am not one of them. be careful out there tho

i think the first thing i would say is that instead of watching a video, you would need to do play a full solavellan playthrough of the game if you do want to genuinely understand the relationship and why it is so beloved. im not sure which compilation you watched, but even one that includes all their conversations (rather than just the cutscenes, of which there are very few) cannot do the relationship justice. so much of understanding solas as a character and how he loves people, by extension, is wrapped up in how he reacts to the world at large, its people, its history, its institutions, and its metaphysics. assuming you're new to DA and wouldn't know this, solas's romance in inquisition is the shortest, most sparse romance in the game, and was added later in development. as a result, much of his essential characterization happens outside the bounds of romance content, but still adds deeper meaning, context, and depth to the relationship. even in terms of romance specific content, some of my favorite content occurs in banter that probably was not included in the video you watched. the solas romance is less a standalone love story, in the way many of the romances are, and more of a big juicy delicious cherry on top that helps you better understand the overall dragon age solas plot/cake you're eating.

theres a couple non-romance specific scenes that shed significant light on solas & mythal's dynamic from his perspective that i am not sure if you have seen and honestly i wouldnt recommend watching them because, again, i think you should just play inquisition and experience them in the proper context. but solas's companion personal quest is directly about his corruption at the hands of mythal, though we didn't know that until veilguard came out and contextualized it. and this quest pretty explicitly demonstrates how he feels about what she did to him: rage, beyond forgiveness, deserving of death. he also comments on her at the temple of mythal, and his comments are mostly neutral but verging on judgemental, and do illuminate that while he may have loved her, he certainly did not trust her. it is he who first clarifies that she was a goddess of vengeance, rather than justice. which i cant think about too long or else i'll get angry that they ret-conned it to benevolence -> retribution or whatever the fuck and erased the anders/justice/vengeance parallel... anyway

but i think more telling is his absolute refusal to drink from the well if asked, and most telling; how he fears for an inquisitor who drank.

he specifically calls mythal dangerous, arrogant, and fickle, absolutely refuses to submit to her will once again via the drinking of the well, and begs an inquisitor he loves not to do the same lest she suffer the same fate. he loves mythal, of course, but he also fears her. he is critical of her behavior and wary of her motivations. his love for her exists alongside his recognition of what she was.

another fairly vital bit of information is how according to trespasser (cole banter), solas used to wear mythal vallaslin until he burnt it off his own face when he developed his vallaslin removal spell. its how he got the little scar above his eyebrow. meaning, if vallaslin were slave markings, that solas was effectively enslaved to her. this is... pretty important context, obviously. but we never find out what it might have been like for him. veilguard.... didnt forget but rather deliberately ignored this because it wasnt willing to interrogate the issue of slavery which had been vital to solas as the leader of a slave rebellion. ugh. anyway.

this leads into my next point which is that veilguard really drastically changes solas's motivations to be far more mythal-centric than what was set up in inquisition/trespasser. we always knew something was up with them, and people always wondered if they might have been lovers, but veilguard goes in on this idea in a way that many people would actually call out-of-character compared to how he behaves in inquisition. veilguard itself though does present their relationship as rather complex though, in my opinion its one of the best parts of the game. the two moments that i chew on most frequently are the letter from felassan in mythal's weird little dragon pit that reveals how he made that island for her but locked it away when she was killed. and my ultimate fave is how she reveals that in the literal thousands of years she has been sitting there alone since her murder, many of which he was alive and fighting a rebellion partly in her name, and in the 12 years since he woke up from uthenera, he never went to visit her. not once. its giving jane eyre and i fucking love it. in this same conversation, she also says that when he killed flemeth, he wept. this, i think, is the crux of how he feels about her. he can barely look at her. he resents her. he will use her like he did anyone else. he loves her. he feels lost without her. he will never forgive her. he misses her. all of these things are true at once, and mythal seems to feel similarly; she loathes him. she understands him better than anyone. she resents him for betraying her and abandoning her. she calls him a pathetic little crybaby pussy ass bitch. she loves him.

i dont think anything you said in your message is necessarily wrong. i do think he loves mythal still. i think he always will. i think mythal is valid when she says that they have a bond that no one will ever understand. i agree he is protective over her. i also interpret their relationship as romantic though a lot of people do not. i just love drama. but i think you are misinterpreting his reluctance to be with lavellan as coming from his attachment to mythal as a person, rather than his attachment to his duty to what mythal represents - the world he ruined, everything he's ever done wrong. to say that solas would actually consciously choose mythal over lavellan if they were the final two contestants on the bachelorette is honestly, absurd. sorry. because actually he would choose neither, he would dramatically let the rose fall to the ground and run off to restore the elven people while chris hansen (felassan) dramatically runs after him. both women are secondary to him when it comes to the good of the entire world, and fixing what he broke. he has had plenty of moments to choose mythal and run away with her if he wanted. he has literally had her bertha-ing out in his crossroads attic for 10 years. he also literally does kill her via flemeth. which isnt to say that he wouldn't kill lavellan if forced to, i think he would. but the point here is that its not mythal vs. lavellan. its mythal vs. the world, and lavellan vs. the world. he should have chosen the world over mythal. he didnt. he created the blight instead. he destroyed everything. he cannot make the same mistake again, so he will choose the world every. single. time.

regardless, every time solas turns away from lavellan in the romance, he is not thinking "i wish you were her". he is thinking "if i do this to you, i have become her". prioritizing his own desires over the good of the world, stringing her along, using her as a tool to do his bidding (getting the orb back), are all things mythal did to him. he told her he would follow her anywhere. and when he begins to realize that lavellan would follow him anywhere (as she says in veilguard), he freaks out and has to end it. he knows he will have to continue to kill and cause destruction to bring his world back, so if he did allow her to join him in walking the dinan'shiral, or did anything other than break her heart and leave her, he would be corrupting her the way mythal corrupted him; a weapon to achieve his goal. but he refuses. in his mind, he already destroyed the world for love once; at mythal's behest. if he abandons the world for lavellan, he is destroying the world for love again, and making her an accomplice. so, every time he leaves her it is an act of love.

the way the inquisitor is the driving force of their romance is partly just... gameplay lol but its also consistent with the overarching theme of consent in a relationship that is fundamentally unethical and unequal. lavellan has to be the initiator or else solas becomes a predator. some would say he is anyway lol, but its clear much of the writing was designed to avoid this with the way he is constantly denying himself, backing away, trying not to give in. it might have been juicy, but for him to knowingly romantically and sexually pursue a young woman 10,000 years younger while lying to her about his identity and using her for his plans would make him an entirely different character. a character that would be a hit on romantasy booktok, but not solas. consent and ethics are so central to not only the relationship thematically, but to solas himself, and some of that is because of mythal and the inequality of their own past dynamic. solas is so passive in the romance not because he doesnt like this weird clingy bitch who wont leave him alone, but because he does not want to recreate the same dynamic that corrupted him into pride and uhhhh literally destroyed the world. i'll leave you with another essential quote that you may not have encountered yet:

Cole: It isn’t abuse if I ask! Solas: Not always true.

in trespasser, solas's duty to bring down the veil was more unambiguously to the elven people and the alleviation of his own crushing guilt, while mythal was collateral damage in his way and he used her like he would use anyone else (including lavellan loool) as a tool to achieve his goals. we see this when he kills flemeth and takes mythal's power. in veilguard they had to obscure this slightly to make him "less sympathetic", to use the devs own words. and they did this by shifting the crux of his motivations to mythal. i dont think his lap dog devotion is out of character, i adore it, but i hate that it came at the expense of his more complex and sympathetic motivations of saving the elven people and spirits from the damage of the veil. as a result, when looking at his behavior in the context of inquisition + trespasser + veilguard, i interpret it as mythal being symbolic of the destruction of the world at his hands. and not to toot my own horn but trick's interpretation that they shared on bluesky does support this, when they said that to solas, mythal represents the past and lavellan represents the future. ive written about his statement that it was all for mythal, and the tldr is that i think it is also supposed to be interpreted as symbolic and reflective of his psyche. but even if he did do it all for her, i dont think that necessarily negates his relationship with lavellan. he needs mythal to break the cognitive dissonance, alleviate his guilt, and release him, because she is the source of all of those things in the first place. lavellan could never break them because she is frankly irrelevant to those things. he is so caught up in his sunk-cost fallacy that he feels the only way is through. lavellan may not be able to break the hold the past has on him because she is separate from it, but she can offer him another path once it has been broken, a fork in the road he thought was straight; her, their future.

i think to say solas's heart is not free is a misunderstanding. he denies his heart's desire over and over, we see this clearly in the letter he sends to lavellan in veilguard that expresses how badly he wanted to put down his burden and stay with her. in his expressed reluctance to leave her in crestwood, how he refuses to lie and tell her it meant nothing. in "no matter what happens, i want you to know that what we had was real". his indulgent final kiss in trespasser. in "i will never forget you". its especially apt that you worded it this way and that vhenan means "my heart". if anything, his heart is the most free part of him. it is everything else that belongs to mythal: his body, created at her command. his path of destruction and ruin, which she set him on. his purpose, which she distorted from wisdom to pride. she, then, is the only one who can give it all back to him. and as soon as she does, he is free to prioritize his heart. and he quite literally does.

tldr; play inquisition <3

[strang3lov3]

Soap

“What’s the point in washin’ ya if you’re just gonna make a mess of yourself?” Joel taunts, finding your cunt slick with arousal. “Tsk. Can’t send ya to class like that, huh? Y’gonna let your daddy take care of it?”

WARNINGS - one shot, smut, dubcon, dad!joel, incest - if game of thrones could do it, so can i so fuck off about it. girthy age gap but reader is an adult. daddy kink (tho idk if it counts when he’s your father, but whatever) fingering, little bit of a handjob, inappropriate use of a shower head, unprotected piv, cream pie. uncle tommy mention 😈 This is icky. You have been warned. Reminder that fiction is not real life.

A/N - OKAY GAMERS. Fuckin'...thank you guys??? for being so stoked about this little haphazardly put together drabble about dad!joel?? blown away. so flattered. so touched. I'm really fucking excited to write more of this shiny new kink for all of us perverts, and i plan to turn that drabble that started this whole thing into a whole ass fic. just had to get this out of my system because you all know how much i love shower/bath sex lol. and thank you so much to this anon!! i loved your ideas so much and i had fun incorporating them into this fic. @tofics, you know what you did. thank you for the beta hunny ♡

It’s 6am when Joel wakes up to that awful, high pitched beep of his alarm. Eyes closed, he slams it with the heel of his palm, and exhales sharply through his nose. At least it’s Thursday, he thinks. More than halfway through the week. 

He groans softly as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes, and his sheets are warm against his body.  He inhales deeply as he stretches, and smells the warm, nutty aroma of the coffee maker brewing a pot downstairs that coaxes him up with the promise of caffeine. Joel stands up then, and his skin is covered in goosebumps from the cool morning air nipping at his skin. His graying, dark, curly hair sticks up in six different directions, a mess he’ll take care of later. 

He walks first to the bathroom, and turns on the shower to warm up. Then to your bedroom, where he quietly opens your door. Joel chuckles seeing you asleep on your stomach, ass hanging out of your sleep shorts with a sliver of morning light pouring over your body. You’re clutching your pillow tightly, drooling onto the mattress as you snore gently. 

Joel crouches down and pushes some hair out of your face. “G’morning, sunshine,” he murmurs against your scalp, in between pressing kisses to the top of your head. “S’time to wake up.” 

“Mmm…no,” you mumble groggily. 

“Mmm…yes,” Joel drags the word out, mimicking your sleepy, whiny tone. 

You scrunch your nose, but otherwise don’t move a muscle. “Just give me - just five more minutes, please, Dad. Go have your coffee or whatever.” 

“Cute,” Joel says. “Up an’ at ‘em, lazy ass. Y’got school today.” You groan loudly, and your dramatics make Joel chuckle. “Oh, I know, kiddo.” 

You open one eye to glare at him, vision blurred by your sleepiness. “You do not. You have no idea how awful 8 AM classes are,” you argue, swatting away Joel’s hand as he digs his fingers into your sides and your neck, tickling you. “And my professor is such a - st - stop,” you giggle breathlessly.

“Yeah? Your professor’s such a what, now?” Joel continues teasing until you’re wide awake and fighting him away, your protests turning into laughter. “Tell me, baby girl. Use your words.” 

 “D-Dad, I’m getting up, okay?” you huff. And you do, in fact, sit up. Joel’s tickle method of waking you up always pisses you off, but at least it jolts your system wide awake. Works like a charm. 

“I really hate you sometimes, Dad.”

“Uh huh. Love you too, kiddo.” Joel takes your hand as you sit up, pulling you off of your bed. Your hair’s a mess and there’s a pillow crease on your face, and you’re still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “Get your ass in the shower, alright?” He tells you, “Should be nice and warm.”

You take off for the bathroom, and the bright, warm lights stab at your tired eyes. You move slowly as you peel off your pajamas, tossing them haphazardly into a hamper that’s too full. You’ll have to get that in the washer before your dad notices. 

You tug the shower curtain and test the water on your wrist, then twist the knob of the shower until the water runs just under boiling. You step into the tub, then let the hot water run through your hair and down your body, and it makes your skin burn and tingle in the best way. Steam rises around you and clouds your vision a little, makes the air you breathe thick and tingle your sinuses.

The door opens and in comes Joel, flipping on the switch that turns on the bathroom fan. “Dad!” you yelp, covering yourself with the curtain. 

“Oh relax, would ya?” Joel says, pushing his boxers down his legs.  He steps out of them, then joins you in the tub. “I’ve seen it all before, sweetheart.” 

“What are you doing here?” you ask, turning away from him. 

Joel reaches over you for his toothbrush and toothpaste, then squeezes a little bit onto the bristles before wetting the toothbrush under the stream. “We’re conservin’ water,” he answers. “‘Cause the water bill was too fuckin’ high last month, thanks to you. You’re bleedin’ me dry, kid.” Joel begins brushing his teeth, lathering the toothpaste in his mouth. It drips down his chin and chest, landing in his mess of graying pubic hair. His cock is half hard already. 

“I’ll shower quickly,” you insist. “Just–”

“Just nothin’. I can’t trust ya, baby. We’re outta here in fifteen minutes,” he says, voice muffled by the toothpaste. “Not a minute longer.”

“Twenty,” you bargain. “There is no way I can shower in fifteen minutes.” 

Joel eyes you as he finishes brushing his teeth, then leans over you and spits out the toothpaste into the drain. “I’ll give ya seventeen, princess. Final offer.” 

You roll your eyes, and hum a quiet okay. You reach behind yourself to point the showerhead back down at you, then turn up the heat a little more. “Nuh-uh,” Joel says, turning the heat down to about halfway between cold and hot, an excruciatingly lukewarm temperature. “Quit tryin’ to boil yourself alive, baby.”  

“I’m not trying to boil myself. I’m–” you reach for the knob to warm up the shower again, but Joel swats your hand away and gives you a warning look. “Seriously? It’s fucking freezing, Dad.”

