#it's about meeting someone you love again for the first time

[lightseoul]

a/n. once again, i have been inspired by a random instagram reel. i didn't even watch it, really—i just saw the keyword and was immediately spurred into writing this. enjoy <3 (0.9k)

you feel his gaze on you before you even think of meeting it.

“what,” you state more than ask when he doesn’t let up after a minute, not bothering to look up from the book you’re reading.

a scoff resounds from his direction. then: “too lazy to even move your shitty eyes?”

“don’t have to,” you retort as you finally close the paperback, shifting in your bed to regard him. “you’re boring holes into my face with all that staring.”

from where he’s seated at your dining table, bakugou grumbles, although he doesn’t deny the allegations. your face softens when you realize belatedly that he’s being awfully quiet—a jarring juxtaposition to his usual brashness.

something’s up.

but you know better than to pry it from him.

you mentally sigh. the roundabout way it is.

“what, am i extra pretty today?” you joke out of your ass, and that catches him off guard because he chokes on his own spit. that wasn’t part of the plan but you can’t help it—you laugh as he coughs his lungs out, somehow managing to throw in a curse or two in between rasps.

“shitty fucking—” he hacks some more, and when he finally recovers: “i don’t know why i fucking put up with you.”

you shrug, not at all hurt by the otherwise scathing statement. he’s said that to you too many times to count and yet, he’s still here. hanging out with you in your apartment on a friday night, no less.

you don’t point out any of that, though, confident that said knowledge is true enough for the both of you to leave it unspoken. so instead, you continue down the jesting route. “you wouldn’t know how to talk to girls without me, that’s why.”

“fuck off,” he tosses without missing a beat. “i can get the fuck by without your shitty ass guidance.”

that makes you grin, because no, he definitely can’t. how can he when he refuses to do the very first step? as in, choose a girl to talk to?

you know, someone who isn’t you.

his reluctant (best) friend.

and as if he read your mind, he shoots you a pointed look. “and i told you,” he hisses, “you use up all my fuckin’ tolerance. can’t have another girl around because you drive me crazy enough.”

“thanks, kats. i love you, too.”

“whatever,” he answers petulantly as he looks away, although you catch wind of the faint tinge of pink spreading across his cheeks like it always does when you shower him with affection—to his chagrin.

“so…” you start when neither of you says anything for a moment, “am i extra pretty today? or do you wanna share, i don’t know, something.”

“if i spit it out, will you fucking stop badgering me about how you look? you haven’t even showered today, for fuck’s sake.”

a pillow is flung across the room before you can think against it.

“wha—” he gets out instinctively before dodging it with ease. you roll your eyes as he flashes you a victorious smirk. of course. of all the jobs he could have in the world, he had to be a pro-hero and have the signature pro-hero reflexes.

his countenance then morphs as he stares at you expectantly, waiting for an answer, and you have to bite back the fuck you that’s dangling at the tip of your tongue. instead, you give him a curt nod, feigning nonchalance to further coax him into spilling whatever’s in his mind.

“go on,” you press when he doesn’t follow it up immediately after.

“i’m getting to it, alright? jesus.”

a pause.

then, another.

and when you’re finally convinced he’s just playing with you and won’t reveal whatever secret he’s got hidden behind the vault he calls his lips, he says it.

“i’m getting a vasectomy.”

you blink at him.

that was not what you were expecting.

“wh—what?”

you can only watch him in utter bewilderment as he flushes, covering up his fluster with a glare. “you heard me.”

“but, kats,” you begin, not knowing how to say the next bit, “…you’re a virgin. and you’ve never been with anyone romantically.”

the pink from earlier instantly deepens into a scarlet. “so what, hah? you’re the one to talk!”

“no, no,” you manage to respond, slowly shaking your head. you have no idea what’s happening. “that wasn’t meant to be a roast. like, at all. it’s just…why?”

bakugou doesn’t answer right away, instead choosing to press his lips into a thin line.

“you said it yourself, didn’t you?” he says after a while, voice uncharacteristically hushed, as if he doesn’t want you to hear him. you lean in ever so minutely, straining to listen from a few feet away.

“said wait?” you ask, matching the stillness of his tone.

“that birth control fucks you up.”

at that, you barely manage to school your shock into a neutral expression, although it’s definitely your heart that’s suddenly hammering wildly against your chest at his admission. you open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. his gaze is dizzyingly penetrating as you struggle to get your words out, until you finally manage a warbled “y-yeah.”

he probably meant that birth control fucks you—women—up, and not you you.

yeah, that’s definitely it.

with this new strand of knowledge, you’re able to muster a genuine smile his way. “that’s very thoughtful of you, kats.”

and just because you like to be sure of things, you throw in the next thing for good measure.

“she’ll be very lucky to have you.”

silence.

“hah?!”

(the keyword was vasectomy lol) (petition for more birth control methods for men)

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra

[zorilleerrant]

What they didn't tell you, when you made that bargain, was that it changed from person to person how much you had to sacrifice. There have been complete strangers you've been able to resurrect for the price of a hank of hair, all the way on the other side of the world. Someone you never knew by anything but reputation might cost nothing but a palmful of blood or the skin from hands rubbed raw. The costs aren't hidden. For every potential resurrection, you know just exactly what you have to give to ignite it, and it depends on how much you care.

There are people you hate that you've managed to resurrect with a mouthful of spit. Even with your mouth gone dry from terror, you can bring back your enemies. Just because you hate them doesn't mean no one needs them back. Their families can tell how you feel, you're pretty sure, but they still hug you as they thank you for bringing someone back. They meet your eyes, afterwards, most of them. Some of them even thank you themselves. None of them bother to get in your way again, not after they're back.

You lost your smallest finger to a childhood friend. The two of you hadn't spoken in years, but still, there was that love that lingered, there were those memories like treacle making it so hard to tug a person back. When you heard, when they reached out to you on a long shot, you rushed back home.

It wasn't the first body part you lost, of course. You'd had to try. The first you lost was to the young prince, not because he was so beloved by you, but because the people wanted it badly enough it infected you with greed, delusions of grandeur, some certainty that you'd be held in estimation far above your peers. It cost you an ear, because ears are cosmetic, but it's enough to remind you, every time. How much you care is often personal, but not always.

It caught you in the mirror, right after. You hated the sight of yourself, then, staring at the brand new scar that looked years old. You wished you'd had the years to think about it. Instead, all you could do was practice until you were sure you knew how.

That was when you discovered it. Planning to dig divots into your arms and legs, you were confronted with a pit of unmourned dead, each one asking no more than a fingernail. A strand of hair. The brush of your eye against a single tear shed. You perfected your technique, that night. You practiced until you knew every shift and shimmer of the magic, and it cost you nothing at all.

You're known as a healer. You're known as a healer because you travel the land every day, in a cycle that's roughly predictable, and people can always apply for your aid. You rarely turn them down. You don't have the werewithal to care about other people's dead, anymore, which means you can care for all of them, with a sympathetic smile you barely feel on your face. Most of your kind have lost at least a leg, somewhere along the way, scarred more obtrusively than what you bear: only one whole hand, only one whole ear. There's a scar on the back of your shoulder where you were too shocked to wait for calm to bring a child back, and you think that's the last time it hit you, even if you sometimes still cry.

There was only one reason you undertook this quest, one person important enough to risk all of that, and you have to wait until you couldn't possibly care anymore, because a life that's important enough to take your life will ask it. Eventually this knowledge will wear you out. When it does, you know it will be safe to try again.

You can bring dead people to live again, but for every person you bring back, you have to sacrifice one body part

[therightbeaches]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 ⋆ 𝐚. 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

synopsis: following a near-encounter with death, your not-quite-boyfriend slash boss takes it upon himself to take care of you. [5.7k] contents: fem!bau!reader, reader was mentioned to be hurt but no gory descriptions about what happened, but theres semi-graphic (?) descriptions of hypothetical injury, first kiss, soft hotch, this is fully self-indulgent fluff (forgive me) a/n: i've never written for criminal minds before and i am rather nervous so please dont criticize too harshly :') + i tried to not make him too ooc (not sure how well that worked out.) i also beg for one-shot requests because i love writing them :p reblogs and comments are more than appreciated ♡ i hope you enjoy!

Sense by sense you come to.

Taste. On your tongue lingers the metallic taste of blood. It coats your throat thick like petroleum jelly. The aftertaste of artificial sweetener. Saccharine.

Smell. It’s sterile, alcohol swabs. Dully sweet like laundry. Coffee and creamer. So good and warm it’s nauseating.

Hearing. Steady beeping somewhere from your right. The rustle of fabric. Birdsong bleeds through thick walls. A phone rings, shrill and stark amongst the dull hustle and bustle outside of your room, and a woman speaks unintelligibly.

Touch. A pinprick tag itches against the back of your neck. Scratchy cotton sheets and a gauzy blanket and a too-flat pillow. Then a slow-burning hurt that climbs through your limbs like being devoured by flame, and you think that if you didn’t already meet your end then this must be what it’s like.

Your eyes blink open. The fluorescent lights above are too bright for you to see anything. Metal clinks as someone opens the curtains, then, Aaron’s face comes into your view in a hazy blur. He has a big bandage on his left cheek and prominent dark circles but otherwise looks well enough.

“Hello,” he says, and a warm paper cup of coffee is pushed into your stiff hands. “How do you feel?”

“Bad.”

“I know. I’m sorry. How much does it hurt?”

“Um... a six and a half. I mostly feel really out of it.”

“They’ve given you as much painkillers as they can. I bet that the brain fog will lift once you have something solid to eat.”

You push yourself up slowly as he edges into focus. In one hand he has a black duffel bag with your old shirt’s dirty sleeve hanging out of the zipper top, white fabric stained rust-brown with dirt and old blood. In the other, a thick manila folder with a seal adorning the front and his pen shoved into the crease.

There’s a strange silence then; strange within itself and strange in the fact that, with him, silence is never strange. His lips twitch downwards: he can feel it too. Then he inhales sharply as though it stings to speak.

“You were more than brave out there. You saved Julia’s life.”

“Thank you. That’s what I wanted to do.”

Your tone must not be convincing enough because he puts the bag down and curls his fingers around the half-rails of your bed, reinforces the idea with a pointed look and sighs, “I’m being serious. We wouldn’t have made it in time to help her without your courage.”

“Thank you,” you say again, milder this time.

He doesn’t say anything further. He doesn’t need to. The sort of unspoken communication that blossoms with time and effort; he looks out for you, and in turn you look out for him. It’s the same for the rest of the team, of course, but it’s no coincidence that you’re the one he always picks to watch his six in the field. And, again, he needn’t speak for you to know. Perhaps born from the innate desire to wane the burn of vulnerability; words stamped across his skin invisible to the untrained eye.

It’s different this time, though. He’s leaving not because he wants to — rather, he has to, stolen away from you as you were him by your profession (a whole thirty-six hours he had to spend without you around to nag him, what a tragedy it was!) You’d expected him to come just to leave since the moment you saw him, but perhaps foolishly, you’d clung to a shard of hope that’d cut up and bloodied your palms. You rub them together self-consciously.

He waves the folder in the air unenthusiastically and, despite him knowing you’ve already put the pieces together, voices it anyway.

“I can’t really stay for long,” he says simply.

“Where are you going?”

A prompt, disguised by niceties in typical fashion, though entirely unnecessary with him: when will I be able to see you again?

He sucks on his teeth and flips the folder open. “Albany. I think a day or two at most and we’ll be back.” He spares the details of the case lest you worry yourself to your grave. Your recent brush with death has already been nearly too much for the team to handle.

You don’t mean to slip into the habit of doubting him, not Aaron, who knows better than to lie to you because always he’ll splinter, crack, then crumble into a fine powder under the weight of your gaze. He’s smart, so smart, and so perceptive and by God if you know anything, you know him — down to the lines of his fingerprints and each individual eyelash across his waterlines, and you know now that something is troubling him.

“What is it?” you ask.

His brows crease in the center like you’ve said something offensive. “What is what?”

“You’re sulking.”

“I’m not,” he says, sounding like he’s sulking.

He knows something that you don’t and he doesn’t want to tell you — evident through the bob of his Adam’s apple with a thick swallow, the whitening of his knuckles around the bed’s guard rails. You give your cup a perfunctory squeeze and the plastic lid pops off and skitters to the ground.

There’s another silence wherein you wait, he waits too, staring at you dumbly. An eternity passes till he brushes his thumb over the length of your forearm, elbow to wrist, then traces the ridges of your knuckles before letting his arm drop limply to his side. He looks around to make sure nobody is within earshot and draws the blue privacy curtains around your bed to enforce extra precaution.

“I was just worried,” he finally says, his voice lowered. “I still am, honestly. You know, seeing you like… this.” Like, sick and weak, strung up with IVs like a puppet and unable to move without strain. “And I don’t want to leave you,” he adds as an afterthought.

In the presence of other agents, doctors, strangers, he’s a professional. He knows how to keep things curt and platonic, but when it’s just you and him, I missed you, I was worried about you, I need you around, I can’t lose you.

The way he speaks to you makes you feel something. He worries about you every moment you’re on the field. He frets over you when you’re ill, misses you when you’re apart, thinks about you all the time. Long ago you’d passed the threshold between mere team members to friends, and now, you’re touching base with what’s next. Beyond friends. Borderline lovers. Whatever that could mean for you. And the vulnerability in his voice strikes you, making him sound so small, so pained by your pain.

“You don’t need to worry,” you say, hoping to soothe his qualms. “I feel alright.”

“I can’t help it. I thought... I don’t know what I thought.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” is your light response, then a switch of the topic, and you ask again, “Will you tell me about the case?”

He puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder, then it moves to push your hair out of your eyes. Lingers in a soft caress on your cheek and your palm fits over the back of it when you lift your hand to cover his.

“Like I said, I think it’ll only be a couple days. Don’t stress yourself out over it. I want you to focus on getting better, alright?”

“Can you call me?” you ask.

“Every chance I get.”

And, trapped in the makeshift prison of your hospital bed, you can only croak out a weak goodbye that scratches your throat as you watch him leave.

⊹₊ 𐙚

It’s been a week since they discharged you from the hospital, assigned a lot of rest and fluids. Seldom a word from Aaron, though, and you, too, are beginning to fret just like he had over you. Your cuticles are peeled from existence, you’ve bit your nails too short and raw and red, your lips are chapped to the point your mouth tastes of metal more often than not.

Penelope has been more than kind and has kept you company in your too-empty apartment, even bringing over the case file and a grainy image of the evidence board sent over by the rest of the team for your viewing pleasure. You didn’t have much of value to add and ended up feeling more useless than you were to begin with.

Now, your gaze is trained on the toes of your too-big socks. A seam is misaligned along the top and the heel has pulled up to the back of your ankle. And you think of him. He’s all you can think about as of late. Feels something like nausea crawling up your throat to think of something happening to him.

Nervous. On edge. Sick with worry. He said one or two days. It’s been six and counting, who knows what could have happened to him out there, he was being secretive about it and he’s never secretive with you. Not you, why wouldn’t he tell you what was happening? Why wouldn’t he let on any details about the case? What if he’d anticipated getting hurt or —

You don’t dare entertain the thought. The only reason you’d imagined it up in the first place is because it happened to you. In the end, you’re still very much human no matter how much bureaucratic authority you have. That’s to say, you’re very much flesh and blood and bone, and from the safety of your apartment Aaron is even more so when he’s out on the field. Flesh can be cut, torn apart, blood can spill unstoppably like a faucet, bone can shatter into a million unfixable pieces. A bulletproof vest will do nothing against a knife jammed into his neck or a shotgun to the back of his head. You shudder and tug at your socks to un-bunch them from your heels.

