#it’s the only way he will ever chill out

[jinhyun]

—lost in translation.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

genre: a little angst, fluff, best friend’s little brother au, friends to lovers, pininggggg, miscommunication (gone right?)

word count: 5.2k

summary: hyunjin needed answers and he needed them now. even if it meant showing up at your place late at night with a few drinks in his system, ready for things to go either terribly wrong or incredibly right.

warnings: miscommunication, mentions of alcohol and drinking

author’s note: hellooo, and thank you so much for being so patient<3 this is part 23 of my social media au “heart out”. part 24 will be written as well, so don’t worry if there were a few things left unsaid in this one lol. as always, i hope you guys enjoy! if you do, please don’t forget to leave an ask or a comment telling me your thoughts on it<3

Hyunjin was usually a very chill and spontaneous person. He did things when he felt like it, without really giving it much thought. If he wanted to do something and it felt right, then why would he hold back? He could always deal with the consequences of his own actions later.

When it came to you, however, he was the complete opposite.

Ever since he met you, he had been tiptoeing his way around your heart.

He wanted to do things right when it came to you, and, as a result, his interactions with you throughout the years tended to end up with him overthinking instead of doing.

Starting with him hiding his feelings and keeping his interactions with you to the minimum when he was still a high schooler, to him still hiding his feelings while trying to get closer to you when he entered university, to then still say nothing about them when you started dating Mingyu, up until now, that he finally got another shot at getting close to you, yet he still refused to confess his feelings until you were ready to hear it.

And that was the thing, if it were up to him and acting accordingly to how he felt in the moment, he would’ve confessed a long time ago — probably back in his first year of university, particularly when he found out you and Mingyu were dating and he felt like calling you up and letting it all out. But he wouldn’t, because although it would be a huge weight to get off his shoulders, he wouldn’t want you to deal with the burden of knowing he loved you when you didn’t love him back; not like that, at least.

He wouldn’t confess, because he didn’t want you to feel bad for not being there just yet, if ever.

He didn’t want to ruin what the two of you had because of a whim, and so he decided to deal with his feelings on his own. Until he knew for sure that you were ready to hear a confession from him, he wouldn’t say the words out loud to you.

Of course, that was up until this evening.

After coming to the conclusion that Dahye had followed her word and told you about his feelings for you, and having you distance yourself from him ever since, which could only mean you didn’t feel the same and were preparing to turn him down; and, furthermore, after hearing from Yeji that you wouldn’t mind going out with her twenty three year old coworker once you were ready to date again, there was no room in his head for him to think of the consequences of confessing to you anymore.

If you were turning him down anyway, if you were going out with someone else anyway… if he was losing you anyway, then what did he have to lose by finally letting you know how deeply he felt for you?

Maybe it was the alcohol he’d been consuming with his friends that night, or maybe it was just him simply not giving a fuck anymore — maybe both.

Whatever it was, it was giving him the final push he needed, for he was now standing outside your building, ignoring the freezing breeze of the night —as the black cotton sportswear he was wearing did little to nothing to keep him warm—, while he desperately texted you in hopes of you being awake and letting him come up, so you would finally get to talk and turn him down if that’s what you wanted to do in the end.

If you were turning him down at one point in the next two days, he would rather have you do it now.

He felt like he was going insane; like no matter what the outcome was, whether you turned him down or not, he would collapse if he didn’t get an answer within the next few minutes.

When you wouldn’t answer his texts and there were no signs of you being online, he decided to call you instead. He wasn’t giving up that easily that night, if at all.

It only took one missed call and ten more seconds waiting on the line for you to pick up.

“Hyunie?” Your sleepy yet worried voice was enough to quiet his running thoughts down. “Something happened? Are you alright?”

He stayed silent for a moment, staring up at your window.

“Hyunie?” You repeated. He heard you shift in your bed, and then he saw the light in your room turn on. “Are you there?”

“Can I come up?” He asked quietly.

Silence filled the line for a moment. “What?”

“I texted you… I think you didn’t see it” he explained. “I’m outside your building. Can I please come up? I know it’s late, but I need to talk to you now”.

“Y-Yeah… of course” you failed to hide how taken aback you were. “Help yourself in”.

“Okay…”

Hanging up, his eyes went to the front door to your building, and he suddenly felt the weight of what was about to come on his shoulders. But he was already here, and even if he turned around and went home instead, he knew he would not be able to sleep for the second night in a row as long as he didn’t clear things up with you.

He was already here and you were waiting for him upstairs, so he might as well rushed up to you.

-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-♡

Entering the passcode he knew by heart, he made his way into your place; taking off his shoes and putting on the slippers you kept by the door for your guests, which he knew were pretty much his by now.

As expected, all the lights were out except from the one in your bedroom, where he caught you coming out from.

He would never get tired of seeing you barefaced; and the slightly messy hair you were running your fingers through in a quick attempt to fix, along with the pastel pink silk pyjamas you were wearing, could only make him adore you even more. However, you looked tired, and he couldn’t help but feel bad for waking you up.

“Hey” he mumbled, suddenly feeling the madness inside his head calm down at the mere sight of you.

“Hey…” you softly greeted him back, leaning against your doorframe and resting your head on it. “Did something happen?”

He denied with his head, coming closer to you. “Just couldn’t wait anymore to talk to you, I’m sorry”.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, slightly frowning when you got a closer look at him. “Have you been drinking?”

A small, surprised pout formed on his lips. What gave it away? His eyes? Was he reeking of alcohol? Or did you know him so well that a simple look at him was enough for you to tell when something was off?

“Just had a few drinks with the boys, it’s nothing” he brushed it off.

“You didn’t drive here, did you?”

“No, of course not” he was the one to frown this time. “I’m fine, though”.

You said nothing, but he caught the hesitation in your eyes.

“I’m fine, Y/N” he reassured you one last time. “I didn’t drink that much anyway”.

Just enough for his inhibitions to shut down; not enough not to realise what he was doing.

“Okay…” you decided to believe him.

With a light tilt of your head, you invited him into your room, where the lightning was better — although the dim light coming from the white lamp on your nightstand could only make him feel sleepier.

You sat down on the edge of your unmade bed, as you’d been sleeping up until he called you, and motioned for him to do the same. Once he did, silence was fast to take over.

“Um… I’m not—I wasn’t really prepared to talk about this now,” you messily tried to come up with the right way to approach the issue. “So I don’t know where to begin, if I’m honest…”

He understood what you were feeling perfectly. In all honesty, although he had come all the way over here to get the answer he so badly needed, he, too, didn’t know where to begin.

There was so much to say, so much to ask, so many ways to word his questions, that his mind went blank.

So, he said the first thing he could think of right then.

“Dahye told you, didn’t she?”

You looked distressed at the mention of her, and that was enough for him to get the answer he was dreading. “Sorry?”

“She talked to you?” He rephrased it.

“Mhm…” you nodded, looking down to your lap. “She did”.

“And is that why you’ve been so distant?” Hyunjin asked carefully.

You nodded again, silently. “I’m sorry, I just needed some time to think” your eyes went back up to lock with his. “How’d you know she talked to me?”

“She kinda threatened me with telling you, so…” he rolled his eyes.

“Oh… that’s…”

Crazy. She was crazy.

Hyunjin nodded, not needing to hear any words coming out of your mouth to understand what you wanted to say. “I know. I should learn not to underestimate her”.

“Yeah, I probably should, too…” you smiled weakly. “Good thing I realised something was off and didn’t believe her in the end”.

“Wait, what?” His eyebrows furrowed.

Something was off? You didn’t believe her?

“I didn’t believe her,” you repeated. “I was a bit shaken up at first, and that’s why I took some distance from you. I just needed to think about it with a cold head, but all along I didn’t want to believe it was true, so ultimately I didn’t. It didn’t sound like you at all”.

Was he tripping? Was he really way more drunk than he thought for your words to make no sense to him?

“You didn’t… want to?” Hyunjin’s heart ached, mostly hung up on those words of yours. “Would it be that bad if it was true?”

“Yes,” you replied in a heartbeat. “I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t be able to let myself fall for you if that was the case, Hyunjin”.

I wouldn’t be able to let myself fall for you if Dahye will always be there and I knew you’d go back to her whenever you get tired of me; is what you meant.

It would be bad if it was true that you’re in love with me, because I wouldn’t be able to let myself fall for you and ever love you back; is what he heard.

Just like that, for the fourth time in his life, once again because of you, his heart broke.

Although he’d come here knowing well enough that getting turned down by you was a very high possibility, actually hearing you so tactlessly say those words to him right then, and getting every chance of ever being with you crushed into pieces just like that, had his heart hurting in a way it had never before.

Feeling physically ill and finding it hard to breathe, he stood up, pacing around your room for a few seconds before he looked for support on the wall by leaning his back on it.

This might’ve been his worst heartbreak yet, for unlike the previous times, he’d let himself be led on. This time, he really thought that there was something going on between the two of you. All the reciprocated flirting and touches… had it all been him? Did you really not realise what you’d been doing to him all along?

“Hyunie…” you whispered, feeling your own heart break at the sight of him and going up to him, unable to give into your own sorrow as he seemed to have just confirmed that what Dahye told you was indeed true.

He closed his eyes as he tilted his head up to keep the tears from coming out of them.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

He defeatedly shook his head when you placed your hand on his shoulder, rubbing his hands on his eyes to wipe the oncoming tears before he tried to walk away. “I’m sorry, this wasn’t a good—I can’t, I should leave” he apologised.

“So it’s true then?” You asked, grabbing his wrist for him to stay.

He shook his head no, and for just a moment there you felt relief, before he finally turned around and looked at you with reddened eyes. “Of course it’s true” his bottom lip trembled. “Why wouldn’t it be? Did I really get it all wrong?”

Your eyebrows knitted together, understanding this entire situation less and less by the second. “Get what wrong?”

“This,” he repeatedly pointed his finger from you to him. “Us. Whatever it is that I thought was going on between us”.

“Hyunjin…”

“I knew I was getting my hopes up too fast, but I thought,” he paused for a moment, shaking his head in disbelief over his own delusions. “All this time I thought what kept holding you back was our age gap, but turns out the problem was never my age, but me”.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’d be willing to go out with that one other guy who’s also my age, so it was clearly never the problem”.

“What guy?”

“You know what guy”.

“Felix?” You pinpointed, not really knowing any other guys his age. Not like you particularly knew Felix either anyway. “I’m not going out with him”.

“You said you wouldn’t mind him being twenty three, though”.

“Because I don’t care about age, not because I want to date him” you tried to defend yourself. “Weren’t you the one who told me to consider dating younger guys?”

“Exactly, I told you that. Me. I said it so you would at some point consider me, not so you would start looking at other guys my age” he clarified.

“Hyunjin, I’m not—Why does age suddenly matter so much to you?”

“Because if you’re willing to date a guy who’s three years younger than you, then why can’t it be me?!”

You froze.

During all the years you had known him, you had never seen him lose his temper. He was always calm, rational. Had he ever even raised his voice in your presence other than when he got excited about something?

This was a side of him you’d never seen before, and it broke you.

Seeing him look so hopeless and sound so defeated right then, made you feel like holding him and never let go of him.

Things were moving too fast, though, and when you wanted to reach for his face and wipe the tear that had just rolled down one of his cheeks, he beat you to it; harshly wiping his face with his hands, as he refused to look away from you.

“All this time I’ve done nothing but pour my heart out to you. I’m so… so fucking in love with you it hurts me, Y/N. There are times when it physically pains me to love you this much,” he confessed.

Right now, it was one of those times.

“I’ve done everything in my hands for you to stop seeing me like the teenage boy you met back then, for you to stop seeing me just like Yeji’s little brother, and I know you’re not ready for a relationship yet, but I was willing to wait for as long as you needed me to until you were, because I was delusional enough to believe that I could actually make you fall for me” a breathless, humorless laugh abandoned his lips. “And now it turns out you just won’t ever feel the way I feel for you, and this guy shows up out of nowhere and gets everything I’ve tried to get from you right away without even moving a finger, and I just… I don’t know where to go from here”.

Your heart squeezed inside your chest.

Of all the things you were expecting as the outcome of your talk, a confession wasn’t one of them. Not this kind of confession, at least.

You were speechless. Not only did you not know what to say, but even if you did, you were sure your voice would betray you by not coming out when you opened your mouth.

Hyunjin loved you.

It wasn’t just a crush like you thought. It wasn’t him looking for something casual like you feared. No, he loved you. He was serious about you.

Why did you feel so happy yet so afraid about his feelings for you being so strong?

He took a step towards you, and you felt your heartbeat raise when his face was only a couple of inches away from yours and his breathing began to mix with yours.

“I don’t wanna give up on you, Y/N, I don’t. But I just don’t kn—What do I have to do for you to consider me?” He asked, pulling you closer by your waist. “What does he have that I don’t?”

“I’m not going out with him, Hyunjin” you repeated in a whisper, hoping this time he would believe you.

Whether he believed you or not, he leaned in closer, faintly brushing his nose with yours. “What do I have to do for you to give me a chance then?”

“Hyun…”

“I’ll do anything,” he said, cupping your face and making you lock eyes with him. “Just tell me what and I’ll do it”.

You slowly shook your head no, unable to get any kind of word out of your mouth. Was it not obvious enough already that you did feel something for him? Had the way you talked to him and how you acted around him not been enough for him to get that you liked him as something more than just a friend? As way more than just your best friend’s brother?

You couldn’t find the right words to tell him that. The only thing you could do was to stare into his eyes, and then down into his lips, feeling the tension between the two of you grow by the second.

Hyunjin caught up on that immediately, leaning closer, so he could brush his mouth on yours for a second, before he closed the gap that kept them from touching.

Only you beat him to it.

Had you waited one more second, he would’ve been the one to press his lips on yours.

But you did not.

Instead, you were the one to press your mouth on his.

You were the one to kiss him first.

You were kissing him.

And he froze.

His right hand was still cupping your face, his left one remained on your waist, and his eyes had naturally closed the moment he felt the heavenly pressure of your lips on his. But he froze nevertheless.

For the first few seconds, he was too stunned, too overwhelmed —in the best way possible— to even react. And, unfortunately, a few seconds was all the kiss lasted; for he missed your touch right when he was about to kiss you back.

“I’m sorry” you apologised right as you pulled away and covered your mouth with your hands, as if only then coming to your senses. “Hyunie, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t—”

That was as much as you got to say, for in a second he had already removed your hands from your mouth and replaced them with his lips.

You’d be damned if you thought you could get away with letting him get a taste of your lips only to deprive him of you all over again.

You kissed him back right away, going against your poorly attempted apology, and driving him crazy when you wrapped your arms over his shoulders. His hands that had been previously cupping your face were now on your waist, pulling you closer to his body as he tried to feel you as close to him as he could.

He kissed you like he needed you, like he’d been deprived of you for decades and was only now allowed to get a taste of you; and yet, he managed to be so gentle that you were left craving more by the second, whilst wanting him to kiss you just like that for a little longer.

After all, you didn’t know he had been dreaming of this moment for nearly seven years now.

Just like you, he, too, started wanting more. Pulling your hips harder against his and getting a small gasp of yours to part your lips, he took the chance to delve his tongue in your mouth — unable to keep the corners of his lips from curving slightly up when he felt your tongue massage his right back.

With your breathings becoming heavier, and without even dreaming of letting go of your lips just yet, Hyunjin made you take a couple of steps back, until your legs reached your bed and you instinctively sat down on it, allowing him to lean over you as he followed your mouth.

“You’re drunk…” you managed to whisper, right after you laid back on the mattress and his mouth sucked on your bottom lip once more.

“I’m fine, I’m fin—I’m perfect” he whispered in between kisses.

He was perfect. Being with you like this, with him hovering over you while your fingers gently dug into his hair and your mouths so deliciously sucked on each other, he could not be anything other than perfect.

Kissing you felt like a dream, and a part of him was afraid that it was one.

“No, Hyunjin…” you mumbled, only a couple of seconds later. “We shouldn’t be doing this…”

“Why not?” He asked, pulling slightly away from you — not enough for your lips to stop brushing.

“I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship right now” you confessed what his sister had told him earlier that night and, therefore, what he already knew. “I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have kissed you”.

“No, don’t be sorry for kissing me. Anything but that, Y/N. You have no idea how bad I’ve wanted to kiss you all this time” he tenderly ran his thumb up and down on your cheekbone. “I can wait until you’re ready. Starting tomorrow morning I’ll wait all you need me to, but right now just… let me kiss you for a little longer”.

Having him whisper those words when his mouth was faintly touching yours, could only make you feel yourself give in to his plea.

“Hm?” He asked, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb. “One more and I’ll stop”.

Unable to speak, as it seemed to be the norm that night, you closed your eyes; and that was enough for him to take the hint and replace the thumb on your bottom lip with his mouth, sweetly sucking on it before he softly traced it with his tongue, for you to let him in and meet him midway.

The desperation of your second kiss was no longer there, as he now took his time to engrave in his memory every single second of your mouth sucking on his and your tongue massaging his own. He didn’t know when he would ever get to kiss you again, after all, and he wanted to take in as much as he could of it.

He wanted to take his time now; and kiss you slowly, deeply, lovingly.

When you were both left panting for air, he rested his forehead on yours, cupping your nape with his hand and digging his fingers in your hair before he hid his face in the crook of your neck, as a breathy laugh abandoned his mouth.

“You’re driving me crazy” he confessed.

“I should be the one saying that,” you chuckled rather sadly. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me anymore, Hyunjin…”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re confusing me so much right now. You say you love me and you make me feel so special, but then you go and…” you sighed, feeling him slowly withdraw his face from your neck as he tried to understand your point. “I wish it was that easy, but I can’t let myself fall for you now that I know what Dahye said is true”.

