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solxamber · 2 days ago

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Labor of Love with: Housewardens

Ways in which they show their devotion through actions.

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle is meticulous.

It’s something you’ve always known, but it hits you harder when you see the neatly organized stack of notes waiting for you on your desk. Every single day, without fail, he goes out of his way to make sure your materials are in order—sections color-coded, key points highlighted, and even definitions written in the margins in his precise, careful handwriting.

You never asked him to do it. He never mentioned it, either. But he does it anyway.

And that realization makes your heart swell.

So, when you walk in and find him seated at your desk, methodically sorting through your latest notes, red pen in hand, you don’t hesitate.

You step forward, wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind, and rest your chin against his head.

Riddle stills. You feel his heartbeat quicken ever so slightly.

Then, slowly, he leans into you.

You press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

His hand tightens around the pen. “…I want to.”

That’s when you know.

You squeeze him just a little tighter. “I love you too, Riddle.”

His ears turn red, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he simply exhales, tilting his head just enough that your cheek rests against his.

And just like that, he continues working, letting you hold him as long as you want.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona hates unnecessary work. Hates anything that requires more energy than necessary.

And yet, when you're around, you never have to lift a damn finger.

You don’t even think about it most days—the way your bag just disappears from your shoulder, the weight suddenly gone as you walk beside him. He never makes a show of it, never announces it. One second, it’s there; the next, it’s slung over his own shoulder like it belongs to him.

Today, though, you notice.

You glance at him, watching the way he strides forward like he’s done nothing at all, green eyes lazy and indifferent. He’s grumbling under his breath about class, about professors, about how this is exactly why he doesn’t bother showing up half the time.

A grin spreads across your face. Without warning, you loop your arms around his and lean into him as you walk, practically hanging off of him.

Leona scoffs. “The hell are you doin’?”

“You’re cute,” you say simply.

His ears twitch. He clicks his tongue, looking away. “Whatever, herbivore.”

But he doesn’t shake you off. And when your fingers intertwine with his, his grip tightens, holding on just a little firmer than before.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul Ashengrotto is, first and foremost, a businessman. A professional. A shark in the waters of commerce, always calculating, always scheming.

And yet, somehow, Mostro Lounge always seems to have a convenient couple’s discount whenever you’re craving something.

Today, it’s that seasonal dessert you offhandedly mentioned a few days ago. Suspiciously, the lounge is now offering a limited-time deal—50% off for couples! Azul, ever the shrewd entrepreneur (liar), insists that it would be financially irresponsible not to take advantage of such an incredible offer.

“We are a couple,” he says, adjusting his glasses with a perfectly straight face. “And our deals are, as always, unmatched. It would be a waste not to dine here.”

You can’t help but smile. He’s so transparent, pretending this wasn’t orchestrated specifically for you. But you don’t call him out on it—you just squeeze his hand a little tighter, warmth spreading through your chest as you sip your drink.

Azul coughs lightly, looking away, but his fingers tighten around yours.

For all his talk of profit, it’s moments like this that prove the truth: when it comes to you, he’d rather give than take.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim always, always walks you back.

It doesn’t matter if the sky is clear or if the rain is coming down in sheets. If he’s exhausted from a long day or if a million other things are demanding his attention—he will be there, right by your side.

And, of course, he insists on holding hands.

“What if a rogue cat attacks us?” he says earnestly, fingers lacing through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It makes no sense. At all. But who are you to question him when he looks at you like that? When his smile is so bright, so genuine, just because you took his hand?

You huff a laugh, squeeze his fingers, and lean in to press a kiss to his cheek. He beams, delighted, and tugs you forward with even more enthusiasm.

You let him lead the way—because, really, how could you not?

Vil Schoenheit

Vil never lets you run on empty.

It doesn’t matter how busy he is, how many rehearsals, photoshoots, or brand meetings he has lined up—he will make time to ensure you’ve eaten properly. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all balanced, all nutritious, all approved by him.

So when he strides into the lunchroom, posture perfect despite the exhaustion clinging to his frame, you already know what’s coming. He gracefully sets down a container in front of you—a salad, curated to perfection, each ingredient placed with care.

“You need more greens in your diet,” he says, tone firm but eyes softer than usual. “And before you protest, this has everything your body requires for optimal function.”

You don’t protest. You just watch him as he picks at his own food, launching into a detailed explanation of the health benefits of each ingredient. His voice is smooth, poised, but there’s a faint weariness beneath it, the telltale signs of a long morning.

And yet, he still came.

Still made sure you were taken care of.

Your heart clenches, full to the brim with adoration. You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand as you gaze at him, utterly enamored.

Vil pauses mid-sentence, eyes flicking up to meet yours. He exhales, a faint smile curling at the corners of his lips.

“What?” he asks, almost amused.

You just shake your head, spearing a piece of lettuce with your fork. “Nothing,” you say, smile warm. “I just really, really love you.”

He scoffs, cheeks faintly pink. “At least finish your meal before getting sentimental.”

But when you take your first bite, he looks pleased.

Idia Shroud

Idia has his own way of looking out for you.

It’s not grand gestures or flowery words—no, he’s far too awkward for that. But when you’re struggling with a game level, you mysteriously find it cleared the next day, your inventory suddenly stocked with rare loot.

When your gacha pulls are unlucky, an absurd amount of in-game currency finds its way to your account, no explanation given (but you know exactly who’s responsible).

Even when he’s too anxious to come out, Ortho arrives with care packages—snacks, drinks, even a plushie once (“Big Brother said you might need a comfort buff,” Ortho had cheerfully reported).

Right now, you’re sitting on his bed, watching as he games. The glow of his monitors reflects off his hair, his fingers moving quickly over his keyboard. Despite being engrossed, he still glances over at you every so often.

“Are you comfortable?” he mumbles, barely above a whisper.

Your heart clenches. You shift closer, pressing against his side as you smile.

“I really, really love you,” you say softly.

Idia fumbles, missing a crucial input, and his character dies instantly.

“…Y-you just had to say that mid-boss fight,” he groans, hair flaring pink.

You just laugh, leaning into him as he frantically tries to respawn.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus always listens.

You could be rambling about the most mundane thing—a pebble you saw on the side of the road, the weirdly shaped cloud that looked like a potato—and he’d listen like you were reciting sacred text. His emerald eyes stay fixed on you, unwavering, as if every word you speak is precious.

Malleus always makes sure you’re safe, too. If it rains when you’re together, you’ve noticed something peculiar—lightning never strikes near you. Not once. As if the storm itself knows better than to disturb you.

Right now, you’re recounting Grim’s latest kitchen disaster, hands gesturing wildly as you describe the flames, the shrieking, the very near death experience of your breakfast. And there he is, watching, listening, completely enraptured by you like you’re the only thing in the world.

You can’t help yourself. You lean in and kiss him, a quick, impulsive press of your lips against his.

Malleus blinks, surprised, before his expression softens into something warm, something yours.

“…Please continue,” he says, voice gentle.

You laugh, your heart full, and keep talking.

