#i love this scene so much and his face that just utterly breaks down when she turns away...

[wizardpink]

@iamanoccasionaldoodler

Okay so,

There seems to be this negative reaction to the finale from a lot of Devil's Minion fans and I don't understand it for a lot of reasons, but one of them is ... I don't get why people are upset that, when read at it's worst, Armand and Daniel are seemingly not on good terms after Daniel is turned. I keep seeing this belief that Armand "abandoned" him, which I think is fully pulled from y'alls collective ass, and a disappointment that Daniel would call Armand a "fucking asshole."

But the thing about Armand/Daniel everyone seems to be forgetting is that even in the source material, they first had to tear each other down to their bare bones before they could see each other well enough to love one another -- REALLY love one another. Because Armand is a russian nesting doll of lies, masks, and emotional walls, and with Daniel, idek if I can explain it properly, but I think its some combination of Armand needing to break him a bit to get him on his level of broken freakitude, and also Armand not being able to relate to the 20th Century Human period and needing to drill down into Daniel's core, straight down into the monkey brain that every homo sapien has shared for eons, before he can find something he understands.

If we were to ever get a proper Devil's Minion storyline on this show (and we will), they've laid the perfect groundwork by having Daniel EVISCERATE Armand right to his face, slicing his Gorgon's knot of lies and schemes in half and leaving it lay on that table. And Armand's face! HIS FACE! He can't believe it! Seventy-seven years with Louis who never could unravel all the strings, or simply didn't care to even bother. And THIS guy who seemingly hates him found Armand fascinating enough to try. AND succeed!

And why wouldn't he? Daniel may not have remembered until they were nearing the end of the interview, but Armand SHOWED Daniel what was beneath the mask years ago, the very first time they met. The jealous, insecure, desperate creature that was hiding under there, that IS Armand to Daniel.

I'm getting off track here, but what I'm trying to say is that as much as Armand turning Daniel in the books is SUCH a flawless scene, ultimately, if you believe in the infinite and eternal nature of their love story, it doesn't matter whether Armand turned Daniel before they fell for each other, afterward, during a break-up or at the climax of their most romantic streak. Like Lestat said, "We'll be together ten thousand nights, a hundred thousand. What we're doing is hard."

So maybe Armand turned Daniel shortly after Daniel stripped him bare in front of Louis, and Louis was so disgusted by what he saw, he threw him into a stone wall. Daniel could have run, too. For some reason, he didnt. Armand could have killed him in an instant, sitting at that table or after Louis left. He didn't. Armand made a conscious decision to tie himself to this man who just exposed him for ETERNITY. Because as horrific an experience as it was, as devastating and life-altering, he was seen.

"It is difficult to explain how his words disarmed me, how efficiently succinct and impenetrable his argument was. All my conceptions, even my guilt and my wish to die, seemed utterly unimportant, and I completely forgot myself and the barbaric scene that surrounded me. For the first time in my life, I was seen."

Louis said those words about Lestat as he described being made a vampire, when he kissed Lestat on the altar.

That feeling, of someone cutting to the core of you and telling you exactly what you are as no one else has ever been able to understand, made Louis accept the Dark Gift from Lestat.

And it made Armand give that Gift to Daniel.

[pastryfication]

love at first crash | ollie bearman

part of the love at first . . . series

pairing: oliver bearman x reader note: idk if they trust ollie with a ferrari but just run with it.

the impact is sudden, a violent jolt that sends your car careening off course, your heart leaping into your throat as you struggle to regain control. the world spins around you, a blur of colors and sounds, until your car finally screeches to a stop, the silence that follows almost deafening.

for a moment, you just sit there, gripping the steering wheel with trembling hands, your breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. you force yourself to unbuckle the seatbelt, pushing open the door with shaky fingers, and step out onto the pavement. your legs feel weak beneath you, barely able to hold you up as you survey the damage.

your car is a mess, the front end crumpled beyond recognition, but it’s not the wreckage that sends your heart into a fresh wave of panic—it’s the sight of the other car. a sleek, red, and undoubtedly expensive ferrari. your stomach twists into knots as you realize just what you’ve done, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes trace the scratches marring the once pristine paint.

“oh no, oh no, oh no,” you mutter under your breath, your hands flying to your face as the reality of the situation sinks in. “i hit a ferrari. i actually hit a ferrari.”

before you can spiral any further, the door of the other car swings open, and out steps the driver—a young man, tall and lean, with dark, tousled hair that falls into his eyes. he quickly scans the scene, his eyes finally landing on you. for a brief moment, you’re caught in his stare, the world narrowing to just the two of you, and despite everything, you can’t help but feel a strange, magnetic pull towards him.

but then reality crashes back down, and all you can think about is the fact that you’ve just crashed into his ferrari, and your car is totaled, and there’s no way you can afford to fix this.

“are- are you okay?” he asks, his voice fighting hard to stay steady despite the obvious concern in his eyes. he moves toward you, but you’re too wrapped up in your own panic to register anything beyond the guilt gnawing at your insides.

“your car,” you stammer, your voice high and shaky as you look back at the ferrari. “i’m so, so sorry. i didn’t mean to- i don’t know how this happened. i just-”

“hey, it’s okay,” he interrupts gently, his voice already seeming to be calming down, the soft tone feeling almost reassuring as he steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “i mean, it’s just a car. i’m alright. what matters is that you’re okay. are you hurt?”

his words take a moment to sink in, but when they do, you can’t help but stare at him, utterly dumbfounded. “just a car?” you repeat, incredulous. “but it’s a ferrari! it’s not just a car- and- and my car-” you glance back at the wreckage, the panic swelling up again. “i completely smashed my car. i’m so sorry. i don’t know how i’m going to-”

“hey, breathe,” he says, and this time, he gently places a hand on your arm, the touch warm and grounding. you don’t know how he manages to stay so calm. a man around 20 driving a ferrari and being completely calm about ruining it. not something you’d ever think possible. “we’ll figure this out. cars can be fixed or replaced—and i have an insurance.”

you nod, trying to take in a deep breath like he says, but to your horror, it catches in your chest, and before you know it, tears are welling up in your eyes. it’s all too much—the crash, the shock, the overwhelming guilt of damaging something so expensive. you’re on the verge of breaking down right there on the side of the road.

“hey, it’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice soothing as he steps even closer, forcing himself to stay calm as his hand comes to still, resting gently on your arm. “you’re in shock. i think that’s normal. just- just take a deep breath.”

his presence is oddly calming, despite the slight waver in his voice, and you focus on the way he speaks, trying to match your breathing to his. after a few moments, the trembling starts to ease, and you manage to blink away the tears, finally looking up at him through blurry eyes.

“i’m so sorry,” you whisper, your voice still shaky but a little steadier now. “i can’t believe i hit your car.”

he smiles, soft and reassuring, and it’s like the weight on your chest lifts just a little. “it’s really okay,” he says, his eyes shining with kindness, understanding, and maybe even something deeper, something that makes your heart skip a beat despite the situation. “i promise, i’m not worried about the car. i’ll get it fixed. i’m just glad we’re both okay.”

you look at him, really look at him, and there’s something almost surreal about this moment—standing here, on the side of the road, next to a wrecked ferrari, being comforted by a stranger who should be furious, but isn’t. instead, there’s a connection, something electric in the air between you.

“i’m ollie,” he says, offering his name like it’s the most natural thing in the world, as if you’re not standing in the aftermath of a car crash.

you give him your name, your voice still shaky but stronger now, and he repeats it softly. “nice to meet you,” he says, and the words feel almost absurd given the circumstances, but also strangely fitting.

you exchange insurance details, though your hands are still trembling slightly as you write. the whole time, ollie stays close, his presence comforting in a way that feels almost too natural, too easy, as if you’ve known each other far longer than these few minutes. he talks to you, his voice a calming undercurrent to the chaos around you, distracting you from the panic still simmering beneath the surface.

when the tow trucks finally arrive, you both linger, neither of you in a rush to leave. there’s an unspoken connection, something that feels too important to let go of just yet. ollie seems to sense it too, hesitating before he speaks again.

“you know, we could always grab a coffee sometime,” he suggests, almost as if he’s testing the waters. “maybe talk about something other than cars?”

“i’d like that,” you say, your heart lighter now, the earlier panic fading into something else entirely.

he smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that makes you believe in things like fate, like maybe some things are just meant to be. “great,” he says, pulling out his phone to exchange numbers. “i’ll call you.”

you nod, watching him closely as he taps away at you phone. his hair falls softly in front his eyes and a goofy grin is spread across his face.

you just crashed your cars, experiencing something possibly traumatising together, but he’s smiling goofily, and you can’t help but smile too. because who would have thought that your day would go like this?

guess you could call it love at first crash.

[kelstey]

mattheo riddle ☆ confess

mattheo riddle x reader

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

he hadnt taken his eyes off of you once.

mattheo's gaze lingered on you the whole time you were on the dance floor, not going unnoticed by you. you continued to grind against some random gryffindor, acting oblivious to mattheo's death stare.

less aimed at you, more at the boy who clearly got too excited. mattheo tried to control the urge to absolutely tear him apart then and there but he couldn't. he didn't fancy getting into trouble.

it was even worse that you were wearing a slightly provocative dress - mattheo didn't mind, he could fight. but he did mjnd the fact that someone else's hands were all over you, not his.

you felt grossed out as the gryffindor's hands trailed down your body, wishing they were mattheos as his touch was the only thing you craved.

mattheo finally tore his eyes away from the scene, going over to the drinks table to join his other slytherin friends.

"when are you going to tell her?" enzo asked as he noticed mattheo's arrival.

"what?" mattheo looked at enzo confused.

"don't act stupid, you're in love with the damn girl. you do realise she's one of the most beautiful

- if not most beautiful girl in hogwarts, and other guys are most definitely plotting," enzo sipped the torturous alcohol mixed punch.

"what if she doesn't feel the same way?" mattheo said before taking a shot of vodka, the burn of the liquor tore down his throat.

"don't be silly. you both look at each other like you're the only other people in the world, everyone can see it. but id hurry cause looks like that boy she's dancing with has some other plans," enzo motioned his head to where you were dancing up against a boy.

mattheo's jaw clenched as the other boys hands made their way around your body, a desperate look in his eyes along with a clear bulge as your ass grinded on him.

without thinking, mattheo walked over to you, ripping you away from the boy. "mattheo what the fuck?!" you slurred.

"what the fuck are you doing?" he asked as he held your arm.

"having fun, what else does it look like?" you replied.

"really? cause i can see the disgust in your face as you dance on this twat," mattheo said angrily.

"what's your deal? it's not like we're dating," you said. what you didn't realise is that those words felt like multiple stabs going through his heart.

he knew you weren't dating, of course. the two of you were just best friends who clearly had feelings for each other but were far too stubborn to ever admit it.

"fine, be like that then," mattheo said and let go of you before storming off.

a week had passed since that party, an awkward tension laid amongst your friend group every time the two of you were there that didn't go unnoticed by the others.

neither of you had spoken a word to each other, once again your stubbornness and pride were both far too high to break the no contact.

"for fucks sake! cant the two of you just make up?" draco threw his hands up in the air. the boys were all having a discussion in the slytherin common room about the whole situation between you and mattheo.

"no way, if she wants to speak to me, she can speak to me. i am not talking to her," mattheo rolled his eyes.

"the two of you are literally two little kids, grow up and get over it," blaise added in.

"i agree, mattheo you have no problem getting with other girls so why is it so hard for you to do that with her?" draco said.

mattheo pondered for a bit. why was it so hard? maybe due to the fact that he was purely and utterly in love with you compared to the other girls in hogwarts who were really only used for his pleasure.

"see! you not speaking says so much, get a grip and tell her," blaise said.

"suck my dick," mattheo said before storming off to go to the black lake. he liked the peace; and even better that it was raining so no other students were likely to be there.

apart from you of course. you were sat feeding a squirrel with some trail mix you had in your bag. you were slumped at the bottom of a tree, reading peacefully before spotting a red squirrel.

it made its way over to you and you remembered the mixed nuts you had. you were in awe of the small creature, how it had no fear being cradled in your hand as you fed it.

a twig snapped which scared the squirrel and it ran off. "are you fucking joking me?" you stood up and turned to the source of the noise.

and of course mattheo was stood there. "what are you doing here?" he asked.

"i wanted some peace and quiet," you mumbled before picking up your book and tote bag, ready to leave.

"what's your problem?" mattheo stepped in your way before you could walk past him.

"you!" you shoved his chest and he stumbled back.

"me? right, and what have i done?" he raised his voice.

you grew frustrated, you didn't actually have much of a problem with mattheo. and it didn't help that he looked amazing as the rain soaked his hair and part of his shirt, just enough for you to see his toned abs.

"you know what you've done!" you raised your voice back, you didn't give a reasoning due to the fact you didn't have one, of course you could not lose this argument.

"yeah? why don't you tell me then?" mattheo walked up to you, his large frame towering over you.

"just get out of my head! fuck! every single day you're just there, and i can't help but think of you all the time. do you know how annoying it is seeing you have a new girl sit on your lap almost every time we eat at the great hall? how you want every girl in hogwarts but me? cant you see i fucking love you mattheo?" you shouted, tears welling in your eyes from the overly raw emotions and the fact you just poured your heart out to him.

"so you think ignoring me is going to solve the problem?" mattheo asked.

"yes - no - i don't know?! i want to stop loving you but i can't! i've loved you since second year and i always will!" you confessed.

"what the fuck? i've loved you since second year!" mattheo confessed back.

"then why the fuck aren't you doing anything about it?" you questioned. your question was quickly answered when mattheo grabbed your face and pulled you in. his lips smashed onto yours and things quickly escalated into a very intense make out session.

the anger and annoyance you had from the past week quickly disappeared, you couldn't help but now feel completed and happy. your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him even closer. mattheo's hands snaked around your waist, somehow getting you even closer.

the two of you broke the kiss, gasping for air.

"why didn't you do that sooner?" you asked.

"i'm doing it now, and i think that's all that matters."

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

[anantaru]

cw. ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ quick diluc freestyle that suddenly came to my mind, i was watching barbie in the twelve dancing princesses as i wrote this, <3 fem! reader

diluc had a love for foreplay that stems from equal amounts of both concern and sweet desire— of course, he loves tasting you, how each flick of his tongue was resounding louder and louder in his ears as you begin to notice the small stretch of his fingers seeking entrance as well.

to him, it was honestly normal to take ones time when making love, and it excites and makes you a little embarrassed whenever he mentions it so bluntly— that there was nothing in this world that could even scratch on how much he loved spending hours on what made you feel good, on what would make your toes curl and fervently squish his head in between your thighs.

you might be wondering what the concern was diluc would cleave to, for that, it was simply that he wanted to make sure you're properly prepared before he slides his cock into you. it's above average, and diluc was aware of that— in fact, he chuckles whenever you'd wiggle your hips into his bulge and called him too big for you.

he also found pleasure in watching you melt under his tender, yet so deliriously intense ministrations as he penetrates you— wanting your thighs to shake around his hips so he could hold on to them, caress them, his tousled bangs sticking on his forehead whenever he kisses from your knee to your upper thigh, never breaking eye contact.

diluc takes you in his arms afterwards, runs his slender fingers down to pull you into his hips before moving forward— ugh, your precious face makes him smile again, you're utterly intoxicating whenever you bite down on your cheeks all nervous but needy, looking at him so sweetly and barely awaiting him to pleasure you.

nevertheless, then comes later and your eyes roll into the back of your skull as diluc grinds the hefty weight of his erection against your plump folds— immediately you get that feeling again, an inkling, one that tells you that he doing this on purpose.

