#i said i was going to write and i MEANT IT

[gf2bellamy]

surprise — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: garcia and derek go into spencer's apartment, while you're sleeping in his bed. the problem? no one knows you and spencer are dating content warnings: secret relationship , reader also works in the bau a/n: hiii !!! i'm back to my secret relationship roots and i hope you like this <3 bc i had so much fun writing this ( i've been writing it for ages and i'm finally happy with it)

"No, no," Spencer shook his head frantically, his voice almost pleading as Derek expertly maneuvered the car into the parking spot at his apartment complex.

"Why not?" Garcia's voice was full of curiosity as she looked back at Spencer from the passenger seat.

The trio had spent the whole afternoon shopping for your birthday, which was just around the corner. Garcia, as usual, had already gotten everything ready—gifts, decorations, the whole nine yards. She even had a closet near her office packed with presents for you, waiting for the big reveal at the surprise party she was planning to throw at the BAU.

The whole mission was meant to be a fun, collaborative effort, the three of them picking out something special for you to celebrate.

But now, as Derek parked the car and they were all about to get out, Garcia’s sudden idea was making Spencer break into a cold sweat.

"I mean, we can just hang out at your place for a bit, right?" Garcia asked, her tone more like a suggestion than a question. She had already unbuckled her seatbelt, clearly excited about the idea.

Spencer swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the seatbelt.

"I don’t know if that’s such a good idea," he said quickly, trying to sound casual, though the nerves were practically radiating off of him.

"I have… stuff to do." His words stumbled, but Derek caught on immediately.

"You've got a date or something?" Derek teased, raising an eyebrow. "Come on, Reid, live a little."

Spencer’s face turned a light shade of pink, but he quickly deflected with a nervous laugh. "No, no date," he replied, but the nervous energy in his tone was giving him away. "I just—uh—need to get inside."

Garcia didn't miss a beat. "Come on, Spencer," she insisted with that gleam of excitement in her eyes. "It’s been forever since we just hung out at your place. You know, a little downtime."

But Spencer’s mind was racing, heart pounding.

The last thing he needed was for Derek and Garcia to come upstairs and see you there.

He knew you were in his apartment right now, sound asleep in his bed, curled up in one of his sweaters. This morning, you had practically melted into him that morning, clinging to him as he reluctantly told you he had to go.

You had been so warm, your face tucked into the side of his neck, holding him like you didn’t want him to leave. He’d rubbed soothing circles on your back, whispering that he’d be back soon, but you hadn't been ready to let go. Eventually, he had managed to peel himself away, promising to return as quickly as possible.

Now, his heart pounded as he watched Derek and Garcia hop out of the car without hesitation.

"No, no, no—" Spencer muttered under his breath, scrambling to open his own door. He practically stumbled out, rushing after them, but they were already making their way toward his apartment building.

They didn’t even wait for him.

"Of course," he thought bitterly as he hurried behind them. He knew he was too late. There was no way he could stop them now. His only hope was that you were still asleep.

And there was a high chance that you were.

Spencer knew your sleep schedule well—knew exactly how you curled up beneath his sheets, how deep you slept when wrapped in one of his sweaters. If he could just get inside before them and shut his bedroom door, everything would be fine.

As they reached the top floor, Spencer’s fingers fumbled in his pocket for his keys. His hands were practically shaking as he yanked them out, quickly jamming the correct one into the lock.

Slowly, he pushed the door open just a crack, peeking inside, praying you weren’t—

"Dr. Reid. What are you doing?" Garcia’s voice was laced with amusement as she leaned against the doorframe, watching him with a smirk.

Before Spencer could stop her, she pushed the door open wider, stepping inside.

Panic surged through him. His breath caught in his throat.

But—

You were nowhere to be seen.

His eyes darted toward the bedroom door. It was closed.

No sign of you.

Spencer swallowed hard, trying to compose himself as Garcia and Derek strolled inside, completely oblivious to the absolute terror he had just experienced.

Spencer quickly shut the door behind them, tossing his jacket over the nearest chair—something he never did. Normally, he was meticulous about hanging it up properly, but right now, his priority was making sure nothing seemed off.

Slipping off his shoes, he warily watched as Garcia and Derek made a beeline for his kitchen.

As they rummaged through his cabinets, Spencer seized the opportunity.

He darted down the hallway toward the bedroom, his socked feet barely making a sound on the hardwood floor. He cracked the door open just enough to peek inside, and there you were, still fast asleep, curled up under the blankets with his sweater draped loosely over your shoulders.

The sight made his chest tighten with affection, and a small, involuntary smile tugged at his lips.

He closed the door gently, careful not to make a sound, and hurried back to the kitchen before they could notice his absence.

Crisis averted.

He stopped in his tracks, however, when he saw the disaster unfolding before him.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked, exasperated, watching as Derek and Garcia rummaged through his cabinets like raccoons.

Garcia, mid-bite into a granola bar, waved a hand dismissively. “Relax, genius, we’re just looking for snacks. By the way—” she held up the granola bar with a raised brow, “—I thought you hated these?”

Spencer froze.

He did. He never ate those granola bars.

But you did.

You loved them, so he always kept some stocked just for you.

He scrambled for an excuse, clearing his throat. “Uh—I just wanted to give them another try,” he mumbled, avoiding Garcia’s sharp, suspicious gaze.

Derek, now chewing a piece of toast, barely looked up. “Yeah, okay,” he said, mouth full.

Spencer shot him an unamused glare. “Can the two of you stop eating my food?”

“No,” Derek replied, taking another bite, completely unbothered.��

Spencer sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You know, most people ask before raiding someone’s kitchen,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words. 

Garcia giggled, popping the last bite of granola bar into her mouth. “Oh, come on, Spence. You love us. Besides, you’re acting super weird today. What’s going on with you?” 

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, and he quickly looked away, busying himself with straightening a stack of papers on the counter.

“Nothing’s going on,” he said, his voice a little too high-pitched. “I’m just… tired. It’s been a long day.” 

Garcia and Derek just exchanged a look.

Spencer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He needed to get them out of here before they found something they weren’t supposed to. 

Like, say… you.

“Do you think she’ll like my gift?” Garcia asked, peeking at the bag on the counter, her fingers fidgeting with the ribbon.

“Most definitely, babygirl,” Derek answered without hesitation, dusting the crumbs off his hands after finishing his toast. “She’s been talking about it for weeks.”

Spencer, still trying to recover from his near heart attack, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, she’ll love it,” he said, meeting Garcia’s eyes with a small, reassuring smile.

Garcia beamed, clearly pleased with herself. “Oh, she’ll love yours, boy genius,” she added, pointing at Spencer. “You know her so well.” Her voice carried a teasing lilt, her grin mischievous.

“Maybe too well,” Derek chimed in, eyebrows raised as he leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed. His grin was knowing, smug.

Spencer stiffened.

“When are you finally gonna ask her out?” Derek asked, his grin widening.

Spencer felt his face heat up instantly. He blushed, but not for the reason they thought.

He blushed because he remembered the day it happened. 

The way his heart had pounded in his chest, his palms sweaty as he rehearsed the words in his head over and over. He’d been so nervous, he’d almost convinced himself to back out.

But then he’d seen you—your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you noticed him approaching—and all his doubts had melted away. 

When he finally asked, his voice trembling slightly, your reaction had been everything he’d hoped for. Your face had lit up, and you’d nodded so quickly, it was almost comical.

“Yes!” you’d said, your voice filled with so much enthusiasm that it made him laugh. In that moment, all his anxiety had washed away, replaced by a giddy, almost overwhelming sense of relief and joy. 

“Aww, how cute!” Garcia practically vibrated with excitement, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she pointed an accusatory finger at Spencer. “He’s blushing,” she sang, her grin stretching impossibly wide. 

Spencer groaned, shaking his head in exasperation. “Did you two come into my apartment just to eat my food and make fun of me?” he asked, arms crossed.

“Pretty much,” Derek said, completely unfazed as he made his way back toward the fridge.

Spencer let out a sharp breath, trying to mask his anxiety. He knew you were still asleep, but that didn’t stop the lingering fear that their loud voices might wake you up.

But then—

Derek stopped in front of the fridge.

His eyes locked onto the calendar hanging there, and a slow, amused smirk spread across his face.

“Look at this, sweetheart,” Derek said, turning toward Garcia, his voice thick with amusement.

Garcia leaned in, her eyes widening as she saw what Derek was pointing at. There, on the calendar, your birthday was circled in bold red marker, surrounded by a carefully drawn heart.

Garcia gasped, clapping her hands together in delight. “Oh. My. God,” she said, her voice rising with every word. “Spencer Reid, you are down bad!”

Spencer felt his face burn even hotter. He wished he could disappear into the floor—or maybe just teleport to another dimension entirely. Anything to escape this moment.

Because the truth was, he hadn’t been the one to draw that heart on the calendar. It had been you.

He remembered the moment perfectly.

The day he hung the calendar up, you had been standing right there beside him, watching with an amused little smile. Then, without hesitation, you had grabbed the nearest marker—a red one, of course—and went straight to your birthday month, drawing a huge heart around the date.

"So you don’t forget."

He had chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped behind you, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. Then, he had pressed a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring against your skin—

"I don’t forget anything. Especially not something like that."

You had blushed.

And Spencer had loved making you blush.

Now, standing in his kitchen, faced with his coworkers’ relentless teasing, he was struck with the embarrassing realization that Derek and Garcia thought he was some hopelessly lovesick teenager who had scribbled hearts around his crush’s name in a notebook.

(Which—if he was being completely honest—wasn’t that far from the truth.)

But what was he supposed to say?

Tell them the truth? Admit that the woman he’d been secretly dating for months—the same woman they were here shopping for—was currently asleep in his bed down the hall?

Absolutely not.

But then—

The choice was taken away from him anyway.

Suddenly, the sound of running water echoed from down the hallway, causing both Garcia and Derek to freeze mid-sentence. Their heads snapped toward the source of the noise, their eyes widening as they stared at Spencer.

Spencer stared back, equally wide-eyed, his mind racing. You were in the bathroom, happily brushing your teeth, completely unaware that two of your—and Spencer’s—coworkers were standing in the kitchen, mere feet away.

“Spencer Walter Reid,” Garcia gasped, her voice loud enough to carry through the apartment. She clutched Derek’s arm like she was about to faint. “Is there someone here?”

“No, no,” Spencer said quickly, shaking his head so vigorously that his curls bounced. “It’s probably just my washing machine turning on.”

As if on cue, the bathroom door creaked open, and then closed again. Spencer’s heart sank.

“Oh no,” he mumbled under his breath, his stomach twisting into knots.

And then, there you were.

You padded into the kitchen, blissfully unaware of the chaos you were about to unleash.

You were wearing Spencer’s boxers, which hung loosely around your hips, and one of his Star Wars shirts that was far too big for you, the hem brushing against your thighs. Your hair was slightly messy, and you were still rubbing sleep from your eyes.

Then you stopped.

Blinking, you finally seemed to register the two extra people in the room.

Garcia. Derek.

Standing there.

Staring.

At you.

In Spencer’s clothes.

Two pairs of eyes stared at you. And you stared back, your own eyes wide, your brain struggling to process the scene in front of you. Spencer, meanwhile, was staring at the ground like it might suddenly open up and swallow him whole.

Garcia broke the silence, her voice low and uncharacteristically quiet—something almost more shocking than if she’d screamed.

“Am I… dreaming?” she whispered, clutching Derek’s arm like a lifeline. She looked pale, her usual vibrant energy replaced by sheer disbelief as she took in your disheveled state.

Derek, for once, seemed just as stunned. “I… no, I don’t think so,” he said hesitantly, his usual confidence replaced by uncharacteristic uncertainty.

He blinked at you, then at Spencer, then back at you, as if trying to piece together what exactly was happening.

“Spencer,” you hissed, your voice low but urgent. “What the hell is happening?” You tugged self-consciously at the hem of his Star Wars shirt, trying to pull it down further.

Normally, you were the picture of professionalism at work, always impeccably dressed and composed.

But here you were, standing in Spencer’s kitchen in his boxers and an oversized shirt, your hair a mess and your face still flushed from sleep.

It was beyond awkward—it was mortifying.

Spencer finally looked up, his expression a mix of guilt and panic. “I, uh… this isn’t—” he started, but Garcia cut him off.

“Oh no, no, no,” Garcia said, her voice rising with every word, her hands flailing dramatically. “You do not get to ‘this isn’t’ us right now. This is happening. This is definitely happening.”

She pointed a finger at you, then at Spencer, her eyes wide.

“You two. Together. In his apartment. Wearing his clothes. Oh my gosh, this is the best day of my life.”

You froze, your cheeks burning as you tugged self-consciously at the hem of Spencer’s shirt. “Penelope, it’s not—” you started, but she cut you off with a wave of her hand.

“Nope, nope, nope,” she said, shaking her head so vigorously that her curls bounced. “No explanations, no excuses. This is happening. I have been waiting for this moment for years.”

Spencer groaned, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Garcia, please—”

“No,” she interrupted again, her voice rising an octave. “You don’t get to ‘Garcia, please’ me right now. This is huge. This is monumental. This is—”

“A disaster,” Spencer muttered under his breath, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Derek, who had been quietly observing the scene with an amused grin, finally chimed in. “Man, Reid, I gotta hand it to you. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “This is so embarrassing,” you muttered, though there was a hint of laughter in your voice.

Garcia, meanwhile, was practically bouncing on her toes, her excitement palpable. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun. I can’t wait to tell—”

“No!” Spencer and you said in unison, your voices sharp enough to make Garcia freeze mid-sentence.

“You are not telling anyone,” Spencer said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Garcia pouted, but there was a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Fine, fine. But only because I’m feeling generous. For now.”

Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “Man, this is going to be the best office drama ever.”

You groaned again, burying your face in your hands. “I’m going back to bed,” you muttered, turning on your heel and heading back down the hallway.

As you disappeared into the bedroom, Garcia and Derek turned to Spencer, their expressions a mix of amusement and disbelief.

“You’ve got some explaining to do, Pretty Boy,” Derek said, his grin widening.

Spencer sighed, knowing there was no escaping this. “Yeah,” he said, his voice resigned. “I know.”

[fourteentrout]

I said Google docs but I have this strange ritual where I'll use Google keep or my phone's notes app and write until I hit the character limit and then copy and paste into Google docs. This in fact makes it more complicated for me because often the things I italicize don't transfer over so I have to go through everything I've already written specifically to fix all the un-italicized words meant to be italicized. I don't know why I do this but I can't stop.

Got called a weirdo irl for the way I write my fics sooo

I am the “writes in document tabs” if anyone’s wondering

[loveesiren]

Hi lovely. Hope youre having a great weekend. I had short question. I love your writing and was wondering if you do requests? If so could I ask for one where y/n meets GD's cats for the first time. Theyre both nervous but it goes great.

If not, sorry for asking

Have a great rest of your weekend<3

Ｚｏａ'ｓ Ｆａｖｏｒｉｔｅ

a/n: Oh my sweet angel, if only you knew the creativity this request sparked for me!! I even had to add some SMAU to it! Thank you so much for sending me the cutest request! I hope I did it justice!

Also, I just got a new phone and all my fake social apps got deleted so sorry if they're wack lol

synopsis: Jiyong finally decides that the girl he's been dating should meet his precious babies, and he's blown away by the result.

warnings: FLUFFFF, alochol, language, very light mention of sex, still SFW

wc: 3.2k+

Soft music filled the car as you tapped your fingers against the steering wheel, your stomach twisting with nerves. The GPS on your phone read you were five minutes away, and suddenly, the reality of where you were going sank in deeper.

You and Jiyong had been officially together for two months, though the pull between you had been there long before. Late-night texts that stretched until morning, goofy pictures exchanged on Snapchat, secret moments stolen at his shows. But privacy mattered—to both of you. Being in the public eye made everything more complicated, so you took your time, let things unfold naturally. And you liked it that way.

But tonight was different. Tonight, he had invited you to his home.

It was a big step, one that spoke volumes. Jiyong was careful about his personal space, rarely letting people in. More often than not, he preferred to meet somewhere neutral or come over to your place instead. His past had taught him to be guarded, to protect the things he held closest. That included his home. That included his cats.

Princess Zoa and Iye weren’t just pets to him; they were family. And the fact that he was willing to introduce you to them—on their turf—meant more than words could.

You exhaled sharply as you pulled up to his building, quickly sending him a text to let him know you’d arrived. Within moments, your phone buzzed, and you saw his response:

Come up. Already called it in. Park next to me.

Of course, his building had top-tier security. Nothing less was expected.

You found his spot and eased your car into place beside his, gripping your bag as you took a couple of steadying breaths. Just as you turned to get out—

"Ahh!" You yelped, heart slamming against your ribs.

Jiyong stood outside your window, a smug grin on his face, clearly proud of himself for making you jump.

"You’re a dick!" you huffed as he opened the door for you, still chuckling.

“Mmm, sorry,” he murmured, clearly not sorry at all. His hands found your waist, pulling you in effortlessly as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “Missed you.”

Your fingers curled into his hoodie as you smiled. “Missed you too, JiJi. I’m really excited you invited me over.”