“I swear you’re making me question how much I actually drank, because that doesn’t make any sense and—You can’t do this to me, Y/N” his piercing eyes fixed on yours, and the way his voice sounded so calm now could only make your body tense up under him. “You can’t just kiss me and then tell me that…” he sighed, attempting to collect his thoughts. “If you don’t feel ready for a relationship I get it, and I’ll wait. I’ll wait for as long as you need me to, baby, that’s never been a problem. But you can’t just tell me that you’ll never love me back and then kiss me only to turn m—”

“When did I ever say I’d never love you back?” You questioned.

“When we were talking earlier?” He tilted his head in confusion. “I asked you if it would be so bad if what Dahye told you was true and you said yes”.

“Yes,” you agreed. “Because I can’t put myself through the hell your messy relationship with her would bring me”.

His eyebrows knitted together. “What messy relationship?”

“You know…” you avoided his eyes, only then being hit with how much the thought of him with someone else actually affected you. “This whole ‘fuck buddies’ thing and you going back to her no matter who you are with”.

“That’s ridiculous” he blurted out, almost offended that such an atrocity had just left your mouth. “Where did you even get that from?”

“That’s what Dahye told me” you said.

“That’s what…” the puzzle pieces finally connected in his head. “Is that why you said you wouldn’t be able to fall for me?”

“Yes?” You tilted your head questioningly. “Isn’t that what we were talking about all along?”

He should be mad at Dahye right then. He should want to scream at her for playing with the two of you like this.

Any other time, he would’ve been fuming. Right then, however, with your troubled expression as you didn’t get what was going on, with your pretty lips all swollen from how hard he’d been kissing you up until a minute ago, and having experienced such a wide range of emotions in a matter of minutes, he could only laugh.

Tilting his head back and letting a throaty laugh escape his mouth, he slumped back next to you on your mattress and covered his face with both hands, as he let his laughter take over him.

Nervousness, madness, embarrassment, relief, happiness; it was all mixed up into one loud, painful laughing fit.

He felt like a maniac, feeling you stare at him in worry and obliviousness, but he couldn’t find it in him to stop laughing.

“What’s so funny?” You wondered when he struggled to catch his breath.

“She lied” he explained, finally feeling like his laughter was coming to an end.

“She lied?”

“She lied” he confirmed, removing his hands from his face and wiping a couple of tears off his eyes before he locked them with you. “I don’t like her at all, Y/N. We hardly ever even talk, why would I—” he took in a deep breath, staring up at the ceiling as he felt like he was going crazy. “Can’t believe I cried for nothing”.

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your mouth, both over his last remark and over how relieved you felt to know it was all a misunderstanding, and that you had been right not to believe her in the first place.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t clear enough” you pouted, gently cupping his face when he turned to you.

He shook his head no, letting you know it was okay as he placed his hand on yours. “I didn’t specify either, so I was at fault, too” he smiled softly. “And we probably wouldn’t have ended up kissing if I hadn’t gotten so heated up anyway, so it was totally worth it”.

“You’re an idiot” you laughed once again, smiling when he leaned in and rested his forehead on yours.

“You still kissed me, though” he pointed out, bringing some heat to your cheeks. “Does that mean I actually have a chance now?”

“Was me kissing you not a good enough answer to that?”

“Kisses can mean nothing to some people, so…”

“I’m not one of those people, Hyunie” you let him know.

“Good,” he smiled, pulling you to his chest. “Because kissing you meant everything to me”.

You wrapped an arm around him, nuzzling the fabric of the black sweatshirt he was wearing and taking in his scent you loved so much.

“Shouldn’t we properly talk about what Dahye told us?” You mumbled.

“That, and about where we’re standing now, too” he agreed, sweetly tracing his fingertips up and down your back. “My head hurts now, though. I feel like I’m spiraling, I went through too many emotions in too little time”.

You giggled, looking up at him. “You want to continue this conversation tomorrow? When we’re both a little less overwhelmed?”

“Yeah…” he nodded. “I can sleep peacefully now that I know you feel something for me, too”.

You chuckled, making his bottom lip stick out in confusion when you pulled away from him and sat up on your bed. “It’s late, you can sleep here tonight. I’ll take the couch”.

He grabbed your wrist before you could get up. “Stay with me?”

“Hyun…” you hesitated.

“I won’t try anything, I promise” he was fast to say, well aware of where your hesitation was coming from. “Just need to feel you close tonight”.

If he was honest, any other time, he would’ve offered to take the couch and that would’ve been the end of it, but tonight he really needed your closeness. He needed to know you were there, to feel you next to him. And, thankfully for him, you needed just the same.

Silently motioning for him to get under the covers, you let him know you agreed to his request. He smiled widely, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek before he did as told — making you laugh wholeheartedly when you got under the sheets as well and he wasted no time to pull you to his chest again and to tuck you in with him.

This entire day had been a mess. Hell, the whole fucking week had been unbearable. But you had been able to talk it out at last. Although messily, you now seemed to be on the same page about everything; from your feelings, to what you were looking for, to where the whole misunderstanding had originated.

This may not have been the conversation the two of you were expecting to have, but it was coming soon enough. Tonight, you could just go to sleep in each other’s arms, knowing what each other’s lips felt and tasted like, and with the certainty that your feelings were reciprocated.

Neither of you would have it any other way.

tag list: @jehhskz @iknowyouknowminho @doohnut @saintcosette @lailac13 @kayleefriedchicken @rikibun @yongbokkiesworld @seungzsmin @beautifulcolorgarden @hyunetopia @velvetmoonlght @automaticpersonabatpaper @httpdwaekki @brinnalaine @wondering-out-loud @feelikecinderella @nujeskz @amarecerasus @liknws @nhyunn @midsoulz @tirena1 @tinyelfperson @thatonexcgirl @iovecb97 @hynier @phenomenalgirl9 @your-favorite-pirate @jin-from-the-block @yearofthetiger25 @quokkacidal @stayconnecteed @kwanisms @yoonguurt @143hyunes @iiriam @cookielixie @hyunlvrs @allyrarara @machaandlofi @mehli-00 @justiceforvillains @minhosprettywife @whats-my-question @armystay89 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @hyeon-yi @skzstannie @onlyhyunjin

[dem0batz]

Apple Spice and Oaths

Caleb x MC // Love and Deepspace

Author's Note: I've been plagued by thoughts of Caleb. My brain has been rotting and frothing since his trailer release. Not as edited as I would have liked but I needed to get this out into the world.

~2400 words || read on AO3

Summary

After years of forbidden moments with Caleb, it all finally comes to a head when he is about to leave for pilot training.

🔞Content Warnings: (adopted) brother/sister kink, virgin MC, yandere Caleb, dubcon, sexual coercion but MC wants it, references to Dawnbreaker Zayne, Dacryphilia, implied oral (—>f), PIV, cum eating, small blood reference

The bed dips behind you, a soft creak echoing through your room. A chill hits your spine, making your bones tremble before warmth presses into your back and the blanket seals the two of you in.

“Caleb…”

“Shhh, you’ll wake Gran.”

Your half-hearted protest dies on your lips when your brother’s arm falls across your waist, pulling you closer to his chest. A strong forearm slides under your neck, searching for a comfortable position for the both of you. His familiar scent of apples and spice hit your nostrils as he snuggles in closer, entwining your limbs together like so many times before.

You really should send him back to his own room. This thing between the two of you has gotten out of hand. It wasn’t normal for siblings to do the things the two of you have and someone needs to put a stop to it before it’s too late. Before you both cross that line neither of you can ever return from. But you can’t bring yourself to tell him to leave when the warmth of his breath hits your ear with a relieved sigh, his body relaxing into yours.

“You know I can’t sleep without you, pipsqueak.”

Caleb buries his nose in your neck, inhaling your scent with a light groan. Warm lips press against the sensitive skin as a large hand slides under your sleep shirt. His fingers are chilly as they dance across your abdomen, teasing around your navel on their path upward. Just as they reach the swell of your breasts, you press down on his hand to keep it from going higher though your nipples were tingling with desperation.

“That’s not sleeping,” you whisper.

“Can’t help it,” Caleb whispers back, his lips continuing to brush your neck even as he speaks. “You smell so good. So pretty. Feel so good in my arms. I need you, pip. Always need you. You plague my every thought ‘til there’s no space for anything else. ’m fucking crazy for you, pretty girl.”

A lump tightens in your throat. Though he doesn’t try to force his way to your chest, you can feel his fingers twitching against your ribs with the need to move. You would be lying to yourself (which you do often) by saying that you didn’t want it to. That you didn’t crave him the way he craves you. After you lost Zayne, Caleb was the only you had left and you had clung to him like a life line. The only reason he felt so comfortable crawling into your bed in the middle of the night is because you didn’t tell him to leave the first night he did it.

Agonizing dreams of an adult Zayne, bitter and lonely, kept infiltrating your peaceful sleep, morphing into nightmares that left you whimpering and trembling with overwhelming grief. It took a week of suffering these dreams before you were brave enough to tell someone. Dismissing it as exam exhaustion was enough to Gran worked well enough and she didn’t question you much after, but Caleb didn’t buy it. His thumbs had swept over the circles under your eyes, a frown on his face telling you without a single word that he didn’t believe you. Though he didn’t say anything in front of Gran, Caleb wasn’t one to let things go.

He crept into your room that night to find you tangled and sweaty in your sheets, crying in your sleep as visions invaded your dreams of sharp black ice piercing through Zayne’s body while you were frozen in place and unable to go to him. Caleb shook you awake and held you while you cried, babbling incoherently until you fell back into a deep, calm sleep in his arms.

So while Caleb claims to be unable to sleep without you, it was the opposite. Any night you had to sleep alone was spent tossing and turning until you gave up all together, the insomnia taking it’s place. You had no idea what you would do once he leaves next week for pilot training, something you were both dreading but didn’t speak of. This is why you had to learn to be without him and why this needed to end.

As much as it pained you to, you begin to pry his arm from your torso.

“Please don’t. Don’t push me away.” His voice cracks on your name, cracking your heart with it.

Caleb was your rock, so strong and sturdy to lean on. It wasn’t often he showed vulnerability, typically only in these quiet moments you shared in the dark. It was enough to make your resolve waver. Sensing your hesitation, he presses up against you, his erection digging into your lower back.

“But you’re leaving me,” your own voice trembles with the sting of tears on your lashes.

His other hand grips your jaw from it’s position, twisting your neck toward him until your breathing mingles, lips grazing one another. It’s hard to see in the dark, but there’s just enough light emitting from a soft night light nearby to see the hardening in his eyes.

“It’s not my choice!” he hisses. Your eyes widen at his outburst, so unlike the calm, loving brother you had come to known. Realizing himself, his eyes soften. “I’m sorry, pipsqueak. I just… can’t have you thinking I’m leaving because I want to. There are things I can’t explain to you right now but I promise, one day it will all make sense. Forgive me?”

With only a moment of hesitation, you nod. You would always forgive him. There was nothing he could do to make you hate him when he looked at you like this. His lips brush over each of your eyes, collecting the tears that had began to build on your lashes. They move down to press against your own, softly at first, then more insistent as his tongue prods at the crease until the salty flavor of your tears bursts on your tongue.

Your grip no longer tight around his wrist, his fingers begin to trail lightly upward once more until his now warm palm grazes your nipple with a light squeeze of your breast. A soft sigh escapes your lips at the sensation and you find yourself moving against his tented sleep pants. Taking that as permission, Caleb moves you to your back without breaking the kiss, locking your ankles together at his lower back as he settles between your thighs.

His kisses turn more aggressive, nipping at your lips and inhaling every little moan and sigh, imprinting them in his memory to use when things inevitably got difficult at the base. It would have to be enough to keep him sane until he was able to come back home to you.

Before long, Caleb’s lips make their way down your body, tugging and pulling at your clothing until you’re naked and writhing beneath his tongue, not for the first time.

“Caleb!” You whisper-hiss. “Caleb, I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, pretty girl,” he whispers against your clit while his fingers work against the soft spot inside that makes you see stars. With his encouragement, you fall apart on his smooth face, body trembling from the effort as you bite the corner of your pillow in an effort to suppress the shaking moans wanting to burst free. Caleb works you through it, licking and nipping until overstimulation has you pushing his head away.

He crawls his way back up your body with eyes dark and hungry, your essence glistening on his chin. Your body quakes with the intensity of the look on his face and when he settles above you once more as his lips devour yours, a combination of his taste and your own mingling on your tongue. Now naked from the waist down, himself, Caleb’s stiff cock presses against your inner thigh, the tip swollen and sticky with pre-cum.

Reaching down between the two of you, he firmly graps himself in his hand to slide between your drenched folds. In a panic, your palm finds his chest, pushing against your brother though his weight doesn’t budge.

“What are you doing?”

“What we should have done a long time ago.”

The tip presses inside, making the both of you groan probably a little too loudly as your slick insides clench around him, inviting him in against your will. He slides in a little further but you press against his chest again.

“Wait, wait. This is going too fast.”

His head falls to your shoulder in frustration, the soft tendrils of his dark hair tickling your sensitive skin.

“Where did you think all these years were leading to, pip?” his muffled voice sounds in your ear.

Though he stopped moving, the first couple inches of his cock rest inside of you still.

“We’re siblings, Caleb,” you say, trying to be the reasonable one though you want nothing more than for him to finish what he started.

“Not by blood. Besides,” he pauses, one hand wedging between your bodies to allow his thumb to start circling your clit, renewing the delicious feeling in your abdomen. “It’s kind of hot, right? Doing something forbidden.”

Your insides quiver and you clench around him with a slick gush at the dirty words.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you, pipsqueak?” he chuckles darkly in your ear, beginning shallow thrusts. Not enough to be all the way in, but enough for the anticipation to start building again. “Is my little sister gonna let me fuck her, hmm? Has anyone else ever been inside of you before?”

Face growing hot, you shake your head in denial, unable to say the words out loud.

Caleb’s body trembles above you as he presses in a little further. You can feel him right there.

“Good,” he growls in your ear. “I probably would have had to kill anyone else who touched you first and the only blood I want right now is this.”

In one thrust, Caleb pushes past your barrier, swallowing your cries with a possessive kiss as he tears through your hymen. It hurts at first, but not in a way you would have expected. It was more of a quick pinch, and while the first few thrusts were a little uncomfortable as you adjusted to the intrusion, your slick walls begin to welcome him.

“Knew you would feel good, fuck. That’s my cunt, isn’t it, pip?” Caleb moans, holding one of your legs at the knee and keeping you open for him as he grinds roughly into you.

“Caleb…” you whine, arms tightening around him while your nails find purchase on his bare back.

He hisses through the sting your nails cause, hoping like hell that you’re leaving marks behind that will take weeks to disappear. He wanted to feel you on him weeks from now, back sore with every movement during drill training. His thumb never let up from your clit, sending you higher and higher with every thrust. His cock twitches inside with the need to release inside of you, to claim you, but he won’t allow himself to let go until he gets one more from you.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Hold onto me. I’ve got you. Come for me. Come all over your brother’s cock.”

You can’t bring yourself to admit that his dirty words aided in getting you there, but before you can stop it, a tightness pulls in your lower stomach almost painfully before releasing. Spots dance behind your eyes in blinding flash of light. For a moment, you fear your heart might give out and that you’ll have to be rushed to the hospital, left to explain why you a cardiac event while naked with your brother. But the feeling passes as you start to float down, still half-blind with your ears ringing. Caleb ruts into you a few more times with curses on his tongue as you clamp down around him, ropes of hot cum splashing around your inner walls and painting them with him.

He collapses on top of you, his weight heavy and making it difficult to breathe, but you just pull him closer while your heart rates sync to a steady pace. You lay there together for several quiet moments, each of you soaking in what just happened and how this changes everything and nothing at the same time with him leaving soon.

Those thoughts are pushed away as he lifts up his head, dark hair laying on his brow as a boyish smile peeks out from beneath. His lips find yours, more bold now than ever before, like it’s his right to do so, but you don’t push him away, instead meeting him halfway. You feel his length twitch inside and he pulls away, shaking his head and mumbling against your lips.

“Don’t get me going again, pretty girl. You’re going to be sore enough as it is.”

With a final peck, he rises to his knees, pulling out of you slowly as you both watch. His flushed cock is shiny with both of your fluids, the sight making your heart stutter back to life. Caleb looks entirely too smug as he swipes through your folds, gathering some cum tinged pink with the loss of your virginity on his fingers. He brings them to his mouth, sucking them in and humming with satisfaction as the taste of both of you fills his mouth. With another swipe of your pussy, he does it again, this time bringing his fingers to your mouth. When you don’t immediately open for him, he traces his wet fingers across your lips.

“Come on, pipsqueak. Memorialize this moment with me. It will be just like when we were kids. Remember? When your hurt yourself because we were messing around, showing off our Evols.” You nod hesitantly.

“I remember ending up with a wound on my hand from the blast of our Resonance sending us both flying. I cut my hand when I landed on the pavement.”

Caleb nods too, confirming your story.

“Right. Then I cut my hand with a rock and we made an Oath to never tell Gran what we were doing because she would have kicked our asses. This will be like that, except now we’ll swear to never forget one another.”

“I could never forget you, Caleb. I don’t need an Oath to know that.”

Something painful, yet unreadable flickers across his face before the playful smile returns, making you wonder if you imagined it.

“Yeah, well how about you just entertain me for a while longer? What do you say, pretty girl?”

He offers his fingers again and this time you open your mouth to accept them.

Taglist: @comatosebunny09

[bombuni]

a super whiny reader with seonghwa that lovessssss someone who whiny. i think he could have like voice kink? if thats makes sense

lose your breath

summary: seonghwa knows every square inch of your body and understands the detailed map of your mind. he just thinks it’s fun to toy with you, his perfect doll. genre/pairing: bf!seonghwa x fem!sub!reader, soft smut. warnings: smut 18+ mdni, mommy!seonghwa, bratty reader, sort of humiliation kink & dacryphilia, hwa is a munch bom note: im sorry this took so long :( but i hope this exceeds your expectations! also fuck drugs u ever been addicted to mommy!hwa that shit will kill u 💔

It’s been 2 days without a single touch.