"oh, darling," how he taunts you, "you feel good already?" how he leaves you on edge and completely overwhelmes you before limiting the tempo on his hips again.

but the sounds you'd make were just so beautiful, so cute, so sweet and to die for.

you're a lot more reactive when he gifts you all the attention in this world— making the entire scene a lot more passionate when he gives your thighs little squeezes each time he thrusts into you.

it's all about taking time to diluc ragnvindr, time and a sharp pair of eyes, bringing forth the most out of you was all he had in mind— it practically set his entire body on fire watching you enjoy yourself, it sends the veins in his blood surging all the way to his cock.

until he finds you've had enough of this, then master diluc will spear you open in no time, fill you up in a way that was beyond someone's imagination with fast, deep thrusts of his raw, throbbing cock seeking the precious warmth of your walls.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[mythicmanuscripts]

Had another Aegon thought that definitely falls under himbo!Aegon/sub!Aegon in which his wife runs everything and being sexy while doing it. Basically they'd been promised to betrothed when they were younger but reader being from a different house thought it best to try and learn High Valyrian to be better suited. But upon finding out Aegon doesn't speak it she keeps it hidden but uses it to defend Aegon whenever Aemond tries to offend him. Just imagine she's sat besides Aegon when Aemond has his whole speech in High Valyrian knowing Aegon can't understand or respond, to suddenly have the biting words of his queen come to his defense having never heard her speak it before.

Man would be looking at her believing she was secretly some goddess or smth!

God I love himbo!aegon so much!! I’m gonna make it a tag just so we can group it all together.

I started out fully intended to keep this SFW and well, I had to put a cut in by the end so we all know how that turned out….

So firstly, I’ve never thought of this before but now that I have I can’t stop: I think Aegon would absolutely have a competency kink? Any time he sees you just completely in your element and doing anything that he doesn’t know how to… he just goes full empty no thoughts only pretty wife.

It’s an interesting development because he’d hate it if it were anyone else. Normally people being so good at things he can’t even grasp leaves him feeling insecure, stupid and inadequate to be king. But with you it’s completely different? With you he just stares in awe and then promptly gets very very turned on cause pretty wife!!! Pretty wife is so smart and talented and he is merely her little gremlin that follows her around asking for attention. He loves it so so much.

(Picturing a scene where Allicent is telling him off and trying to say he lets his wife run everything and he’s no real king but instead of him getting insecure and ashamed and doing whatever Allicent says, he instead just goes “yeah! Yeah she does! It’s great!”)

He loses his little mind every time he sees just how smart and good at politics you are? He hears you saying the perfect things and controlling the situation perfectly and then the next time you’re alone you even tell him what to do next time and just… no more thoughts. None whatsoever his wife is too smart and pretty for him to have thoughts. She is a beautiful powerful queen and he is merely a horny little jester.

You don’t tell him about trying to learn Valyrian mostly because you know it’s a bit of a sore spot for him? He genuinely has tried to hard to learn it, but it’s like his brain just wasn’t made for it. So you keep your lessons to yourself, and decide to worry about how to tell him at a later date when you’re fluent.

The problem, however is that even after you become fluent you still don’t know how to tell aegon without upsetting him. Sure he’s happy to have you make pretty much all decisions, but language skills or lack there of will always be a sore spot for him.

So for the next few weeks you spend most of your time trying to come up the best way to tell him.

When you walk into that small council meeting later that week,’you had absolutely no intention to reveal it there but then Aemond decided to be Aemond. You can understand every insult he hurls at his brother and you know aegon doesn’t understand.

What really makes your resolve break was when you looked over at Aegon and he was just sitting at the head of the table staring down. You can tell just from his body language that he’s trying not to cry and you know it’s not because of the insults themselves but because he actually can’t understand them and he feels so stupid.

You can’t take seeing that and so you fire back at Aemond, speaking to him in Valyrian. The look on his face when he realised that you understood every word he just said was incredible.

Aegon, meanwhile, is utterly astonished and just staring at you with shock and happiness plastered on his face.

He obviously doesn’t understand what either of you are saying, but Aegon knows you so well and he can tell by the tone of your that you’re defending him.

The moment the council meeting is over Aegon runs to put out a pillow down on the floor and kneel there, asking you about how long you’ve been studying been studying it and why. When you tell him you learnt it because knew he struggles with it and you wanted him to have someone he can ask to translate and speak for him without worrying of being misrepresented or misled.

Needless to say, Aegon burst into tears after that because it is quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for him. You end up having to pull him up and into your lap because he was literally just sobbing while kneeling on the floor and you won’t allow that for your good boy.

You end up giving handjob while he’s on your laps and you make sure to tell him he’s doing so well and you love him very much.

All of this is to say when you fired back at Aemond in Valyria Aegon has never been more turned on in his life and he is once again reminded how utterly incredible his wife is.

Also, now you can help him with it!! Aegon stopped his Valyrian lessons a long time ago because he just couldn’t get it quite right and all the teachers were just so patronising and made him feel horrible, but now you can teach him!! He doesn’t feel stupid at all when you tell him he’s gotten something wrong and correct him and he also feels so so good when he gets something right.

And honestly, even if he does get much better at Valyrian he’d still rather have you translate for him because then he gets to hear you speak Valyrian.

[alexisomnias]

— TELL YOU I LOVE YOU. . .

⤷ he'd be a pine tree (— pining trope)

featuring the OVERBLOT BOYS

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS         -  knees brushing against each other, leading to deep breaths and giddy feels.

riddle is hopelessly in love with you, to the point its distracting. seriously? how could he let his feelings grow this large to the point he can't even simply go near you without his mind running off to a romantic version of your real relationship. oh, how riddle hopes that daydream would one day become real, but for now. he needs to get back on trac-

"riddle? are you okay?" your voice raises, cutting through and silencing his voice playing loops in his head. he blushes, his hair color blending to his face as his breath catches. stomach churning nervously as he feels your skin brush against his, a blockage in his throat as his head pounds nervously. how much he really wants to hold your hand now, or wrap his arms around you... (when was he so touch starved...?)

"y-yes.. im perfectly fine. thanks for your concern." he nods, gazing away, afraid that even a few more seconds of meeting your eyes would cause the butterflies in his stomach to explode from inside out. why couldn't he just be straight up about his feelings...

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR        -  taking care of them in the shadows

leona was a blunt man. always straight to the point, and uncaring of others first opinions on him. but with you? oh it seems like nothing that ever comes out of his mouth is honest! its not like he lies to you, its just that he never finishes his full thought. "stop dragging me into trouble" i don't want to see you hurt, "why are you touching me?" you could've asked...

so, what better way of getting out his feelings to anybody but the true object of affection? well simply let himself lie in your shadow. for all those in front of you too gaze and know for, but for you? you won't see the slight affection and care that seeps into his gaze, nor will you know that behind the scenes he is ensuring your life upon arriving to Twisted Wonderland will be nothing but easy and like royalty. for he does not want to ever see you struggle.

so he'll be in your shadow. for him to follow you and love you, for everyone else to see that love except you... until he decides to appear before you once the sun comes out and he's ready to open himself to that level of vulnerability, to step out of the dark and show his face.

AZUL ASHENGROTTO        -  digging in their interests so that you have common topics to talk about

it was quite well known that azul has many connections, many ways to get information and to utilize it. his office is like an archive for all secrets and importance. but for that section of his brain, it holds everything about you. from silly daydreams, to just everything you like and what could make you happy. he truly had an entire library of thoughts and knowledge dedicated to you only with a key to those who break into his heart whether he'd like it or not. floyd and jade, being two, never left him alone about it.

it was no secret to his two friends that azul was a simp, he'd die before admitting it, but its true! he was utterly floored everytime you smiled at him, everytime you greeted him first. he was down-bad to the point he'd of made it to the bottom of the Mariana trench. Azul only wanted to make you happy, and get to know you better. even if he had no chance to call you a lover, this was far more than enough. so he got into all your interests so he had a common interest with you, no matter how wild, he'd end up loving it because you love it. and he loves you.

JAMIL VIPER        -  Instant butterflies when you call out their name

"jamil!" you called excitedly, waving him over with a beautiful, utterly handsome smile on your face.

jamil was used to his name being called. from Kalim to the servants in the house. it is common knowledge to know a servant would get his name called, for an order of sorts. to be told. but with you? oh it was so so different... normally everytime his name was called he'd be filled with dread. what would he have to do next? but with you? it is filled with such euphoria. your calling him, you want to talk to him, you want to see him. its such a strange thing to jamil on how his name being called could be so different. from just a simple tone, simple vocal difference. how is it so different everytime you call his name?

jamil would be ready to walk no mattered distance if he could meet you again. ugh.... how did he end up this deep in love? he's merely in high school...

VIL SCHOENHEIT        - having your every little thing memorized 

vil schoenheit was an actor. master of memorizing lines, and routines of all sorts. and yet, he is also a master of memorizing you. from your lovely smile, to your hair, to your hypnotic eyes. vil has it all remembered as if he's going to chisel an exact replica of you as a statue. this memory of his helps him realize every little emotion you have. your lips are a little bit more curved, are you okay dear? your hair is not in its usual style? what brought up this change? oh you must've gotten new clothes, he's never seen this outfit before.

all of which are in effort of loving you. he truly never thought he'd find the day where of he'd care so much for someone that every bit of them is put into memory. every touch, feeling of skin put into his mind like a note sheet. notes upon notes about every little thing he notices about you... and if you catch him staring..?

"vil? do i have something on my face? you've been staring for a while..."

"oh no, there's nothing there. just noticing the beauty that's made its mark."

IDIA SHROUD       - dropping everything at their messages

idia wasn't the type for social interaction, in fact any sorts of it he would immediately ditch on. for even if he gets a messaged it would be left on read for weeks, but with you? oh its like theres a personal alarm set for himself! every message, or call you make is received right away. like an update for a game or show, he sees it right away and it immediately leaves him feeling giddy...

for an introvert, anti-socialist, like him. it was unfamiliar to get such a wonderful sensation upon being talked to... being noticed... having someone contact him first, willingly? oh how it felt like the world flipped itself for him, and complied to his wills and wants. and those wants? oh its to call you his... but i guess he got too far caught into the selfshipping delusions for he doubts you'll ever love him above online friend (he's to nervous to meet you face to face. you're so ethereal).

when the notification goes off, the typing bubble immediately comes up. hes not missing your message for the world.

MALLEUS DRACONIA        - rambling about something you love and all they do is stare at them lovingly

malleus is completely, and totally infatuated with you. every word you speak, every breath you take it has him at the edge of his seat. ready to love and adore whatever you do next. he thinks everything you do is lovely, and worthy of adoration. he especially loves when you tell him about whatever interests you may have. Malleus absolutely adores listening to you.

please, tell him about anything and he'll listen so devotedly. how he loves knowing your comfortable enough around him to tell him and talk about your interests, whether from Twisted Wonderland, or from your world, "earth". anything and everything you tell him he is so ready to listen and learn. its coming from you, its something you consider important. so its only natural he listens.

and when you do rant, he stares and listens. looking at you like your the only thing in his universe, a beautiful sunset of which he's never laid his eyes upon before. a gift given by the world for him to love and cherish. and he'll learn everything about this treasure he has the pleasure of knowing. so... child of man, tell him more.

[feroluce]

Not to make everything about my ship, but if I don't do it no one will, so today we are making meta analysis of Boothill's faceoff match about henghill, because the differences between Boothill's stand off with Luka and his one with Dan Heng- and what you can infer about Boothill himself and what catches his eye in a person- makes me chew concrete.

JUST. I loved the scene between Luka and Boothill so much. I love how wildly unrestrained Boothill is. He really just shoved the barrel of his gun in his opponent's face and put the fear of death into him as a way to test Luka's resolve. I utterly adore him. I hope he does it again. Anyway.

When confronted with all this, Luka freezes. His stress-induced hallucinations were already bad, but you can see how they really ramp up in this match, because before, they were always something familiar. Previous enemies became Silvermanes, or Belobogian automatons, or even Cocolia. Luka is far from home for the first time in his life, and he's so terribly homesick his brain is making everything familiar, because that is what he's desperately craving right now.

But Boothill.

Boothill is something so new, and unique, and horrific and terrifying, that he becomes something entirely unknown to Luka. His hallucination manifests as Something Unto Death, as the very fear of death itself.

And this stand off (which I love so much that this is how this match progressed, because like that's literally just Boothill's in-game skill; he locks the enemy into a one-on-one duel, so this was extremely in character for him) lasts long enough that Owlbert starts having to fill in the silence over the loudspeaker,

and even Boothill himself starts trying to push Luka into making a decision one way or the other.

Given that Boothill is a hunter by trade and is proven to have all the patience to track his prey and then some, this was more for Luka's sake than any impatience on his part, to try to shove him out of his freeze reaction.

And Boothill isn't really hard to read throughout this whole exchange, he all but says outright what he's looking for.

Boothill wants to see him surpass this test and come at him! You can see it in his face when Luka finally takes a step! And in how he congratulates him!

And then he fucking shot him snxhsjksjsn

Boothill admires courage, and bravery, and decisiveness. He admires a person's ability to put their life on the line and still fight in the face of danger and overwhelming odds. Those are the things that catch his eye.

And Luka does kind of get there eventually, but it is a stalling, halting motion that gets him there, and he fell to pieces immediately afterwards. This is his first time with this, and he's still figuring it out.

Dan Heng, on the other hand.

Boothill's stand off with Dan Heng from 2.2 is so fucking far in the total opposite direction that it is HILARIOUS.

Boothill literally breaks into the Astral Express, ambushes Dan Heng, and Dan Heng still has the balls to not only demand info out of Boothill- like doesn't even ask nicely, demands it- he also just straight up calls Boothill a liar. Right to his face! And he still isn't nice about it!!

By the way, that entire conversation? This is how it takes place.

Boothill, phrasing!!

Boothill has him at gunpoint! Dan Heng does not have his weapon with him! He does not flinch, and even stands there with his arms crossed seeming simultaneously pissed and utterly unimpressed. He looks like he should be irritably tapping his foot and looking down his nose at him. Dan Heng could not give less of a shit.

For that matter, Dan Heng even turns his back and walks away from Boothill- right in the middle of him talking, too! Not a single attempt to be considerate of the man who could decide any moment he feels like decorating the wall with Dan Heng's brains.

Dan Heng is brave and courageous and completely unflappable in the face of danger. He is ruthless and decisive in how he conducts himself, even when staring down the barrel of a gun. And through his efforts in Penacony, he shows the ability to put his life on the line and fight through overwhelming odds to save his once-in-a-lifetime companions.

No wonder Dan Heng caught Boothill's eye the way he did, no wonder the two of them were working together and bantering not even minutes after Boothill pulled a gun on him haha

[meo-eiru]

Breaking my lurker status (forgive my english I don't speak the devils tongue/j)

1.-I LOVE YOUR BLOG SO SO SO MUCH PLSSS-- you write so good and you draw even better it's so fun to see a notification pop up bc it also means I can see the silly people that also like your characters just as much as I do! I find it so cute to see all the different ways people live this characters I love it💥💥

2.- I beg of thee, to spare a crumb if One Eyed monster once again (when you have time bc remember to rest, eat and drink aguita💥), I've been OBSESSED with that one since I saw your first post about him, I just find him so endearing!

Like imagine scene! He is just so head over heels over by us but be doesn't have the courage to come talk to us, but oh! What's this? We are going out of our way to talk to him? HE MUST BE DREAMING! And we are just gushing over how cute he looks with his hair covering his face bc it makes him look so tiny and sweet that we can't help but reach to touch his face and in his daze we move just a little bit of his hair and he only notices that we have seen his full face when he can see more clearer (bc having so much hair in front of your only eye must never tough) and he just PANICS-- like just completely and utterly scared that he takes off running already crying and thinking that we will never wanna see him again and that we are disgusted by him, he only stops in an alley far away to catch his breath.

But in his break down he fails to notice how we ran after him, yelling for him to stop, following him to the alley and seeing in a front row seat how he is just completely broken saying between sobs how we'll hate him now.

But we never had hated him to begin with, we found him cute at the start so we got close to him, and when we saw that big doe-eye it was like staring at the most beautiful star in the sky, we would never hate him after all.

He doesn't hear our steps towards him, he only reacts when he feels our hand lightly touch the top of his hair, his head snapping up to see who it was, his heart almost jumping out of his chest when he sees it's us, both with joy and sorrow, I mean, we are probably there to mock him right? To tell him how ugly his one eye is and to tell him we never wanna see him again, after all,

¿If not for that why else would the one person he loves more than everything be there before him after seeing his one eye?