In the middle of your bout of overthinking, the lock on your door clicks and turns and it swings open with a quiet creak. Aaron stands in the doorway, backlit by the dingy lights outside, akin to an angel with the cast of his hair and the contours of his face dipped in shadow.

“Hello? Honey, I have something for you,” is the first thing he says, the silhouette of his arm twisted to hide something behind his back. From his other hand dangles his go-bag, which falls to the floor of your living room with a dull thud. He peels out of his jacket and tosses it over the back of a chair.

The relief chokes you. Strangles you till you’re blue in the face. You’re struck speechless and can only watch as he pushes the door closed behind him and tosses the keys into the catchall on the hall table, toes off his shoes, then comes over to sit with you on the couch. Plastic crinkles behind his back as he moves closer.

“I’ve got something,” he says again. “A present for you.”

“Aaron-”

“Before you say I didn’t need to, I wanted to,” he interjects, waving a hand to stop you. “I saw them while I was out and thought of you.”

“The anticipation is killing me.”

All turbulent emotions vanish like morning dew on a sunny afternoon, your heart thrumming hard against the confinement of your ribs. You let yourself think it’s only because you’re just excited to see him in good spirits, certainly not because he places a hand on your knee and squeezes lightly, or looks at you with poorly-concealed adoration in his gaze, or the knowledge of the fact he thinks of you often enough to go out of his way to get you something nice.

From behind his back, he produces a bouquet of pink roses wrapped neatly in a matching shade of cellophane with a flourish and you nearly fall to the ground. He’s brought you flowers. Roses. He saw roses while he was out and they made him think of you, and that thought alone nearly has you knocked out cold.

You’re able to mutter his name before you reach for his shoulders for a hug, and he lets out a small huff as he’s pushed down to lay back on the couch with your arms around him.

“Consider this my apology for being too busy to call,” he murmurs.

“Thank you,” you say, breathless. “Consider your apology accepted.”

His free hand rubs up and down your back, lingering flush to the space between your shoulder blades to press you close to his chest. “How have you been?”

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah? Has Garcia been taking good care of you?”

You nod into his shoulder. “You know her.”

“That I do. Do you have a vase that I can put your flowers in?”

“There’s one in the kitchen cabinet.”

But he doesn’t yet stand to retrieve it, too engrossed in the warmth of your hug. This is not how a boss acts with his subordinate. Not even how a friend would act. If he were just a friend he wouldn’t come to you first, because your space is his space, and he wouldn’t have brought you a really nice bouquet, and he wouldn’t find such comfort in your embrace and the smell of your perfume that he goes slack under you. Him and you, always, together.

A moment passes and he shifts out from beneath you. You watch him get up with remorse, his hand holding onto yours till the distance draws his fingers away.

“You know,” he begins, rummaging around in your cabinets to find the aforementioned vase, “I’ve been honing in on my cooking skills.”

“That so?” you ask from the sofa, jelly-limbed with your neck craned to watch him.

“I can make stir fry if you want dinner.” His arm retracts from the cabinet, hand around the neck of your vase.

So he cooks for you. Insists upon it, even. Even though the hospital cleared you fine to go home and you feel more or less well, he insists on taking care of you. You let him. Maybe for his peace of mind. A chance to take care of you just like you’ve taken care of him countless times before. You won’t pretend to not like having him dote on you.

The roses sit between you, lit by warm candlelight because the overhead light buzzes too loud and the bulb flickers when you turn it on. It’s sweet and it’s romantic, shit, you really shouldn’t be getting so personally involved with your boss. The no-fraternization rules implemented by the Bureau higher-ups have been hammered into your skull since the day you joined, yet just look at you. Too late for go-backs now.

Over the table, you say, “You can stay the night, if you want to.”

It’s not that you’re implying anything because you’re not, voice void of sexual innuendo. He doesn’t seem to take it in such a way anyway. His gaze meets yours and he draws closer with a hand curled like a cage atop yours.

“I will,” he replies. “If you want me to.”

“I do.”

He’s slept over before a secret half-a-dozen or so times, mostly on the couch. Only in your bed once. That one time was after you’d came home from a particularly bad case, and it was the second time you’d seen him as upset as he was. Beaten black and blue, scraped up worse than he’s ever been on the job. You’d diligently cleaned his wounds up (always too proud to sit in the back of an ambulance and let a professional take care of it), sat with him until he fell asleep, then you never spoke of it again.

Tonight he sleeps beside you. Blissfully unaware to the way you stare at his profile — the line of his nose, the mess of his hair where it’s fallen over his forehead, the way the light catches on his fluttering lashes and turns them a pale blue. The back of your knuckles run against his cheekbone. Tender, soft, so unlike most anything else he knows now.

He’s beautiful. All of you belongs to him.

You stir to Aaron’s heavy arm draped across your abdomen and crack one eye open to see him staring at you. The room is warm, sunshine spilling over his back to paint him shining gold, and the tip his of nose presses against your neck when he sees you’re awake. He must’ve gotten up before you woke because you can smell fresh-cut grass from the open window and the scent of coffee brewing floats in from the kitchen, and from outside you can hear the humming drone of a lawnmower, the song of morning birds chirping.

“Did I wake you up?” he asks, more a murmur than anything.

You shake your head no. A part of you — the small part that yearned for his care and attention long before now — is awestruck. You’ve got Aaron in your bed, the same Aaron who bleeds and hurts and fights beside you, the man who hadn’t wanted you on the team in the first place, and he’s touching you like you’re made of glass.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

“I’m okay for now,” you reply.

“Are you sure, honey? I can cut up some fruit for you. You could do with some vitamins… maybe some sun, too.” Mournfully, he gets up from bed, leaving you with only the warmth of the sheets where he lay just a moment ago. You watch, blinking slow, breathing slow.

“I’m really fine,” you insist meekly, pulling the blankets up to your chin.

With hands planted on either side of your head, he leans back over you in bed, brows pulled in concern like you’re still bedridden in the hospital. His thumb ghosts over the delicate skin of your undereye, then lower, feather-light down the slope of your jaw and to where your collarbone peeks out from the neck of your shirt.

“I’ll bring you a bowl,” he says, disregarding the rejection.

And then he kisses you before he leaves to the kitchen. Nothing full-fledged, only a brief press of his lips to your cheek, but it renders a swell in your gut, too hot beneath your quilt, breathless like your heart is going to rip straight out of your chest and chase him down to kiss him again. The print of his lips burns white-hot. A brand on your skin.

He pauses in the threshold of your bedroom and looks back. “I’m sorry if that was… weird.”

“No! No, it wasn’t weird. I liked it, actually.”

“Oh, okay.”

Aaron fusses over you incessantly the entire day, from cutting your fruit up to holding your hand to help you to the couch, despite your insistence that you’re fully recovered. He isn’t so used to putting his feelings so brashly on display, but you’ve been walking this tightrope between friends and more for a while and it’s no secret he wants it. Wants you. Wants whatever you may have to offer. No matter if you’re well or not, he’ll want you.

“Thank you,” you say over lunch, picking idly at the tangerine he’d peeled for you. “For staying with me, I mean.”

He lifts his head. He’s opened the window above your sink, citing the lovely weather and your need for sunshine as his reasons for letting the bugs in, and it makes his eyes shine from his seat facing the sun.

You’re like a vampire, he had said. Don’t get me wrong, definitely a beautiful and kind one, but fresh air will do you good, then he’d laughed as he stood in the spill of warmth exuding from the open window.

In his hand is the other half of the tangerine, which he assiduously peels the spongy pith from and discards in a small heap atop your dining table.

“I hope you know that I don’t mind.” Aaron breathes out and hands you two slices stripped of their white viscera. “I like taking care of you. Every so often someone get hurts on the field and it never gets more comfortable to deal with. It makes me feel… good to be here with you.”

“That’s really nice of you to say.”

“It’s only the truth.”

You’ve been better for the greater part of a week and no longer need babying like you did at the start, you think, but withhold on commenting for fear that he thinks you don’t like having him around. You more than like it, really, and you like it even more when he leans over the table enticingly.

He’s smiling widely when he speaks. “And the company is the best part.”

“Even if the company is a vampire?” You touch the side of his throat, flush over his jugular where a vampire might bite. His heart thrums hard beneath the pads of your fingers when you push down with the faintest pressure.

“Even so.”

⊹₊ 𐙚

“Can I see you in my office? There’s something that I want to talk to you about.”

You stand from your desk. Aaron — rather, Hotch, because you’re at work — has been staring at you through his window the entire morning like a reverse-scenario zoo animal in an enclosure. It’s been unsettling to feel someone’s eyes on you perpetually but you let it slide because you know he’s just worried. He made it very clear that he didn’t want you coming back to the office so soon, for worry you might bump a fading bruise on the exceedingly dangerous desks in the bullpen or injure your back further by sitting in the expensive, cushy roller chair.

It’s an overcast Monday in light of your sunny weekend. Aaron had messaged you at five-thirty in the morning, insisted heavily that if you intended on coming in today then it had better be with a warm coat on. You’d come to a tentative middle ground via a knit sweater that he likes because Emily runs cold and makes sure the whole office knows it (Seriously, you can’t remember the last time she’d allowed it to be less than the low eighties, and most of the team would rather bear the heat than listen to her gripe about how cold it is. Today, it’s freezing. The heat is broken and you figure you’ll have to deal with it once she comes in.)

He’s waiting for you when you step in and close the door behind you, drawing the blinds. “How are you?”

“I’m well. I’d be better if you’d stayed home to rest.”

“I promise I’m recovered enough for desk work, Aaron.”

He grumbles with no real upset and beckons for you to come around the other side of his desk. When you do and lean back with palms braced over the lip, a broad hand slips around your waist to touch your back. He drops it quickly. So unprofessional, you might tease, if you weren’t so pleased with the fact that he’s unabashedly touching you at work.

Something in the air has shifted. Following the night you spent together, it’s as if the spark between you has turned into a real firecracker, a sparkling dazzle of neon color and fizzling light. He’d left Saturday afternoon after a lot of coaxing that you’d be alright alone, made you promise you’d eat real food and not just cereal and frozen pizza and TV dinners. Most importantly, he wouldn’t leave without kissing you silly all over your cheeks and forehead and jaw. And when you’d anticipated the killing blow and closed your eyes and parted your lips, he’d bid you goodbye with an affectionate pat to your shoulder.

It was cruel, but you don’t mind waiting for a real kiss. The riper the fruit, the sweeter the juice, isn’t that what they say? This thing, for lack of a better word, with Aaron being as discernible as it is, is still relatively new. Not to mention he’s navigating romance for the first time again after Haley, so you’re more than willing to take it slow with him.

“What did you do over the rest of the weekend?” he asks conversationally.

“You know, the ushe.” You tuck your cold hands between your knees, press your lips together like you’re really devastated by the answer you’d come up with. “I laid around feeling sorry for myself, missing you…” you trail off, wistful.

“You poor thing,” Aaron responds sympathetically. “What can I do?”

You lean forward with a mock show of great sadness, though not without an underlying coquettish, hopeful demeanor. “The only thing that would make it all better is dinner later tonight with someone special.”

“What a coincidence. I was just thinking of asking my own someone special if she wanted to get takeout and spend the night at mine after work.”

It’s awful, the way he’s staring at you and beaming. Like you’re the one who hung all the stars in the sky, crafted the constellations just for him; like you control the tide of the ocean and the spin of the Earth; like you’re the light that makes the moon glow. Makes you want to grab him by his hand and bring him back to your place and never let him leave the comfort of your apartment. Keep him safe and warm and content.

You settle instead on smoothing his lapels down. He isn’t propositioning you when he asks you to stay over — never would he be so blatant, and you don’t think you’re quite involved enough yet for such a risqué offer to be on the table (though the notion has you imagining a torturous handful of things that you wouldn’t dream of telling him about.)

“Tell you what,” he begins. He moves his chair to be positioned in front of you. You have to look directly down to see him face-to-face. “We’ll pick up some dinner and we can watch whatever movie you like. Do you have your go-bag?”

“I do... and if I want to watch Mean Girls?”

“I’ll watch anything you want,” he supplies.

“Oh, how sweet are you?”

“Don’t tell anyone. My professional reputation would be ruined.”

Truth be told, there is a prominent lack of ‘professional reputation’ in Aaron’s department, at least within the team. He can pretend as much as he likes for as long as he likes but it’s their specialty to sniff out lies, pick up on secret cues, and of course they notice when he comes into the office with two cups of coffee instead of one, when he holds your hand to help you up the steps of the jet. You’ve received enough conspiratorial looks to know that they know.

You don’t suppose Aaron is your boyfriend. Your relationship with him is a nuanced thing. Becoming the brunt of office gossip is one thing, jeopardizing your careers is another — Strauss has her suspicions and there’s been, well… talk that stokes the (albeit small) kindling flame. It comes down to having a discussion that will remain on the back burner until the both of you can sit down and discuss the professional implications and the other difficult things that Aaron doesn’t want to talk about.

Dark has long since encompassed the Bureau by the time that he decides to be done working. You’ve been waiting on the couch in his office for the better part of the day, his suit jacket draped over your legs fashioned into an impromptu blanket. And then there’s the shuffling of loose-leaf paper shoved into folders, the scratch of his chair’s wheels as he pushes it in.

The toes of his shiny oxfords come into view and a kind hand pushes a loose lock of hair out of your face. “Are you ready?”

He wedges his hand beneath the small of your back to get you up. You’re tired from your day and limp when he encourages you to sit, but ultimately allow him to prop you up against the back of the couch. You take his hand to stand up when he offers it to you.

One and a half years ago, he wouldn’t dream of holding your hand. Wouldn’t even sit next to you in the conference room or on the jet, in fact. But Aaron didn’t really start liking liking you until eight months ago and didn’t tell you for even longer. It took him a long while to gather the courage to come out and just say it like any normal adult with feelings might do.

If you told your former self you’d wind up holding hands with Unit Chief SSA Aaron Hotchner, going home to eat dinner with him and sleep in his bed, you’d have laughed in your own face. The most you’d ever let yourself indulge in such a fantasy prior to his grandiose confession of more than friendly feelings was maybe, just maybe, in an alternate timeline you’d met Aaron under different circumstances and it would have been history.

But you have him in this timeline. You have him picking up your dinner, driving you to his house, crouching down in front of you to undo the buckles keeping the straps of your kitten heels fastened around your ankles. He rubs your calf after tucking your shoes away before he stands and walks to the kitchen.

“What a long day,” he comments. He loosens the knot of his tie and looks over at you over his shoulder. “For you especially, I imagine. Does it get tiring, laying on the couch in my office?”

“Mhm,” you hum agreeably. “A very long day of very grueling paperwork. My boss can’t stop assigning me more and more when there are other agents who could share the workload.”

You know Aaron is smiling, even as he’s faced with his back to you. It’s clear in his voice. “Maybe your boss just thinks you’re very diligent and produce quality work.”