“It’s fine,” he says, then reaches for your toothbrush. “And watch your mouth.” He squeezes a bit of toothpaste onto the toothbrush, then watches you brush your teeth. You make a silly smile at him, toothpaste dripping out from between your teeth. “Oh, nice. Charming, sweetheart,” he says sarcastically. “Y’got your daddy’s smile, you know.” 

“I know.” 

After spitting your toothpaste out and rinsing your mouth, you stand under the water, shivering a little. You rest your head against the tile wall, letting your eyes close as the rushing water lulls you into a groggy haze. 

“Hey,” Joel says, startling you a little. “Don’t jus’ stand there, kid. Wash up. Y’got twelve minutes left.” 

“But I’m so cold,” you whine.

“Well c’mere then, drama. Quit your cryin’ an’ hug on Daddy if you’re so damn cold.” Joel drags you by the wrist to him, pulling you in close for a hug. You melt against him, savoring his warmth and the scent of his skin. It’s so masculine, so comforting, and you close your eyes. Joel kisses the top of your head, then rests his chin there. He can’t believe how tall you are now. How womanly you are. All he did was blink, Jesus Christ. 

He remembers bath nights with you in this very tub. The Crayola bath crayons, all the other silly toys you loved. He can almost smell the Johnson’s baby soap and the tear-free Suave green apple scented shampoo.

Still holding you close with one arm, Joel reaches for the bar of soap, decorated by his beard trimmings from two days ago. With his free hand, he lathers the bar, and then washes you with both of his hands, his palms sliding all up and down the smooth skin of your back. He washes your ass cheeks too, and between your cheeks. “I can do that myself,” you mumble, face heating up. 

“Mhm. Back up a little,” he murmurs, putting a little distance between you and him. He cleans underneath your armpits, then massages down your arms with his big, strong, soapy hands. Torso is next, and his palms slip and slide over your soap-covered tits, thumbs circling your nipples. He works his way down, and washes you between your thighs. Your breath hitches at feeling his fingers slipping through your folds, dragging over your clit. 

“Daddy,” you moan.

He circles the sensitive part of you a little, loving the way your knees buckle and how you wrap your arms around his shoulders for stability. “Easy, baby,” he tells you, “I gotcha.”

He’s always got you. Always there to catch you before you fall, or to pick you up and kiss your bruises when you do. It’s what being a dad’s all about, right? Looking out for his baby girl. 

“What’s the point in washin’ ya if you’re just gonna make a mess of yourself?” Joel taunts, finding your cunt slick with arousal. “Tsk. Can’t send ya to class like that, huh? Y’gonna let your daddy take care of it?”

“Yeah,” you nod, burying your head into his neck as he rubs your clit. His cock is hardening further, the head throbbing against your thigh. “Please, Dad.” 

Joel nods silently, and pushes two fingers into you. He groans at the way you squeeze and clench around him, how your cunt pulses when he strokes at his favorite spot inside of you. You whine when he pulls his fingers from you, but he quiets your complaints with a soft kiss, tongue melding with yours as he reaches for the showerhead with one hand, the other wrapped around your waist so he can squeeze at the soft flesh of your ass. 

Joel warms up the temperature of the water, then turns the shower head onto its jet stream mode. He wriggles the shower head between your bodies and directs the stream to your clit. 

“T-too hot,” you say urgently. “That’s too hot.” 

“Huh. Thought you were jus’ tellin’ me you wanted a hot shower,” he taunts, smirking against you. “You’ll get used to it, baby.”

Joel takes one of your hands and guides it lower, then wraps your fingers around his length. You pump him slowly as he keeps the shower head at your cunt, drawing the steady stream up and down your seam. He moves his wrist in gentle circles, using that motion to simulate how he’d rub your clit with his fingertips. You moan against his wet skin, squeezing his shaft when he finds your sensitive spot. 

Joel pulls the shower head away from your cunt when he thinks you’re about to cum, and by the sound of your whines, he knows he was right. Of course he’s right. He knows his daughter like the back of his hand. 

“Daaaad,” you moan. 

He pays you no mind as he twists the shower head back into place above you. He backs you against the wall and hooks one of your legs over his hip, notching the head of his cock at your entrance. He thrusts into you in one go, causing you to gasp and throw your head back onto the tile. 

“Woah, easy, kiddo. Be careful. Let me see,” he groans, drawing out of you. He kisses the part of your head you hit, or at least as close to that place as he can, then holds his hand against the wall to keep you from hitting yourself again. Before thrusting back into you, he looks down at his dick, and the creamy rings of your arousal are quickly rinsed away by the running water. He pushes back into you. 

“Oh my god, Dad,” you moan, feeling Joel bury himself into you, all the way to the hilt. It’s an impossibly full feeling, impossibly tight. It’s comforting and sickening, all at one time.

“Oh, fuck,” Joel grunts, pulling out of you again. “Your daddy fits so nice in ya. Like you were made for it,” he winks, a twisted smile playing at his lips. Like he made you for it.

Joel sets the pace then, fucking in and out of you deeply. The tip of his cock kisses against your cervix as you writhe in pleasure, held so securely by him. He bites and sucks gently at the flesh he knows no one else will see but him, marking you as his. His daughter. His girl. 

He watches you closely, admiring those pretty eyes he gave to you. Beads of water roll down his handsomely wrinkled skin, down the perfect slope of his nose. You clench down on him as he fucks you, eyes rolling back into your skull. 

Joel moans and presses his forehead against yours, fucking you in a hard, devastating rhythm. Pleasure washes through his body, and his cock is hard as it’s ever been. You squeeze him so deliciously nicely, and moan Dad so fucking pretty. 

Once again, Joel reaches for the shower head, and guides it toward your cunt as he fucks himself in and out of you. “Cum for Daddy, now,” he whispers. “Gonna be late to class.” 

With a little more thrusting - that intentional, practiced rolling of his hips Joel knows you love, you’re cumming. Making those cute little noises he loves so, squeezing at his bicep and shoulder as you stiffen and shudder. Joel watches closely as pleasure washes through you, guiding you through your release with his steady fucking. 

Only once he’s milked you of your release does Joel chase his own orgasm. He fucks you harder, quicker, and selfishly, with little regard for your comfort. He feels it in his balls first, that intense warmth and tingle. It rolls through his body, crawls up his spine as he kisses you, drinking in your moans of overstimulation. Once he’s filled you up, Joel eases you down and pulls out of you. The shower’s gone cold - so much for saving water.

Joel shuts the water off and gets out of the shower first, patting himself dry before wrapping that old, scratchy towel around his hips, belly spilling over the edge. Joel tosses your towel to you and catches the face you’re making, like you know something he doesn’t. 

“What,” he deadpans, combing his hair out. The strands at the bottom of his skull curl up and drip a bit of water still. “What’s the look for?”

“Nothing, Dad.”

“Tell me.” 

“It’s just…that was a long shower. I don’t know why you get mad at me for my long showers when–”

Joel cuts you off, “Because you ain’t the one payin’ the water bill, are ya?” Joel says. ‘An’ as long as you’re under my roof, you’re under my rules. Thought we were clear on that,” he says, his voice low and warning. You drop the argument. You leave the bathroom to pick out some clothes, then get dressed and head down to the kitchen. 

And so much for Joel not wanting to send you to class a mess - you’re dripping his cum as you take your seat in the passenger side of his truck, feeling the wet, sticky warmth as you lean over to the side to start the vehicle. While waiting for Joel, you draw a little star in the condensation on the glass. He says he hates when you do that, but he loves catching glimpses of your doodles on his way home from work, when the sun hits the glass just right.

Joel gets in the driver’s side, hair slicked back and smelling strongly of Old Spice deodorant. He lifts up a bit, then pulls out his wallet, and rifles through it for a couple of bills. “Eat breakfast at school,” he tells you, handing you the money. “An’ I want the change back.” 

You sigh. “I know, Dad.”

“An’ I’m gonna be busy with somethin’ today, so Uncle Tommy’s gonna pick ya up. Be good for him, alright? Maybe he’ll even take ya out for ice cream or somethin’.”

if you enjoyed, please reblog with something nice and disgusting or shout at me in my inbox ♡ your sweet words go a long way in keeping me motivated to write.

tagging friendos who fw dad!joel

@joeloverture @flowercrowns-goodvibes @thechaoticcherub @perpetuallymanic @shivispunk @beardedjoel @calmjoonie @taeslarityy @bean-is-reading @mushgloomz @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @io12n @oldloganslittleslut @highinmiamiii @nycweb-slinger @rottingr4ven @111melo @sagexsenorita @blooming-bubs @shortandderanged @sp00kymulderr @ickystickysap @ozarkthedog @cxrsed-angel @miss-oranje-disco-dancer @pedge-page @bitchesuntitled @94namkooksworld @squeakymxsterbationcrock @max--phillips

[therainbowgorilla]

I'm 99% sure OP just means thaw/defrost. At least, God I hope so, all things considered.

Anyways, there are several aspects that can make a difference here! For example, what type of pots/pans you're using for what foods, the non-stick levels of said pans, ingredient quality, ingredient freshness, brands, thawing method (extremely important to get right), whether your stove is gas vs electric, cooking/baking techniques used, how much oil you're using when frying, etc! Hell, even altitude of your location can have an effect, at least when it comes to certain baked goods!

In case you can't tell lol, I have a special interest in cooking/baking and have for the past 10 years. If you ever need help figuring out a recipe or even just looking for one, you can feel free to hit me up, op! I love teaching others what I know!

I wanted to give you a quick defrosting guide at least!

To make defrosting a HELL of a lot easier, whenever you buy a big pack of meat, make sure you split your meat into whatever portions you're gonna use for your meals BEFORE you freeze it. Then, vacuum seal (or place in a freezer ziplock with the air pushed out) each portion. Now you can freeze it. This bit of prep goes a long way for making sure your food stays fresh tasting and safe!

Thawing and freezing just about anything repeatedly is typically safe, buuuut it usually can and will start to ruin the taste and texture of the food. Hence why it's good to plan ahead so that you only have to thaw what you're gonna use at a time.

Now, I'll tell you how to thaw beef in the microwave in a very quick, safe, healthy way!

Now, Don't do this to any poultry for the love of GOD. This method applies to ground beef specifically, as it's safe to do this to it in particular...

Now, I don't blame anyone for not knowing how the defrost button works on their microwave. My special interest is food and even I don't know how that damn function works! So, you know what? Fuck that button.

Instead, let's make it simpler. There may be a "power" setting button on your microwave. If there is, use it to turn the power down to 50%.

Microwave the chunk of ground beef for 2 minutes. Then, take it and remove any meat that's thawed from outer part of the chunk. Then, microwave 1-2 more minutes. Scrape the thawed meat off again. Rinse and repeat until the meat starts to get warm, then switch to 30 second invervals in the microwave until it all is thawed!

Make sure you remember to turn your microwave's power back to normal after.

Now for poultry, like chicken or turkey, it's trickier as the bacteria involved are more dangerous. So, you use a different method. Even restaurants use this one because it's considered pretty safe; it's likely the 2nd safest thawing method next to fridge-thawing!

All you gotta do is put your meat in a sealed container or baggie that water can't get into. Squeeze out as much air as you can. Then, turn your sink on cold - yes, COLD - water at a trickle and place the meat package under the cold running water. I'd say every 30 mins - 1 hr, flip the package so that the meat thaws evenly. Eventually, this will thaw your meat.

If you have a bigger pack of meat you need to thaw, you can fill the sink with very cold water and place the sealed package in it. Change the water at least every 30 minutes so that it stays cold and keeps the meat safe as it thaws.

My family does this every year to thaw our Thanksgiving turkeys!

I know no one asked for this advice but I figure it could help OP or someone else learn how to safely thaw things! And not many people know about the microwave power button thing or the sink thawing so I figured I'd explain em!

Foods I have fucked up that I have had no right to fuck up

This one's for you @returnsnull7404

Ground beef; I did not know you had to dethaw it and was confused on why my ground beef was hard and tasted bad; this happened several times and I had to literally film the cooking process and send it to someone to figure out what was going wrong

Noodles; I somehow burnt them while also not cooking them at all; yes I cooked them in water, no I don't know how I ended up with burnt raw noodles regardless

Buttercream frosting; I still don't know how I fucked this one up, tasted fine, but the texture was wrong

Box brownie mix; I forgot the oil

Sunny side up eggs; The whites were cooked fine but the yellow bits hardened up and tasted God awful. This happened three times. I am the only person who has ever needed to look up a youtube video on cooking eggs

Chicken broth; used two month old chicken (It was in the freezer for like, 75% of that time but I left it to dethaw in the fridge for like two weeks and yeah I'm not sure how I didn't get sick cause I ate it anyway. Didn't taste great)

Bread, literally too many times to count; I am very talented when it comes to killing yeast

Rice; I still have no goddamn idea on how to cook rice. I can not get rice right, ever. Literally have never managed to cook rice correctly a single time in my life.

Chicken drumsticks; I actually managed to make this one taste good (With step by step instructions given to me by a friend) but I also managed to splatter myself with oil several times during the process and give myself some minor burns

Tofu; I did not know you had to cook it and thought you could eat it raw. And in fairness to me you can, but you probably shouldn't, it is bad

Peanut butter; I didn't know that the foil on the container had metal and put it in the microwave. The container itself was plastic. Which also can't go in the microwave

Boiling water in a kettle; I didn't realize the lid was hot and also managed to burn myself, again

In conclusion I'm not entirely sure how I'm alive sometimes

[redhoodinternaldialectical]

Counterintuitively, Jason trafficking drugs himself, and the way he treats drug dealers in general is actually one of the core reasons I do believe he has a real moral backbone.

In Lost Days we see him mention that he killed his small arms teacher because the smack he was dealing was poisoned. In Nightwing (2016) Annual #2 Jason is particularly violent towards their enemy because he cut his heroin with other substances, leading to his mother's first overdose. In Under the Red Hood, his most important rule is 'no selling to kids', and he is specifically employing people who do sell drugs to adults.

Playing a bit of Headcanon Jazz here - listening to the notes Jason doesn't play as much as the ones he does - It feels really notable to me that dealing drugs is not enough to get on Jason's shit list. On some level Jason thinks it's okay to deal drugs. Even more importantly: Jason doesn't at all imply that drug users are at fault - nor that they need to have the choice to use taken from them 'for their own good'. Heck, I can't remember any instance of him saying that doing drugs is a bad thing.

He has lived with and cared for someone struggling with an addiction that she died to, which would have made it really easy to take him in a 'no leniency, no tolerance, kill all drug dealers and burn all the crack so no one can smoke it' road. Yet that's the opposite of how he's operating.

And I'm putting all that together to get a Jason who firmly believes in harm reduction and that when it comes to drugs, people have a right to risk; they have a right to choose to use. I don't think it's too much further of a stretch to say that he thinks that those who do use should be supported by infrastructure ensuring that their drugs are uncut and properly dosed and that they should have safe places to use and well funded rehab options if they want to quit.