When he only manages to babble a weak - why? Here? You...Huh...? -

But we don't say anything, we just kneel down and hug him, holding him close, letting him cry in our shoulder, with one of our hand rubbing comforting circles on his back and the other petting his hair, waiting for his cries to stop.

When they do all we say is a simple couple of words, almost got loud enough but just for him to hear, leaving his once broken heart renewed and beating so fast he feels he might have a heart attack.

- You are even more beautiful than I could ever imagine... -

Something so little to anyone else, but something so big for him that he doesn't think his fragile heart could take anything else.

But he doesn't need anything else, he only needs this,

He only needs you

(I propose the name Jade for him, ¿why?, bc when I first saw him I related him with one of my favorite gemstones💥)

-Yummy-

Oh my god this healed my soul, improved my grades, my eyes and skin are shining, world peace is happening, global warming ended and there’s no longer world hunger.

It just means so much to him, he’s so different from everyone else, he’s a monster. There’s no way you could love a creature like him who can’t even talk to you directly without exploding from nerves. He’s not handsome, he’s not charismatic, he’s not funny, he’s just a stalker who’s too pathetic to breath the same air as you.

Only thing bringing a bit of solace to him is the fantasies he has about you. Holding hands, going on dates, watching movies and cuddling, you saying you love him even if he’s a monster… Yes fantasies, such a thing can only happen in his fantasies.

So what’s happening right now? Is he dreaming? You’re so warm he can’t think straight. You think he’s beautiful? This can’t be real surely he misheard you. He can’t talk from the tears rolling down his eye. Please forgive him for getting your shoulder wet. He’s so just so, so happy right now. All he can do is hug you back and sob as he prays this is not just a dream.

[library-ghoulette]

Now There Is Nothing Between Us

Pairing: Copia (Papa Emeritus IV) x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tags: second person POV, established relationship, VHS and chill, their first time, my kink is being loved and wanted, crying, reference to past heartbreak, hurt/comfort, discussion of sexual fantasies, pillow princess!Reader, oral sex (f receiving), handjob, p in v sex, coming inside (please fuck responsibly), Copia being tender, Copia fucking the self-doubt right out of you

Words: 2435

Summary: Anxieties about your first time with Copia rear their head at the worst possible moment, but luckily he knows just how to ease your fears.

A/N: I wrote this because I was stressing out about writing sex scenes for the first time in a long time, and I thought it might help to have my favorite Papa sweetly talk me through it. This was supposed to just be for me, but I'm sharing it for anyone else who needs a therapy session with their smut.

ao3 link

divider by @gothdaddyissues

“Amore mio, what’s wrong?”

The question takes you by surprise. You were mid-kiss when Copia pulled back, his mismatched eyes searching yours with concern.

“N-nothing’s wrong,” you stammer, reaching for him again, eager to pull him back in, keep his mouth occupied, so he can ask no more questions.

But he stubbornly avoids your advances, catching your hands in his and holding them between the two of you, restrained. He settles onto the pillow beside you, face-to-face.

“You think I know you so little that you can lie to me?” he asks. “That I can’t feel it when you’re all stiff?”

He pulls his shoulders up and grimaces in a comically horrified expression that makes you smile in spite of yourself, but still you say nothing, merely look down at where he holds your hands clasped in his much larger, much stronger, ones. He runs a reassuring thumb over your knuckles.

It was supposed to be a special night. At long last, it was supposed to be the night.

The two of you had gone from stealing glances at one another in the halls of the Abbey, to sharing friendly movie nights where you sat on opposite sides of the couch, both too timid to make a move, to significantly friendlier movie nights that devolved into heated kisses long before the end credits even rolled.

Each night, there would come a moment where the kiss would break, when a heavy pause descended and there came an unspoken question that you knew you had to answer.

Every night before, the answer has been no. You would remark on the lateness of the hour and go back to your own room. And there you lay awake, burning with thoughts of all of the things you could have done if only you had stayed. All the places where Copia could kiss you, could touch you, as you touched yourself.

But not tonight. This time, when that silent question made itself known, the answer had been yes. You had stayed, followed Copia to his bed, let him lay you down with a gentleness that spoke of brutal desire barely contained. Pressed yourself against him, returned his kisses, helped him shrug out of his sweatshirt and pulled his T-shirt over his head with obvious eagerness. You had thought that you were doing well, doing it right.

Apparently, you had been wrong.

Great. Now you’re on the verge of tears. Very sexy. Definitely not a surefire way to spoil the mood.

Copia is still looking at you, his unpainted face soft, searching, utterly open. You don’t deserve his attentiveness, his care. It makes you want to hide.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” He kisses your knuckles. “You are maybe having second thoughts?”

“No! No, I– I really want to do this.”

“But something is bothering you. And we’re not doing anything until you tell me what that is. Until we fix it.”

Why does he have to be like this? Why can’t he just let it go? 

“Tesoro, you can tell me anything. You know this.”

Copia has never given you a reason to distrust him, has never judged you or made you feel silly for any of your anxieties. Still, you struggle to put this into words. 

“I don’t know. I’m just a little nervous, I guess?”

I sound so dumb.

“It’s okay to be nervous! Is this…”--he casts about for a tactful phrasing–”your first time?”

Satanas, it just gets worse and worse.

“No, it’s not my first time. But it’s been… awhile.”

“What’s the saying? Something about riding a bicycle?”

But in truth, it’s more than just the fact that it’s been awhile. Things did not end well with the last person you chose to share yourself with. 

You’ve worked so hard to heal from that relationship, not reinventing yourself so much as peeling back layers of hurt, finding yourself again bit by bit. You’re better now. But even after all of that healing, after finding your place here with the Ministry, after the wonderful surprise of falling for Copia, the scars of the past have a way of lingering.

Maybe the deepest of those scars is the lingering suspicion that no matter what you do, no one will ever truly want you or love you again. And worse, that you can’t trust anyone who claims that they do.

“It’s just.. I’ve imagined this so many times, and I guess I’ve gotten a bit too in my head about it. Wanting it to be perfect. And I’m afraid of doing something wrong. Of not”--and here’s the heart of it, the scary, vulnerable thing that you don’t want to admit–“of not being good enough for you.”

And now you are crying, when all you wanted to do was fuck your boyfriend like a normal person.

“Oh, topina.” Copia pulls you close, rolling onto his back to nestle you snug against his chest. “How could you ever think that you’re not good enough?”

“But you could have anyone you want,” you sob.

“You flatter me,” Copia chuckles. “But say that is true. I can have anyone I want. And where am I right now?”

“Here?”

“Yes, here. And who am I with?”

You sniffle. “Me?”

“Yes, you. And there is no one else I would rather be with. You are so precious to me. I feel lucky to have you in my bed.”

Your heart flutters at his tender words.

“And what I want, more than anything, is to make you feel good. To give you the pleasure that you deserve.”

Something considerably lower flutters at that.

“Copia…” 

You wriggle out of his grasp and pull yourself up onto one elbow, one hand resting lightly on his chest as you bend to kiss him again. 

When you break away, he thumbs a stray tear from your cheek and insists, “But I only want to do that if you’re comfortable. So you have to tell me if something makes you uncomfortable, yes?”

You nod down at him. “Yes, Papa.”

He groans low in his throat at your cheeky use of his title, the sound stoking something low in your belly.

“You said that you have been thinking about this night for a long time, tesoro?” 

His hand, resting against your hip, grips you tighter, drawing you closer against him. When he speaks, his words resonate with a note of command. 

“Tell me what you’ve imagined. Tell me how to make this perfect for you.”

This should be mortifying. It should, more than anything else he’s said tonight, activate your urge to run away, to hide. It’s been so long since you’ve really given yourself permission to want, to desire, much less to voice those desires full-throated, absent of shame. You’re so afraid of sounding silly. Of being too much.

But you can tell how turned on he is by you, by the way that your body feels pressed against his, fuck, by the very thought of you entertaining filthy daydreams about him. He wants you. Just as much as you want him.

And so, you push past the shame you have no need to carry any longer, that you never should have been made to carry at all.

Even if you stammer at first. Even if you don’t sound as confident as you wish you did. You find your voice.

“I– I’ve thought about you touching me?”

Copia brings a hand up to caress your face, tracing a feather-light line from cheekbone to chin. “Here?” he asks.

“Lower,” you reply.

“Ah.” His hand trails lower, making you shiver as his fingers skirt along your neck, your collarbone, before finally cupping your breast through your top. “How about here?”

Your mouth falls open in a gasp when he squeezes gently, his thumb sweeping across your nipple. Almost as an afterthought he wedges one thigh between your legs. Even through fabric the contact sends a pulse straight to your core, and you can’t help but grind against him with a whimper.

“What do I do next? In your fantasies?”

“You take off my clothes.” You’re desperate to feel his skin on yours. “And– and you lay me down on the bed.”

He flips you over effortlessly and takes his time undressing you, carefully undoing each button and zipper, revealing your body bit by bit with utmost tenderness. When he hooks his fingers over the waistband of your panties and pulls the silky fabric down your hips, your legs, exposing you completely, he does so with what could never be mistaken for anything but reverence.

Your legs fall open naturally and Copia kneels between them, resting his hands on your thighs, awaiting instruction.

“And now?”

You know that you can have anything you want, but only if you ask for it.

It’s everything you can do to keep your voice steady when you say, barely above a whisper, “And then you go down on me.”

“With pleasure, amore.”

Copia settles himself between your thighs and presses a hand against your mound, firm and grounding, acclimating you to his touch before spreading your lips with skilled fingers and bringing his mouth down to meet your slit. He runs the flat of his tongue up through your slick folds, lapping up your arousal. When you look down at him, he meets your gaze and flicks his tongue over your clit, smirking when you blush and cry out in pleasure.

And then he begins his work in earnest.

You had imagined that it would be good, but your daydreams left you unprepared for this level of skill, for how he would relax into the task before him with a patient eagerness, savoring you, taking the time to bring you ever closer to your peak. 

“Fingers,” you beg, barely coherent, “I need your fingers, please, please, Copia– oh!”

He finds your entrance and presses a finger inside of you, never losing the rhythm of his tongue tracing tight circles around your clit. You’re soaked, and it slides in and out with ease, and it feels so good to have any part of him inside of you, even before he pulls out and then presses back in with another digit, crooking his fingers up to find that spot deep inside of you, hitting it just so as he sucks your nub between his lips, and you’re crying out and twisting your fingers in his hair to pull him closer, and–

Your orgasm overtakes you ruthlessly, wave upon wave of pleasure breaking over you, leaving you a gasping, trembling mess in its wake. Copia crawls up your body to kiss you, letting you taste your own musky sweetness on his tongue.

“Do you want to hear what I’ve been thinking about?” he asks.

You’re unsure of your ability to speak, but you nod eagerly. You’ve never wanted to hear anything more.

“I’ve been thinking about your hands.”

“M-my hands?”

“Sì, your beautiful hands. And how good they would feel wrapped around me.”

How could you do anything in that moment but oblige, reaching down to free him from the confines of his red sweatpants. His cock springs free, what seems almost painfully hard, and you watch with satisfaction as you pump your fist up and down his thick length and pleasure nearly overtakes him. Eyes squeezed shut, he’s clearly struggling to hold back, to stop himself from rutting into your soft palm and coming right now. 

“I’ve also been thinking about your pussy, dolcezza,” he pants. “How good it would taste. How pretty you would look playing with it for me. But mostly what it would feel like to spread it open and fuck it until you come around my cock.”

“Yes, please,” you beg, feeling as though you might die if you don’t get to feel him inside you right now.

The stretch is deliciously intense, even as wet as you are, prepared by his fingers and his tongue. He works himself into you inch by careful, patient inch, until he bottoms out with a groan.

“Is this okay?” he asks, and you nod your assent, whimpering a “yes” as you wrap your legs around his soft waist, urging him on.

You open more and more with each slow, shallow thrust that becomes faster, deeper. There is no room for your self-doubt anymore, no thought to spare for anything that isn’t Copia: his weight on top of you, his mouth against the side of your neck, the scent of his cologne mingling with the salty tang of sweat, the overwhelming pressure of his cock inside of you. 

He murmurs your name with what sounds like wonder, like disbelief that you want this and that you feel so fucking good.

And then he rolls his hips just so, finding an angle that grinds his pelvis into your clit, making you cry out sharply.

“Just like that,” you beg him, breathless, “please don’t stop, please—“

And then you are coming apart again, your head thrown back and your pussy spasming beyond your control.

It’s almost too much for him. He rears back from you, gathering you more firmly in hand, tilting your hips up and gripping your ass to hold you in place as he fucks into you, hard and rough. You’re still reeling from your orgasm as his pace becomes erratic, desperate, and with a sharp snap of his hips his cock kicks inside of you, filling you utterly.

He pulls out and collapses beside you with a sated groan, forearm thrown over his eyes as he comes down, chest heaving, spent cock softening against the curve of his belly. You fold yourself in under his arm, head pillowed against his chest again in a semblance of how you lay earlier as you cried. But now all you feel is love, comfort, and the pleasant soreness creeping through your lower body.

“Well, tesoro…” He settles his arm around you, tracing lazy circles on your skin with the tip of his finger. His voice is unspeakably fond when he asks, “Was that everything you imagined?”

It wasn’t, of course. Your daydreams hadn’t started with you crying awkwardly in his arms. In your daydreams, everything had run as smoothly as a scene in a novel, you the assertive heroine who always knew exactly what to say, without any help.

But maybe, you think, if Copia is the one helping you, that’s okay. Maybe you don’t need to be anyone but yourself, sometimes awkward and insecure, but no less beloved.

And so you are telling the truth when you say, “No. It was better.”

[babyangelsky]

My Favorite Expressions in Love Sea Ep. 7

On a personal level this week has been a very mixed bag but I know that if nothing else got me, this show got me. It's gonna come in clutch for me every time, spider bites and potential hauntings be damned.

I. Love. It. Here.

Will I ever not take psychic damage from the expression Tongrak makes when Mahasamut tells him that he cares about him? The answer is no. It's wonderful and devastating every time.

"How would you rate me out of 10?" Mahasamut asks while Tongrak's face plots teasing and mischief.

Opening a safe shouldn't look so much like staring down the gallows but here we are. Not being able to see how Tongrak's hands were shaking in a screenshot is a blessing.

The panic and terror on this man's face when he saw the read receipt on his phone is something I never want to see again. My hatred for Rak's piece of shit sperm donor is murderous and profound. How actually fucking dare he put this look on his child's face I'm going to kill him with my bare hands.

Peat's acting is so genuinely good that it hurts me. Tongrak was trembling so much that he was struggling to put the phone away and when he gets back to his room, he practically tries to crawl into Mahasamut's skin to hide and feel safe. Look at him, he looks so tiny and scared and I want to cry.

Let us take a break from the sad with this supremely horny shot of Mook unzipping Vivi's dress. Everyone say thank you.

And pour one out for our girl, as is now a weekly custom. Vivi my girly is dying CONFESS TO HER AND MAKE OUT ABOUT IT.

"I'm not going to the event! >:(" Yes you are, mi alma, look at your face when Mook threatens to quit.

Not pictured: One (1) resigned sigh

The grumpiest kitten in the whole venue.

Tongrak: *complaining* Mahasamut: *heart eyes*

My favorite moment of the face journey Tongrak goes on when he realizes just how good Mahasamut looks and that he will be Perceived and decides to mess up his hair about it. The grumpy kitten is a jealous jellyfish.

It's the fact that Tongrak looks surprised that his fans like his books and have consumed his entire body of work. I'M GOING TO SOB.

The smile is polite and professional but the eyes are sparkly. He genuinely enjoys interacting with his fans.

The proud husband smile means everything to me.

THE LOOK OF ABSOLUTE LOATHING AND DISGUST! INCREDIBLE PHENOMENAL OUTSTANDING.

IF YA'LL THINK I'M NOT GONNA MAKE A SEPARATE POST ABOUT HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS MAN YOU'RE SO FUCKING WRONG

If I have to have this demonic nasty hell witch on my screen, at least I get to watch her face make this expression after Tongrak calls her out for imitating him because he got it right on the money and she knows it.

Tongrak and the visceral hatred in his eyes said play me another waltz I'm tired of dancing to this one.

God love you, but you look so tired.