“That sounds to me a lot like favoritism, Hotchner.” You saunter up behind him, draping your arms around his waist. He tears apart the plastic bag holding your food then separates portions onto two ceramic plates.

“Uh-huh,” he says wryly. “You see, honey, favoritism would be more like if I let a member of my team quote unquote lay down to rest her eyes on my sofa instead of doing her work like I very kindly asked — oh wait, doesn’t that sound familiar?”

“So I am your favorite? Ooh, how scandalous. Imagine if word got out that you were picking favorites.”

“I must be doing something wrong if you have to ask.” Aaron turns and puts a hand on the back of your neck, scoffs, shakes his head good-naturedly. This mood he’s in, playful, teasing, is so rare, and you love it. “Do you ever see me letting Morgan take a nap during work hours?”

“Derek will nap regardless if you let him or not.”

(This is true. You’d caught him sleeping in the conference room once. He’d made you swear not to tell Aaron in exchange for vending machine money — and who were you to deny such a generous offer? Your silence was easily bought via chocolate bars.)

“In that case, I might have to give him a stern talking to.” His expression is grim.

“Oh, please don’t. He gave me money to buy candy from the machines if I swore not to tell you.”

Aaron is delighted by this answer. “But you’re telling me anyway?”

“Does that make me a bad friend?” you ask morosely.

“No, no. You’re the best friend. And an even better subordinate for ratting him out… it’s good to know where your loyalty lies.”

He’s laughing when he says it and then he isn’t laughing a mere moment later. Rather, he’s leaning in on a whim, eyes fluttering shut, a hand over the back of your neck, thumbs a whisper against the curve of your cheek. There’s a perceptible flash that travels like lighting up your spine — he’s going to kiss you for real this time, you know he is, and it’s something you’ve wanted for who-knows how long and it’s finally yours to have. To keep. And it’s not just about the kiss, is it? It’s about Aaron, like it most always is, and you thank your lucky stars one by one to have found a man like him and to be able to keep him.

But it’s over nearly as soon as it began. How torturous for it to end so quickly when you’ve dreamt of kissing him day and night. It’s only right for you to go for another and another and another, and yes, juice is always sweeter when the fruit has had time to ripen.

[trombonechurchill]

Saw this post by @rimatsu and had to write a lil bucktommy ficlet about it (hope you don't mind!) cause I love them. Yes I'm currently in a work meeting while doing this don't ask.

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

With Tommy, it’s always a little harder to get the problem out of him at first. He likes to skirt around the edges of the problem, checking the temperature of the water with little bits of small talk and jabs about how his family’s doing if Eddie tries to press in too quickly. It’s shockingly similar to how he fights too, so really Eddie shouldn’t be surprised.

Still, he feels like Tommy’s just sent him to the mat when he finally does lay what’s bothering him out, three beers in and a Dodgers game on the TV. 

“I think I want to marry him.”

Slowly, Eddie picks up a coaster and sets his beer on the coffee table. Tommy stares resolutely at the TV like he’s staring down a firing line.

“Okay,” Eddie says slowly, watching as Tommy slow curls forward, elbows on his knees, hands wrapped around the back of his head as he tugs at his own hair. “And you guys have been back together how long exactly?”

“Two months,” Tommy says glumly from where he’s trying to escape into his own shoes. 

“Right.” Eddie picks up his beer again and makes himself comfortable. It’s going to be a long night.

Buck was always more direct about a problem. He liked to latch onto things with the energy of a dog chasing a car, and tended to react with the same level of confusion any time he actually managed an answer on his own. Like the conclusion wasn’t real until he’d said it out loud a few times to someone to check how it felt.

 Eddie should probably know better than to not expect Buck to surprise him though.

“I bought a ring,” Buck says direly, sliding the box across the island with the same gravity as if he were handing Eddie a loaded gun.

“But Buck, we’ve just met,” Eddie says flatly. 

Buck throws a dishtowel at his head.

“I’m serious, Eddie, this- This is serious.” Buck motions again to the ring box on the counter, just in case Eddie missed it the first time he guesses.

“So the whole ‘we’re taking things slow this time’ thing…” Eddie starts. Buck throws his hands in the air.

“I know! I know I just.” Buck ducks his head and that smile, Buck’s ’Tommy Smile’. Well. Eddie can put up with a lot of stupid conversations  when he knows it ends with Buck or Tommy smiling like that.

[softtdaisy]

a better father / Aaron Hotchner

summary. All Hotch wanted was to get a second chance to be a better dad. And now that you were offering him this chance, he fears he might have failed already.

words count. 2,465

a/n.  I got this idea with the episode from season two when Haley comes and she tells Hotch that he forgot about an appointment for Jack and I was like omg I need to do something with that so here's sad Aaron again

Being an FBI agent and a dad was sometimes hard to combine. Hotch knew something about that. 

He had a lot of regrets about Jack. Not being there much when he was a baby, not seeing his first steps, hearing his first word, and missing so many memories that were nicely caught on camera by Haley. Things he could never make up for.

And no matter how often Jack could tell him that he didn’t hold any grudge against his dad, Hotch still felt bad most of the time. Wishing he could get a second chance to be a better dad. 

At some point, he accepted that it would never happen. He was getting older, and the morality wanted him to date women close to his age. Which wasn’t a bad thing at all. He had wonderful dates with them. But none of them wanted to have a child. Some already had one, some never wanted to get pregnant, and some simply couldn’t. And of course it was never a cause of a breakup—or stop seeing them, because Hotch didn’t date most of them. Hotch simply accepted he won’t be a dad again. 

Then he met you.

You were an old friend of JJ's that he met at her birthday. Your work made you travel around the world for many years, which explained your absence during the past parties and you being unknown to most of the team. But you were back in town, ready to meet new people and start a new life.

Hotch never believed in fate.

But he was sure he was destined to meet you.

You were so full of life, acting like a ray of sunshine in every room you were in. And not that he considered himself dark, but he had to admit that his life and job had quite an impact on how he perceived himself. As someone who wasn’t very funny or joyful to be around. Not a very good dad or a nice partner. And sometimes, not even a great boss.

His life was pretty much in black and white. And when you came around, you brought colors with you.

It started that very first night, when you spent almost an hour sitting outside with Aaron. Drinking and watching the stars.

“Shouldn’t you be with JJ?” He asked after you finished a conversation about your favorite countries to visit and the one you recommended for someone like him.

“Don’t know,” you replied, shrugging. “I like being with you.”

Aaron could blame the alcohol for the redness on his cheeks, but you both knew it was insecurity and flattering. It’s been a long time since someone pointed out how they liked spending time with him. He felt…alive, knowing that you wanted to be around him.

And you weren’t lying for a single second. “You’re an interesting man, Aaron Hotchner. You need to let people see that.” you added, giving him a little shoulder bump. You kept your shoulder against his for a second. You loved the little smile your words created and the sparks that appeared in his eyes.

You felt lucky that you were one of the few people he offered a glimpse of the real him.

It started with coffee dates once a week. Before he went to work, and while you were still discovering your new life back in town, you met at the same coffee shop for an hour. You talked about everything, more life than work. You wanted to see Aaron, and not Hotch, the man JJ told you about. 

Even if she gave you such a good description of him that you were already willing to give him your heart without any hesitation.

You loved discovering new things about him every week. 

Each smile was breaking the wall around him.

Each time he put his hand on yours was him installing himself in your life.

And each kiss was you giving your heart to each other. 

These coffee dates were still a thing.

They just happened every day, at the place you were now sharing together.

And not only did you give him a lot of things already, you offered him the chance he thought wouldn’t come again, which he sadly accepted. 

To be a dad again.

You were four months pregnant, and it wasn’t always as easy as it seemed. Either the stress that comes from work or the fact Aaron still felt like he was too old for this, for you. But he was trying his best to make things as perfect as they could be. He was leaving the BAU earlier than before, and every day off was for Jack and for you. 

And every night, he made sure to have at least half an hour with you in the baby’s room to talk about the future.

But sometimes, dealing with both situations can be difficult. And today was another proof.

What was supposed to be a calm office day turned out to be more rough and animated. A new case came in the morning and turned out to be in town. 

Hotch was part of the team that went out to catch the unsub. He was going less on the field these days. There was a selfish reason behind that: he didn’t want to stress you or miss anything important with the baby. But the case being in Virginia, he took the opportunity to follow Spencer and Emily outside while JJ stayed with Penelope, like the good old days.

“God, I wish every case were as simple as this one.” Emily said when they came back to the car, the unsub was with the police officers. And Hotch had to admit it was pretty easy this time. He couldn’t wait to tell you about this one, how good it felt to be back there.

He could already hear you say something like, “We’ll tell our baby how their dad is a superhero,” which reminded him of when Jack used to see him like that. He hoped your baby would feel the same about him.

What if they hated him? What if they blame him for being away, for not doing enough? What if someone terrible happened to them because of his job?

Most of the time, Hotch managed to put these bad ideas away. And when he couldn’t, he found comfort in your arms. That’s what he needed right now.

He only had one thing to do: check on JJ and Penelope once he was back at the office to conclude his report and make sure everybody could go back home soon. Him included.

When Hotch entered Penelope’s office, he was welcomed by her confused and surprised face. “Sir? What are you doing here?” she asked. She got up and took a few steps towards him to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.

“What do you mean what am I doing here?” he asked, even more confused than her. 

And the confusion just kept growing when he looked around and noticed Penelope was alone. “Where is JJ?” 

“Hmm, at the hospital?” From her tone, Hotch could tell that Penelope assumed he was supposed to know about her absence and the reason behind it. “[Y/N] called her?” This wasn’t a real question, because Penelope was there when you called. She heard you. But she couldn’t understand why she would know about that before Hotch.

And he couldn’t believe what he just heard. Sure, it made sense that you would call JJ if you needed help. She was one of your emergency contacts. But why wouldn’t you call him? 

Looking for his phone to check on you, Hotch realized his mistake.

He forgot his phone at his office. And spend the whole day assuming you were fine.

Before Penelope could explain the situation, or maybe she did, but he didn’t listen, Hotch ran to his office. He probably jostled some people in the rush, and there was a high possibility that he forgot to apologize. But it wasn’t his priority. Especially not when he grabbed his phone and saw the notification.

Six missing calls.

Around ten texts.

All from you.

You’ve got awful cramps when you wake up, and nothing would make them go away. You spent most of your day in bed, crying—which you didn’t tell Aaron, but he could hear the tears in your voice in one of your voicemails. You were asking him to come and bring you to the hospital to make sure the baby was doing fine.

But he never answered.

“I called JJ; she’s coming. Please don’t worry and text me when you see this. I love you,” said the last one.

When he dialed your phone, Hotch met your answering machine. 

He kept trying during the drive to the hospital. But all he could hear was your joyful voice asking to leave a message and that you would call back later. 

Never has Aaron needed to hear your voice so badly as right now.

The hospital wasn’t too far away from the bureau. Which didn’t prevent him from driving way above the limits. Not that he cared this time. 

Even if Aaron had prepared his speech in the car to appear calm, he lost his words right when he made his first step in the hospital. Being there was scary. Hopefully, when he arrived, the first person he saw was JJ. He rushed to her, almost scaring her from the way he grabbed her arm.

“Where is she? How is she? And the baby?” 

“Slow down, breathe for a second,” she replied, putting a hand on top of his to try and reassure him. “She is fine. And the baby too.”

The seven words that he needed to hear the most.

“I was supposed to bring her home, but she’ll be happy to have you.” JJ added with a sweet smile. If someone could understand Aaron’s position here, it was her.

Once she indicated to him the room you were staying in and he introduced himself to the nurse, Aaron rushed to meet you.

He was relieved to see you, for real. Sitting on the bed with your eyes closed. He took a second to look at you. Aaron hated that feeling in his stomach. He didn’t realize that until now, there was a quiet thought in his head saying that maybe he wouldn’t see you again. 

But you were there, looking better than he imagined you would. 

And when you opened your eyes and saw the man you love in front of you, you lit up the whole room with your eyes. “Aaron, you’re here!”

“Of course, I am,” he sighed, with a tired smile. He finally walked up to you and accepted the arms you were opening for him. It’s been a long time since a hug had felt this good for him. He let it go for a few seconds, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of having you close to him like that. He imagined you were home, in your bed, on a Sunday morning. Not at the hospital. 

Then everything hit him back. You, being sick and pregnant. Him, not being here for you.

Aaron kissed your forehead before cupping your face with his hands. “What happened?”

“The doctor said it wasn’t serious. Sometimes you get cramped and sick during the second semester. Basically, the baby is telling me to relax and stop overworking.” You replied with a soft laugh that wasn’t effective enough to stop him from frowning. “Love, we are both fine.”

“But I wasn’t there.” 

It hurt you how his voice sounded so sad. 

You heard Aaron speaking when he was physically hurt. And you already hated the way he would contain the pain by gritting his teeth, making his voice sound deeper and heavier. You always thought he was blaming himself for not being careful enough, which explained the tone.

But this time it was different. Aaron sounded like he hated himself for what he thought was a disappointment for you. But for him, mostly. His voice was broken, almost unintelligible. Like he didn’t want to be heard. And deep down, even if it was a part of his life you’d barely ever talked about, you knew where this was coming from.

"Aaron," you said softly, asking him to focus on you and not his pain. "I'm good. We're good.”

When he finally looked up to you, you met his red eyes. “These moments, they’ll happen again, you know.” 

He let out a sad sigh. “That’s not what I want.”

“I know, but you can’t blame yourself for that. This is your job. And we all accept it,” you said. You took one of his hands to put on your rounded belly. “She does too.”

Aaron opened his mouth to reply and argue on how this wasn’t the family dynamic he wanted for his second child. Not again. 

But no sound left his mouth. Which made you smile. This was exactly the reaction you expected from your so serious and composed boyfriend.

“She?” he finally replied, this time the glow in his eyes being replaced by happiness and surprise.

“The doctor did an ultrasound to make sure everything was alright. And this little princess inside finally decided to stop the mystery around herself.” You explained, but it would be a miracle if Aaron even heard you. You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction: his mouth open, his eyes going from yours to your belly like he was trying to comprehend what you said. “We’re having a baby girl, Aaron.” This time, you couldn’t contain your own tears.

This was all Aaron needed to put all his stress behind. He couldn’t think about his job and everything that came with it when now he knew that in a few months, he would hold in his arms the miracle he couldn’t wish for anymore. A daughter that will be the result of the love he had for you. A daughter that he will love as much as he loves you. As much as he loves Jack.

Even if he still couldn’t speak, you could tell he was as excited as you by the situation. But there was still one thing that was waiting to be clarified.

“And wanna know the best part?” you asked, slowly caressing your cheek. “She’ll be the biggest daddy’s girl and will always love you. When you’re home, at work, or away. You’ll hold a special place in her heart, forever, Aaron Hotchner.” 

Being an FBI agent and a dad was sometimes hard to combine. But Aaron knew that he was fighting alone to find the perfect balance between both. 

He had you. And a perfect family to make sure he was a great man and a great father.

[kaivenom]

Hey same person who asked for OP DILF x MILF reader

How about them reacting to MILF reader having a kid? (Even funnier if it was like luffy or zoro lol)

OP DILFS dating a MILF who has a kid

Characters: Mihawk, Doflamingo, Crocodile, Smoker,Shanks.