This whole thing is so important to me because it lies completely outside of his emotional conflict of 'I wasn't avenged'; it's proof that there was more to Jason's talk about running Gotham differently than simply killing people.

Factually, there are a huge number of criminal activities that could be used to improve the lives of vulnerable people.

I firmly believe that no government has the right to detain, imprison, deport, et.c. people fleeing violence and persecution in their country of origin. A criminal organization that genuinely had their best interest in mind who could provide access to new identities, jobs, housing, and paperwork for cheap could save and change hundreds of lives. Sex workers, especially survival sex workers who want to quit and move on to a new job, could benefit enormously from protection from the cops, and from landlords kicking them out, and the ability to get criminal charges purged from their records, and lots of other stuff. People who use street drugs need a lot of the same things, as do people who need access to medication but for whatever reason can't get prescriptions the legal way.

This is all stuff that is already a staple of organized crime - they just do it in ways that are insanely abusive and exploitative.

It makes sense that Jason would look at that and think he could make it work! Honestly I'd love to read a comic about him trying! He could be the pinnacle of Be Gay Do Crime! Sadly though, it's very unlikely we ever will, especially because his term as a drug lord was so incredibly short to begin with. Under the Red Hood, a tiny snippet of Robin (1993) and Green Arrow (2001) #69 - #72 is really all we get, and none of those really got into the politics of his organization either.

Tho, there is a tiny snippet we possibly see in Seeing Red, my favorite Jason run ever, and I will take any excuse to talk about it so here we go lol!

This is a comic in which Batman gets some things wrong about Jason, and might be straight up lying to Green Arrow in places too, so I don't think we can take his word for it when he says Jason is driving up the trade. Especially not when Jason hasn't given a single flying fuck about collecting wealth for himself in basically any other appearance ever.

Is he using drugs as a trading good to some capacity? Yes, that's a minor plot point here, however, I think justice is very present in his reasoning. I think Jason is being selective with which shipments he's keeping - testing each and destroying the stuff that's extra dangerous, making sure that what's getting used is as safe as it can be. Plus, he might be reducing the supply so that drug trade can't expand, while considering complete elimination to be flatly undesirable, since it could force users to go cold turkey, something that can be dangerous, or at least very painful.

Now, obviously this is still headcanon territory, we never really see into Jason's head about this specific topic, but I do feel like it's a reasonable way to fill in that gap!

Anyways, this is why I've never felt like Jason's disagreements with Bruce's methods were purely about his own emotional desires. There's too much else surrounding that which he clearly also cares about.

[zorostitties]

Aurora; 7 (m)

⤕ Your existence had been an endless night, where shadows whispered long forgotten secrets. Trapped in a golden cage, your fragile mind and shattered memories were chains that kept you from dreaming of freedom. Then, he appeared with the first light of dawn, like a gentle sun warming your cold skin. In his gaze, the promise of a new beginning; in his presence, the sunrise your soul had longed for.

In which Alucard saves you from Erzsebet.

pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader

genre: angst, romance, slow burn, eventual smut

warnings: violence/blood, explicit language, mental health issues, grief, physical abuse.

rating: 18+

word count: 5k

A/N: HELLO Y'ALL!!! This one is coming a little earlier than usual because I am more anxious to update than y'all are anxious to read lmao Past chapter had so many comments!!! I'm glad you guys liked it so much. It was such a fun chapter to write! Hope y'all will like this one as much! ALSO checks page HOW MANY KUDOS??? WHAT THE HELL??? 😭😭 Thank you so much!!! It truly means so much to me 😭😭 Anyway let me shut up lol enjoy!! <3

⤕  Chapters: check masterlist in bio!  ⤕ Also on AO3

Guilt was a feeling Alucard avoided vehemently.

After you reach a certain age, you realize that there are some feelings and situations that you should avoid for your own sanity. One of them – perhaps the most important – is to avoid thinking too much about the past. One thing is to cherish the people you’ve met and loved, to keep some moments close to your heart; another thing is refuse that they will never come back and to avoid facing the present. Alucard knew quite well that this can sink you. That’s why he was constantly busying himself – traveling the world, meeting new cultures, learning new things.

Another thing he avoided – this one took him a long time to learn, a whole lot of grief to understand – was to… get too attached. And yes, this made him lonelier than ever. Yes, this wasn’t entirely healthy. He knew about all that. But his mortal heart wasn’t strong like his immortal body, and there was a moment in his life when he decided that he couldn’t take much more pain anymore. Stepping away from the Belmonts was… difficult, but was what the needed at the moment. He needed to let his heart heal, and the only thing that heals is time. Perhaps much more time than he first assumed.

And then there was guilt. Alucard didn’t like to feel guilt because it meant that he failed. Unfortunately, he wasn’t someone that could fail. His ways of life, his fights, the things he stood for usually involved countless innocent lives, so he couldn’t give himself the luxury of failing. Alucard was methodical, precise, insistent – not to say stubborn. Because yes, he could he stubborn –; he only accepted perfection of himself. Him succeeding meant no one suffered. Therefore, no guilt.

That’s why Alucard was partially hating himself at that moment. He’d felt more guilt in the span of 48 hours than in the last few years.

He almost couldn’t look at Ruby in the eye.

Luckily, she was sitting behind him as he guided the horse on the streets of Paris, so he wouldn’t have too see her for some moments – but her arms around his waist and the warmth of her body were a reminder that she was there.

His feelings were a bit… chaotic at the moment, to be honest. On one hand, he was glad – relieved – that Ruby had healed. On the other hand, he knew that the reason why she got so hurt in the first place was because of him. He told her she wouldn’t get hurt and he weren’t there to protect her, even if she claimed to have jumped in front of a night creature to save Annette. And then there was the other part of him (the methodical, precise and stubborn part of him) hissing that he shouldn’t be wasting time going to the Louvre because there was an army of vampires coming and he had to act.

But Alucard couldn’t tell her no. Not really. Not when she looked at him with that glow in her eyes – a glow of hope he hadn’t seen in her yet. Alucard couldn’t bring himself to be so cruel. Especially not after what she’d been through mere hours ago.

He owed her that.

Ruby was becoming a bigger mystery to him in more complicated ways than he first assumed. It didn’t involve only her unknown past, but also her behavior. It was difficult for him to understand how she was acting so normal after what she had just suffered. Sure, the methodical part of him was thankful to that – he had to act fast; quite frankly, he wouldn’t have time to wait until she recovered. If her healing took longer than it did, he would have a real problem at hands, and if she was frozen in shock, it would also be a problem.

But then there was his mortal heart speaking into his mind, too. It never shut up, unfortunately.

There was something so deeply wrong with Ruby.

The more time he spent with her, the more he watched her, the more he heard her heart race and her fingers shake at the most casual situations – like walking into a crowd or mustering courage to speak –, the more he realized that Ruby didn’t have any care for herself, the angrier he got.

Alucard also avoided getting too angry. Anger was a form of attachment as well; it tied the ones he despised to him. Anger could take a person like him – eternal and powerful – down a very dangerous path. Anger led to wrath, which let to hatred.

But again… it was getting hard for Alucard to keep his feelings in place. Not when he could still feel the now faint smell of Ruby’s blood.

In fact, he thought she was going to die.

Her blood was everything Alucard could feel the moment he stepped out of the Seine. He knew it was Ruby’s; he got quite familiar with it due to that scratch on her heel as they walked to Juste’s cottage. It was so strong that he almost could see the air turning red. It must’ve drawn the attention of every vampire in the area.

And then he rushed to the palace and saw her in that state.

She can heal, Alucard tried to convince himself, but could she, really? He’d seen her heal from cuts, not multiple fractures and mass bleeding. Those wounds meant death to any human and vampire, unless they could drink blood to strengthen their healing process.

Alucard barely knew her. He was still a tiny bit suspicious of her – of her cloudy past, at least. And yet, the thought of Ruby dying scared him.

Not many things scared him.

Death was one of those things. Not the fear of facing death himself, but having to watch someone close to him die. Alucard was far too familiar with the feeling and he never got used to it.

If Ruby had died at that moment, he’d carry that scar with him for a long time. She didn’t even had a chance to live. She didn’t even remember if she had lived before her imprisonment. If Ruby had died, it wouldn’t only be painful; it would be unfair.

So yes, he got scared. Yes, he held her close and tried to ease her pain – Hell, she looked in so much pain, even if she didn’t scream – because it was the only thing he could do. The Universe couldn’t be so cruel to that woman to just let her die like that. It… it couldn’t.

To his utter relief, Ruby healed. Her skin closed the wounds, the bleeding stopped, she finally passed out and slept for a bit.

Mixed with his relief was also confusion.

Her healing was far more powerful than Alucard first assumed. Alucard didn’t know many vampires that could heal from injuries so serious.

What was Ruby?

Why did she have this strange condition? How did she achieve it? For what end?

Alucard wanted to know. He needed to know. Erzsebet must’ve had a reason not only to keep her, but also to want to retrieve her.

The white-haired vampire instinctively held the reins a bit tighter as he remembered Drolta.

Ruby’s face of pure panic. Fuck, he couldn’t take her expression off his mind. The way Drolta was twirling that necklace around her finger. A ruby necklace. Everything made sense at that moment.

Her nonchalance after getting injured, the little care she had for herself, her fear and hesitance…

These things were growing on him in an ugly way.

A week ago, Erzsebet and Drolta were just two maniacal cult leaders that needed to be stopped. It wasn’t exactly personal. Alucard had dealt with vampires like them many times in his life.

Now, however, he not only needed to stop them – he wanted to kill them.

And this time, he would make sure that they were gone. He would personally make sure that Drolta was actually dead. He would make sure to slash her head off her neck and burn her body to ashes.

He would make sure to shatter that necklace to pieces.

Alucard couldn’t heal Ruby’s soul, but he hoped that their death, at least, would bring her some peace.

Alucard pulled the reins and made the horse gallop significantly slower until it stopped.

“What’s the problem?” Ruby asked close to his ear as she tried to peek ahead over his shoulder.

“The streets around the palace are blocked.” Alucard tightened his eyes a bit. Soldiers barricaded the entrance to the front square of the Louvre, trying to keep a crowd of curious people away. The man let a tired sigh. “Well, I guess I should’ve expected it.” He looked at her over his shoulder. “We’ll have to sneak in by foot.” Ruby nodded. She dismounted from the horse first, being shortly followed by him.

Alucard wandered his eyes around the crowd. They chatted suspiciously among themselves. “I heard an attack happened,” someone said, while another person murmured that “my cousin’s a guard, he told me it were the royalists that wanted to avenge the King,” or someone else said “This is all fake! It’s just to keep our attention here. Another faction is planning to take the country overnight as we speak!”

But then, some young voices caught his attention the most. Three boys discussed excitedly among themselves.

“He’s obviously lying,” the boy in the middle said, crossing his arms and frowning. “Don’t believe him.”

“I’m tellin’ ya!” The shortest of the three insisted, gesticulating excitedly. “I saw a dragon flyin’ inside the palace. Then, some minutes later, I saw another winged thing flying away!”

“It could’ve been a bird.”

“It wasn’t a bird! Never seen a bird so big in my life!”

“Your eyesight isn’t even that good anyway. He said he saw a crocodile in the Seine last week, remember?”

“Hey– you said you saw it, too!”

Alucard couldn’t help but feel a bit of his tension dissipate. The sight was... a bit familiar.

He made a sharp whistle, immediately calling the three boys’ attention.

“Do you lads mind watching my horse for a while?” Alucard said, still holding the reins with one hand. He shook the small coin pouch in his palm.

Their eyes immediately gleamed excitedly. They clumsily made their way to approach him, bumping into each other and grinning.

“Of course, sir!” The shortest one saluted Alucard as if he were a soldier.

The tallest one, noticing Ruby standing near, bowed awkwardly, pinching the tip of his worn out beret. “Mademoiselle,” he said in a high pitched voice. Then, his eyes rapidly traveled from her to Alucard, and he coughed. “I mean– madame.” The two other boys imitated his action like tiny echoes, all equally clumsy.

They earned an endeared smile from her. She held her skirt and bobbed a small curtsy graciously in return.

The three blushed.

Alucard inhaled a small chuckle.

“We won’t take long, so stay in the area.” The white-haired vampire said, catching the boys’ attention again. The shortest one seemed to be some sort of leader of the group, as he was the one to approach and hold the reins. Alucard swiftly placed a coin on each of their open palms. “Rest of the payment when I get back.”

“Thank you, sir!” They said in unison, eyes glued in their shiny coins.

The one that looked the oldest tightened his eyes. “Hm, may I ask, sir, what exactly is your business here? The palace is blocked, as you can see.”

Alucard tightened his eyes at him, too. “I certainly see that it’s blocked, and I certainly wouldn’t advise you boys to get any closer to it.” Then, he dropped his voice, his tone picking their attention once again. “I wonder, however, if you were to get closer to it, which street would you pick?”

They eyed each other. The tallest boy coughed again.

“Well, if I were to get closer to it, I would pick an alley behind the Perrault street… most people don’t gather around there, so…”

“...Less guards,” the oldest completed.

Alucard nodded. He placed one more coin on each of their hands. They giggled.

He pointed ahead with his head to Ruby. However, as he was turning around to leave, he stopped and looked at them.

“By the way, what you saw is correct,” Alucard said in a quiet, serious voice. They all froze. “But that wasn’t a dragon; it was a demon. The city is in danger. When we get back, you boys should get your families and hide.”

He didn’t wait to see the boys’ reaction. Ruby, however, lingered her gaze a little longer on them before following him.

A quiet sadness clouded her eyes, made her shoulders drop a bit. She interlocked her hands on her lower stomach as she walked. It seemed to be a standard quirk of hers, besides the one of gripping her skirt when she was nervous. This specific movement as she walked, however, was very… polite.

Alucard didn’t exactly like it.

Not because he didn’t appreciate good manners. Ruby was, in fact, very gracious in anything she did – from her impeccable posture at all times to the way she sat or the way she ate, the way she held cutlery, the way she never raised her voice too much, or even how she insisted in calling him sir when they first met. She had the good manners of a high society lady.

But Alucard knew that all of this was a product of what she had endured. Making herself smaller, quieter, imperceptible. Ruby didn’t do any of that to impress anyone or to fit into some sort of societal standard. She did it because she was afraid of bringing any attention upon her.

The more he observed her, the more he caught himself silently wishing Ruby would… slouch. Raise her voice, show anger or tiredness or boredom. Make it clear when she didn’t like something or voice her opinions without becoming a puddle of anxiety.

That’s one of the reasons why Alucard couldn’t bring himself to say no when she asked to go to the Louvre. Most of the time, she wasn’t brave enough to speak her mind and make requests. She felt comfortable enough at that moment to ask him. And… Alucard actually hated it, but he had also noticed that, sometimes, Ruby flinched away from him and seemed scared when he showed annoyance or moved too abruptly. Unfortunately, he still had similar physical traits of the ones who hurt her so much. The fact that she was growing comfortable around him made him feel… content.