This entire scene was more brutal to watch than the fight outside of Tongrak's house. It was obvious that something more was going on from how calmly he was speaking and how non-responsive he became toward the end of it, but look at his hands. Look at how tightly they're clenched. Maintaining his composure while Prin stuck that knife in his wounds and twisted it as viciously as she could cost him, and it would be obvious even if we hadn't already seen them fight.

Tongrak, you're my fighter. He still looks tired because he is, but he also looks like the imperious ice prince he's had to be to survive. Then the utterly dismissive way he turns and walks out and cuts eye contact?

We can barely see Nouel's smile but it's so clearly saying "bruh that's cringe".

He's not just my fighter. He's Mahasamut's fighter, too.

Do ya'll remember how Tongrak was acting when he first brought Mahasamut to live with him and Vivi was teasing him?

Look how far they've come.

I can't quite articulate how, but the way they look at each other has changed, and I don't just mean because they're being lovey in front of Vivi and Mook. There's this undercurrent of sweetness that wasn't there before, even in private. That scene way back in episode 3 where Tongrak told Mahasamut to ask him to stay on the island which had so much softness and fondness to it did not have that same something that's now present.

I'm gonna leave ya'll with that and then go take more screenshots so I can properly scream about Mahasamut. And let me know if you wanna be tagged in these weekly writeups!

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Do You Love Me?

Astarion x Y/N - Drabble - 523 WC

Masterlist

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, HEAVILY inspired by this scene in Bridgerton (plot belongs to them)

---------------------

You and Astarion glared at each other, tensions high. So high, in fact that everyone else left camp to do gods know what just as long as it was away from you two. 

“Do you love me?” you asked him point blank.

He hesitated, “I’m trying to protect you.”

“Do you love me?” you asked again.

He looked at you with a pained expression, “I cannot.” he said defeated.

“Do you love me?” you repeated.

“Y/N please, stop.” he said, backing away slowly.

You followed him to the center of camp, not letting him walk away from whatever this was, “Is this because you believe that I cannot love you? Because I do…. I love you Astarion.” Sincerity shined in your eyes.

Astarion stared in disbelief, his mouth not able to produce words.

“I love you so much that I will go, if that is what you wish. I will do that. We can live our separate lives and once the tadpoles are dealt with you never have to see me again. But first you have to say you do not love me; you must tell me that I am utterly alone in this world.” 

He shook his head, trying to break your gaze but unable to, “I’m a monster Y/N. I am a danger. There are two sides in me fighting for power, it's as if the heavens and the hells are colliding.”

“Do you love me?” you asked with a wanting tone. 

“You do not wish a life for yourself with me!” he yelled, making you jump a bit “No one wishes it!”

“Astarion!” you yelled back not backing down, “I will stand with you between the heavens and the hells, I will tell you who you are, do you love me?” you said as you stood only a breath away from him.

“I love you!” he yelled, his voice wavering at the end. You could see unwanted tears welling up in his eyes. “From… from the moment you walked into camp I have loved you desperately; I cannot breathe when you are not near…. I love you Y/N… my heart calls your name.”

He looked at the ground, feeling weak for telling you everything he had tried desperately to keep bottled up and pushed down. He felt your hand cradle his face, bring him into a sweet kiss. He kissed you back fervently, but sobs escaped him after a moment.

“This… condition has been my shame for 200 years… this darkness... my burden for so long… and you… you are a light in that darkness.”

You ran your thumbs comfortingly over his sharp cheekbones, “Astarion, it's you and me. Just us. Together.”

Astarion scanned your face multiple times, looking for any indications of deception, yet all he found were kind eyes and a loving smile. His lips twitched upwards for the first time all night, Astarion pulled you back into a kiss, much deeper and full of passion. His arms enveloped you into a hug, your hands still holding his face. 

“I love you.” he breathed out just above a whisper.

“And I you, for eternity.” you reassured, kissing the tip of his nose. 

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Naboo's Note:

Hello darlings, life has been a little busy lately but I wanted to give you a little snack of a drabble. I watched Bridgerton and all I could see in this scene was Astarion and Tav. All plot and rights belong to Bridgerton - idk how copyright works but I hope putting that keeps me from *cough* "legal issues". Anyyyyyy whoooooo - I hope you enjoy, I'll post again soon. Please comment, like, reblog or send me a request! Ilysm <3

[ssa-dado]

6 - Synthesis

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader

Genre: angst, fluff, slow burn

Summary: After an intense case, you and Hotch struggle with unresolved tensions from a previous argument. On the train back, Hotch overhears Peter comforting you about a recent tragedy, realizing he’s been blind to your pain. Later, Hotch unexpectedly shows up at your apartment, opening up and apologizing for his emotional distance, leading to a heartfelt moment of mutual vulnerability. That evening, you attend Peter’s welcome-back party, feeling lighter and reconnecting with the team. That's when Peter makes an unusual bet with you.

Warnings: death, grief, emotional abuse, domestic violence, family dysfunction.

Word Count: 7.6k

Dado's Corner: Phi posting two chapters in less than 12 hours? More likely than you think. I was supposed to wait until tomorrow, but I just couldn’t help myself. Thank you all so much for the love and support you’ve shown for the series so far! Each of you holds a special place in my cold little heart. Please don’t hate me after this - it hurts me, too - but hey, there’s some interrogation room Aaron to sweeten things up. I’m particularly proud of this cute, lovely chapter. It doesn’t make me want to jump out the window. Not even a little bit. Embrace the pain.

previous part ; masterlist

Gideon smiled knowingly, his eyes shifting between you and Hotch. “Thesis, antithesis, and synthesis,” he mused, almost as if he were speaking to himself but loud enough for you to hear. “Funny how life always seems to come back to that, doesn’t it?”

●

The observation room was dimly lit, casting long, uneven shadows over you and Peter as you stood behind the two-way mirror, your heartbeat seemed to echo in the quiet, barely audible over the hum of the fluorescent light. You watched Hotch on the other side, preparing to interrogate the suspect, he appeared calm as usual, wearing his mask of stoicism proudly on his face, but you could tell the tension was palpable.

The room beyond the glass was stark, the suspect sat at the metal table gleaming under the harsh light with a smug expression, arms casually draped over the back of his chair, utterly unbothered. Te view was borderline infuriating.

The hair on your arms stood up, not just from the cold, but from the overwhelming sense of helplessness that had settled over the case. You couldn’t shake the nagging thought that you were grasping at straws, the weight of the local police’s blunders pressing heavily on your chest. They had fumbled, and badly. Critical evidence had slipped through their fingers, lost or contaminated in the chaos. You didn’t even want to hear the whole story—you were too furious, your senses shutting down as the same detective who had once doubted your work stumbled through a pathetic apology. All you had now was Hotch. No physical proof, no solid evidence to tie this man to the crimes you knew he’d committed.

Your gaze flicked back to the suspect, his arrogance nauseating. He knew the game, knew the system, and worse, he knew how to manipulate it to his advantage. There was a clock ticking in your mind, every second precious, the sense of urgency suffocating. If Hotch couldn’t break him - if he couldn’t find a way past the layers of lies and smug indifference - you’d lose him. You couldn’t afford that, not now.

Peter’s jaw clenched as he observed the scene, his frustration evident. “This was a mistake,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “We warned them not to bring him in without something solid. Now we’re stuck trying to clean up their mess.”

You nodded, your mind still reeling from the argument with Hotch the night before, as if all of this mess wasn’t already enough for your nerves to handle. The tension between you two had lingered, unresolved and heavy, adding another layer to your frustration. You tried to shake it off, but it clung to you, making it even harder to focus. “Yeah, and now Hotch has to pull off a miracle,” you said, your voice tinged with both a tinge of annoyance and worry. “He’s got one shot to get this right.”

Peter turned his attention back to the interrogation room, his eyes narrowing as Hotch sat across from the suspect. “If anyone can do it, it’s him. I’ve seen Hotch work multiple times, and somehow he even looks sharper, more intense.”

Inside the room, Hotch began his interrogation with a measured calm, his eyes locked on the suspect, who lounged back in his chair, exuding a quiet confidence. Hotch started with the basics, the routine questions meant to establish rapport, but the suspect was playing his own game, answering with a smug smile and evasive nonchalance.

Hotch leaned back, crossing his arms as he observed the suspect’s every move, every twitch. “You’ve been careful,” Hotch said, his voice steady but probing. “I’ll give you that. You’ve covered your tracks well. But you slipped up, everyone makes mistakes, especially when they think they’re untouchable.”

The suspect smirked, feigning boredom. “You’re wasting your breath, Agent Hotchner. You and I both know you have nothing on me - no evidence, no witnesses. You’re grasping at straws.”

Hotch’s gaze remained unflinching, but you could see the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way he leaned in just slightly, narrowing the space between the two of them. “You’re right, we don’t have physical evidence, but we do have you, and that’s enough. Because here’s the thing - you’re not as smart as you think you are. You’ve made this personal, and personal is messy.”

The suspect chuckled, tapping his fingers lightly on the table as if this were a game to him. “Oh, please. I’ve seen every tactic in the book, and I’ve got an answer for all of them. You can’t intimidate me, Hotchner. I know my rights. You’ve got nothing.”

Hotch’s expression remained stoic, but there was a flash of determination in his eyes. “You think this is about intimidation? You’re missing the point. This isn’t about fear, it’s about you and the mistakes you’ve made. You’ve left a trail, little hints of who you really are. You think you’ve hidden them, but they’re there, buried in the details.”

The suspect’s confident facade faltered for just a second, but he quickly recovered, scoffing. “You’re reaching. This isn’t some TV show where the bad guy breaks down in a dramatic confession. I’m not saying a damn thing without my lawyer.”

Hotch’s demeanor shifted, a cold, calculating edge creeping into his voice. “Your lawyer? You think your lawyer’s going to save you? They’ll do their job, make sure you’re comfortable, make sure you feel safe. But at the end of the day, they’re not in here with you, they’re not the ones facing the consequences of your actions - you are. And you’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

From the other side of the glass, you watched Hotch methodically chip away at the suspect’s arrogance. Each line of questioning was a carefully placed strike, designed to weaken his resolve, but the suspect wasn’t giving in easily. He deflected, twisted Hotch’s words, and tried to turn the conversation back on him.

“You think you’re so righteous, don’t you?” the suspect sneered, leaning forward with a glint of disdain in his eyes. “Sitting there, acting like you’ve got the moral high ground. You don’t know me, Agent Hotchner. You don’t know a damn thing about what I’ve been through, the people I’ve dealt with - you think you’re better than me?”

Hotch didn’t flinch even if the last words reminded him of the argument he had with you down at the lobby. “No, I don’t think I’m better than you, but I do know who you are. You’re the guy who blames everyone else when things go wrong, the guy who hides behind his intellect because he’s too scared to admit he’s just another coward trying to prove he’s not afraid. But guess what? That act doesn’t work on me.”

The suspect’s composure slipped, his anger flaring as Hotch hit a nerve. “You don’t get to judge me! You sit there like you’re some kind of saint, but you’re just as flawed as the rest of us. You have no right—”

Hotch cut him off sharply, his voice cold and unyielding. “You’re right. I’m not perfect. I’ve made my mistakes, and I own them. But I’m not the one hiding behind excuses, you are. You’re the one who thinks he can play God, decide who deserves to live or die based on your twisted sense of justice. But here’s the thing: you’re not in control, not anymore.”

From the observation room, you felt your chest tighten. Hotch was relentless, pushing the suspect further than you’d ever seen him push anyone before. It was as if he’d tapped into something raw and unforgiving, something that drove him to keep going, to tear down every last defense the suspect had.

Peter glanced at you, his brow furrowing. “I’ve never seen him go this hard. It’s like he’s on a mission.”

You nodded, the tension from last night’s argument still simmering inside you. You knew why Hotch was pushing himself like this: because of you, because of the unresolved words between you, and because he needed to prove something, maybe even to himself. “He’s not going to stop until he gets what he wants.”

Inside the room, the suspect’s attitude was crumbling. Hotch leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, laced with a quiet menace. “You think you’re untouchable, that you’ve covered all your bases. But I’ve spent years in courtrooms taking down men just like you, men who thought they were too smart to get caught. I know every trick, every lie, every pathetic attempt to weasel your way out of the truth.”

The suspect’s face tightened, his hands clenching into fists as he tried to maintain control. But Hotch was unrelenting, his gaze piercing through every layer of the man’s defenses. “You don’t want to admit it, but you’re scared, I can see it in your eyes. You’re terrified that the truth is going to come out, that all your carefully crafted lies are going to fall apart right in front of you - so, here’s your last chance. Tell me the truth. Tell me why you did it.”

There was a beat of silence, a heavy pause as the suspect’s composure finally shattered. His shoulders slumped, his defiance giving way to resignation. He looked up at Hotch, defeated and angry, his voice breaking as he finally confessed, each word a bitter surrender. “Fine. Fine, you want the truth? I did it. I killed them. But you have no idea why. You don’t know what it’s like to be powerless.”

“No you’re right, I don’t.” Hotch sat back, a flicker of triumph in his eyes, though his expression remained guarded: he had what he needed. The confession was out, raw and unfiltered, pulled from the depths of the suspect’s desperation.

Peter let out a low whistle, still reeling from what he’d witnessed. “That was... intense. I’ve never seen Hotch like that, he’s kind of intimidating.”

You nodded in agreement, your gaze still fixed on Hotch as he calmly gathered his notes, preparing to leave the room. You could see the toll it had taken on him, the emotional weight he carried even as he walked out victorious, and as much as you wanted to celebrate the success, the confrontation from the night before still lingered, leaving you with the unsettling realization that this fight wasn’t just with the suspect - it was within Hotch himself.

When Hotch stepped out of the interrogation room, the tension in his posture seemed to ease, but only slightly. His face was set in its usual mask of calm control, yet there was a heaviness in his eyes, a flicker of something raw that he couldn’t quite hide. Peter clapped him on the back, a mix of admiration and relief in his expression. “Hell of a job, Hotch. You tore him apart. I’ve seen you work, but that was something else entirely.”

Hotch gave a tight nod, his jaw still clenched, but his gaze was already shifting past Peter, landing on you. His eyes were searching, almost like he was trying to gauge your reaction, seeking some unspoken acknowledgment from you. “Thanks,” he said, his voice measured but tinged with exhaustion. “It had to be done.”

You stood there with your arms crossed, leaning against the wall, trying to maintain a composed exterior, but inside, you were anything but calm. Watching Hotch in that room, ruthlessly tearing down the suspect’s defenses, stirred something deep within you. It was impressive, yes, but also unsettling. You had never seen him so relentless, so driven - and you knew exactly what was fueling his determination.

As Hotch’s gaze lingered on you, there was a silent understanding between you, a shared acknowledgment of the emotional battlefield you both were navigating. The words from your argument the night before still echoed in your mind, sharp and unresolved, like an open wound that hadn’t had the chance to heal. The case had forced you both to set your personal issues aside, but now, in the aftermath, they were still there, hovering between you like a shadow neither of you could ignore.

Peter glanced between the two of you, sensing the charged atmosphere but choosing not to comment. He knew better than to pry, but even he could tell that whatever was going on between you and Hotch went deeper than the usual tension of a difficult case. “We got what we needed,” Peter said, trying to break the silence. “That’s what matters. Now we can finally put this bastard away.”

Hotch nodded, but his eyes never left yours, and in that moment, it felt like the rest of the room had faded away. It was just the two of you, caught in a silent standoff where neither of you knew how to take the next step. You wanted to say something, anything that would bridge the gap that had formed between you, but the words caught in your throat, tangled with the emotions you’d been trying so hard to keep in check.

The triumph of the confession felt hollow against the weight of what was still left unsaid. You and Hotch had always been able to read each other, but now, standing on opposite sides of this unspoken rift, it was as if the connection you’d relied on had fractured. There was so much you wanted to ask him: why he’d pushed so hard, why he seemed so desperate to prove something today, and why he couldn’t let his guard down, even for a moment. But instead, you just nodded, swallowing back the questions that burned at the back of your throat. “You did what you had to do,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, though it wavered slightly. “Good work, Hotch.”