A/N: Two things. First one: i love this, i really had a good time writing it, you have great ideas my dear anon. Second one: exams are finally oveeeer, so i would be trying to update more than usual to get all the requests out of the hoven for everyone.

Masterlist

Dracule Mihawk

After taking care of Zoro and Perona, he thinks that he is ready for everything.

One day you were both on the kitchen and he like ussual is reading paperwork.

"It looks like the new generation it's going strong, this kid seems a good swordsman." he shows you the picture.

"Drac, i think it's time for us to talk." he almsot felt fear for a moment, "that kid it's mine, not like you and Zoro, literally that is my son." his mind exploded, you never saw him that concerned.

"And when will you have said this to me?"

"I am telling you now... you know how difficult it's to date at our age, especcially being a woman who already has a kid?" he nodded and pushed you closer, "i planned on telling you soon, i just, didn't know how, i was expecting something like this to happen to have the oportunity to tell you.

"You are lucky i already have practice with that green haired boy... call him, we can set a dinner and i can meet him formally, maybe even bond?" you coudln't help but smile and kiss him.

Donquixote Doflamingo

He already has experience with children since he literally adopted a lot of them.

One day someone robbed on the royal treasure chamber of Dressrosa and he was furious, he was looking for you to help him relax.

"My dove, i need some of your assistance on my d..."

"And when i tell you i date someone your best idea it's to rob him? you are lucky i found you and your stupid friends before he did? and.... " you finally became aware of his presence, but his eyes were already glued to the teenager.

You grabbed your child by the collar of the shirt and went to the door, your previous angry look bacame softer seen how Doflamingo's eyebrows were frowning.

"This is my son... i called him to Dressrosa so you could finally meet him but he decided to 'prove you'... i dont know what was on his mind. I have the treasure located and coming back to the chamber."

"You have a child." Doflamingo looked at the verge of an aneurysm, gritting his teeth.

"I do, please, don't punish him... i thake the responsability." his lips curled in a strange smile, like he was trying to fake it.

"I am honored to meet your son, it's impressive to know how skilled he is, maybe he can join court..." clearly Doffy was having a hard time trying not to kill you son.

Sr. Crocodile

Experience 0, oblivious 100%

He was on his office, doing work and you appeared with your son.

"Croc..." he turned the chair and looked at you both, "dear, i told you i don't need more agents... i don't know how you contacted someone with such a high bounty but i don't need it." and he turned the chair again.

"This is my son..." Crocodile was thankfull for being backwards to you cause he choked on the cigar.

"Your what?"

"SIr Crocodile, i am (Y/N)'s son, i was hoping to meet you and bond a little, i wasn't expecting a job... but if you give it to me i am not going to complain."

"You already have a job as bounty hunter, don't try to take advantage of this." you poked your son's cheek under Crocodile's surprised look.

"I..." he cleared his throat, trying to sound serious and prepared, "pleasure to meet you child, i would have appreaciate it a warning."

"I warned you, i left a note on the fridge that said 'special meeting today, i have a surprise'" your son started to laugh.

"That sounded like a booty call, jajaja, maybe he was expecting you to come here in lingerie." you punched your son on the head to make him shut up.

"I can make a reserve on the restaurant we both like and i can know you better." he tried to sound profesional but your son was right, he tought you would give him a sexy surprise, not this.

Smoker

He was really tired of dealing with teenage pirates.

He spent the last week chasing and fighting agaisnt a new supernova, he was tired and just wants to get home to you.

"Hello love." he said while hanging his uniform, then he got to the living room and saw that same supernova playing cards with you, "i don't know what you are doing here bastard but you are not going to hurt my..."

"Relax old men, i was just paying a visit to my mother." Smoker got his mind reset.

"Smoker sweetie, this is my son."

"How couldn it be your son? you are a marine."

"Same happens with Garp, but he is a grandfather.... i think maybe this is a nice time for you two to meet." you were really nervous but tried to sound chill and smooth.

"Oh mother, we already know each other, thi sis the man that has been chasing me all week." the moment got worse every second and you wanted to hide, but you felt Smoker sat next to you and put his arm on your should, "noooo, cut the romantic things, i am going to throw up."

"Don't talk to us like that, yesterday i was furious that you were so childish but right now, i wont tolerate you talking to your mother or me with such a disrespectful tone." you had to hide a laugh, he clearly was getting his frustations out but at the same time trying to be nice. "so tell me, how can a son of a marine officer become a pirate?"

"Well..." and you knew that this would be a long night.

Akagami Shanks

Since Luffy and Uta, he was out of the parenting thing, for now.

You were sleeping and suddently canons started to burst on the ship, you got dressed and prepared to a new day at board.

"I am xxxxx, and i will defeat you, Red Head SHanks."

"On your dreams, child." canons were still bursting when you got on the ship and saw the attacker of the ship.

"Mom?" "Son?" you both said at the same time, Shanks mouth touched the ground.

"Come here you little prick, how could you blow the ship of your mother's fiancee."

"You are engaged? i didn't got the letter nor invitation, you don't love me or what? i know we don't live together anymore but..."

"I sent it yesterday, it should get to you in a couple of hours but... we took the covers of various newspapers, how could you not saw it?"

"You know i don't read that bullshit..." you both were yelling at each other from the ships, until Shanks decided to finally talk.

"And when i was going to know this?"

"Today!" he coudln't even talk, his mind was going to fast, another problematic child.

"Boy, stop blasting canons and get on the ship... i love your mother and i want to marry her, i can kill you."

"You are not going to kill me, i am going to defeat you."

"You can try, after the wedding and only if i am looking." you yelled at him and went to Shanks, "leave him, he is excited in reality to meet you."

"I must recompose myself, i must make him see i am a good stepfather."

[whateversawesome]

Spy x Family Ch. 110: Is Donovan Desmond a Mind Reader and Most Importantly, Is Twilight Doomed?

Nah.

Twilight isn't doomed, this isn't the end. Calm down, there's no need to panic about that.

Think about it for a second, if Donovan Desmond could read minds, the SSS would have arrested Twilight the minute he said bye to Desmond on that first meeting.

A few months ago, when we saw a young Donovan Desmond appear, I did a poll/analysis about whether or not he could read minds.

Even after the most recent chapter, my opinion is still the same: No, he can't.

Some people think that maybe he can get a glimpse into people's past. Although that would be a super awesome power (and it would be one hell of a plot), I don't think it's the case, because that wouldn't really tell him much and I don't think it would have affected him to the point of forcing him to distance himself from everyone.

I do have a theory about him. I've mentioned it before but here it is again:

I think he can tell when someone is lying.

Yup. That's it. A human lie detector. It made sense a few months ago, it makes even more sense now.

It fits his personality, his fixation with liars as a child, it also fits the theme of the whole story (everyone is a liar in sxf, everyone has something to hide) and most importantly, it fits his behavior.

We know that Donovan Desmond did not initiate war with Westalis. Chapman was Prime Minister when the war started and Desmond followed after him. There's a big chance war ended while Desmond was in power. If I'm not mistaken, the war has been over for about 10 years. I have the feeling that Desmond may have launched Project Apple as a means to protect peace.

And how would someone who is obsessed with lies do that? Of course, by wanting to know how others really think at all times.

My guess is that he volunteered himself to participate in the experiments, that would also explain the scars he has on each side of his head (which he didn't have as a child). It's unlikely he was a war veteran, because politicians and people in office never go into a battlefield, so he didn't get those scars in battle.

I think he really tried to obtain mindreading abilities and he failed, but not completely.

Imagine how it would be to have that awareness of people lying ALL THE TIME. How awful it must have been for him to get this power and realize than even his family, the people he felt closest to were lying to him. I think that's the reason why he isolated from everyone. It also fits what Melinda describe in the last chapter:

Let's look at that Desmond family dinner from that perspective. He cannot read minds but he can tell his wife is lying (because she's scared of him and doesn't want to be there!). It also makes sense that Demetrius keeps his mind blank because he suspects his father knows what he's thinking, so he's train himself to not think in front of others.

His behavior shows a person who has completely lost faith in humanity. He pushed everyone away because he didn't want any more lies, and to protect himself but, by doing this, he also ended up hurting his wife to such an extent that she doesn't recognize him anymore.

Since another theme of sxf is getting closer to and relying on people while forming bonds despite their masks and lies, I can totally see this could be Donovan's story, also parallel to Twilight's by the way: You can distance yourself from others to protect yourself but it'll be a lonely life.

Yes, Donovan is safe, guarded from everyone's lies, but he's also missing out on his family's love and also on the possibility of changing the world for the best.

Twilight is going in exactly the opposite direction of him. He's becoming alive, tearing those walls down, learning to rely on others, and loving his family.

Another Important Thing to Consider...

Everyone is so worried about Donovan Desmond possible mindreading powers that no one has mentioned one very important thing: Twilight's purpose for Operation Strix!

THIS is what WISE and Twilight really want to do: to find information that would allow them to remove people who seek war from power.

It's one hell of a strategy and a tough one for sure. And I agree; scandal, especially in such a conservative society like Ostania could do a lot of damage to politicians like Desmond, parties like the National Unity Party, and institutions like the SSS.

It wouldn't surprise me if at some point in the story it actually works. However, I don't think Westalis is as clean as we think. Food for thought.

[c0s-lettuce]

Would you be able to a Sergei, where he has a child with someone from his past. He doesn’t know about the child for three years but once somehow finds out he tracks them down to find them and meet his kid (honestly could be a boy or a girl)

blissfully unaware - sergei kravinoff x fem!reader

synopsis: for the last three years, you've been raising your daughter, emilia, by yourself. but when her father finds out, he wants to be a part of your lives again.

word count: 2225

a/n: thanks for the request, i had fun writing this! it wasn't specified, but i wrote this as an x reader, hope that's alright! disclaimer, i do not know what three year olds are like, so i apologise if anything is inaccurate.

It was a chance meeting. You and Sergei were like two passing ships. Even though things happened fast, you thought you had found the one. You were sure he felt the same. It was months of pure bliss before one day when you woke up alone.

The world shifted when you first saw those two lines. You felt lost for the first few weeks. You didn't know what to do or how to do it. But your friends and family supported you, and eventually, you decided it was for the best. You knew who Sergei was and what he did for a living. You didn't want your child to be a part of that.

When you held Emilia's little body in your arms for the first time, you fell in love with her instantly. After the tears and sleepless nights were over, life with your daughter was perfect. She was a sweet and thoughtful child. She rarely fussed over anything and had so much love in her heart.

It was hard not to think about Sergei at first. Emilia was a perfect combination of the two of you. Half of him and half of you. But as time passed, you forced him out of your mind and focused on your little girl. And in the blink of an eye, Emilia was already three years old.

That brings you to today, a Friday morning in the summer. It's been a long week, and you're looking forward to spending the weekend with your daughter, having promised to take Emilia to the beach. But first, you had to get her to preschool and get yourself to work.

You poke your head into Emilia's bedroom. She sleeps soundly, hugging a bunny plushie to her chest. You step over the toys scattered on the floor, stopping at her bed.

"Hey, baby," you kneel beside her, brushing the hair away from her face. "It's time to wake up."

Emilia scrunches her face in response. She hugs her bunny tighter and mumbles, "Not yet, mama."

"Yes, now," you say. "You've got a whole day ahead of you, Emmy."

Emilia let out a tiny whine, not giving up her sleep just yet, and you hold back a chuckle. Resorting to another method of waking her, you lean in and begin peppering kisses on her cheek.

She starts giggling immediately, trying to hide her face in her pillow. "Stop, that tickles!"

"It does, huh? What about now?" You add your hands into the mix, tickling her body with your fingers.

She squirms, giggling even more. "Mama, stop!"

You laugh as you withdraw your hands. Emilia looks up at you with bright eyes, hiding her smile behind her bunny.

You give her one last kiss on the nose. "Come on, girly. Let's go have some breakfast, yeah?"

Emilia nods, sitting up and holding her arms up to you. You pick her up, and she hugs your neck as you carry her to the dining table.

The morning goes by peacefully. Soon enough, the two of you are off for the day. You drop Emilia off at preschool. She gives you a kiss and says goodbye in a sweet little voice that always melts your heart.

It's a productive day for both of you. And that evening, you and Emilia go to the supermarket to pick up a few groceries. She trails beside you cheerfully since you agreed to buy her a box of fruit snacks.

You're currently looking at vegetables, Emilia's least favourite section. Your broccoli perusing is interrupted when a familiar voice calls your name. You turn and see a young man standing before you. He's dressed nicely. It takes a moment to place a name on the face.

You do a double take. "Dmitri?"

He grins, "Oh my god, it really is you. It's been, what? Four years?"

You pause for a moment. You were close to Dmitri for some time, having visited the restaurant many times. But you stopped talking to him when Sergei left.

You smile back, though yours is somewhat strained. "Wow, yeah. Just about, I think. What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to see a show at the theatre nearby," he explains. "What about you?"

"I live here now," you tell him.

"Oh, that's great," he replies. "It's a nice area here, I-"

He trails off when he notices the little person beside you. A look passes Dmitri's face. It worries you, but he quickly replaces it with another smile.

"Who's this?" he asks.

You look down. Emilia's holding onto your leg, hiding slightly behind it. You place a hand on her head. "This is Emilia."

"Hi, Emilia," he greets her before looking back up at you. "Is she yours?"

"She is," you say cautiously.

"That's wonderful," he responds. "She looks like you."

"Thank you," you reply.

A somewhat awkward silence settles. Dmitri looks down at his watch.

"Well, I need to head off if I want to make it on time," he states. "It was good seeing you."

"Yeah, you too, Dmitri. See you around," you say.

He nods, looking down at Emilia. "Bye, Emilia."

Emilia waves him goodbye. She looks up at you curiously after he walks away and asks, "Who is that, mama?"

"Just an old friend, Emmy," you say.

"He has funny clothes," she replies.

"You're right, bub," you let out a chuckle, ruffling her hair. "Come on, just a few more things, and then we can go home."

Emilia takes your hand without a second thought. With one last glance towards Dmitri, you tell yourself not to worry and refocus on your shopping.

A week passes, and you start to forget about your interaction with Dmitri. It's a Sunday, and you're lounging at home. You have some time to yourself since Emilia is having a playdate with her friend.

But your peace is interrupted when someone knocks at your front door. When you go to answer, your heart drops. None other than Sergei Kravinoff is at your door, eyes wide and noticeably flustered.

"H-hey…" he stammers.

You stare at him, shocked. The man who has been a ghost for the past four years suddenly stands before you. And he looks a mess.

"Sergei," you regard him. "What are you doing here?"

He swallows visibly. You notice his eyes dart behind you, looking inside your home before settling back on you.

"Is she here?" he asks.

You feel your heart drop even more. He knows.

"No, she's over at a friend's place," you tell him.

"Oh," is all he says, his face an unreadable mix of emotions.

You shift uncomfortably, unable to meet his gaze. "How did you find out?"

"Dima told me he saw you," he explains. "The other day at the store."

You nod, unsurprised. A part of you anticipated something like this happening. You don't bother asking how he found out where you lived. You already know the answer.

You open the door for him. "You should come in."

Sergei enters, grateful but wary. He looks around at the living room. The place is covered with evidence of Emilia.