He hesitated for a second, then let out a breath, his lips quirking up in a nervous smile. “I just... trust you.” His voice was quieter now, more serious. “I want to share this part of me with you.”

That made your heart do an embarrassing little flip. You bit your lip, trying—and failing—to suppress a grin. You were head over heels for this man.

"Come on," he said, grabbing your bag from the car before lacing his fingers through yours. "Let's go."

Inside the elevator, he swiped a key card, granting access to the penthouse suite. A comfortable silence settled between you as the numbers climbed, Jiyong absentmindedly toying with the ends of one of your long braids.

When the doors finally slid open, he led you down the hall to his front door. He hesitated, scratching the back of his head.

"Uhh… it’s been a while since I’ve had someone… new over,” he admitted.

You squeezed his hand gently. “As long as you want me here, Ji, that’s all that matters.”

“I do!” he said quickly. Then, after a beat, “Zoa and Iye might be a little nervous, though…”

You chuckled. “That’s okay. I promise to be on my best behavior.”

A soft pink dusted his cheeks as he bit his lip. God, he was adorable.

“Okay,” he breathed, then unlocked the door, pulling you inside.

Your eyes widened as you took in your surroundings. You had seen glimpses of his place through Snapchats before, but nothing prepared you for seeing it in person. It was an effortless blend of artistic chaos and meticulous minimalism—every piece carefully curated, every detail intentional. The sleek furniture, the carefully arranged artwork, the shelves lined with vinyls and rare collectibles. It was stunning.

“Damn,” you muttered, turning in slow circles. “You really put my place to shame.”

Jiyong laughed as he placed your bag on the couch. “I like your place,” he said. “It’s homey.”

"Ji, I had no idea you were this clean and organized.” You teased.

"I’m not," he admitted with a smirk. "The cleaners came this morning. Gabriella has been cleaning up my messes for years. Bless her heart.”

You shook your head, grinning as he sauntered toward you, fingers grazing your exposed hip, playing with the waistband of your pajama pants.

“Can I get you a drink?” he murmured, his smirk deepening.

"Please," you teased, matching his energy.

He led you toward the kitchen, rambling about drinks and dinner. But before he could finish his sentence, a soft brush of fur against your leg made you pause.

“Hi, Princess Zoa!” you cooed, crouching down as the elegant gray cat moved gracefully around you, rubbing her face against your outstretched hand.

Jiyong blinked. “No way. She was hiding before you got here…”

You beamed, gently scratching behind her ears. “She’s so sweet! I love her already.”

And just like that, the tension in Jiyong’s shoulders eased. His lips curled into something soft, something real.

Yeah. This was a big step. And it felt right.

Jiyong handed you a drink—a simple vodka soda, but he knew it was your favorite. That small detail alone made your chest tighten in the best way. You took slow sips as you followed him through his home, the quiet intimacy of the moment settling over you like a warm blanket.

He showed you everything. His personal recording studio, where half-finished lyrics and melodies lived. The spare bedrooms, each one somehow still curated with his impeccable taste. The breathtaking view from the balcony, where the city stretched out endlessly beneath you, glittering like a dream. And finally—his bedroom.

This was your favorite.

His presence was everywhere in this space, woven into every little detail. The artwork, a mix of chaotic genius and sentimental treasures. Clothes draped over the back of a chair, half-folded laundry on the bed—tangible proof that he lived here, existed here. His knick-knacks, collected from different parts of his life, told a story only he could tell. It was personal. It was beautiful.

Something on his bedside table caught your eye, drawing you closer. A photo. A small, colorful rock. You picked them up, curiosity humming in your chest.

“What’s this?” you asked, turning the photo over in your hands.

Jiyong chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s, uh… a picture Daesung took of us. From that beach party a few months back.”

The moment flooded back instantly. That warm summer night, the waves crashing in the distance, music thrumming through the air. You and Jiyong, tipsy and tangled in laughter, dancing with the kind of reckless abandon only a new connection could bring. You’d forgotten Daesung had been running around with a camera, documenting the night in blurry snapshots of joy.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as your thumb brushed over the image. That night was when it had really started for you—the way Jiyong had held you close, how he never stopped making you laugh, how gentle he was even in the midst of chaos.

You glanced at the small rock in your other hand. “And this?”

Jiyong grinned, taking it from you, rolling it between his fingers like it was something precious. Because it was, to him. “This, my dear, is the first gift you ever gave me.”

You blinked. “It is?”

“Mmhmm.” His eyes gleamed with amusement. “Remember that time you called me drunk, asking if I could pick you up? You got in my car, all excited because you found a rock that ‘matched my hair.’” He mimicked your voice playfully. “You put it on my dashboard, declared it a masterpiece, and passed out before I even made it to your street.”

Your face heated. “Oh my god.” You covered your face with your hands, groaning. “Jiyong… you kept my drunk gift?”

“Of course.” His voice softened. “I have it in my pocket at every show. It’s my good luck charm.”

Your heart swelled, emotions tangling in your throat as you looked up at him. “You really are the kindest man I’ve ever met, you know that?”

He smiled, that soft, intimate kind of smile that made your stomach flip. “Can’t help it with you…”

His lips met yours, slow and sure, his hands finding your waist and pushing you toward the bed. Your back hit the mattress as his lips traced along your jaw, down the curve of your neck, making warmth pool in your stomach. You tangled your fingers in his hoodie, pulling him closer—

A sharp bap landed right on Jiyong’s head.

“Ow, Zoa!” he yelped, rubbing the spot where his beloved cat had just smacked him.

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth as Zoa hopped onto your lap, settling comfortably. 

“Oh, you think this is funny?” Jiyong shot you a mock glare, eyes twinkling with amusement. He sat up as Zoa curled into a loaf on your stomach, kneading at your shirt like she had claimed you for herself. “Did my cat just cockblock me?”

“Shhh, don’t say those words in front of the baby!” you scolded, scratching behind Zoa’s ears.

Jiyong scoffed. “Wow. Okay. I’ll just fuck off then.” He stood dramatically, shaking his head as he made his way to the kitchen.

You couldn’t stop laughing as you carefully moved Zoa to the side, hopping off the bed to chase after him, the cat trotting behind you.

“Hmmm, later, Oppa,” you hummed, wrapping your arms around him from behind. “Let’s watch our show.”

He sighed dramatically but smiled as he turned in your arms, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Fine.”

The two of you curled up on the couch, a thick blanket draped over your legs as Breaking Bad flickered onto the screen. Jiyong’s hand rested on your thigh under the blanket, absentmindedly tracing patterns against your skin.

Zoa stretched out across your lap, already fast asleep, and moments later, a soft meow announced the arrival of another visitor.

“Iye!” Jiyong grinned, patting his lap. The sleek gray cat hesitated before slowly making her way over, her small paws pressing into his legs as she perched there, still wary of you.

She craned her neck, sniffing at your arm cautiously before pulling back.

“Hi, Iye,” you murmured, keeping your voice gentle. You let her come to you, holding out your hand for her to investigate. She gave a single curious sniff before rubbing her face against your fingers—just once—then retreating back to Jiyong’s lap.

“At least you still love me, huh?” he cooed, scratching under her chin.

Iye kept sneaking glances at you as the show played, inching ever so slightly closer with each passing minute.

Jiyong leaned against your shoulder, exhaling a long drag from his vape as he glanced toward the window. The sun was beginning to dip below the skyline, painting the city in soft gold.

“You hungry, babe? I can start dinner.”

You stretched, sinking deeper into the cushions. “Mmm. What’re we having?”

“Lobster,” he said casually.

Your head snapped toward him. “Lobster?” You scoffed. “Jiyong, how fancy. I should’ve worn a cocktail dress.”

“As much as I’d love that, Jagi,” he mused, standing up, “nothing beats sitting on my couch in pajamas with my gorgeous girlfriend, eating lobster with no judgment. We can be as messy as we want.”

You leaned against the couch, watching him with a warmth spreading through your chest.

“God, I love you…” you murmured, without thinking.

Jiyong froze mid-step, turning sharply to face you, his expression unreadable.

“What did you just say?”

Your eyes widened. “Shit, I mean—” You stammered, face heating. “Ah, fuck.”

“No, no, don’t take it back.” He crossed the room in seconds, dropping onto the couch beside you. His hands cupped your face, his eyes searching yours. “Say it again.”

Your heart pounded. “I said… I love you.”

His lips crashed against yours, deep and urgent, a raw kind of emotion surging between you. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you, too.”

You let out a breathy laugh, shy but filled with absolute joy.

Jiyong grinned, standing abruptly. “Okay, I’m gonna go make you the best dinner ever. Because I fucking love you and you fucking deserve it.”

You laughed as he dashed toward the kitchen, grabbing your phone with trembling fingers to text your friends.

Laughter echoed through the kitchen as you and Jiyong moved in perfect sync, playfully bumping into each other while prepping dinner. The rich aroma of butter and garlic filled the air, mingling with the sharp scent of freshly squeezed lemon. His two cats sat perched on the counter, their sharp eyes tracking every movement, their tails flicking lazily as if silently judging your cooking skills.

“Babe, they’re totally waiting for us to drop something,” you giggled, nudging Jiyong as he reached for another ingredient.

“They’re opportunists,” he scoffed, turning to Zoa. “Aren’t you, Princess? You’re not slick.”

The gray cat blinked at him, unimpressed, before returning to watching your every move.

The two of you tossed back shots between chopping, stirring, and sneaking bites of food. Each time the tequila burned your throat, Jiyong was there with a teasing smirk, leaning in to steal a quick, lingering kiss that tasted of citrus and salt. You felt light, the alcohol buzzing in your veins, but it wasn’t just that—it was him. This moment. This feeling of being completely and utterly alive.

“Voila!” Jiyong announced dramatically, placing the finished dish on the counter with a flourish. His grin was downright giddy, like a little kid proud of his creation.

You clapped your hands together, eyes lighting up as you took in the masterpiece before you. “Holy shit, babe. This looks amazing.”

Jiyong preened under your praise, already reaching for a piece of lobster and popping it into his mouth.

“Should we sit at the table?” you asked, glancing toward the neatly set dining area.

“Fuck no,” he said through a mouthful of food. “Couch. Show. Now.”

You giggled, warmth blooming in your chest. You had finally found someone who matched your energy—who understood the joy of ignoring formalities in favor of what truly mattered.

Plates in hand, you both made your way back to the couch, curling up under the softest blanket as Breaking Bad resumed on the screen. Every so often, Jiyong would feed you a bite, and you'd do the same for him, laughing when he dramatically moaned about how good it was. The alcohol settled over you like a warm embrace, your limbs heavy, your mind blissfully light.

At the edge of the couch, Zoa and Iye sat patiently, their eyes fixed on the two of you, hoping for a dropped morsel.

“Sorry, ladies,” you teased, waving a lobster claw in front of them. “This one’s all ours.”

Jiyong chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer. His body was warm against yours, his scent a mixture of cologne, blueberry vape juice, and something inherently him. You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling completely and utterly at home.

It hit you then—how much you loved him. How he wasn’t just your boyfriend. He was your best friend. The person you could be unapologetically yourself around. No pretense, no walls. Just laughter, love, and this perfect, ordinary, extraordinary moment.

By the time dinner was finished, the two of you had knocked back a few more shots, and your bodies had melted further into the cushions. The warmth of the alcohol, the lull of the TV, and Jiyong’s steady breathing made your eyelids heavy. Even the cats had settled into slumber, Zoa curled up at your feet while Iye stretched out on the back of the couch.

Jiyong shifted beside you, his lips grazing your temple as he whispered, “Can we finish the show in my room?”

You hummed in agreement, unable to form words in your sleepy haze.

With an exaggerated groan, Jiyong forced himself up, stumbling slightly before pulling you to your feet. The two of you giggled as you made your way to the bedroom, tripping over each other’s steps, hands wandering, lips meeting between bursts of laughter.

As soon as you passed the threshold of the bedroom door, it was a tangle of limbs, clothing being shed in lazy, drunken movements, laughter giving way to slow, heated kisses.

Jiyong took his time with you, his hands mapping the curves of your body like he was committing you to memory. Every touch was reverent, every kiss deep and lingering. The world outside ceased to exist—the only thing that mattered was this, the warmth of his skin against yours, the way your bodies fit together like a puzzle that had finally found its missing piece.

There were moments of whispered confessions between soft moans, giggles breaking the tension as you both found yourselves too tipsy to be completely coordinated. But none of it mattered. All that mattered was that he was here, with you, holding you like you were the best thing he had ever known.

Because to him, you are.

Afterward, tangled in the sheets, Jiyong pulled you close, his arms securing you against him as he pressed lazy kisses to your shoulder. You sighed in contentment, nuzzling deeper into his embrace.

“G’night, JiJi,” you murmured sleepily.

He hummed against your skin, his lips still brushing over you. “Night, baby girl.”

Within moments, sleep claimed you both.

-

Jiyong was the first to wake.

A groggy groan left his lips as he scrubbed a hand over his face, his body still heavy with sleep. The golden morning light filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows over the room.

When he turned over, his breath caught.

You were still fast asleep, your hair spilling across the white sheets, your lips slightly parted as the softest snores escaped.

Nestled under your arm, Zoa was curled into the smallest ball, her tiny frame rising and falling with each peaceful breath.

Jiyong felt his heart clench.

He had never been a morning person, but waking up to this? To you? He could get used to that.

A quiet meow pulled his attention, and he shifted his gaze to Iye, who sat perched on the pillow beside your head. The slender cat stretched lazily, then turned to look at him.

Jiyong raised an eyebrow. “Well?” he whispered, as if Iye would actually respond.

The cat let out a soft chirp, then glanced at you.

And then, in the smallest of gestures, she leaned forward and rubbed her face against your cheek before settling back down.

Jiyong blinked.

That was it. That was the moment.

He grinned, shaking his head in disbelief as he ran a hand through his messy hair. Iye, his most reserved, most particular baby, had just given you her silent approval.

He exhaled a quiet laugh, his gaze drifting back to you.

The love that swelled in his chest was almost too much.

He reached over, brushing a few strands of hair from your face, his fingertips barely grazing your skin.

“God, I love you,” he whispered, more to himself than to you.

And in that moment, with the sun painting you in gold, his cats nestled around you, and his heart feeling fuller than it ever had—Jiyong knew.

He had found his forever.

© loveesiren 2025 - do not copy, translate, transfer, or repost my work without my permission. if you find my work on sites other than through links i've provided, please notify me.

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[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 19

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Warning: Dark, Mystery, Betrayal.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 💖💖💖

“Don’t you dare take the medicine they gave you!”

Your voice came out sharp, panic twisting every syllable. Your hands gripped the hospital bed's railing so tightly your knuckles turned white.

Ransom frowned. “What the fuck is going on? You’re freaking me out.”

“This will be the third time.”

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “Ransom… My dad was diagnosed with cancer here by Dr. Stark. Almost a year of chemotherapy and medication. But I kept noticing something—cancer patients always seek second opinions. So I took him to see Alan.”

Ransom’s jaw clenched. He knew that name. Alan was a top-tier specialist, the kind people flew across the world to see.

You took a shaky breath and continued, “And my friend—misdiagnosed, too. The first doctor told him he wouldn’t be able to use his hand for six months. Then the second doctor checked and said it was bullshit—his injury wasn’t even that severe.”

Ransom’s stomach twisted. His back was already screaming in pain, but now a new fear crept in—was he even injured as badly as they claimed? Were they experimenting on him?

“That’s terrifying,” he muttered. His voice dropped lower. “I don’t want to fucking die because of this.”

You grabbed his wrist, your fingers pressing into his skin. “I’m afraid too. I don’t want you to become their test subject.”

Ransom exhaled sharply, then nodded. He squeezed your hand, his grip firm, steady. “Get me the fuck out of here.”

You didn’t hesitate. “I will.”

His gaze flickered with something unreadable before he added, “You should come with me.”

You shook your head. “I can’t.”

“Are you nuts?” His voice was sharper now, laced with frustration.

You exhaled. “Ransom, I have something to deal with.”

He was about to argue, but then you said it.

“The audit is incomplete. Needs an extra review.”

Ransom froze. His expression hardened. He wasn’t stupid—he knew exactly what that meant.

It was a code. A system you both had built working in finance, a way to alert each other when things got dangerous. Because let’s be real—most people with obscene amounts of money were crooked, and sometimes, that meant walking into situations that could get you killed.

This was Code One: "I’ve got an investigation going on. I’ll call you when I need help."

His jaw tightened, his blue eyes searching yours. “You sure?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

Without another word, you turned and made a call. Right now, you were grateful you’d left this town and built connections that could make things happen with a single request.

Exactly one hour later, the sound of whirring blades filled the sky. A medical helicopter descended onto the hospital’s landing pad.

Ransom smirked as he sat up, wincing at the pain but pushing through it. “I’m only one call away.”

You met his gaze, your lips pressing together. “I knew I could count on you.”

As the helicopter doors slid shut, you stepped back, watching as the aircraft lifted off the ground and disappeared into the sky.

“Why did he leave so suddenly? He still needs treatment,” Bucky’s voice came from behind you.

You didn’t turn around. “His mother sent the helicopter for him.”