Hotch’s gaze softened for a brief second, a flicker of regret or maybe gratitude crossing his features, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “Thanks,” he replied, his voice lower, more personal than before. “We all did.”Peter’s presence was a reminder that you weren’t alone, but it didn’t ease the tension that thrummed between you and Hotch. As Hotch turned to leave, the weight of your argument still hung heavy, unresolved, and painful. You watched him go, the distance between you feeling wider than ever, despite being just a few feet apart.

And as you stood there, with Peter by your side and the echo of Hotch’s footsteps fading down the corridor, you realized that the hardest part of this case wasn’t just about catching a killer, it was about facing the fractures in your own relationships, the ones that no amount of profiling or interrogation could ever fix.

The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels against the tracks was a dull, constant noise that filled the otherwise quiet cabin. You sat alone, your head down and your pen moving steadily across the paper as you filled out your case report. It was a task you’d thrown yourself into, your way of avoiding the one thing you weren’t ready to confront: Hotch.

Hotch sat a few rows behind you, his back to you, mirroring your actions as he worked on his own report with a similar intensity. It was almost poetic how the two of you were so much alike: both of you throwing yourselves into your work to avoid the harder truths, and neither willing to make the first move toward reconciliation.

As you focused on your writing, you heard footsteps approach. You didn’t need to look up to know it was Peter; you’d recognized the casual confidence in his stride from a mile away. He slid into the seat beside you without asking, his presence a familiar and oddly comforting interruption.

Peter glanced at your half-filled report, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You never could sit still, could you?” he said, his voice soft but laced with a hint of fondness. “Always working, always thinking.”

You tried to muster a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Just trying to get this done before we get back,” you said, your tone evasive. You knew why he’d come over, and you weren’t sure you were ready for the conversation you’d been avoiding since you’d seen him again.

Peter watched you for a moment, his expression shifting from casual to serious. He took a deep breath, glancing at the report before returning his gaze to you. “Y/N,” he began, his voice quieter now, “I’ve been wanting to tell you this since I got back, but I didn’t want to bring it up while we were in the middle of the case.”

You stiffened, knowing exactly what he was going to say but hoping he wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for your dad’s funeral,” Peter said, his voice heavy with regret. “I wanted to be, but I was stuck overseas. I hate that I wasn’t there.”

You clenched your jaw, staring down at the paper in front of you, your pen hovering uselessly above the page. The memories of that day flooded backstanding at the grave, the heavy weight of loss pressing down on your chest, and the overwhelming feeling of being completely and utterly alone. You’d been surrounded by people, but none of them had truly understood, none of them had been him.

“It’s fine, Pete,” you said, though your voice was shaky. “You were doing your job. Besides, it’s not like it would’ve changed anything.”

Peter shook his head, frustration flickering in his eyes. “No, it’s not okay. You were always there for me, even when we were just kids trying to figure out what the hell we were doing with our lives. And I couldn’t even show up when you needed me the most.”

Peter studied you, his eyes searching yours. He could see the cracks you were trying so desperately to hide, the way you were holding yourself together with sheer willpower. “I should have been there,” he insisted gently. “I know how much you went through with him… I remember everything you told me about him.”

A knot formed in your throat as you thought back to your childhood, your father’s relentless work ethic, his unyielding drive for perfection. He had been your hero in so many ways, but he’d also been your downfall. You’d inherited his toxic trait of overworking yourself, the constant need to be better, to be more. It was how you’d coped with the chaos at home, the screaming matches between your parents that had been your daily soundtrack. Your mother, exasperated and exhausted, would often switch languages mid-argument to keep you in the dark, to protect you - or maybe just to exclude you - from the mess they had created.

“I was just a kid, you know?” you said quietly, your voice tinged with bitterness. “All I wanted was to understand why they were always fighting. I started learning every language my mom switched to, Italian, Spanish, anything that would give me a clue, but instead of finding answers, I just… found more reasons to stay away.”

Peter’s eyes softened, a flicker of pain crossing his features as he listened. “You drowned yourself in books, in knowledge, just to escape,” he said, his voice low. “I remember you telling me that once, how you’d sit in those lecture halls at the university, absorbing everything because it was better than being home.”

Your childhood had been filled their voices rising in heated exchanges that always seemed to end in silence, your father retreating to his study to bury himself in more work, and your mother seeking solace in her books. To escape the turbulence at home, you’d thrown yourself into your studies with a fervor that bordered on obsession. You’d devoured literature, philosophy, psychology, anything that could distract you from the reality of your parents’ failing marriage, to gain a semblance of control in a world that often felt chaotic and out of reach.

You had become fluent in the languages they used to hide their pain from you, and in doing so, you became fluent in the art of distancing yourself from your own emotions. The habit of overworking, of pouring yourself into every task with unrelenting focus, was something you had learned from your father, a toxic legacy that you couldn’t quite shake, even now. It had been the source of countless arguments with your mother, who had begged you not to follow in his footsteps, to find balance, to live a life that wasn’t dictated by the demands of work. But it was easier said than done, and as the years went on, you found yourself mirroring his habits more than you cared to admit.

You nodded, swallowing hard against the emotion that threatened to choke you. “I kept pushing myself, kept chasing after something I couldn’t even name. My dad… he always told me that hard work was the only thing that mattered, he never slowed down, never stopped, and neither did I. Even when their marriage fell apart… even when he got sick. I just… I couldn’t stop.”

You hesitated, your eyes welling up with tears that you refused to let fall. “I didn’t even cry at his funeral, I just stood there, feeling nothing. And I haven’t been to visit his grave since.”

Peter gently reached out, guiding your head to rest on his shoulder, tightly hugging you. “It’s okay not to be okay, Y/N,” he murmured. “You don’t have to carry this all on your own. The least I can do is be the shoulder you can lean on.” Peter squeezed your shoulder gently, his eyes filled with compassion. “Your dad was tough, but he loved you, Y/N. And you don’t have to prove anything to him, not anymore. You’re allowed to grieve, to feel lost, to not have all the answers.”

You nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. “I know. But sometimes it’s hard to remember that.”

Hotch sat just behind you, his back facing yours, he had intended to keep to himself, to give you the space you needed, but the quiet murmurs of your conversation had carried over. He couldn’t help but overhear Peter’s words, and as he listened, a wave of guilt and realization washed over him.

Hotch had always prided himself on his ability to read people, to see through the masks they wore, but he hadn’t seen through yours. He hadn’t seen the pain you’d been hiding, the grief that had been eating away at you just beneath a slim surface. And suddenly, your words from the night before came crashing back: how he didn’t know you, how he’d never bothered to look beyond the professional facade you’d built.

His own mind flickered back to his childhood, the memories of his father’s anger, the violence that lurked behind every door. Hotch had spent years burying and hiding those scars, never letting anyone see how deeply they ran. He had kept it all locked away, just as you had, believing that the only way to survive was to keep moving, to never let the pain catch up.

For the first time, Hotch truly understood why you had lashed out at him. You had seen in him the very thing you feared in yourself: the relentless drive to work, to control, to avoid facing the hurt that lingered beneath. He realized now that you were so much more alike than he had ever imagined, both of you haunted by the ghosts of your pasts, both trying to outrun the pain that always seemed to catch up.

As Hotch stared out the window at the passing scenery, he felt a deep sense of remorse. He wished he had known, wished he had been able to offer you the support you so clearly needed. But all he could do now was hope that you would one day trust him enough to let him in, to share the burdens you had been carrying alone for far too long.

Peter’s voice broke the silence, pulling Hotch from his thoughts. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, you know that? But it’s okay to let someone else be strong for you, too.”

You nodded, wiping away the tears that had finally escaped. “Thanks, Pete. It’s just… it’s hard.”

“I know,” Peter said softly. “But you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Hotch listened to the quiet exchange, the raw honesty between you and Peter striking a chord deep within him. He knew now that he couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine, that the walls he had built were enough to protect him or you. As the train sped toward Quantico, Hotch made a silent promise to himself: he would do better, he would be better. For you, and for himself.

Because in the end, you both deserved more than just the comfort of solitude. You deserved to be understood, to be seen, and to finally let go of the burdens you had carried for far too long.

Peter on the other hand had always been the kind of friend who could read you like a book, even when you tried to keep the pages closed. And after this emotional confrontation he knew he didn’t have to push further. He could see the exhaustion in your eyes, the way you were holding yourself together by the thinnest thread. So, he did what he always did best, he tried to lift your spirits, if only for a moment.

He leaned back in his seat, studying your expression with a knowing smile. “You know, Y/N, you don’t have to unload everything on me right now. You’re allowed to keep some things to yourself. You don’t owe anyone your pain.” His tone was light, but there was a deep, unspoken understanding beneath it. He knew you were struggling, and he wanted you to know that it was okay to take your time.

You gave him a small, tired smile, grateful for his patience. “I know, Pete. It’s just... hard to talk about. I’ve been so focused on work, it’s easier that way. It’s all I know.”

Peter nodded, his eyes softening with empathy. “I get it. But maybe it’s time to leave work behind, just for a little while. You don’t have to think about everything right now. Start small. Maybe try coming out of your room every once in a while?” He said it with a teasing grin, nudging your shoulder playfully, hoping to coax even the smallest laugh out of you.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head at his attempt to lighten the mood. “I know, I’ve been a bit of a hermit lately. I guess it’s easier to just shut myself away.”

Peter’s smile widened, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Well, lucky for you, your presence is strictly required at my welcome-back party tonight. The team’s putting it together, and you have no excuses not to come. I already told them you’d be there.”

You groaned, though there was no real annoyance behind it. “Seriously? Peter, I don’t know if I’m up for-”

He cut you off, holding up a hand. “Ah-ah, no excuses. We’ll be back by early afternoon, you’ll have plenty of time to rest, take a shower, and then you’re going to show up and have a good time, even if I have to drag you there myself.”

You rolled your eyes, but his enthusiasm was infectious. There was a warmth in his insistence, a reminder that you weren’t alone and that there was still joy to be found, even in the smallest of moments. “Fine, fine. I’ll be there. But only because you’re the most obnoxiously persistent person I know.”

Peter laughed, giving you a mock bow from his seat. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But seriously, Y/N, it’ll be good to see you outside of the office for once. We all miss you, and I promise, you’ll be glad you came.”

You nodded, feeling a small flicker of anticipation amidst the exhaustion. For the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to look forward to something that wasn’t work, something that didn’t involve endless reports or painful memories. It wasn’t a solution to all your problems, but it was a start—a chance to reconnect with the people who mattered, to take a breath and remember that there was more to life than the shadows that had been chasing you.

As you looked at Peter, his familiar smile reminding you of all the good things you’d shared over the years, you felt a small surge of hope. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The train ride back to Quantico had felt endless, but the weight of the unresolved emotions made the journey back to your apartment even more suffocating. Peter’s words lingered, tugging at wounds you hadn’t dared to touch, and Hotch’s distant presence weighed heavily on your mind. The familiar solitude of your apartment was supposed to be comforting, but tonight, it felt more like a reminder of all the things you’d been running from: your grief, your past, and the fragile, fraying connection with the person who had come to mean so much to you.

You dropped your bag onto the floor, letting it fall with a thud that echoed through the empty space. You leaned against the kitchen counter, feeling the cool surface against your palms as you tried to ground yourself. You wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. It was as if you’d locked them away, buried them beneath layers of duty and distraction.

But then there was a knock at your door, soft and tentative, almost like the person on the other side wasn’t sure they should be there. You hesitated, wiping at your eyes quickly as if to compose yourself, and moved to answer. You half-expected to find Peter, still worried about you after the train ride, or maybe even no one at all, just a mistake. But when you opened the door, it was Hotch who stood before you.

He looked different, more vulnerable and uncertain than you had ever seen him. His usually composed demeanor was frayed, and there was a rawness in his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and heavy burdens. He stood there awkwardly, clutching the doorframe as if it were the only thing keeping him upright, his face etched with a mixture of hesitation and determination.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you like a fragile thread, one wrong move away from snapping. Hotch looked down, swallowing hard as if searching for the right words. He wasn’t in his usual pristine suit but rather dressed in a simple shirt and jeans, his attire as out of place as the uncertainty written across his face.

“Hotch?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, tinged with both surprise and concern. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just looked at you, as if he was struggling to find the right words, struggling to let down the walls he had spent a lifetime building. He stepped inside, and you quietly closed the door behind him, your heart pounding as you waited for him to speak. He took a few slow steps into the living room, glancing around as if trying to ground himself in the unfamiliar space.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice strained and brittle, every word heavy with unspoken pain. “I know this isn’t… I shouldn’t have just shown up like this, but I needed to talk to you. About… about what you said last night, and today on the train. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overhear your conversation with Peter.”

This wasn’t the composed, confident man you knew at work, this was Aaron, someone you never got to see, someone who was barely holding it together. “ You were right, Y/N. You were right about everything.”

You stood there, frozen, as his words hit you like a wave. You had never heard Hotch sound so vulnerable, so broken. He was always the strong one, the unshakable agent who never let his guard down, but tonight, he was just Aaron, and he was struggling.

“I’ve spent my whole life trying to keep things separate,” he began, his voice trembling. “I thought if I could just focus on the work, I could ignore everything else—everything that hurt, everything that felt out of my control. But I can’t keep doing that. It’s not who I am, and it’s not who I want to be anymore.”

Hotch’s hands shook as he tried to steady himself, his eyes brimming with emotions he had kept buried for so long. “My father... he was abusive. He was cruel in ways that I can’t even put into words. He’d tear me apart with his words, his fists, anything to remind me that I was never good enough. I grew up in a house that felt more like a battlefield than a home, where silence was never safe and every day was just another fight to survive.”

His voice cracked, and you could see the weight of those memories in his eyes: the fear, the shame, the endless need to be perfect because nothing less would ever be enough for a man who thrived on control. “I tried so hard to protect my mom, my brother, but I was just a kid. There were nights when I’d lie awake, praying he’d leave us alone, praying I’d be strong enough to make it stop. But it never did. And I swore that when I grew up, I’d never be like him. I’d never let anyone see that weakness.”

You listened, your own tears finally breaking free as his pain washed over you. You had never imagined Hotch’s past had been so brutal, so deeply scarred by violence and fear. He had always seemed so put together, so composed, but now, you could see just how much he had been hiding, how much he had been carrying all this time.

“I thought if I kept that part of myself locked away, I’d be able to move on. I thought… I thought if I became Hotch, the profiler, that it would erase all the things he said I’d never be. But it’s just made me more closed off, more afraid to let anyone in. And I’ve been doing it for so long, I don’t even know how to stop.”

He looked at you, his eyes glassy with unshed tears, and you could see the desperation there - the plea for understanding, for forgiveness, for something he couldn’t quite name. “I don’t know how to let people in, Y/N. I don’t know how to not be this… this guarded version of myself. But if I’m going to try, if I’m going to let anyone see me, I want it to be you. Because you were right when you said I don’t know you, but I want to. And you deserve to know me, too—the real me.”

The vulnerability in his voice shattered something inside you, and without thinking, you closed the distance between you and pulled him into a tight, desperate hug. Hotch tensed at first, unaccustomed to such unguarded intimacy, but then his arms wrapped around you, and you could feel him finally letting go. His head bowed against your shoulder, and his entire frame shook with the silent sobs he’d been holding back for too long.

You clung to him, your own tears mingling with his, and in that moment, it felt like the dam you’d both been holding back had finally broken. You were no longer the stoic agents who always had the answers, always kept it together. You were just two people, scarred and hurting, trying to find solace in the only way you knew how: by holding on to each other.

Hotch’s hand moved to the back of your head, his fingers tangling gently in your hair as he held you closer, as if you were the lifeline he had been searching for. He whispered apologies between his tears, his voice cracking with the weight of his regrets. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I didn’t see it. I didn’t see you.”

You shook your head, burying your face into his neck, your tears soaking through his t-shirt as you let out all the grief you’d kept buried: the loss of your father, the unresolved pain of your parents’ broken marriage, the way you had thrown yourself into work to keep from falling apart. You had been running for so long, hiding behind your accomplishments, just like him.

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry, Aaron,” you whispered through your tears, the use of his first name slipping out naturally in this moment of raw honesty. “I had no idea. I was so angry, and I—”

He shook his head, his voice soft but firm as he whispered back, “You don’t have to apologize. You were right… about all of it. I needed to hear it. I needed to face it.”