"She's mine, isn't she?" he asks.

"Yeah, she's yours," you reply.

He turns to face you. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"How was I supposed to, Sergei?" you retaliate. "You disappeared on me."

Sergei lets out a huff, knowing you're right. But still, he argues, "You could've reached out to Dima. Or done anything. You didn't even try."

"Would it have made a difference?" you ask. "Would you really have dropped whatever you've been doing for this?"

He hesitates. He wants to say yes but doesn't know if he can. Instead, he just looks around the room again.

You've never seen him look so defeated. A part of you feels guilty. But the other part feels resentful. Four years and not a single word. Now, he shows up out of the blue, demanding answers.

"Look," you begin. "I don't know what you've been doing all this time, but I've been living a good life with Emilia. And I don't plan on that changing."

Sergei shakes his head. "No, I wouldn't- I'm not here to cause you trouble, I just… I wish you told me."

The guiltier part of you starts to take over. "I'm sorry, Sergei."

"No, don't apologise," he says. "This is my fault."

You fall silent, thinking of nothing else to say. You can tell Sergei's mind is going a million miles an hour, so you give him some time to process things.

He speaks up after a few moments. "Do you think I could meet her? Please?"

You hesitate to answer. The thought of letting Sergei back into your life scares you. But you decide to give him a chance. He deserves to meet his daughter at least once.

"We'll both be home next Saturday," you tell him. "She usually naps around noon, so you could come over at two."

"Two o'clock. Alright, I'll be here," he says.

Sergei gives you his number and leaves shortly after, not wanting to bother you any longer. It feels strange to suddenly have a way to directly contact him. But you have a week until he comes over again, so you bide your time until then.

You're nervous all morning the next week, but Emilia is blissfully unaware. She wakes from her nap and is already back to her toys, playing doctor with her plushies. You watch her from the kitchen, drumming your fingers on the counter.

Sergei arrives at two on the dot. You steel yourself before answering the door. He stands there looking just as anxious but greets you with a smile.

"Hey," he holds out a bouquet of flowers. "These are for you."

You accept the gift, noticing he still remembers your favourite. "Thank you, Sergei. Come in."

Sergei follows you inside. You place the flowers down and lead him to where Emilia is playing. He needs a moment to take her in. She has a head of wavy hair and chubby cheeks. He can see himself in her. He sees you, too. And just like you three years ago, he falls in love instantly.

You take a seat on the floor beside her, getting her attention. "Hey, Emmy. There's someone who would like to meet you."

You look towards Sergei, and Emilia follows your gaze.

Sergei kneels in front of her, holding out his hand. "Hi there, Emilia. I'm Sergei."

Emilia looks back at you, and you give her a reassuring nod. She timidly reaches out to shake his hand but doesn't say anything. Her hand is comically small in his. She retracts her arm, and you notice her shuffle closer to you.

Sergei smiles, gesturing to her toys. "These are cool. Are you a doctor?"

Emilia seems to light up a bit at his question and nods.

"You know, Em," you speak up. "Sergei told me he was feeling a bit sick. Do you want to give him a check-up?"

Emilia nods again, seeming a bit more enthusiastic now. She's always happy to show off her toys and medical skills. It takes a few minutes, but Emilia starts warming up to Sergei. You step away to let them play and can't help but smile as you watch them.

Sergei commits to the part, even pretending to be unconscious on the floor. Emilia pokes him with her equipment in an attempt to revive him. She's all giggles and smiles by the end of the afternoon. After dragging you over to also get a check-up, Emilia introduces Sergei to her plushies, and he offers his highest praise for each of them.

Soon enough, the afternoon is over. You'll need to start getting Emilia fed, bathed and into bed. But, of course, she complains when you say it's for Sergei to go. She pleads for him to stay for dinner. Sergei, however, doesn't want to overstay his welcome, so he makes an excuse for himself. Emilia relents and gives him a hug goodbye.

You walk Sergei to the door. Stepping outside, you're greeted by the cool evening breeze. He faces you, a tentative look on his face.

"Thanks for coming," you speak up first.

"Thanks for having me," he says. "I'd like to do this again."

"Yeah," you reply. "I'm sure Emilia would like that too."

Sergei smiles, and a moment of silence passes. He takes this time to take you in. Really take you in. You've changed over the years. But you aren't even a bit less beautiful.

He takes this opportunity to continue. "And what about her mother? Think she and I could spend some time together as well?"

You crack a smile. "I don't get much free time these days, Sergei. But let's go with a maybe."

"Maybe," he nods. "I can work with maybe."

Silence falls between the two of you again. Sergei is reluctant to leave but knows he can't linger. He reaches for your hand, lifting it up to kiss the back of it.

"Thank you," he says. "I'll see you soon?"

"See you soon, Sergei," you reply.

Sergei offers one last smile and lets your hand slip from his. He begins walking away and looks back to see Emilia waving at him through the window. Sergei waves back, filled with a new resolve. He's not going to screw up this time.

➸

[tricoloreddango]

Yandere Mydei Headcanons

Mydei x gn! reader

cw: isolation, controlling relationship, overprotectiveness, paranoia, spanking, leg injuring, mentions of non-con (Mydei thinks of it but doesn’t act on it), coercion.

Beware of spoilers.

Don’t read it if you’re a minor!

Origins

You’re all good with Mydei until something happens to you—suddenly you’re a threat to yourself, or anything bad that there is becomes a threat to you as well.

—When Mydei first met you, he thought of you as capable enough of taking care of yourself. Not only did you know how to fight, you also had a mouth on you, one comparable to his. While it brought him trouble, he admired your strong will and an ability to stand up for yourself in this cruel world, even in front of someone like Mydei, and he eventually he let you close to him and form a relationship with.

His feelings of confidence towards your ability quickly started to change, after you got badly injured in the battle. Hearing about this felt like a hot whiplash on his back. It didn’t matter nothing has been happening to you so far until this point, and that you were still alive. This singular incident proved that there’s always an enemy stronger than you, a risk worse than you can manage and… his mother Gorgo was a great warrior too, only to meet a deadly fate in the end too.

Paranoid thoughts filled his mind, and soon, his feelings changed from pride for you, to the sense of anger at your willingness to expose yourself to so many risks of this world with how eager for the world and challenge taking you were. And only Mydei could protect you from these risks, taking on another burden. He needed you with him desperately, the only person that truly can get through him.

—You weren’t happy about any of this, of course. From being so free, to Mydei constantly checking on you, demanding answers, questioning your ability, scolding you; until you no longer were an autonomous person, but instead under his control he’d never dare to call something else than “guidance”.

How Mydei treats the situation

All this road along, he failed to realize he was protecting his feelings instead, more than you actually needed to be protected.

—With time, rules became stricter, until you no longer could leave outside without him. No matter how much not being able to fight was depressing to you, if it truly bothers you so much, while it hurt Mydei to cut your wings like this, all he’d tell you is that you could always have a sparring training with him. He’d rather let guilt eat him alive at night, than let you get yourself injured again. Mydei truly didn’t enjoy hurting you, but hurt was never avoided either.

—Mydei’s actions were fueled by his paranoia and fears, but he was still self aware about how this affects you—he just had to prioritize one over another, safety over happiness, but still balance your wellbeing somewhat as suffering wasn’t an option either.

If you were unhappy about something, he’d try to find a substitute for what you were lacking, which of course would never compare to the real deal—but the need to keep you safe was bigger than you being fully satisfied. He lost a lot of his tribe, he lost his mother, how can he lose someone he loves too? He learned from his lessons of being merciful towards the world. He’d be cruel towards his enemies, involuntarily cruel to you, but at least you were alive and safe.

—With his usual ways of dealing with problems being violence, a most straightforward and effective method, there was not much that Mydei wouldn’t do or much that would hold him back from doing bad things in your name—any threat to you would be immediately dealt with, even if it was meant to be more bloodshed. Just don’t look at him as if he’s a monster afterwards, or he’ll have to start making it a secret to keep away from you. Mydei had enough self-doubts after killing his own father.

Punishment

He loved you, but he’ll be strict if he needs to be. It was a matter of you forcing him to be.

—With what little freedom he puts you through and him not being entirely delirious, he’d try to be patient with you. He didn’t expect you to ever forgive him, knowing it’s difficult on you and that your life will never be really yours, even if your coldness towards forgiveness made him feel guilty… but he still chased your compliance and understanding, reminding you it’s about your safety. He’d give you time, but if you continue disregarding his orders and concerns for too long, he’d be forced to take measures he wouldn’t want to deliver onto you. He might hurt his enemies with ease, but hurting you was a last resort, as you didn’t cross him the same way his enemies would and naturally his affection held him back; so you’d have to push him really hard for him to finally make a decision, that perhaps this is his only chance.

—Constantly trying to run away and him always hunting you down, despite his warnings and small withdrawal of comforts from you as a punishment—Mydei didn’t know what else he could do to keep you in place, it’s enough for him to finally think that maybe only his usual way will work at this point.

He just wouldn’t make his violence as severe as he’d do towards a foe, considering you were meant to learn and were his love, not to be brutalized upon his anger. He needed something you can recover from, but something painful enough to leave you hesitant to misbehave again.

He didn’t enjoy putting you over his lap, he felt guilt hearing your cries and pain, to the point that he’ll hold you tight afterwards, for his own comfort too. However, that guilt was something that will gradually disappear if you shall repeat same attempts regardless of being punished. If you ever reach that point, you’ll be deemed just stupid and stubborn by him, and each spanking session will feel only right and not cruel anymore. If you choose to listen instead and stop running away, but still keep making other forms of disobedience towards his protection , such penalties will be rare, replaced with from simple harsh scolding to taking away your privileges (especially outside-related); all depending on the extent of the offense.

—In worst case possible, he’d simply chain you up or… hurt a leg or two so you can’t leave, but it’d have to be done after long months of you exposing yourself to the danger and ignoring his accumulating anger and anxiety. The injury wouldn’t be anything that would permanently disable you either, even if the pain of it would be unimaginable; but Mydei would make it clear to you, that you left him no choice, and that he’ll take a care of your legs as long as you listen to him now. If anything, you having to be dependent on him when recovering felt most relaxing for Mydei.

Living with Mydei:

You are his lover, no matter how much you might struggle. Let him keep some sense of normality with you.

—While your relationship could never be the same again, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to accommodate it to be about the same. What can be done only outside, he’d still let you, as long as you were leaving with him. You weren’t entirely a prisoner by him, it wasn’t really about locking you up but keeping you away from harm after all. However, this didn’t mean you’d be able to drag him everywhere. There were certain places deemed as more dangerous, but not even because of the threat, but his paranoia you’ll take advantage to escape again.

—When it came to his treatment towards you as your lover, he still offered you same affection or respite in his arms. The issue was, your eagerness was naturally disappearing, creating a distance between you two. It was something Mydei found hard to accept. Accepting this would mean accepting your defiance towards what he was doing for you. This would fuel the sense you’re being ungrateful. Even scarier was losing your love for him, and he was so scared of losing you.

That’s why sometimes he’d force that affection on you, but he loved the moments when you came to him even more; whether they were out of sentiment or you feeling down by your situation. He’d comfort you about everything as if it wasn’t his own doing, but something that simply needed to be done. And no matter how selfish it sounded, he wanted you to comfort him too, with Mydei behaving as if this situation affected him a lot too, especially when you were so disobedient and not understanding. He tended to make himself victimized without even realizing.

--If you snap at him because you have enough of living like this, he won’t be happy. He’ll try to be patient for first few moments, trying to comfort you still, but drag this on and he’ll snap at you too, maybe with a threat of punishment on his lips. That usually shuts you up. Mydei just wasn’t good at being vulnerable, and it was hard for him to sometimes understand your cries and handle your emotions, no matter how valid they were. You just made him even more guilty again, he just wanted to make you quiet, despite it being a runaway from the problem and not a solution to your growing resentment or depression.

But if you really need your space and can’t stop talking about it, he’d let you have it… just not without making it look like a problem for him, no matter how childish that may seem from him. Mydei was used to sleeping next to you.

—If you’ve been particularly well behaved recently, you’ll see his mood to get much better, even show some excitement at the prospect of having normalcy with you again. Living with him could become more bearable, as his positive mood keeps the atmosphere lighter, and him bit more lenient with you. Keep up the good work and he’ll reward you too.

—Mydei would never admit this to you, but he keeps dreaming about the idea of you becoming entirely dependent on him. No more struggle, and he gets to be your hero and feel assured in his sense of need for your protection. You clinging to him, coming to him willingly, telling him you need him, maybe even being scared of being away from your Mydei. Of course it’d mean you are far gone at this point, nothing like the person from the first meeting, and this state, he did not want you to reach. You’d try to kill him after hearing his fantasy spoken aloud anyway.

Sexuality

There were things he wanted to do to you, he didn’t want you to know.

While Mydei still had enough decorum and self restraint to not force himself on you, especially aware of the pain it’d bring you and guilt for him, he couldn’t deny the fact he missed the pleasure and closeness your body used to bring him. It was hard to keep himself around you sometimes, especially with his strong emotions about the situation that needed the relief too or his need for your affection, but he managed when he thought of your possible pain.

It’s just his thoughts that started to go haywire after a while of controlling you like this. Mydei wouldn’t actually force you physically, but he kept having his “what if” thoughts and unwanted fantasies. Maybe if he was to do this, he’d enforce compliance onto you, with you crying, begging and promising him you’ll listen and stay. Maybe you’d be able to think about him only and not the outside world. Maybe it would remind you of what you two once had, that it still exists somewhere, and your begs would be for more this time.

Thankfully he was able to see it was just wishful thinking, and not act on these thoughts like a fool… at least for now. Mydei felt lonely in this situation too; you’d least expect it when he’s trying to seduce you again, perhaps by an attempt of forcing desperation into you with little sneaky touches during his affections or by instilling a sense of guilt with a reminder of how much he’s trying for you. Surely you needed to blow off some steam too anyway.

Final words

Living with Mydei doesn’t have to be most miserable, if you play your cards right and choose to accept his offer of safety. While you didn’t have a choice in a traditional sense, you had a choice to make a situation better for yourself and keep some normalcy and happiness leftovers—if you choose to try to understand his reasonings, because sadly, he won’t ever change his mind. Mydei wouldn’t hesitate to kill someone in your name, but he’d hate for you to ever blame him for it. He’d hate to hurt you even more, he constantly lived with the fear he was doing so and with that, had even more guilt to carry; yet it was all buried by the sense of duty to keep you safe, one driving him motivated enough to keep going in “protecting” you, even if it felt more like avoidance towards his own problems.

Accept him, and he’s your old Mydei… somewhat. Reject him, and now you two struggle.

[alastor-x-reader-stories]

Could you do a one-shot where alastor is super nervous when meeting reader, not really on his face but more his body language where when she shakes his hand he continues shaking it or doesn't let go immediately. nervous smile too lol, thanks love your stuff!!

Heeey I wrote it hope you don't mind some interpretation on my part! You didn't mention why Alastor was nervous so I just did whatever ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Tags: Oblivious Alastor, Cartoonist Writer, Humor, awkward affection, Alastor is either oblivious or in-denial, Nifty is Nifty and you should all love her

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

Alastor’s introduction to you was not a willing one. Charlie had started a bit of a bookclub at the Hotel as some odd attempt at bonding. Alastor wanted no part of it, but after the 532nd time Charlie asked him he said something particularly scathing and the princess was cruel and told Vaggie, and the ex-exorcist would NOT stop stabbing his door until he finally relented.