“Oh.” There was a pause, then Bucky asked, “You’re not going with him?”

You finally turned, shaking your head. “I can’t.”

His eyes studied you carefully.

“I’ll be staying to continue the deal.”

A small, satisfied smirk curled at the corner of Bucky’s lips. “Good. I assure you, your bank won’t regret investing in this town. Especially with the new hospital—it’ll help a lot of people.”

“And your dad could come back and get treated here.”

You froze mid-step at the mention of your father. Your fingers curled slightly at your sides. “Yeah.”

Bucky hummed, watching you. “Are you heading home?”

“Yup.”

There was a pause. He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… so, actually—”

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

“I was planning a surprise.”

Your stomach dropped. “What did you do, Bucky?”

His smirk deepened. “Well… I decided to renovate your house.”

Your jaw nearly hit the floor. “What the fuck?!”

Bucky lifted his hands in defense. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. But don’t worry—it's all on me.”

“What gave you the right to renovate my home without my permission? Or my dad’s?”

He didn’t flinch, staying perfectly calm. “Did you forget your dad agreed to give me the funeral home when he retired?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Yeah? But he’s not retired yet.”

“I bought it.”

The words hit you like a punch. Your mouth went dry. “So all this time… my dad’s just been living there for free?”

Bucky exhaled, his expression unreadable. “It’s… yeah. And I have no problem with that. I would never force Tom or you to leave.”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding as you turned on your heel and headed toward your house.

He wasn’t joking.

The second you arrived, your stomach twisted. Construction workers were everywhere. The house had been completely renovated—even your room. Fresh paint, new furniture, everything different from what you remembered. It was like walking into someone else’s home.

You rubbed your temples. “Where the hell am I supposed to live now?”

Bucky stood beside you, unfazed. “You can stay at the hotel again.”

A deep sigh left your lips. “Fine.”

His smirk returned. “This one’s on me too. I’ll give you the best suite in the hotel.”

You shot him a pointed look. “You better.”

As you made your way downstairs, something caught your eye—a dusty old photo frame sitting on a table. You stepped closer, your breath hitching.

It was a picture of your mother.

The first time you’d ever seen one.

Other kids were in the photo, kids who were obviously older now. Your gaze traveled over their faces—there was a boy who looked like Bucky, which had to be Alex, then Tony, the mayor, and Mr. Rogers. And then, at the very back of the group, barely fitting into the frame, was your father.

Like an outcast.

Your mother, on the other hand, stood at the center like a queen, beautiful and radiant. It made you wonder—why did she choose your dad?

She could have had anyone.

“Don’t worry about Tony.” Bucky’s voice cut through your thoughts. He must have assumed you were staring at Tony in the photo. “I’ll make sure he gets what he deserves.”

You glanced at him, nodding. “Thanks.”

That night, your new hotel suite was undeniably luxurious. Soft sheets, the perfect temperature, the best accommodations money could buy.

And yet, you would have preferred your old home.

What made it worse?

Bucky leaned casually against the doorway and smirked. “If you need anything, just knock. My room’s right next door.”

Your stomach sank.

Shit.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

A sharp knock echoed through the room.

You sighed, glancing at the door. If it was Bucky, you’d pretend you didn’t hear it. But when you peeked through the spy hole, relief washed over you—it was Jake Jensen.

You quickly unlocked the door and pulled him inside before he could even finish saying, “Hi—”

“Oh…” He blinked, adjusting his glasses. “I heard what happened to your friend. I’m sorry.”

“He’s fine.” You shut the door behind him. “Please tell me you’ve got something.”

Jake hesitated. He had the information you needed—you could see it in his eyes. But something was off.

“Yes.” His tone was uncertain.

Your stomach tightened. “But…?”

“I think it’s better if you meet my mother instead.”

Your brows furrowed. “Why?”

Jake scratched the back of his neck. “She wants to meet you.”

You exhaled sharply. Of course. Miss Gossip herself.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Sloane sat in her worn armchair, knitting with steady, practiced hands. The dim lighting of the small parlor cast long shadows, giving the place an eerie, timeless feel. She barely glanced up as you and Jake entered, but you could tell—she already knew you were there.

With a quiet sigh, she adjusted her glasses and let her sharp gaze travel from your head to your toes.

“No matter what she did, you still look like her.”

You raised an eyebrow, cautiously taking a seat on the couch nearest to her. “You mean my mother?”

“Yes.” Her voice was calm but laced with something deeper—something knowing.

You exchanged a glance with Jake before turning back to her. “I heard from Jake that you have information about Stark and the mayor.”

Sloane gave a small nod, her fingers still working the yarn as if the conversation meant nothing. “It all comes back to your mother. Luna.”

Your stomach twisted at the name. “What did my mother do that made everyone in this town hate my dad and me?”

Sloane chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “It’s not hate, child. It’s fear. Guilt has a way of turning into fear.”

You swallowed. “What do you mean?”

She sighed, setting her knitting down for the first time. “It all started the moment she arrived in this town.”

“Arrived?” You frowned.

“You probably don’t know this, but your mother was adopted.”

Your breath caught in your throat. A cold chill ran down your spine, and for a moment, you thought you misheard her. The room suddenly felt smaller, like the walls were closing in.

Sloane watched your reaction carefully. “Judging by your face, I was right. You didn’t know.”

You could only shake your head.

She leaned forward slightly. “Your mother was adopted by the previous mortician—your step-grandparents.”

Jake shifted uncomfortably beside you, clearly as shocked as you were.

“It happened fifty years ago,” Sloane continued. “A car accident on the outskirts of town. A young couple died on impact, but their child—Luna—survived. She was only three years old.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

“The ones who took her in were your grandparents. They saw her as a blessing, a miracle, because they couldn’t have children of their own. And in a town like this, adoption was difficult—there were hardly any orphaned children. Even when there were, no child wanted to live in a funeral home.”

Sloane smirked slightly. “It scared them.”

You swallowed hard, your hands clenching into fists on your lap.

“But Luna… she was different. Your grandparents gave her everything—beautiful clothes, the best toys. They finally have a daughter so they spoiled her to death. And everyone noticed. Every child was jealous of her. And when she grew up, she became the most beautiful girl in town.”

Your voice came out quieter than you expected. “This is when she met Alex, right?”

Sloane nodded. “Not just him. Everyone. Everyone wanted to be her friend, to be near her. But they were jealous, too.”

She exhaled, eyes distant, as if recalling an old memory. “She was beautiful, just like her name. Like a goddess of the moon. People couldn’t look away. Men were drawn to her—sometimes against their better judgment.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “Did they…?”

A grim expression crossed Sloane’s face. “Sadly, yes. More than one man tried. And their eyes… they never hid their lust when they looked at her.”

Your stomach churned.

“Alex,” Sloane said after a beat, “Bucky’s father… I remember him and Luna being a power couple. But he was possessive. He had to be—his closest friends wanted her, too.”

Your lips parted slightly. “You mean the other three? Including Mr. Rogers?”

Sloane scoffed. “That man? Please. He could only admire her from afar.”

She sighed, setting her knitting aside completely. “One day, Luna broke up with Alex. And she chose Tom instead.”

“Why?” you asked, almost breathless.

Sloane’s next words made your entire world tilt.

“Because she found out the truth.”

Your body tensed. “The truth?”

Sloane’s gaze locked onto yours, unflinching. “About the car accident that killed her parents.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. “Alex was involved?”

“No. But his father was.” She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. “Along with the other fathers in their little gang.”

Your breath hitched, your hands gripping the armrests of the couch. Your heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst.

Sloane’s voice was quiet but razor-sharp. “Bucky is just like his father. And Alex? Just like his father. Like father like son. They were reckless. Popular. Untouchable. They drove like they owned the roads, ignoring every warning. The sheriff tried to stop them, told them not to drive under the influence.” She scoffed. “They didn’t listen.”

Your mind reeled. It all made sense now—why your mother left Alex, why your family was treated like outsiders.

Your mother’s real parents were killed by Alex’s father and his friends.

No wonder she couldn’t stay with him.

No wonder they feared you and your father.

You exhaled shakily. “And my dad?”

Sloane smiled faintly. “Ah, Tom. The quiet one. He was a runaway, just a lost boy. Your grandfather took him in, trained him to be a mortician. Nobody noticed him.”

Your chest tightened. “And when he got close to Luna?”

“He became their favorite punching bag.”

A deep, aching anger twisted inside you. Your nails dug into your palm.

Sloane studied you carefully. “Do you want to know why she truly chose him?”

You shook your head, but she told you anyway.

“Because he was the only man in town who didn’t look at her with lust. He respected her. Gave her space.”

She also chose Tom so her future children wouldn’t inherit her beauty. Luna saw her beauty as a curse. She doesn't want her child to suffer like her. But if she were still alive, she would be disappointed that her plan had failed. Look at your daughter now, Luna, Sloane thought as she watched you step into her house. She’s not as beautiful as you, but she carries the same confidence—the kind that draws everyone in, just like you did.

You inhaled sharply.

“That’s why they fear you,” Sloane continued. “Every time they see you or Tom, they remember what they did to her. And to him.”

Your jaw clenched. Every piece of the puzzle fit perfectly now, and it only made you hate this town more.

Sloane leaned back. “Now, about Stark. You should know—he was obsessed with your mother.”

You barely had time to process that before she dropped another bombshell.

“And the mayor?” She smirked. “Everyone knows he’s corrupt. But what people don’t talk about is the fact that he’s Thor’s real father.”

Your mouth fell open. “What?”

Jake finally spoke, his voice low. “Wait… how do you know all this?”

Sloane chuckled, picking up her knitting again. “Honey, I own a hair salon. My mother owned it before me. Do you know what that means?” She raised an eyebrow. “I hear everything. And let me tell you something—rumors? They’re always based on truth.”

Jake sighed, rubbing his temples. “Mom…”

“What about Natasha?” you asked.

Sloane’s mood soured instantly. “That snobby brat. She insulted my salon. I never liked her.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “Thank you for telling me all this. But why now? Why are you helping me?”

Sloane grinned. “Because I heard you’re rich.”

Jake groaned. “Mom!”

You blinked, caught off guard.

Sloane shrugged. “I also saw your car.”

You couldn’t help but smirk. At least this made things easier. “What do you want, Mrs. Jensen?”

Sloane’s eyes gleamed. “A cruise. Around the world.”

Jake buried his face in his hands. “Mom, stop. You’re embarrassing me.”

You chuckled, standing up and extending your hand. “You got it, Sloane. I’ll book you the best cruise money can buy. You won’t ever want to leave the ship.”

Sloane smirked, holding up the business card between her fingers. “This is what I’m talking about.”

You reached into your wallet, pulled out another card, and handed it to her. “Call this number. Give them my name. Then tell them exactly what you want.”

Sloane took the card, flipping it over with mild curiosity. When she read the title, her eyebrows lifted slightly.

"Vice President of Drysdale Co."

“Awesome.” She grinned, tucking the card into her apron pocket before standing up. Without another word, she headed toward the stairs, disappearing onto the second floor.

Jake let out a long breath beside you, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh… I’m sorry about my mom. She can be a bit much.”

You leaned back on the couch, stretching your arms over the backrest. “I don’t mind. Actually, I got everything I needed.”

Jake blinked at you, clearly surprised. “You did?”

You nodded. “More than I expected, actually.”

He exhaled, shaking his head. “Yeah… that was a lot.”

You tilted your head slightly, watching him. “Could you get someone to meet me?”

Jake’s posture straightened. “Of course. Who?”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “Natasha.”

At the Arcade

The neon lights flickered against the scuffed tile floor, casting an eerie glow over the buzzing machines. The scent of buttered popcorn and cheap soda lingered in the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of coins and the distant beeps of arcade games.

You leaned against a pinball machine, arms crossed, watching the entrance. People came and went, laughter and shouts filling the space, but you weren’t here for fun.

Then, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“I heard you wanted to see me?”

You turned your head, meeting Natasha’s sharp gaze. She stood near the entrance, arms crossed, exuding her usual air of arrogance.

“I am,” you replied smoothly, straightening up.

Natasha stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor. “Well, here I am. So, what do you want?”

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[mrs-kmikaelson]

apollo

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x sunshine!reader Summary: Aaron thinks you're just about the most radiant person he's ever met. But then you fly too close to the sun, and all your light disappears. Warnings: grumpy x sunshine turned not sunshine, references to greek myth of icarus and the sun god helios, apollo lore, violence, mentions of reaper arc, heartbreak, complicated relationships, avoidance, unresolved trauma, feelings, hopeful ending Words: 4.8K

Masterlist | icarus (part 1) | helios (part 2)

a/n: this is the end! thank u for all the love! i love this series sm, and i'll prolly end up writing lil blurbs for it (esp at ur request). there's sm feelings in this one. enjoy!

"I need to leave, Y/N."

"Wait— wait, we can talk about this, can't we?" You stepped closer to her, distraught colouring your face. "We can get you help."

She shook her head, a sad smile crossing her face as if she was saying she knew you wouldn't understand. Poor, sweet Y/N, her eyes said. Too good for this world. Too naïve. Too hopeful. What she ended up saying was, "No, Y/N. I can't."

"I— I don't understand." Tears welled up in your eyes. Her words didn't make sense. None of it made sense.

The smile on her face never fell. Only a single tear did, racing down her cheek. It occurred to you then that you'd never seen her cry.

"Oh, Y/N/N." She grabbed your hand, squeezing it tightly. "I hope you never have to."

When she let go of your hand, you knew there was nothing more you could say. She was leaving, and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

But, deep down, you knew she'd already been long gone.

"Goodbye, Y/N."

And before you knew it, she was out the door, too far away to hear you whisper back.

"Goodbye, Elle."

When Elle left, you didn't understand it. As the only female profilers, you stuck together like glue. You both came from units where you were at the top of your game, just to be shuffled back down to the bottom, having to learn an entirely new competence.

You didn't get it. The work tore her away. The job took too much away from her, took too much out of her. But that was the job. But what about you?

She could walk away from the job, fine. But why did she walk away from you?

You didn't get it then. Too young. Too naïve. Too hopeful.

But now you were older. You knew too much. The hope had been sucked out of you.

You understood now.

You understood what it meant to not be able to take it anymore, to not be able to face the people you loved while knowing you weren't the same. And you wanted to. You desperately wanted things to go back to the way they were. 

You wanted to go back to Rossi ruffling your hair, cracking jokes about your age but always knowing he took you seriously. You wanted to go back to lunch breaks with Penelope, talking about your nails and boys and feeling like a teenager. You wanted to back to laughing in Emily's apartment, her cat crawling across your lap. You wanted to go back to watching sci-fi movies with Reid, too convoluted to grasp. You wanted to go back to when Derek would tease you instead of treating you like you were made of glass. You wanted to go back to watching JJ's son without her wondering if you were in the state of mind to do it.

And Hotch.

Aaron. 

You wanted to hit rewind to before everything happened, if not just to be at his side again. Before you tried to kiss him and before he pulled away. Before a serial killer decided he was God and your life was his to play with.

But you couldn't, and now you understood Elle better than you ever did. Because no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't be the same sunshine everyone loved. 

You couldn't stay there anymore.

You submitted your resignation. You didn't know what happened next—you never thought further along than the BAU.

But you had to leave.

You understood now.

You wished you didn't.

— 

The words echoed throughout your head on a loop.

Hotch. Accident. Hospital.

The Reaper.

If it hadn't been for Morgan, you would've jumped into that SUV and driven there immediately. But he stopped you, taking away the keys and regarding you with a soft but firm stance. You both knew it wasn't safe for you to drive.

You didn't talk about the reasons why.

Now, you sat to Aaron's left. He was sleeping. He'd never seemed so peaceful.

How ironic it was that he had to be stabbed before he took a break. Even if you knew it wasn't peaceful, not really.

A U.S. Marshal had just come and retrieved Jack and Haley, taking them to an undisclosed location. Their lives were upended. His life was upended.

Your fearless leader, stony and brave. He approached every challenge with determination, like he knew he could beat it. Aaron Hotchner was a man who won battles. But when you walked into that hospital room, for the first time since you met him, he looked afraid.

He looked like he'd already lost.

Your heart squeezed in your chest. It wasn't fair. 

Suddenly, a mumble broke you out of your thoughts. "I can hear you thinking in my sleep."

You looked down, seeing him slowly open his eyes. You fixed him with a smile, even though it didn't feel right on your lips. Be brave, Y/N, your mind chided. He'd be brave for you. "Really? I can hear you thinking in your sleep."

His face remained blank, unfazed by your attempt to change the subject. He did that often—calling you out. Never maliciously, always with the greater good at heart. But he knew you. Sometimes, it felt like he knew you too well.

You wondered, did you know him as well as he knew you? 

You liked to think so.

Like usual, you crumbled under his gaze, looking away. If you kept looking at him, nothing would stop the onslaught of tears from making their way down your face, and you wouldn't do that to him. You wouldn't cry; it wasn't your right to. You weren't his wife. 

But you were something. Enough of something to feel the need to cry, anyway.

A shaky exhale left your lips. "Why do bad things always happen to good people?"

The room was silent after your question, the only sounds being his heart monitor and the shuffling of the hospital outside. The beeping felt like a taunt, a reminder that Aaron's life hung in the balance, that he could've died.