The two of you stood there for what felt like an eternity, wrapped up in each other’s pain and understanding, the weight of your shared burdens finally feeling just a little bit lighter. There were no perfect words, no easy fixes, but in that embrace, you found something neither of you had expected—comfort, solace, and the beginning of a new kind of trust.

“It’s okay,” you whispered through your tears, clutching him tighter. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

For the first time, it felt like you were truly seen, truly understood, and the relief of it was overwhelming. You didn’t have to pretend anymore, didn’t have to be strong or perfect or put together. You could just be, and he could just be, and that was enough.

Hotch pulled back slightly, your eyes finally met, both of you still teary but no longer hiding. There was a silent understanding there, a promise that from now on, things would be different. “No more walls. No more hiding.” He murmured, his voice shaky but filled with a quiet determination.

You nodded, and for the first time in a long time, you believed it. You didn’t know what the future would hold, but as you held each other in that quiet, tear-stained moment, you knew that you weren’t alone anymore. You had each other, and that was a start. It was messy, and it was painful, but it was real. And in that, you found hope - hope that maybe, together, you could begin to heal. You weren’t just partners in the professional sense anymore; you were something more—two people learning to let each other in, to lean on each other’s strength when your own wasn’t enough. And in that simple, fragile moment, you both knew that whatever came next, you wouldn’t have to face it alone, that your new friend would be right there at your side.

The evening had settled over the city, and the Irish pub next to your apartment block was buzzing with energy. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel a glimmer of lightness, excitement bubbling at the thought of spending time with Hotch, Peter, and the rest of your colleagues from the BAU. After everything that had happened, the weight of unresolved emotions had eased, if only slightly, and you found yourself looking forward to reconnecting with your team outside the pressures of the job.

Earlier that afternoon, you’d stopped by a bookstore, the small shop tucked between a row of cafes and boutique stores you often passed but rarely visited. As you browsed the shelves, your eyes fell on a book titled "Hegel for Dummies." It was a perfect, lighthearted gesture, a small symbol of your newfound friendship with Hotch, and a callback to the night you’d spent poring over Frank Lloyd Wright’s designs at the library. You thought that maybe, after his recent dive into architecture, he might take an interest in philosophy too, especially Hegel, one of your favorites. The book felt like a tiny olive branch, a way of letting him into your world a little more, just as he had let you into his the night before.

You imagined him reading it, piecing together Hegel’s ideas on thesis, antithesis, and synthesis, and maybe learning something about you in the process. And who knew? Maybe one day, if you were lucky, he’d hand you one of his favorite books, offering you another glimpse into the parts of himself he rarely showed.

When you walked into the pub, the warm light and chatter were an immediate comfort. You spotted your team at a long wooden table near the back, and to your surprise, you saw Gideon sitting there, crutches leaned against the wall, his leg injury having kept him out of the latest case. Rossi was beside him, the two of them looking as inseparable as ever, trading stories and laughs over pints of beer. It was a sight that immediately lifted your spirits.

“Look who finally made it!” Rossi called out, waving you over. “Come on, we saved you a seat.”

You grinned, making your way through the crowd. “Rossi, Gideon, you two didn’t tell me you’d be here.”

Gideon leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Well, you didn’t think we’d miss the party, did you? Besides, someone has to make sure Peter doesn’t get too full of himself.”

Peter shot you a wink, raising his glass in greeting. “They’re just here to bask in my glory, Y/N. But don’t let them fool you, they’ve been talking about you all night.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you took a seat between Gideon and Peter. “I’m sure they have. So, what did I miss?”

Before anyone could answer, Hotch walked in, his presence as commanding as ever, though there was a new softness in his eyes when he spotted you. You exchanged a smile, a silent acknowledgment of the night before, and of the steps you were both taking toward something new, something vulnerable.

“Hotch!” Rossi greeted, patting the empty seat beside him. “Come sit, we’re debating where Peter’s new desk should be. Since Y/N’s parked herself at his old one, we might need to reshuffle the whole bullpen.”

Hotch took his seat, glancing at you with a teasing smile. “I think she’s gotten too comfortable. I doubt she’s giving it up.”

Peter leaned in closer to you, his voice low and conspiratorial whispering into your ear “Wanna make a bet?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “See that woman behind Hotch’s shoulder? If she doesn’t come talk to him, you get to keep your desk.”

You eyed the woman briefly, noticing her casual yet elegant demeanor, but she seemed engrossed in her own conversation. Hotch was engaged in a discussion with Rossi, showing no sign of noticing her. You were confident this would be an easy win, especially given Hotch’s typically reserved nature. “Alright,” you said, turning back to Peter. “And what do you get if you win?”

Peter’s grin widened, the playful edge in his voice unmistakable. “A date. With you.”

The unexpected proposition caught you off guard, and for a moment, you felt your cheeks warm. You glanced at him, trying to gauge if he was serious, but his expression remained light, teasing. You brushed it off with a laugh, pretending he was just messing with you. “Okay, you’re on.”

But no sooner had you accepted the bet than the woman, as if she had somehow overheard your conversation, moved toward Hotch with an expression of surprise. You watched in stunned silence as she approached, her voice soft and familiar. “Aaron? What were the odds?”

Your heart sank as Hotch’s face lit up, a rare and genuine smile crossing his features, his cheeks flushed slightly, and there was a familiarity between them that made your chest tighten. You felt Peter nudge you, his voice breaking through the shock. “Looks like you owe me a date.”

You barely registered his words, too fixated on the interaction unfolding in front of you. Hotch returned to the table with the woman by his side, her presence seeming to fill the room in a way that made you feel suddenly small and out of place. Hotch’s voice cut through the noise, introducing her with a casualness that belied the weight of the moment. “Everyone, this is Haley.”

You barely managed to hold your composure, the pieces of this unexpected puzzle falling into place as you processed Hotch’s flushed expression and the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. This wasn’t just anyone, this was someone from his past, someone who clearly was very close and definitely had shared some sort of romantic history with him. The bitter thoughts stung more than you wanted to admit.

Before you could say anything, Gideon, ever the observant one, leaned over, catching sight of the corner of a book sticking out of your open purse. “Hegel for Dummies?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, amusement flickering in his voice as he picked it up to inspect.

You nodded, still too stunned to fully engage, your mind elsewhere. “Yeah. It’s… it’s just a little joke,” you managed, though the words felt hollow in the moment.

Gideon smiled knowingly, his eyes shifting between you and Hotch. “Thesis, antithesis, and synthesis,” he mused, almost as if he were speaking to himself but loud enough for you to hear. “Funny how life always seems to come back to that, doesn’t it?”

The words hung heavy in the air, and as you sat there, watching Hotch interact with Haley, you couldn’t help but feel the truth in them. Life was messy, a constant push and pull of opposing forces, and you were caught in the middle of it, trying to make sense of what it all meant.

[redroomreflections]

What's Good For The Heart

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

A Family of Her Own Series

7/9

Masterlist | General Masterlist

w/c: 6k

Summary: After the fall of the Avengers, Natasha Romanoff returns home to her secret family—a life she's carefully hidden away for years. Struggling to balance her role as a mother and wife while avoiding the dangers of her past, Natasha is forced to make difficult decisions that impact her loved ones.

This Chapter: R returns to New York and gets a visit from Ross.

Flying always made you feel a bit restless. As you sat back in the plush leather seat, rubbing your temple, you sighed, thinking about the coming days. The hum of the engines, the slight turbulence—everything seemed more pronounced now that you were alone. Without Natasha or the kids to keep your mind distracted, the anxiety simmered just beneath the surface, creeping into every quiet moment.

Your eyes drifted over to Ricky Mason, who sat across from you, tapping away on his tablet. He wasn’t as talkative by any means, which you were grateful for, but even in his silence, you could pick up on something. A glance here, a subtle shift there. It wasn’t bold or overt, but you could read people well enough to know Ricky's admiration for Natasha went beyond simple friendship. He'd been utterly dumbfounded to know you existed and that you and Natasha were married.

“So,” He said finally, breaking the quiet, “I’ve gotta say, getting this whole thing set up… fake flight logs, the new identities—it’s pretty impressive, even for me.”

You hummed in response, half-listening as you gazed out the window, watching the clouds drift by. "You've outdone yourself," you replied absently, not really in the mood for small talk.

He chuckled, shifting in his seat as if he wanted to say more but wasn’t sure how. "You know... Romanoff’s a hell of a woman," he added, his tone casual but not quite neutral.

That caught your attention. You glanced over at him, studying his face, the way he avoided looking directly at you now. "Yeah, she is," you replied evenly, not giving much away.

Ricky cleared his throat, pretending to focus on his tablet again, but you could sense the undercurrent in his words. He wasn’t being bold, not openly flirting, but there was something in the way he brought her up. A hint of admiration that went beyond simple respect for her skills.

"I mean, not to get personal or anything," he continued, his voice carefully measured now, "but it’s impressive. Everything she’s done. Everything you’ve both managed to pull off." He gave a small, nervous laugh, his bravado dimmed just enough to make you notice. "Takes a special kind of person to handle all of that."

You leaned back in your seat, keeping your gaze on him. "It does," you said, your tone soft but pointed. "And she’s a lot more than what people think."

Ricky nodded, perhaps sensing that he’d treaded into sensitive territory. "No doubt," he replied quickly, his eyes darting away again. He seemed to catch himself before going any further, shifting the conversation back to logistics. "So, we’ll be touching down in Jersey soon. I’ll make sure the rental car is ready when you land."

"Good," You said, letting the tension ease out of your shoulders. You didn’t need to make a scene, but you wanted to be sure he understood the unspoken boundary. Ricky wasn’t dumb, and he probably felt the shift in the air.

The rest of the flight passed in relative silence, with only the hum of the engines and the occasional click of Ricky’s tablet filling the cabin. You tried to focus on the plan ahead—getting to your old apartment in Jersey, preparing for the next steps—but your thoughts kept drifting back to Natasha and the kids. You pictured them on their way to the Lake District, hidden away in the quiet beauty of the English countryside.

Natasha would be in disguise, of course, her dark wig and brown contacts making her almost unrecognizable. Stella would be chattering non-stop about sharks, and Nicky, ever serious, would be watching everything with wide, curious eyes. It comforted you to know they’d be safe, at least for a while. But the weight of Ross’s ultimatum hung over you, pressing against the fragile peace you had tried to build for your family.

Soon, you’d be back in New Jersey, driving to Brooklyn, New York, to the old apartment you still kept as a backup. It felt strange, being separated from Natasha and the kids, but you knew it was necessary. You’d regroup soon, and until then, you had to trust that Natasha could keep them hidden.

"Landing soon," Ricky said, breaking the quiet again as he checked his watch. "You ready?"

You nodded, forcing a small smile. "As ready as I’ll ever be."

*********

The familiar scent of dust and stale air hit you as you stepped into the lobby of your old apartment building. The place felt both foreign and strangely comforting. You took a moment to absorb your surroundings, noting the brand-new carpet, the fluorescent overhead lights, and the chipped paint on the walls. You could feel the weight of time pressing down as you walked towards the elevator, your suitcase dragging behind you. Your mind was racing with thoughts of Natasha and the kids, imagining them nestled safely in the Lake District while you braced for whatever Ross had planned. You had spotted the strategically placed black SUVs parked outside, and a couple of suited men standing in the lobby, their eyes scanning the room like hawks. You turned with a look over your shoulders to see Ross sitting, sifting through a magazine, as if he'd been here before.

You stepped over to him with a frown. “Ah, you’re home,” he said nonchalantly, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“I don’t need a welcome committee,” You shot back, crossing your arms over your shoulders. “Nice job tailing me from the airport. Stalking is a new low for you.”

Ross set the magazine down, a smirk playing on his lips. “You know, I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t hiding Natasha. You’ve got a lot of connections. It’s no wonder you managed to evade us for so long.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, feeling annoyance flare within you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I've been right here this whole time."

“Is that so?” Ross leaned back in his chair, feigning casual interest. "So, what have you been up to then? Any good stories?"

"No, and even if there were, I wouldn't tell you."

"Well, I suppose we can catch up later," Ross said, his tone growing more serious. "Does your wife have anything to do with the underwater prison being broken into? I'm missing a few fugitives."

"Underwater prison?" You repeated, keeping your voice steady. "What are you talking about? Is that ethical?"

"Oh, please," Ross replied, rolling his eyes. "We both know who you're protecting. Don't play dumb. Coming from seeing her?"

“I’m flying home from seeing a family friend who’s sick,” You replied, trying to sound convincing while suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. You knew he’d probably try to verify your story, but you were counting on his arrogance. “If you want to waste your time interrogating me, fine. But I don’t have any information for you.”

“Really? You expect me to believe you don’t know where she is? The way you’ve been so careful, it’s obvious you’re hiding something.” Ross’s tone shifted slightly, the menace lurking beneath his words bubbling to the surface.

"Hmm," You tilted your head. "You're grasping at straws."

Ross let out a dry laugh, irritation flashing across his face. “You know, it’s funny. I would’ve expected you to be smarter. You can’t keep hiding her forever. If you don’t cooperate, you’ll go down with her.”

“So, you gave me a week to what? Come and threaten me in person?” You crossed your arms defiantly, refusing to let his intimidation tactics rattle you.

“No, not really. I came to give you a warning,” Ross replied, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. “You can either turn over the location of your wife or face the consequences. Do you think she would be happy if you did time for her?”

“Is that your big threat? Jail time?” You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “Because if that’s all you’ve got, Ross, then you really are losing your touch. I know exactly what she would want me to do, and it wouldn’t involve betraying her.”

Ross’s expression darkened, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “You’re playing a dangerous game, y/n.”

“And you’re still failing to realize just how far I’m willing to go to protect myself. You think you can intimidate me? You think you can scare me? You’re mistaken,” You shot back, your voice steady and confident.

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, a vein twitching at his temple. “You don’t know what you’re up against. You’re just a pawn in a game far bigger than you can comprehend.”

“Maybe,” you said, leaning closer, matching his intensity. “But I’m not the one who’s seething with frustration because I can’t find my target. How does that feel, Ross? To be outmaneuvered by someone you underestimated?” You could see the anger boiling in his expression, the way his hands clenched into fists.

Ross glared at you, seething, but you pressed on. “Every second you waste on me is a second closer to you losing your grip. I may not know where Natasha is, but I know how to keep you off balance. You're here because you’re afraid of what might happen if you push too hard. I’ve got everything to lose, and you’re just a cog in the machine.”

“You’ll regret this,” he spat, his voice low and threatening.

“No, Ross, I think you will,” you said, your gaze unwavering. “You’ve already lost, and the more you pursue this, the worse it’s going to get for you. You’re not just after Natasha; you’re threatening her family. That’s a game you’ll never win.”

You turned away from him, leaving him with nothing but his seething anger and the echo of your words hanging in the air. You had taken the upper hand, and for now, that was enough to give you a bit of hope in this twisted game. You finally took a deep breath as you stepped into the apartment you hadn't been in years.

Your footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor as you moved further into the apartment. The familiar scent of dust and stale air drifted around you, mixing with the lingering scent of old books and lavender. You'd asked the housekeeper, courtesy of your own connections, to light candles and make it smell as lived-in as possible. As you moved further into the room, the sunlight streaming through the windows cast long shadows on the floor, and the memories came flooding back.

The apartment was smaller than the one you'd shared with Natasha, but the space was still comfortable and well-appointed. You could remember the first time you'd brought Natasha here, the way her eyes had widened as she took in the view of the city from the living room windows. She'd looked at you with a soft smile, the warmth in her gaze taking your breath away. It had been a simpler time then, before the chaos of the Avengers, the Accords, and all the pain and suffering that followed.

You moved further into the apartment, glancing around at the sparsely furnished rooms. A small kitchen with a worn countertop, a living room with a single sofa, and a bedroom with a queen-sized bed. The furniture was basic, and the only real decoration was a vase of flowers on the kitchen table. It was a far cry from the luxury of your home in Missouri or even Versailles but it would do for now. You just needed to spend a week here and things would blow over.