Ruby looked down. “Poor kids. Their clothes are so worn out…”

“This is the situation for most children in this country. That is mainly why the revolution started.”

“...I guess Richter was right. How can a king have a palace this big while his people die of hunger?” She took some moments to speak again. “And if Erzsebet succeeds… she will make things worse.”

Alucard nodded. “Yes. But she won’t, because we’ll stop her.” He pointed with his finger to a nearby street. “Let’s go.”

They quickened their pace, keeping silent for most of the way. Most streets were crowded by a mass of curious people; the news traveled fast, and it seemed that everyone forgot about the execution earlier and decided to gather at this part of the city. Paris was drowned in chaos. Most soldiers were too worried trying to quiet down the population. How could they even prepare for the incoming battle?

Finally, they arrived at the alley the boy had mentioned – and the little bastard was right. It was a dirty small alley where most people avoided, only being guarded by two soldiers that weren’t paying much attention to their job.

At last, Alucard stopped walking in a spot out of their sight. The back view of the palace was just ahead. He turned around and looked down at Ruby, sending her a hesitant look.

“My apologies, but I will need to do that again.”

She widened her eyes slightly. “Oh. Okay.”

“...Do you think you can handle it this time?”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll be fine.” She was clearly lying. Well, there was nothing he could do about that.

Alucard wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her up slightly to a point her feet weren’t touching the ground anymore. He narrowed his eyes, visualizing the path he would have to make.

A familiar red glow enveloped his body–

He sprinted through the alley, passing in between both guards so fast that they didn’t even understand what was happening; to them it was just a sudden, violent gush of wind that made their hats fly away and their eyes widen in confusion.

And just like that, they were within the palace’s gardens.

Alucard put Ruby on the floor again. She was visibly dizzy, so he still held her arm for support. She blinked several times, as if trying to fade the vertigo away.

“It… wasn’t that bad this time,” she lied again. It didn’t look like she wanted to vomit this time, though. Alucard smiled slightly and let go of her arm.

“Do you remember in which room you found the artifact?” He asked quietly, worrying that anyone would hear them. He didn’t want to have to confront any human.

“The same where I was trying to hide in,” Ruby looked around the tall building. “The night creature came crashing through the window. We can use it to get in.”

Alucard nodded, trying to remember in what section of the palace that was…

Then he realized that he didn’t need to remember anything, because the scent of her blood was still very much in the air. They didn’t even have time to clean it. Alucard turned his head in the direction where the scent was stronger.

“There. Let’s go.”

They walked fast, Alucard always placing his body in front of her, walking near the wall under the windows to not get caught. They crossed paths with some guards, but luckily were not seen. He wondered why the hell did that place need to be so horizontally big.

Finally, the sight of a destroyed window appeared ahead. As the building had a double height ceiling, it’d be necessary to climb to get through the window. Alucard gesticulated for Ruby to wait. His sword unsheathed itself and floated up; through the reflection on the shiny iron, he saw that although the doors were opened, the gallery was empty.

Alucard once again wrapped his arm around her waist and floated, graciously passing through the window. As soon as their feet landed on the floor, he nodded his head softly; the double doors closed and locked.

He let go of her and she stepped aside.

The gallery was absolutely destroyed; debris and glass everywhere, broken pieces of the wooden crates, rags of once was a curtain around the floor, statues and paintings destroyed… and blood. A lot of blood.

Ruby widened her eyes at the sight of her own dried blood over the floor. It seems she hadn’t realized how much she bled. She gulped and averted her gaze somewhere else.

“It seems they didn’t start to clean things up yet,” she stated the obvious in a nervous tone.

“They’re probably measuring the damage first. It’ll take them a few days,” Alucard crossed his arms, his eyes wandering over the room. He, in fact, felt bad about all that. So many artifacts were destroyed during the fight… thousands of years of art and history went to waste. It was especially outrageous how Drolta didn’t care about the damage at the Egyptian gallery, given that she came from those same ancient times. She had no respect for her own culture anymore.

“Is it here?” he asked, paying attention to her again.

Ruby hummed quietly.

She walked towards the doors, looking for something on the floor. She tip toed around a pool of blood, trying to avoid stepping on it at all costs. Alucard followed her, albeit keeping a good distance so she could scoop the area without his interference.

Finally, she gasped and rushed to grab something at the corner of the room, near the wall. It was hidden behind a destroyed crate.

Ruby turned around, holding a golden scepter with both hands. Her eyes glowed with afraid amazement.

“This is it,” she confirmed.

They approached each other, meeting at the center of the gallery. Alucard analyzed the artifact she held. It was almost as tall as her with a symbol of the sun at its tip. Throughout the entire staff, there were tiny writings engraved. Although it was golden, it wasn’t much adorned; other than the symbol of the sun and the intricate sun rays in the form of curvy spikes, it was very plain. It appeared to be something used in religious ceremonies.

“What happened exactly when you held it for the first time?” He asked.

Ruby looked down at the scepter. “It was covered in rust. I didn’t even know what I was looking at. Then, when I held it, it got… hot. And it shone.”

“It shone?” Alucard quirked one eyebrow up.

“Yes. So bright that I had to close my eyes. And then… all the rust was gone.”

“And after that?”

Ruby pressed her lips together. “...Nothing. The night creature came in and I dropped it.”

Alucard nodded. “Do you feel anything strange right now?”

She shook her head slightly. “No.” She lifted the object closer to his eyes. “But, see? The writings? It’s that same language. Do you recognize what this is?”

Alucard narrowed his eyes. “Can I?”

Ruby handed him the scepter, which he held with both hands. It was quite heavy – actual pure gold. It was a miracle that the royal French family didn’t melt it, or whoever was in possession of the artifact it previously. He brought it close to his face, analyzing the scriptures.

The characters appeared to be organized vertically instead of horizontally, very similar to Mandarin or Japanese structures of writing. These characters, however, meant nothing to him. They weren’t rounded like Sanskrit, weren’t allusive of animals or nature like Egyptian hieroglyphs or ancient Mandarin, and they didn’t resemble the common Latin alphabet. At most, it reminded him a bit of Sumerian writing, given how simplistic the characters seemed to be – but if it really was Sumerian, Alucard would’ve known.

“You know how to read it, but don’t understand the meaning of the words?” Alucard asked without taking his eyes off the scepter.

“Yes.”

“So, each character means a sound.” Ruby nodded. Phonetic, as he suspected, since the characters repeated themselves over and over again.

“Do you have any idea of what it is?” she repeated, sounding hopeful.

Alucard pressed his lips together.

He really missed Sypha in moments like this.

She would’ve immediately known what it was – or at least, had an idea of how to start investigating the origins of this strange language. Alucard became quite good at learning new languages over the years, but not as good as her. Never.

It felt like there was an invisible cold hand pressing around his heart – like it did anytime he thought of her.

“Unfortunately no.” Alucard shook his head. Ruby’s shoulders dropped. “Let’s not be discouraged. This artifact definitely has magic in it; I can feel it.” Yes, it vibrated under his palm in a high frequency – a metaphysical frequency, like all magic things did. It didn’t reek of demonic magic or negative alchemy either. It felt quite neutral; Alucard couldn’t tell what type of magic it stored.

The white-haired vampire frowned.

“And it certainly doesn’t like me.”

Ruby tilted her head to the side, visibly confused. “What?”

There was a strange sensation in his gut. A certain aggressiveness. Alucard didn’t feel like the scepter could actually hurt him, but the bad feeling was there anyway. He handed the artifact back to Ruby; the moment it left his hands, the sensation was gone.

“Some magical items don’t accept being touched by anyone. Some can only be touched by their masters.”

“Like your sword?” She asked, eyeing the weapon that was still protectively floating near Alucard’s body.

“Precisely.” Alucard shrugged. “Or it just doesn’t like me because I am part vampire.” At her utter confusion, he decided to elaborate. “In magic terms, my existence is an aberration. A half-human, half-vampire being goes against the natural order.”

She pressed her lips and looked down. “...But it’s not your fault.”

Alucard chuckled softly. It sounded like she felt bad for him, which he found quite endearing. “The scepter doesn’t know it.”

They were interrupted when someone tried to open the doors. Both turned around immediately, Ruby visibly startled at the sudden sound.

“Who’s in there?” a male voice was heard from the other side. “Open the doors!”

“Let’s go,” Alucard hurried towards the window again. Yet, she froze in place.

“Do we take it with us?”

“Of course.”

“Isn’t it stealing?”

He couldn’t even bring himself to be annoyed at her. Alucard stepped closer again. “Everything here was stolen from some other country, Ruby. They won’t miss it.”

And then, he was holding her close to his body again, floating out of the palace through the window. The sword obediently sheathed itself again. However, when he stepped foot on the grass, he didn’t let go of her.

“I’ll have to…”

“Yes. I understand,” she nodded before he could finish, tightening the scepter close to her chest.

Alucard felt a tiny bit bad for a moment before sprinting out of the palace’s gardens in a red blur. She seemed to handle the post-dizziness a bit better this time, though.

They hurried around the streets. Ruby held the artifact with nervousness.

“This thing isn’t exactly subtle,” she said between gritted teeth. Indeed. An object made of gold wasn’t something you could hold around and act nonchalant about.

“I can hide it under my cape if you want,” he offered, to which she shook her head.

“No. If it makes you feel bad, I’d rather not.” It seemed she really didn’t think before saying that, because she froze for a moment and immediately avoided his gaze.

Alucard knew that if he chuckled it’d make her feel bad, so he swallowed it.

They didn’t take long to reach their destination with their fast pace. The street appeared a bit less crowded now. And there they were – the three boys sitting on the sidewalk, the horse obediently beside them. They got up in a jump.

“Here it is, sir!” The tallest presented.

“We took care of it. See?” The oldest boasted.

“Some men even wanted to take it away, but we fought valiantly!” It was the youngest’ turn to lie with a grin.

Alucard opened a small smile and took the reins again. “You did a good job, indeed. As promised, the rest of the payment.”

Their grins got even bigger when the white-haired vampire deposited two more coins each over their open palms.

The shortest of the group then cleaned his throat and stepped further towards Ruby. He had both hands behind his back and an already apparent blush over his cheeks.

“Hm, sir! Respectfully!”

“Respectfully!” The tallest one reinforced. He fiddled with his beret nervously.

“We got madame a gift!”

“Out of respect!” The oldest one reinforced again.

The three eyed Alucard with much apparent nervousness, waiting for his… permission. Ruby looked down at the boys with quiet confusion.

Oh, this was getting funny.

Alucard shrugged and nodded. The three boys smiled again and turned to Ruby. Once again, the shortest cleaned his throat.

“Madame! We were attentively taking care of the horse when we saw something that could suit you!”

“I saw it,” the oldest one elbowed him.

“But it was my idea,” the short one hissed back before turning to her again. “Anyway, hm, here it is!”

Finally, he unveiled what he was hiding behind his back in an extravagant gesture: a lily flower.

Alucard looked behind them. On the other side of the street, under a windowsill, there was a vase full of lilies. He had to cross his arms and lower his head, trying to muffle a laugh.

“It matches your ribbon, madame,” the oldest remarked.

“I was the one to pick it. None of them could reach it but me,” the tallest said with pride.

Ruby watched the three boys with a bit of shock for some seconds.

Then, she smiled.

Not one of her small, timid smiles. For the first time, that smile reached her eyes, too. For the first time, it seemed that she wasn’t embarrassed for smiling; for the first time, her giggle wasn’t dry. Wasn’t clouded by sadness.

Alucard knew that it was the first time he was seeing the real Ruby – the person she was underneath the trauma, the fear, the anxiety; the person she didn’t even know she was yet. And at that moment, the glow of the golden scepter got pale in comparison to her.

Ruby lowered herself to get to their eye level. She took the flower and placed it inside the small pocket of her vest, right above her heart.

“What are your names?” she asked.

“Victor,” the tallest said.

“Pierre,” the oldest one.

“Oliver,” the shortest.

Ruby repeated their names, then patted their heads, rubbing their hair softly.

“This is very sweet, boys. Thank you so much. I promise I’ll take care of your gift.”

It looked like the three boys forgot how to close their mouths. They stared at her in awe, their faces completely red, their three little hearts beating at a rapid pace.

Alucard couldn’t blame them. Not when his own heart missed a beat.

Three hundred years didn’t make him much better than a little boy, after all.

“Ruby.” He called quietly. “We should go.” She nodded and straightened her posture. Alucard turned to the boys, and they all seemed utterly embarrassed when his gaze fell over them. “I wasn’t joking about what I said earlier. Tell your parents about it. After the sun goes down, do not leave your homes.”

The three tensed up at his words, but nodded accordingly. The short one – Oliver – seemed to be the smartest, too; he was the only one that paid attention to Alucard’s mouth and had a fast glimpse of his fangs, which made him get pale. Well… if that helped send the message across, he was fine with it. They finally started walking away.

Ruby waved them goodbye and they waved back, clumsily bumping into each other and elbowing one another. At last, they ran into the crowd again.

A ghost of that smile still lingered on her lips as she turned to him, touching the flower with care. Alucard mimicked her small smile.

“You just made their day.”

She looked shy again, and it made Alucard regret saying that a bit; he didn’t want her to feel embarrassed of herself, not after what he had witnessed. “No, you made their day by paying them.”

Alucard shook his head softly and closed his eyes for a moment.

“It doesn’t even compare.”

He looked down at her again.

This time, instead of the skirt, she gripped the scepter nervously.

Still, Alucard sustained her gaze for a few more seconds. He… enjoyed this. He liked how her attention was frozen on him, even for these brief moments. He liked the sensation of having the world around him blur as if he entered a parallel universe until she’d finally look away.

Alucard knew himself all too well. He didn’t bring himself the trouble of being in denial about anything. It was also one of the things he learned over the years, for the sake of his own sanity.

He understood why the entire mission was becoming personal to him very fast. He understood that, behind his growing anger towards Drolta and Erzsebet, there was something else growing, too – though he wasn’t sure if he’d act on it. No; it was way too early to assume anything. There were still many mysteries to solve, too much at stake, too much trust to be gained on both ends… and way too many traumas to get through, too.

For now, Alucard was satisfied with these small moments of sweetness.

Finally, he took the reins again, and then they were in a crowded street of a city in chaos, and not in a quiet parallel universe.

“Let’s go… madame,” he said jokingly, imitating the honorific the boys repeated over and over again. Ruby chuckled, at least.

Alucard was under the impression that, if Ruby knew what the implications of being called a madame meant, she wouldn’t be so calm about it.

He’d like to keep it as his little secret for now.

[archangeldyke-all]

omg hi angel!! I just saw the gym teacher Sev x English teacher reader thing and idk if this was just my middle/high school experience, but I remember at my school during pep rallies sometimes, teachers would divide up into teams and play a sport against each other (usually football or basketball, sometimes softball) as a fun thing to get everyone excited. Sometimes it'd be teachers against students too if you wanna go that route. I dunno maybe you could write something where reader and Sevika are preparing for that?