It made you realize that you weren't specific enough. What you really meant was, why did bad things always happen to him?

Aaron Hotchner. The leader. The father. A good man. The best man you'd ever met.

The man you'd fallen in love with.

When he responded, you could hear the despair in his voice, like he had the same questions.

But for once, he didn't have the answers.

"I don't know."

—

You didn't have to knock on Aaron's door long before he was opening it, having expected you. You grinned, holding up the brown bags in your hands. "I come bearing gifts. Chinese."

"You're a godsend," he praised, undoing his house alarm. You had helped him install it when he got out of the hospital, no questions asked. 

While he did that, you placed the food on the table, going to grab some plates and drinks. This was the rhythm you'd settled into, a routine. You came over every other night under the guise of updating him with your cases, but really, it was a lot more than that for you.

You hoped it was for him, too.

You always brought food. Sometimes, he even cooked (it was edible). It was your way of making sure he ate.

You never talked about what happened. He never talked about Haley or Jack, even though you knew they were the only thing on his mind. You talked about work, and the weather, and what movies you were gonna be watching after dinner, but never anything that mattered.

You didn't need to. This, being here, mattered. You didn't need anything more than that.

You just wanted him to know he wasn't alone. No matter what happened, you'd always be there for him. This was your way of showing that.

After watching a movie you didn't pay much attention to, you stood at the door, shrugging on your coat. You were just about to leave when his hand enveloped your wrist, making you turn around.

Curiously, you stared up at him. "Hotch?" Your voice was soft, the kind of soft that came with fragile things. Fragile. Delicate. Valuable.

Aaron opened his mouth and then closed it again, looking like he knew exactly what he wanted to say without knowing how to say it. He could command a room with quiet confidence, negotiate with the most unstable unsubs and power-hungry police chiefs, and give a profile like no one you'd ever met. But when it came to his own emotions, he was at a loss for words.

You weren't used to seeing that. There was something about it. You didn't like watching him struggle, but some part of you was satisfied that you could make him pause. It made you think that, maybe, he thought about you the same way you thought about him.

Just maybe.

When he seemed to collect his thoughts, he spoke. "Thank you." He didn't take his eyes off you, making sure you knew how earnest he was.

Your breath got caught in your throat. The weight of his gaze told you everything else he wasn't saying. How this wasn't just a thank you for the food or the DVD. This was a thank you for everything.

But, in your eyes, he had nothing to thank you for.

So you smiled and said, "Don't mention it."

And you hoped he knew how earnest you were, too.

—

You awoke to loud pounding on your door.  You remained motionless, hoping the person would get bored and go away, but the knocking persisted.

Glancing at your alarm clock, you groaned. It was far too early for anyone to be visiting you. Today, any time would be too early. But the knocking only continued, so with another groan, you rolled out of bed, throwing on a sweater in a hassle as you yelled, "I'm coming!"

You muttered curses to yourself all the way to the door, hastily unlocking it. When you finally threw it open, you were ready to give someone a piece of your mind, only to bet met with who you were least expecting.

Your mouth fell open slightly, all your curses dying on your tongue. And like you'd been doused in water, you suddenly felt wide awake.

On the other side of the threshold, Derek Morgan gave you a soft smile, his expression light while his eyes carried all the heavy things you thought you left at the BAU.

Now, all those things were at your doorstep.

"Hi, princess." He paused. "We have to talk."

— 

You would've thought that, after all your time in the BAU, you would've gotten used to hospitals.

Apparently not.

As your eyelids fluttered open, you were disoriented, instantly closing them again at the sheer bright lights. The sound of feet shuffling came to your ears, followed by a flicking sound.

When you opened your eyes again, the lights were off, and Derek Morgan stood in front of you. He gave you his classic smile, but for some reason, it looked a little tighter than usual, a little bit harder to conceive.

What had happened? Why did he look so sad? Was he okay?

"D-Derek?" you croaked, interrupted by a cough.

Quick on his feet, he was soon passing you a glass of water, guiding the straw into your mouth. "Easy there, easy. There you go." He was tending to you like you were a sick child. You weren't sick. You weren't a child.

What happened? Why was he taking care of you? Why did you need to be taken care of?

When he removed the straw from your mouth, you repeated your question. "Derek, what's wrong?"

He looked like he didn't want to answer you. Instead, he countered, "Y/N, do you remember what happened?"

As if his question singlehandedly opened pandora's box, pain suddenly radiated from your lower body, aching all over. 

Your brain caught up with your body, and then the pain intensified.

You shakily exhaled. "Yes."

Derek exhaled, too, but his looked more like relief than anything. Relief that he wouldn't have to explain this to you. Relief that he wouldn't have to say the words out loud. 

"You were in surgery for a while," he said. "Yesterday night. The doctors say you'll make a speedy recovery."

You didn't respond.

"Garcia's still flying in. She won't believe anything I say until she sees it with her own eyes," he lightly chuckled. But his tone was heavy. No jokes could erase that. "The others'll be on their way back when they wake up. I told 'em you were in good hands."

You wanted to laugh. You tried. The only thing that left your mouth was a sob.

Derek was immediately at your side, cradling your head into his chest, letting your tears soak his shirt and not saying a single word about any of it. You wanted that to make it feel better, but you just felt empty.

Like there were holes in your body.

—

You sat on your couch, wrapped in a warm blanket as Derek rummaged through your cupboards, looking for something to give that was fit for human consumption. You would've been a good host and offered him tea, but he already had a pot on the stove.

He said you looked like you hadn't eaten. You didn't deny it.

"Everything in your fridge is expired, so I ordered us some breakfast from that place downtown," he informed you, setting down two mugs of tea on the coffee table and taking a seat in the armchair across from you. 

You watched the steam twirl into the air, nodding blankly.

Derek sighed. "Kid, I'm worried about you."

You sighed back in response. "I'm fine." The words came out harsher than intended.

Derek's eyes softened. "You quit your job, Y/N. You love the BAU."

Love. Loved. You shook your head, lightly scoffing through your nose. For the first time in a while, you were honest. "I love the BAU when it isn't taking everything away from me." You could count the things this job had taken from you on two hands too many, turning your reflection into a stranger.

It made you wonder what you'd do without it.

Derek's eyes didn't meet yours, looking down at the floor instead. The room went quiet. You could hear the cars outside, the rest of the world moving on while you stayed right where you were, stagnant.

Right now, you were in your apartment. Your feet were touching your hardwood floor. Your fingers played with a loose string on your blanket. Derek sat across from you. Your body was here.

But in reality, your mind was stuck in that house. Stuck walking into a trap with Morgan right behind you.

"I'm sorry."

At his sudden words, you looked up. His eyes locked with yours. You didn't know how long it'd been that you'd sat in silence, but you certainly didn't expect it to be broken with those words.

You furrowed your brows. "What?"

Despite the long period of quietness that came before, he didn't stay quiet now. He didn't even look like he had to think about what he was saying—almost like he'd thought it all a thousand times before. "Y/N, I'm sorry that you're in pain. And if I could switch places with you, I would— in a heartbeat." He leaned forward in his chair. "There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about what happened. About how I left you alone." His voice tightened up. "But Y/N, I swear to you, if you come back to the BAU, I won't ever leave you alone like that again."

Strong conviction laced his voice, like he was under oath. For a moment, you were confused by what he was saying. He never left you alone— oh.

Oh.

Tears welled up in your eyes. "Derek—" your voice cracked. Oh, you felt terrible. So, so terrible.

How long had one of your best friends blamed himself for something he had no control over? How long had this slipped past you?

You were supposed to be one of the best profilers in the nation.

But right now, you just felt terrible. 

"Derek, I never blamed you." A tear slid down your cheek against your wishes. "This isn't your fault. It never was."

Your vision was so blurry that you didn't see him crying, but you did see him wipe at his eyes. That made you get up, and he met you in the middle, wrapping his arms around you and engulfing you in his embrace.

In his arms, you cried freely, just like that morning in the hospital. You cried for all the things you pretended not to cry about. For all the things you lost. The things you didn't see. The person you were. The person you could've been.

"I'll never leave you alone again, you hear me, kid?" Derek hugged you tighter through his muffled words, making sure you didn't just hear them but that you felt them. "We're family."

Family.

You hugged him back just as tight. If you lost everything, you still had that. You might have lost yourself, but your family was right there, shining a light in the darkness, looking for you.

You prayed they'd find you.

— 

When Morgan left, it was dark out. He only left after a lot of crying and even more food, but you felt different. Reminded of what you still had.

You weren't okay. Nothing was okay. But you wanted to things to be able to get better. You didn't just want to give up and walk away from it everything. You built a life at the BAU with people you loved. Maybe there was one person you even loved too much.

God, he hurt you. He hurt you in irreversible ways, leaving you out in the cold multiple times, begging for him to see you just for him to turn away. 

And you knew he cared about you. No one acted the way he did without caring. Sometimes, you thought Aaron Hotchner cared too much, masking it behind a wall of indifference. 

Before all this happened, you were allowed behind the wall. He showed you the man he hid from others. You fell in love with that man. You missed him.

You just wanted to go back to those versions of yourself. The Y/N who would make a stupid joke late at night and the Aaron who would be too tired to pretend not to smile.

But Hotch wanted to talk about it. Aaron did, too, but it was mostly Hotch. A different version of him that was too concerned, too focused on drilling the truth out of you.

Could you give it to him? There was a time when you would've given him anything; all he had to do was ask. Now, you weren't so sure. There were certain parts of yourself you couldn't just hand out, certain things you wanted to keep for you and you alone.

You had already given up so much. You already gave your heart to Aaron Hotchner once, and he discarded it. Who was to say this time would be any different?

No. You couldn't give him everything.

But you'd give him something.

—

You found the route to Hotch's apartment the same way you did time and time before, like a dance you still knew the steps to. You knew when to turn right and when to turn left, when to keep going straight and when to stop. Nothing about this was unfamiliar.

Aaron Hotchner was once the most familiar person you'd ever known.

But you knew things were different.

Even though the elevator up to his floor hadn't changed and he still had the same mat outside his door, you knew that you weren't the same. You had changed. You weren't familiar anymore.

And so, when he opened the door and his brows raised up to his hairline, you understood the surprise. You didn't just do this—you didn't just show up at his apartment unannounced, not anymore.

His lips parted. You weren't sure if he was going to speak or if he was just in shock. You spoke first regardless.

"I, um," you wrung your hands together, "I don't have food this time." A nervous smile lit up your face, no less nervous than your first time in his office. Maybe more nervous this time. Maybe you hid it better back then.

And maybe he could hide his emotions better back then, too. The shock on his face didn't clear until after you had spoken. He blinked, then opened his door wider. "Please."

A small thank you left your lips as you walked in, crossing the threshold into a world you knew you wouldn't be able to leave again.

The apartment looked like it hadn't changed at all. The only thing that caught your eye were the toys splayed out on the living room floor.

Your heart spiked, but as if Hotch could read your mind, he said, "Jack is asleep."

Glad you weren't interrupting anything, the tension in your shoulders was released. You wondered if that's what he saw: visual cues that indicated your mental state. Was it mind reading or behaviour?

Was he a profiler, or did he just know you as well as you both thought he did?

You couldn't really tell anymore.

"Would you like something to drink?" he queried.

"No, I uh..." this was small talk. You weren't here for this; you didn't even know what you were here for, but it was for more than this.

Whatever you were here for, you had to figure it out before you lost your nerve.

You turned around, finding him right behind you. You inhaled a sharp breath. The last time he was this close to you— 

"You hurt me, Hotch." The words tumbled out of your mouth before you even had the time to filter them. You watched his face fall. You continued, anyway. "You hurt me when you left me alone that night. And I— I can't fault you for rejection. But you left me all over again when I— when I needed you."

"Y/N." He took a step closer.

You took a step back.

"I needed you. I really, really needed you." Tears built in your eyes. "But you weren't there." You wiped away the tears in your eyes before they could fall, refusing to cry. "And then you have me go on the record to talk about the most horrible experience of my life, and suspend me when you don't get what you want. Like I'm just some rookie agent."

Unlike the previous conversations you'd had, Aaron didn't say anything to his defense. He stood there, unmoving, letting you say what you needed to say. You were equal parts grateful and equal parts angry. Exasperated.

You wanted him to say something. You wanted to know if it was really all in your head, if it really happened or if you imagined it. "Is that—" you faltered, "is that all I am to you, Hotch? Just an agent? Did I ever—" you swallowed, "did I ever mean anything to you?"

"Yes." His response was rapid, his eyes narrowing as if he was insulted by the question. As if he was shocked you could ever think otherwise. He took a step closer to you, and this time, you didn't step back. "If I have ever made you feel like you are 'just an agent,' then I sincerely apologize." He paused, his eyes boring into yours. "Y/N, you are one of the most qualified and accomplished agents I have ever met, let alone had the pleasure of working with. And I can say with absolute certainty that you are one of the best people I have ever known. You are beautiful, inside and out, and full of so much light that you have brightened every room you've walked into." His words reverberated through the quiet room, soaking into your bones and into every fibre of your being. "So, if I've pressured you since your return, it is because I am worried."

Your breath hitched as he took another step closer. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry for leaving you alone that night and every other night afterward. I was—" he took a breath, looking down briefly. When his eyes met yours again, they were just as honest. Brave. Afraid. "I was terrified I'd lose you. That I would ruin what we had. And then I was scared for what happened to you. Too afraid to look you in the eye after I made a decision that almost cost you your life. By the time you got back to the BAU, my fear wasn't just losing you physically. It was losing you. Your heart. Your spirit. All the things I love about you."

Your heart might've stopped then and there. After a few seconds, you echoed, "Love?"

Aaron didn't back down or retract what he said. He nodded, like he was confirming it you and to himself. "Yes."

There were words he wasn't saying; you understood that. There were words you weren't saying, either.

But you knew what it meant for things to go unsaid. People blamed themselves. People crumbled. They said things they didn't mean to compensate for what they weren't saying. They were crushed under the weight of it all.

You didn't want that to happen anymore.

You took a step back, not because you were stepping away from the conversation, but because you were stepping into it. You nodded toward the couch. "Let's have that talk."

Aaron's eyes flooded with relief. You both made your way to his couch and sat down.

And then you talked until the sun came up.

— 

Your talk with Aaron wasn't easy. And despite your best promises to yourself, you still ended up crying, anyway. 

You weren't naïve. That may have been the first conversation you had, but it wouldn't be the last. There was still so much you had to talk about, so much you had to work through, but you had the time to do it.

Your suspension was lifted, but you didn't return to the BAU. At least, not right away. You decided not to throw yourself back into it, to let yourself find your footing first and process everything you tried to shove down.

Every member of the team supported you, and you knew there was a spot waiting for you when you were ready. Garcia had reassured you there were issues with your resignation, anyway (which you knew was undoubtedly her doing). You thanked her for her troubles.

She visited you often while you were home alone, updating you on the team's shenanigans. And Rossi visited you with enough food to feed a shelter, rendering it pointless to go grocery shopping at all. You accused him of spoiling you. He retorted that he could cook for the whole team if he wanted to.

And that's how you ended up where you were, underneath the fairy lights in his backyard as Reid summarized Greek mythology to you.

Gesturing his hands in the air, he explained, "No, actually— although thought to be, Apollo is not the sun god. Helios is. Helios is meant to be a personification of the sun—the sun in human form. But Apollo is god of the sun—an important distinction in categorization. He's not the sun, but he's not supposed to be. He just has sunlike features, and— I'm sorry. I'm rambling, aren't I?"

He looked sheepish, but you were leaning forward in your seat. "No, not at all." You gave him a reassuring smile. "Please, keep going."

Spencer's eyes lit up, and he went on, "Well, Apollo has many more characteristics that make him an interesting god to look at it, like his love of truth, music, poetry, healing, and..."

As he continued, you couldn't help but connect what he was talking about to yourself.

He's not the sun.

But he's not supposed to be.

Inadvertently, you realized what you'd been trying to learn for so long. The answer was right in front of you the whole time, but now, you finally understood it.

You kept trying to be this person that didn't exist. The sun. A work of fiction. But you couldn't be that. The sun wasn't up all the time. It wasn't always bright. It was impossible to be light at every waking moment. The light didn't define Apollo, and it didn't define you.

No, you realized. You weren't the sun.

You were so much more than that.

taglist: @ithinkitzleslie @burrithorr @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @bunchofcells-blog @hotchspearl @famouslywaiting @lailamares @avis-writeshq @zoeyredbird1 @dyslexicreader64 @lolagaming23 @thomasshelbyswife @spct0r @qualitygiantshoepsychic @duruxoxo @idontlikesleeping

[scamanderishredmayniac]

I was once called a curious writer, by someone who had read snippets of an original piece I was working on some many years ago. I had never heard of anyone saying that before at the time. It felt bizarre, I knew what it meant to be a curious reader, but not a curious writer. I’m not 100% sure, but I think it was because I was allowing readers to explore the character’s past story, exploring why they felt and behaved in a certain way. She said something about how she liked how I was building up character and giving back story. The reality was I knew these characters inside out, well sort of. They had history outside the story in my mind, and personality such that were not on the page. I imagined a whole set of people as though they were real in this strange town I had written about. I wanted the reader to explore these people, to see into the characters minds, and explore their world. I’ll admit I didn’t know everything about the town they were living in, and the only thing at the time I was exploring was the town and its history. The only thing I explored and was curious about in the characters, or at least 3 of them was their feelings for each other.