Masterlist

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daynascullys · 2 days ago

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because tumblr is the gif website, I feel like everyone here should understand the work that goes into creating a gifset. because I think not everyone does, and it’s a huge part of why people don’t respect gif makers the way that they should.

the simplest gifs you will ever see me post still take the better part of an hour to create. because in order to make a gif, you need the material—for me, that means taking screen captures of videos or finding a download for them, both of which take time. then you have to open photoshop and create your gif, which can take a really long time depending on how quick photoshop is, how long the gif you’re making is, the size, any number of variables. and then I always color my gifs from scratch. if there’s dialogue, I listen over and over to try to make sure it’s correct, sometimes I look up transcripts, and sometimes it takes time to decide how to break up the dialogue. so even if it’s a simple two-gif set of a short scene, it will take the better part of an hour at least. and again, this is for the simplest gifsets I create.

so when I gif a scene, I am spending at least an hour with that tiny little snippet of material. which means that whatever it is that is featured in the gifset, it’s something that I like or tolerate enough to spend at minimum an hour with it. and this is why it DOES NOT MATTER if you are not critiquing the gif itself, gif makers do not want to hear every negative thought you have ever had about an actor, character, scene, or anything else they may have made a gifset for. if you want to complain about something, make your own post.

do not take someone else’s creation as a chance to complain or make nasty comments about anything featured in it. if I am willing to gif something, it means that I am willing to spend my own free time looking at it and working with it and creating something with it. so even if it isn’t my favorite scene or character or actor or whatever, I like it enough to watch the same three second clip over and over again for the better part of an hour. and yes, you’re just one person, but imagine a gifset with 100 notes. say 50 of those are reblogs, and 20 have some sort of complaint in the tags. you only see the tags of people who reblog from you, but OP will see all the tags. which means it’s not just your complaint, it’s all 20 different complaints about the thing they liked enough to make a gifset for.

and look—I understand it’s your blog and you can say whatever you want. I understand that I am creating something to be seen by other people and I don’t get to control what people say or do in the tags. if you read this and think fuck that, I can do what I want, you’re right. the purpose of this post is to remind you that you can do whatever you want, but the consequence may be that the people who are creating content for your fandoms stop posting altogether because they get sick of reading everyone’s negative opinions.

all that said, for the love of god: if you like something, reblog it. send asks and tell people you like their creations. say it in the tags. send things to friends. DO NOT REPOST THINGS. if you want to reap the benefits of other people creating things, make them feel like their work is appreciated.

#this is not about one particular fandom #it has happened in all my fandoms #but I can tell you for the fandoms I create for #it is especially prominent when talking about David Duchovny/Mulder #or Jane Rizzoli/Angie Harmon/late seasons of Rizzoli & Isles #sentences border on senseless

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kenwio · 2 days ago

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Joker's kid! reader : how batfamily would react on them trying to end their life

Route : recovered dove

Please read warnings before reading this one!

If you do not feel like reading it, it's okay! (Spoilers will be at the end of this part) Please have tea or hot cocoa, and read relax 💖 and remember there are people who care and support you 💖 I'll be posting more fluff in future parts

Warnings : heavy topics, mentions of death, implications of self-destructive behavior and suicidal behavior, hurt/comfort, traumatized characters.

Idea for this part from this ask here . I also used this idea for comfort part form here

Author's note : I'm including this part in route: Recovered dove only because I want to show that mental healing of Joker's kid is a long way, it had ups and downs, but in the end they have family who acres about them now.

You don't know what exactly triggered it. Maybe it was the fact that everyone started discussing break out in Arkham asylum instead of the usual breakfast convention, maybe it was how Bruce said he didn't have time for you, maybe it was how Alfred was distant today, so you thought something wrong, maybe it was that Dick ignored you today, maybe it was that Jason's aggressive demeanor when you saw him, maybe it was Tim's comment when you brought him coffee, maybe it was Damian's harshness when you meet him near your room today.

That all made you feel so lost. To see them all being unwelcoming to you again was overwhelming. Is it because your father is free again, and they thought you'd be helping him? Wait if your father is free... he will want you back. You don't want back! No! You don't want to be with him again! You do not want to be experimented on again, be beaten up by him again. You thought it was finally over, that you were taken away from that life, never to return. You thought you found family! Why does he have to ruin your life again? He drove her away from you already, the only person who protected you before Batman and his birds, the only person who was your family before them, your mom ... and now he is doing it again; he is taking your family away again! But were they your family? You thought that Bruce was thinking about you as his own child, you thought that Alfred was proud of your progress, you thought that Dick was happy to spend time with you, you thought that Jason was enjoying your shared reading time, you thought that Tim liked to study with you, you thought that Damian finally accepted you. Were you wrong? Was it all a lie? Did they want to use you as bait for your father? Or did they think you would be able to tell them something about him? Was that a reason why they got close to you? But now that they see they were wrong, and after they made sure you didn't know anything, they decided to drop the act?

Was it all a happy dream that's just ended? If it was a dream, you don't want to wake up to the nightmare of your previous life. You can't take the suffering anymore. You need to make it stop to end it, to end it all.

You didn't know how long you were in you were in your thoughts, when you got up. You wanted to live. The room that became your own, became your safe space now felt like JOKE. You needed to get away from it. You struggled to open the window, as it required much strength from your shaking hands. But you were persistent in your efforts to open it, and in the end window opened. You looked down, it was quite high, and you knew that for your body, which was unlike theirs, weak and fragile, it would be enough. You've seen a grown man die when he fell from his high back in a crime alley, so for you, it will definitely be enough. Oh, crime alley, you don't want to go there. You don't want to return to life with Joker. You stood up on the windowsill, looking at the green grass down, feeling the cold night wind against your skin. Your head felt heavy, ringing in your ears just made it all worse. You took one step, and you felt incredibly calm. You took another step, only to be pulled away from the windowsill on the ground and held up. You didn't register the loud voice, the way someone was shaking you. You just sit there staring at nothing in particular, not even able to cry because of how tired you are.

In the meantime, Damian, the one who pulled you away from the window, had already called everyone and was trying hard to make you snap out of it. Yet it was not helping. When Bruce arrived, he moved Damian, who was looking at you with extreme worry, aside. Bruce recognized your expression; he had seen it before - thousand-yard stare - your own mind was protecting you from whatever you were feeling. As he was trying to help you, holding you against him, trying to soothe you, the rest of the family arrived in your room, seeing scared Damian, worried Bruce, and you... you looked so broken. It was too hard on them all

A few hours later, when you fell asleep after you came to your senses and cried for a while, Bruce and others started figuring out what made you feel this way. And it didn't take long; they are a family of detectives, after all. And this all made them feel really bad, guilty. As it turned out, on this day, you were too unlucky to notice only the bad sides of things.

There wasn't any breakout In Arkham asylum. Turns out, the lead they were investigating turned out to be false. Bruce, indeed, was busy, but he failed to communicate this in the normal way: he only added that he would try to make some only by the time you stepped away, which he didn't notice. Alfred was distant because he had a migraine today, but he still wanted to work around the house; there were too many chores to be done in the Wayne manor. Dick didn't mean to ignore you, he was too tired after his few nights of being up and he just failed to notice your quiet presence, being too busy thinking about his bed. Jason was behaving aggressively because of the lead about break out from Arkham asylum, which was the one that he followed for his case, and since it was false; it took the case he was working on back to square one. Tim actually was mumbling about his case, quietly cursing criminals, and not you; just like Jason, he had too much trouble because of that stupid lead. Damian stepped in at the last second to help you avoid stumbling and falling when you were waking in your room, which resulted in his harshness to you, but you were too deep in your panic to notice that his gaze was more worried than angry. If Damian wouldn't have been worried and decided to check up on you... non of them want to think about it.

They spend night in your room and in the morning, they talked to you, communicating how things actually were the previous day, and expressing how important you were to them.

It was a shock to everyone. Even Bruce thought it was going fine, that your session was working and helping you, that you were feeling safe, and that your relationships with the rest of the family were getting better. And he knew that what happened damaged the whole family because they almost lost you. He regretted that he didn't phrase his words correctly, feeling like he failed to show his care for you. He knew he should have been careful with words, he knows how impactful they can be. And since he said he hadn't got time for you he started making time for you. He wants you to know that he cares for you and he will make time for you wherever you need him. His one daily check-up became 2 check-ups, and when he had more free time, he checked up more. He pays extra attention to you. Even your little sneeze will make him worried to the point of examination in a medbay. He stays with you, and sometimes talks with you, encouraging you to open up and share your opinion and feelings. He tries to lessen the influence of "bad guidelines" (that were with you because of Joker) in your head. He helps you talk through your feelings, helps you show them and process them. He reminds you that you are cared for now. And he promises that he will protect you. After hearing you out, learning your fears and insecurities, and when he learned out that most of all you are afraid to go by your father's way, he promises you that he will do everything in his power to prevent you from taking this way. Bruce wants you to be happy, to make good memories. You already got unlucky with your father, who made you experience hell, but Bruce will try to be the best Dad he can for you.