Maybe a reader who's clumsy/not well versed in sports who already has a somewhat flirty relationship with Sevika asking Sev to help train her alone/teach her about whatever sport theyre going to play so she doesnt embarass herself in front of the entire staff and student body? They could have a whole competitive-flirting thing going on during the one on one training where they end up doing some cheesy shit like stumbling over one another and kissing while they're on the ground lol

KENNIE THIS IS SOOOOOOOOO CUTEEE

men and minors dni

"babe, you're supposed to kick it to me." sevika giggles.

you huff and stomp your foot, stooping over to grab a stick from the field and toss it at your girlfriend. "that's what i tried to do!" you whine. sevika giggles, easily dodging the stick and kicking the ball back to you.

"i can't believe i'm dating somebody who can't even pass a soccer ball."

"yeah, well, i'm dating somebody who refuses to read anything published before 1950--"

"they write so old-timey, i can hardly understand them!" sevika whines, starting up the rant she's perfected in her time with you. you giggle and approach your girlfriend, kicking the ball from its spot between her feet and taking its place. sevika wraps her arms around your waist, smiling down at you. "you're done practicing already?" she guesses.

you giggle and stand on your tiptoes to kiss your girlfriend. she sighs against your lips.

sevika dragged you out to the park today as an attempt to 'train' you for the big students vs. teachers soccer game coming up in a month. in previous years, you've stayed on the sidelines with the other un-athletic teachers, laughing and gossiping and handing out ice packs to your injured co-workers and students. sevika's convinced to get you off the bleachers and onto the field this year, swearing that now that she's your girlfriend, some of her athleticism has to have rubbed off on you.

"i packed a picnic basket in the car... we can set up under that little group of trees?" you ask, blinking sweetly up at sevika. she rolls her eyes and picks up her soccer ball.

"you're lucky you're cute." she huffs, shaking her head as she starts walking you toward the car. you giggle.

"i made your favorite."

"meatball sandwiches?" sevika asks, her eyes lighting up a bit. you grin and nod.

"packed extra napkins too." you say. sevika laughs and kisses your temple.

"so when i asked you to come to the park for training today, you had your own plan this whole time?" she asks. you grin.

"well, duh. did you really think i'd be kicking around a soccer ball for more than thirty minutes?"

"fuck, the teachers are never gonna beat the kids." sevika whines as you open up the car. you giggle, pulling the basket out as she stores all her soccer gear.

"i don't know why you ever think you will, babe. you're a buncha forty year olds playing against kids whose primary food source is energy drinks."

"between me, ran and vander we've got a solid defensive side! we just need somebody fast. with good aim."

"and you thought that would be me?" you tease again.

sevika giggles as she helps you spread out the picnic blanket. "maybe not. maybe i just wanted to see you sweaty and panting." she says with a wink.

you laugh as you sit down on the blanket, dragging sevika to sit next to you. "i can think of much better ways to get sweaty with you than playing soccer, baby." you say. sevika raises a suspicious eyebrow at you.

"last time you said that we spent our saturday in your classroom building bookshelves."

you giggle. "well, we were sweaty weren't we?"

sevika shakes her head and pushes the basket out of the way, before she tackles you and pins you to the blanket. you grin up at her as she gazes down at you. "so lucky you're cute." she mumbles from above you.

you giggle. "are you gonna kiss me or are you just gonna stare?"

sevika rolls her eyes and tries to hide her smile as she ducks down to press her lips to yours. you can feel the curve of her lips against yours, though.

and just as you start to thread your fingers through her hair, the bird noise and wind surrounding you is interrupted by a shriek.

you both jump, and when you sit up on the blanket you make direct eye contact with jinx and ekko, both wearing a pair of rollerskates on their feet and horrified looks of disgust on their faces.

"it's sevika?!" jinx squeals from the sidewalk, not even bothering to greet you.

"i told you you'd never guess." you say with a shrug.

"you're supposed to call me 'coach--'"

"oh janna-- ekko, hold my hair, i'm about to be sick."

ekko snorts, pulls his girlfriends braids into his grasp, and then waves at the pair of you with his free hand. "hey teach. coach. beautiful sunday, isn't it?" he asks awkwardly.

beside you, sevika bursts into giggles.

kofi

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver @runawaybaby3 @lesbones

@chezze-its @lez-zuha @vikashoneybee @shanesevikasfuckdoll @imheadintothemountains

@nanajustnana-a @helaenabugmom

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @vkumi @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

[dfstolenart]

Oh baby | Criminal Minds

.・゜✭・. Spencer Reid x F!Reader .・゜✭・.

Summary: you and Spencer unexpectedly become parents despite not being together officially

A/N: This is probs my fav fic I’ve written, so far. Hope you guys love it<3 lmk your thots:D also not proof-read I just wanted to get something posted.

BYR(b4 u Reid): Kind of a situationship?, nervous and scared Reid | kissing lol <- [warnings]

You woke up feeling absolutely miserable, maybe even worse than a hangover. A wave of nausea hit you hard, sending you rushing to your bathroom.

Dropping to your knees in front of your toilet, you barely had a second to catch your breath before you started throwing up, your stomach twisting with each heave “gross” you muttered

Flushing the toilet, and brushing your teeth you run to your alarm reading the time 7:30 am

Thirty minutes before you had to be at your desk

You throw on something work-appropriate but comfortable, not having energy to put much effort into your appearance after the rough start to your morning

As you walk towards the door, your eyes flicker to your calendar. Something makes you pause, and you decide to check it

A sinking feeling settles into your stomach when you see it’s around the time you’re supposed to start your cycle, but you quickly brush it off not wanting to stress yourself out even more

Cycles change all the time you convinced yourself it was just happening to you

As soon as the elevator doors opened, you hurried out, making a beeline for your desk.

“Just in time.” Spencer noted as you arrived

“I was worried I was going to be late.”

“You had exactly one minute to spare.” He held up a cup of coffee “I picked it up on the way.”

You took the cup but eyed him skeptically before grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards a quieter corner, his brows furrowed in confusion

“It’s a nice gesture, really,” you said as you lifted up the cup “But this looks a little suspicious.”

“Getting you coffee is suspicious?” He questioned

You sighed “I just don’t want the team in our business. They’re already catching on, and I’d rather keep this between us.”

He considered that for a moment before nodding “If it helps, I’ll buy Derek coffee tomorrow to throw them off.” He suggested

You couldn’t help but smile “you’re annoying.”

Spencer chuckled, then, to your surprise, laced his fingers with yours “you know.” He said matter of factly “If anything looks suspicious, it’s you pulling me somewhere private for a conversation.”

You nodded agreeing with him “You’re right.” and with that you let go of his hand “I’ll talk to you later.” you say as you walk away from the tall gorgeous man

You’d be lying if you said you didn't miss the way your fingers felt together or the sounds that leave his mouth when he laughs

It was like music to your ears

You know you shouldn't feel that way since what you guys have isn’t official, and you didn’t want to get hurt.

A few days have passed and it was like each day was worser than the last, now it was headaches, fatigue, nausea all creeping in at the worst moments

But you're convinced its just a bug, between the stress of the last case you and your team did and the lack of sleep it makes sense that your body is shutting down

Except, your girl friends at the BAU don't believe that one bit

“Geez, you look pale.” JJ says as she leans against your desk, arms crossed “And she’s been running to the bathroom a lot.” Emily joins in

You wave them off “I'm just coming down with something”

“Yeah that's what you said yesterday, and the day before.” Penelope recalls “What is this an intervention?” you question

“Nope, just your friends worried about you.” JJ says as she shared a knowing look with Emily and Pen

“It’s nothing.” you assured them

“Hey, I brought you some tea.” Spencer says as he joins the group, setting a cup down in front of you. His eyes scan your face with concern “you look sick.”

Your stomach twists at his comment “Do I really look that bad?” you ask feeling a bit insecure

Spencer's eyes widen slightly, he stumbles on his words “No-no, not bad. I just meant… you seem unwell. That's all.”

Emily smirks, shaking her head “Way to go, Dr. Reid.” she grabs her files and walks off

JJ gives you a sympathetic look as she stands “And that's our cue to leave. Come on, Penelope.” Garcia leans in as she follows JJ “Feel better sunshine.” she says before disappearing down the hall

Spencer shifts on his feet “I’m sorry. I shouldn't of had said it like that.”

You sigh, feeling guilty for your reaction “It’s okay. I’m just feeling extra sensitive today. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

He studies you for a moment, then lowers his voice “Have you thought about seeing a doctor? You've been sick for awhile now.”

You shake your head quickly “It’s not that serious.” but Spencer doesn't look convinced “Well…If you need anything, I'm right here.

You offer him a smile “Thanks, Spence.”

As he walks away, you stare at the tea he left behind. The more you think about it, the more unease settles in your chest. What if this isn’t just a stomach bug? What if it’s something worse.

And worse than that, what if you’re right?

As soon as lunch rolled around, you grabbed JJ, Emily, and Penelope by the arms “Come with me. Now.”

“Where are we going?” Garcia asked, eyeing you curiously “A store.” You hesitated, lowering your voice “I need a test.”

All three of them stopped in their tracks, wide eyed “Like a test test?” JJ asked, eyebrows raised, you nodded the fear in your eyes answering for you

“Okay.” Emily said already walking “Let’s go.”

“Wouldn’t you want to do this with…you know, whoever might’ve done this?”

“Uh, no. He’s busy.” You said quickly, leading them toward the exit, but just as you reached the door, Morgan and Spencer appeared

“Hey, where are you guys headed?” Morgan asked “Yeah, I thought we were all getting lunch at Caesars.” Spencer added, Rossi standing beside him

JJ reacted fast “We’re getting medicine for y/n” Spencer frowned “Oh I can come. I know which one will work best.”

“No, no, no, we got it.” Garcia said quickly waving him off Spencer narrowed his eyes, clearly sensing something was off, but eventually nodded “Alright. See you later.”

The four of you bolted out the door.

Inside the store, you stood frozen in front of all the pregnancy test selections, overwhelmed.

“Why are there so many?” You groaned, scanning the shelves “These are easy to read.” JJ said, grabbing a Clear Blue and handing it to you

You grimaced “Do I have to put it on the register?”

Emily snorted “You literally profile murderers for a living, but you’re scared to purchase a pregnancy test?”

“No wonder you might be pregnant” Garcia teased “Were you too scared to buy condoms too?”

You shot them a glare “Hilarious.”

JJ rolled her eyes and grabbed the test from your hand “I’ll put it down.” you sighed in relief “Thank you.”

At the register, you all smiled stiffly at the cashier as he rang it up. He barely acknowledged you guys, but that didn't stop you from feeling widely judged.

Back at the BAU, the four of you rushed to the restroom.

“Pee on the stick, wait five minutes, and we’ll either celebrate or cry.” JJ instructed “Your call.”

You exhaled, feeling like you were preparing for battle “Alright.” Stepping into the stall, you did what you had to do, then set the rest down on the counter, turning it away from you

“Timer is set.” Garcia announced, your heart pounded, you knew what the results was going to be, and that terrified you more than anything

The four of you sat in silence on the restroom floor, gross, but none of you cared right now. The weight of the situation hung heavy in the air

“Time’s up.” Garcia finally said glancing at you with concern, you swallowed hard “I can't look.”

“Want us to?” Emily offered you nodded “Please”

JJ picked it up first. The three of them leaned in, their expressions unreadable. Then, without a word JJ handed it to you

Your hands trembled as you looked down

Pregnant

Your heart dropped, and a lump formed in your throat, but you refused to break. Not here, not now. Instead, you slowly nodded, forcing out a breath “okay”

“So…is this good or bad?” Garcia asked, studying your face, you opened your mouth, then closed it “I don't know.” you admit

“Are you going to tell him?” JJ asked gently, you nodded “eventually.”

Emily places a reassuring hand on your shoulder giving it a gentle squeeze “We’ll give you time to process, when you're ready, we’re here.”

Each of them gives you a small, comforting smile before slipping out of the restroom, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling

“Why? Why? Why?” you whispered to yourself

This wasn't just about you.

This was about Spencer.

Your coworker.

A man you weren't even in a relationship with.

How the hell were you going to tell him?

You stepped out the restroom, exhausted and ready to be anywhere but here. Your body felt heavy, your mind even more so. All you wanted was to crawl into bed and shut the world out.

“Hey! We’re still on for tonight?”

The familiar voice made you stop in your tracks. Of course it was Spencer.

“Tonight?” You frowned, genuinely confused

He gave you a puzzled look “Movie night? At my place? Like it has been every Friday for the past six months?”

“Oh…right.” You let out an awkward laugh, and rubbed the back of your neck “Sorry, I’m just- are you sure you want me there? I don’t want to get you sick.” You say even though you knew what you had wasn’t contagious

“I’ll be fine.” He said with a small smile “I can disinfect everything.”

You hesitated before nodding “then, I’ll be there.” “Great.”

Silence settled between you two, he looked at you like he knew something was off, and part of you wanted to just say it right then and there.

“Well, I should get back to my files.” You said quickly making an excuse to leave.

Before you could slip away, he gently grabbed your hand “Are you sure you’re alright?” His voice was quieter now, more concerned.

“Yes, Spencer, I’m fine.” You forced a reassuring smile, but his eyes searched yours unconvinced

“Did I…do something?”

“What? No!” Your stomach knotted at the thought of him blaming himself “why would you think that?”

He hesitated “Just how you’ve been acting recently, I want to know if it’s because of me.”

You sighed, squeezing his hand before pulling away “It’s not you, I promise.”

He nodded but the uncertainty was still there “Okay.”

With that, you turned and walked back to your desk, diving into your files, forcing yourself to focus. For a couple hours, it worked. You got lost in the work, grateful for the temporary escape— until a voice whispered right into your ear

“So… who’s the father?”

You jumped, nearly knocking over your coffee “Jesus Garcia.” She grinned unapologetically “Sorry, did I scare the baby?”

You glared at her “No, you scared me.” She leaned in closer “Can I take a guess?”

You gave her a warning look “You don’t know him.”

Garcia scoffed “Sweetie, I know this guy. Anyone with a pair of eyes can tell just by the way you two interact. You guys are getting it on.”

Your face burned “Penelope.”

She wiggled her eyebrows “So, it is who I think it is.” You sighed, lowering your voice “You have to keep this a secret. Please.”

She immediately sobered, nodding “Of course, but you are telling him, right?”

You swallowed hard, glancing over at Spencer who was talking to Hotch across the room “Yeah.”

“I’m happy for you guys, no matter what you choose to do.” Garcia said warmly you gave her a small grateful smile

“Thank you. I just- I don’t know what to do. I know my options, obviously, but I don’t think I can go through with that. But at the same time, I don’t want to do this if Spencer isn’t ready. I don’t want to hold him back.”

Garcia shook her head “Look, he loves you. It’s so obvious the little things he does for you, the way he talks about you when you aren’t around. He is going to be ready.”

You let out a deep sigh, looking down at your hands “we’re not even together.” The admission felt embarrassing, like it somehow made everything worse

“Honey, you know Spencer. It takes him awhile, but he’ll come around to making it official. He’s just scared.” You exhaled leaning back into your chair

“Yeah…maybe.”