I hadn’t been in a relationship at the time, I hadn’t experienced falling in love and finding someone, and only added a sort of love storyline because a friend asked me too. So my curiosity as a writer was to explore that side of things. So maybe this reader saw that, I don’t know. I just got the gist that it meant something very good. I’m not even sure why I’m rambling like an idiot when i should be climbing into bed and going to sleep, especially when I said I wouldn’t come onto tumblr for a month. Oops! I just saw a friend had reblogged this, and it made me think of that comment left on my work. I don’t know why i had to share this ling rambly story, but I quite liked being called a curious writer. It’s been a long time since I got such a compliment that made me feel good about my writing.

Basically being a curious writer is apparently a good thing and makes one’s story interesting. And it should really be a widely spread piece of advice to potential writers to be curious of what you’re writing.

“Be curious about what you’re writing about” is not stock Common Writing Advice but it really, really should be. There are a lot of written works that fail due to the authors just being obviously incurious about what they are writing about.

[ov6rheated]

worst behavior

summary: billie had a surprise for you before you went out.

warnings: oral r!receiving, strap-on, fingering, teasing, masturbation, mommy kink (lmk if i missed some)

a/n: NOT PROOFREAD!! sorry for taking so long to post, i’ve been really unmotivated. also, ive seen your requests and i’ll write them soon.

it was a friday night, and you had got home from a long day just a few hours ago. whenever you got home, you facetimed billie, but she never answered. it was bothering you but you just assumed she was busy.

after waking up from a small nap, she texted you. “busy rn baby. i’ll ttyl”

you hearted the message before getting ready to go out with some friends. after scanning your closet for thirty minutes, you picked a skin tight dress to wear. the dress made you think of billie because you knew that she loved this dress so much.

you did simple makeup and left your hair down, curling it. your friend was coming to pick you up and you check the time. you notice that you got ready too early. she was going to arrive at your place at nine o'clock, and it was still only eight o'clock.

after debating on how to kill time, you chose to catch up on a show. you constantly check your phone to see if billie texted you, but nothing. you check her location and see that she's driving. you had no idea where she was going, but you knew she'd text you after she reached her destination.

after 30 minutes, you heard your front door open, and you become startled. you thought someone was breaking in, and you stay quiet. you get up slowly and walk down the stairs, seeing Billie in the hallway. she's always had a key to your house just in case anything happens.

you stare at her and push her playfully before turning around and rolling your eyes at her. "gosh, billie. you didn't even tell me if you were coming over."

she was silent as she walked behind you. once you reached the bedroom, she closed the door, and you had no idea what was happening. you could feel her eyes on you, not sure how to react.

you gulp when you feel her body pressed against your back. she started kissing your neck and pulling your dress up your thighs. "b-billie..." you mutter. "hmm, baby?" her voice was like butter, and you knew exactly what this tone meant.

"you know i'm going out tonight. we can't." she chuckled once she heard you and shook her head.

"you're gonna have to text them and tell them you can't make it, mama. you're mine tonight. and gosh, this dress. it's stunning, but i wanna see what you look like without it." the longer she spoke, the wetter you got.

she kept kissing your neck and you reached for your phone, texting your friend. you told her that there was an emergency and you couldn't make it. you hated lying, but billie always came first.

she watched you text and she wouldn't stop smirking as you did. when you finally put the phone down, she smiled and said, "good girl."

she kept raising up your dress, swiping it off of you. she was teasing you, her movement soooo slow. “billie.”

she chuckles once she hears you and finally removed your dress, leaving you in your lace bra and thong. she lifted you up effortlessly and placed you on the bed, turning your body over.

billie just started scanning over your body, imagining how it would look in the next few minutes; all marked up and loved on.

she assaulted your neck first, moving her way down. eventually there was a trail of hickies down your stomach.

the entire time, you kept whimpering softly, and it only encouraged her more. you kept arching your back off of the mattress and kept craving more.

“beg.”

she could tell you needed more, but was nervous to ask. you became annoyed, and luckily, she couldn’t see your face as you laid back. you rolled your eyes and bit your lip, looking down at her. she looked back at you, tilting her head and smirking, trying to see how bad you wanted it.

“please, mommy.” she shook her head and chuckled.

“you can do better than that, mamas.” she mumbled.

you whined and threw your head back, biting your lip. “pleaseee, baby. i’ll be so good for you.”

“hmmm, that’s my girl.” you melted at her words, and you even nearly moaned.

she pressed her middle and ring finger against your clit through your thong, pulling a whimper out of you. she bit her lip as she searched for your expression, but you were laying back as she was on her knees. "look at me, mama."

you lift your head up, biting your lip as she looks at you. she finally pulls off your thong and sees how wet you are. she could smell your arousal, and it only turned her on more.

“fucks sake, y/n,” she says as she dips a finger in your heat.

your legs jump a little whenever you feel her finger effortlessly slide in. she was still teasing though, just keeping her finger there and looking.

“bills…” you whimper.

“nuh-uh. what do you call me, baby?”

“mommy… please.”

she leans forward and captures your clit in her mouth and sucks. her eyes roll back as you try to look down at her, and she makes eye contact with you. she added another finger inside of you and massaged you g-spot.

“b-baby. please, don’t stop.”

it was like she could read your body better than you could. she knew exactly how to bring you over the edge and make you see stars.

as she kept going, you swear that you were starting to see white. she was humming against your clit, stimulating you more and more.

you were moaning and whimpering so loud and you didn’t even notice that she was touching herself. you looked down and seen her eyes roll back. it only turned you on more and made you closer to your orgasm.

“mommy, i’m close,” you mutter.

she stops and looks up at you. “how bad do you want to cum, princess?”

“so bad baby.”

she leans down to kiss you and caresses your face before reaching under the bed to grab her strap-on. “don’t cum until i tell you to, okay?”

you nod, and she aligns her cock with your pussy. she moves slowly, teasing you. she knows you want it fast, but she couldn’t help but tease a little more. “tell me what you want, princess.”

“faster, please.”

she finally speeds up, and she watches your breasts bounce as she keeps going. you felt your orgasm coming already, clenching down on her cock to hold it in.

she could tell by how loud you were moaning that you were close. a smirk appeared on her face as she watched your face contort in pleasure. “billie, please. let me cum.”

she thrusts a few more times before letting you cum. “go ahead, princess.”

she loved when you were like this. she loved when you were on your worst behavior.

she watches you orgasm and smile at how pretty you looked. “my sweet girl,” she murmurs.

whenever you finally came down from your high, she took off her strap and cuddled next to you. she placed her hand on your waist, caressing your skin with her thumb.

the two of you sat there in silence as you both caught you both caught your breath. she finally broke the silence after a few minutes, checking up on you. “baby? you okay?”

“mhm,” you hum.

“you’re so pretty, baby.”

“thank you.” she could tell by your short answers that you were tired. she looked over at the time, noticing that it was 11 o’clock.

“go to sleep, princess.” she kisses your cheek before tucking you in and turning off the light.

“okay, baby.”

[daylighted]

I need more baby!reader Dean , I adore everything you write 😭

i think... it's about time... i give u guys what u want ( dean flirting with baby )

sam had his hands full with lore clinging to him, just as dean had intended for things to go. see, that was the only reason he'd entertained your bizarre wish of turning his dad's journal into a girl at all. not that he'd admit it to himself or anything, but it was true. sam occupied meant that there were no witnesses to the fact that, very quickly, his entire resolve was crumbling away due to all of the chipping you'd done at it.

you! this girl that was yes, once his car, but now was this full-fledged human being. you, who liked to be pressed entirely to the window as he drove, taking in every sight with your nose against the glass. you, who held a hand over your heart every time you got anxious, and then proceeded to tear him apart in one sentence because of that anxiety. and you, who cried your eyes out after you said something you thought was too mean.

dean was screwed — but he was thinking of it less like a bad thing now and more like something that could, possibly, potentially, be good for him? this was just as new to him as it was to you, considering he'd never had someone be so utterly devoted to him like you were.

you were brushing your teeth at the sink, humming a song to yourself in the process. he loved showing you music. each song became your new favorite. dean didn't know, really, if you liked them because he showed them to you, or you genuinely liked them, and honestly? didn't care. he was never going to deny the fact that, no matter what it was, you were too damn cute, humming along to whatever metallica song came on next in his (absolutely not specially curated) cd collection.

"c'mon, baby, i don't have all day," he grumbles, tapping the tv remote against his thigh to the beat of the song you hummed to. "you said you wanted to watch..."

he trails off, because he knows you really well by now, and knows you'll fill in the blank. which you do, excitedly spitting out the foamy toothpaste in your mouth and all but leaping onto the bed next to him. "the witcher!" you were a little unbearable after learning that you came to existence because of a witch. dean in all of his whipped glory, thought it was as endearing as ever. "put it on! now!"

"i'm tryin'," he laughs, holding the remote over your head as he scrolls through the options on netflix. "hard to focus when you're bouncin' around over there." goddamn, was it. "sit still, will ya?"

all it takes is one ask for you to, expectedly. unexpectedly, you've decided to settle right on his lap. dean was well aware of how snuggly you got at nighttime, but this was a new level to it. he is suddenly extremely focused on the tv screen, and definitely not on your bare legs wrapped around his, or your head nuzzled into his chest. or anything in between. please, god, don't let him focus on anything in between.

"did you know i love you?" his heart skips a beat every time you say it, even though dean is well aware of how you mean it. not like the way he wishes you would, but somehow somewhere in between what he wants and something platonic. the only type of love that you knew was this, and he didn't want to do anything to selfishly divulge you away from your feelings, however convoluted and confusing they were.

dean nods, his free hand coming up to trail his fingers through your hair. "i know." and dean did. you made sure to tell him once a day, which was another new thing for him. "love you too, angel."

he feels the scowl before you even voice your complaints. you were baby. he should call you baby. but something about the phrase, love you too, baby felt entirely too real and serious, and you could handle it, but he couldn't. not like this.

"there you go," you say, and instantly, dean's mouth tilts up in a smile, "trying to name me again."

your head lifts to meet his eyes, and he watches as the scrunchy irritation to your face melts into a warm smile. you always smiled when he did. you were a girl full of so much love, it just spilled out of every place it could. "it's called a nickname," he says, not for the first time, either. very common occurrence because dean cannot for the life of him stop calling you pretty names, "you can call me nicknames too, you know."

"no." you scoot up in his lap, and he has the willpower and strength of a fucking god, because he does not, in fact, whimper like he could have. could have! but didn't. you really should not fucking do that, but you don't know any better. he has to remind himself that you don't know that you sitting in his lap and gliding against him is enough to set his soul on fire.

dean raises an eyebrow up at you as you resettle on his stomach, your knees under his armpits. he sets the remote aside, his hands going to your waist to steady you. to steady you, he tells himself, even though you've never looked more secure in your life. "no? don't even want to try one?"

"you're dean, and i'm baby. that's just how it is and has been." you lean down quickly, and dean actually gasps, stuttering on his breath in his throat, thinking you're going to kiss him. he deflates when instead, you press your forehead to his, nose-to-nose. you don't know better. it's a constant mantra in his head. "you can't go changing it up now."

"you could call me baby."

your minty breath fans across his face, your eyes trailing over every inch of his face. you always look at dean so reverently. no one has ever looked at him the way you do, like there's nothing broken and nothing to fix, just beauty in every crevice.

"i don't want to." the honesty makes him grin, shaking his head in his amusement.

your hands come up to hold his face in between them, your palms flat on his cheeks, the scratch of his late-night stubble tickling against delicate skin of your hands. he knows it tickles, just by how you start to giggle. god help him. "i could call you angel. or sweetheart. or darlin'. i could call you babygirl."

something shifts in your eyes. it's subtle, barely noticeable, but you've got your face against his and he can see everything from here. he traces his fingertips along your ribcage through your shirt — his shirt, actually, but it'd taken up permanent residence on you. "no."

"no?" he echoes again, his head tilting to the side. your grip on his face tilts it right back, and dean can't help but laugh heartily. "don't tell me my pretty baby hates bein' called babygirl."

"stop it." you're blushing. your skin is warm beneath his hands, and all he wants is to reach under your shirt and feel it properly. a reminder to himself that you were real, and not some hyper-realistic delusion he'd been having for weeks.

it's all too easy to tip his chin up, so close to kissing you that his mouth opens and he feels the brush of your lips against his like electricity. "why? you're baby, and you're a girl. what's wrong with that?"

dean hadn't ever riled you up before. sure, he'd pissed you off, he'd endured plenty of verbal lashings from your sharp tongue, but this was new. this was the first indication that you loved him like he wanted you to love him.

"not funny."

"very funny, baby," and then suddenly, it's just as unfunny as you said, because your eyes fall to his mouth, and now he's a bit frozen in place. he bunches up the sides of your shirt beneath his fingers so it's raised enough for him to slip his fingers beneath, the warmth of your skin against his sending shivers down his spine.

you're going to kiss him, he thinks. you won't know what it means, and you definitely aren't going to know what you're doing, but he's already prepared for that. he'll guide you. he'll show you everything, actually, as long as you let him.

it's barely a proper touch of your mouth to his, but it's electric. he leans up to chase more of it, to seal the words into your mouth—

the hotel room door clicks as the lock releases, and dean stutters back with a jolt, his head knocking against the headboard. you turn your head to the door, not even bothering to move even though you really, really should, dean's a fucking wreck and you almost kissed him and—

"oh, come on, dean." sam's irritation is visible when he meets his brother's eyes, shrugging off the coat he was wearing.

dean lifts his shoulders in an exasperated shrug. "we are witching the witcher, sammy."

lore points at the tv screen. "you are not watching anything. you are queued up to watch cocomelon."

dean stretches his neck to look over your shoulder, and his expression flattens. he was fine with lore, he didn't have any qualms against her existence, but he was beginning to regret letting you swindle into creating her.

dean doesn't know if he's thankful or not when you climb off of his lap and go over to lore, already babbling about... god, what did you two even talk about? every time he tried to focus on the two of you together, he instead just zeroed in on you, and everything else went blank.

everything was still blank now. he watches your eyes light up with the weight of your joy, and he can't help but wonder if it meant anything at all, or if it was just a moment that you two had, and nothing more.

once again, all dean could do was hope it was something more.

notes. how many times will dahlia change her format for baby!reader: the people may never know. this came out sm longer than expected PLSSSS I JUST LOVE BABY & DEAN OKAY !!!

tags. @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @figthoughts @stereotypicalbarbie @whyyouegg @eepwtf @rositaslabyrinth @rubyvhs @jensenacklesballsack @abox-of-rocks @sunsbaby @bluemerakis @jollyhunter @misatxox @angelblqde @bombarda-babe @unfortunate-brat @funkycoloured @chevroletdean @chiierful @cowboysandcigarettes @voidsuites @bitchykittenconnoisseur @beausling @soldiersgirl @dulcescorderitas @hyacinnths @blushpinkdoll @mccartneyqp @svbnra @h8aaz @mahi-wayy @bejeweledinterludes @h8aaz @jjmbbg @valjy

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Vuelve a Mí Pt. III

summary: you and joaquin run into each other...there's only some progress.

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

wc: 1,379

contents: 18+/MINORS DNI, angst, pining, longing, a SMIDGE of hope

an: so this series is really taking on a life of its own and will be longer than anticipated bc the angst is just...not going away? i can't control them okay, they're doing whatever the want and i'm just writing it.

vuelve a mí masterrlist

There hasn’t been much contact between you and Joaquin since the night you kissed. He’d texted you that night to make sure you made it home safe and of course you replied.

Every other week or so he would try to check in with you, and sometimes you would answer— other times you would let the messages come, the number growing and growing as you continued to isolate, not just from him but from almost everyone in your life. 

You were going to call him. You were. You’re going to call him when you’re ready, if that time ever comes. You meant what you said, and lying to Joaquin…it’s never been an option. Not when he looks at you with those deeply honest brown eyes. 

You’ve started with less abrasive parts of your old life. 

After weeks of simply walking by it, you return to your favorite cafe. It’s a place you shared not only with Joaquin but also with your family and friends. There’s so much meaning to this simple place that’s a mix of browns and creams and greenery.

As you take the last few steps to the cafe, you send prayers up to the universe, begging that no one from your past will be there. The coast is clear once you make it inside– none of the baristas look familiar and the crowd has certainly changed.

You order what used to be your regular– a dirty chai– forcing yourself to stop changing things. That’s all you’ve done since being back– change and change. You cut your hair, you darkened your style and found a new job despite your company offering you your position back. You were convinced your taste buds had changed, avoiding all the things that were your favorite. The most obvious is that you’d broken up with Joaquin. 

But, as you take the first few sips of your drink, it tastes like it always has. Light, the perfect mix of sweet and spiced. For the first time in two years you feel…normal.

Sucking in a deep breath, you let yourself sink into the feeling of being yourself, the woman before you had crumbled. Your body feels recognizable and new all at the same time. It's good, sitting in this cafe, sipping chai with scone in tow.