Of course, his choice of book was one called ‘Blank’. It was a notebook with nothing written in it. Very easy to discuss at a bookclub.

Charlotte was not impressed and Vagatha once again starting throwing vague threats in his direction. How tempted he was to just kill both of them, but alas this hotel has been the greatest form of entertainment he’s had in years (is what he tells himself.)

Darling Nifty came to his rescue, offering up a variety of different light-reading to be discussed in the future. Most of which were….not to his taste. Nifty’s interests highlighted most definitely, but Alastor quickly chucked the books out the window when the story turned to ….that.

As the number of books dwindled, he was just about prepared to give up on this stack entirely and fetch something meaningless to pretend to read (who’d check, anyway?).

He picked up one, a flimsy comic-book like thing and rolled his eyes once before giving it a go. The story wasn’t anything particularly interesting. The plot was just two bunnies going to get some ice cream. But the wordplay, the exaggeration of all the smallest obstacles, how self-aware and absurd it was gave him a good laugh. The Radio Demon’s first introduction to your work.

Although the bookclub idea ended up going nowhere, Alastor found himself seeking out more of your works. Another about a man just making a taco, one about a woman folding her laundry. So many little, day-to-day situations amplified to a ridiculous amount. Clever one-liners and humorous puns sprinkled throughout kept it intelligent enough for him to maintain interest despite the absurdity of it all.

Eventually he got a cartoon you drew that seemed just the same as the rest. Some random cute cartoon raccoon drawing some random little cartoon things. There was a scene in it though that stuck to Alastor’s mind (and dare he say, heart) like glue.

In it, the raccoon was confronted by a shark. “Why do you bother making these?” the shark sneered “No one reads these but you, no one looks at them but you, there’s no point.”

“Why does there need to be a point?” The raccoon said. Alastor’s ears straightened up on their own accord as he read “Even if no one sees it, it’s something I made and it’s some I enjoyed making.”

“Even if you put it out there, no one will care about it.”

“Someone will. They might not say anything but there’ll always be at least one.”

“Do you know how stupid you sound? No one gives a crap about your ‘passions’!”

“I do.”

“Do you know how stupid you sound-“

And then the raccoon pressed a button and an anvil fell onto the shark, comedically turning it into a pancake. “Your argument doesn’t have any depth.” The raccoon said. The story moved on from there.

It struck a bit of a chord with Alastor, he could admit that much to himself. And the raccoon’s way of dealing it was something he’d keep in mind for his next encounter with an annoyance. He didn’t put much stock in it, as storytellers and their stories don’t always agree on all things.

Your comics were a little joyful distraction when he needed them, that was all. Nothing deep and profound.

“BOSS!”

Alastor slammed shut the book he was reading, his grin never faltering though his twitching ears indicated a slight nervousness. He tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Hello, Nifty! Did you need something?”

Nifty scamped up his chair and onto his lap, settling down andstaring up at him with her one big eye. “BOSS BOSS BOSS BOSS I MET THE DEMONESS WHO DRAWS THOSE CARTOONS YOU LIKE”

Alastor’s eye twitched “Oh? Well, that’s neat.”

She stood up, squishing his face between her hands and stared more as her grin grew wider and more manic “Did you want to meet her?”

Yes

“Now, now, Nifty.” Alastor said as he removed her hands from his face “There’s better ways to waste one’s time.”

Nifty tilted her head, staring at him as though it would allow her to see into his mind. Her expression shifted into….One he hadn’t seen on Nifty, admittedly. The best way he could describe it was ‘smug’. But what would she have to be smug about?”

“If you say so, Boss!” She chirped, hopping off his lap and trotting off “But yeah I was at the Evermore Book-Store and she was there working ‘cause I guess that’s what she does for a livng….” Nifty’s voice faded away as the little maid walked off, not caring her rambling were being said to no one.

After Alastor had finished his errands for the day, he happened by that very store…for…Reasons. Upon entering it, he realized he had no idea who- what- he was looking for. The store itself wasn’t large. A couple patrons, one large hulking demon with tiny spectacles at the desk and a much smaller one organizing shelves.

One of the workers, then?

Not that he cared.

“Pardon me!” Alastor chirped to the desk demon. Their big eyes seemed to move in slow motion to him, a low grunt accompanying the acknowledgement. “I’m looking for someone, yes? The author of some silly comics?”

The demon slowly narrowed their eyes, lips curling up into a snarl as a growl emanated from them.

“Ah, so she is here?”

The demon planted their very large hands on the desk, pushing themselves up to stand at their full height. They were taller than Alastor by a good three feet, and much more muscular as well. Their nostrils flared, blowing hot air into his face.

Alastor wasn’t the slightest bit phased. (He found it funny, actually). “So may I speak to her?”

The large demon opened up their gaping jaw-

“That’s me, hi! How can I help you?” The shelf-stacking demon interrupted, getting between Alastor and the clerk demon. A nervous little lady with a wobbly unsure smile and bags under her eyes that looked like they could carry the entirety of Hell in them.

Alastor held up one of your comics- a book that has been very obviously well-read “You’re the creator of these splendid little things?”

“Splendid…?” You repeated him, trailing off into an amused snort “Er. Yeah, I wrote and drew those.” The Clerk behind you closed their mouth, setting back down on their chair and adjusting their spectacles. The glare didn’t leave Alastor.

“Well, my dear, I find I quite enjoy them! It’s quite a pleasure to meet you.” Alastor said, not paying the larger (glowering) demon any mind. He found himself wondering why you were so tired and so timid. A woman like you should be so much more cheerful! Alastor was a tad offended….Because you weren’t smiling like he did. That’s it. Really.

“Well. I’m glad you like them.” You said. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” You offered your hand for him to shake.

One of his ears twitched. You must be fairly new to Hell, to offer a handshake so easily. Or perhaps a bit sheltered or on the naïve side. Alastor briefly considered making a sly deal to take your soul, but… Well, there was no need for that.

He took your hand and gave it a firm shake. Your hand was so much smaller than his own, but it felt as though it warmed his entire body. This was strange. Perhaps you were casting some spells on him? Why was he finding it so hard to focus- why did he feel like he didn’t know what to say next- why-

The Clerk gripped Alastor’s arm in between two fingers, gently but assertively pulling it away from you. You took half a step back, cradling your arm to your chest as if he burned you. Alastor glared up at the Clerk “Is there a problem?”

The large demon growled. You intervened again “Er….You were just. Holding my hand for a while. It was……kind of weird.”

“Ah.” Alastor cleared his throat, straightening his posture with a flourish “My apologies! Mind was elsewhere, you know how it is with us creative types.”

You blinked. Then your timid smile turned a bit more confident. A bit more…like a smirk. “Er. Yeah, I guess so. Well. See you around, I guess?”

“If I have the time, I suppose!” Alastor grinned “Well then, I must be off! Ta-ta!”

You watched as the strange demon disappeared into shadows and slivered off. As soon as all trace of him was gone, you laughed quietly into your hand “Well, I can certainly say for certain I know someone ‘awkward as hell’ now.”

Your friend groaned, gently pushing you over as they continued their own work.

[lightseoul]

a/n. might turn this one into a drabble series if people like it. alternatively, i have a one-shot idea that shares similar themes with whatever this is. dedicated to my psych degree that i may never finish. (0.4k)

bakugou doesn’t notice you at first.

in his defense, looking for girls wasn’t exactly part of his itinerary whenever he visited his therapist’s building. and if it was?

well, doing that in a mental health institution wouldn’t exactly be his first pick.

not that he is looking for someone.

rising speedily through the ranks as a pro-hero came with more and more tasks and responsibilities by the day, and as much as he wanted to downplay the weight of such endeavors, he’d be lying if he said the exhaustion wasn’t getting to him.

he’s barely making enough time to make room for his weekly therapist appointments. how can he possibly squeeze in dating into his already jam-packed schedule?

in fact, that was the point he was trying to make to his psychologist a few minutes ago who, in turn, countered his theory by broaching the plausibility of it being an avoidant technique to mask his inexperience, when time ran out and the session had to be put to a close. as always, she tied the session neatly with her spiel about them picking up where they left off next week, and then the pro-hero was already up and exiting her office.

“fucking plausibility,” he mutters to himself just as the door closes behind him, hefting the duffel bag that he carried all the way from his agency higher on his shoulders.

and really, he was about to turn to the right so he could take a piss before driving home when the door beside the restroom creaks open. now, he’s never seen any other client in his few years of face-to-face consultations, which was weird but not entirely inconceivable. so he finds it pretty excusable when he finds himself pausing, craning to hear the soft mutters emanating from the inside—not that eavesdropping on someone else’s psych appointment is fun—then immediately straightening up when a body emerges from the crack.

his first instinct is to instantly dash towards the comfort room like he wasn’t just standing there like a nosy idiot, but instead, he finds himself frozen when his eyes dart up and meet yours.

what did that proverb say again? all pretty girls are mentally ill?

he can only watch—immobile—as your eyes widen in recognition because, of course, you’d recognize him. not that he’s being fucking cocky; in fact, he’d much rather you did not identify him—fresh out of therapy, no less—but he’s aware that his reputation, unfortunately, precedes him. his reputation of being this aggressive, no-nonsense, brash pro-hero.

which is why he doesn’t fucking understand why he does the next thing.

he lifts his hand and blurts—

“hi.”

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra

[overwhelmed-alien]

Jake “Hangman” Seresin: Passenger Princess

The general consensus in his class is that Jake must think he’s up there with royalty, and therefore deserves to be driven around. That’s where the whole “princess” thing came from, originally. Jake of course rolls with it, plays up the prim “driving is beneath someone like me”, chuckles at the good-natured eye-rolls, and hops into someone’s -anyone’s- front seat and immediately fiddles with the radio just to be a brat.

The true reason, one he will never utter out loud, is that driving terrifies him. He grew up in rural Texas with hundreds of miles of straight, flat roads from horizon to horizon. Roads that frequently were completely empty, maybe you’d meet a tractor once in a while. So 12 lanes of bottlenecked California traffic, horns honking, engines revving, cars swerving in and out of lanes, the bright sun making it hard to see, unnerves Jake more than anything. Up in the sky he’s fearless, but the planes, he reasons, aren’t crowding around you not caring if you live or die as long as they get to brunch with the girls on time.

Bradley clocked it first, naturally. They’d lived together for years, back when they were “Bradley and Jake”. How Jake would never ask to drive, never grab the keys on the way out, would always sweetly beg -“honey come grocery shopping with me, it’ll be fun!” - Bradley to accompany him anywhere he went. Bradley could never deny him anything, so off they would go, either in Bradley’s Bronco or Jake’s truck, him driving, Jake in the passenger seat. He always thought it was adorable, Jake hopping up beside him grinning like a loon when he got his way, grin wider when Bradley inevitably calls him Princess. But he started noticing subtle things that he wouldn’t have noticed years ago. How Jake closed his eyes and gripped the handle when someone swerved in front of them. How he fiddled and played with dials or his phone or the strings of a hoodie to avoid looking out the window. The film of sweat on his face that, thanks to the blaring AC, had nothing to do with the Cali heat. The knee that bounced until they arrived at their destination.

He’d tried bringing it up once or twice, Jake had always laughed and played it up, “baby I’m too cute to drive, we’ve established this.” So he drops it. But if he’s more engaging in animated conversations with Jake to distract him, if he sings just a little louder and dances in the drivers seat a little sillier to draw nervous green eyes his way and not the speeding line of traffic beside him, if he smiles a little sweeter and the “Princess” comes out a little more heated so Jake forgets the entire world around him for a time, well, he’d do anything for the boy in his passenger seat. When they break up -why did they break up again? He can’t even remember - he always worries about Jake, so much his heart hurts. Is he having to drive himself?

At the Hard Deck, with some secret mission looming over their heads, and Jake looking so damn good, so damn pissed off, so damn hurt -he’d really screwed up, hadn’t he? Jake had wanted to go home early - something about beauty sleep, Javy, please! - and Bradley, stopping his piano serenading immediately, without even thinking: “I got you, princess. I’ll take you home.”

And Bradley swears he can see every single emotion, from rage to relief, regret to guarded happiness, and so much fondness in those nervous green eyes he still loves so damn much.

(I won’t make Jake say “show me the way home, honey” because I guess it’s cliche by now, but I’ll still heavily imply he does with my whole chest)

[torpublishinggroup]

Devilman Crybaby meets Marvel’s Venom in Exordia, the science fiction debut of Seth Dickinson, author of The Traitor Baru Cormorant. 

Ssrin Character Illustration by Julie Dillon

WHAT’S IT ABOUT

Meet Anna Sinjari, a refugee and disaffected office worker eking an existence in New York City. Her life is about to be upended by Ssrin, an alien with eight serpent heads, no qualms with cold-blooded murder, and an appetite for turtles (yum).

The universe is governed by seven passions, seven patterns which appear again and again, across species and across time. Anna and Ssrin are bound by the last and the greatest. The cosmos itself ships their very souls. Specifically for them, that means they’ll have to outmaneuver spies, armies, and government agencies to save humanity from a diabolical alien entity, hellbent on pinioning the souls of every creature on earth.

Exordia is expansive adventure science fiction that reads like a race-against-the-clock thriller in the vein of Michael Crichton, but steeped in the irony, humor, and pain of the Internet age. An alien-human epic for those who've always rooted for the monster.

[torturedtypewritersdept]

blue eyes + bruises - part five

✯ pairing:

doctor!rafe cameron x fem!reader

✯ summary:

a tragic car accident looks like it'll be the end for you, but dr. cameron is here to make sure that doesn't happen.

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, and fear, car accident, death of a spouse (not rafe or y/n), major surgery, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity back in 2021/2022 and i have rewritten + reshared it here :) the next chapter i spent literally so much time on and i can't wait to share it!!!!

—

Running. Rafe had always been inherently good at running. It was noticed for the first time in middle school by the track and field coach when he outran a bully. The talent was nurtured and he went on to be a track star in high school and college. It was a good skill for a surgeon to have in the midst of an emergency, the ability to run with dexterity and endurance and speed. At least that’s what Molly had convinced him of so she could ogle at his muscular thighs and chest at every track meet. God, did he miss her. The one thing he never thought he would have to run to is his girl, his wife, his molly, as she was wheeled into the emergency room. The words of the surgeon on her case played over and over in Rafe’s head – no matter where he was or what he was doing – the flashback of that night, of those words in that setting – about his wife – it was all too much, no matter how long she had been gone. 

“Rafe, I’m so sorry. We did everything we could.” 

Dr. Charles Richardson looked his colleague, his friend, in the eye with a somber gaze. It felt to Rafe like the look of someone after they had spent an entire afternoon reading Edgar Allen Poe. The look in Charles’ eye made him angry. It wasn’t because of the circumstances, it was because he knew what the look meant – it meant his wife was gone. It meant Charles was looking at him the way he looks at a patient’s family and Rafe, while he was her family, he knew the speech, he knew the words, he knew this world. He knew it was all bullshit.

“Don’t bullshit me, Charles. If my wife is dead, tell me she’s dead.”  