“not maybe— definitely” she corrected “Just give him time.”

The work day ended, and you had finally returned home, you threw yourself on your bed still in your work clothes but too lazy to change

You laid there deep in your thoughts until you drifted off to sleep

You weren’t sure how long you had been out but there was knocking at your door that woke you

You looked through the hole and seen it was Spencer, he looked worried “Spencer?” You question as you open the door allowing him to enter

“I was calling, you never answered. I got worried.” He tells you as he looks at you scanning to make sure you were alright “I fell asleep, I’m so sorry.” You apologize “no it’s okay. I’m just happy you’re safe.”

“Today was exhausting.” You admitted. He gave you a look of understanding “Can I do anything to help?”

Your cheeks warmed at the sincerity in his voice. He was always quick to offer whatever he could “No, it’s alright.”

“Are you sure? I give great massages.” He teased, a small smirk playing on his lips, you let out a small laugh “I’m sure, Spencer. How about we just watch a movie?”

He nodded, clearly liking the idea “what are you in the mood for?”

You thought for a moment. After everything today, you just wanted something comforting, something that reminded you of simpler times

“The Fox and the Hound.”

Spencer’s face lit up with a soft smile “That’s a good one.”

“Can you set it up while I change?” You asked “of course.” Spencer replied without hesitation

You stepped into your room, closing the door behind you. As you emptied your pockets your fingers brushed against the pregnancy test. You sighed, staring at it for a moment before tucking it away in your nightstand drawer

Once you had changed into something more comfortable, you walked back out, expecting to see Spencer in the living room but he wasn’t there. You glanced around and spotted him in the kitchen.

“I decided we needed popcorn.” He casually said as he poured some into a bowl “That’s a good idea.” You smiled

Settling on the couch, you grabbed the remote as Spencer joined you, sitting down beside you with the bowl in hand.

You pressed play and it didn’t take long for you to immersive yourself in the familiar comfort of the movie

The movie held your full attention, so much so that you barely noticed every time your hand brushed against Spencer's in the popcorn bowl.

It had always been your favorite movie as a kid, but now watching it while being pregnant, it felt different.

Then came the scene, the scene that always broke your heart as a child and even now as an adult

The little old lady drives off in her car, away from the Fox leaving him in the woods to be free. It felt like it hit you harder then ever before, and suddenly you couldn’t hold back the tears

Spencer turned his head, noticing the way your shoulders shook “Are you crying?” He asked softly “no.” You lied even as you wiped at your cheeks

You let out a small, embarrassed laugh, trying to play it off. Spencer shook his head, shifting to face you. Without a word, he reached out, gently brushing away a stray tear “Hey, it’s alright. It’s a sad scene.” he agreed

Your eyes met his “I think I could use that massage now.” a small smile played on his lips “I think you could too.”

You turned around, away from his gaze, and pulled your hair to the side giving him full access to your back. His hands found your shoulders, pressing in firmly. The tension in your muscles melted under his touch.

“You’re tense.” He murmured. You sighed, eyes fluttering shut “that feels good.”

“So, what’s been on your mind?” He asked your eyes snapped open “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been really stressed lately, today especially. You told me it’s not me, so… what is it?”

You hesitated, knowing this was the moment. You couldn’t keep avoiding it.

“Spencer.” You said, your voice barely above a whisper, his hands stilled “yeah?”

You turned to face him, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks. His stomach dropped, he didn’t know what you were about to say.

“Hold on.” You murmured, quickly getting up. You rushed to your room, grabbing the test from your nightstand. When you returned, Spencer was watching you carefully, his brows furrowed in concern

You sat down, heart pounding “I have something to show you.” You say as you hold out the test to him, Spencer took it hesitantly, his eyes scanning the results

His lips parted slightly “oh.”

That single word terrified you

You weren’t sure what he was thinking.

Spencer on the other hand, his mind was racing so fast he couldn’t form a single coherent thought. His fingers tightened around the plastic stick.

“Say something.” You say as you watch him intently, his head snapped up, eyes wide, searching yours as if trying to piece together a puzzle with missing pieces “You’re…pregnant.” He said

You nodded “yeah.”

Spencer swallowed hard, looking back down at the test, then back to you “it’s mines..right?” He questioned hopeful that you wouldn’t have been with anyone else “of course it’s yours.” You said quickly, feeling a strange mix of emotions, offense, anxiety, fear.

“Right. No, I-i didn’t mean it like that, I just-” he exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he tried to process “This is…a lot.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Spencer went quiet again, his mind clearly catching up to reality.

And then, finally, he looked at you “How are you feeling?” He softly asked “I don’t know. Scared, overwhelmed.” You admitted

Spencer nodded and reached for your hand, taking it in his, it felt warm and grounding.

Spencer hesitated for a moment before taking his hand away and reaching into his pocket, pulling out a small, folded piece of paper. He held it up between you.

“I’ve been carrying this around for a while.” He admitted “It’s a list… of all the reasons I think we’re perfect for each other.”

Your breath caught “Spence-”

“I’m not finished.” He said quickly, his eyes pleading with you to let him get it all out “I’ve been planning to tell you for so long. Too long. I should’ve said something the moment I realized it was you.”

You just stared at him, heart pounding, and he cleared his throat “I even calculated the probability of a successful relationship based on compatibility factors and shared interests.” He let out a small, nervous laugh

That made you smile. Without thinking, you reached for his hand, giving it a soft squeeze

“I want to be with you.” He said, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable “But don’t say yes because of the baby. Say yes because you want me the way I want you.”

His eyes searched yours “say something?” He whispered, you swallowed hard, then nodded towards the paper “Can I read it?”

Relief washed over his face as he handed it to you without hesitation “You just carry it around?”

He nodded, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips “It reminds me of you. So even when you’re not with me, it still feels like you are.”

Your chest ached, and you smiled at him with tears in your eyes “I want to be with you.” You say

Spencer had never felt anything like this before, it was overwhelming in the best way, pure happiness, the kind he never thought he’d get to have.

Despite the fear of the unknown, he knew one thing for certain, he was happy it was you he was going to experience this with.

He pulled you into him, the embrace feeling both familiar and new. This time, there was no more unspoken words, no more uncertainty. Just the two of you, together, exactly as you were meant to be

“So…do the girls know?” He asked, remembering how strangely they all had been acting at lunch, you nodded “They were with me when I found out.”

Spencer exhaled, his eyes softening “I wish I had been there.”

“I know.” You murmured guilt tugging at your chest “I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head “I just, I don’t want to miss anything. Not with you, not with this baby. Every doctors visit, every sick day, every moment, I want to be there.”

His sincerity made your heart ache in the best way “I want you to be there too.”

His fingers gently tilted your chin before he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. It was soft, and lingering.

When his tongue traced along your bottom lip, asking for more, you gave in without hesitation.

After he pulled away, he smiled, his eyes full of wonder “I can’t wait to see you grow.” You brushed a hand over his cheek, returning his smile “I can’t wait to see you become the best dad.”

Should I make this into a mini series ? Where the next part can be them telling the team? 🤭

[paulyenvol6]

Perfect For You

Joel Miller x female!reader / No outbreak AU

You are Joel's affair and can't keep your hands off him during a garden party at his house which ends in a heated encounter in his bedroom... This is basically just filthy smut lol. Enjoy :)

Contains: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, rough oral sex (m receiving), crying, thigh riding, orgasm denial, dirty talk, dumbification, very degrading and objectifying, mean and dom Joel, soft!dom Joel in the end, begging, spitting, age gap, reader is in her 20s and Joel is in his 50s, daddy kink, cursing, Joel cheating on his wife with you

Wordcount: ~6.37k

Masterlist

Joel should've known.

He should've known from the second his wife had come up with this stupid idea that this wouldn't end well. But of course his mind had gone blank at the sound of your name, and perhaps the fear of saying anything that might reveal the nature of his relationship with you, so he had just nodded and dropped his eyes to his breakfast. No wonder Kate had been confused.

'You don't think it's a good idea to invite her? I think she's lovely and I thought that the two of you were going along well,' she had said and Joel had wanted to smack his head against the table.

'No, no, hon, I think it's a good idea. Sorry, I'm just a l'il tired.' Kate had smiled and kissed him on his cheek and then matter was finished. For her.

Joel on the other hand hadn't been able to stop thinking about the upcoming garden party and had felt torn between regretting his approval and his desire to see you on the weekend. The last couple of weeks had been stressful and there had barely been any time to see, let alone fuck you and his body was hungry for your touch.

But at the same time it was always risky when there were more people around, especially his wife. Joel simply couldn't control himself around you; he felt like a teenage boy that only had sex on his mind and as much as he enjoyed to feel that way about somebody again, he knew how dangerous it could possibly be. Kate couldn't find out about this and although he currently spent most of his free time thinking about you, he wouldn't risk his marriage.

But that was how Joel had ended up where he was right now. Sitting on a chair in the garden beneath the warm sun, his hand resting on his wife's thigh and his thoughts with you.

He just couldn't help it. You looked too pretty in that little flower dress that definitely revealed too much skin for his liking, especially considering that you had spent a suspiciously large amount of time chatting with another of Kate's co-workers, Ian. 'At least he's her age,' Joel thought bitterly and toyed with his fork.

"Honey?" a voice suddenly cut through the air and his head quickly turned around fearing that he had stared at you too obviously.

"Yes?" Joel asked gently squeezing Kate's thigh.

"I was just asking if you could hand me the water."

He nodded a little too fast but reached out to grab the bottle and of course his eyes fell on you again while doing so. He felt the urge to curse something or someone and first and foremost you because why did you have to look so sexy and cute today? Joel wanted to crash or kick something, anything to get rid of the accumulated tension in his body as his eyes automatically ran over your curves. He would give anything to be inside of you right now and he felt his pants painfully squeezing his cock at this very thought.

'This is not good,' the panicky voice in his head reminded him and he quickly tried to think of something else. Something disgusting perhaps but he couldn't help himself. All he could see in front of his eyes was you.

A week ago when he had fucked you on the couch during Kate's business trip. Your legs spread wide, your pussy on display for him and your little hands clutching his shirt in frustration because he had teased the shit out of you.

And then he saw how you had looked on your knees for him when you had visited him at work. After the two of you had hooked up for the first time and after he had been over his regrets and doubts realizing that not seeing you again wasn't an option, Joel had set clear rules such as not meeting you at his work place. But after he had realized how difficult it was to see each other without getting caught it had been a matter of days until he had allowed you to visit him. It was a quick fuck and definitely hadn't satisfied him entirely but it was better than nothing.

"Your mind really is elsewhere today, mhm?" his thoughts were interrupted once more but this time it was Tommy.

"Sorry. Did you say something?" Joel demanded to know and swiftly turned his attention back to the food on his plate.

"No. I was just noting that you seem absent. Everything alright?"

He prayed that Kate to his left wouldn't notice the bulge in his pants because it certainly would be hard to explain while he tried to come up with an answer.

"Yes I'm fine. Just thinkin' 'bout work."

"Oh Christ, Joel. You need to grant yourself some joy, okay? You can't always make everythin' perfect, you know that, right?" Tommy determindely looked in his eyes and Joel would have almost broken into a smile.

He did grant himself enough joy and that was the core of this whole problem. He should forget you, start treating you like what you were, his wife's co-worker, and be grateful to have such a caring and kind wife. Instead there he was daydreaming about a girl almost 30 years his junior like Kate didn't even exist. He really was an awful person but the worst part was that Joel didn't intend to change anything about it.

It got even worse because the longer he spent sitting by the table, you in a dangerous 5 meter radius of him, the clearer it became that he wouldn't be able to pass the day like this. He needed you the way he needed air and soon Joel would suffocate.

"Excuse me for a moment," Joel finally pressed, and given his friends' confused reactions, it had come out at a bad time.

"Alright, sure," Kate nevertheless smiled and patted his hand. At this point he didn't care about anything anymore but just rushed to the backdoor which probably looked odd. Joel had decided that it would be best to quickly jerk off in the bathroom and then return once he was feeling fine again because the way he acted right now only drew the attention to him.

Almost blind with lust he stumbled into the house and rushed to the kitchen to splash some cold water in his face which wasn't only helpful to get a clear head but was also very comfortable considering the hot weather.

He was just drying his face, starting to feel like a normal human being again when he heard a noise behind him. Joel abruptly turned around so the person behind him jolted but quickly collected herself to smile at him.

"Joel. Are you alright?"

Of course it was you and he cursed himself for feeling this instinctive tightness in his chest hinting at the fact that you were just the person he wanted to see right now. Which was so fucking wrong.

"Yes. I'm fine. Just go back to the party," he mumbled already turning around with the intention to leave the kitchen but you were quicker and held him back by placing a hand on his arm.

"Where are you going?"

He rolled his eyes feeling the familiar tightness in his pants again and just prayed that neither you or anyone else who might come to the kitchen now would notice it.

"To the bathroom. Go now, the others are probably waiting."

"Joel," you said quietly and a cease appeared between his eyebrows.

"What?" he spitted almost feeling a little bad for being so harsh with you but what else was he supposed to do? He needed a moment alone and, frankly, you were getting on his nerves.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Jesus…," he sighed and rubbed over the lower half of his face. "Yes I am. It's just the heat."

He gently and yet firmly removed your hand from his arm but you had a determined look on your face as you stepped in his way once more.

"But maybe I'm not."

Joel frowned resting his hands on his hips as he looked you up and down. "Y'look fine to me."

A little smile formed on your lips that looked so goddamn kissable right now that he had to shake his head to remind himself of the current circumstances.

"I need you. I need you so badly, Joel and I can't go back outside now. Please."

His heart sank into his legs at your words and he felt such an indescribable anger and desire at the same time. He wanted to shake you until he had reminded you of the consequences of what you had just said but he couldn't deny the way his body reacted to you. 'I need a clear head now,' he said to himself as he closed his eyes, then grabbed your upper arms and pushed you through the kitchen door in the floor so that any guests entering the house wouldn't see you.

"Have you lost your fuckin' mind?" he gritted his teeth and watched the way you squirmed with satisfaction. But you were yet to give in and instead pleaded him with your eyes.

"I'm gonna lose my mind if you don't do anything, Joel."

"You know how risky this is? My wife is in this fucking house. Collect yourself and then go outside, for god's sake."

He placed a hand on your back to push you towards the kitchen again but you stubborn little creature clung to his arms as if life depended on it and gave him these puppy eyes that never failed to make his knees wobbly.

"I don't care. We can go upstairs and then no one will hear."

He scoffed clasping a hand around your chin as he patronisingly lifted his eyebrows.

"How about you use your brains for once in your fucking life? Do you think nobody will notice us being away for so long?"

You let out something that sounded like a little desperate whine and as angry and frustrated he was with you right now there was also a part of him that was satisfied and smug about how needy you were for him. Joel was certain you were close to begging him on your knees and the animalistic side of him enjoyed this show so much that he wished you would refuse to leave just for a little bit longer.