It’s so, so good—until it isn’t. 

You would know his voice anywhere. That is something that never changed despite the blip. His voice, the way his hair falls, the shape of his shoulders, the sharpness of his jaw; all of these are things you could forget if you tried. And you had tried, tired of the pain of not being with him.

You go still at the sound of his voice, hoping that he won’t notice you. Daring a glance, you see him at the counter. He must have just finished training– the grey t-shirt he has on clings to his skin, darker in some places than others from sweat. 

You don’t mean to stare, but he’s Joaquin and he’s here. That frozen feeling from when the two of you reached for the same puzzle floods your body and you overwhelmingly feel unlike yourself again. You’re internally chanting at yourself to look away as you watch him pay because if Joaquin were to turn around right now, your eyes would meet. 

Look down. Look down and focus on your scone. 

But it's too late– what you feared would happen does and you’re face to face with Joaquin. There’s several strides and a cafe of people between you but it doesn’t feel that way, not with the intensity of his gaze. Not with the way he makes your heart flutter a million miles a minute. You’re finally able to look away a few moments after your eyes meet, your self preservation finally kicking in.

You start to move, slipping your scone back into its bag, throwing your bag over your shoulder so you can stand. As you do so, Joaquin is already making his way towards you, though his steps aren’t as confident or smooth as you expect them to be. 

“Hi,” He breathes cautiously, hands grasping at the baseball cap in his hands.

“Hi. I was just leaving, you should be here, not me.”

“Querida, that makes no sense. This is your favorite cafe. Plus–”

“I have errands to run anyway, it's not a big deal.”

“I’m not staying– I have to meet Sam for some recon.”

Your heart beat slows a bit where it had quickened. “Oh, um– well…you’ll be careful, right?”

“Always,” He promises sincerely. There’s an uncharacteristically awkward beat before he speaks again. “How have you been?”

“I’m okay. Working on it.”

“Yeah?” It's impossible not to hear the hopeful shift in his tone. 

“That's why I’m here. I wanted to see if…if I could be in places I used to be. Enjoy things that I used to.”

“And?”

“Well, it was going okay…” You say delicately, trailing off. You don’t want to blame him– you truly believe that none of this was his fault but you wouldn’t be nearing an out of body panic attack if he hadn’t showed up.

He tilts his head in confusion, you can practically hear his brain churning to understand and you pray that it doesn’t. Much to your dismay, clarity materializes in those beautifully warm brown eyes. “Then I showed up.”

Your stomach feels heavy. When will you be able to outrun this guilt? Every time you get a head start, every time you believe that it's finally left you alone it rears its ugly head and takes grip of your heart. 

“No, Joaquin, that’s not fair to you.”

“But it's true, isn’t it? You didn’t deny it,” For the first time, there’s some bitterness in his voice, some anger. As you look in his eyes, you see the sadness that’s been rooted there since you returned.

You can’t blame him. You deserve it.

“Yes,” You admit softly, regretting allowing yourself to say it when you hear him sharply inhale. 

“Y’know, querida, maybe you were right. Maybe we just aren’t the people we used to be.” 

You frown at his words, trying to explain it the best you can. “Quino, it's not like I want this. I’m going to call when I’m ready, I meant what I said.”

“You know what Abuela says; you shouldn’t promise things you don’t believe are possible,” He murmurs matter of factly. 

“I… I’m trying. You don’t– have to be so unkind,” You grit out, trying your best to contain the tears that have pooled in your eyes. 

Joaquin realizes that he let his frustration override his patience and love for you once he sees the shine of tears in your eyes. But, just as it was the moment he turned around to face you, it's too late. His words—no matter how much or little truth they hold—feel etched into your brain.

They’re added to the pile that confirms your worst fears. 

You’ll never be the same. You’ll never figure out what’s wrong with you. Never be able to safely love and be loved by Joaquin again.

You shouldn’t have come here. You shouldn’t have thought that things could ever be the same or that some part of who you were had come back with you.

“Querida–” He begins.

“Goodbye, Joaquin,” You say stiffly, attempting to rush past him to make your exit.

His hand grasps yours– firm enough to stop you in your tracks, but gently enough that you can let go if you wish.

You aren’t sure what you want at this moment but you stop, glancing over your shoulder at him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It's just…frustrating. Quiero que vuelvas,” He squeezes your hand, running a thumb over yours.

You squeeze his hand back, trying to soothe not only him but yourself. “I’m trying, Joaquin. I want me back too. Give me time to find her.” 

"Okay," He agrees, resigned.

“Be careful with Sam.”

“I will. And you too…cuídate.”

You give him a simple nod–not trusting your voice– before you walk towards the door and make your way. Joaquin stays cemented in place, eyes tracing every detail of you that he can just in case his biggest fears come true. But he’ll hold onto hope, he has to.

must be 18+/have your age displayed to be added to the taglist!

joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @moonymeloncholymoney, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuff, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @giuliahowlett, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9, @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism

[balrogballs]

it just hit me how, in a way, elrond sailing west isn't just letting go of arwen and aragorn, it's letting go of elros in a way. as long as he's watched over his brother's family, it's probably been like a part of him was still there. looking for little quirks and resemblances that aren't there except maybe. just maybe. and now he won't even have that, and on top of that he sails not knowing if he's lost all his children, or if the twins will come eventually.

i want to sue elrond over his existence constantly making me sad.

Screaming crying throwing up! Every time I think about that little freak sailing I want to bite people because he would have gone back so empty handed that he wouldn’t have been able to see what a wonderful world it was that he helped build! Imagine seeing the race of men as slowly diminishing copies of the brother he lost, only to come face to face with the knowledge that he would never, ever get to see Eldarion! The result of all those centuries of yearning and shaping the world! Of being shaped and battered by it!

I literally have rotated myself over a campfire like a leg of lamb thinking about this, to the point I had to pacify myself by writing a fic (last year, I deleted it pretty swiftly) where Maglor and Elrond start doing bird conservation for this one bird Elros, a former Bird Guy, used to be obsessed with so I could manhandle the whole shebang into a happy ending using bird eggs…

"Why?" he had asked Elros, on the final day, amidst the final embrace. "Why would you choose to leave?"

"Because of someday," Elros had said a little tiredly, exhausted by the task of attempting to make all of these immortal creatures understand the eternality of transcendence. "Because of how wonderful it is, to pass things on. To teach. To be part of a creation, a cycle. Someday, someday when all of this is over. Something will last, and perhaps, perhaps what is left behind will be enough to make a world.”

Elrond dipped his hand in the little river and then covered it in grain, watched a tall, brave and eternally curious crane nudge closer and closer to him until it began pecking the grains off his hand. The sun rose as more birds edged cautiously toward the two, turning the valley and everything in it a brilliant red-gold: Elros's very favourite colour.

After all, each act of conservation was — at a fundamental level — an explanation of why someone else should care about something precious to you. It was a picture of what was lost already, of what might be lost, what was worth saving and what that meant. Should mean, would mean, even after the thing itself is gone forever. Whether it was the Westernmost Crane, golden-billed and bright-eyed with a burgeoning newfound faith in Arda. Or Elros Tar-Minyatur, who had always been determined to make as much of a glory out of this marred world as ever he could.

[mythals-whore]

Some thoughts on fandom engagement

Post got long but TL;DR engagement is low, Never Ever Stop Creating! fandom is community and everyone needs to participate

extended thoughts and personal anecdote under the cut:

For writers:

I have turned off Kudos emails from ao3. I found myself checking my email and feeling discouraged when I didn't get them. So i turned the emails off so I wouldn't know I wasn't getting them. Even now when I go to my dashboard, I specifically do not look at the bottom of the work to see those numbers.

This is not me telling you to do the same thing. It is easier said than done, and I understand that. But that's what I had to do to have a good time.

Because for a little while, posting made it less fun. I felt like people didn't like it. I was being overly critical of myself, couldn't write more than three sentences without feeling like I was garbage and my work was garbage and I should just quit. I would post a chapter and then immediately want to take the whole thing down. But then I realized...

I have about four half-finished projects in my WIP folder. I have written like 500,000 words that no one has ever read. Because I had fun doing it! Because I enjoy writing!!

And the point of this isn't to say writers shouldn't want or expect engagement. That is not at all what I'm saying!

What I am saying is that if you enjoy writing and you find that posting your work is making you feel unmotivated, discouraged, and you're not having fun anymore it is okay to take it down. It’s okay to make your work private for a while. It's okay to turn off Kudos emails or even comments. Whatever you need to do to make it fun again, do that. If you enjoy creating, please do not let the lack of engagement stop you!

It's been really helpful for me to find a community of creators! Without the support of @thedissonantverses @flowersforthemachines and @basedonconjecture I may have deleted my work months ago!

And that said, if you want someone to read your work, there are so many people (including and especially me) who would love to read and promote you! Participate in WIP Wednesday and Writing Weekend! Promote your own work!! Promote other creators' work! This is how we build community!

For readers:

If you love fanfic, and fanart and fandom in general engage with it. The urge to take down your work is real! And not unique to me! If writers don't get kudos or comments or replies on tumblr, they will delete their work. If there's a fic you find, and you enjoy it but you don't engage with it do not be surprised if you log on one day and it isn't there anymore. Or if it gets orphaned. Or if they simply stop updating it.

Fandom is meant to be a community. The whole purpose of it is to enjoy the things you enjoy with other people. If you're consuming free work (be that fanfic, fan art or something else) and you're not liking or reblogging or commenting then those people will stop sharing it.

And my personal take, while we're here: I do not get it.

I do not understand why there are people out there who do not jump at the chance to directly engage with authors and artists who make things that you enjoy. You can tell them personally how much you like their work! You can ask them questions! You can send them your unhinged ramblings on The Character.

And before anyone comes to my replies and says: I never know what to say ))):

Here is a non-comprehensive list of 10 slightly unhinged things that I've actually commented on fics (some edited for brevity)

I am chewing on glass.

bye i’m putting my fist through the wall 😭

These two are consuming my every waking thought

That ruined me i fear. I have passed away

THIS IS LITERATURE. absolutely tore my heart out.

You are sick in the head my friend

Im gonna sip on this sentence a while.🤌🏻

how could you do this to them? writing about this in my burn book brb

A) You absolutely cooked here B) how fucking dare you?

 kicking my feet and giggling!!!!!

And this isn't just for ao3/fanfic writers. Fanartists deserve love too! Artists love feedback!! The more unhinged the better!! Tell us we're evil! Quote our work back to us! Tell us you're smashing through walls like the Kool-aid man! Tell us that our work is making you scream and cry and blush!

No one is expecting you to leave several long paragraphs with an actual annotated review (not that that wouldn't also be welcome). Comment! Engage! Community is the whole point!

This also goes for finding Tumblr mutuals, by the way. If you want to make friends with people on here engage with their content! Like their posts! Reply to them! Send asks and messages!

Stop being afraid to enjoy things! That is like...all we are doing here.

[gffa]

People shouldn't be too hard on Mon!

I absolutely love and is grateful of Freed's understanding and appreciation of the Jedi, apparent in the book, apparent in the interview he'd given for the book:

"For me, the excitement of the time period here, is that I tend to think of 'Star Wars' as a setting with plenty of room for grey area stories and moral ambiguity, but there are very clear lines of good and evil as well. There's no version of 'Star Wars' in which you look at the Emperor and go, 'Well, maybe he had some good ideas.' No, the Emperor is evil. And the Jedi and Luke at their best are good. Everything else exists somewhere in there. This is a period where the remains true but no one really knows that the Emperor is evil.

"As far as the public is concerned, this guy just won the worst war in living memory. The Clone Wars were this horrendous affair and Palpatine has put an end to it. Yes, he's declared himself Emperor but he's not the embodiment of all evil. There's not even a Death Star out there. On the absolute good side, the Jedi have sort of been tarnished in recent years. War scrapes away at the shining morality of any organization."

I think Freed really understands what Lucas meant when he said "The Jedi have been corrupted by this war."

...but I still don't hold it against Mon cause she's going through hell and she spoilerspoilerspoilerspoiler in the later half of the book. I think she's fascinating, wonderful, equally valid character with equally valid viewpoints as Bail within context of their own worlds and experiences in this novel.

The editor of the book said it best:

Bail – knows the truth about Palpatine, the Empire, and the fall of the Jedi. Caught between his commitment to truth and justice at any cost, and the duty he has to the daughter he’s been entrusted to protect.

Mon Mothma – a master politician, who believes – like so many – that opposing Palpatine is part of the regular game of politics. She doesn’t yet realize, Palpatine stood up from the game board years ago, and she’s playing against shadows.

Mon and Bail are allies, but not really friends (at this time). Padme was their link, and now, she’s gone. Where does that leave them?

For Mon and Bail especially, the secrets Bail holds that he cannot reveal leaves a gulf between them. And what does it mean when they find themselves at odds with each other, over truths they cannot speak?

prev anon) I'm talking about their different mindsets and experiences and viewpoints born from those and I'm not excusing Mon's... *spoilers* anyway I hope you enjoy the rest of the book! It's so nice seeing an author like Freed, who usually writes non-force side of sw, handling the jedi with such warmth, understanding and awareness

This was such a reassuring message to get, thank you! I've been avoiding spoilers for the book as best I can, but I'm only a quarter of the way through it and I was wondering how the various themes were going to go, but Freed's interview quotes and your comments have made me glad that I'm picking up what this book is putting down, because that's exactly how I've been reading it. (And why I'm hoping to encourage more people to read it--though, I will give a warning that this book can be uncomfortably prescient about current events in a way that I wouldn't say Alexander Freed Is A Witch, but that can be very hard to read about if you're not in the headspace to deal with a lot of reflections of the dumpster fire we're currently in.) As for Mon, I hope nobody comes down on her for this, because as much as I scream, cry, throw up, etc., over Bail's scenes, in general I lean a bit more towards Mon's way of doing things, because I think her approach is her answer to the question, "But what can actually be truly achieved?" That she is looking at an incredibly shitty situation with only shitty options and asking herself what can she actually get done, what does she have a snowball's chance in hell of success with? And she knows clearing the Jedi's name at this point in time is not on the table, not when there are a million other things that might actually do tangible good for the galaxy. And I don't disagree with that! I love the Jedi more than anyone, but clearing their name isn't more important that, say, trying to stop the Wookiees from being classified as a non-sentient species! Clearing their name isn't important enough to blow all your political capital and having nothing to show for it when there are people who you can help, with a chance that will actually succeed! Bail's idealism isn't stupid, he's incredible and the galaxy needs a shining light like him, it's necessary for the bigger hope for the future, we can't make it through the dark times without bright, shining hope. So even when they don't always think positively of each other, I never get the sense that Bail and Mon don't understand that the other is doing what they think is best. They just disagree on what that is. And it makes sense! Bail knew and was friends with the Jedi! He knows the truth about Palpatine and how important all that Force shit is to what's going on here! Mon is operating with the idea that this is a political battle--and she's not entirely wrong, she's necessary to the recovery of the galaxy, too, just as Luke is necessary to save the day, so too is Leia, and I sort of see that reflected in Bail and Mon's approaches--one is focusing on the mystical and one is focusing on the political and I think both are important here. So, I have nothing but hearts for Mon Mothma and what she's trying to do for the galaxy.

And I don't see them as antagonists here, I see them as two people who look at each other with the understanding that there is deep love and compassion for people in the other, that they want this other person on their side not just for political alliances but because they care, and maybe they want to scream in frustration that the other person can't see what they see, but I don't feel for a second that this is going to end with them anything other than them as friends. Their scene in Rogue One implies she knows about Bail knowing a living Jedi, if not directly knowing about Obi-Wan Kenobi, which isn't something he would tell just anyone. I'm hoping for the same with Saw, there's going to be conflict about their approaches, and I love that that's clearly a theme/why these three characters were chosen as the pillars of this book, that each of them are shown to have their reasons why and that each of them serve a purpose. I scream/cry/throw up more about the Jedi because that's the most fun for me, but I am enthralled with Mon's chapters just as much, the political tightrope she's on, and I would encourage people to read for those aspects just as much as I would encourage them for crying about the Jedi. ANYWAY, EVERYONE SHOULD READ THIS BOOK FOR YOURSELF, I'm having fun with the snippets I'm posting, but the book is so much more than those things! It's one of the best SW for rounding out the characters and filling in the transitions between the movies and TV shows, but in a way that keeps the tension and emotional gut-punches despite that we know where it's going. ALSO, MON MOTHMA AND BAIL ORGANA ARE THE BEST, I'M WILLING TO FIGHT THE INTERNET OVER THIS

[nubiawrites]

chapter ten

Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Black Original Character

Warnings: Slow burn. 18+. Smut. Sex. Talks of emergency contraception.

Summary: Iriye is forced to face the music at the table read for Paradise Lost but Aaron isn't ready to fall back.

Notes: Better late than never. I wanted to write more of their... lovemaking scene but I will consider releasing outtakes from this story. Enjoy! Drop comments in my ask box, under this post or reblog. I love the responses.

MASTERLIST

Aaron was used to tense situations. Being an actor meant long days and nights. Different personalities collaborated and clashed with each other. This was a given in every life situation. He had seen his fair share of it, but being in a situation like this was never fun.