Alfred felt so guilty. He knew you needed care, but he was distracted. He feels like he let you down, by forgetting how fragile and sensitive you are. He knew you were struggling; he had seen it himself. If only he had paid you more attention. But Alfred, better than anyone else, knows that he shouldn't be focusing on the past; he needs to work on the present, and he needs to make sure you feel better. He makes sure to make you more happy while he can. It's always your favorite tea at the tea time you share, with his cookies, of course, which he bakes with you from time to time. It's always your comfort shows or documentaries on TV when you two watch something. He also makes sure no one dares to make you feel uncomfortable, even if it will make him look around like Hawk. But Alfred understands that he can't always be around; that's exactly why he makes sure that he teaches you at least a few techniques that would be able to help with worry and anxiety, and he practices them with you. You are his little star, who may be really quiet but still efficiently lights up his days, and he doesn't want to lose you. When you share that you are afraid your family will reject you, he personally goes to everyone, making sure that they won't be saying something that contains a message. He wants to see you all grown up and happy in the end; he will work hard to make sure your life in Manor will be good.

Even when Dick just heard how Damian called for help for you, he felt shocked, what to say when he saw and understood the situation. What do you mean his baby sibling tried to make their life end when he was blissfully unaware, sleeping in his old room? How? What he missed? Just a few days before, you seemed on your way to becoming the happy sunshine of a kid, and now that has happened? He is your older brother and he missed all the singes?! He needs to sit down. It's too hard to accept this version of reality for him. The reality is that he can lose another member of the family. He knows what it is like to lose a sibling, and he will never want to experience it or feel this pain again. And knowing that it's you who tried to end your life makes it all worse. He tries to understand what pushed you, trying to see what he can do to prevent this from happening. He also tries to distract you from all the negativity in your life with quality time and different activities. The incident shook him hard, and while he hoped to introduce you to cuddles differently, he had to do it now. He needs to make sure you are close, still warm, still safe, still alive. And it seemed like cuddling with him made you calmer; you didn't even realize how touch-starved you were until then. It became a sort of comforting ritual for both of you, cuddling, sometimes just cuddling, sometimes while watching something. While cuddling he often says sweet words of reassurance to you. And while he knows he can't stay in Manor forever, he makes sure you know that he is always here for you, just a call away.

Jason was mad at himself for allowing himself to snap at you earlier. He feels incredible guilt that he was the reason that you were in that state. For a few days after, he could only watch you in your room or living room until he talked about his feelings and the incident (how he calls it because he can't speak that out loud, it physically hurts him to admit it) with Bruce and Dick. He started slowly approaching you, continuing your reading sessions, but also, sometimes, he decided just to start talking with you. He shares with you his experiences in the crime alley, and you share yours; you both know that only you two in the whole family could understand the full horror of this place, and that's aside from the fact that both of you know the full horror of Joker. He says to you that you'll never become like him, because he sees you are different. Jason tries to comfort you, yet he knows he is not ideal in it, but he is willing to try as much as he can just for you. He can understand that you feel lonely; he can only imagine how lonely you get when all the family is busy with vigilante work. It got him thinking, remembering. He remembers times when he was still Robin, and sometimes, when he got hurt, he stayed in his room alone, and. he hated it. Back when Dick gifted him a plushie of a bat, and now, in another attempt to comfort you, he brings this old plushie to you. He tells you that this plushie kept him company and protected him from everything bad, and now it will protect you, and now you'll never be alone anymore; your family's love will be here for you.

Tim was second after Damian to arrive in your room. This sight horrified him. He just froze, in shock. For once, he didn't know how to act or what to do. After everyone made sure you were okay, and his brain began working again, he started to do what he knew best - investigating and researching to find ways of how to help you, trying them with you in the meantime. Art therapy? He tried to hold a few sessions with you. Special games? You both alredy beating third one. Special music? Here is his player, listen when you want. He becomes more attentive to you, noticing every little detail. He knows as a person who likes studies like him, you would want to learn more about your mental health and how to care about yours. He found a way to explain the basics of it all to you in a way that is easier for you to understand, and only when she reads articles (that he chose, of course) about mental health and coping mechanisms. You want to cuddle with him while reading? Good, he will do it (he is happy that Dick showed you how to cuddle and totally not jealous). You want to stay with him while he works? Okay, sure, he is here for you. He makes sure you can ask him anything; he reminds you that you are safe with him and with others. So when you ask about Arkham and your father there he makes sure to show you that Arkham is hard to get out (even if it's not true).

Damian didn't like how it felt to see you on the windowsill. He doesn't like how it feels to see you in this state. He doesn't like fear. But fear made one thing clear: he cares about you. He hadn't understood how important you became until that incident happened. You are his sibling, and even if he did not choose you, even if he was against the idea of you being in the family at first, now he knows you held a place in this family like everyone else. And now he knows that he will do everything in his power to make you safe; he will protect you even from yourself. He asked Bruce to install precautions in your room. He follows you like your shadow everywhere you go. He makes sure that there is no danger in your way. He checks up on how you sleep after patrols. He makes sure to be nicer when he is around you, and he heads to ask Father, Pennyworth, and Grayson how exactly to behave around you. He joins in Tim the research of ways for you to cope with traumas or ways to comfort you, and when he sees articles about how communicating with animals improves mental health, he brings Titus to you, and when he goes for walks with Titis he makes sure to take you on them too since he also found out that walks improve mental health, and since it's walking with Titus it's beneficial in double. He protects you and he cares for you even if he struggles with proving it

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Thank you for reading! Feel free to share your opinion and have a good day 💖

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Tag list :

@socially-embarrassing , @leovergurl , @deathbynarcisstick , @cryptic-arr0w , @lynns-cornerr , @cxcilla , @charlotteking23 , @ninihrtss , @lillycore , @pix-stuff , @tfamidoingwithmylife , @linoalwaysknows , @00hellohello00 , @lilithskywalker , @bagofrice , @lenaisaloser , @devilslittlehelper , @camilo-uwu , @l3v1us , @eyeless-kun , @stargazingbutgayer, @wpdarlingpan , @weirdothatreads , @maybea1 @lyla-viper-wayne @amber-content @lizzyzzn

if i forgot to add someone to the tag list, please let me know, and i will add you to the next part

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Spoiler:

Next chapter connected to this (click here) and after that I'll finally write about Joker's kid! reader hair dyeing adventures

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cimmanonrowl · 3 days ago

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Focus

It’s hard to please Daddy when it’s finals season and everything feels overwhelming. There were stack of books everywhere, unwashed mugs of coffee piling on your study table, and there seemed to be not enough time to revise for every course. And when Aaron finally had enough of your attitude, he decided to take the matter into his own hands.

Pairing: aaron hotchner x student!reader

Theme: smut heaven

Content: mention of starvation & hair pulling, academic pressure, huge age gap, consenting adults, edging, cockwarming, unprotected sex, daddy kink, ddlg dynamic, soft daddy dom!aaron, bratty!reader, powerplay: older man x younger woman relationship.

Note: Read the content warnings and proceed with your own discretion. If it's not your cup of tea, scroll up and have a good day.

The door clicked softly as Aaron stepped into your shared apartment.

The weight of his busy day still clung heavily to his shoulders. It had been one of those days in the office—long hours of reviewing reports, draining meetings with the board; the kind that gnawed at your patience until you only had so little left to give. Some days, he’d prefer to be out on the field so he can freely stretch and move his body. Most days, he doesn’t— simply because he doesn’t want to be away from you.