He growled. 

“I’m sorry, Rafe.” 

“You keep saying you’re sorry – say the fucking words. I need to hear you say the words. Not ‘I did everything I could’, not ‘I'm so sorry.’ You say the fucking words you coward.” 

“She’s gone, buddy. She’s gone.” 

—

Rafe was jolted out of his thoughts, out of the memory he had been encapsulated in for the last two years as you stirred awake. He sat there watching you, the steady rise and fall of your chest doing little to comfort him, though he knew it meant you were alive. His eyes moved from your sweet face to your leg that he had previously operated on, a black hinged brace lined it where it sat elevated against three pillows in an attempt to keep the swelling minimal. You looked so fragile, yet incredibly ethereal and soft and he couldn’t help but stare. It was impossible not to stare at something, someone that beautiful. To grow up that beautiful — he wondered what that was like as he sat there ogling at you. He pondered if he should let himself go there with you, if he could let himself feel the rush and the high of serotonin and dopamine that he clinically knew would be released if he was to allow himself to love again. Was he selfish for wanting to be happy? Was he chaos on two feet? Was he damnation on earth the way that he had convinced himself he was? What would become of you, if you were to love him? Would you wind up just like her? 

He forced his overactive brain to stop spinning once he noticed your eyes were open and he brushed his fingers against your forehead. 

“Hey, sweet girl. Welcome back.” 

He cooed, his fingers running up and down the bridge of your nose and across your eyebrows in the shape of a “T”. 

“Hi.” 

You croaked out, throat dry and begging for a source of water. Rafe obliged, rising to his feet as his brain recognized your desperation, hearing the desert within your windpipe and bringing the water up to your lips with a straw. 

“Suck slowly, okay?” 

He instructed, running his fingers through your hair slowly and you followed his directions. 

“How’s the pain?” 

He questioned with a softness that you were convinced was less about him being a good doctor and more about him just being who he was – just being a good person. 

“Like a five maybe. You’re still here?” 

You lied, not wanting to see the life leave his blue eyes when you told him otherwise. 

“That’s good. Yeah, I just wanted to sit with you for a while. Is that okay?” 

He smiled softly, questioning you.

“Of course it is. Can I go back to sleep? I mean, will you be here when I wake up if I do?” 

You questioned, a curiosity looming in your features, unsure why you would’ve stayed up if it meant more time with him.

“Absolutely, sweet girl. I’ll always be here.” 

He smiled, sitting next to you, rubbing soothing circles into the top of your head as you drifted off to sleep. You weren’t sure what it was, but you knew that he was telling the truth, that somehow he’d always be around.

—

You looked up at Rafe as he moved around you, fluffing the pillows behind your head, you sat at an incline in the bed again, trying desperately to reach the tv remote that sat on the table beside you. He had been talking – asking you questions about your day, as if you had done anything except lay here, again. But, all you could think about is the fact that your favorite movie was coming on tv in less than thirty minutes and it was a simple pleasure you were going to indulge yourself in. You shut your eyes tight, squeezing them against your eyelashes with the force of a thousand suns. Rafe must’ve noticed the pained expression on your face because before you could even ride out the wave of discomfort, he had the remote in his hands and he was kneeling in front of you, squatting on the balls of his feet.

“Hey, sweet girl, can you look at me?” 

He asked kindly and when the torment had subsided enough you blinked your eyes open, his piercing blue ones staring back into yours. 

“What is it, from 1-10? and don’t bullshit me this time.” 

His voice was soft but stern and you knew he meant business. 

“It’s a nine.” 

You said, grunting exasperatedly, frustrated and tired and sick – of – this. 

“Shit – sweetheart you can’t let it get that bad before you tell me and why are you putting yourself in more pain by reaching for this? You could’ve asked me, I’m right here.” 

He blurted out his questions in a brash way, waving the remote control in the air.

“My favorite movie is coming on, I just –, sorry, I’m just –” 

A whimper escaped your lips as you stuttered and Rafe moved toward you again, bringing your chin in between his thumb and pointer finger, tilting your head up towards him as he took in the tears that lined your eyes. His heart broke at the sight. 

“Hey – I know, sweetheart. You don’t have to be sorry, I know you’re frustrated.” 

“How do you know how I feel?” 

You questioned him with a hint of attitude. In your mind, it didn’t matter how many people he had operated on with your same injuries, he hadn’t lived it and because of that fact, he didn’t understand. 

“Let me guess, you’re frustrated, annoyed, tired, sad and really wanting a shower?” 

He asked you with a light chuckle, smiling the Rafe Cameron smile as you looked up at him with bewildered eyes. 

“How could you possibly know any of that?” 

You questioned him, confused. Did he go through this, physically? Did this sweet, sweet man hurt the same way that you had?

“Because I’ve been where you are.” 

He stated very matter-of-factly and you were confused.

“You cracked your bones in a million places, too?” 

Had he been through this, too?

“No, but I’ve been in a situation that was eerily similar.” 

You were silent at his declaration, wondering what situation he was referring to. 

“I can’t do much for you about a shower, it’s only been three days since your surgery and with you in this much pain, I don’t want you up and moving. But I can have Jenni give you a sponge bath. Would you be up for that?” 

“Yes, please. That would – be amazing.” 

He nodded and gave you the Rafe Cameron smile again, leaning in and placing a kiss on your forehead. Jenni and another nurse stepped into the room with everything they needed, setting up a bucket of water, some hypoallergenic soap and a sponge on the rolling table that each hospital room came with. Once they had everything set up, Rafe stepped out, being the gentleman he was, he wanted you to have privacy and he definitely didn’t want the first time he saw you naked to be in a hospital bed. 

“He’s quite dreamy, isn’t he?” 

A nurse that stood beside Jenni spoke into the air and your breath faltered. Were you that obvious? If this blonde bimbo picked up it – he probably did too. How fucking embarassing. Rafe had left the room only moments ago with a promise to come check on you shortly, but you so desperately wished he would save you from this woman as she stood in front of you preparing to strip you bare and see the most intimate parts of you, though it felt like she already had. 

“He’s very nice to me.” 

You stated, nodding with a soft smile though your tone was a bit curt. Jenni’s pager went off, signaling another emergency in the hall. 

“Shit – I'll be right back.” 

She muttered, running out of the room in a hurried fashion. The other nurse, who’s name you couldn’t bring yourself to remember, looked at the door as Jenni exited through the threshold – you were sure your recollection, or lack thereof, had more to do with the meds and less to do with her and the shitty vibe she gave off. She worked diligently, pulling down the hospital gown, noting the stitches that lined your chest as she drug the sponge gently over your soft skin. 

“Don’t worry, he’ll get you better and forget you ever existed. He won’t give any of us nurses the time of day. Don’t get your hopes up. Besides – look at you.” 

She replied, rolling her eyes as the words left her mouth. ‘What a bitter bitch’, you thought. You bit your tongue for only a moment before deciding to fully send it – there was nothing she could do to you – you were already bedridden, recovering from surgery and would be for the next few months – there was nothing she could do to you. 

“You know, maybe Rafe hasn’t given you the time of day because your personality fucking sucks, just a thought.” 

You spoke nonchalantly and before she could respond, she laid down the sponge she was using to bathe you with on top of your chest, took off her gloves and dug her long, manicured finger into the incision site Rafe had just stitched up on your hip. Your yelp was so loud Rafe heard it from the hallway, where he stood at the nurse’s station, finishing off your surgical notes. Suddenly, the hammering in his chest overtook him and he rushed into your room to see if you were experiencing post-operative pain or if something else was wrong. What he never expected to see was a nurse, finger deep into a surgical incision and you – your sweet face with tears cascading down it as your eyes pleaded for him. 

“What the fuck are you doing to her?!” 

He growled, rushing to your side, pushing her to the side and grabbing gauze off the table next to your bed, immediately holding it to your hip to stop the bleeding. 

“I know, baby – I know it hurts. I’m sorry, I’m gonna fix it, okay?” 

He pulled the gauze away from your hip and Jenni rushed into the room, taking in the sight of your stitches that were fresh and clean and showing signs of healing only minutes ago and were now torn and bloody and frayed like the pages of an old book. 

“What the fuck happened, Rafe?” 

Jenni all but squealed, rummaging through drawers searching for more gauze and a suture kit. 

“F-f-fingers –” 

You choked out, crocodile tears rolling down your bright pink cheeks as your fists clenched the sheets beside you. 

“Sweet girl, we’re gonna fix it, okay?” 

“No, R-rafe!” 

“What do you mean, no, sweetheart? Talk to me.” 

“Can’t do it anymore, can’t keep getting fixed. I’m not a stuffed animal that you can just keep sewing back up until all the stuffing has fallen out.” 

He cooed, brushing the hair away from your forehead. 

“I know, baby – I know you’re tired. But, if we don’t fix it you’ll get an infection and you’ll get sick okay? We have to fix it, sweet girl.” 

You reluctantly nodded, letting him work, continuing to wail as each stitch was placed into your hip again, the skin irritated and sore and only adding to the discomfort that raked through your entire body. It was almost like Rafe knew when your breaths picked up and the weight of your new reality had fallen on your chest because he started asking questions – questions that you hadn’t answered – questions that no one had bothered to ask you in years. 

“So, what did you do before – I mean, I can only assume you don’t frequent hospitals very often? Unless you’re one of those crazy people. Are you one of those crazy people?” 

You threw your hand up to your mouth and let out a giggle. 

“You’re cute when you ramble, Rafe.” 

His lips turned up into a smirk. Your pain filled haze had you simply not caring about flirting with the man in front of you.

“Oh, so you think I’m cute?” 

He questioned, eyebrows furrowed, laughing as he checked the fluids that hung behind your bed. Your face was red, realizing what you had previously said to him once his words had reached your ears. You wished the bed you laid in would swallow you whole, scared to look this beautiful man in the eye and face rejection. There’s no way the feeling is reciprocated. 

“I mean, yeah. You’re an attractive guy, you’ve gotta know that.”

You stuttered out awkwardly and he simply giggled at the way you were shrinking into yourself, embarrassed at the compliment you had given him.

“Sweetheart, don’t be embarrassed. It’s okay, I’m flattered.” 

He smiled – the Rafe Cameron smile – rubbing circles into your hand as you took in the words that left his lips. 

He’s flattered. That’s what you say when you’re trying to let someone down easily. He doesn’t reciprocate and how could he? Just look at you. 

The assault on your heart at the mercy of your brain was interrupted quickly by Rafe’s voice again. 

“So, what did you do before? For work, I mean. You never answered my question.” 

“Okay, nosey. I’m – well – I was a high school English teacher.” 

You replied, with a sad smile. 

“What made you want to teach?” 

He asked, interested in everything that involved you.

“My younger sister, Ella has special needs and she wasn’t always treated fairly in the classroom; so I just wanted to make sure no child ever experienced that again.” 

“You know what that tells me?” 

He asked, a sly smile dancing across his face.

“What?” 

You wondered out loud.

“It tells me that you’re sweet and a good person and that you could’ve never deserved for this to happen.” 

“Thank you, Rafe –” 

He looked at you as tears fell down your face.

“Sweetheart, what can I do?” 

You didn’t answer him and your breaths only seem to quicken by the second and before Rafe could even think, he had kicked off his shoes and climbed in the bed with you, wrapping his arms around you tightly, one hand draping across your waist and one around the back of your head, pooling your hair in his hands. 

“Shh. It’s okay, baby. I’m so sorry.” 

He cooed. 

“I-I’m never gonna b-be the same am I? I-I’ll n-never b-be able to teach again.” 

You whimpered, crying into his chest. 

“Hey, sweet girl, don’t say that. I’m gonna do everything in my power to make sure you teach again, okay? I won’t let anyone take that away from you, ever.” 

His voice was soft and tender, afraid the wrong octave might rip you in half and you’d cease to exist right then and there. 

“Do you understand? I won’t let that happen.” 

This time he spoke with more force and you nodded your head reluctantly, unsure if you really believed him or not. 

“Tell me something to make me forget, Rafe – What made you want to become a doctor?” 

You questioned and he was uncomfortable, but the pleading look in your eyes made him answer anyway.

“It’s not a story full of glory, sweetheart. How about I tell you a better one, huh? How’s that sound?” 

He questioned, his hands working against your scalp like his life depended on it. 

“That sounds good.” 

You replied, somberly, wondering what kind of hurt this beautiful, sweet human being had experienced to make him so closed off about his own life. 

“Well – once upon a time, there was this doctor and he was a real asshole until this pretty girl walked into the hospital he worked at.” 

“What did she look like?” 

You questioned with curiosity-stricken features. He smiled at you, how he was the only one who got to see you like this. He couldn’t help but feel honored. 

“I think she looked a lot like you, sweetheart.” 

Your breath is caught in your throat at the fact that those words were coming from him. His hand motions continue against your scalp as you listen to his words, the euphoria that’s felt from the action is something you aren’t sure you’ve ever felt in your entire life. 

“I’m glad I found you, Rafe.” 

You mutter sleepily, listening to him continue the details of the stranger's beauty, who in his words, looked similar to you, before you promptly fell asleep.

“And I’m glad I found you, angel.” 

He whispers, continuing to rub soothing circles into your hair, letting you cuddle deeper into him and for the first time Rafe had felt warmth in someone that wasn’t Molly. He had felt warmth and goodness and it wasn’t from her and it simply scared him half to death. 

—

taglist:

as always, if you'd like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please shoot me an ask or comment on this post so i can keep track <3

@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw @luvrcndy @silkylovey @yagirlwrites @obxbabygirl @rafeecameronsbitch @klutzy-kay24 @roseczbalt @akobx @allsmilesreally7 @wtfdudesblog @urdreamgirl12 @hockeybabe87 @sereneera @annaconscience @pogueprincesa @bibissparkles @obxbigsis

[aventurineswife]

Hello! I like your self aware hsr headcannons a lot, and was hoping you can post more of them? When you get the time ofc :) remember to drink water lol and take care <3 (this is my first time sending an ask, sorry if it's a bit wonky)

Hello, thank you for your lovely message! I’m so happy you enjoyed the headcanons! 🫶 No worries at all, it’s great to hear from you! And I’ll definitely make sure to drink water—your care is much appreciated!

Himeko begins to notice odd patterns in the way the world works, and, after some careful observation, she starts to wonder if there's something—or someone—controlling events. One day, she pulls the Trailblazer aside and whispers, “I don’t think I’m imagining it, but… do you ever get the feeling that there’s someone out there pulling strings for us?” She’ll ask you questions in passing, subtly probing if you have any answers.

Welt starts questioning his role within the universe after noticing inconsistencies in his own memories. “Sometimes I wonder,” he says, staring into the stars, “if we’re just pieces on a chessboard, moved by someone we’ll never meet.” Occasionally, he might say something like, “If I don’t make a decision, will it be made for me?” He becomes oddly philosophical, wondering about the deeper meaning of free will and fate.

Silver Wolf, a master of digital manipulation, starts playing around with the idea that you’re not just influencing the world but shaping it. She might joke, “Let me guess, you’re the one controlling all the variables, huh? Too bad you can’t fix this game with a patch.” Sometimes, if you do something unusual in combat, she’ll give you a sly wink and say, “I see you’re testing my limits again, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll play along.”