You dropped your bag on the floor and moved to the bedroom, flopping down on the mattress. The bed was firm and the sheets were clean, which was all that mattered. You closed your eyes, letting out a long sigh. The past few days had been a whirlwind, and it was finally catching up to you. The weight of the situation was sinking in, and you could feel the tension mounting.

You lay there for a moment, taking stock of everything. Thoughts of Ross crept back into your mind, that encounter still fresh. You could still see the way he had leaned forward, his anger barely contained. You’d managed to hold your ground, but the threats loomed heavy over you like a storm cloud. The thought of him lurking around, watching your every move, made your skin crawl. You didn’t want to think about what might happen if he managed to uncover Natasha's location.

You rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling, forcing yourself to breathe deeply. You reminded yourself that Natasha was safe for now, tucked away in the Lake District with the kids. As long as you could keep Ross off their trail, they’d remain untouched. That was your priority, and it had to be enough to keep you focused.

You pushed yourself off the bed and walked back into the living room, taking a moment to assess your surroundings. You needed to make this place feel like home, at least for the time being. You moved to the kitchen, rifling through the cupboards to see what you could find. It was mostly empty, but a few essentials remained—some instant coffee, a box of cereal, and a half-empty jar of peanut butter.

With a shrug, you grabbed the coffee, thankful for even that small comfort. As you prepared the drink, the familiar aroma began to fill the air. You went through every nook and cranny of the apartment to ensure it wasn't bugged. The last thing you needed was Ross listening in on your conversations. When that was done, you settled down on the couch, cradling the warm mug in your hands. You let your mind wander, trying to process everything that had happened. The Accords had turned heroes into targets, painting them with a broad picture of distrust. What did this mean for Natasha? Would she be forced into hiding for good? You could picture her, always the fighter, her fiery spirit undiminished, but the constant pressure of being hunted was a different kind of battle.

The thought of her being pursued simply existing as herself—an agent, a devoted mother, and your wife—made your heartache. She had always been so committed to her beliefs and her teammates, but now that loyalty had come with a price. The idea of being forced to choose between her family and her duty as an Avenger gnawed at you.

Would she even want to return to that life? The thrill of being an Avenger seemed to dim when it came to family safety. You could imagine Natasha standing at that crossroads, the weight of her choices pressing down on her.

As you sipped your coffee, you wondered about the future. The world seemed to be changing around you, shifting like unstable ground. You hoped you would find a way to navigate this storm, but the unpredictability of it all was unsettling. You thought about the time you spent together, the laughter and love that filled your shared moments. Would you still be able to create that kind of life with all this looming over you?

Your phone buzzed, snapping you out of your thoughts. You glanced down to see a message from Natasha, and a wave of relief washed over you. You opened it eagerly, wanting to hear what she had to say.

Hey love, just checking in. We’re settling in nicely. Stella is already asking about the sheep! How's everything?

You smiled at the message, imagining Natasha sitting in the peaceful surroundings of the Lake District. Everything's fine, just got settled in. Ross showed up at the apartment, but I managed to handle him. Keeping an eye on things, don’t worry.

A few minutes later, a new message popped up. That bastard, I can't believe he tracked you down.

I'm surprised he hasn't shown up at the lake house yet, you joked, trying to keep the tone light.

You're right, he must be losing his touch. Or I'm a really great spy.

You chuckled, the brief moment of levity feeling welcome. So, how are the kids doing?

They're excited. Stella says it feels like home. Btw the number of tantrums she's had in the span of two days has been baffling.

Ah, I miss them and you already, you typed, the longing for your family bubbling to the surface.

I miss you too, Natasha replied, and you could hear the sincerity in her voice.

You bit your lip, knowing you probably shouldn't but pressing the call button anyway. She answered on the first ring. "Hey, y/n," Natasha's voice was warm and soft, like a gentle caress.

"Hi," you replied, a smile tugging at your lips. "I needed to hear your voice."

"I'm glad you called," Natasha replied, a hint of playfulness in her tone. "I was just thinking about you."

"Oh?" You teased, "What were you thinking?"

"Hmm," she hummed, and you could practically hear the smirk on her lips. "Just about how much I missed you, and how I wish we were curled up together."

You sighed softly, leaning back on the couch, "Me too."

There was a brief pause, the tension crackling in the air between you.

"How are you feeling?" Natasha asked. "You just got off a long flight."

"I'm fine," You breathed. "My breasts feel incredibly full. I should pump soon. I hope what I left is enough for Nicky."

"I'll make sure it's enough," Natasha reassured. "He's doing well too. Just a little teething."

"That's good," You nodded even though she couldn't see you. "So, you get to see Stella's tantrums live and up close."

"They're impressive," Natasha chuckled. "She's a bit like me in that regard."

"Oh?" Your eyes widened in surprise. "I didn't think I'd see the day when you admitted to being a brat."

"Hey," She said, her tone indignant. "I can admit when I'm being a brat."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Okay, fine. I can't wait to see it myself."

"Don't worry," Natasha assured a note of mischief in her voice. "We'll put on a good show for you. Seriously though what do you do when she's misbehaving?"

"I spank her," You replied.

There's a pause on the phone where you can tell Natasha is trying to process whether or not you're being serious.

"Oh my God," You couldn't help but laugh. "Natasha, I'm joking."

"Oh," She breathed, the relief evident in her voice. "I didn't know. I thought maybe you changed your mind on corporal punishment."

"Nope, she's not quite there yet," You chuckled. "But she does a good job of getting you there. I miss her."

"She misses you too," Natasha sighed, a hint of sadness creeping into her voice. "This is my first time truly being alone with them since they were babies. I'm learning so much."

"Well, we have all the time in the world to learn more," You smiled. "I'm proud of you, Nat. I know it's hard, but you're doing great."

"Thanks," She replied, a warmth in her voice. "I'll make sure the kids are taken care of. Until this blows over and we figure out something."

"I know," You said softly. "We're in this together."

"I should go," Natasha sighed. "The kids are asleep, but I'll call again later, okay?"

"Okay," You agreed. "Be safe, Nat."

"I will," She promised.

You ended the call, and you were left alone in the silence of the apartment. You took a deep breath, your mind wandering to all of the things you could do this week. It's been a year since you've been back in New York. The last time was a booty call for Natasha when she'd been craving your presence. You'd left the kids with Clint and Laura who only lived four hours away at the time.

It felt weird to be back now. You wondered what you'd even do, but the idea of being here, close to the people you cared about, was comforting.

You pushed yourself off the couch and started unpacking, putting your clothes away, and setting up the spare room.

*****

Lunch with Maria Hill was refreshing. She sat in front of you, her hair pulled back in a sleek bun, her blue eyes looking at you with concern. When she sat down in front of you, it was like she noticed every single subtle detail about you that changed. Then she asked you questions as if she was gauging your state of mind. You told her a lot, more than you probably should have. But Maria was trustworthy and had always been a good listener.

“You’ve gotten good at picking these low-profile spots, almost like you’re still in the game,” She teased.

"Well, some habits die hard, I guess," You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. "And it's easier when you're not the target. Although, it doesn't stop me from feeling like a fugitive."

"That's the life of a wanted woman," Maria replied, her tone half-serious.

"Yeah," You sighed, resting your elbows on the table and leaning forward. “Even if I’m not the one being hunted.”

“I’ve heard the underwater raft went belly up a couple weeks ago,” Maria sipped from her mugs. Her eyes flashed around the room subtly.

“You knew about that?” You asked. “Am I the only one that thinks that’s a cruel prison?”

"Yeah, I don't disagree. I think a lot of things have happened that I can't control," Maria admitted. "The only thing I can control is being there for you. We may not have been in contact for years but we're still family.”

"I know, and I appreciate that. But if I'm being honest, this isn't exactly the welcome I was expecting."

"Well, things have gotten complicated," Maria said with a sigh. “Look, I don’t care what Ross or the general public thinks. I think those Accords are bullshit. But… I don’t like being kept in the dark either.”

“You mean Nick Fury doesn’t keep tabs on us after all?” You joked.

Maria chuckled, shaking her head. "He can try, but I'm the best at keeping secrets."

"Well, we can keep each other updated then," You offered. "I want to make sure my family is safe."

"Of course," Maria nodded. "So, Ross showed up, huh? Is he giving you a hard time?"

"He's trying," You huffed. "But I'm not about to roll over and play dead. This isn't the first time we've gone head-to-head. I think he's starting to realize just how far I'll go."

"Damn, you're tough," Maria chuckled.

"Well, I learned from the best," You smirked.

"You certainly did," She smiled.

"So, what are you doing these days?" You asked.

"I'm still with the U.S. Air Force for the time being. My role has shifted a little bit, but I'm still working to keep the world safe," Maria said. “Working with Stark whenever I have free time.”

"Oh, yeah? Any plans for a vacation?"

"Not really, but if you're offering, I'm sure we can figure something out," She winked. “There’s something different about you. A glow.” She mused.

You blushed slightly, shaking your head. "I think it's just the sunlight."

"Nah, it's not that," Maria grinned. "It's nice, whatever it is. Don’t tell me you’re pregnant?”

"That would be perfect timing. Wouldn’t it ?” You chuckled. “I’m not pregnant and don’t plan to be.”

"That's a shame, I think you'd make a good mother," Maria said. "But I respect your decision."

"Thanks, I appreciate that. So, how's Fury?" You asked, curious to know if she was still in touch with him.

"He's good, still the same old Nick," Maria said. "He's a busy guy, but we keep in touch. I think he's worried about you, actually."

"Me? Why would he be worried?"

"Because you're important to him," Maria shrugged. "He may not show it, but he cares."

"I'm not that important, and neither is Natasha," You said, a hint of sadness creeping into your voice. "If anything, she should be the one he's worried about."

"Look, y/n, I know he doesn't have the best track record with being upfront about everything, but he does care. And he'll always look out for those he considers family," Maria said.

"Family," You murmured. "Yeah, I guess we are."

"And even if he didn't show it, he'd always look out for you and Nat," She assured. "Just give him a chance."

"I will," You nodded.

You finished the rest of your lunch and made plans to meet again. You were glad to have Maria in your corner, especially during this chaotic time.

After parting ways, you found yourself wandering the streets, taking in the familiar sights and sounds. New York City was alive, the hustle and bustle a stark contrast to the quiet countryside of your home.

As you walked, the familiar faces and landmarks began to fade into the background. Instead, thoughts of the past began to creep in, memories you'd buried long ago resurfacing.

You thought about the times you'd spent here with Natasha. The early years of your marriage, when everything seemed new and exciting. You could remember the way her eyes would light up as she recounted her latest adventure or the way her laugh would fill the air with warmth. You missed that, the easy way you'd connected with each other, the way your bond had been so effortless.

You could see her, standing on the edge of a rooftop, the wind whipping her hair, her gaze locked on yours. That was the moment you'd fallen in love with her. She'd been so confident, so sure of herself, and yet there had been a vulnerability to her. She'd looked at you like no one else had before, her expression full of longing and hope. It was the beginning of something, a spark that would turn into a flame, a desire that would grow stronger with every passing day.

You could still feel the way your heart had raced as you'd stepped closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She'd been so beautiful, so magnetic, that you'd been helpless to resist her pull. She'd kissed you then, her lips soft and sweet, and it was like everything had fallen into place. You'd known, in that moment, that this was the beginning of something special.

Now, as you wandered the streets, your memories faded and the present returned. The noise and chaos of the city was overwhelming, but you pushed through it.

******

On the other side of the world, Natasha is just finishing up clearing the dinner dishes. The kitchen is small but cozy, sunlight streaming in through the windows. Nicky is glued to her hip, babbling about something in toddler-speak, while Stella is dangling from the couch, engrossed in Peppa Pig on the television.

It's been a quiet day, and she’s was ready to turn in from the night but the calm atmosphere is interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Natasha looked over, frowning as she made her way towards the door. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t say a word. She simply eyed the person through the peephole. When she spots familiar brown hair, she unlocks it.

“You’re awake,” Wanda greets.

Natasha smiles.

Wanda stood there with a backpack, looking a bit nervous.

"Hi," Natasha stepped aside. "Come in."

"Sorry, I didn't call," Wanda said sheepishly.

"Don't worry about it," She shrugged. “I just finished up dinner.”

"Oh, I'm fine," Wanda shook her head. "I ate at the station."

"Well, there's leftovers," Natasha said. "So, if you get hungry.

“Thank you,” Wanda nodded.

Natasha turned towards the living room, raising her voice.

"Stella, Wanda is here," She said, gesturing to the girl behind her.

Stella glanced up from the TV, her eyes widening as she spotted the new arrival. Her grin stretched wide as she bounced over to Wanda, her little curls bouncing with each step. She barely paused before raising her arms in silent invitation. Without missing a beat, Wanda scooped her up, holding her close as she’d done a thousand times before.

“Hi, Wanda,” Stella said, her eyes shining.

“Hi,” Wanda replied softly, a smile tugging at her lips. Her eyes lit up with genuine warmth as she held the little girl in her arms.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the air between them surprisingly comfortable. Then, in that serious way only a three-year-old could manage, Stella tilted her head and asked, “Wanda, are you okay now?”

Natasha's breath caught. Stella’s ability to sense things had always surprised her, and this was no exception. She exchanged a glance with Wanda, who looked both startled and touched by the child’s question.

“Yes, I am,” Wanda said gently, her voice just above a whisper. “Thanks for asking.”

Stella’s serious expression melted into a bright smile, and she gave Wanda a small pat on the shoulder. “I’m glad,” she said, her voice full of sincerity. As if Wanda's well-being was the only thing in the world that mattered to her.

Wanda’s gaze shifted to Natasha, the question in her eyes clear without her needing to speak it. How does she know?

Natasha shrugged a faint smile on her lips. “She picks up on things,” she guessed quietly. Stella had always been sensitive, attuned to emotions in a way Natasha couldn’t quite explain. It made her both proud and protective.

“Mama,” Stella piped up, breaking the silent exchange between the two women, “can I play?”

Natasha smiled at her daughter, grateful for how children could easily shift between the serious and the simple. “Yes, you can.”

Without hesitation, Stella wiggled out of Wanda’s arms and ran over to the pile of toys scattered across the living room floor, already chattering to Wanda about which ones she’d play with first.

Natasha watched her for a moment before turning back to Wanda, whose gaze was still fixed on the little girl. There was something soft in Wanda’s expression, a kind of wonder Natasha hadn’t seen in her for a long time. It tugged at something deep in her chest, a feeling that was part relief and part nostalgia.

The sound of Wanda's voice snapped Natasha back to the present.

"Sorry for not calling, I just wanted to check on you," Wanda apologized.

"It's fine," Natasha assured. "I want to make sure you're safe too."

"Thanks," She nodded. "Where's y/n?"

"In New York," She gestured for Wanda to follow her into the kitchen away from prying eyes. She placed Nicky into his high chair, silently cheering when he didn't protest. "Hoping to show her face and throw Ross off a little bit."

"I can't believe he tracked her down," Wanda huffed, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, well, he's relentless. And stupid," Natasha muttered.

"True," Wanda agreed. "Is this all because of me? Right, what I did? He really wants me."

"It's not just because of what you did, Wanda. It's what we did," Natasha corrected. "It's a combination of things, really. He's just trying to regain some power. But don't worry, y/n can handle him."

"I'm not worried about y/n, I'm worried about her," Wanda gestured towards the living room where Stella is still playing. "What if he finds out about them?"

"He won't," Natasha promised. "And even if he does, we'll figure it out. We will have a plan. We always do."

Wanda's expression relaxed a bit, her posture visibly loosening. "You and y/n make me feel like a person."

"Well, you're always welcome here," Natasha said softly. "Or wherever we are in the world."

Wanda gave her a warm smile before changing the subject. "So, how are things going?"

"We're doing alright," Natasha sighed, her gaze falling to the floor. "I know the moving around gets to her a little. It's complicated."

"Of course, I understand. You just need to lay low until this all blows over," Wanda nodded.

"Exactly," Natasha agreed. "I've gotten used to it. I mean, I've been running my entire life, but this is different."

"It is," Wanda agreed. "But you're not alone. We're here for you."

"Thank you," Natasha breathed. "It means a lot. How long are you here for?"

"Just the night," Wanda licked her lips. "I plan to meet back up with Vision."