There’s a look in Seonghwa’s eyes, a telltale twitch in the upper corner of his lips every time he moves towards your lips, leaning over you so gently but so oppressively it’s as if he’s trying to melt into you. As soon as you move an inch towards him, he backs away again, smirking and pretending as if there’s not a tent in his pants with the way your eyes well up and your breaths shake.

He loves this. Hearing how you’re broken down to your senses with just the thought of getting to kiss him. He especially loves hearing your complaints, your shaky and meek voice calling his name timidly. You quietly beg for something, anything, but it takes you another bit to realize the game he’s playing.

It’s a slow morning. Seonghwa has the day off, and you’ve both decided to use it to watch the Star Wars prequels (per his request.) The marathon is just about to start as you both prepare snacks in the kitchen, moving around each other like you’ve been programmed to move in a certain pattern.

“Hmm, do we have popcorn, Hwa?”

He unwittingly smiles at the way you say his name, “There should be a bag in the cabinet above you, pretty.”

You reach for the cabinet, but find that it’s impossible to even touch the handle, “Hwa, I need your help…”

“Ah, you do? Whatever for?” The teasing lilt in his voice tells you he knows exactly what you’re asking for, but he just wants to hear you ask. Maybe even make you beg a little.

You pout at him which only makes him smirk and cross his arms. You’re stuck in a stand off now, with both of you refusing to give in to the others wants. Seonghwa knows that eventually you’ll give in. He likes waiting until you can’t take it anymore. Until it’s bubbled up to the boiling point inside you and there’s nothing left to do but let it spill out.

“Agh, you’re so annoying, Hwa! You won’t even kiss me unless I beg and now you’re making me-“

Ah, there it is. He just enjoys torturing you. A glare of your eyes grants you a chuckle from him.

He raises a brow, smiling devilishly as he cocks his head to the side, “You’re cute when you’re being a whiny baby, ya know?”

“I’m not being whiny, you’re just mean…”

“Cute, cute, cute,” he mumbles mostly to himself. Seonghwa’s hands land on your cheeks as he moves closer to you, squishing them together until you feel like you’re gonna pop.

You grumble, but finally feeling his hands on you (in the most innocent of places) sends you into overdrive. Your knees buckle, catching yourself against Seonghwa’s strong chest. The feeling of him against you, hearts beating and pressed together, his bulge standing at attention, and his sparkling eyes watching you like you’re the only one he needs is…overwhelming.

After he’s staved you off of him for days, he’s so full of ecstasy and a certain buzz only you can give him when you finally, finally beg in the adorably pitiful way he loves so much.

There’s already tears in your eyes, “Mommy…”

Your voice sends chills down his spine, “Sweet, sweet thing, tell me what you need exactly. Use your words.”

“Need to-“ you pause to emphasize your words with a drag of your hips against his, “feel you,”

He chuckles at you to disguise the moan that threatens to slip out, “Really? Already? Couldn’t go any longer without Mommy inside you?”

You blush at his harsh words, “Hwa-“

Seonghwa gives you a certain look, one that tells you you’re in a world of trouble if you continue your bratty, combative attitude. It’s enough to remind you to be good for him.

“Sorry, mommy…”

Your meek voice and the way you shrink into him makes him swoon. A drive to destroy that sweetness and leave you a broken, moaning mess takes over him.

“Hmm. I think you’ve waited long enough. Do you want your reward?”

The prospect of getting anything from him fills you with an overwhelming need to obey his every command. He is your owner, and he’s made that very clear so far with the feelings he manages to evoke in you.

“Please, mommy, just need anything-“

Seonghwa thinks it’s cute how your chest rises and your breath quickens as he pushes you onto the counter. His arms squeeze you as they lift you, burning where your skin meets his, sending that trail of warmth down to your core. He throws you around like a doll and undresses you like it’s nothing to either of you. He gets so careless when he’s like this, only fueled by your pathetic nature and reaping the rewards he’s been waiting for this entire time.

Just his bratty, needy, doll ready to take what he decides to give.

He runs his cold hands down your sides, watching you shiver at his touch. His slender fingers reach under the waistband of your panties, teasingly snapping the elastic against your skin and watching as you twitch at the feeling. You whine impatiently as he teases you like this, massaging your tits while he gently kisses down your jawline as if he had all the time in the world. His soft lips reach down to your collarbone as he pulls the collar of your shirt to ensure every part of your skin feels his lips. He chuckles when he feels the vibrations of your moans against his mouth.

“Ok, enough teasing then,” you exhale as if finally relieved of a great weight on your shoulders before spotting that same perverted smirk, “…But can you beg for mommy again? Just one more time?”

He encourages you with a wet kiss on your pulse point, nuzzling your skin to fog your brain with him, “Hah-it’s- embarrassing, mommy,”

You feel his smile against your neck, “But you know I love it, right, pretty? You just sound so cute when you do,”

Seonghwa finally drags his lips down to where you want him the most. His hot breath fans against your core, taking in the hypnotizing sound of your eager and aching whines, as he finally drags your panties down to be greeted with the sight of your pretty pussy.

He can’t resist himself, pressing a kiss to your clit and chuckling as your body jolts just like he knew it would, “My pretty doll. So behaved for me, so perfect. You always listen to Mommy, don’t you?”

He punctuates his sentence by licking a long stripe along your slit, “Hah-Yes! Yes, Mommy, I’m always good for you-“

Seonghwa talks to you in between licks of your slick, enjoying the taste of you and the sound of your unashamed submission. Finally getting you like this, with you so sex-crazed and clouded by his touch that you don’t even realize how pathetic you sound, is his favorite thing in the world.

His mouth explores the parts inside you he knows overwhelm your senses. His lips swallow you whole, tongue darting all over and inside you to drag out those sounds he loves. His left hand comes up to rub your clit, following what he knows your body likes. It’s like a ritual to him. The blatant way he follows your body’s signals and your whines is just another testament of his love to you.

He feels your body tighten, your hands coming down to his hair to pull and urge him to let you off that cliff. His eyes roll at the harsh tugs you give, your raw desperation to reach that high rubbing off onto him.

Your trembling, breathless voice sounds out, “Mommy, c-can I cum?”

“Yes, baby. Come on, you wanna be good, don’t you? My pretty doll, so behaved, don’t disappoint me now…”

Seonghwa’s words reach towards your insides, pulling at the strings of your soul and releasing that knot he’s built. Your body shakes against his mouth, which still eagerly clings onto you and cleaning up the mess he caused. He caresses you through your aftershocks, adoring the little twitches your body gives as you come down to Earth.

Your watery eyes meet his fervent ones as he wipes his mouth clean, looking all too joyful to stew in your embarrassment at this sight.

Seonghwa decides that just a little more teasing won’t hurt, “You got through the The Phantom Menace. Think you can make it through Attack of the Clones?”

[snailpebbles]

your fic about Chishiya was so good I feel like you captured his character perfectly 😩 will you write more about him? I can barely find any good writings about him and yours is truly so perfect 😔💓

Patchwork Love

pairing: Chishiya Shuntaro x gn!reader

summary: after being injured in a game, Chishiya drags you off and is somehow more silent than usual. What's his problem?

tags: friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, they're both so stupid

warnings: descriptions of injuries including blood, non-sexual unwanted touch, emotional constipation, Chishiya cries lmao

a/n: hope you enjoy :) my writing is rusty lol but I love this trope

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Everything was going fine at first; you were on your own in a level three spades game, lightwork! It was a construction zone with many metal rails and walkways, and multiple wide pipes at the very top. The objective was simple - get to the top before the time runs out. At first it was that simple, that is until the freezing cold water began to pour in randomized sections. A game of strength and luck it seems. There were others from the Beach with you, so of course you figured you'd just team up and make sure no one slips. Wrong! To save their own asses just as the four of you were getting towards the top, they used your body as an easier to grip ladder. Not only did you feel violated, you also felt icy cold fear mixing with white hot rage. What the fuck? You pulled those three up so many times at the risk of drowning and for what?

The water pours down on you as they cheer from the top with just two minutes left, freezing and blinding you as you struggle to actually breathe. Two hands on one thin bar that's already trembling under your suspended weight. Fuck. Everything felt like a blur as you hauled your leg over another bar, using all your strength to not drown from the water rushing across you and to pull yourself onto the walkway. For a moment it seems like something had snapped, your leg overstretched and arms overexerted. You aren't built for this! Your life before consisted of studying and absolutely destroying kids on x-box! As you lay on the metal grating, water having ceased with a heaving chest, Chishiyas face flashes in your mind. Well fuck - you're realizing you like him at the worst possible time. With that motivation in mind alongside the need to deck those three in the balls, you force your aching body up the rest of those rails with ten seconds left on the clock.

The three boys are obviously shocked to see you alive and rush off, once again leaving you behind with no transportation back. Lovely.

You aren't quite sure how you managed to get back to Beach but by the time you do, the sun is beginning to rise. Damn, what if they vacated your room? The morning air is chilly and you know you have some sort of hypothermia if your chilled fingertips are anything to go by, not to mention the way your head is beginning to swim - pun intended.

As your torn up, shaking form stumbles through the gates past a few surprised militants and even more surprised party-goers, Kuina barrels towards you. She looks both put together and a mess, her eyes red rimmed and seeming to water - pun intended - as her warm hands cup your ice cold cheeks. She chokes up at this realization and ushers you inside, muttering something about Ann being a little busy with some project as she leads you two to a familiar door.

Chishiyas face, as calm as ever, cracks when Kuina barges in. He's up in an instant and wasting no time as apparently one look at you is enough to know what you need - or maybe he just knows you. A blanket is around your shoulders before you can blink and now you're on his bed, unfortunately not in the context you'd wish for now. Kuina runs off after Chishiya instructs her to get a whole load of things, but you honestly have no idea what because you're too busy staring at him. Chishiyas face is contorted in a way you've never seen before or at least haven't been the recipient of. His eyes are focused in solely on you, his brows furrowed and typical smirk gone in favor of a grimace. Most notable are his hands resting heavy on your shoulders as if you'd shrug the warm blanket off. Those hands you now realize match those in your dreams are surprisingly warm and unsurprisingly steady - Chishiya was a little less smart than you thought if he didn't know by now that you knew of his profession. The idea of him in a doctors coat distracts you as he gets up from where he was crouched in front of you, reappearing with bandages and disinfectant.

"So..how'd your game go?" You break the awkward silence and feel your cheeks warm at how scratchy your voice is. Must've been the borderline constant drowning. His sharp gaze makes you almost flinch with the weight in it, your own eyes dropping back to your lap. Of course he doesn't respond, only making some vaguely disapproving noises as those eyes scan your wounds. His silence begins to piss you off, that rage from earlier being misdirected at him. Seriously, you almost died in a frankly horrific way and this is all he has to give?

"I can patch myself up. I'm not helpless." The tension rises, twisting uncomfortably in your gut as Chishiya stays in place while you glare at him. With a huff as he refuses to speak, you get up on weak legs. This seems to snap him out of it as he grabs your hips - and just at the right time. Your legs give way as the exhaustion hits all at once to only fuel that anger, a frustrated sound coming from you as Chishiya tuts disapprovingly again.

"Stay still. You're hurt and too tired to move." His voice is rough and annoyingly calm. Is he allergic to worrying? You obey though as he unravels the bandages and uncaps the disinfectant, steeling yourself for the following pain.

The blond has the grace to look at least a little apologetic at every wince and soft cry your battered form gives, even letting you hold onto either his shoulders or jacket. The cuts, scraps, bruises, and blood staining your body worry him even if he doesn't show it. Images begin flashing in his mind of internal bleeding, broken ribs, torn muscles-

"Are you..crying?" Your soft voice breaks the less tense silence, your own tears having dried up some time ago. Chishiya pales as he becomes aware of the liquid dripping down his cheeks and hastily wipes them away, refusing to meet your gaze or lift his head.

"No." He replies shortly, heart picking up its pace as he realizes he has to patch your torn hands. You follow his gaze and readily hold both hands out, skin raw and bleeding still. He winces internally at the sight of your beautiful hands so heavily marred.

Warmth spreads through you as he takes your hand in his non-dominant one to carefully disinfect it, whispering apologies as you hold back cries of pain. Somehow you aren't too shocked by this display of care, an inner part of you having sensed something was different by the lingering looks and the way he is always there. Chishiya wraps your hand with a gentleness you weren't sure he possessed, repeating the process with your other hand until every wound is patched up. Not a word was properly shared, your eyes rarely met, and you didn't comment again on the occasional slip of tears you caught.

"Go change in the bathroom." He mutters after passing you actual clothes, aka his own sweatpants and a t shirt. Once you step back out of the bathroom - definitely not after taking a moment to admire yourself in his clothes - Chishiya does just what you definitely didn't. The admiration is well hidden yet you catch it in the way he turns his head slightly to the left and steps back, as if you're a danger.

"These are really comfy, thanks." An appreciative smile brightens your face and threatens to blind him, so he sits down where you were moments earlier. You take a seat beside him and try to hide your steadily growing flustered state when that damn white jacket is placed around your shoulders. He says nothing so neither do you, the silence now companionable even as sparks burn its edges.

"What happened." It's not a question and you know that, just as you know what happened isn't your fault. The tears, anger and irrational shame, prick your eyes anyways. He doesn't comment, he only takes your pinkie with his.

After a deep inhale and calming exhale, you speak. "It was an easy spades game and I teamed up with three guys from here, but towards the end they just.." You choke up momentarily, but with the way his hand moves to rub your forearm, you know you'll get it out.

"They knocked me down so I was hanging and used me like a fucked up bridge- their hands were everywhere and I know it was for survival only but it was so..so dehumanizing." The words come out softer and softer until you aren't even sure Chishiya can hear, but he does. He only ever listens for you. His face is as calm as ever as you cry, arm light as it wraps around your shoulder to bring you into the only safe haven you have in this fucked up place.

Time passes, you aren't sure how much but you are sure you've dozed off, yet Chishiya hasn't moved once. He holds you close and his fingers still rub circles on your shoulder, mindful of a bruise there as he's memorized your injuries. There's some snacks and another blanket on the small dresser, presumably brought by Kuina.

Chishiya knows you've slipped into that numb state, so he doesn't mind helping you eat some crackers and drink that tea you're so obsessed with. He doesn't mind keeping you right there, right where he can protect you and you can rest; where you can heal yourself. What he does mind is you deciding to break out of this numbness by pestering him.

"You cried." You whisper, poking his chest lightly as his arms tenses around you. For a moment you fear you may have misjudged the air and his actions, envy flooding - pun unintended - through you at the idea that maybe all his patients get such treatment. His answer calms your thoughts.

"Yes, you could say I was..worried. Don't do that again." His warm breath brushes across the top of your head and a faint smile tugs at your lips from the slight roughness to his typically smooth voice. Your head props up on his chest so you can see him and he can't resist looking down at you. His eyebrow raises in a silent question that has you grin, that familiar smirk returning.

"If it gets me this treatment.."

"No."

"Worth a shot."

"..You don't need to be hurt to get my attention." The one-sided banters comes to a halt as your eyes widen, staring at his ever calm face like he hand painted the stars for you. If he could, he would.

With a slight grunt you manage to sit up a little better, worry flickering over Chishiyas face at your show of pain. Damn you could get used to this. Words aren't his thing so what better communication than action? Even with bandages, your hands ever so carefully cup his jaw, moving slowly incase he doesn't want this.

Chishiya really fucking wants this. With the way you're being so gentle, so considerate, when others in his life haven't almost keels him over. But you're injured, mentally and physically, so slow and steady will win this race. The kiss is soft and unhurried, as if there isn't an invisible timer looming over your heads. Time is irrelevant when he whispers your name oh so quietly and his hand oh so carefully caresses your matching tear stained cheek. With every touch, every shared breath, the previous hands are washed away for now. They'll haunt you at night but Chishiya will be there to wipe them away, whether that be with affection or simply being there as you get a snack to soothe your brain.

You know why he cried, why he looked so worried, why it's his clothes you're wearing, and why Kuina said Ann was busy when you actually passed by her lounging in the hall. He loves and he cares, the same as you. It only took almost losing you to realize it.

As you separate slowly and lay down, drawn together as if magnets, you drift off. Chishiya waits patiently as your breath evens out before slipping away.

It's the next morning when you wake up alone in the cold bed, insecure heartbreak seeping in until Chishiya quietly walks into the room, not hesitating with the gentle squeeze to your shoulder and kiss to your head. No words are exchanged when you settle in the chair next to him by his desk, watching him build who knows what as you munch away on those snacks. His ankle his hooked with yours and that is all that matters - you can ignore the split knuckles and prideful hint to his face because he's yours, and you're his.

[ttodorokiii]

prompt "I'll kill them all. For you." with Shoto and a darling who gets jealous because he has a lot of admirers?

You watch from a distance, your heart tightening as you see the crowd of admirers surrounding Shoto.

You get it, he’s a Todoroki..

He is born to be famous but you still feel a burn of jealousy inside your heart.

The way they gaze at him, their eyes full of admiration, makes something dark stir inside you.

It’s not that you don’t trust him—it’s just the way they look at him, so openly, so passionately, that makes the jealousy you try so hard to suppress bubble to the surface. You can’t help it. The possessiveness stings.

Shoto, ever composed, doesn’t seem to notice the attention they’re lavishing on him.

He stands there, a cool mask on his face, his eyes scanning the room, though you know his thoughts are always with you.

•••

But then, as if sensing your discomfort, he turns his head in your direction.

His gaze locks onto yours, and for a moment, everything around you fades.

His eyes are piercing, yet filled with an unwavering certainty, as though the entire world could fall apart, and he’d still only have eyes for you.

He steps forward, walking slowly through the crowd, the eyes of his admirers not even fazing him as he moves.

His steps are steady, his presence commanding, and all you can do is watch him draw closer, a storm of emotions swirling within you.