Things were a bit tense at the official table read for Paradise Lost, and it hadn't even started. Aaron could sense it, the energies in the room clashing a bit. Aaron saw Tamara had her hands on her hips whenever she talked to someone, her voice low, but her eyes looked frustrated. She was trying to be polite, but there was a tenseness.

Nelly was too jittery. The younger woman always had a pep to her step and a joke on her lips, but she was working overtime. He could tell she wasn’t as cheerful but more on the move, her hair in a messy bun rather than the loose waves she kept together. 

“Here’s your script,” Nelly said to Aaron, not stopping for their usual small talk.

“You drunk anything that isn’t dark, Nelly,” Aaron stated, trying to get a chuckle. 

“I don't like that accusation,” Nelly stated before she sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you,”

“No, you’re fine. My apologies,” Aaron gave her a small smile. Nelly returned it, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “If you want, I can grab you something if it helps,”

“Thank you, but no thank you. I don’t want to leave Tamara and Iriye alone together,” Nelly said before leaning in. “They are not talking,”

“Isn’t that good?” Aaron asked.

“Aaron, that’s the worst thing. They’re doing this weird passive-aggressive attitude with each other,” Nelly rambled on.

“I have a feeling that I might be the cause of that,” Aaron admitted.

“Yeah, I know. Tamara was freaking out when she realized Iriye was at your place. I didn’t tell her anything. I figured Iriye would,” Nelly shrugged.

“Well, I thought Iriye would, too,” Aaron said. Nelly looked around. 

“Walk with me to get something not dark from craft services?” Nelly asked him.

Aaron nodded, and Nelly quickly put the rest of the scripts for the cast at their proper seats.

They wandered over to the craft services area set up for the table read. Nelly immediately grabbed a bottle of water, causing Aaron to chuckle.

“To think I was going to offer my great advice giving skills to you about Iriye,” Nelly rolled her eyes before beginning to look over the snacks.

“Forgive me,” Aaron said througha chuckle. “I’m sorry. I mean it,”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Nelly pointed a pretzel at him before eating it. She took her time chewing and then proceeded to wash it down with some water before talking. “Iriye has always kept her cards close to her chest,”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” Aaron said, grabbing his own trail mix from the table.

“But once she opens it, Iriye really will give endless love and devotion. I’ve seen it,” Nelly admits.

“With Jay?” Aaron asked. “I kind of figured that they were an item,”

“Yeah but I don’t think she was ever in love with him. And she ended that before she could find out,” Nelly whispered.

“But she was able to be around you guys with him. She never even told you and Tamara about me,”

“I been knew you two were a thing. I didn’t need her to tell me. Hell, I think I knew from the time we all met in the meeting with Davis,” Nelly stated. Aaron raised one eyebrow at him, and she gave him a look. “Please. Iriye went all cool and collected. That’s her tick for nerves. And you’re a great actor. But not when you have the upper hand on someone. You’re too smug,”

“You really notice everything?” Aaron stated. Nelly raised her bottle.

“If you want to be the best assistant, you gotta notice everything and the cracks in between,” Nelly stated. “Iriye is a complicated woman. Delicate underneath it all, but she’s scared to show it,”

“I know. I get why. She told me about her dad leaving…” Aaron said. Nelly paused while sipping her bottle of water.

“Wait, she talked about her dad?” Aaron could see the gears working overtime in Nelly’s head.

“Yes, she did,” Aaron was about to ask something else when he heard Nelly’s phone ring.

“I’m sorry. I gotta take this,” Nelly said, whispering sorry before she got on the phone. 

Aaron returned to where his script was, grabbing his pen and adjusting his glasses. As he was beginning to highlight his lines, he felt the chair beside him creak, and he looked to see Vivian.

“Crap, I’m sorry,” Vivian said apologetically, adjusting her bag on the back of the seat. 

“No, you’re good,” Aaron said, adjusting himself so she had room to sit. She gave him a small smile before she took out a pencil case and pulled out pens of different colors, arranging them in a way that made Aaron curious. 

“What?” Vivian asked, a nervous smile making it to her face as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Aaron pointed out her pens. “There’s a method to my madness,” 

“No, we actors have ways we handle things,” Aaron raised his hands in surrender. 

“How are you handling all of this?” Vivian asked. “You know, thrown into the spotlight, and it’s full-blown on you,”

“It’s something,” Aaron admitted. “I was asked to host events and things. And I keep asking myself, why me?”

“It can be a lot,” Vivian nodded. “Doing all the extra when all you want to do is just act,” Aaron could hear something in her words. “Can I give you some advice? One actor to another,”

Aaron sat up some more, ready to learn.

“Know what you’re willing to fight for and what you’re ready to say no to,” Vivian said. “I wish I had learned that a long time ago. Fortunately, I had some good people in my corner, along with some who cared more about the money than my well-being.”

Aaron nodded, knowing of Vivian through his sister’s tabloids and gossiping when they were younger. Vivian seemed to smile through it all, even when people didn’t have the nicest things to say from what he saw.

“When you set what you will and will not take, it makes it harder for people to shake those boundaries,” Vivian explained. “And trust me, with the level of fame you’re about to experience once your show comes out, you’re gonna need it,”

Aaron nodded, taking it in as Vivian checked her phone, a smile taking over her face. 

“It’s my boyfriend. Every time I have a first table read, he always sends me a picture of our dog with a cheesy message,” Vivian explained, showing him the picture. Aaron smiled as he saw an actor he had seen before in something, holding the dog up and a message underneath the photo.

“Adorable dog. He takes after his father,” Aaron joked, Vivian chuckling.

“He does,” Vivian said. “Honestly, it’s nice to know after this and some meetings, I have Gabe and Charleston to go home to,” She said. “They make the boundary testing all worth it because, at the end of the day, I’m living my dream and going home to them,”

Aaron thought about those words, looking toward where he felt eyes on him. He saw Iriye, seeing her in the flesh for the first time in a week. She looked frazzled, and he just wanted to smooth the worries from her head. He would kiss her until she talked to him about the most random things in her life. Aaron would be happy to bask in her presence.

Iriye turned her attention back to the production assistant helping with the table read, not wanting to bud into whatever Aaron and Vivian were talking about. They were too close for her liking, but what could she do? Yell at the two romantic leads of the film she wrote and produced. Tell Vivian to back off of Aaron because he was her man. 

But Iriye couldn’t do that because she didn’t want to open up that can of worms. They never explicitly said what they were doing with each other during the three months they had been in each other’s lives. That’s where it got tricky because Iriye was comfortable with what they were doing: going on mini dates at each other’s place before sleeping with each other. Late nights in the grocery store or early mornings trekking through the used bookstores Iriye loved. Eating food that was going against his Lanterns fitness regime and watching him try to work it off with his Lanterns regime at the home gym in his apartment. 

Iriye just loved being around him. She loved him. It felt too soon to say that. The moment she realized she was really into Aaron was when he dropped her off at her apartment after picking up the morning-after pill. He seemed calm, but she could tell he was agitated. But he still offered to stay with her, having read the side effects on the box as they sat and waited to figure out the next steps of their plan.

“It says side effects include nausea and vomiting,” Aaron read plainly. Even telling her the worst thing sounded great coming from him.

“It’s not my first rodeo with the morning-after pill,” Iriye said nonchalantly.

“So, you’ve done this before?” Aaron stated.

“There was a broken condom situation when a fellow intern when I moved to LA,” Iriye explained. But she didn’t explain how the pill always tended to make her feel like she was dying. She always got the brute force of the side effects.

“I should probably stay then,” Aaron said. “Make sure you’re alright,”

“I don’t need you for this part, Aaron,” Iriye stated too quickly. “It just makes me sleepy, so I’ll be fine. I’ll probably sleep this thing off all weekend. And you probably need to get prepped for the table read and all,” Iriye knew it was a few days off, but in being around Aaron, she knew when it was playtime and work time.

“Iriye-” Aaron reasoned as she got out of the car. 

“See you at the table read,” Iriye stated, walking towards her apartment.

And it was a terrible couple of days. Iriye had been fielding calls and texts from Tamara all while trying not to throw up from the morning after side effects. Once it came to Monday, she decided to stay home but not before Tamara could come banging at her door. Iriye had to pretend to not be home before seeing Tamara slip a note under her door. She waited a while before moving to grab the paper and read it: you can’t run away forever. 

Now Iriye was back at the lot, ensuring everything was under control until she saw Tamara.

“Iriye,” Tamara was in professional mode.

“Tamara, I-” 

“We’re using your latest script,” Tamara said in her professional voice, and Iriye raised a brow. “We can’t do this right now,”

“I know,” Iriye stated.

Tamara moved to talk with someone else on the sound stage while Iriye went to drop off her belongings at her seat. People started gathering around, with Tamara leading the group in quick introductions of the actors and creatives involved in the film. Iriye quickly introduced herself. Vivian led the group in a small round of applause, and she gave a small and curt smile. 

As the reading began, Iriye was lost in everyone getting comfortable with each other. each finding their character's voice and emotional journey. One of her favorite things about being a writer was seeing the discoveries others found in and between the lines of her words.

They took their first break during Act One, and Iriye grabbed a snack from craft services. But she should have been smarter because Aaron was right on her tail.

“We need to talk,” Aaron spoke lowly under her voice. Iriye checked her watch. 

“We can’t right now,” Iriye shook her head. 

“We got fifteen minutes,” He said. “Enough time,”

“We said we wouldn’t do this, us, on the lot,” Iriye reminded.

“Bullshit, Iriye,” Aaron said under his breath.

“Excuse me?” Iriye was shocked at him being snappy with her. He never was.

“Bullshit. You weren’t saying that in your office,” Iriye cleared her throat, hoping no one heard. “Walk with me, Iriye Edwards,”

Aaron began walking ahead, and Iriye glared at his head.  He turned towards her.

“Please, Iriye,” Aaron’s eyes softened at her even if his voice was sharp and clear. Iriye huffed and looked around before following him out. Still being the gentleman, he held one of the doors open for her, following behind her. They walked briefly before Aaron stopped them at a familiar structure: the soundstage where they met.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Iriye stated.

“How are you feeling after the weekend?” He asked her, a nervousness taking over him. 

“I took the pill if that’s what you were wondering,” Iriye stated. “I forgot how sick those things make me,” She said too much, seeing Aaron’s eyes soften more. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t like when people see I’m sick,”

“What’s wrong with seeing you sick,” Aaron said.

“Because I was gross and hunched over a toilet,” Iriye said. “I can take care of myself,”

“I know that, Iriye. But when you’re with someone. When you want to be in a relationship with them, you let them see all sides of yourself: the good, the bad, and the ugly,” Aaron said.

“Well, here you go. You’ve reached the bad part,” Iriye said. “I self-sabotage before you get a chance to figure out I’m not good enough and leave,”

“You think I’m going to leave?” Iriye chuckled. 

“Aaron, it’s a given,” Iriye stated. “You’re handsome. You’re talented. And so deserving of every chance you’re going to get,” Iriye bit her lip. “But so am I,”

Aaron raised a brow at her words, moving closer to her.

“There’s going to be a point where it’s going to be what I want or what you want,” Iriye said. “And I’m afraid that when we get to that point, one of us might make the wrong choice,” 

“So you would rather quit while you’re ahead?” Aaron asked, looking at her deeply in her eyes. “Answer me, Iriye,” His gaze was intense, and she wanted to look anywhere but him. But she was in his orbit and hated how close she had allowed him to get.

“I-I don’t know,” Iriye tried looking at his sweater. Aaron tilted her chin up to look up at him. 

“We need to talk about this, Iriye. Not right now, because we have to return to the table read. But we’re gonna talk about this,” Aaron stroked her chin.

“Okay,” Iriye said.

Iriye and Aaron pulled apart, trying not to walk too closely to each other as they made it back to the soundstage. Iriye let him enter first, and Tamara stopped her just as she was going to go in.

“Tamara, we’ve got to get back,” Iriye muttered.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” Tamara asked. Iriye bit her lip.

“I didn’t mean to hide it from you,” Iriye whispered.

“But you didn’t,” Tamara said. “Is this about Jay?”

“No,” Iriye admitted. “It had nothing to do with him,”

“I know he and I are still being friends; it bugs you, but he was my friend before you were his girlfriend,” Tamara stated. 

“I know, Tam. I wasn’t asking you to take sides,” Iriye said. 

“But I wouldn’t have said anything if he asked about your dating life. Maybe that’s why you didn’t tell me,” Tamara stated.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Iriye admitted. “I just… I’m figuring things out, and I didn’t want to say something, and it didn’t work out. Saying something would make it real. Maybe too real,”

“I saw you two at the snack table,” Tamara said. “I was going to talk to you, but I saw him and you,”

“We’re about to start again,” A production assistant interrupted them. Iriye nodded toward them, and they left. 

“You like him. Probably more than you ever liked Jay,” Iriye heard Tamara’s words.

“We need to focus back on the table read,” Iriye rubbed her on her jeans.

“It’s okay to feel for him, Iriye. You deserve to be happy,” Tamara said. 

“I’m sorry, Tamara,” Iriye moved to hug Tamara, and she embraced her back.

“I’m sorry, too,” Tamara squeezed Iriye. They pulled apart, returning to the table together. 

The energy for the rest of the table read felt better, Iriye able to focus at moments, hearing the chemistry building amongst the cast. The reactions to different scenes and dialogues had her feeling like everything she had worked so hard for, was coming to fruition. 

By the last scene, Iriye’s eyes were shiny with tears. They got to the last pages and a few of the actors in the cast clapped. Tamara took a moment to speak, letting everyone know that Lanoire productions were thankful for them to join the journey of this film getting made. 

The table read was wrapped up and Iriye was grabbing her things from her office when she heard a knock at her door.  She looked up and saw Aaron.

“Can I come in?” Iriye nodded and he entered her office, looking around. “How are you feeling?”

Iriye let out a deep breath she felt like she had been fighting. “I feel like… I can breathe a little better,” 

“You and Tamara?” Aaron asked.

“We’re good. I’m pretty sure I owe her dinner, two bottles of wine and a gossip session about us,” Iriye said. She saw the smile smile on his face and she bit her lip. “Aaron…”

“You said us,” Aaron moved to grab her bag, packing it up. “Come on,”

“Aaron, I gotta go home,”

“I know. I’m taking you home. I know you didn’t drive your car since you haven’t been feeling good,” Iriye rolled her eyes as the man before her.

“So bossy,” Iriye took her bag from him.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you rolling your eyes at me,” Aaron said as he led her out.

Iriye was quiet as she let Aaron drive her home in his car, his hand on her thigh as Sade played in his car. They didn’t speak but it was enough for Iriye. It made her feel warm and that thought came through her head. She loved him. 

They got to her place and Iriye let them in, Aaron taking her bag off and putting it where she kept it normally. 

“Go shower. I’m going to make us some dinner and we’re going to talk like adults,” Aaron demanded. “Then if you want to step away from us, you can,”

Iriye was going to say something but she saw the look on Aaron’s face. 

“Fine,” Iriye turned to her bathroom and went inside, using the time as she needed. She had to get this fine ass man out of her house. But taking her time in the shower would give her the space to breathe and take in how she would do this. She could go the anger route. Yell at him. Threaten him. Tell him she wouldn’t see him. But she didn’t want that. She wanted him.

Iriye dried off, taking the time to moisturize her skin and she deciped to slip into some sweats and a t shirt. She walked into the kitchen to see Aaron heating up some pasta sauce she had in a jar. 

“You need to go grocery shopping,” Aaron pointed out. He had some noodles boiling and she bit her lip.

“Maybe. I’ve just been spending a lot of time at this man’s house,” Iriye said. 

“Oh a man. What’s he like?” Aaron asked, playing along.

“Well for one, he’s tall. Really built like a linebacker or something,” Iriye mentioned. “His ears kind of a tad big for his head,”

“Not too much,” Aaron chuckled.

“He’s passionate and sweet and funny. Can go toe to toe with me when we bicker,” Iriye stated. She watched as he continued cooking with what she had, moving to plate the paste with the sauce for her. 

“I did the best I could,” He said, moving to get her a glass of water for Iriye. He place it by her. “Now eat,”

“Someone’s bossy,” Iriye dug into the meal. He watched her eat, Iriye knowing that he was focused on her. Once she finished, she watched Aaron move her plate out the way and pulled her chair closer to him as they sat at her counter. “What has gotten into you?” Iriye asked.

“You have, Iriye Edwards,” Aaron spoke, his hand moving to her cheek and cupping it. “So if this is what you don’t want,” His hand sliding up her thigh. “You’ll tell me to stop,” He cupped her pussy through her sweats and Iriye bit her lip.

“Aaron,” Iriye moaned. His hand slid into her sweats, finding her pussy as she didn’t put panties on.

“No panties. You made this so much easier for me, love,” Aaron slipped two fingers inside of Iriye and he quickly found that spot inside of her that made her gasp out.

Iriye was going to shut her legs but Aaron stood, moving to stand between her legs. His hand went to the nape of her neck and twisted his fingers into the hair there, making her look at him.