Clara, being the sweet and innocent soul she is, starts asking questions that are too pure to ignore. “Hey, is it true that you’re the one who decides when we get to go on adventures/battles? Can you make the stars shine brighter if you want to?” She’s mostly oblivious to the deeper implications, but there’s a childlike wonder in her eyes every time she talks about "you," as if you’re something magical. (Ugh precious 💖🫂)

March 7th seems to notice that the world doesn’t follow traditional logic. After a particularly bizarre event, she looks straight at you and says, “You know… I’m starting to think that you’re not just watching us… You’re making things happen.” or something like, “I bet you have all the answers. You must be the biggest secret keeper on the Express!”

The world of Honkai: Star Rail begins to subtly adjust to your presence. NPCs sometimes mutter under their breath about how things seem a bit too convenient. If you grind too much, they’ll comment, “Did you ever feel like you’ve been here before? Some of us feel like the world’s changing around us…” The idea that the world is aware of the shifts you make in it is a small, eerie undercurrent that runs through daily life.

These are the only ones I could come up for now 😭🙏, I hope you liked them!

[lipstick-and-libraries]

Rainfall and Realizations PT.2

𓋜 Pairing: Minho (XO, Kitty) x fem! Reader

𓋜 Series: The Roommate Exchange

𓋜 Summary: A rainy afternoon in Kitty’s and your dorm brings you closer to her charming but flustered friend, Minho. Between teasing remarks, upcoming secrets and an unexpected walk, sparks begin to fly as Minho starts to see you in a new light.

𓋜 Notes:

Hello again!,

I just want to say, I'm so surprised that the first little drabble has reached about 100 people at this point, thank you to everyone reading and leaving a like <3

While I didn't think I'd be continuing the first part, I am very very happy to do so. I have a couple Ideas, so lets see how long this little slowburn is gonna take, but do feel free to give feedback, ideas or corrections :)

Thank you again, and I hope you have fun with this next part, and the newest little secret (Y/N) possibly has

Taglist!! <3: @finnbbl, @literallysza(tysm, ily)

The days following Minho’s first meeting with (Y/N) were…confusing. For someone who prided himself on being the most self-assured person at KISS, Minho now found himself unsettled, distracted, and unusually tongue-tied.

He hated how much he found himself looking for excuses to hang out in Kitty’s dorm, pretending to help with her chaotic plans or offering to grab coffee with her, only to find himself scanning the room for (Y/N).

And then there was (Y/N) herself. If she noticed Minho’s newfound awkwardness, she didn’t let on. She greeted him the same way every time—calm, composed, and polite but never overly enthusiastic. It drove him crazy.

One rainy afternoon, Minho found himself at Kitty’s dorm again. It had become a ritual of sorts—Kitty would ramble on about her latest love triangle (or square, depending on the day), and Minho would half-listen, his attention split between her words and the hope that (Y/N) would walk in.

“…and then she had the nerve to ask if I wanted to go shopping with her,” Kitty was saying, pacing the small living room.

Minho leaned back on the couch, pretending to listen. His attention kept drifting to the door.

“And you’re not even listening,” Kitty said, snapping her fingers in front of his face.

“What? No, I am,” Minho said quickly. “Shopping with Yuri. Terrible idea. Definitely don’t do it.”

Kitty sighed, flopping onto the armchair across from him. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

Before Minho could respond, the door creaked open. (Y/N) stepped inside, balancing a tray of fresh cookies. She glanced at them, her lips curving into a small smile.

“Kitty, I made a little something for you,” she said, setting the tray on the counter. Her gaze flickered to Minho briefly. “Oh. Hi, Minho.”

Minho straightened up instinctively. “Hey.”

Kitty raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of them. “Cookies? You’ve been spoiling me lately, (Y/N).”

“It’s nothing,” (Y/N) said, putting a couple of them on a platter for Kitty and sliding it across the counter. “I wanted to take some time to bake something again anyway.”

Minho hesitated, then cleared his throat. “Any left over for me?”

(Y/N) glanced at him, her expression unreadable, before nodding. She prepared another plate and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed briefly as he took it, and Minho felt his stomach flip.

“Thanks,” he muttered, taking a bite to hide his reaction.

As the rain pattered against the windows, the three of them settled into a strangely comfortable rhythm. Kitty alternated between brainstorming ideas and scrolling through her phone, while Minho and (Y/N) exchanged occasional remarks about the weather and school.

Minho found himself watching (Y/N) more than he intended. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her plate balanced precariously on the edge of the table. Her hair was slightly frizzy from the humidity, and she wore an oversized sweater that looked impossibly soft.

“So,” (Y/N) said suddenly, looking at Minho. “What’s your role in Kitty’s master plan today?”

Minho blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, I’m the…idea guy?”

“Really?” (Y/N) said, raising an eyebrow. “Because it seems like Kitty’s doing all the talking.”

Kitty snorted. “Exactly. He’s useless.”

“Hey,” Minho protested, feigning offense. “I’m providing moral support.”

“Moral support doesn’t count if you’re just sitting there looking pretty,” (Y/N) said, her tone light but teasing.

Minho’s cheeks flushed at the unexpected compliment—or was it an insult? He couldn’t tell.

“Looking pretty is a full-time job,” he shot back, recovering quickly.

(Y/N) smiled faintly, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Must be exhausting.”

Soon after, (Y/N) excused herself to work on her writing, leaving Minho and Kitty alone again.

“You’re staring,” Kitty said, not looking up from her phone.

“What?” Minho said, snapping out of his thoughts.

“At (Y/N),” Kitty clarified, smirking. “You’ve been staring at her all afternoon.”

“I have not,” Minho said, a little too quickly.

“Right,” Kitty said, drawing out the word. “You’re so obvious, it’s painful.”

Minho groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not…staring. I just think she’s—”

“Gorgeous?” Kitty supplied.

Minho sighed. “Fine. Yes. But it’s not like that.”

“Sure it isn’t,” Kitty said, her smirk widening.

The tea that was made to go along with the cookies was long gone, the rain still drumming softly against the windows, and Minho couldn’t stop replaying the interaction in his head. Her words—“Must be exhausting”—had been light, teasing, but there was something about the way (Y/N) looked at him when she said it. Not dismissive, not disinterested. Amused, maybe even intrigued. Or was he imagining that?

“Minho,” Kitty’s voice cut through his thoughts, dragging him back to reality.

“Huh?”

Kitty rolled her eyes dramatically. “You’re really bad at hiding it.”

“Hiding what?” he said, attempting a casual shrug that probably looked as awkward as it felt.

“You, staring at her like she’s some mysterious treasure map you’re trying to figure out,” Kitty said, her smirk firmly in place.

“I don’t stare,” Minho said defensively. “I glance. Occasionally, and don't mention it again, we just talked about that 20 minutes ago!”

Kitty let out a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re in trouble, I'm just trying to get that into your head”

“I’m not,” Minho insisted, though the heat rising in his cheeks told a different story. “I just think she’s…interesting.”

“Oh, she is,” Kitty agreed. “But don’t think you’re going to win her over by just sitting here and looking pretty.”

“I don’t—” Minho started, but Kitty cut him off.

“Please. I know you. You think a few charming smiles and a well-timed compliment are all it takes.”

Minho scowled, but he couldn’t exactly argue. That had worked for him in the past. “And what, oh wise Kitty, do you suggest I do?”

Kitty tilted her head, considering. “Maybe try talking to her. Actually talking. Ask her about her life, her interests—be genuine for once.”

Minho opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the door to (Y/N)’s room creaked open. She stepped out, clutching her laptop and a notebook, her hair pulled into a clip-up hairstyle.

“I’m heading to the library,” (Y/N) said, glancing between them.

“In this weather?” Kitty asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s quieter when it’s raining,” (Y/N) said with a small shrug.

"Besides, I want to meet up with a guy that needs tutoring, he's hopeless"

"Just some guy, huh?" Minho pauses for a second, watching her every move.

"A random guy that you're bringing some of your cookies?"

(Y/N turns around, facing him with a judging look: "If you really think about it, you're also 'Just a Guy' at the moment"

Minho's brows furrow, and you could almost hear Kitty's low wince in reaction to her statement

“I’ll walk with you,” Minho said, standing before he even realized what he was doing.

(Y/N) blinked, clearly surprised. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Minho said, his tone a little too eager. He quickly added, “I mean, I’ve been cooped up here for hours. I could use some air.”

Kitty barely stifled a laugh, but (Y/N) simply nodded. “Alright, if you’re sure.”

Minho grabbed his jacket, ignoring Kitty’s smug expression as he followed (Y/N) out the door.

The rain had softened into a light drizzle by the time they stepped outside. (Y/N) pulled her hood up, clutching her laptop bag close as they walked.

“So,” Minho began, struggling to find a topic. “The library, huh? Big plans?”

“I just need some quiet to work,” (Y/N) said, glancing at him briefly.

“On what?” he asked, genuinely curious.

She hesitated for a moment before answering. “I write sometimes. Nothing major.”

“Like essays?” Minho guessed.

“Not exactly,” she said, her lips twitching into a faint smile. “More like…thoughts. Stories. Poetry, sometimes.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. “Wow. I didn’t know that.”

“Well, now you do,” (Y/N) said lightly.

They walked in silence for a moment, the rain-soaked campus unusually quiet around them. Minho found himself stealing glances at her, trying to piece together the puzzle of who she was.

“What about you?” (Y/N) asked suddenly, catching him off guard. “What do you do when you’re not hanging out with Kitty or obsessing over your wardrobe?”

“I don’t obsess over clothes, or only hang out with Kitty” Minho said defensively.

(Y/N) gave him a knowing look: "You cant deny the fashion thing, and you do hang out with Kitty a lot at the moment, you seem to be attached at the hip"

“Okay, maybe a little, but not the Kitty thing! She's nice don't get me wrong, but..” he admitted, stopping his rant when he saw (Y/N)'s expression

“But I do other things. Like…uh…” He faltered, realizing he didn’t have a good answer. “I’m pretty into music,” he said finally. “I play piano.”

(Y/N)’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her tone teasing. “You don’t exactly give off ‘classical music prodigy’ vibes.”

“First of all, I’m not a prodigy,” Minho said. “And second, I’m full of surprises.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” (Y/N) said, her faint smile returning.

They reached the library steps, and (Y/N) paused, turning to face him.

“Thanks for walking with me,” she said.

“Anytime,” Minho said, and for once, he meant it.

(Y/N) hesitated, like she wanted to say something else, but instead, deciding for an alternative.

"Minho?"

"Yes?"

"If you ever get lonely when Kitty's out causing chaos, feel free to stop by anyway, alright?"

Minho and her shared a smile before she nodded and disappeared through the library doors.

Minho stood there for a moment, watching the door close behind her. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, replaying their conversation in his head. It wasn’t much, but it felt like progress.

By the time he got back to the dorm, Kitty was waiting for him, sprawled out on the couch with a knowing grin.

“Well?” she asked.

“Well, what?”

Kitty rolled her eyes. “How’d it go? Did you manage to form a complete sentence?”

“Very funny,” Minho said, kicking off his shoes. “We talked.”

“And?”

“And…she’s interesting,” Minho admitted, flopping onto the couch.

She gave him an expecting look, leaning forward towards him

He have her a judgy up-and-down look before asking: "What?"

Kitty groaned and shook her head.

"And? There was something else I know it"

Minho's lips twitched into something resembling a smile before gaining back his facial control

"Well...", he hesitated for a second, "She did indirectly invite me to hang out?"

Kitty’s grin widened. “You’re so doomed.”

That night, as Minho sat at his desk, he found himself scrolling through his phone, staring at the submission screen for the anonymous blog everyone at KISS loved. He didn’t know why he was considering it, but something about (Y/N)’s quiet confidence had gotten under his skin.

Without overthinking, he typed out a message:

“How do you get to know someone who’s completely different from anyone you’ve ever met? Someone who makes you feel like you’re not as put together as you think you are?”

He hesitated before hitting send, then shook his head and closed the app. It wasn’t like she would ever see it.

Or so he thought.

(part 3 coming soon <3)

[writingwisterias]

How would the different eras of Leon act if he knows he shouldn’t be with the reader (ada wong typa shit) but he can’t escape from her like whenever something happens (like maybe she spotted arias’s wedding in vendetta ?) she is deff a part of it and he keeps running into the reader 🙏 i love your work btw you’re the reason why i keep refreshing the tag 💪💜

Hiii

I love this idea lmao and thank you! You are so sweet - I hope you have a great day <3

Warnings: None Fem! reader

RE2:

Post the events of the game let's say he sees you around the training grounds

After the events you both went through at a young age I think he finds it easier to blame you for letting him fall for Ada's tricks

It grows heated and hurts you that he treats you like that around the camp

Krasuer actually makes you sparing partners on purpose hoping that you would hone in your anger and focus on creating your skills

It doesn't work

RE4R:

He sees you as he's running around but almost plays it off as just a figment of his imagination

It would a similar reaction to Ada in the game but let's say he actually is hung up you and has feelings then he would slip up more

He'll expose these feelings more often than showing you he's angry.

I don't think however you would use this to your advantage but find it cute that he is struggling

He's almost drawn to be at your side more than he is to focus on the mission. Ashley's presence is a reminder of what he's meant to be doing

Infinite Darkness:

Grows frustrated at first, like how are you here again

At this point I think he'll just assume the universe thinks you are meant to be together

Again is more likely to draw in close and team up in a way where he's not just straight up being used

He's been there done that

Better at hiding his feelings but does slip up a few times

Damnation:

He's beginning to get used to it at this point, I don't think he would really get mad

I think again it's just surprising how you are always there as a thing in his life and he never seems to know you very well

Playful banter, enough to get through the mission

Kinda accepts what you do as he's just used to it at this point so there's no tension or arguments on that front

He assumes you are hear on orders for someone. Doesn't agree to it but if you don't stop him from doing his job he wont stop you doing yours

RE6:

He surprised you are here, like he just wasn't expecting you to be involved with this plot scheme or that it was that large you would have an interest in it

Smiles to himself every time you talk or do something to help him. He's smitten at this point.

The dynamic has shifted dramatically at this point, there is hidden feelings waiting to be exposed or spoken about.

But when do either of you have the time?

It's just forever left unspoken

It would be easier to deal with it like this but at the end of the day it's too obvious now

The final 'goodbye' is the hardest

Vendetta:

So I think he would actually get annoyed but because he's not in the right frame of mind to deal with the emotions that follow from seeing you

He would provide information for the others about you if you are involved.

When he actually sees you he's silent. Not really talking to you all that much.

After the mission though when he's starting to get in a better mindset I think he will attempt to reach out

Maybe for some stability after all you have been there through literally everything

It could progress romantically but I think that's just what you were both expecting at this point if it does happen.

Soulmates in a way

Death Island:

You are either currently fucking or have fucked recently

Lingering touches when he does see you, its playful and the other don't really know how to react

He's not surprised that you are somehow involved and will stick by your side during the fights just in case

You both meet up together of course

At this point you just accept each others company and allows it to develop in whatever way it does

If it works out then great. If not then until next time.

[torpublishinggroup]

Love. Magic. Betrayal.

Januaries—a stunning new short story and novella collection from bestselling author Olivie Blake!

Dive into stories of twisted fairytales, contemporary heists, absurdist poetry, and at least one set of actual wedding vows.