Finally, when he’s close enough to you, he stops. His gaze doesn’t leave yours, his expression serious, intense.

The others have faded into the background in his mind, as if they were never there at all.

“I’ll kill them all,” he says softly, his voice low but steady, “for you.”

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest.

The words are chilling, yet there’s an undeniable protectiveness behind them that sends a shiver down your spine.

His eyes burn with a promise— one that he intends to keep, no matter the cost.

You want to say something, to push the thoughts of jealousy away, but the way he looks at you, so fierce and loyal, silences every rational thought in your head.

You feel the weight of his words, and for a brief moment, the jealousy fades into the background.

He’s yours. And you’re his. No one else matters.

His hand reaches out, cupping your face gently, the coldness of his skin a stark contrast to the warmth spreading through your chest.

“No one touches what’s mine,” he adds, his voice quiet, but so certain it leaves no room for doubt.

You’re not sure whether it’s his words or his actions that have the greatest effect on you, but you know one thing for sure..

no one else will ever be able to claim him, not when he’s made it so clear how far he’s willing to go for you.

And in that moment, despite the jealousy that still lingers in your chest, you can’t help but feel something else: a deep,

undeniable sense of security.

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Not in this life time|| Mafia!ex!Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary—You had been looking over your shoulder since the day you left Lando. When you first met him, he was the sweetest man you’d ever known. He had a way of making you feel like the only woman in the world, the center of his universe. But the man you fell in love with wasn’t the man you came to fear. The sweetness had been a mask, hiding something far darker.

Word count — 2534

A/n this is a repost from my old blog that was requested by an anonymous person (I hope you are around) also no part twos!

You had been looking over your shoulder since the day you left your ex, Lando. When you first met him, he was the sweetest guy you’d ever dated. He made you feel special, like the only girl in the world, the only one for him. Oh, how right you were.

Your nails tapped against the glass of the counter in the pawnshop, drawing the attention of the shopkeeper. He was quick to notice which gun you were gesturing towards.

"Now, what would a young thing like yourself be doing with a gun like this?" he asked, pulling out the Taurus 380 ACP revolver. It was small enough to be easily concealed and go unnoticed.

“Call me paranoid and desperate,” you responded, unamused and ready to get out of the dingy pawn shop.

“That’s a dangerous combination. Who has got you this paranoid and desperate enough to buy a gun?” he asked, setting the revolver on the counter before grabbing a box of bullets.. The man’s eyes take in your appearance. You had dark purple bags under your eyes from not being able to sleep. He also noticed how you jumped at the smallest noises with wide eyes and how exhausted you sounded.

“Nobody I want to see again in this lifetime,” you replied.

“That’s understandable. I feel the same way about my ex-wife, she's a real piece of work suing me for everything I own” the man said, chuckling at his joke.

As you waited for him to finish bagging up the gun and the bullets, you felt a chill run down your spine. Maybe you were paranoid, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Every rustle and jingle of the bells on the shop’s front door had you jumping in your skin.

When the guy handed you the bag, he gave you a concerned look.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You tried to brush it off with a laugh and a quick “I’m fine,” but even you could hear the shakiness in your voice.

“You sure you don’t want me to walk you to your car?” the guy asked, obviously not believing you.

You hesitated for a moment. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea. Maybe you were just being paranoid.

“Yeah… Yeah, that might not be a bad idea.”

The guy nodded in understanding, stepping out from behind the counter and walking towards the door.

“Let’s get you to your car. You seem on edge,” he said, holding the door open for you.

As you stepped out into the twilight, the shadows seemed to stretch and bend, making your skin crawl. You kept glancing around, trying to see if anyone was following you.

The guy hovered nearby, noticing your nervousness. “You’re shaking like a leaf,” he remarked. “You okay you look really pale like you're going to be sick any second now?”

You forced what you hoped was a believable smile. “Yeah… Fine. Just a little jumpy, that’s all.”

The guy raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but he didn’t press the issue. He simply stood there, waiting for you to unlock your car. Eventually, you managed to get the key in the lock and opened the door. As you climbed into the driver’s seat, your heart was pounding so hard you could hear it pounding in your ears.

The guy gave you a small wave. “You sure you’re going to be alright on your own?” he asked, concern etched on his face. “Yeah, I’ll be careful. Thanks again,” you said, the words barely more than a whisper. As the guy walked back towards the pawn shop, you closed your door and sat there for a moment, trying to collect yourself.

Lando sat in his office, his expression dark and brooding. He was surrounded by the trappings of wealth - the expensive furniture, the art on the walls, the panoramic view of the city. But none of it brought him any joy. Not without you. He needed you. He wanted you.

The phone rang on his desk, interrupting his brooding. He picked it up, listening intently as the man spoke.

“She’s on her way home Boss”

“Good,” Lando replied as he hung up the phone, his mind already planning his next move. He stood up, straightening his tie and adjusting his jacket. He looked like the epitome of a wealthy businessman, but there was a dangerous glint in his eye.

He walked out of his office, giving his staff a quick order to hold his calls. He didn’t want anything interfering with his plans for you. Lando got into his car, the engine roaring to life as he pressed the gas pedal. He navigated through the city streets, his mind focused on one thing and one thing only - you.

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, the anticipation building with every mile that brought him closer to you. He could almost taste victory. As Lando drove, his mind began to play out scenarios of what he would do when he saw you again. He could imagine the fear in your eyes, the shock on your face as he showed up unannounced. He could picture the way you would tremble in his presence, the way you would try to run, but he would never let you escape. Not this time. Not again he wouldn’t let that happen a second time.

He could feel his heart rate increasing as he got closer to your place. The thrill of the hunt was exhilarating. He knew you would try to fight him, screaming, punching,slapping and kicking you weren’t good at it. Fighting, but he also knew how to control you. He had done it before, he would do it again.

As he finally arrived outside your place, he parked his car and got out, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of you. He saw your car parked out front and a smile crept across his face. You were already home. He walked up to the front door, his footsteps silent and stealthy. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small lock pick, easily unlocking the door in seconds.

He stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind him. He was inside your home, and you were his prey.

Lando looked around the place, noting the lack of security cameras and alarm system. He chuckled softly to himself. As if those things could keep him from what he wanted.

He took a deep breath, taking in the familiar scent of your perfume. It was intoxicating, bringing back memories that made his heart ache.

Lando could hear the shower running. A sly smile played at the corners of Lando's mouth. You were vulnerable, naked, and exposed in the shower. It would be so easy to take advantage of the situation.

He toyed with the idea of barging in and seizing you, but that would have been too predictable. Instead, he pivoted on his heel and retreated to the living room, taking a seat in the dimly lit corner. Nestled in the chair, Lando blended into the shadows, becoming virtually invisible. This was more fun. He bided his time with the patience of a predator on the prowl. He could still hear the shower running, and the knowledge that you were just on the other side of that door, naked and defenseless, made his pulse quicken. He sat there, patient and still, waiting for you to come out.

He knew it was only a matter of time before you finished your shower and emerged from the bedroom. The anticipation was a delicious torment, each passing moment bringing him closer to what he desired most.

Once dressed you walked out of your bedroom to get some food. The revolver fits easily into the pocket of your sweatpants. It brought some comfort to ease your mind but it wasn’t enough. Every creak of the floorboards made you jumpy,every time you heard one of your neighbors slam the car door it made your anxiety skyrocket. It wasn’t fair that you had to live in fear every day for months because of him. Because of Lando. The thought of him showing up back in your life had you very cautious about every phone call,text and knock at your door. You didn’t go out anymore with friends or family you couldn’t not with the thought that one of Lando’s lackeys might see and tell him where you were. Deep down inside you knew he had someone watching you; it was naive to think otherwise.

As you walked into the kitchen, Lando's eyes followed you, his gaze like a hawk watching its prey. He could see the faint outline of the revolver in your pocket,it wasn’t that hard to not notice it after all he was trained to notice these things since he was a kid. The revolver had a little weight not much but enough to cause your sweatpants to sag on one side and it made him smile. You were trying to protect yourself, but it was useless against him.

He watched you move around the kitchen, his eyes tracing every curve and contour of your body. He knew every inch of you like the back of his hand. Lando was tired and growing very impatient. How can someone be so paranoid and so unaware of their surroundings?

Lando, who was sitting in the shadows,grew tired of watching and waiting leaning over as he pulled on the chain of the lamp, light to reveal him from the darkness. His intense gaze was upon you. His expression sent a shiver of fear down your spine, freezing you in place at the sound of the lamp clicking on. you couldn’t move or run away even if you wanted to not with this paralyzing fear that hit you.

"Hello, sweetheart, did You think this is over?” he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery.

His gaze traveled over your body, taking in every detail you were wearing white socks with gray sweatpants and a plain t-shirt. Your hair was still wet and looked like you were going to cry any second now and you couldn’t stop shaking with fear. He smiled and pointed to the revolver in your pocket "Trying to protect yourself, are you?" He asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "How cute although it won’t help you.”

He stood up slowly, his movements graceful and catlike. He walked towards you, closing the distance between you with each step.

"That little toy won't save you, you know," he said, nodding towards the revolver in your pocket. "You're still mine. You'll always be mine."

He was now standing directly in front of you, his body mere inches away from yours. He reached out and stroked your cheek, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw, his touch possessive and intimate.

���What are you doing here?” You asked, visibly shaking your hand slowly inching closer inside your pocket all you needed was an opening. Lando chuckled softly, his eyes flickering with amusement. "What do you think I'm doing here, my love? I came to remind you who you belong to." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "You can try to run, you can try to hide, but I'll always find you. You're mine, and I'm never letting you go."

He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His body was pressed against yours, his touch possessive and unyielding.

“You won’t be needing this,” Lando says, snatching the revolver out of your pocket and placing it on the table. Your heart sank when he took away the only thing that seemed to ease your mind.

"Do you remember what we used to be like, sweetheart?" He whispered, his lips brushing against your skin. "We were so good together. So perfect. I don't understand why you thought you could leave me."

“Because you’re psychotic Lando now let go of me,” you said trying to push him away from you. Lando's grip on you tightened, his expression hardening as you tried to push him away. "Tsk tsk tsk," he scolded, his voice filled with false sweetness. "Is that any way to speak to your lover?"

"You forget, my beautiful, I'm the one in control here. You don't get to tell me what to do, you don’t get to make orders around here like I do." He tilted your chin up, forcing you to look into his eyes. "You belong to me, darling," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Whether you like it or not, you're mine. And I won't let you leave me again."

He paused for a moment, his gaze running over your face. "You thought you could get away from me, didn't you? That you could start a new life, pretend like I never existed. How foolish." He tightened his grip on your chin, his fingers digging into your skin. He chuckled softly, his lips curving into a mocking smile. "But I know you better than anyone. I know your every weakness, your every fear. I know how to make you shiver. I know how to make your heart race."

His fingers trailed down your neck, tracing the pulse point at your throat. "Your heart is beating so fast right now," he whispered. "I can feel it. You're scared of me, aren't you?"

"Good. You should be scared of me. You should be terrified of what I’m capable of. I'm not going to let you go. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you with me."

His eyes darkened with possessive anger. "You're mine," he repeated, his voice dropping down to a growl. "You're mine to protect, mine to love, mine to control. No one else is ever going to have you. Do you understand me?"

He released your chin, his fingers moving to your hair, tangling in the strands and pulling tight. He pulled your head back, forcing your face up towards him. "Answer me," he demanded, his face mere inches from yours. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your head spinning with terror. His grip on your hair was painful, but you didn’t dare try to resist him. You knew what he was capable of. "Yes," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I understand."

A satisfied smile spread across Lando’s face as he heard you speak. "Good," he purred, his grip on your hair loosening slightly. "I knew you would see reason eventually, sweetheart. You’re smarter than you look."

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "But let me make one thing clear," he said, his voice dripping with menace. "If you ever try to leave me again, I won’t be so forgiving next time. You’ll regret it for the rest of your miserable life. Do I make myself clear?"

“Yes Lando, you made yourself clear I understand”

Lando smirked, clearly pleased with your response. "Good girl," he crooned, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur. "That’s what I wanted to hear."

.

[capquinn]

hungover and the only thing that will bring me comfort is knowing how Quinn, Bug, and family celebrated the new year back in Vancouver since he wasn’t with the team due to injury 🤣

happy new year, sweet nonny!!!! this is far too late but its fine!!! nye is a state of mind. hope u enjoy! <3

New Year’s Eve unfolded quietly, wrapped in the soft hum of family life. The world outside buzzed with plans, celebrations, and countdowns, but inside, the four of you moved at your own rhythm. It was quieter this year — different, maybe, but in the best way. Quinn’s injury meant he hadn’t traveled with the team, and while that usually would’ve tugged at him, on New Years Eve, he felt nothing but gratitude. He was right where he was meant to be: at home with his babies — one nestled safely in his cot, the other sprawled across the living room rug — and you, steady as ever, his anchor in every way, right by his side.

Cubby had gone down like clockwork, his little eyes fluttering shut before the clock even struck seven. Quinn had lingered in the nursery after tucking him in, one hand resting gently on Cub’s back, feeling the soft rise and fall of his breaths. The dim glow of the nightlight painted the room in quiet warmth, and he stood there longer than necessary, savouring these last hours of 2024 with his tiny boy, and he didn’t leave until the weight of time gently nudged him to.

When he finally joined you in the living room, Bug had been sprawled out on the floor in her pyjamas, half-heartedly building something with her blocks while the movie she’d so confidently picked out droned on in the background.

“She’s holding on,” Quinn murmured, dropping onto the couch beside you, his lips curving into a small smile. “Barely.”

You laughed, watching as Bug stifled a yawn, her hand moving to rub her eyes. “I give her ten minutes.”

“Five,” Quinn countered, stretching his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing your shoulder.

And he had been right. Not even five minutes later, Bug abandoned her toys in favour of climbing onto Quinn’s lap, her little arms winding around his neck.

“I’m not sleepy,” she mumbled, her face pressed against his chest.

“No? Not even a little?” Quinn had teased her, his hand settling on her back, rubbing slow circles. She shook her head stubbornly but didn't protest when her eyes fluttered shut moments later.

“Didn’t even make it through the movie,” you whispered, leaning closer to stroke Bug’s hair. Quinn tilted, his head toward you, his lips brushing your temple.

“She tried,” he murmured, his voice low, full of fondness.

You and Quinn stayed like that for a while, speaking in soft tones as the minutes slipped closer to midnight. The wine bottle on the coffee table had lost its chill, your glasses half-full as you tipped them lazily between your fingers as his hand found yours, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles as the apartment settled into a quiet lull.

When the clock neared midnight, you nudged Quinn gently. He glanced down at Bug, her face slack with sleep, and smiled.

“Buggy,” he murmured, his voice coaxing but quiet. “C’mon, sweetheart, wake up. It’s almost time.”

Her eyes fluttered open, hazy with sleep but sparking with excitement as she realised what was happening.

“Fireworks?” she mumbled, her voice soft, hopeful.

“Yeah, baby,” you said, tucking the blanket more securely around her shoulders as Quinn scooped her into his arms. “Let’s go see.”

You followed them out to the veranda, draping your cardigan over your shoulders as the chill of the Vancouver night greeted you. Quinn adjusted Bug on his hip, her head resting against his shoulder, her tiny hand clutching his shirt.

Quinn’s gaze never left her, his own awe eclipsed by hers. His lips quirked into a soft, lopsided smile, the kind that always seemed reserved just for her. The way her tiny mouth parted in wonder, her small fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt, made his chest ache in the best way.

He leaned his head slightly to the side, brushing a kiss against her temple, his voice soft and full of warmth as he murmured, “pretty cool, huh, Buggy?”

Bug nodded, her little arms wrapped tight around his neck as she rested her head against his shoulder. The next firework exploded higher, brighter — a brilliant white that illuminated everything for the briefest of moments, casting long shadows across the veranda where you were all huddled together.

Quinn’s gaze lingered on the sky for a brief moment, drawn to the vibrant bursts painting the night. Golds, reds, and blues fanned out like brushstrokes, lighting the city below in fleeting, brilliant colours. His lips twitched into a soft smile, caught in the beauty of it all — but only for a second. Because then his focus shifted, drawn to you.

The fireworks continued to explode overhead, but Quinn barely noticed. His attention settled on the way your cardigan slipped slightly off your shoulder, the faint chill of the night air brushing against your skin, and the way your lips softened into a small smile, your gaze alight with the same wonder Bug had, even as you stole a glance at her resting against his chest.

“Happy New Year, baby,” he murmured, his voice quieter now.

You turned your head toward him, your eyes meeting his, and the rest of the world seemed to fade into the background.

“Happy New Year,” you whispered back, your words carrying the kind of warmth that settled deep in his chest.

Above you, the finale began, a series of bursts that filled the sky in a symphony of light and sound. Bug gasped, her tiredness momentarily forgotten as she marvelled at the brilliant patterns weaving across the sky.

When the last firework faded and the city settled back into quiet, you scooped Cub from his cot, his tiny body still warm with sleep, while Quinn carried Bug to the bedroom. It was a tradition you’d started the first New Year’s Eve after Bug was born, when she was still so small, her tiny body nestled between the two of you in bed. Back then, you’d decided — almost offhandedly — that no matter where in the world life took you, you’d greet the New Year as a family, all together.

Bug sprawled out in the middle of the bed, her limbs stretched in every direction, while Cub curled against Quinn’s chest, one little hand fisting his shirt even in sleep. You tucked yourself close to Quinn’s other side, your hand resting lightly on his chest where Cub was nestled.

“Just like every year," Quinn murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. His lips lingered there for a moment, and you felt the warmth of his breath as he exhaled, his voice thick with quiet gratitude. His hand brushed lightly over Cub’s tiny back, the steady rise and fall of his breathing steadying them both.

You nestled closer, your fingers absently tracing small circles on his chest, where the soft fabric of his shirt met Cub’s delicate grip.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” you whispered, your voice drowsy.