He kicked off his shoes, heaving a deep sigh of exhaustion as he did so. The usual sense of relief for being home hadn’t yet settled in as he glanced around the dimly lit space, his thick eyebrows pinched together in a confused frown.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

“Honey? I’m home,” he called out, his voice bouncing off the walls of the small apartment.

Worry trickled down his spine with the unusual sight. He had hoped to come home to something different— a warm meal, maybe, with the sound of your favourite songs blasting in the background. Or better yet, you wrapped in his favourite lingerie; the one that barely covers your pussy and clings to your body in a godly sight, kneeling on the living room floor with a sweet smile, ready to take his cock deep down your throat until he was shaking and begging to finally take your tight cunt.

Just anything– anything to signal that you had taken a break, that you weren’t still buried under the mountain of stress he’d seen building in your eyes over the past few days.

But the apartment was as silent as it had been when he left that morning.

Aaron’s brow furrowed as he made his way down the hallway, the muted light from your own study spilling out into the corridor. He had an idea, a feeling more like, as to what might greet him as soon as he sees you.

Goddamn, this girl.

The door creaked quietly as he pushed it open. And he felt his heart sink as he found you exactly where he had left you that morning— hunched over your desk, the same thick textbook open in front of you, surrounded by the same clutter of mess. The only difference was the growing pile of empty coffee cups at your side.

Had you even moved all day?

“Honey…” he tried again, softer this time, as he leaned against the door frame.

You didn’t respond. Your eyes were locked on the page in front of you, and he could see from the tension in your shoulders that you were anything but focused.

Aaron’s gaze traveled over your form, noticing the same clothes you’d worn earlier, and the half-eaten sandwich he had left on the corner of your desk that morning. His chest tightened, concern quickly overshadowing the fatigue he had brought home with him. He could make out the tension looming over your crouched figure.

“Honey…” his voice came out a whisper, curiously watching you as you murmured the words you were reading in your textbook, memorizing every word earnestly.

Aaron stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the way your hand was gripping your hair, pulling the strands tangled tightly around your fingers. You didn’t even seem to realize you were doing it— too caught up in your own world to understand what you were doing.

“Hey!”

You jumped, your hand releasing your hair so suddenly that you winced as a few strands were pulled free.

“Aaron! Y-you scared me!” your eyes finally lifted to meet his, wide and startled, as if you were seeing him for the first time that day.

He crossed the room in quick strides, worry etched into his features as he reached out to pull your hand gently away from your head. His thumb brushed over the raw area where your hair had been yanked, and he felt a pang of guilt for not noticing sooner.

“Darling, you’re doing it again,” he said quietly, his voice tight with concern. “I thought we talked about this.”

You blinked slowly. “I—I’m sorry. Yeah. I didn’t notice. I didn’t mean to.”

“You’ve been here all day, haven’t you?” he scanned his eyes over the desk for any sign that you had taken a break, had eaten something, anything. The half-eaten sandwich was evidence enough that you hadn’t.

“I was just trying to finish this stupid chapter,” you mumbled, your voice small, almost ashamed. “I didn’t realize how much time had passed. I’ll eat after, I promise.”

Aaron sighed heavily. “You didn’t eat. You didn’t move. You’ve been sitting here, pulling your hair out over these stupid finals all day, and you didn’t even notice?”

Blood rushed through your warm cheeks. And you felt the sudden urge to yell at his face.

Stupid finals?

Stupid?

You looked down at your hands, irritation slowly flooding in as his words sank in. He wasn’t wrong— you’d been so consumed by the pressure to finish everything as quickly and efficiently as you could, to get everything right, that you had lost track of everything else. But stupid… really? What you were doing was far from that word. How insensitive could he be?

You bit your lower lip, trying to control your rising temper.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered with a heavy heart, feeling the weight of his words like a stone in your chest. “I just wanted to do well. I didn’t mean to…”

Aaron’s expression softened at your words. He’s as frustrated as you were yet he’s concerned more than anything else. He crouched beside you before reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, sighing softly as his warm gaze lingered over your face.

You look tired, he noticed.

“Baby…” his voice was soft it almost made you tear up. “I know you’re stressed, but this isn’t healthy. You know that, right? You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

You nodded slowly. “I know. I just… I don’t want to mess up. I want to make you proud, Daddy...”

“Oh, sweet girl. You already do,” he took your hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “But you’re more important than your grades. Daddy needs you to take care of yourself, sweetheart,” he added, gently rubbing the spot where your hair had been pulled.

“But… I don’t want to slack off...”

Your pout deepened as Aaron frowned down at you.

“You’re the most hard working girl I know in this world, baby,” he said seriously. “What I need you to do is promise me that you’ll take breaks, eat on time, and stop… this…”

Whatever this is, you knew what he wanted to say.

“But—”

“Are you talking back to me?”

Hesitation clung to you with the sudden drop of his voice. The promise felt heavy on your tongue. There’s still a lot to do, deadlines to beat, too much reading to finish, papers to write and revise. You know with the current state of events, you can’t carelessly promise anything to him, but the way Aaron’s eyes squinted at your defiance was enough to make you nod quickly.

“S-sorry, Daddy. I promise.”

Aaron searched your face for a moment longer, then finally relaxed, though the worry didn’t entirely leave his eyes.

“Good. Because if I come home tomorrow and find you in the same spot, I’ll drag you out of here myself and punish you, baby. And no more coffee after 5 p.m.,” he added, eyeing the empty cups with disdain and disapproval.

You managed a small smile, the first genuine lightness you’d felt all day, and nodded again. “Yes, Daddy. No more coffee.”

“There’s my good girl.” Heat dusted over your cheeks as you giggled at his praise, and this time there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He stood up, pulling you to your feet with him. “Now, enough of that, come on. We’re ordering takeout, and you’re taking a break. No arguments.”

Panic settled on your heavy bones.

“Huh- what–” you stammered, peering over your books and the half-finished paper on your laptop. “Daddy, I nee– just one more chapter, please. I need– just another paragpra–”

The stern look he gave you made you stop. He didn’t have to say anything. Just seeing the scowl on his face; his thick eyebrows tugged together, his eyes narrowing in silent warning, was enough to put you back in place.

You pursed your lips immediately, and finally let him lead you out of the study, the tension in your shoulders beginning to ease just a little.

That night, Aaron let you use his cock for relief. He’s always been true to his words. He ordered a take out from your favourite Chinese restaurant down the block, ran a bubble bath and joined you shortly to wash your body, massaged your scalp and shoulder, showered you with praises for being his good girl, for being hardworking and smart, and for being the prettiest girl in the world. Then you let Daddy fuck your wet, needy cunt with his thick fingers until you came and writhed against his soft touches.

It was almost midnight when you heard your neighbor pound angrily on the thin wall separating your apartments, screaming in frustration to tone down your fucking. Which you only giggled. Daddy gave you permission to ride his big, fat cock the way you like it. And you did. But it was only after he lapped and ate your pussy like a starved man that he made you cum twice on his tongue, until your legs were spasming uncontrollably from the blinding pleasure.

The next few days were just as rough.

It was an underestimation on some angle, but nothing but the truth as a whole. You and Aaron were arguing nonstop. He was scolding you too much. You cry nearly every night. But he never stopped breathing down your neck: reminding you to take a break, eat the food he ordered for you from his office, drink your vitamins, don’t drink any more coffee, eat the fruits he bought instead of potato chips, rest your eyes, take a bath, take a walk, threatening to punish you if you don’t.

“Are you seriously fucking kidding me?” His voice was flat, his weariness laced with something sharper, though you couldn’t tell if it was frustration or concern. Maybe both. Or maybe he’s seriously just pissed off.

Slowly, with brows pulled in a tight frown, you glanced over your shoulder.

You didn’t hear Aaron walk down the hall, didn’t hear the way his pace slowed just outside the door, or how he lingered there for a moment, leaning against the frame to watch you in annoyance. His frustrated sigh filled the room, deep and full of exhaustion, but that you heard.