“You want me to stop, say it,” Aaron challenged her, blue eyes piercing her own. “Say it,”

Iriye couldn’t say anything as she moaned, his fingers working inside of her, his thumb touching her clit.

“The thing is you need me, Iriye,” Aaron said. “And I need you,” He leaned down to kiss her lips and Iriye kissed him back deeply. 

Iriye cupped his cheeks as their lips moved against each others, Aaron swallowing every moan and gasp that slipped as he worked her pussy with his fingers, feeling her juices coming out more and more. 

Aaron pulled back from kissing her, taking his fingers out of her pussy and sliding them to her lips, letting her taste herself amongst them. Iriye moaned, tasting her sweet juices. He pulled his fingers and kissed her, groaning.

“Come on,” Aaron lifted Iriye up, her hands moving to his neck and her legs wrapped around him. He led them to her bedroom and she gasps as he dropped her on her bed. “Strip,” Iriye sat up and with the look in his eye, she knew not to play around. 

Iriye shuffled her sweats down, leaving her bottom half bare and then her shirt came off, her titties bouncing back to their space. Aaron;s eyes took in every part of her body and she felt so exposed like a raw nerve. He got himself out of his shirt, the slight hair on his chest coming into view and the same speckle just above his pants. No belt was in his jeans and she watched as he unbuttoned it, his boxer briefs coming into view to show the hard bulge below as he got out of them. 

“Can I taste you,” Iriye asked and Aaron just chuckled. 

“You think I’m going to let you have what you want?” Aaron stated. “After you drove me mad all week, worried about you,” Iriye thought it was posessiveness making him act like this but it was more than that. “Get the condom,” Iriye shuffled up her bed to check her sidetable draw. Just as she was about to grab the gold foil, she felt a smack to her ass and she moaned from the sting, looking back at him. “Get the condom, Iriye,” 

Iriye grabbed it, shifting till she was laying against the pillow. Like a lion, Aaron crawled over her. He took the condom out of her hands and opened it, slipping it onto himself. 

Aaron crawled over Iriye, his eyes meeting her and leaning down for a soft kiss. And Iriye hated that she felt like she didn’t deserve him being sweet for a moment.

“Let me in, Iriye,” Aaron whispered and it wasn’t just her opening her legs and bed to him. It was everything else. Letting him into her life and her heart.

Before she could reply, Aaron pushed into her, a groan leaving his lips as he pressed into her pussy. She gasped as the familiar feeling of her body stretching around his length.

Aaron took a moment to regain himself, his body rocking into her as Iriye’s nail went to his back to find purchase. But he took both of her hands and pressed them to the bed.

“No. You’re just going to feel me. Feel what I do to you. That’s your only focus. Do you understand,” Aaron demanded.

“Yes,” Iriye moaned as she felt him beginning to thrust his length inside of her. Soft gasps left her as Aaron was commited to being slow and steady. His length slide in and out of her, the wet sounds echoing amongst their moans and groans.

Aaron was rolling his hips too good into her. Rocking against her as her feet tried to find purchase on the bed. His chest was rubbing against her nipples, growing harder and making her pussy throb with each movement.

“God, I wish I could feel how wet you are again,” He whispered against her lips, him leaning down to kiss her. Her hands were gasping the covers as Aaron pinned her down.

“You feel so good inside of me,” Iriye moaned out, feeling him thrust a little harder into her and causing her to cry out. 

“You really wanted to end this,” Aaron groaned against her neck. “Look at me,” He twisted his hips in a way that had Iriye arching her back, body still rocking slowly into her. “You want me to stop?”

Iriye gasped as he thrust again, hitting her g spot. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head for a second.

“You didn’t answer me Iriye,” He thrust harder into her. “You want me to stop?”

“No,” Iriye whined out. Aaron paused for a moment and she was about to moan her discontent.

“Wrap your legs around me,” Iriye did as she was told, her legs wrapping around his waist. He lifted her back up from the bed. “Arms around my neck,” She wrapped around his neck and that’s when she knew he was trying to ruin her for anyone else.

Aaron’s muscles weren’t just for looks as he began bouncing her on his cock, lifting her like she was nothing. She began crying out, not caring that her neighbors would most likely complain. If they were getting fucked like this while on their worst behavior, they would understand.

“You really want this to stop,” Aaron lifted her, his cock hitting her g spot just right and her being forced to take the onslaught was wrecking her. They were both trying to breath between gasps and moans. “A-Answer me,” He stuttered as Iriye’s pussy spasmed.

“No. Please! No! Don’t stop,” Iriye cried out loudly. She clutched onto him for dear life as the wet slaps fell against his hips.

“You really wanted to run from this,” Aaron was thrusting up into her harder. “But no one can fuck you like this,” He made sure to puntactate each word with a hard thrust, forcing cries from her body. 

“Aaron!” Iriye whined.

“When I am done with you, you’re only going know my name. You understand, love,” Aaron thrust harder into her.

“Fuck! Yes,” Iriye cried out. He thrust up into her as he brought her body down onto his length, cries and moans leaving Iriye’s body as he moved faster. “You’re going to make cum!” Iriye whined.

“Good. Cum on your cock. I’m yours baby,” Aaron leaned in to kiss her. Her lips hungrily found his and she cried out as she felt her pussy spasming. It took a couple more thrusts before Iriye screamed out. Her juices flooding his length just made Aaron thrust harder, him groaning out as his orgasm hit her and they crumpled to the bed, entangled in each others arms. They would have to talk at some point but their bodies did most of the work and that was enough for now.

@wildwomanalereyia @teenage-aria @skvrpion @absentmindeddreamer @blackpinup22 @liv10002 @styleismyaddiction @jungwonsgfs @hooliemooliedonutshawp @hippiesandpeacesigns @blowmymbackout @justagirlwho-believes13 @caribbeangyalsworld @melovedorks @moihasarrived @ashanti-notthesinger @xx-mintyxx @iluvchrisbrown @ash-ketchumzzz @deijalee @pyramidlight @xosharieee @kaylaahisthebestest- @chaniceandrea @kimmivlixx @saveadanc @kaylalb @queenbritbrat @kceeee @naughtynolly-blog @myawesome56 @chainingxday @nononoks-blog @kinginwithbreezy-blog @apple123cg @jazziejax @lauren1000000 @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @venusincleo @loveschrisbrown20 @brwnskingirlll @iamfredtina @cozyashhh @modelmemoirs @kimiasinterlude @rpayn22 @mscarter123 @lolola22267 @thesweetestdrug @valarghoulis @nyifly22 @zimsilandela @teheeboo @blveeeeeee @5starsirl @yassbishimvintage @23jammy @prettiegal @vadeadiugularis @gabbywontlose @pinkkycherrish @slashervalley @aqueenwasmadehere @lee-jennie @wuzzzgoood

[ayukas]

synopsis when lee haechan was fourteen, he thought he'd found forever in the fleeting moments of a summer spent with you. but forever isn’t promised, and he can't seem to let go.

genre angst, summer love au, coming of age word count 1.4k

notes ayukas stop writing for hyuck challenge FAILED... this has been in my drafts for a month loll lightly inspired by this tiktok! i really hope ull enjoy, let me know any and all of ur thoughts but pls remember to be kind!!! :') thanku for reading :D

HAECHAN REMEMBERS EVERYTHING.

the way the cicadas hummed in the july heat. the way your laughter would ring across the narrow streets of your hometown. the way your hand fit so naturally into his, as if it belonged there.

at fourteen, haechan felt limitless, as if happiness could be held in his hands forever.

but forever was never promised, and neither were you.

FOURTEEN

haechan met you on the first day of summer, in a town too small for secrets. he was the boy who never ran out of things to say, and you were the one who never got tired of listening.

"you're not from here, are you?" he asked that day, his eyes squinting against the sunlight, his honey skin glistening under the glow.

you shook your head. "just here for a while."

just here for a while. he had no idea those four words would permanently brand themselves onto his heart, a warning he should have heeded. but at fourteen, time seemed endless. summers stretched like golden highways, and saying goodbye was just a story older kids told.

you spent that summer together, consumed in the golden hours of childhood—stealing his older brother's popsicles from the fridge (sorry johnny), challenging each other to jump into the deep end of the river, and whispering about the future under a star-filled sky.

one evening, when the sun had set and the air smelled of dirt and fading warmth, you turned to him and said, "i think this is the happiest i've ever been."

haechan could only stare at you, sucking in a deep breath as a strange ache filled his chest. he didn't know why, but he wanted you to know that he felt the same—that every moment with you felt as if it should last forever.

but forever was always an unsteady promise.

the night before you left, the two of you sat by the river, your feet dipped into the water and the stars spread above you like spilled sugar.

"i'll write to you," you said.

he nodded, but he didn't believe it. he was reminded of the movies, where people always said things like that. they meant it in the moment, but moments didn't last forever.

the day you left, he ran after your dad's car, breathless and desperate, as if his pure determination could keep you from leaving. but wheels don't stop for fourteen year olds with broken hearts.

you waved at him through the window, but all haechan saw was the distance growing, stretching, and widening.

and just like that, you were gone.

FIFTEEN

the first letter arrived a week later.

it smelled like the pages of an old book, as if you'd spent hours hunched over it, your handwriting imprinted deep into the paper. you told him about your city, how it seemed too vast, too loud. you missed the cicadas, you wrote. you missed him.

he wrote back that night. told you about how nothing had changed here, except the fact that you were no longer here with him.

the letters continued, fluttering in and out of his hands. he read them at night, tracing the loops in your handwriting and imagining your voice in the ink.

but over time, the letters became fewer. shorter. until, eventually, they stopped altogether.

one night, he sat on his bed with one of your last letters pressed against his chest, trying to convince himself that perhaps you had just forgotten to write the next one. perhaps it was lost in the mail. you wouldn't just forget about him, would you?

but silence has a way of answering questions that no one dares to ask.

SIXTEEN

the bench where you used to sit was still there, but haechan never sat on it anymore. the convenience store where you spent too much money on slushies still sold your favourite flavour, but he never bought them anymore.

somewhere along the way, he realised he was keeping spaces open for you, in case you return.

but you never did.

he walked past the river one evening and noticed a couple laughing together, their fingers entwined and their faces glowing in the warm twilight. he quickly turned away, shoving his hands into his pockets, his chest tight with something he refused to name.

SEVENTEEN

haechan found himself talking to you, even though you weren't there.

"you'd love this song," he'd mumble, pulling his earphones off.

"you'd call me an idiot for doing this," he'd say, laughing to himself after stealing his brother's favourite leather jacket.

he wondered if, wherever you were, you ever talked to him too.

there were days when he thought he was moving on. and then there were days when he walked past his reflection and saw a fourteen year old boy staring back at him, waiting for someone who wouldn't return.

EIGHTEEN

haechan stopped looking for you in crowded places. stopped hoping that every unfamiliar face might be yours. but the ache in his chest just kept persisting.

it sunk deep into his bones, quiet and constant.

there was a girl who liked him. she laughed at all his jokes and reached for his hands when she thought he wasn't looking. he even let her kiss him once, under the soft glow of a streetlamp.

but when he closed his eyes, all he saw was you.

NINETEEN

haechan's brother often told him first loves never last. that they're just a spark, not a flame.

but what if he never let go of the match?

he didn't say it out loud, but the thought ran through his mind, endless and unrelenting.

on his birthday, he sat on his bed, staring at his phone with your facebook profile on it, half-expecting a message from you. he didn't know why he still hoped. perhaps, because he didn't know how to stop.

TWENTY

you return.

news spreads fast in a small town, but haechan doesn't believe it until he sees you standing there, right in front of him.

you look different, older. your hair is styled in a way he isn't used to. your voice had matured in ways it hadn't before. you're not the same fourteen year old who once held his hand so tightly.

but when you smile at him, even for just a moment, he forgets that you ever left him in the first place.

"hyuck..." you murmur, gasping, like you've seen a ghost. "it's been so long. i can't believe we haven't seen each other since we were fourteen..."

he blinks. his throat tightens. his heart stutters.

and then, almost inaudibly, he says,

"what do you mean? i've been stuck at fourteen."

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN A DREAM AND A MEMORY

haechan finds himself standing in a room that feels like a memory. his old bedroom, but not quite—there's something surreal about it, as though it exists somewhere between reality and a dream. the michael jackson posters on the wall, the messy desk, the slightly broken lamp that flickers every now and then—it's all there, the way it was when he was fourteen.

and sitting on the edge of the bed, his legs swinging idly, is a boy.

a boy with rounder cheeks, brighter eyes and an innocence haechan barely remembers having. a version of himself he hasn't seen in years.

"you're me," haechan says, his voice quiet, almost in disbelief as he stares at the younger boy.

the younger version of him grins, tilting his head slightly. "of course i am."

"why am i here?" haechan asks, his voice wavering slightly. it's not the question he wants to ask, but it's the only one that makes sense right now.

"you never left," his fourteen year old self replies calmly, studying him closely. "you don't want to."

haechan's chest tightens, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. the ache in his heart grows the longer he's in here, pressing against him from all directions. he wants to leave this place. he needs to leave. he needs to move on.

to move on as easily as you did, to forget everything and walk away without looking back. that's what haechan wishes he could do. but instead, he stands frozen in place, staring at his fourteen year old self, a sense of suffocation building in his chest.

and so, with a heaviness that fills the space between them, he finally cracks, his voice barely above a whisper, "help me."

"i've been stuck at fourteen. i don't know how to let go."

[phangays]

Dan and Phil TIT Livestream: A Rant

If you’ve been following the whole ticket disaster situation then you might know what I mean. If not here’s a recap

Tickets went on sale for the TIT virtual show thingy. They’re starting at 15$ USD and go up for different stuff. This does not include tax/purchasing fees. Idk about other places in regards to pricing

Many counties cannot, until less than an hour ago of writing this, get the merch. But they can still get tickets to the event

There was an issue with PayPal on the ticket providers end that caused fees to not show up

There was a different issue of prices being higher than they were supposed to be on the providers end as well

All of these issues are being fixed as I speak

During this entire thing people have been nothing but negative and demanding. They’re blaming Dan and Phil for something they didn’t control. And DnP are keeping everyone updated as the news comes out

At the time of posting this: all PayPal issue have been fixed, the higher prices are being refunded, and 150 countries have been added to have shipping of merch. Total refunds have also been offered

All I have seen is people complaining over and over and over. Like BRO. I understand being upset prices are higher than they were meant to be. You are being refunded. It takes time. Chill out

I understand being upset about not being able to see why the PayPal prices went up during checkout. This has been fixed and you can see it now. Even still, have y’all never heard of taxes??? Of purchasing fees??? Ya know, stuff that happens anytime you buy tickets online to something??? Like hello??? And why are we blaming DnP for something that is not their fault? They don’t control taxes. They don’t control purchasing fees. Those are done by the provider. Take issues when them, not DnP

People are also complaining about needing to pay to see the show online. Now listen, I understand wanting to be able to see the show online if you didn’t get to go in person. But you have to remember this is a show that they worked for. They paid for. It not bring free admission make sense to me personally. Maybe I’m biased. But you’re paying to see their work. HOWEVER I also understand that this is something not everyone can afford. I get this. And it sucks. But it’s not only cheaper than seeing the show in person but there’s a chance it might also be put up online for free at a later date like Dan did with his tour. That’s not a guarantee tho. They haven’t said yes or no to this yet

Now I have nothing to say about not being able to ship to different countries until a little while ago. I have no idea how that works. I have no idea who’s in charge of that. I have no idea if it’s because of said country, because of DnP, or because of the shipping company. Since I don’t know, I won’t speak on it and won’t place blame on anyone. Because I simply do not know or understand how it works

People are also mad that Dan hasn’t said anything??? Why do we need Dan to say anything when Phil is doing it??? They’re a duo, one person can, and has historically done, speak for both. We don’t need separate conversations for the same issue. It can make things confusing

Like I’m sorry this happened, but it’s being fixed

Be patient. Be calm

[starsnores]

I'LL BE YOUR EXECUTIONER - a playlist for wanting something you shouldn't

i finished the karkat focused gamkar fanmix (added 2 (two) songs from the last time i posted about it lmao). I meant for it to mirror the gamzee playlist i made so they're the same length and supposed to be similar vibes.

Off & On - Findlay

You give me the horrors and I give you the goo that oozes Separate the scabs from the bruises

Fear of Dying - Poppy

I'm not afraid of happy endings I'm just afraid my life won't work that way

Crybaby - Destroy Boys

I want you to write it down It's not you, it's me, why I keep coming around

sunshine and roses - carolesdaughter

You told me to be patient, but I'm getting sick of it Nothing has changed, I'm getting anxious that it never will

Dirty Tampon - Troi Irons

There was glitter on your face You said heaven is a place but I knew you couldn't take me there

Executioner - wych elm

Be merciful to me I am a sinner, runt of the litter

Red Riding Hood - Elysian Fields

My, what sharp teeth you have

Spiracle - Flower Face

And I want your violence, your silent sedation Your moon eyes, your telescope, morbid fixation

Silence of the Lambs - Babyteeth

All at once or nothin' at all I never wanted to see you fall

Creek Blues - Nicole Dollanganger

You are sick And I hate you and love you for it You're a wreck But I'm always going to want you