"Vision?" Natasha smirked, arching an eyebrow.

Wanda blushed. "He's my partner. Is that weird? Since he's kind of older?"

"Well, he's a robot for one. Two, is it romantic or is it..."

"I'm not sure," Wanda shrugged. "There's definitely a connection there. We're friends, but we're more than that too. I'm not sure where it will lead, but I'm curious."

"That's a good place to start," Natasha hummed.

"He's different," Wanda sighed. "He doesn't know how to be a person, but he's trying. It's nice."

"You're a good teacher," Natasha smiled. "Just be careful, okay?"

"I will," Wanda promised.

Natasha nodded, her gaze drifting towards the living room, where Stella was carrying a bunch of her toys to bring to Wanda.

"Wanda, look at what I found," She said proudly, holding out the toy for inspection.

"That's a nice frog," Wanda complimented, a grin stretching across her lips.

"It's a turtle," Stella corrected a hint of mischief in her tone. "His paint has just come off a little bit."

"My mistake," Wanda laughed.

"Come on," Stella tugged on Wanda's hand, leading her to the couch. "We're playing dress up."

Natasha sat back in her chair, a soft smile tugging at her lips. She couldn't wait for you to come home.

The next morning, Wanda is on her way, leaving Natasha with a hug that would last for a while.

"Call if you need anything," She said. "I'll try and keep my ears open."

"Thank you," Natasha sighed.

Wanda smiled, her gaze lingering on the kids before she turned and walked away.

"Wanda," Natasha called out. "Be careful. Stay close. "

"I will," Wanda promised.

Natasha closed the door, watching as the redhead left the home. She needed you to be home.

***********

The house was silent when you pushed open the front door, your movements careful and quiet. You stepped inside, half-expecting to hear the usual sounds of chaos that accompanied a house with two small children—Stella’s giggles or Nicky’s babbling. But tonight, there was nothing but the soft hum of the wind outside.

You tiptoed through the living room, your eyes scanning for any sign of life, but it seemed like the house was asleep. Your heart warmed at the thought—they must have had a busy day. As you made your way toward the bedroom, you paused at the door, gently pushing it open.

There, sprawled across the bed, was Natasha. Nicky lay curled against her side in nothing but a diaper, his tiny fists clutching onto her shirt as if she were his anchor. Stella was draped across Natasha’s chest, wearing a too-small sleep dress that barely reached her knees, and only one sock clung to her foot. Her curls were a wild mess around her face, and every now and then, she would let out a soft, contented sigh in her sleep.

You smiled at the sight, taking a moment to appreciate how peaceful they all looked. You leaned against the doorway, taking in the scene. It was so different from when they were babies when their days were spent crying and needing to be fed or changed. Now, they were growing into their own personalities, their needs shifting to accommodate those personalities.

Your heart swelled with love as you watched them sleep, knowing that no matter how much the world changed, your family would remain constant.

You quietly made your way into the room, careful not to disturb the sleeping pair. As you leaned over to kiss Nicky's forehead, the floorboard creaked under your feet, causing him to stir slightly.

"Mama," He whined.

"Shh," You whispered, scooping him into your arms. Natasha woke at the sudden change of weight.

"Oh, you're back," She murmured.

"Hey, sleepyhead," You grinned. "Did you have a busy day?"

"Yeah," She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Wrangling toddlers is way harder than fighting evil."

"You're telling me," You bounced Nicky in your arms. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," Natasha admitted, her voice low.

"Why don't you go back to sleep," You suggested. "I'll be here."

"Okay," Natasha closed her eyes again, the stress of the day catching up to her. "Y/n?"

"Yes?"

"Welcome home."

You smiled.

"It's good to be back."

---> next part

[chogiwow]

for well and for good | park sunghoon

pairing: sunghoon x gn!reader

genre: angst

wc: 1k

warnings: allusions to a toxic past relationship (sunghoon and unnamed ex), crying (a lot), hurt-no-comfort fic, heartbreak; sunghoon realises his feelings for you too late

a/n: all i want is to break hearts <3

a/n pt 2: umm, not a solid plot but more so like a scene building concept?

there wasn’t a more heartbreaking moment than this, not for sunghoon; not even when the consequences of his actions that led him here had played out exactly as you had warned him it would.

now it was too late, and beg as he might, a heavy feeling in his chest slowly settled against his favour, a premonition turning true and cry as much as he wanted, everything was spiralling out of control so fast, he wasn’t sure who he should save first.

“(y/n)...(y/n) please, i can’t do this, i can’t live without you. i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, please don’t leave, i need you…i love you.”

the more he weeped for a lost cause, the more it hurt your chest and ripped you apart piece by piece but you made no attempts at stopping the pain.

everyone had always assumed that you and sunghoon would be the endgame. it was so obvious! you both were head over heels for each other, but of course, of course the heart wavers ever so often now and then. sunghoon let himself ignore all the signs, pretend that the affection and sweet words weren’t another ploy for his wealth, his looks, his popularity, the safety and love he was so willing to provide someone, because he was always so very generous. generous and ridiculously naive; always looking to give away a piece of himself to anyone who so much as asked for it.

and a man in love is hard to sway again, especially when the man is sunghoon, with his giving nature and so much love that filled his heart that he couldn’t contain it any longer.

words were said – spit almost venomously at the cost of saving face and pride, and how dare you question his love and hers, when you had no business? how dare you make assumptions about this beautiful woman who loved him – at least he hoped she did – as much as he did?

and then…and then everything you said came true. your warnings carefully etched themselves like knife carvings on a paper – vehemently and so very stubbornly irreversible. now he’s here, after months of grieving not just the loss of his trust in love, but also you. and he had to make things right, but how does one convince a person they've broken and trampled upon so mercilessly, that they are indeed in love with them?

how does sunghoon convince you that he’s so utterly in love with you that he could physically feel the pain of your pointed ignoring and cold looks? how does he even begin to express how sorry he was when the unsaid apology squeezed the breath out of him in aggrieved pants? how does sunghoon not lose you again?

“”i’m sorry hoon, i can’t do this anymore. i can’t love you anymore, i don’t want to love you anymore…you’ve hurt me too much.”

“(y/n) please, please i beg you,”

and beg he did; getting down on his knees on the cold tile floors of your living room, he wrapped his arms around your waist and dampened your shirt with his hot tears. neither he nor you were making much sense of this conversation anymore.

he felt you shake in his embrace, your own tears and gasps of air breaking his chants of an apology, his hands tightening around you to physically feel your touch after months.

“hoon stop it,” a wretched sob, ugly as it sounded when it tumbled out of your lips in pain, like a helpless rotten fruit falling off its branches, makes you whimper and clutch onto the clinging man's hand who refused to let you go.

in a hurried motion sunghoon is up on his feet, holding you by the shoulder that shakes with the cries staining your cheeks.

“i can’t live without you, please give me another chance,” he shakes his head frantically, mumbling out his words in a frenzy as he is yet again painfully reminded of exactly how weighted his words were and how much truth they held in them. it weighed him down, your refusal to look past this, like a sack of cotton drowning in water, and yet he could not bring himself to blame you, hoping against hope that his words would make a change.

his lips find your forehead, pressing down on them in a hot kiss; the trembling of his lips breaks you, you wish would stop – but he doesn’t. he’s kissing your shoulder, your arms, your wrists, your palms and he’s kissing your forehead – again and again and again and again – until you push yourself away, your eyes closed, shaking your head.

“don’t, it’s time we stopped this. we can’t hope for things that were never meant to be.”

sunghoon was standing on the edge of a cliff, and you just pushed him off into a bottomless pit that made his insides curl into themselves, his hands shooting in the air for something to grasp but there’s only air that passes through his fingers like bullets.

in his last attempt he kisses you on the lips. he holds your face so gently and kisses you so deeply and for a moment you feel yourself swaying. you let him kiss you, because you know this would be the last time you would let this happen. you whimper into his mouth and he lets a broken sob tumble on your lips where it stays as a reminder of this very moment, searing you both apart. you don’t kiss back.

“stop it, please. you’re hurting me.” it’s a whispered plea, but to sunghoon it’s a huge boulder that blocks his way from you. you’ve planted it there for once and for all, and he knows that there’s nothing he can do to make you move it.

“i’m sorry, i love you, but i don't want to anymore. i’m sorry.” 

sunghoon rests his forehead against yours, your tears mingled and continuous and he knows he’s lost you now, for well and for good.

[poughkeepsies]

Not to make this 1000 times worse for everyone but actually, 614 and 615 were the episodes for both Buck and Eddie mutually rejecting each other and the other's place in their lives by implying that they are lacking in the area that is the other's love language. Lemme see if I can hold my pieces together long enough to explain.

614 with Eddie rejecting Buck was much more subtle and didn't show a reaction from Buck beyond general jealousy because I fully believe that Buck doesn't know he's in love with Eddie, because he never even allowed himself to consider it as an option. He is too petrified of people leaving and too incapable of accepting that he can be loved to ever put himself in a position to hope for something that has the potential to devastate him so thoroughly. But whether he knows he's in love with Eddie or not, over the past 5 seasons he has thrown himself completely and utterly head-first into being there for Eddie and Christopher, being their best friend and their safe place. He exists as a part of their lives that no one but Shannon has ever even come close to occupying. Buck doesn't do grand declarations like Eddie does, but he shows his love through quality time and acts of service and all of that boils down to making sure the Diaz boys are never, ever alone. And yet, just last episode Eddie decided that he wants to start dating because he doesn't want to be "alone" anymore. Eddie is scared of dying alone when Buck has proven time and time again that there is no mess, battlefield, or locked door that could keep him from Eddie if he's ever in danger. So if Eddie is still feeling alone, still scared of dying alone, then maybe the kind of partnership and presence Buck brings to their lives simply isn't what Eddie is looking for, at least in a romantic sense. Even if he isn't aware of his feelings yet, even subconsciously Buck would take that as a door closing in his face before he even had the chance to knock. And so continues the pattern of Eddie jumping back into the dating game and Buck diving in seconds after him.

Now, of course, Eddie isn't saying that because Buck isn't enough. Buck is everything he wants or needs in a partner, but that scares him because Eddie is aware of his feelings and that makes him so acutely aware of the fact that Buck will find someone else to settle down with and start his own family with any day now, and when that happens Eddie really will be well and truly alone. He can't break his own heart, he needs to start being proactive because he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life alone after Buck has moved on.

And in 615, when Buck says that Natalia really sees him, he's discounting the way Eddie has always unspokenly expressed his love for him. Because maybe Eddie hasn't ever used those exact words before, but every one of his major declarations, including "there's no one in this world I trust with my son more than you" (THE TO BE SEEN, TO BE FOUND SCENE?? HELLO???), "I love him enough to never stop trying and I know you do too", "I forgive you", "I know", "It's in my will if I die you become Christopher's legal guardian", and especially "you act like you're expendable, but you're wrong", have been just another way of Eddie telling him I see you for all that you are and I love you for it. The expandability line is a particularly unsubtle standout because it's absolutely paralleled with both Taylor and Margaret telling Buck "you think you're invincible but you're wrong," and there Eddie was again, paired against Buck's mom and his girlfriend, two of the people who should know him and love him the best and yet just don't. And oh shit I'm realizing this just as I'm typing this but Eddie is yet again being paralleled against Buck's mom and his girlfriend (the girlfriend now being Natalia). In 6x10 when Margaret calls him a "miracle baby" and the way Natalia gushes about his death - Buck's death and his birth, two of the most traumatic things that have ever happened to him and Buck is someone who so desperately wants everything to be okay, wants the trauma to have some grand meaning, so he takes the out and takes the win and he lets them let him hide behind the superficial positive bullshit. But Eddie, Eddie sees Buck and Eddie knows him and loves him enough that he can tell just how not okay all of this is, not just for Buck but for all the rest of the people who love him as well, and he doesn't want him to hide away from it because Buck shouldn't have to pretend to be unchanged but he should acknowledge the way he's changed. Eddie is seeing Buck more than Buck can handle being seen right now and Buck is unconsciously rejecting it by placing preference over the way Natalia sees him. Except to an Eddie who is already convinced Buck doesn't feel the same, who is so scared of being alone after Buck has moved on, this feels like just another way he won't be enough for Buck and the time when he'll really well and truly be alone is more and more drawing near. There's even something to be said about the fact that we see Eddie visibly realize just how much Buck has been affected as he's talking - the fact that he's realizing this so late may be making him even more sure of his inadequacy.

[rosary-pearls]

Wyll NSFW Thoughts/Headcanons Part 2

These are a little more specific than the previous ones so hopefully you all enjoy these as well

These are mostly top/dom focused & gender neutral (18+ Obvi)

•Wyll is a dancer and a fighter so he has excellent control over his body. The roll of his hips are precise & intentional; always seeking to draw out the most pleasure for both of you. Only gets sloppy when he's about to come or has been overstimulated •Wyll's default is to be gentle & doting with you, but he'll handle you however you like to be handled. You wish to be treated gently? His touch will feel akin to a rose petal. You wish for something rougher? He’ll pin you down, spank, and maybe even choke you as much as you'd like. He just wants you to feel good & enjoy your time together 

•Concerning rough sex, he has limits for what he's willing to do. He wouldn't be comfortable slapping you in the face, making you bleed, using tools for impact play, or anything overly humiliating. There is also a limit to how much strength he's willing to use if you want to be handled roughly - some bruises and hickies are fine, enticing even. But your body looking freshly beaten? A huge turnoff for him

•I can't imagine Wyll enjoying being on the receiving end of rough sex, I think he wants to feel loved. Be nice to him!!

•Definitely into wax/candle play. He loves seeing you tense as you anxiously wait for the hot wax to hit your skin. He’s particular about the wax color, he’ll choose something that compliments your skin tone so you look like a piece of art. He’d blindfold you for the full experience, and when he's ready to move on he'd remove the blindfold and drip one last time, telling you to watch how beautifully the wax melts and runs along the contours of your body. Yum 

•I know this is said all the time but PLEASE grab him by horns. Especially when he's going down on you - he loves it when you show him exactly what you want. When you're kissing, or being playful give them a peck, trace the grooves with your fingers. Remind Wyll they're just as loved as the rest of him, poor guy

•Praise this man - tell him he's making you feel good, tell him he's beautiful & sexy (he still gets self-conscious about his newfound fiend body), tell him you love and need him. During and not during sex

•Wyll can be a tease - because of his heroic & kindhearted nature I think ppl forget Wyll is a lil shit & instigator at times (complimentary)

•He’s never mean-spirited when he teases you, but he’ll get the faintest quirk of the lip, the slightest self-satisfied glaze in his eyes that tells you how amused he is. He never allows his teasing or denial to get to the point where it's humiliating for you - his purpose in doing these things is to make the reward all the sweeter, not an act of subjugation

•WYLL READS SMUT!!!!! And man does this play out in some fun ways. He talks about it in past tense sure, but once he gets to live the soft life again I bet he'd pick it back up. Especially since you, who is reading this, most likely read smut too

•100% down to read them together. He's good at reading aloud, his voice is smooth & he doesn't tend to make mistakes or fumble lines. It becomes a pleasant pastime in the evening, with you resting your head on his lap as he reads for the two of you

•If you read a particularly spicy scene he'd suggest you try & reenact it. aka this man is into roleplay (bard tavs rejoice)

•Yes he loves his rose petals on the bed and sensual baths, but he also enjoys being silly and goofy in bed. He attempts to do a voice for the part he’s playing & it sounds utterly ridiculous & you both break out into laughter and giggling while you're trying to kiss. He's got such a beautiful grin how could you not melt? The silliness just brings you closer & makes the sex all the more special 

•Cockwarming? Cockwarming. Loves just staying inside you to feel close while holding you from behind. Might ask you to read from one of your dirty books out loud while he fondles you, letting you feel his cock gradually harden and lengthen in you. Also likes doing it after he’s come inside you 

•More naughty reading stuff because I love this concept for him. He'd have you read your book aloud while he gently fucks you & wouldn’t let you come until you finish x amount of pages. If you stop, he stops - might even pull out. If you're incoherent, he goes excruciatingly slow until you can enunciate properly

Let me know what you think! Or if any of them should be a fic of their own