Quinn glanced down at Bug, sprawled out in her usual starfish position, her little foot nudging against his thigh as she shifted in her sleep. A quiet chuckle rumbled through his chest, and he wrapped his arm more securely around you. You looked up at him then, catching the way his gaze lingered on the two of them — soft, awestruck, like he couldn’t quite believe this was his life.

You pressed a kiss to his shoulder, letting your eyes flutter shut, the sound of your babies’ soft, even breaths lulling you closer to sleep.

[marsian-tango]

Yandere Alien

Part 1

Yandere! Alien who’s been living with you for a few months now. It’s not easy living with an alien. You two are from completely different worlds, it’s a massive cultural shock for the both of you. He keeps talking about you being his bride, he can’t keep his hands to himself, and he just keeps trying to—what? Court you? Seduce you? You don’t even know anymore. This whole situation is just too weird.

Yandere! Alien who barely lets you out of the apartment. You’ve tried explaining to him that you can’t just stay home all the time, no matter how much he begs. You have a job, you need to go there sometimes to get money and provide for the two of you. Cause you know damn well he can’t go and do it himself. But he eventually accepts it, with a lot of tears involved in the process.

Yandere! Alien who has a phone now. You thought that the best way to check on him in case he does anything stupid is with a phone, and this also allows him to still be somehow connected with you, so it’s a win-win. But now you have to endure the hundreds of messages that he sends you throughout the day! He sends you memes that he finds funny, long paragraphs saying how much he misses you, a link to an ‘Alien x Reader’ fic—wait. What? This is how he spends his free time? Why is he even reading that?

Yandere! Alien who enjoys the midnight strolls that you take with him. You always show him new places, and never fail to make sure that it’s safe for him. He loves seeing all the bright neon lights, the big parks that are filled with colorful flowers and trees, and playing with the stray cats from the alleys you pass by. It’s very peaceful and intimate. Romantic even. He wishes he could take these same strolls during the day. It’s so unfair, he just wants to go out with his future bride in broad daylight, that’s not a crime! Would people really get that freaked out if they saw him? Really? He’s just a chill guy! Sure, he may have antennae, gray skin, and pointy ears. But he’s just like everybody else! Here, check him out. You’ll see just how much resemblance he has with male humans.

Yandere! Alien who’s been courting you ever since he met you, and you still haven’t reciprocated his feelings! He’s starting to get a bit impatient. He’s pretty sure he has seen every single rom-com there is, so why isn’t it working?! He cuddles you every night, makes you breakfast in the morning, he greets you with a kiss on your cheek when you come back from work. Ugh! He even ripped off his tracker chip from his body so no one on his planet would find him! Should he start courting you the way they do on his planet instead? You want him to behead your enemies and bring you their skin?

Yandere! Alien who on one hand knows that he can’t stop you from having friends and hanging out with them. But on the other hand he wants to stab them for taking you away from him. So he does the only logical thing, he breaks the one rule that you’ve asked him not to break. He leaves the apartment to stalk—make sure you’re okay! Can you blame him though? Those ‘friends’ of yours are a bunch of creeps. C’mon, why would a stinky human male hug you? That guy is probably trying to court you—why are you hugging him back?! No, nop, absolutely not. He cannot stand for this.

Yandere! Alien who carries you in his arms the second you get home, bringing you to your bedroom as you yell at him to let you go, kicking and pushing at him to try to break free. He ignores your failed attempts and mutes out your confused pries, finally letting you down on your bed. He pins you down to the mattress, getting on top of you to prevent you from escaping his hold. He’s tried so hard to show you just how much he wants you, needs you. You’re his savior, the person who takes care of him day after day. So why do you let other males get so close to you? But…this is on him. Perhaps he should’ve been clearer of his intentions, more assertive of his feelings. Oh, this has gone too far, he has to let you know exactly what he wants. There will be no doubts of his love for you when he’s done. He’ll make sure to show you all the love he has for you.

Yandere! Alien who caresses your skin so softly, as if he was afraid it would break. His hand creeping up under your shirt, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. You hope that you’re somehow misinterpreting the situation. You never thought that his approaches would’ve ended up in…this. All those times his hands grazed your waist when you passed by. When his touch would always linger a little too long. You didn’t think it would get to this, and look at you know.

Yandere! Alien who has kept you so busy ever since you met him, that you never had time to go on dates or meet new people. Now that you think about it, it’s been a while since you’ve relieved some stress. You certainly wouldn’t mind receiving some well needed attention. So…you can either let go of your common sense and enjoy yourself, with the knowledge that you’ll have to deal with an alien being ten times clingier than before and who will probably take this as your consent to getting married, or…just stick to your lucidity and turn him down…

Yandere! Alien who makes you forget you ever had common sense in the first place. C’mon, you have the right to have a good time, you’ll deal with the consequences later! So just lie down, relax, and let your lovely alien please you the way he knows how. That website he’s been watching has taught him all he needs to know about it. It really came in handy in the end, huh?

Yandere! Alien who will make you see stars.

Here it is! Part 2! I didn't think that the first part would get so many likes, so I kinda had to improvise this one. I know it's shorter than the first one, I just wanted to post something, anything. So I came up with this. I hope you like it. Thank you so much for all the support. Writting sure is difficult, but I really like it, and your support insipires me! Kisses <3

[izvmimi]

“And what do you suppose I do now?”

Despite being a well-known warlord, Bakugou - Katsuki, rather - keeps his footsteps light but audible, lacking the brashness of one whose goal is dominion and domination, but not subtle enough that he could take you by surprise in any way. He wants you to know he’s approaching.

And approach he does, without saying a word of greeting, continuing an ongoing conversation that you would like to tell yourself he’s having only with himself, but the subject matter of which is known to the very mettle of your soul.

What is next?

Katsuki stands a few paces behind you, the cape behind him flowing slightly with the draft that has begun to chill you to the bone, despite your insistence on remaining outside of the castle for as long as you can.

Your turn to meet him, your eyes widening in the moonlight as he watches you approach. He looks far more distressed than you’ve seen him, rather than truly angry, despite the edge in his voice. Hapless, even.

“About what, my Lord?” you ask politely, pulling your furs closer around your neck and shoulders.

He grits his teeth, forbidding himself to reach over and adjust them for you.

“About this,” he practically hisses, and you watch him carefully, your posture stiff in the evening cold.

“And this is…?” you ask, your voice barely audible. Before he can answer, you turn, letting your elbows lean on the balcony railing, keeping your gaze out on the citadel that he should not have so easily been able to invade, perhaps a metaphor for your own too-soft heart.

He is too close now, the natural warmth from his body pleasant to your natural instincts but abhorrent to the part of your soul that tells you to run from this man with every fiber of your being. Standing next to you, the sides of your arms brush together, his bare scarred skin against your fine woolen sleeve.

Months ago you would have tensed up, perhaps even staggered away. But today, you are still, and you’re so attuned to him that his very inhale seems to be borrowed from your own windpipe. 

More gentle this time, he speaks.

“About me, about us, about dreadful you, about this ache in my chest that never seems to fade ever since I laid eyes on you, about the fact that I have fallen in love with you.”

He says it.

He really says it.

The warlord has fallen in love.

And yet -

“I have told you why you cannot love me,” you reply quickly, before the words can choke you.

The warlord Katsuki, who is enamored with you and admits so freely, turns in your direction, eyes like rubies as they shine in a mixture of hope and dismay.

“And yet, I have.” 

[tinytinyblogs]

Hey can you do yandere skz punishments

Punishment time darling

They give you everything you could ever want, but crossing them is a mistake you’ll never want to make.

Hyung line, Maknae line (coming soon)

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Chan

Bang Chan isn’t one to act impulsively, not when it comes to you. He’s always calculating, always planning. When you disobey him, he doesn’t explode in anger like someone else might. No, Chan prefers something quieter, something more effective. He believes punishment should teach a lesson, not waste energy. And when it comes to you, he wants you to feel the weight of your guilt, to truly understand why you were wrong. Isolation is his preferred method. It’s clean, controlled, and, most importantly, it works. The first time he catches you breaking one of his unspoken rules—talking to someone he doesn’t approve of, going somewhere without telling him—he doesn’t raise his voice. Instead, he gives you a long, measured look, the kind that sends a chill down your spine. His usual warmth is gone, replaced by something colder, sharper. Later, when it’s just the two of you, he sits you down. The air feels heavy, suffocating. His voice is low and calm, almost tender. “Think about it, darling. I’m doing this for your own good,” he says, his expression carefully crafted to appear apologetic, though his eyes betray something darker. “If I’m not protecting you, who will? This world is too dangerous for someone like you. Without me… you’re nothing.” The words sting, but they also confuse you.

He delivers them with such conviction, such unwavering certainty, that a part of you begins to question yourself. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you were careless, ungrateful even. He leans closer, his hand brushing against yours as if to comfort you. “You’ll understand soon enough,” he murmurs. And then it begins. Subtly, at first. Your phone mysteriously stops working, and when you ask about it, Chan is quick to offer an excuse. “It’s better this way. You don’t need all those distractions.” Your friends start to drift away—he makes sure of it, carefully orchestrating misunderstandings and missed calls until you have no one left to turn to. Your schedule becomes eerily predictable, revolving entirely around him. He insists it’s for your benefit, that it’s safer this way. The isolation creeps in slowly, but it’s relentless. The world you once knew shrinks until it consists of only him. And every time you try to protest, he’s ready with the same disarming smile and soothing words. “I know this feels harsh, but it’s because I love you. You’ll thank me someday.” Yet, no matter how gentle his tone, there’s no mistaking the steel beneath it. Bang Chan doesn’t give second chances. By the time you realize the full extent of his control, it’s too late. You’re trapped, and he knows it. And to him, that’s exactly as it should be.

Minho

If Minho grows quiet and his sharp gaze locks onto you, it’s never a good sign. When you talk back to him or let your emotions run wild, and he remains silent, it’s far worse than anger—it’s dangerous. His silence is not passivity; it’s a storm waiting to unfold. Minho doesn’t like wasting energy, and why should he? When he acts, it’s always calculated, deliberate, and impactful, ensuring you won’t dare to repeat your mistakes. The last time you pushed him, your words came tumbling out in frustration, escalating into a full-blown argument. He listened without interruption, his expression unreadable, the stillness of his body unnerving. Once your words ran dry, he finally spoke. “Are you done?” he asked, his voice eerily calm, laced with a sharp edge. “You’ve been crossing the line lately. You know that, don’t you?” The weight of his words sat heavy in your chest long after he left the room. Sleep felt impossible that night as anxiety churned in your mind. You couldn’t ignore the suffocating feeling that something was coming. And you were right. Just as the clock struck midnight, the sound of your door creaking open made you sit up in bed.

There he was, standing in the doorway, his silhouette outlined by the dim hallway light. His eyes, dark and piercing, met yours, and an unsettling smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Waiting for me, lovely?” he asked softly, stepping into the room with a predator’s grace. Before you could respond, he tossed something onto the bed. The clatter was jarring, and your breath hitched when you realized what it was: your phone, shattered into pieces. “Phone? No more,” he said with an icy smirk. “I wonder what else I should make into pieces. Those stupid plushies you’re so attached to? Or maybe… someone precious?” A soft, humorless laugh escaped him as he leaned closer, his face mere inches from yours. “Remember this, love. No crossing the line. Consider this your warning,” he murmured, his voice dangerously low. “Don’t make me dirty my hands, alright?” His words cut deeper than any shout ever could. Straightening, he glanced at you one last time before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. With Minho, silence was never just silence. It was a threat, a promise, and a lesson. And when he acted, it was always with a precision that left no room for misunderstanding.

Changbin

Explode—that’s the only way to describe him when he’s angry. It’s not subtle or restrained; it’s raw, chaotic, and terrifying. When his temper snaps, it’s like a storm that tears through everything in its path. He throws things against the wall, his voice rising into a roar that makes your chest tighten with fear. The sweet, soft side he usually shows you is gone, replaced by someone you can barely recognize. “You think I’m joking right now?” he shouts, his eyes blazing with fury, so red it’s like all he can see is rage. He plants himself in front of the door, his body a solid barrier ensuring there’s no escape. The once tidy room is unrecognizable—vases lie shattered on the floor, shards glinting in the dim light, papers scattered everywhere. Each crash feels like a knife twisting in your gut, and all you can do is collapse onto the floor, your knees too weak to hold you up. His breathing is heavy, his chest heaving like he’s barely holding back from completely losing control. “Ignore me like that again,” he growls, his voice low and dripping with menace, “answer me without thinking, and next time, I’ll throw you against the wall just like I did those vases.”

The venom in his words makes your heart race, and for a split second, you can’t tell if it’s an empty threat or a promise. Either way, the weight of his fury presses down on you, leaving you frozen in place. And then, just as suddenly as it started, the storm begins to subside. He straightens, his eyes still fixed on you, but the blazing anger in them softens into something almost tender. He takes a step forward, then another, crouching down to meet you on the floor. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant, as if trying to erase the memory of the chaos he just unleashed. You flinch as he reaches for you, but he doesn’t stop. His hands find your face, cupping it gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears that have spilled down your cheeks. “I’m sorry, love. You need to understand how much I love you,” he whispers, his tone pleading. It’s disorienting, the way he shifts from monster to lover, his gentleness so at odds with the destruction around you. “So don’t make me lose my temper again, got it?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. The warning is clear, and you can only nod.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin has a way of making you doubt yourself, twisting your thoughts until you’re unsure of what’s real. He doesn’t raise his voice or resort to anger—instead, he makes you feel like you’re the one who’s wrong, like you’re the villain and he’s the victim. His charm is intoxicating, but beneath it lies something dangerous, something that leaves you questioning everything about yourself and your relationship. When you upset him, he doesn’t comfort you or address it directly. Instead, he turns it into his own game, one where the rules are stacked entirely in his favor. He knows exactly how to manipulate the situation, how to make you feel like the guilt is entirely yours. His voice is soft, trembling just enough to tug at your heartstrings as he asks, “Do you even love me?” Somehow, he manages to conjure tears—perfect, convincing tears that make your chest tighten with guilt. You know he’s playing a part, that the sadness in his eyes is an act, yet it still works. His vulnerability feels so real, so raw, that you can’t help but question if maybe you truly are the problem. He always knows what to say to make you doubt your actions, and soon enough, you’re scrambling to fix something you aren’t even sure you broke. He doesn’t stop there.

His words cut deeper than any raised voice or angry outburst ever could. “I feel like I’m nothing to you,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping as though he can’t bear to look at you. “Do you even care? Am I just wasting my time here?” The weight of his accusations settles heavily on your shoulders, making you feel like the worst person in the world. And that’s exactly what he wants. For Hyunjin, this isn’t just a moment of hurt—it’s a game, a calculated strategy to make you prove yourself over and over again. You find yourself apologizing, explaining, and convincing him of your love, even when you don’t fully understand what you’re apologizing for. By the time he leans in, brushing a tear from your cheek, you’re already falling into his trap. “Tell me,” he whispers, his voice barely audible but laced with desperation. “Tell me how much you love me. Please… I can’t live without you.” His words are a plea, but they carry a weight that crushes you. It’s not just about proving your love—it’s about erasing the guilt he’s so carefully placed on you. And when you finally stammer out your assurances, he smiles faintly, knowing he’s won. For Hyunjin, victory isn’t loud or violent. It’s quiet, devastating, and entirely unforgettable.

[hederasgarden]

Memorias

Summary: Late at night you and Lucius share memories of the lives you once lived.  Pairing: Lucius Verus x F!Reader Word Count: 1.1K Rating: 18+ only. Angst, mentions of spousal death, some humor and grief.  A/N: This story is part of Lucius and the Fisherman's Wife series. It takes place between Ab Initio and Post tenebras lux. Thank you to my dearest B and @ryebecca for looking this over. Inspired by this ask. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Gladiator Masterlist ♡ Masterlist

It's late, and the cool autumn evening seeps into the small cell you share with Lucius, bringing with it a chill that settles in your bones. From your place on the narrow cot, you watch him cup the flickering candle flame and extinguish it with his breath, plunging the room into a hazy, blue-tinged darkness. The bed dips and creaks as he sits, removing his sandals. You turn onto your other side, facing the wall to make room for him to slide in behind you. It’s a tight fit in a bed meant for one person. 

His bulk shifts the bed as he settles and his arm drapes across your side and stomach. You sigh, grateful for his warmth. The first time you’d shared a bed like this had been awkward and tense, your sleep restless and uneasy. The only person you’d ever been so close to in this way was your husband, and it had felt wrong to have Lucius so near. But the past few months had altered so much, and though you'd never admit it aloud, you find comfort in his closeness, in his touch. It’s a silent reminder that you’re not alone anymore.

You both adjust yourselves a few more times before finding a position that offers some comfort, even as the straw of the bed jabs into your skin and the thin, threadbare blanket provides little warmth. As you begin to drift off, Lucius's breath stirs the back of your head, soft and uneven. Then, a groan escapes him, a low sound of pain from the brutal toll the arena has taken on his body. You reach back instinctively, your fingers grazing his hip in a silent question.

"I am well," he reassures you, his voice rough but steady.

You fall silent again, blinking sleepily at the wall, but after a moment, his voice breaks the stillness. "You have been quiet today," he observes.

You don’t answer him at first, weighing whether to share your thoughts. You know that if you brush him off, he won’t push. He’ll leave you alone, but tonight, you find, you don’t want that.

"The memories are...close today," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lucius shifts behind you, moving to wrap his thick fingers around your forearm where it rests against the bed. The gentle pressure of his touch brings tears to your eyes, and you quickly blink them away,

"Tell me about them," he says, his tone gentle. “If you wish.”

“I do not know where to start,” you admit. 

"Something happy, perhaps?"

You exhale slowly, his suggestion tugging an unexpected memory to the surface.

"I was not always a fisherman’s wife," you begin, your gaze fixed on the uneven stone wall. "I was a merchant's daughter, destined for a different life. But then...I met him."