"I don't care… fuck… You can't make me go back, please. It's aching and I… I just need you."

His grip on your chin tightened and his eyes spat fire at you remembering how risky and precarious everything about this was.

"Shut up. Shut the fuck up and get yourself together. Stop acting like a needy slut and behave yourself."

He had expected you to be intimidated by his powerful words but something shifted in your expression and you glared at him a lot more confident now.

"I know you want it too. You can't lie to me, Joel. What's the fucking problem? We both want it and we'll feel better afterwards."

"The problem is that my wife is a few feet away from us and I think even you are smart enough to understand what's gonna happen when she finds out."

You bit your lip unaware of what it did to Joel and stomped with your feet.

"She's not gonna find out. We'll be quick."

Suddenly he felt the urge to wrap a hand around your throat and choke you until you would finally shut up and he knew he really had to get you away from him now because he didn't know what he might do otherwise.

"Go. Now. I'm not gonna repeat myself."

"Then don't," you shrugged your shoulders and suddenly pulled away from him. You leaned against the wall licked over your lips and then slightly, just about an inch, lifted the hem of your already inappropriately short dress.

"Y/n, I swear to god…"

"You can have it," you interrupted him brushing with your thumb over your soft skin while looking right into his eyes. "You just need to take it. I'll be at your mercy doing anything you want me to."

All Joel was capable of hearing was his own heavy breathing and all he could see was those perfect legs that he wanted to bite and caress so badly. And then a switch in his brain flipped and every rational thought was replaced by the need to claim you.

Without saying a word, he grabbed your arm and dragged you along, not caring if he hurt you. For some reason he was still so goddamn pissed. He probably projected the anger directed at himself on you just to have someone to be mad at.

Joel took you upstairs and then shoved you into his bedroom immediately locking the door behind him and raised his hand as you intended to speak up.

"Shut it. I don't wanna hear any noise coming out of your mouth, have I made myself clear? I'm gonna fuck you and use you 'cause that's what you asked for 'n' if I hear any complaining I'll be out of here."

You nodded with big eyes but it was clear that you were beyond satisfied with the way things were going right now. "Yes."

"Good."

He took a big step towards you, pushed you to the wall and then his rough hands started to undress you by pulling the thin straps of your dress over your shoulders. When the fabric gathered around your waist and your bare chest was revealed he let out a growl and rolled his eyes.

"Oh for fuck's sake, you're kiddin' me… You're tellin' me you walked around here with no bra on? Have you gone fuckin' insane?"

You slightly arched your back to press yourself closer to him offering him free access to your upper body, but Joel wasn't done yet and refused to touch you.

"You can't do stuff like that, y/n. Is it that hard to understand? I know that you don't care but I have a fuckin' wife, okay? And if you continue to walk around my house in front of her eyes dressed like a cheap little whore and throw yourself against me she's gonna find out. 'Cause she might not be as pretty as you but she's a lot smarter than you."

He didn't know what kind of answer he expected but as he didn't get one Joel just sighed and then finally took a closer look at your body and instantly felt more blood rushing to his center. He quietly cursed to himself and then roughly grabbed your left breast while rubbing with his thumb over your right nipple.

"Oh fuck me," he grunted his mouth coming down to your temple to kiss your pulse point. "That's all you're fuckin' good for. Looking pretty f'me an' doing as you're told. And you enjoy it way too much, babygirl."

He felt how you buckled against his hands and craved to just slide into you and pound into you until you were so tired and exhausted that you would stay still already. But for now he enjoyed how your breasts felt against his hands and contently listened to your little whines and whimpers that sounded like the sweetest piece of music to his ears.

Soon his jeans felt so tight around him that it felt like they were about to burst so he decided to change something about it.

"Get on your knees," he commanded you who looked like you were waking up from a delicious dream when he stopped kneading your flesh but instantly obeyed and quite literally fell to your knees in front of him.

For the first time Joel chuckled quietly and almost lovingly caressed your hair.

"What a sweet 'n obedient little toy I've gotten myself. You're just so eager to please your daddy, mhm? You think s'good enough? You think daddy will be proud of you for dropping to your knees like some filthy slut?"

Your round eyes almost questioningly stared up to him and Joel couldn't help himself and yanked your head back further.

"You're doin' this for everyone, huh? Are you also fallin' to your knees for your co-workers? For… what was his name again… Ian?"

Your bottom lip trembled looking intimidated but yet so eager to finally get to work.

"N-No. I only do it for you, daddy."

Joel grinned with delight at his view and then started to undo his belt.

"I know. 'Cause these boys wouldn't know how to handle you. They wouldn't know what to do with all of this, ain't that right?"

"Yes, daddy. Only you can do it, please. Please I need your cock so badly."

You had grabbed his thighs and Joel once again wondered how he had gotten so lucky. Not just the fact that such a lovely and pretty girl like you enjoyed getting fucked by an old man like him but you were literally begging him to let you suck him off. He couldn't highlight it too often, he was old. Way too old to have you in this position for him right now and definitely too old to be worshipped like this. Maybe he just wasn't the only one of the two of you that was fucked in the head. Maybe you actually needed him to degrade you just as much as he needed to own and ruin you.

"Stick your tongue out," Joel said, the horniness clearly showing in his voice.

You obeyed and this image of you kneeling in front of him made him realize that he wouldn't last long. He gathered some spit in his mouth and then let it fall down on your flat tongue.

"Keep it there," were his next words and he observed you precisely while finally pulling down his jeans along with his boxers so his dick was freed and Joel let out a satisfied sigh.

You clearly expected him to tell you to swallow his spit now and were narrowing his eyes when he instead reached to a drawer next to him to search for something. When he had found what he was looking for he turned to you again and pulled the hair tie on his wrist. Joel towered over you, collecting all your hair and then tying it back into a ponytail so it wouldn't distract you while you were getting fucked in the mouth. When he was done he curiously glanced in your open mouth and raised his eyebrows noticing that it seemed like you had accidentally swallowed his spit.

"M'sorry," you breathed but were cut off as Joel slammed his cock into your mouth and you almost lost your balance gripping his thighs to support yourself. He heard a muffled cry but he prevented you from pissing him off further by silencing you with his cock and observed your struggling with relish.

"There you go… So fuckin' desperate to get that slutty mouth fucked."

To say your mouth felt good around him was an understatement. It was his own personal paradise. This was the best he had felt in a while and if he hadn‘t been so close to coming already he would've stayed here forever. Your lips wrapped tightly around his shaft while your throat welcomed you so wonderfully that he knew exactly how much you savoured this as well despite all this complaining and whimpering.

The only thing that he still craved right now was to see you choke on his thick cock and perhaps even coax a few tears out of you and so he went deeper although it felt like there wasn't any space left. You wriggled and jolted away but Joel's hand was firm around your ponytail holding you in place for him.

"This is what you fuckin' asked me for so you're gonna take all of it until I'm satisfied. Just let it all out. S'alright if it's messy, don't you worry about that. It's exactly what daddy wants. I wanna see you realize what you are. A plaything… a stupid fuckin' doll."

He was so deep inside you now that it felt almost unnatural, and for a moment he was genuinely worried that he had pushed you too far, but when he slightly backed out you coughed and squirmed in his grip so he knew you were just struggling a little. Joel remained like this getting off on the way your eyes squeezed in fear every time he went a little deeper before pulling back again and perhaps he was an awful person for doing it but humiliating you and toying with your emotions just turned him on.

He wanted your powerless beneath him. Utterly surrendered to him and fully submitted to his touch. He wanted you dependent on him even if it meant fucking you during a garden party in his bedroom because he was the only one who could satisfy you.

The moment that he saw how you were getting used to his little movements inside of your mouth and stopped twitching he decided to teach you another lesson and thrusted in you with so much force that you let out a cry that was way too loud but luckily muffled by his cock.

"Shut up. I swear to god, I'll kick you out if you can't control yourself."

He fucked your mouth at a punishing pace now hitting the back of your throat every time and in any other case he might have felt bad just a little bit but today his frustration and anger at you took over and made him come to the conclusion that you deserved every last bruise and hurt after having begged him like that in his kitchen.

The noises the two of you produced were filthy and obscene and as was the picture. Your gagging and retching, the wet slapping of his balls against your face, the sound of his cock sliding past your lips and the drool and spit running down your chin and neck. Everything about it was messy and counted as one of the things that were only meant to be seen in dubious videos on the internet and most certainly wasn't supposed to be witnessed by his wife.

When Joel felt that he was close he unwillingly stopped moving and came to a stop in your mouth. Thirty years ago he would have bursted in your mouth, made you swallow every last drop, then fisted himself a couple of seconds and fucked your brains out but in his age he knew he wouldn't be able to get hard again that quickly after an orgasm. It pained him to pull back, his cock feeling like it was about to explode but the thought of splitting you open for him overshadowed the disappointment.

Joel pulled you up by your hair until you stood in front of him his eyes coldly running over the messiness that was your face.

"You know what I'm gonna do to you now?" he whispered harshly his hand coming down to wrap around your already abused throat. He watched with happiness how you almost weren't able to look in his eyes, your bratiness and cockiness gone, replaced by submissiveness and the need to please.

"No," you shook your hand grabbing his shirt when he pushed you towards the bed.

"I'll make you take every fuckin' inch of my cock no matter if you can handle it or not. I'll ruin that l'il pussy of yours until you scream for me to stop. 'Cause you're mine. You're mine to throw around and bend the way I want to and I swear to god, if you ever think about letting some of your little colleagues touch what's mine you'll pay for it."

You gulped at the intensity and filthiness of his words and doe-eyed, like there wasn't a thought in your head let him mandhandle you on your back.

"I'll break you down, babygirl. Piece by piece until I have you bawling your eyes out. How does that make you feel, huh? Bein' my fuckin' pet."

He was on top of you now pressing you into the mattress his hand still around your neck to make you stay still.

"I want it. I want it, daddy, I wanna be your toy. I want you to use me, please, do anything you want," you cried tears spilling from your eyes from how tense and needy you were for him.

"You poor little thing," Joel cooed his right thumb tracing the delicate skin on your neck while his left painfully twisted your nipple.

"I've made her all needy and weak for daddy. It's pathetic really. Think you're supposed to be laying underneath a man old enough to be your father begging him to destroy your cunt? You think that's cute?"

He pinched your nipple with more force than would have been necessary but he felt so goddamn angry at you that he just wanted to punish and hurt you. Push your boundaries and drive you further.

"Daddy," you cried out and widened your eyes when Joel placed a hand on top of your mouth instantly silencing you.

"Jesus fuckin' christ… You really are a dumb little thing. This hand's gonna stay here now."

With these words he finally drew his attention to the lower part of your body regarding your dress that was ruffled around your hips. Joel lifted the dress a little only to laugh at the lacy black panties that you certainly hadn't picked out coincidentally.

"What a shame," he mumbled to himself and before you could think about what he meant by that you heard a ripping sound and then felt cold air brushing over your labia.

Joel smirked at the way you arched, your hands reproachfully pushing at his shoulders but the big hand on your mouth prevented you from complaining about his way of undressing you.

"You wore them for me and so I get to choose what happens to them," was all he said and then while you were still narrowing your eyes at him you suddenly felt his tip at your entrance and then within a few seconds his entire length had entered you and a loud moan escaped your mouth that made Joel feel thankful that he had shut you up.

He knew that it must be a lot for you because sure, you were more than well lubricated, but he was huge and thick and even though this obviously wasn't the first time he had fucked you, you usually needed a moment to adjust to him.

But today Joel simply didn't care about the sex being comfortable for you because he pounded into you with no regards to your poor pussy being exploited like this. He took what he wanted, savoured your tight walls taking you with so much force that you were pushed up the bed with each thrust. If you wanted to complain you didn't stand a chance because his hand didn't leave your mouth for a second and so you had no choice but to take what he gave you.

Joel moaned in your ear growling whenever he thrusted back in and soon placed your legs on his shoulders pushing your knees to your chest so he could reach even deeper. The cease between your eyebrows deepened and your sweaty hands searched for his that was wrapped around your knees.

When Joel saw fresh tears escaping the corner of your eyes he slightly loosened the grip of the hand on your mouth giving you some space to greedily inhale and at the same time giving himself the chance to take pleasure in your pretty crying face.

"D-Daddy," you whimpered your whole body trembling with the need to come and at this point you were so fucked out, he knew you would do anything he asked you to do.

Joel was close, his cock beginning to throb and his view getting white. Before he could have a second thought and perhaps help you to cross the bridge as well he had exploded inside of you filling you up to the brim.

His head dropped to his chest his hands coming down next to your head to steady himself and then his thrusts in you came to a stop only little growls escaping from his mouth every now and then. Joel was at calm now, his body captured in a peaceful post-orgasm dizziness but you were obviously far away from it.

You were craving a release as well but instead of vocalizing your needs you just rocked your center against his leg that was now positioned between your thighs again.

"D-Daddy. P-Please, I-I was g-good," you stuttered nervously pulling at his shirt while Joel let out a frustrated sigh. He wasn't even able to enjoy this moment of quietude and although he had given you just what you wanted you were asking him for more.

"You think you were good? Think you deserve to come?" he spoke leaning down to you and tracing the outlines of your mouth with his thumb.

"I need to. Please daddy, I really need it."

"That's not an answer to my fuckin' question. I said do you think you deserve to come?"

You remained silent your face crumbling again but Joel was sick and tired of you crying whenever you wanted something that you didn't get so his hand closed around your chin once more and his face came close to yours.

"Drop the attitude, babygirl. Fine. You can come but you're gonna work for it so you see that you can't always get what you want by blinking with your eyes a few times and expecting daddy to do everything. You can ride my thigh and if you do it well you'll get off that way."

He instantly saw how disappointed you were with his answer because your lips formed a pout and your forrowed your brow. "But –"

"It's this or nothing and I mean it. Tell me if you wanna do it and if not I'm gonna leave right now. You can be glad I haven't already 'cause I already gave you what you wanted, you ungrateful little brat."

You were officially sulking now but Joel didn't care. He observed you waiting for an answer and then you finally swallowed loudly turning your head to escape his gaze and mumbled a quiet "Fine."

"Louder," he demanded and yet another sound of frustration left your body before repeating the word louder this time.

"Fine. I wanna do it."

Joel nodded graciously, rolled off you and then took his place with his back against the headboard of the bed his legs parted so you had some space to straddle his lap.

"Come over here," he guided you and you clumsily rose to your knees to crawl to him.

Of course Joel was aware of how affected you were by this denial, not just physically but also mentally but he wanted to teach you a lesson after all and perhaps next time you would act more responsibly and not beg him to fuck you during a garden party. He had desired you as well, sure, but he had had the decency to merely think about it and perhaps jerk off to the thought but not actually act according to it.

You were on top of him now, his right leg between your thighs but it was obvious that you had no idea what you were supposed to do.

"Christ…," he sighed resting his head against the headboard because he really hadn't planned to guide and talk you through your orgasm now but it seemed like that was exactly what he was about to do.

"Can't do it yourself?" Joel asked with raised eyebrows and the slight shake of your head while looking down told him everything he needed to know.