Your hand went limp, your fingers still tangled in your hair as you stared back innocently at him.

Aaron stood there, quietly observing you from your seat, still in his work clothes— his tie loosened, shirt untucked from where he’d probably tugged at it during his long day. His expression, however, was fully focused on you, and the hint of gentle smile he usually carried whenever he comes home to you was absent, replaced by a frown etched deep in his rugged features.

“What, Daddy?” you asked in a small voice, as though you hadn’t been doing anything wrong.

You felt the pull of your own hand still gripping your hair. Slowly, you released it, lowering your hand to your lap.

Aaron let out a sigh, running a hand through his own tousled hair before crossing the room to you. “It’s almost eleven,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less firm.

“Have you been sitting here all day?”

What?

You blinked, looking around for a clock to confirm what he was saying. You barely remember anything that happened. All you can recall was being kissed on your forehead before he head out to work, reminding you to eat the breakfast he prepared for you, and to keep your promise. But now the light outside had faded into complete darkness, the street lights illuminating the crossroads outside, streaks of moonlight painting the night sky.

Almost like an afterthought, your stomach growled faintly. You suddenly realized you hadn’t eaten since… that morning…

Maybe.

“I… I guess so,” you murmured, as if admitting it out loud will make everything worse.

He crossed his arms, thick muscles bulging against the tight fabric of his dress shirt.

“You guess so? Try again, little girl.”

“I—” You wandered your eyes over the pile of untouched notes, the cold cup of coffee still sitting on your desk, and the empty plate from a hastily eaten sandwich. “I… I didn’t, sorry. I didn’t notice the time.”

Your mind was wrapped too tightly around the fact that you still have one more essay to finish before the due date. It was a frustrating day. You caught yourself a lot of times staring mindlessly at the words printed on your book, though they blurred and danced right before your eyes. You stared at the same paragraph for… how long each? Minutes? Hours? You weren’t even sure anymore.

Aaron’s eyes narrowed as he crouched down next to your chair, his gaze level with yours now.

“I told you to eat proper meals, didn’t I?” He pointed out, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed under your eye, and you realized how dry and tired your skin felt. “And you still haven’t eaten, have you?”

You bit your lip and shook your head slightly. “I wasn’t hungry, Daddy. I just wanted to get through this part—”

“No,” Aaron cut you off, shaking his head as he firmly gripped your shoulders, turning your chair so you faced him fully. “No. Enough of this now, little girl. You’ve been doing this to yourself all week. Staying up too late and skipping meals. This is not good for you.”

Your eyes started to burn—not from exhaustion this time, but from something heavier, something you’d been holding in for days now.

“You don’t understand, Daddy. This is important to me!”

The stress, the pressure, the sense of being completely overwhelmed. You felt like you were sinking, and somehow, it all spilled over the moment Aaron looked at you with those tired, worried eyes.

“I just…” Your voice broke, and you looked away, blinking rapidly. “I have to do well, Daddy. I can’t mess this up. I have one semester left until graduation. I can’t– I have to do well.”

Aaron’s expression softened as he listened, and his hands moved to cradle your face, gently turning you back to meet his gaze. “Baby, Daddy knows how important this is to you,” his voice was calm and steady. “But you can’t do well if you’re running yourself into the ground. You’re hurting yourself, and you don’t even realize it. I’m not doing this to sabotage you, honey.”

His thumb brushed over the spot on your scalp where your hair was still tender from your unconscious pulling, and you winced slightly.

“Sorry—” you apologized quickly. “I don’t realize I’m doing it, daddy. I’m sorry.”

His brow furrowed at that, and he lowered his hands, his worry etched into every line of his face. “Just promise me you’ll stop,” he whispered, as if the words themselves could break you. “Or else I’m putting mittens on these little hands of yours.”

You nodded quickly, stifling a giggle. “I promise, daddy. I didn’t even realize I was doing it—”

“I know,” Aaron cut you off gently before you could finish. He stood up then, his hand dropping to yours, tugging you softly up to your feet. “C’mon. You’re done for the night.”

“But—” You glanced back at your desk, at the still-open textbooks, the unread chapters waiting for you. “I’m not done. I have so much left—”

“What do you still need to do?” He asked, following your gaze on your table.

“I’m halfway through this paper and I still have to revise them. Then…” your lower lip prodded a little as you stared up at him. “I need to review for my deptals. I just finished making flashcards on my iPad, Daddy, but I haven’t checked them yet…”

“Then we’ll do that tonight,” he said as he steered you out of the room and down the hall toward the kitchen. “First, you need to eat. And then, we’re going to bed.”

“Daddy, I just said I need to revie—”

“Yes, yes, you will, honey.” He squeezed your hand gently as he led you to the kitchen table. “You’re not doing this alone, okay? You’ve got Daddy. I’ll help you tonight. So be a good girl for me and eat first.”

You sat down heavily in the chair as Aaron started pulling out some leftovers from the fridge, reheating them with quick, efficient movements. He didn’t ask you to explain yourself or demand an apology. He just moved around the kitchen with an ease that came from his conscious effort to know you— knowing when to push, and when to just be there quietly.

When he placed the food in front of you, you hesitated for a moment before picking up the fork.

“Daddy…”

He hummed. “Yes, my love?”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled between bites. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Aaron pulled up a chair beside you, leaning forward on his elbows as he watched you eat; a small, tired smile playing on his lips. “I know you didn’t, little one. But you did. And I’d rather see you take care of yourself than get another A.”

“You’re just saying that, Daddy. You said I’ll always get a reward if I do well in school. You were bribing me.”

“Maybe…” he grinned, the tiredness in his eyes easing a bit. “But I still mean it.”

As you continued eating, Aaron reached across the table, brushing his fingers against your hand again. “Remember your promise?”

“Yes, Daddy. I’ll try harder not to do it anymore.”

“Good girl,” he leaned back on his chair with a relieved sigh. “Now, finish your meal. What would you say if Daddy help you study?”

You smiled wider at that, nodding your head quickly. “I’d like that, Daddy.”

“What if you sit on Daddy’s big cock while I ask you your reviewer questions? Would my little girl like that?”

Heat pooled in between your legs as you listened to the vulgarity of his words. He gave you a small smile, reaching his hand to your face before gently tucking the stray hair behind your ear.

“S-sounds good, Daddy,” you said weakly, blushing as you crossed your legs under the table. “D-do I get to come?”

“If you answer the questions correctly, yes you will,” he said lowly, lightly caressing your exposed neck with his thumb.

A low whimper rumbled on your throat.

“But wha– what if I don’t, daddy?”

“Then we’ll just have to see, don’t we, little girl?”

Aaron laid on his back, looking so comfortable and snug as ever, with the soft glow of your iPad casting a faint light in the dimly lit bedroom. The night shirt he previously worn was already discarded on the floor, completely unforgotten. His brows were furrowed in concentration as he scrolled through the flashcards you’d painstakingly made for your departamental exams, his fingers gently swiping the screen.

“Alright, honey,” Aaron said, his voice low and focused. “Define ‘morphological productivity’ for me.”

You stared up at the ceiling, trying to pull the answer from the jumble of concepts crammed into your brain. A low whine escaped your lips under the intensity of his gaze; exactly just as you felt his thick cock twitch against your walls.

“Daddy… f-feels so good…” you shook your head weakly as the pad of Aaron’s calloused palm traveled your bare thighs.

“I know, honey. But I need you to be a good girl and focus right now.”

Your heart raced, though it wasn’t just from the pressure of not knowing the answer to his question. His presence—so close, so steady—and the familiar heady smell of his bodywash was making it harder to focus. The warmth of his body underneath you, his big cock inside your wet cunt, the way his voice dropped whenever he asked a question, all of it felt heavier, more instense than usual.

“Morphological productivity…” Your mind raced to remember the specifics. “It’s when the… morphology is productive—oh fuck!”