The thought of your husband is both painful and beautiful. He seems so young in your memories, even though you only lost him a short time ago. 

“I was never supposed to marry someone like him,” you continue. “But I loved him. Gods…” You let out a soft, watery laugh, a mix of sorrow and affection. “And his family took me in like I was theirs all along.”

Lucius’s fingers trace the soft skin of your wrist in a comforting, quiet gesture that urges you to continue.

"I knew nothing about mending nets, or preparing and cooking fish, but they taught me everything. One night..." You pause, a lump forming in your throat as the memory comes back in sharp detail, the simple joy of it nearly too much to bear. "I wanted to make dinner for everyone. To show my thanks. I spent hours preparing the fish, the sides, everything. But..." You hesitate, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at your lips. "I was not exactly the best at deboning the fish, you see..."

"You left a few bones in?" Lucius’s voice is soft, a teasing edge to it. 

“More than a few,” you admit with a laugh. "Not that anyone said anything at the time. They just quietly spat them out. I did not find out until later when he told me. I was mortified."

Lucius chuckles, a masculine, rich sound. “Perhaps I should humble myself with a story of my own,” he suggests, his tone light. “If only to make you feel better.”

“Oh, yes. That would certainly help,” you reply, turning over to face him. 

You’re close enough that your nose brushes against his, and you both breathe the same air. Your hands curl instinctively against your chest while his rests firmly on your hip. Your legs have tangled together and yet neither of you pulls away. There’s no discomfort in this closeness, it’s nothing compared to the intimacy you’re compelled to share during the day to sell your lie.

“It was when I was courting Arishat,” Lucius begins, his voice dipping into a more serious tone, though there’s still a glint of humor in it. “I was young, hardly yet a man. But I wanted to prove to her, and her family, that I was worthy. The problem was, I knew nothing of farming.” He pauses. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Oh?” You question, waiting for him to continue. 

“I rose early, before anyone else so I could complete all the chores by myself. I fed the chickens, collected the eggs, and saw to it that the pigs were well cared for. I even thought to milk the goat. But there was one problem. I did not know the difference between a male goat and a female one.”

To your surprise, a laugh bubbles up from your chest, one you quickly stifle with a hand over your mouth. Your shoulders shake and a rush of something light and airy courses through you, a feeling that’s both foreign and welcome after all this time.

“Arishat got a good laugh out of it too,” Lucius says, sounding aggrieved though you know he’s likely just as amused. It’s too dark to see his expression clearly, but you catch the flash of his teeth and know he’s smiling at the memory.

The two of you lapse into silence after his story, and without thinking, you shift closer. Lucius responds instinctively, pulling you in, his palm settling gently between your shoulder blades as he rolls on to his back. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Sharing the memories of your husband feels oddly comforting; each time you do, he seems a bit less distant, his presence warmer, more alive. It’s as painful as it is reassuring. You blink away the emotion that stirs in your chest and exhale, the heaviness easing just a little. No matter the horrors the daylight hours might bring, you know that you and Lucius will always have these moments to hold onto.

♡

My inbox is open for your thoughts on this story, requests for drabbles with Lucius and further scenes with Lucius and the Fisherman's Wife

[frownyalfred]

In eldritch horror / immortal creature of Gotham! Alfred AU: do you think the city requires her beings to have to give up someone, a sacrifice to maintain each of them alive and since Thomas, Martha, and Bruce became important to him, Gotham was going to take baby Bruce at first?

But then Thomas and Martha found out -not horrified of Alfred because they knew, and that there was no way out of it - thus they intentionally shielded Bruce That Night, and let Gotham take them instead?

They didn't want to live in a world where they lived and Bruce died, but also importantly let Alfred live with the guilt of having Bruce's blood on his hands? (I mean he gets blood on them anyway, years later... )

And Alfred subtly flinches every time Bruce says anything like "Gotham needs me" or "This is my city, its will sacrifice what I can for it". Cause he already did.

Since the Pennywaynes has been getting to me for the last 24 hours or so, let me propose: Eldritch!Alfred, deeply connected to Gotham, not quite her true face, but very very close. The Waynes know this, and accept this, because Alfred is Alfred and they know that he'd never hurt them.

But yes, eventually the bill comes due. The good they were funneling into Gotham (charity, new development, etc) sent things out of balance. It is a cursed city. There must be Balance. And so, the city knew that taking their child would hobble that goodness. It tasked Alfred to kill the boy, the heir, knowing that it would forever limit the ability of the Waynes to alter that balance ever again.

But Alfred had grown fond of the Waynes. He didn't know the boy yet, but the boy was sacred to them and what they wanted, he wanted. Inevitably. And so he told them, with the coldness, the detachment, of an assassin or executioner, what Gotham wanted from them. What he would be forced to do.

Thomas and Martha looked at each other, looked down at the sleeping baby in the bassinet, and bargained with the devil himself. They begged, and Alfred listened. He pleaded with Gotham himself, in private. But it was against his nature to do so. He dreaded the path forward, the one that didn't end with Bruce's blood on his hands, the sweet boy that Martha cherished and Thomas doted on.

Alfred was selfish. He knew the rules, and he refused. He didn't step into the shadows that night with a gun. But Gotham sent someone regardless. And this person took both of their lives, instead of just one. It took them instead, instead of the heir. It was a catastrophic blow to Gotham, one the city would never recover from.

Until Bruce came home, many many years later, and started speaking of his city. And there was a chill down Alfred's spine that only came from fellow Eldritch, fellow creatures, fellow non-humans. There was a strange weight in Bruce's eyes. This was what the city had been trying to prevent. This eventuality. And through Alfred's indecision, through Martha and Thomas' love, it had survived after all. Ra's had awakened it and the world had fed it. Gotham would hold onto him forever.

(this kind of identity porn -- Eldritch!Alfred and Eldritch!Bruce under the same roof, working against each other in Gotham's name, but with each other as people -- that makes me crazy)

[hoe4hotchner]

Chapter 12 - Regionals

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 8k

Warnings: Anxiety, gunshots, panic, chaos, blood, trauma.

A/N: I'm gonna be honest, I don't know if any of the jump/spin combinations in this chapter is actually possible, I just thought they sounded cool together.

Also, I imagined the song reader performs to is Valentine - Måneskin.

Masterlist

The energy bouncing through the arena at regionals was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. The rink buzzed with activity—skaters gliding across the ice, warming up and loosening their limbs with different kicking and swinging motions, coaches muttering last-minute advice, and the hum of the crowd bleeding through the arena walls. The atmosphere was suffocating yet exhilarating. The anticipation and pressure that came with the excitement settled like a weight on your chest.

You were seated on a bench in one of the many locker rooms across the backstage area, staring down at your skates. The laces mocked you with their stubbornness. They weren’t tight enough. No, too tight. You loosened them, pulling the laces free—considering the option of re-lacing your skates completely with a new pair from your bag—only to start over again. Your hands trembled slightly, the nerves making even this simple task feel massive.

Tug. Cross. Loop. Pull.

Each motion was meticulous and deliberate. You knew how to do it, yet failed to do it correctly.

Too loose. They’ll slip.

You untied and tied them again.

Too tight. I won’t be able to feel my feet.

Frustration built in your chest. You sighed, almost letting out a loud groan, and sat back for a moment to collect yourself. You wiped your palms in your blade towel, the chill of the rink failing to reach you as you combat the heat your nerves sparked through every nerve and bone.

The door creaked open slightly, and you glanced up to see Hotch. He lingered in the doorway, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jacket. His presence was grounding in a way—working in a matter of seconds—the steadiness in his eyes cutting through the storm brewing inside your head.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice soft but firm. In directly questioning why you hadn't met him outside yet. He had already debriefed the team, only waiting for you.

You nodded quickly, too quickly, and gestured vaguely to your skates. “Just… trying to get these right.”

He stepped further inside, his gaze falling to your hands as they hesitated over the laces once more. He didn't mention it, but he noticed how much they shook. Hotch couldn't tell whether it was the competition or the potential of Collins showing up that was the biggest cause of your trembling.

“Take a deep breath,” he said, crouching slightly in front of you to meet your eye level. “You’ve done this a thousand times before.”

“I know,” you murmured, your voice tight. “But this isn’t like practice. Everyone’s watching. The judges are watching. And if I screw this up…”

“You won’t,” Hotch interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. He didn't want you to doubt yourself. He knew you could do it, and so should you. “You’ve trained for this. No one is more prepared than you are.”

You wanted to believe him. You really did. But the knot in your stomach tightened, and your hands returned to the laces. Hotch straightened, giving you the space to wrestle with your nerves, though his presence didn’t waver.

Once again, you tugged at the laces, pulling them tight, only for frustration to bubble up inside you as they didn’t feel quite right. With a sharp huff, you yanked at the knot, untying them for what felt like the hundredth time. The movement was harsh, almost as if you were taking out all your pent-up emotions on the poor laces—if you'd been a little rougher they might've actually snapped.

Hotch had been watching in silence. “Do you want some help?” he asked, his voice calm, trying not to undermine your ability to lace your own skates, but somewhat knowing that you could sit in here all night trying to fix your laces, although they weren't the root of your problem.

You blinked, startled, your hands frozen mid-pull. “I—” You started to refuse, your pride prickling, but then you remembered how steady his hands were in every situation. You exhaled sharply and gave a small nod, handing the laces over.

“I've seen how you tied them before,” he said, getting down on one knee to get closer. “Let me try.”

You watched as his fingers threaded the laces.

Cross, under, pull, remove from hook, and tie 360° around the same hook, repeat.

His movements were deliberate but not hurried, trying to mimic the way he had seen you tie them before. His focus was entirely on the task, brows furrowed slightly in concentration. He pulled the laces snug, double-knotting them once he reached the last hook, almost as if he’d been doing this forever.

When he finished, he looked up at you, still crouched before you. “How is this?” he asked softly, his eyes searching yours for an answer.

You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat. The laces were tied perfectly—secure but not too tight, exactly the way you liked them. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way he looked at you, so patient, so... stable, it made something inside you shift.

Your heart felt like it had stopped and restarted all at once. You couldn’t stop the look that crossed your face—adoration, pure and vulnerable—before you snapped yourself out of it.

“They’re good,” you said quickly, clearing your throat as you forced yourself to look away. Your voice came out steadier than you felt, but the warmth creeping up your cheeks betrayed you.

Hotch gave a small nod, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile before he straightened up and stood back up.

None of you managed to speak another word as the muffled sound of the announcer’s voice echoed through the hallways, signaling the start of the competition. Your heart skipped a beat. It was happening.

Hotch’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You ready?”

You hesitated before nodding. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

He gave you a small smile and a nod. “Good. Now go show them what you're made of.”

With a deep breath, you pushed yourself to your feet, the sound of your guards thumping slightly against the floor in the otherwise silent locker room. Your nerves were still there, clawing at the edges of your determination, but you forced yourself to focus. You had to.

The competition was waiting. And so was your moment to prove yourself.

The tension in the arena was noticeable as you sat in the skaters’ section, hands clenched into fists in your lap. The murmur of the audience filled the space as skater after skater took their turn on the ice. Each one seemed impossibly flawless, their jumps precise, their artistry captivating. You couldn’t help but compare yourself to every single one of them, the doubt creeping in despite Hotch’s earlier reassurances.

But none of them intimidated you quite like Natalia Ivanova.

You’d known Natalia for years, watched several of her competition tapes, and competed against her a couple of times. She was a powerhouse on the ice, her technical skills matched only by her undeniable flair for performance. Even before she stepped onto the rink, you could hear whispers of her name ripple through the crowd, even a few whispers amongst the other skaters.

When the announcer called her, Natalia glided onto the ice like she owned it, her movements fluid and graceful. She beamed confidence, staring the judges down as she paused in the center of the rink to strike her opening pose. Her program was set to a dramatic orchestral piece, the kind of music that made you feel like you were watching something historic in the making.

You sat up straighter, studying her movements, your heart hammering away in your chest. You hated to admit it, but watching her was mesmerizing. Every movement was meticulously planned, and every glide was seamless. The crowd was captivated oohing and ahhing at every single element she performed.

Then came the jumps. She nailed the first two, a triple loop and a triple lutz, both of which looked effortless. But when she approached the quad, your breath hitched.

You had been right, she too had been working on one.

She skated backward, her edges strong, and launched into the air with power. For a moment, it seemed perfect—her rotation tight, her form pristine. But as she came down, her landing faltered. Her skate slipped, and she crashed onto the ice, the sound of her fall echoing through the silent arena as her body slid a few meters across the ice.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Natalia scrambled to her feet quickly, trying to recover, but the damage was done. A fall on a quad was a significant deduction, and everyone knew it. You either did it and succeeded—or you failed.

You exhaled a shaky breath, your nerves flaring anew. Natalia’s mistake was an opportunity for you—if you could manage to land your own attempt at a quad, it could set you apart, it could differentiate you from the rest. But the pressure to deliver felt suffocating.

You had to land it.

Natalia finished her routine with remarkable poise—despite her mistake, you were sure she was beating herself up about it—her expression betrayed no emotion as she struck her final pose. The applause was generous but lacked the usual fervor. She skated off the ice with her chin held high, though you could see the tension in her shoulders as she passed by. Her coach followed closely behind, already reprimanding her for the quad.

Your name was called next.

You rose from your seat and moved towards the open gate onto the ice. As you reached the entrance, you pulled your guards off, taking one last steadying breath before placing them on the boards.

Hotch was waiting nearby, his eyes locked on yours. “You’ve got this,” he mouthed as your eyes locked.

You nodded, swallowing hard as you stepped onto the ice. The cold air hit your face, a sharp reminder of where you were and what was at stake.

The hush that fell over the arena as the lights dimmed was deafening. You skated to the middle of the ice, each push of your blades a deliberate movement. The familiar surface beneath you felt a little extra slippery today.

You took a deep breath as you lowered yourself into your starting pose, one knee bent with your arms outstretched, fingers trembling slightly. Your heart pounded, but you locked eyes with the ice in front of you, blocking out the crowd, the judges, and even Natalia’s earlier performance.

When the spotlight clicked on, bathing you in its white glow, a collective gasp echoed through the audience. The opening notes of your soundtrack poured through the speakers and you felt the lyrics seep into your bones. The tension in your chest eased just slightly.

This was your story to tell now.

The first notes guided you as you pushed off into smooth, flowing backward crossovers, your skates slicing cleanly through the ice and your skirt flowing with the motion. The rhythm of the music matched the beat of your heart. Your movements were fluid, your arms extending in elegant arcs as the lyrics spilled out across the arena.

You told a story through your program—the music was your script, and every step, every spin, was an expression of the raw emotion the past couple of months had left you with. The way you twisted into a tight axel, the way your arms reached toward the sky during a spiral sequence—it all built a connection between you and the audience.

The tension in the music grew, and you shifted into the program’s first big combination: a triple lutz and a double toe loop. You launched into the air, your body twisting, and when you landed, the blades of your skates felt secure beneath you. The applause surged for a brief moment before fading back into breathless anticipation.

Each element led seamlessly to the next. A series of intricate footwork had you carving sharp edges and patterns into the ice, your body moving in time with the heavy drumbeats. Your spins were a blur of motion, your costume catching the light as you transitioned from forward to backward skating with grace.

And then came the finale.

The music swelled, its intensity rising, and you pushed yourself to the far edge of the rink. You took a deep breath, your heart pounding as you prepared for the salchow.

It was a gamble, you'd only been working on it for a couple of weeks—the jump that could make or break your performance.

You picked up speed, your blades cutting deep into the ice as you set up for the takeoff. Your arms were tight, your focus razor-sharp. As the beat dropped in the music, you launched yourself into the air.

Time seemed to slow.

The rotation was tight, your arms tucked in as your body spun in perfect alignment. For a split second, everything felt right. But as you came down, your left skate caught the ice at an awkward angle.

You wobbled.

Your arms flailed slightly, and your right toepick grazed the ice to stabilize yourself. The landing wasn’t clean, and you knew it, knew points would be deducted despite a completed element.

The applause was still loud, but you could feel the weight of the judges’ pens, scribbling notes about the deduction for the shaky landing. Even so, you had landed it—a quad. That alone was a triumph that only a few skaters managed to during their careers, especially in women's skating.

The music softened, its final notes drifting into silence as you glided to the center of the rink and struck your ending pose. Your chest heaved as you stood there, frozen in place, every muscle in your body trembling from exertion and adrenaline.

The lights of the arena turned back on, bathing the rink in brightness. The crowd erupted into cheers, and you heard your name being called from different corners of the arena.

Your blood ran cold, every nerve in your body freezing in place. The rush of adrenaline and pride from your performance drained from you in an instant, replaced by a suffocating dread that wrapped itself around your chest. Your heart pounded, but it felt sluggish, each beat echoing in your ears as you spotted him.

Collins.

He stood in the stands, his presence impossible to miss despite the sea of people still clapping and cheering around him. His smirk was sharp and sinister, a cruel twist of satisfaction that sent a chill down your spine. His eyes locked onto yours, and the weight of his gaze was unbearable, pinning you in place like prey under the watchful eye of a predator.

Your breath hitched, caught somewhere between a gasp and a choke. The arena, still alive with sound and light, seemed to fade away. All you could see was him, his every move magnified. His hand dipped into his jacket pocket—slow, deliberate, and calculated. The motion sent every alarm in your body blaring, but you couldn’t move. Time slowed, the world around you warping as panic flooded your veins. What did he have in there?

Move. Do something. Scream. Run.

But your legs wouldn’t listen.

"Hotch!"

The scream tore out of you, it was desperate, carrying through the arena like a crack of thunder. It startled even you, your voice trembling with the kind of fear that could only come from the knowledge of what Collins was capable of.

Your cry snapped Hotch into action. From the corner of your eye, you saw him bolt from his spot, his sharp eyes zeroing in on you before following your line of sight to Collins. His entire demeanor shifted in an instant, the calm, composed mask replaced by something fierce and determined.