"Fine," he sighed and slightly moved up on the bed. "Hands on my shoulders. You're gonna need it to steady yourself."

He placed his hands on your waist pressing you down until you felt his muscular thigh against your slit.

"Now rock yourself against me. You're gonna want to stimulate your clit so you're gonna move your hips. Just do what feels good 'n then fuckin' come."

Perhaps it was the way you frowned looking all concentrated and focused on pleasuring yourself. Or how you kept pushing your hair back because it was in your face. Or how after a few minutes you let out the first little sigh almost looking off guard by how good it actually felt. Or perhaps it was just his own post-orgasm peacefulness.

Whatever it was, Joel softened up at the sight of you.

All of a sudden he felt the urge to embrace and care for you and it was now that he regretted not having done it earlier. You poor thing had to do it all by yourself after having been such a good girl for him.

Joel decided to at least help you a little and put his hands on your hips to guide your movements and according to your expression you hadn't expected him to assist you. But now that he did, his fingers softly dug into your flesh his thumb drawing little circles over your skin while he helped you rolling your hips.

"You like that, babygirl?" he whispered clearly not unaffected by the scene either and your eyelids fluttered threatening to close.

"Yes, daddy. I'm gonna come soon, I promise."

Joel sighed while moving the hair out of your face realizing that he really had pushed you far today. He lifted his leg a little higher pressing it against your center to create even more friction for your clit, feeling the slickness connecting his thigh and your pussy every time you rubbed yourself against him.

"It's alright. Just concentrate on how it feels, okay?"

Well aware that what you enjoyed just as much as being degraded was being praised, Joel softly smiled at you while drawing patterns over your thigh.

"You've been such a good girl for me, hon. The best. You know why I'm rough with you sometimes, don't ya?"

Feeling all submissive and needy, of course you nodded and held on to his shirt that for some reason hadn't left his body yet.

"I know, daddy. And I'm sorry. I know that I was bad."

"But now I want you to come for daddy 'cause you deserve it. Want you to soak my thigh and let go. I will be there to catch you, sweetheart, promise," he gently soothed you his face softening at the way you tightly gripped his shoulders as you picked up the pace.

"There you go… Doin' so well."

Joel patiently whispered sweet nothings in your ear encouraging you to chase your orgasm and when it finally happened he talked you through it his hands firmly holding on to your waist so you wouldn't fall over while his other hand once again muffled the little cries leaving your mouth.

"That's right… I know it feels good, babygirl. Such a good girl…"

At this point you were too weak to hold yourself up and collapsed on top of him, your head resting against his chest and his hands running up and down your back.

"Shh, honey," he whispered over your loud panting as he combed through your hair, which could no longer be called a ponytail as your hair stood in all directions.

"You good?" he eventually asked with the urgent realization that the two of you had been gone for way too long now.

He really didn't want to throw you out and disturb you in your exhaustion but once the others would start searching for you, things certainly wouldn't end well.

Fortunately you nodded lifting your head from his chest and in this moment Joel couldn't act all grumpy and annoyed with you. He had a soft spot for you after all and when these pretty eyes of yours looked at him as though he was the best person you had ever met he couldn't stay strong and hide his affection.

His mouth twitched as he ran a thumb over your chin and then leaned down to kiss you. Suddenly it was him who would have preferred to stay here in the bedroom a little longer but when he heard loud laughter from outside he was reminded of the risk of what the two of you were doing.

"M'really sorry, sweetheart, but we need to get back to the party."

You let out a disapproving moan and buried your face in his chest but didn't fight when Joel sat you up on the bed and adjusted your dress that was still ruffled around your waist. Only then did he remember what he had done to your panties and widened his eyes in shock.

"Oh fuck me…," he groaned rubbing over his forehead.

You couldn't walk around the house without underwear, and Joel decided this not only for your own safety, but also for his own selfish reasons. He definitely wouldn't allow you to dance and twirl around Ian, who clearly had more than friendship in mind for you.

Therefore Joel approached Kate's wardrobe and although even he felt very bad while doing it pulled out one of his wife's panties which he handed you without a word.

"Joel…," you began but he shook his head. "Just put them on."

You followed his order and then once he had also fixed his jeans he kissed your forehead.

"You good?" he asked again still a little concerned about whether he had been too hard on you but you nodded again giving him a shy smile.

"Yes. More than good."

Almost longingly he caressed your cheek and then turned to the door as if it was the final boss.

"Ready?" he asked tilting his head at you and you pursed your lips.

"No. But let's go, I guess."

Joel squeezed your hand gently pulling you with him to the door and then opened it.

[cherie-doll]

hello again!! i just wanted to askk, could i possibly request how the cod men would be with a self-conscious reader? :3 thank you for the curly-haired!reader hcs btw those were so cutesy!!

I hope u have a nice day/night <3 - 🦇

lol im back and yea ofc! (omg i finally wrote and posted something, EVERYONE CLAP)

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: Being Self-Conscious Around Them

౨ৎ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price

He notices that anytime you're out, you glance at your reflection in every mirror or window you appear in, you always regret doing it, and he notices it when you fix your hair to cover your face a little more, or bringing your hoodie over your head

He switches the shopping bags he was using both hands to carry to only one hand, with his now free hand he brings an arm over you and pulls you into him, tucking you into his side

And when you look up at him, a soft breath condensing in the cold air as it escapes your lips, he just smiles warmly and reassuringly at you

His voice, low but thickly as he says your name, wanting your utmost attention, and your eyes find his, in the quietude of the street on that evening you did not turn to glance at your reflection again

It is easy to worry endlessly, to get lost in your thoughts of how people see you, of being aware of every flaw someone could see in you, but you're once again reminded why for one person in the world who's always by your side sees past them

Ghost

Sometimes it is very subtle things you don't like about yourself, not always easy to perceive or notice, but he notices how you feel, the way you carry yourself is different, maybe your shoulders a little more hunched as you try to hide

He doesn't say anything, but he knows something like holding your hand extra tight will have your spinning mind grounded again when you're in public

A chaste but rare peck on your forehead when you get home as he detangles from your fingers and walks off, leaving you surprised but feeling warm inside for it

He knows he's not the best at providing comfort, the man himself uses a balaclava every time he goes out, the real reason for wearing it still unknown but you could say he's just gotten used to not showing his face, so he can't exactly tell you to not hide or turn away if he himself does it

Still, he wanted to give you something to lean on, anything to give you a little bit of reassurance

Soap

He doesn't see why you would be so self-conscious, he loves everything about you, why wouldn't you too?

To be honest, he's never cared that much about his appearance, and he may not exactly be the best when it comes to words, but he's trying

He wants to show you that you shouldn't shy away from him, that he will continue to show you love even if you're hesitant and overly aware of yourself, to not let it get to you or affect how you treat one another

He hates hearing you say negative things about yourself, even if you're just pointing them out, because he truly doesn't see the flaws you think are there, he looks up at you endearingly as he kneels down, his hands on your hips as he tells you about how he first fell for you

And God, you can't get him to shut up once he starts, you'll be laughing and telling him he can stop now, that you get the point he's trying to make, but he refuses to stop talking, you will listen to hear him go on for at least another 30 minutes

Gaz

Those days where your self confidence isn't the best suck :(, especially if you feel like nothing else is really going right and on top of that you just don't feel your best

Kyle would just sense that something is off when you walk through the door, he looks up from where he's sitting and just the sight of him makes you rush into his arms the moment he opens them for you

He'd hold you as he gently strokes your hair, which has a most calming effect on you, making your brain go quiet, feeling how soft his fingertips are against your scalp as they gently caress between strands of hair, it is during this that he asks if there's anything bothering you, since it's been a while since you've had a deep conversation

Feeling like nothing can hold you back, the streams of words just flows, and he's there to only nod and listen as he wishes he could clutch you tighter to his chest and heal everything inside of you, it hurts him to see you like this

But after you've poured everything out to him, he hums quietly and parts from you a little, you raise your head to meet his eyes in confusion

"You really think that?" and he gives the most loving and adoring look you've ever seen him give you it just melts you from the inside

Roach

Honestly, he'd sulk noticing how much it affects you, because he loves the confident you, how charming you are when you hold your head high not letting the thoughts swarming in the murky waters of your mind get to you

He knows he might not be able to change how you perceive yourself, but he can try his best to offer his comfort, maybe you're lying in bed, trying to make peace with the thoughts inside your head, and here comes your boyfriend/husband to climb into bed with you

Slowing making his way towards you like a cat seeking attention, resting his head on your lap as he stares up at you with dreamy eyes admiring you, and you can't ignore him, you take his face in your hands and feel the urge to aggressively love him

His soft smile reminding you of how much he loves you, it momentarily makes you forget about everything, you've been too engrossed in your thoughts you forgot about the person who could erase your doubts even if it was for a moment

The tenderness in his eyes when he murmurs "I love you"

Alejandro

Alejandro is the best at excessive flattery, he does not pass up a moment to tell you how good you look, the problem is that's what he thinks, you're more worried about what your mind has to say and what others might think too

No matter how far down you try to push your thoughts, they just keep finding a way to resurface and make you feel awful, why do you even care so much? It feels like you should, everyone else feels so natural, you want to feel normal for once

Seeing how distressing it can be for you to the point you avoid certain things, Alejandro decides to take matters into his own hands

Telling you, "Who cares what anyone else thinks? It's what you and I think, and no matter what, I still feel the same way", you already know he'd go through extreme measures just to have you feeling like the luckiest person alive, everyone should be envying you for having what you have and you should look and feel it too

Rudy

You're always asking him, "How do I look?" and he will always answer with a smile and "You're beautiful cariño" except you don't believe it, especially when you asked for his jacket, you're not even cold but suddenly you don't like how you feel in your outfit, maybe the people passing by are snickering or laughing or noticing that there is something wrong with you

You just want to turn around and go back home where you can be at peace without the fear of judgement, but Rudy stops for a moment, sensing right away how you feel and asking if you really want to, he could take you back home and instead choose to do something else for the night

You nod yes and he doesn't hesitate in rearranging his plans, he centers his life around you anyways, and he'd rather take a raincheck for any other night than make you feel uncomfortable, he just cares endlessly about you

But he wishes he could find a way to make you see you like he does

Phillip Graves

Waiiitt I've literally entertained the idea of this with him before ;)

You staring into the mirror, unsatisfied with yourself until you're approached by Phillip from behind, him wrapping an arm around your waist, resting his head onto your shoulder and nuzzling his nose into your neck, making you laugh softly

But he notices that sad look behind your eyes, your furrowed brows

No matter how much you try to bring it up to him, he will not let you get more than a sentence in before shaking his head, he doesn't want you to express anymore of those negative feelings, knowing that if you started you'd just go on until you started crying

He'd have you meet his gaze through the mirror, making you stare deep into his beautiful blue eyes asking if you truly trust him, if you nod yes, he'll tell you how he truthfully finds every part of you attractive, how alluring you've been from the first moment he laid eyes on you and how you should discard other people's thoughts

"You truly are the most stunning thing I've ever seen"

Makarov

He did find it strange how you'd gradually become quiet the longer you were around people, and then when you came back home you'd immediately go to the mirror and smile and practice different facial expressions in front of it

When he asks you what you're doing, you simply wave him away, you're only trying to see what you looked like when you were talking to people, did you really look like that? And suddenly you notice other things

Until you're convinced you shouldn't really smile so wide or talk so much, but all it takes is Makarov and his rare tenderness to make you forget about it and feeling good again

He sees no blemishes on you, and you allow yourself to tell you whatever he wants as he drags you away from the mirror and pulling you into bed with him, spooning you, whispering into your ear how you're better than all those insufferable leeches anyways

And for the next time you're getting ready, you receive a questionable amount of compliments from the help Makarov keeps around the house, did he tell them to do that?

Keegan

Keegan wouldn't have known you were being self-conscious around him if it weren't for the fact that you started changing when you were alone, you no longer let him stare at you too long, afraid he'd see something he wouldn't like

You were always trying to turn away or cover yourself if he came into a room when you weren't dressed, yelling at him to get out, except he doesn't care and ignores you anyways as he settles into bed or he holds your hands so you can't cover your face when he leans in closer to get a look at your face

"Hey, don't hide from me" as he turns you to face him, his eyes impossible to part from as he stares deeply into yours, trying to find that fear so deeply rooted in you and pull it out, no one should reach this low, and he'd be a damn fool to let it get to you

He wouldn't want to lose you to this disquietude

König

He very much understands and notices when you're feeling self-conscious, he often feels it too, awkward and unsure of himself when around others, with you though, he forgets about that feeling entirely

Obviously, he's going to do something when you're starting to feel like that, first thing is searching for a place where there is less people, the air gets heavy rather quickly when there are too many people which only makes things worse especially if there's a crowd of people

Doesn't really say much as you both settle into a bench, he's not even sure you noticed that he did it intentionally, he kind of fiddles with his hands nervously but he sits there for a moment, watching the scenery with you, until you lean into him

He's surprised but welcomes it, bringing an arm around your shoulder, "König?" and he responds with a hum, "Do you think... other people think I'm weird?"

Seriously? That's what you were worried about? As if his entire being hasn't always been clumsy and sheepish when around others, yet he still somehow managed to bag you, he snorts, if you're weird he can't imagine what word would be used to describe him

Horangi

He might not fully understand the anxiety that comes with feeling like everyone is constantly watching and judging everything you do or how you look, if anything he quite enjoys the feeling of having eyes on him, especially yours

But he notices how whenever he stares at you a little too long to the point you notice, your reaction gradually shifts from giving a timid and bashful smile to full on embarrassed, he doesn't understand, you're deserving of attention, so why don't you enjoy it?

You do end up explaining how much it bothers you, but there's a long list of things you're always taking notice of, isn't it weird how you walk? Don't you tend to look around too much at people? Is it only you who has an awkward interaction with someone every single time you go out? It's only you, right?

Again, he had never taken notice of these things, seeing as he's learned to take pride in how he carries himself and how he does things, he tells you people don't actually care, no one pays attention long enough to notice

Which is unfortunate really, why doesn't anyone else ever notice that spark in your eye, or that distinctive mark on you? Such a pity no one will ever get to look at you like how he does, maybe he's lucky because he has you all to himself

Nikto

He doesn't even notice what you're constantly worrying about, you've overlooked every scar of his, so why would you ever feel the need to worry about how others perceive you? Especially when it comes to him? It's not unusual of him anyways, you have to point things out for this guy to even take notice of

He sees you staring into the mirror and thinks nothing of it, sees you pull your shirt down every time you sit and again dismisses it, sees you looking uncomfortable when pictures are being taken, fine with him he hates them too

Until you're up at night thinking and he's in bed next to you ready to rest until your voice comes out shaky, frail as if on the verge of tears asking if he really even likes you

Needless to say, he's confused, tired and only grunts in response as he pulls you, snaking an arm around your waist and trapping you in his arms, when you try to move he just shushes you and tells you to sleep

You go to sleep not knowing he's still awake, staring gently at you as he caresses your hair