Aaron barked a hearty laughter, sending shivers down your spine with every twitch of his cock inside your hole.

“Just joking, Daddy…” You pouted adorably, slowly grinding your hips to feel more of his girth. “It’s… it’s… t-the guide that control how words are formed and structured in a l-language, r-right?”

“Hmm. I don’t know, baby. Can you give me an example?”

“One e-example is affix… affixation…” You moaned softly, stopping your hips from grinding back and forth as Aaron gripped your thigh in a silent warning. “Sorry, Daddy. F-for instance, you can add ‘-ness’ to the root word ‘happy’ to make ‘happiness’ and it still makes sense.”

Aaron gave a small nod, his lips curving slightly in approval, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Close enough,” he said, his voice steady.

His eyes flicked toward your bare chest before returning to the iPad, and you felt wetness pooling in between your legs intensify.

“Next, baby,” he said, swiping to the next card. “What’s the difference between a free morpheme and a bound morpheme?”

You shifted slightly, pressing both your palm on his stomach, trying to stifle a moan.

“A free morpheme can stand alone as a word,” your voice came out a little softer, distracted by the way his fingers moved so casually across your thighs. “Like ‘book’ or ‘run.’ A bound morpheme can’t… it… it h-has to be attached to something else, like pre… oh, Daddy… pre…fixes or s-suffixes. Like ‘-s’ or ‘-ing.’”

Aaron’s eyes lingered on yours, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. His gaze was heavy, like he was weighing more than just your answer, and the quiet that followed hung between you, thick. You could feel the heat of his body underneath you, and his pulsating cock inside.

“C-correct,” he murmured, but his voice had dipped lower.

His fingers lingered over the screen, not moving to the next flashcard right away. The air between you seemed to hum, each small movement or breath amplified in the quiet room.

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. The weight of his gaze was now making it difficult to focus on anything but the heat of your skin together. Studying had always been stressful, but this… this was different. His serious, deliberate tone, the way he was so focused, so intent on helping you, made it all the more difficult to not cave in to your crushing desire.

“Now, this one should be easy. What is a washback?” he asked, his voice still low, though his eyes hadn’t left yours.

You hesitated, distracted by the way his lips formed each word. “It’s also… uh I think it’s also called the washback effect. It is the influence of an assessment on teaching and learning. It can be both beneficial or harmful, and is a common phenomenon in institutional learning.”

“Mm-hm,” Aaron hummed in approval, his eyes darkening slightly as he nodded. “Good girl.”

He didn’t move to the next flashcard right away. Instead, his hand shifted slightly inches slightly to your hips, his thumb rubbing soft circles. It was such a subtle motion, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Daddy… please…” You bit your lip, trying to refocus. “Are you… Are you going to ask me the next one?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, betraying your growing distraction.

Aaron’s gaze flicked to your lips for the briefest second before he looked back at the iPad, though the movement wasn’t lost on you. He cleared his throat, as if remembering the task at hand, and swiped to the next card, though his thumb lingered on the screen a little longer than necessary.

“Define… vowel harmony,” he said, his voice slower this time, before gently bucking his hip like his simply adjusting his position.

You whined loudly, the tip of his cock hitting the special spot inside, your mind scrambling to pull the answer from the depths of your memory.

“It’s… uh… Daddy… stop m-moving…” You swallowed, your voice catching in your throat. “It’s when… when… vowels within a word need to m-match in some way. Just… just l-like in certain languages, all the vowels in a word have to be either front or back vowels.”

Aaron nodded, his lips curving just slightly in a faint, knowing smile. “Very good.”

His hand shifted again, this time closer, brushing down your inner thigh, right where your bodies meet. The heat from his touch seeped through every fiber of your being, flooding your senses with heat and desire. And lust. Overflowing heat and lust.

Your breathing quickened, your mind no longer on linguistic theories or exam questions.

“Do you want to keep going?” Aaron asked, though his voice had lost the strict, studious edge it had earlier. His hand still rested on your inner thigh, his fingers ghosting against your throbbing clit, as if waiting for your answer to decide where they might go next.

“D-daddy…” you said in a whisper, slowly grinding your hips again. “N-need you… plea…please… daddy…”

Aaron didn’t move for a moment. He kept watching your desperate movements with that same heavy gaze, his fingers slowly teasing their way to your needy cunt, sending another shiver through your body.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he set the iPad aside, his hand resting fully on your hip now.

“My little girl’s been studying hard…” his voice was low and rough, the pad of his big, calloused hands against your skin. “And you’ve got all these answers down.”

You let out a shaky breath, your body instinctively leaning into his touch. The anticipation was almost suffocating in the best way, choking you. He started to rock his hip slowly, the trail of hair from his cock grinding against your clit in a heady way.

“F-fuck…” your voice trembled as you impatiently increased your pace. “Y-yes, D-daddy… please...”

He sat up to lean towards you, his lips just a breath away from your ear. “Baby, you’ve earned a break,” the words filled with a promise that made your pulse quicken. “I’ll fuck you nice and good, hmm?”

As Aaron’s lips brushed ever so lightly against the sensitive skin of your neck, your world crumbled and you couldn’t focus on anything else.

His lips trailed down your exposed neck, his nose pressed against your skin, taking in your scent as he left a soft trail of light kisses. A heavy sigh escaped your lips when you felt his hands tighten around your waist, guiding you in back-and-forth motion. The way his big and girthy cock was stretching your leaking cunt was intoxicating. You whimpered in embarrassment, hiding your flushed cheeks at the crook of his neck as you felt the tip of his cock deep into your belly.

“D-daddy… can you move, please?” you whispered in a weak voice.

“You want Daddy’s cum inside you, sweet girl?”

You nodded, feeling Aaron move gently to fix his position. “I d-do, Daddy… s-so much… please...”

“Then you’ll get it, princess.”

With a yelp, Aaron’s girthy cock rammed in and out of your waiting cunt. The shrill sound that escaped your lips made Aaron smirk in satisfaction. This is where you belong; in his arms, perched on his lap with your warm, velvety walls wrapped tightly on his cock, his name leaving your lips like a desperate prayer.

Deep grunts and small whimpers tangled in the air like harmony. Your voice was raw, and your throat dries as he assaulted your greedy, little cunt with deep thrusts. His breathing was ragged and heavy.

“Da…Daddy…” Your fingers tightened on his hair, pulling a little with every plop of your sweaty skin. “C-close, ‘m close… Daddy…”

Aaron let out an amused laugh. “No, not yet. Wait a l-little more, you can do that f-for Daddy, princess?”

You whined.

“N-no… I-I want… Daddy… come, p-please… Want to c-come…”

A sharp slap on the side of your thigh stilled you.

“Who fucking own you, little girl?”

“Y-you... Daddy…”

“And who fucking own this greedy cunt, huh? Who get to say when you’re allowed to fucking come?”

A particular thrust set your nerves on fire. “Y-you, Daddy! Only y-you… fuck… that feels g-good! There- t-there! R-right there! H-harder, Daddy! Fuck– f-fuck me!”

“There’s my good girl.”

You felt the familiar coil twisting in your belly. The squelching sound of your wet hole being pounded hard and fast was dirty and somehow humiliating. He kept hammering his hips into you, the tip of his throbbing cock nudging the most sensitive spots deep inside your body. Parts you never knew existed until you met Aaron. He has always loved you hard and always fucked you even harder. Like you’re nothing but a fleshlight. A toy. A fuckdoll he could use just the way he wants it.

“Y-yes! Yes! D-daddy! Right-r-right there! F-fuck!” Your release inched closer, roused by his pained grunts and heavy breathing. “Please! P-please! Please, Daddy! Come in-inside me! Breed m-me… please! I’m a g-good girl, r-right? Fuck m-me full of c-cum, please! W-want it s-so bad— want y-you so bad!”

“Come, princess. Go on. Let go.”