He wasn't about to let Collins get away again.

Hotch's jaw clenched, the muscles tightening as he surged through the rows of spectators, cutting through the crowd like a force of nature. His movements were swift, his hand already moving to where his gun rested beneath his jacket.

"Get away!" Hotch’s voice boomed across the ice—it was meant for you, but the crowd seemed to disappear around him quicker than you had registered the urgency in his tone.

The sound jolted you into motion, snapping the paralysis that had held you captive.

Your instincts took over. You pushed off, your skates carving harsh lines into the ice as you darted away. You zigzagged erratically, each movement wild and unpredictable, doing everything you could to stay in motion. The goal was clear: don’t stop, don't be predictable.

In the stands, chaos had erupted. Screams replaced cheers as people began to realize just exactly what was happening. Gasps and cries echoed through the arena as the crowd scrambled to get away, pushing and shoving toward the exits in a frenzy.

Collins pulled the gun from his pocket, the glint of metal catching in the arena lights. For a heart-stopping moment, the barrel was aimed directly at you. Your breath caught in your throat, and you swerved sharply, nearly losing your footing as the ice beneath you shimmered with cold indifference.

A shot ran out, the bullet carving a hole into the ice as it bounced off of it.

He adjusted his aim, tracking your frantic movements, but you didn’t let up. Although your legs burned you forced yourself to skate faster, harder, the fear and adrenaline fueling your every move.

In the stands, the crowd's panic only worsened. People screamed as Collins waved the gun around trying to follow your movements, his face twisting with frustration. His smirk was gone, replaced by a sneer that told you he wasn’t used to being denied.

"You think you can run from me?" Collins’ voice rang out, loud and venomous, cutting through the chaos.

Your heart seized. He wasn’t just dangerous—he was unhinged.

"Stay away from me!" you screamed, your voice breaking as you turned sharply, skating toward the far end of the rink in a desperate attempt to put more distance between you and him.

Collins snarled, shoving through the crowd. His frustration was noticeable even from where you were. He wasn’t just angry; he was desperate, and that made him even more dangerous and unpredictable.

To your horror, he began moving toward the same exit you were near, his eyes locked onto you like a predator closing in on its prey.

"You really think you could just leave me without any consequences?!" His voice was a feral growl, each word dripping with venom. "Let that joke of a coach take all the credit!"

You didn’t respond, your throat too tight with fear. Instead, you turned again, your movements frantic and uncoordinated, your legs trembling as exhaustion and terror began to take their toll.

Hotch and the rest of the team closed in, their movements swift and methodical. Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi flanked Collins, weapons drawn, their voices cutting through the air as they shouted for him to drop the gun.

But Collins wasn’t listening. His focus was on you, and it sent a fresh wave of panic surging through your chest. You pushed yourself harder, tears stinging your eyes as you skated blindly, your vision blurred by fear.

Meanwhile, Hotch and the team closed in with precision. Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi moved as one, trying to corner him, their training evident in every step they took. Their weapons were drawn, aimed steadily at him, leaving him with no visible escape route. The cold tension in the air was thick with the weight of what was about to unfold.

"Collins! Drop the weapon!" Hotch's command rang out, his voice was sharp brooking no argument. His gun remained fixed on Collins, unwavering. His posture was rigid, every muscle locked and prepared for any sudden movement. His presence alone was imposing—he was in control. You knew it, Hotch knew—and you were sure Collins could feel it too.

Collins, however, didn’t comply immediately. He hesitated, his eyes shifting wildly between you, still on the ice, and the agents closing in from every direction. His chest heaved with quick, shallow breaths, and his fingers tightened around the handle of the gun, his finger locked on the trigger, a flicker of something dangerous passing through his gaze. He was cornered, and that realization only pushed him further into a frantic, desperate state.

"You think you can stop me?" Collins spat, his voice was laced with desperation, a blend of anger and fear. His hand gripped the weapon tighter, and for a moment, it looked like he might try to make a final stand. Weighing if suicide by cop was truly worth his revenge. He squared his shoulders, his stance defensive, as though readying himself for a fight to the end. But then, without warning, he moved.

Collins lunged toward the ice, his body jerking forward with a wild, uncontrolled desperation. His shoes slipped, skidding over the slick surface, but he didn't slow down. He was heading straight for you, determined, his movements chaotic but fueled by panic.

"Stop!" Hotch's voice was more of a roar now, filled with urgency and command. It was the sound of a man who would not allow this to escalate any further.

The sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the tension that had been building. The noise rang in your ears, deafening in the silence that followed.

Collins' scream echoed in the arena as he collapsed to the ice, the shock of the bullet striking his leg sending him into a crumpled heap. He clutched at the wound, his face twisted in pain, and blood began to seep onto the pristine ice. The stark red against the white was grotesque, a cruel reminder of how close everything had come to disaster.

"You fucking shot me!" He growled.

"And you didn't listen." Within seconds, Morgan was on him, his large frame a blur of motion as he held Collins to the ground with brute force. The gun was kicked away from Collins' hand, and with a swift movement, slid to the middle of the rink. Morgan slapped handcuffs around his wrists, the sound of metal clicking shut was loud and final.

Morgan snarled something you couldn't quite hear as he yanked Collins away from the ice, dragging him off the rink with efficiency, his grip firm around his bicep. The medics were already on the scene, rushing in to tend to Collins’ wound, but you couldn’t bring yourself to watch. You couldn’t even bring yourself to breathe.

The adrenaline that had kept you upright began to fade, and it hit you all at once—the trembling in your legs, the dizziness that spread through your body like wildfire. Your vision blurred as tears threatened to spill over.

In a moment of blind panic, you pushed yourself to your feet, but your legs gave out beneath you. You barely caught your balance before you collapsed onto the ice, the world spinning around you. Gasping for air, you fought to regain control, but it was too much.

Without thinking, without even registering what you were doing, you somehow managed to get up and skate off the rink, your feet faltering with each hurried movement. You slipped your guards back on, hurrying into the nearest hallway, your heart hammering in your chest, your mind fogged with a single thought: get away!

Get away from the blood. Get away from the chaos. Get away from the haunting image of Collins’ smirk, still burned into your memory.

Get away! Get away! Get away!

You stumbled down the hallways, your hands shaking as you gripped the walls for support. The tears came then, unchecked, as you reached the bathroom. You barely made it to the stall before your body betrayed you. You collapsed onto the cold tiles, your stomach lurching violently, the bile rising in your throat. The world had become a blur, and the only thing you could focus on was the overwhelming sense of dread, of terror, that had yet to leave your chest.

Hotch’s swept his gaze across the scene before him, scanning the area for any sign of you, anything sign that you were okay. His heart clenched in his chest when he didn’t see you, the realization creeping up his spine that you were nowhere to be found, that you could be hurt.

His instincts screamed at him to move, to find you, and without another thought, he began to search the stands around the rink, his eyes darting from one corner to the next. The rest of the team had the situation under control, he knew he could trust them and the local police officers to finish up the crime scene—you were his priority now.

His search led him down the hallway, his boots echoing against the floor as he moved quickly. He passed the men’s restroom and the locker rooms, but it wasn’t until he reached the ladies' washroom that he heard it: the unmistakable sound of someone puking, the sharp, guttural noises of someone in misery.

His stomach tightened at the sound, and without hesitation, he pushed the door open with a small knock to grab your attention. The sight that greeted him made his chest tighten.

There you were, collapsed against the floor of a bathroom stall, your face pale and streaked with make-up and tears, your body wracked with sobs as you expelled everything from your stomach—the little you had ingested before the competition, most of what was coming up was bile.

The pain, the fear, the aftermath of everything you’d just lived through—it was all too much for you, and it was written on your face.

Without thinking, Hotch moved toward you, kneeling beside the stall, his posture careful and measured. His eyes softened, his heart ached at the sight of you in such distress.

He placed a reassuring hand on your back as gently as he could, trying his hardest not to startle you—he would've held your hair back if it hadn't been braided and tied in a bun.

The warmth of his palm was a stark contrast to the coldness of the bathroom floor beneath you. His touch was calm, as though he was trying to anchor you, to ease your mind back to the reality where you were safe, where Collins couldn't hurt you or the people you loved anymore.

You flinched at first, a sharp intake of breath followed by a quick sob, but the pressure of his hand seemed to ground you a little for a moment. You were still trembling, every breath shaky and uneven, but Hotch’s presence felt like your lifeline.

He didn’t speak right away, allowing you the space to let the worst of it pass. His only movement was the gentle rub of his hand against your back.

“I’ve got you,” Hotch murmured softly, his voice was low and calm, hoping that his few words would be enough to reassure you. They were a promise—one that he would keep, no matter what.

His heart ached for you, for what you’d just been through, for the fear he’d seen in your eyes when Collins had made his move. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to experience that terror—yet he could in some sense, remembering Foyet.

When the worst of it seemed to be over, Hotch didn’t move immediately. He stayed there, kneeling beside you, his hand still pressed against your back. He waited for you to steady yourself, to find your breath, to return from the overwhelming cloud of emotions that had gripped you.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice was softer now, trying to coax you to turn away from the toilet. “You’re safe. It’s over."

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you lifted your head, your eyes red and swollen, and still wet with tears, mascara streaked down your cheeks. Hotch’s gaze softened even more, his hand gently cupping the back of your neck as he gave you a small, comforting squeeze. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You didn’t respond right away, but your shoulders shook with quiet sobs, the weight of everything sinking in. Hotch could feel your body tremble under his touch, but he didn’t pull away. He stayed by your side, his presence offering support as you slowly gathered yourself.

When you finally managed to sit up, Hotch remained beside you, watching over you, his face a mixture of concern and relief. The blood on the ice, the terror in your eyes, it had all left its mark on you, but here, in this moment, Hotch would ensure that you wouldn’t have to face anything like that again. He would be the rock you needed, no matter what.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Hotch said quietly as he helped you to your feet. His arm was steady around your waist, supporting you as you swayed slightly, still dizzy from the ordeal.

He moved to the sink, turning the faucet to run lukewarm water. The sound of the water splashing gently against the basin filled the small bathroom, almost too peaceful compared to everything that had happened.

Hotch grabbed a stack of paper towels, his movements were quick. He didn’t know if he was doing this right, if this small gesture would make any difference, but he was determined to do something to soothe you.

He turned back to you, his eyes soft with empathy, and gently began dabbing at the streaks of mascara on your face. His touch was careful, almost tentative, as though he were afraid that any sudden movement would break you further. He didn’t know the first thing about cleaning up makeup, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to help, to give you some semblance of comfort in this moment of vulnerability.

His fingers moved lightly across your cheeks, gently blotting away the remnants of mascara that had stained your face, trying to erase the evidence of your distress. He didn’t say anything—didn’t need to—because his actions spoke louder than words ever could.

But then, just as he thought he might have been doing something to help, he noticed the way your lips started to tremble again, your breath hitching as though another wave of emotion was about to break through. His heart squeezed in his chest as he saw the telltale signs—the way your body shook slightly.

Before he could react, a sob escaped you, followed by another, and then another. The tears came in a rush, the dam breaking once again. His attempt at cleaning you up had been in vain as clearer streaks started forming with each tear rolling from your eyes. Hotch immediately set the paper towels down, his heart aching at the sight of you in pain.

Without thinking, without a second of hesitation, he pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around you as though he could shield you from the world. His chest rose and fell with each breath, steady and strong.

"Shh, it’s okay," Hotch whispered as he held you close, his hand running gently over your hair. He didn’t have the answers, and he couldn’t take away the hurt, but he would give you the space to feel it.

Hotch felt the way your body shook against his, the tremors that went through you, and he held you, held you tighter than ever before, as though his embrace alone could shield you from everything.

"You’re safe now," he murmured softly, his lips brushing against your hair as he continued to hold you, offering you the reassurance that maybe wasn't as much what you needed, but what he needed to get out of his system. "You’re safe. I’m here."

The warmth of his embrace, the rhythm of his steady heartbeat, was the only thing that anchored you to the present moment.

In his arms you could cry without fear of judgment, without needing to hold yourself together for anyone else. Here, with him, you were allowed to be fragile.

He stayed there, holding you, his hands never leaving you as he let you cry, not trying to fix anything but simply offering comfort. And for that moment, that small, fragile moment, everything else fell away.

At one point Hotch somehow managed to guide you out of the bathroom and down the hallway to the nearby locker room. His movements were careful, always making sure you were steady and safe in his grasp, as though every step might trigger another wave of panic or emotion. The sound of your quiet sobs still echoed in his mind, and he couldn’t help but keep you close.

When you reached the locker room, Hotch gently guided you to a bench. He sat down beside you, his posture still protective, and helped you lower yourself onto the cold, hard surface. He didn’t want to leave you for a second—he just wanted to be there, with you, until the worst of it passed. Until you were able to speak, to carry yourself, until you were back to the living.

Once you were settled, Hotch knelt in front of you, his brow furrowed with concern. Without a word, he began to untie your laces. The tension in your body was evident, and he figured removing the skates might offer you a small amount of relief, if not mentally, at least physically. He worked quickly but carefully, easing the tongue away from the bridge of your foot before slipping each skate off and gently placing them against the legs of the bench.

He was fully aware that the blades needed to be carefully wiped clean of any moisture before being packed away in your bag. But at that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. The skates, the blades, all of it felt insignificant compared to ensuring you were okay. If the blades rusted from neglect, so be it—he’d gladly replace them without a second thought. For now, his only focus was on you.

After a moment, Hotch sat down beside you, his body turned slightly to allow you to curl into his chest. He kept his arm wrapped securely around you, pulling you closer as you tucked yourself into his side, your face pressed into the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t speak, just held you as you settled into the rhythm of your breathing, the tears slowly tapering off, leaving behind a quiet, exhausted sadness.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours. The world outside the locker room seemed to cease to exist as you both sat in silence. Hotch’s hand gently stroked your back in slow, reassuring motions, the soft, steady pressure the only sound breaking the stillness.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you shifted in his arms, your breath steady but still shaky. You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes met yours with the same gentle expression he’d worn the entire time, as though he were waiting for you to be ready to speak.

“You okay?” Hotch asked softly, his voice low, though his words were full of care.

You swallowed thickly, your throat raw from crying, but you nodded. "I… think I’m getting there." You paused for a moment, gathering your thoughts. "It’s just… a lot, Hotch. I didn’t think he’d go that far. Collins… I never thought he’d get so desperate." Your voice cracked slightly as the words left your mouth. It felt like your stomach twisted again, thinking back to the way Collins had come after you.

Hotch shifted slightly, bringing you closer, his arms wrapping completely around your body. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he said quietly. “But I’m here to listen if you do.”

You took a deep breath and wiped your eyes, your face flushed from the tears. “I just… I don’t know how to process all of this right now,” you admitted, the weight of the situation settling back in. "Collins made me feel... like I was back under his coaching, and I just… I froze. I don’t usually freeze. I think I might need to see Dr. Jensen, like, ASAP.”

Hotch gave a small nod, his fingers gently tracing the back of your hand. “I think that’s a good idea. Dr. Jensen has some great tools to put trauma into perspective. We all need to check in with her after situations like this.”

A moment passed between you two, both of you processing everything in your own way. Hotch continued to keep his arm around you, giving you the space to breathe, to feel safe, and just be in the moment without any pressure to rush through your emotions.

Eventually, you shifted again, looking up at him, a small, tired smile pulling at the corners of your lips. “I really appreciate you being here, Hotch. I don’t think I could have gotten through this without you and the team.”

His gaze softened as he met your eyes, his hand gently brushing a lock of hair that had escaped from your bun away from your face. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just doing my job.” His voice was low, steady, and sincere.

You smiled, feeling the warmth rush to your cheeks.

You both sat there for a long while in the quiet, each of you just existing in the presence of the other. There was still so much to deal with for the both of you, but for now that could wait.

As you sat there, curled into Hotch’s side, the muffled sounds of the competition picking back up played in the background. The echo of the crowd's cheers and the soft hum of music slipping through the walls barely registered to you. Everything felt distant—like a world away.

The scoreboard might have flashed up in the rink, but you had no desire to see it. You didn’t even know what your score was, and honestly, at that moment, you didn’t care.

The adrenaline rush from earlier had evaporated, replaced by a heavy fog of exhaustion. Your mind kept replaying fragments of what had happened—his movements on the ice, the way he lunged toward you—but you couldn’t hold onto the details long enough to make sense of them.

It was a subtle shift, but you noticed it immediately. The persistent, rhythmic beats that had filled the air slowly faded away, leaving a strange emptiness behind. You didn’t look toward the door. You didn’t even need to. The sudden silence stretched, lingering for longer than usual. Your ears, that had unconsciously been filled with the sound of skates cutting into the ice and the crowd’s murmurs, now only heard the quiet thrum of your own heartbeat and the soft breath of Hotch beside you.

You both listened, and you realized—truly realized—that it was over. The competition had finally come to an end, but neither of you moved. There was no rush to stand up, to re-enter the world outside the locker room. Neither of you wanted to break the fragile sense of calm that had settled between you. You stayed there, sitting close, your head now resting gently against his shoulder, your body felt heavy.

The silence seemed to stretch, not uncomfortable, but rather a shared moment of understanding. You didn’t have to speak. Hotch didn’t push you to get up or check the time. There was no need for words when everything you needed was right here.

Time passed—minutes, or maybe even longer—but neither of you stirred. You felt no sense of urgency to return to the world that still buzzed beyond the door. It felt like an unspoken agreement between you two that everything could wait.

It was Hotch who finally broke the silence, but only with a soft, low voice. “Do you want to know your score?” he asked, his hand still resting on your back.

You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “No, I don’t.” It wasn’t about that anymore. The numbers, the judges’ opinions, none of it mattered.

Hotch gave a small, understanding nod. He could sense it—that subtle shift in your demeanor. You had given everything you had out there, and now you were processing, letting yourself breathe. He respected that. He didn’t press you any further.

It was only when the sound of the door creaking open that the silence was interrupted. You didn’t look up immediately, assuming it was one of the medics or someone else from the team checking in, but then the unmistakable sound of blade guards thumping on the floor caught your attention.

You slowly lifted your head, and there she was—Natalia Ivanova. Her presence in the doorway felt like a sudden gust of wind, sharp and cool. Her usual poised demeanor was notably absent today. Instead, she stood there, framed by the light from the hallway, her face an unreadable mask.

It was clear she wasn’t happy, her lips were pressed into a thin line and her posture was stiff.

But despite the tension in her body, there was something softer in her eyes as they landed on you. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before walking over to the opposite side of the room. She didn’t sit down next to Hotch, as if she could sense the connection between the two of you, and instead chose the bench opposite you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. She studied you quietly, and you could feel the weight of her gaze—an unfamiliar mix of empathy and understanding. Then, finally, she broke the silence.

“I… I’m sorry,” she began. “I heard about what you’ve been through, and I can tell that you're struggling.” She paused, as if carefully considering her words. “This whole thing, it must’ve been a lot.”

You blinked, surprised by her tone. Natalia was always known for her competitiveness and her need to win. To hear her speak like this, with such a rare hint of vulnerability even friendliness, caught you off guard.

She cleared her throat, her gaze softening as she glanced toward the floor for a moment before returning to meet your eyes. “I can’t imagine what it’s been like... but I’m glad you made it out.” There was a brief, unspoken understanding between you two that you didn’t need to elaborate on.

There was a long pause, but then, with surprising sincerity, Natalia’s lips curled slightly. She hesitated only a beat longer before continuing, her voice quieter now, tinged with a different kind of emotion. “And… congratulations. For winning.” She said it like it meant something more than just a passing acknowledgment, her tone warmer than it had ever been toward you.

You blinked, stunned. The words were so unexpected that you almost couldn’t process them. Winning regionals? You hadn’t even thought about the competition in that light, too wrapped up in the chaos surrounding Collins and everything that had happened. You hadn’t expected a win, not after everything. But here she was, telling you that you had actually won.

The shock of it left you momentarily speechless. You weren’t sure whether to smile or simply absorb the reality. You had been too lost in your head, in your fears, to even focus on the outcome of the event. But now that the weight of it was settling on your shoulders, you couldn’t help but feel a swell of disbelief.

Natalia gave a small, knowing shrug, as if she saw the confusion in your expression and understood it. “You earned it,” she said quietly. “You did great.”

You glanced at her, searching her face for any sign of insincerity. But there was none. She was being genuine, her earlier frustration and tension replaced with something softer now—respect, maybe.

Then, before you could fully digest the moment, she added, almost as an afterthought, her voice lower, more reflective, “I’m just glad that, if I had to lose, it was to you.” She didn’t make it a big deal, but the sentiment was there. It was the kind of acknowledgment that took you by surprise, not because you hadn’t worked hard, but because it was coming from her.

It took you a moment to register what she meant by it, but when it hit you, a small, surprised smile tugged at the corner of your lips. Natalia was admitting, in her own way, that she respected you. That, despite everything, there was a recognition between you two.

Hotch, still sitting next to you, didn’t interrupt, allowing the two of you this moment. His hand, still resting lightly on your back, was the only reminder of his presence.

You turned your attention back to Natalia, still processing her words. “Thank you,” you managed to say, the words feeling small but significant. There was so much you wanted to say in return, but you weren’t sure how to express it.

Natalia smiled, just slightly, almost imperceptibly. It wasn’t the usual smug smile you’d grown used to seeing from her—it was something else. Something a little more genuine, and perhaps, even... empathetic. Something that made you think that maybe you could be friends one day.

Hotch watched as Natalia left, her steps echoing down the hallway, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than the weight of the moment. The door had clicked shut behind her, and he turned back to you.

His gaze lingered on you for a second longer than it should, and something stirred deep inside him. The urge to reach out, to hold you, to offer something—anything—that might make this all go away for you. It almost suffocated him, the way his heart pulled him in two directions. His mind screamed at him to stay professional, to keep things in check, to never let his personal feelings cloud his judgment. After all, he didn’t know where this case was going or where you were going after this.

But then, there was the quiet pull deep inside him, the unspoken ache that he’d learned to bury for so long. You were here, in front of him, vulnerable, raw, and beautiful in a way that made his chest tighten. He never allowed himself to truly acknowledge it—not fully—because that would’ve made it too real, too dangerous. But in moments like this, when you were so close, so broken and strong at the same time, that ache in his chest came alive.

He wanted to kiss you.

The thought hit him like a storm, and his breath caught. Just the idea of it—the soft press of your lips, the way you might lean into him, allowing him to hold you in a way that transcended what he had allowed himself to imagine—sent a surge of warmth through him. It was maddening, and he fought against it with everything he had.

His fingers twitched at his side, but he clenched them into a fist, forcing himself to remain still. Professionalism. That was the mantra he clung to. You were a victim of a violent crime, someone he’d been tasked with protecting, not someone he could indulge these feelings for. Especially not now, with everything so raw, so fresh—your life had just been threatened in the most violent way. The last thing you needed was for him to add to the confusion with his feelings.

But there was no denying the pull. No denying how much he wanted to be close to you. To offer something to make you feel safe again. And yet, in his mind, he kept telling himself it wasn’t the right time. Not now. Not when you were still processing everything that had happened. Not when you were still so fragile.

He could feel the battle inside him intensify as he watched you. His heart ached for you—he wanted to be the one to hold you through it all, to offer the comfort and security that was slipping through his grasp.

He stayed where he was, sitting beside you, unsure whether it was the right thing to do. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

Tag list: @love4lando @therealbaberuthless @crazyunsexycool @pear-1206 @bookworm124 @itsmytimetoodream @c-losur3 @lumestar @evvy96 @booknerd2004 @werebearcocoon @hotchnersgirlxx @jazzimac1967 @gamingfeline @soyobi-wankenobi @meg-black @maxinehufflepuffprincess @multifandombliss

[chsvok]

heyyyooo

how do you feel about writing something for shoto??? maybe something fluffy like him noticing things without you saying (like noticing your uncomfortable and him doing something about it or buying you snacks from your fave brand)?? you don’t have to stick to these but yahhh 😭😭

i love ur writing a lot!! you style has me squealing lol

— KEEPING YOU WARM

pairing. pro hero! shoto x pro hero! fem reader

fluff!, shoto is an absolute gentleman, i absolutely love this request i hope this is to your liking and loved up to your expectations!! 💗

You loved patrolling, in contrast to what other heroes might say, to you patrolling was relaxing-to some extent of course. It definitely was not relaxing when there were villains in need to be caught.

However, there were those bone-chilling winter nights that made you absolutely hate patrolling to an incredible extent. Your winter hero costume that to others looked very warm, didn’t exactly do its job at keeping you warm.

Your breath fogged in the air as you sighed, your hands desperate going up and down your arms in search for warmth, any warmth. Your patrol partner—Shoto, who was walking one your side, glanced at you with his heterochromic eyes, completely unfazed by the weather. His hair was dusted with small bits of frost as snow came down on you both.

“You’re shivering.” He pointed out, his eyes staring at you softly.

You shook your head quickly, “I’m not, it’s fine.”

This was your first time ever patrolling—no less meeting the Pro Hero, you did not want to leave the impression on him that you could not handle the slightest bit of cold. However, he could see right through you by the way your teeth chattered as you replied back.

Shoto didn’t say anything back and swiftly unwrapped his his thick white scarf from around his neck. He stepped closer to you, “May I?” He asked innocently. You wanted to protest, decline, this was too embarrassing for you but your head moved on its own and you found yourself nodding.

He gently wrapped his scarf around your neck, the warm material quickly soothing your cold skin.

“Thank you.” You whispered, looking up at him mesmerized, God he was such a gentleman, you totally understood his fangirls now.

He met your gaze, eyes soft but filled with slight concern. “You were cold.” Those three words make your heart flutter, his attentiveness was so attractive. Your ears turned pink and you blushed as his hand made contact with your shoulder, he gave it a small pat before beginning to walk again.

You quickly followed after him, the faint smell of vanilla that hit your nose from his scarf making you slightly dizzy.

“What about you? Won’t you be cold?” Your voice was soft as you asked, nervous. The Pro Hero shrugged, a faint smile coating his lips. “I’m my own furnace.” He chuckled and raised his left hand as a small fire danced on his palm.

You laughed softly and nodded your head, your breath still visible in the air. “Good point.”

You both kept patrolling until your shifts ended. However in one swift motion turned to you, “If It is okay with you, I’d like to take you out for a warm cup of coffee the next time you are free. So you won’t be as cold.”

His words caught you off guard but you quickly nodded and grinned. “I’d really like that.”

He nodded and waved you goodbye as you both parted ways. Not only did you leave feeling warm instead of freezing cold, but you also left looking forward to a date with the handsome man.

© CHSVOK. please do not plagiarize, copy, or translate my work in any way, shape, or form.

reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

[ashbeneviento]

The Four Lords…and a 🍃💨 rotation:

(This is just a silly HC because I’ve been sick and am so bored)

• Alcina Dimitrescu- I mean.. who said that wasn’t a joint in her hand already? She’s an avid cannibis enjoyer. Dealing with a whole castle, her daughters AND Karl? Yeah. Momma needs a smoke break. She’s pretty relax when she’s high, she might raid the cellar more often due to the munchies. She doesn’t consider it unclassy to smoke, in fact she prides herself on having the best in the market.

• Karl Heisenberg- You’d think he would be able to handle a blunt but, like most things in his life, it never turns out the way he hopes. He’s either greening out or getting emotional over his Lycans doing mudane things, like sleeping like a human would. 100% taking pictures and posting it to the Lords group chat with unnecessary emojis. Alcina proceeds to take another hit because she’s tired.

• Salvatore Moreau- Fish sticks here is a stoner. Prefers bongs over blunts and spends most of his high floating in the reservoir. Of course cheese is his go to munchies snack, and likes to gossip with the fishes. Is his bong water the same water from the reservoir? Yes. Yes it is. Nasty little creature. But at least he can handle himself unlike his brother..

• Donna Beneviento- Everyone thinks she’s an innocent, naive little girl still and wouldn’t do drugs ever. LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER. She’s not only the supplier, but the only one in the village. Her gardening skills go beyond her flowers, and tweaks the strains based on the consumer’s personally. Regular cannabis doesn’t work on mutants so she had to get creative. Very chill smoker. Is she really antisocial or is she high out of her mind during those meetings? Angie on the other hand doesn’t need drugs. She’s just.. like that.

BONUS: Mother Miranda thinks it smells and is put off by it. She prefers a penjamin and only hits it if they’re Mia’s, because she’s got that fruity flavor shit like “Cosmic Banana Blast”. She’s less cold and bitchy when she’s high and will call Alcina in odd hours to gossip about the villagers.

And the Black God shakes it’s head in disappointment.

[thomamaru]

Left on the Sidelines (Chapter 1)

Synopsis: You walked in the arena, filled with excitement to be watching your boyfriend play a match after sooo many years. The promise of him getting to spend time with you after the match kept you on your feet. Until something flipped in Rin.

Tags: rin itoshi x gn!reader, takes setting in the blue lock VS u20 match, angst, kinda ooc rin i think, inspired by an au i saw on tiktok, cold rin

The anticipation was almost unbearable. You had waited weeks, no, months for this.

Ever since Rin was recruited into the Blue Lock program, your relationship had been a series of stolen moments—a few texts here, a hurried call there.

He’d always been laser-focused, but the promise he made about spending time with you after the U-20 match was what kept you going.

The night before the match, his voice had softened in rare reassurance over the phone:

“I’ll make it up to you. Just wait for me after the game.”

Those words stayed with you, adding an extra bounce to your steps as you arrived at the stadium. You made sure to secure a seat close to the field.

The crowd buzzed with energy, a sea of people clad in team colors, waving banners and shouting cheers. The intensity was palpable, but your eyes were only searching for one person.

As the players began to emerge, the applause grew thunderous. Finally, you saw him—the unmistakable figure of Rin Itoshi walking out with his team.

His teal eyes scanned the crowd, and the moment his gaze landed on you, his expression softened just slightly. He raised a hand, a subtle wave accompanied by a small, almost imperceptible smile.

Your heart swelled. It felt like time rewound itself to when you first fell for him—those giddy butterflies fluttering uncontrollably in your chest.

No matter how tough his demeanor, Rin had always had that quiet way of showing you he cared.

The first half of the game was mesmerizing. Rin was a force of nature, orchestrating plays with precision and determination. While the rest of the team moved with frenzied energy, he was a pillar of calm, calculating each step.

But what truly warmed your heart was how his eyes occasionally flickered toward you in the stands. In those fleeting moments, you felt like his anchor, grounding him amidst the chaos of the game.

By the second half, the match transformed into a battlefield. Rin’s demeanor changed—his intensity radiated off him in waves, and the once-composed boy became almost ruthless.

His ability to lead his team while shutting down the opponents was astounding, but the fierceness in his movements unsettled you slightly. Still, as the whistle blew, signaling the end of the game and Blue Lock’s victory, pride swelled within you.

You couldn’t wait to tell him how amazing he’d been.

---

You made your way to the backstage area designated for players' guests, weaving through the lingering crowd. Finding a spot near the entrance, you stood with your phone clutched tightly in your hands.

He’ll be here soon.

A few minutes passed. Then twenty. Thirty.

Your excitement began to dwindle, replaced by a creeping sense of unease. You pulled out your phone and shot him a message:

You: “Great game! I’m waiting backstage. Can’t wait to see you! <3”

No response.

Ten more minutes. You tried again.

You: “Rin, everything okay? I’m still here.”

Still nothing.

You shifted on your feet, anxiety brewing in your chest. The other guests slowly began to disperse, but you stayed rooted in place, glancing at the entrance every few seconds.

As the area grew quieter, you noticed a group of men lingering nearby. Their loud laughter and lingering stares sent a chill down your spine.

“Hey, are you waiting for someone?” one of them called out, stepping closer.

You stiffened, pretending not to hear him, but your silence only emboldened them.

“Don’t be shy, sweetheart,” another sneered, closing the distance.

“I’m fine,” you said firmly, though your trembling voice betrayed your fear.

“Come on, no need to be like that,” the first man insisted, his tone mockingly sweet.

Panic clawed at your throat. Your mind screamed for Rin, but the cold reality that he wasn’t there sank in like a stone. You tried to stall, desperately hoping someone—anyone—would notice what was happening.

“Back off!” a voice suddenly barked, cutting through the tension.

"Rin?" You mumbled. A part of you was hoping it was Rin. You looked up only to have disappointment rush over you.

A passerby had noticed the commotion and intervened, causing the group to scatter. Relief flooded through you, but it was short-lived. As much as you were grateful for the stranger’s help, all you could think was: Why wasn’t it Rin?

The adrenaline faded, leaving you emotionally drained as you returned to the waiting area. The once-busy stadium was now almost empty, the excitement of the match replaced by eerie silence.

Your heart clenched painfully as you glanced at your phone—no missed calls, no texts. You had clung to his promise, but now, all you felt was hurt and anger.

Finally, you left. By the time you got home, the weight of everything crashed down, and tears spilled freely. How could Rin have left you like that, after all his assurances?

---

The next day, Rin sent a brief text:

Rin: “Sorry. Got caught up. I’ll explain later.”

You stared at the message, the hurt bubbling to the surface. Taking a deep breath, you replied, trying to mask your anger:

You: “Is everything okay? I waited so long for you yesterday…”

No response came. Hours passed, and your phone screen remained blank, the weight of silence heavy in your chest. Still, you convinced yourself he was tired from the game or busy celebrating with his team.

Rin wasn’t always expressive, but he wouldn’t ignore you intentionally... right?

Over the next few days, your messages to Rin became more frequent, a desperate attempt to bridge the growing distance.

You: “Hey, how’s training? I hope you’re not pushing yourself too hard!”

Rin: “I’m fine. Just busy.”

You: “Can we call tonight? I miss you.”

Rin: “Can’t. Long day tomorrow.”

Each reply felt colder, more detached than the last. It was as if he was replying out of obligation, his once thoughtful responses reduced to bare-bones excuses.

You told yourself he was just stressed, that this phase would pass. Yet, every time you initiated contact, you were met with the same wall of indifference.

Determined to salvage what you had, you decided to surprise him. You knew Rin rarely had time off, but you figured bringing him his favorite snacks or even spending a few moments together might make a difference.

You: “I’m heading near your training facility tomorrow. Should I drop by and bring you something?”

His reply came after an hour:

Rin: “Don’t. I won’t be able to meet you.”

You swallowed back the lump forming in your throat.

You: “Oh… okayyyy. Maybe another time?”

No response.

Even when you were apart, you used to find ways to support him. You’d send messages of encouragement, tell him how proud you were, remind him that you were rooting for him every step of the way. But now, it felt like you were shouting into the void.

You: “I know things are hectic right now, but I’m always here for you. Just… don’t forget that, okay?”

When he finally replied, his words stung like ice:

Rin: “You don’t have to check up on me all the time. I’m fine.”

The indifference in his tone hit you like a slap. Tears welled in your eyes, but you forced yourself to type back.

You: “I’m just worried about you, Rin. That’s all.”

His next message made your chest ache:

Rin: “There’s no need. Focus on yourself.”

The following weekend, you tried one last time to bridge the gap. After deliberating for hours, you sent him a long message.

You: “Rin, I know you’re under a lot of pressure, and I don’t want to get in the way of your goals. But it’s hard not hearing from you, not knowing how you’re feeling. I miss the way we used to be. I know I’ve been texting a lot… but it’s just because I care about you so much. I wish we could talk like we used to.”

Minutes turned into hours with no reply. That night, your phone finally buzzed.

Rin: “I can’t give you the attention you want right now. You’re better off focusing on other things.”

His words were like a dagger to your heart.

Note: there's a part 2, don't worry ;)))