Your orgasm ripped through you like an avalanche. Your eyes rolled at the back of your head. Aaron’s loud grunt and your whiny moan pierced the silence of the night, his fat cock spurting ropes and ropes of warm cum into your waiting womb. Shivers ran down your spine, your bones weak, legs trembling.

“That’s it... good girl... my sweet girl...” Aaron murmured against your ear, his breath hot and heavy. “Just take it, princess. Daddy loves you.”

A loud pounding on the wall startled your calming heart. It even made Aaron jump a little. Seconds ticked in and the familiar voice of your angry neighbor echoed inside your sweaty, sex-filled room.

“Stop fucking in the middle of the night, for fuck’s sake! Some people have fucking exams tomorrow unlike you fucking horny crackheads! Fuck!”

You could only giggle in exhaustion.

Guess who’s back, bitches! (affectionately) Please give me some love and appreciation in the form of your thoughts or reactions. Also, don’t forget to drink your water and keep slaying, babes!

Tag list: @downbad4reid ,@roseydoesypoesy, @pastelpinkflowerlife, @justyourusualash, @hotchsmutrecs, @msfreedom, @birdysaturne, @gghostwriter, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @fore45fore, @actualdeemon, @diksy1112, @jethro-mcgee-tony, @hotchnerbau, @iniyalovesall, @222hwilsss, @balariie, @oliviabbb, @ncis0mrs0gibbs, @jasonswhitetuftofhair, @m4pl, @zaddyhotch, @fandom-garbage, @obsessed-oops, @ujws5, @babybluelrh98, @anime-lover-forever-1127, @hazel-babbit, @3amcloudss, @seraphinlover

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds smut #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female!reader #aaron hotchner x you #daddy!aaron

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heeluvv · 3 days ago

Text

𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐃 ᯓᡣ𐭩

pairing ⤿ stranger! sim jaeyun x reader

genre ⤿ smut

warnings ⤿ dry humping, exhibitionism, fingering, public masturbation, etc.

natty's notes ⤿ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

the train is packed to the brim. every inch of space is occupied, bodies pressed together in the kind of suffocating heat only rush hour can create. you stand in the middle of it all, gripping the overhead rail with one hand, your bag slung over your shoulder, the rhythmic swaying of the train making it impossible to stand still.

you curse yourself for not catching an earlier train. this one is worse than usual—every stop seems to cram in more passengers, and you can barely breathe.

another jolt shakes the train, sending a ripple through the mass of people. your fingers tighten on the rail, but it's no use. someone bumps into you, and suddenly, you lose your balance entirely.

it happened too fast.

one moment, you're standing—the next, you're falling backward, colliding with something firm, something warm.

not something. someone.

strong hands catch you instinctively, steadying you as you land straight in his lap. heat floods your face as you realize where you are.

"shit—sorry," you stammer, trying to push yourself up, but the train jerks again, and your attempt is futile. you shift awkwardly in his lap, your thighs brushing against his.

he lets out a sharp exhale, "you good?" his voice smooth, deep—close to your ear in a way that makes your stomach twist. you nod, flustered, still trying to move, but the train is too crowded. there's no space to go anywhere.

you glance over your shoulder, the man has dark hair that falls slightly over his forehead, sharp eyes that flicker with something unreadable, and lips that press together as you adjust your position.

"looks like you're stuck," he mutters, his grip loosening on your waist but not completely letting go. your breath hitches. you can fell his warmth through your clothes, the solidness of his thighs beneath you which make you swallow—hard.

"yeah.." you murmur, shifting again, trying to find a less awkward position. big mistake.

the movement presses you against him in a way that has his fingers flexing at your waist, his jaw clenching.

"careful," he breathes, low enough that only you can hear it. you freeze. something about his tone—rough, restrained—send a shiver down your spine.

the train lurches once more, and you grab onto his arm to steady yourself, your fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket. his body stiffens. and that's when you feel it.

not at first, but slowly, as the seconds stretch between you. the hardening pressure beneath you. your pulse spikes. the man's breath is heavier now, his chest rising and falling with controlled effort. he shifts beneath you, but there's no escaping the situation. no space.

his fingers twitch on your waist again, and when you glance at him, his lips part slightly, like he wants to say something—but doesn't. the air between you thickens. you should say something. you should move. but neither of you do.

the train stops, a few people getting off, others pushing in, but you remain exactly where you are. his hands are still on you and that growing heat pressing against you isn't going away.

he exhales through his nose, tilting his head back against the seat, his throat working as he tries to steady himself. "this," he mutters, voice tight, "is not helping."

you don't dare look at him. your face is burning, your own body reacting to the tension thickening between you like a fog neither of you can escape. the train keeps moving. your fingers tighten on his jacket. his hands grip your waist just a little harder.

"fuck," he mutters under his breath, so low you almost miss it.

you press back against him again, and this time, he doesn't stop you. his hands grip your hips and pull you down onto him, subtly, discreetly, as the train rocks and masks the movement.

you let out a slow, shaky breath, gripping his thigh beneath you. his lips brush your ear, his voice so low it's nearly lost beneath the hum of the train.

"you like this, don't you?"

your breath catches, but you don't answer. you don't have to. the way your body reacts answers enough. he adjusts beneath you, guiding you just a little, slow, calculated movements hidden beneath the natural sway of the train.

the heat is unbearable now, an invisible tension threatening to snap at any second. you glance around—no one seems to notice. a man is dozing off against the window, a woman scrolling through her phone, a couple chatting quietly near the doors.

your let your head fall back slightly, lips parting as the man presses up on you again, the motion seamless, unnoticed by everyone but you. his breath fans across your skin, his fingers tightening, grounding you.

"keep quiet," he whispers, his voice dark, teasing. "unless you want them to hear." a shiver runs down your spine. this is wrong, reckless, and dangerous. but you don't want to stop and neither does he.

your body is on fire. every nerve, every inch of skin hypersensitive to his touch, the way his fingers tighten, the way his breath ghosts against your neck. the train rumbles along the tracks, rocking you just enough to make the motions subtle, nearly imperceptible to the outside world. but between you and the man, it's anything but subtle.

his hands, strong and deliberate, grip your hips, guiding the slow and careful movements as you shift on him. the pressure, the heat it's intoxication, a slow burn that coils deep in your stomach.

"shit.." he exhales, so quietly it's almost lost beneath the noise of the train, but you hear. you feel it. you keep your gaze forward, heart pounding, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to keep any sound from escaping.

the shape of him—hard, thick, restrained by the fabric of his jeans—is unmistakable now. it presses against the curve of your body in a way that has your breath catching, thigh squeezing. his breath is uneven, harsh, controlled, but his fingers betray him—tightening, then loosening, then tightening again like he's fighting every instinct to take more.

a slow, calculated roll of your hips has him inhaling sharply through his nose, his grip bruising now. "jesus," he mutter, his lips barely moving.

you bite back a smirk, the thrill of control sending a fresh wave of heat through you. his lips brush against the shell of your ear, accidental or not, but it send a shiver down your spine.

"you're gonna kill me," mumbles, rough, strained.

suddenly, his hand slide lower, fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, just barely, just enough to tease. your breath catches in your throat, nails digging into the fabric of his jeans. his fingers don't move—just rest there, waiting.

you swallow hard, anticipation crackling between you like a live wire. your fingers twitch on his thigh, a silent invitation. his exhale is slow, as his fingers trail higher, inch by inch, teasing, exploring, never giving too much at once.

his fingers press a little harder, making you breath to shudder.

your fingers tighten against his leg as he drags his fingertips higher, barely brushing where you need him most. the anticipation has your body thrumming, every inch of you aware of the way he holds you there, pressed against him, moving in slow, languid rolls of your hips that make the pressure unbearable.

his lips graze you ear, the ghost of a smirk in his voice when he whispers, "needy little thing, aren't you?"

you swallow hard, heat pooling low in your stomach as he shifts beneath you, the hardness of him right against your core, dragging the aching need between your thighs with every subtle rock of your hips.

the his fingers push against your panties—light, teasing, just enough pressure to make you shiver. you bite your lip, barely holding in the gasp that threatens to escape.

he hums in approval, his fingertips running along the soaked fabric, pressing just enough to make you tremble.

"fuck," he mutters, voice low. "you're already soaked."

your grip on his thigh tightens as he hooks his finger beneath the fabric, slipping inside, the slick heat of you coating his fingers. the train jerks, masking the quiet whimper that slips past your lips as he presses a finger inside—slow, deliberate, teasing.

you clamp a hand over your mouth, your body tense, heat licking up your spine as he curls his finger just right, his other hand frim on your waist, guiding your movements on him.

it's too much.

the slow drag of his finger inside you, the pressure of him pressing up against you, the way his breath is heavy and uneven on your neck like he's unraveling right along with you.

his thumb finds your clit, circling in lazy, torturous strokes that have your hips jerking against his hand, your body chasing the high teetering right at the edge.

"c'mon, sweetheart," he groans, "let me feel you cum."

his words send a shockwave through you, the coil in your stomatch snapping as pleasure crashes over you in hot, pulsing waves. you thighs clamp around his hand, your entire body trembling as you melt against him, pulse erratic, breath catching in your throat.

he groans quietly, his hands tightening on you as he buries his face in your shoulder, his body tensing beneath you as he follows right after.

"think we should miss another stop?"

natty's notes ⤿ okay got hooked on watching jake edits all night and got this idea to write abt him literally at 2am so i hope you enjoyed!! (also did not proofread so if shit don't make sense, then just make it up)

#enha smut #enha x reader #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enha #enhypen smut #jake smut #jake x reader #enhypen jake #jake sim #public smut

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farawayfromsomething · 2 days ago

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"....Okay, are any of the dishes not poisoned?! Is there anyone at this feast who did not poison anything?!" Lucia screams at the top of her lungs. She has seemingly forgotten that slaves who only clean and never actually cooked in their life, would be bad at cooking. Lucia isn't the smartest of people, but I suppose generally if your parents are rich you don't need to be smart. I should stop narrating about rich parents and start telling you, reader, about the how Lucia found out that these dishes were, in fact, poisoned. She had been smart enough to get one of her slaves to try the dishes before they were served to her, to check if they were poisonous. So now like a crime scene there are several dead bodies around the room. It is odd some may say to not move them. However Lucia is odd. She is also rather stressed as her cousins are coming over, for the first time since she's been queen. And the place is currently a mess especially in the slave quarters with dead bodies scattered around everywhere, wood walls splattered with the dishes deemed poisonous and poor slaves running trying to make something that isn't poisoned or toast. You may be wondering where Lucia's cooking slaves are, well, they are making beds. Lucia did forget her system of light brown clothes being cleaning slaves and dark brown cooking slaves. She has not yet found an acceptable dish.

"Why. Are. All. Of. You. So. Bad. At. Cooking?!" She yells again. I don't know Lucia maybe put your cooking slaves into the kitchen then maybe you'd get something that was of decent quality.

Authors note: Hello I tried something different chatty narrator and different to usual story line. Also a very short story more of a scene.

"….Okay, are any of the dishes not poisoned?! Is there anyone at this feast who did not poison anything?!"

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #I am too lazy to tag more things

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bitebitekxll · 2 days ago

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Do they purr - genshin non-humans

៚ Zhongli ✧ Xiao ✧ Wanderer ✧ Albedo ✧ Venti

Notes: Holy hell how do I have 50 followers??? THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR SUPPORTING MY SILLY MUSINGS. This literally was just my way to learn how to write smut and post self-indulgent head canons but I’m glad people are enjoying this with me :DDDD

𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈 ᥫ᭡

Yes, 100%. He will deny it every time but lay on this man’s chest, maybe press a kiss to his jaw, and his chest is going like a fucking engine. He will insist that it’s not a purr, it’s simply a content growl— or perhaps a rumble, at most. He isn’t some measly cat, after all, he is a mighty dragon, the Prime Adeptus—

It’s definitely a purr.

Get him a cat ear hairband. He will give you the most long-suffering, unamused look while he wears them, but he will wear them. Anything for his beloved ♡~

𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐎 ᥫ᭡

No, unfortunately. You have found no evidence that your stone-faced Yaksha is capable of emitting a purr, or purr-like sound (though certainly not for lacking of trying).

However… there is the matter of whether he is able to trill or coo like a bird, given that is his true nature.

He gets annoyed when you ask him, adamant that is not something he can do, and how dare you even entertain such a notion. Have you no respect for the adepti? Hmph.

…but you swear you’ve heard him chirp when you catch him off guard: kissing him without warning or praising him unabashedly.

It seems this will require further investigation.

𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀 ᥫ᭡

Not purring, but whirring!! Got this idea from @seabirdtxt ‘s Glitch in Irminsul fic (it’s SAGAU focused on the diff vers of scara existing at the same time, go read it it’s great) and it just makes so much sense to me.

As a mechanical puppet, and an advanced one at that, Scara has tons of machinery going on inside of him. Though it usually can’t be heard, if you get especially close to his chest— a privilege only reserved for you and maybe Nahida during hugs —you can hear the whirring and clicking of his moving parts inside. It doesn’t sound the same as a purr, not exactly, but it’s pretty damn close.

Most of the time it’s pretty faint, but sometimes Scara might just make it louder— it’s got nothing to do with the way your face lights up or how you smile when you hear it, don’t be stupid.

Of course, the only way he can make the noise louder is by overworking his system, making the parts inside move faster than they’re supposed to. If he does it too much or for too long, well…

You’ll know it’s time to lecture him on taking better care of himself when he starts burning up. Overheating is the first sign he’s about to overload his system and shut down (or from everyone else’s perspective: pass out).

You’re the only one who can make him stupid enough to be willing to break his own mechanisms just to see that adorable ridiculous expression on your face. (He might come back to his senses in a petulant huff if you start calling him a cat, tho)

𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐎 ᥫ᭡

Sadly, purring is not a feature homunculi come with. But this is Albedo we’re talking about, he can definitely figure it out.

He won’t tell you just what idea you’ve sparked with your question— you always worry when he starts self-experimenting —but it’ll be fine! He takes all the necessary precautions, limits any risk, because there’s always some risk in life, and downs a concoction or two in his quest to see if he can change the makeup of his own body. As an artificial life form, he’s less delicate than an organic one, so he doesn’t need to worry about pesky issues like rearranging his (non-existent) organs in a fatal manner.

And it works! Well, sort of. You come back home to a boyfriend that is fully capable of purring!! And also!! Has, uh, cat ears…

Albedo would consider it a success— he accomplished his goal, even if there were a few side effects. And you get a pretty catboy equipped with the cute, twitching ears and a fuzzy blonde tail; everybody wins! ♡

Of course, there’s always the chance his experiment just turns him into a cat entirely… but it wears off after a day or so, so it’s not the worst thing Albedo’s done to himself.

Either way, congratulations, he can now purr for the next 24 hours. And regardless of his cat-to-boy ratio, he will be expecting pets. Get to it~

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈 ᥫ᭡

He has bird vocalisations! Except he’s worse at hiding it then Xiao may or may not be. It’s not outright chirping, but it is a cooing trill in the back of his throat, too vibrational to be a regular hum.

It’s the sound he makes when he’s perfectly content, laying in a warm patch of sun on the soft grass, sat atop a roof with alcohol warming his veins, and curled up in your arms, round cheek smushed against your chest. He takes in a deep breath, filling his lungs with your scent, and then releasing it in a sigh, accompanied by the musical tones of his little trill.

He makes shorter ones when he’s pleasantly surprised; when you unexpectedly toss him an apple or pat his head. He’ll grin or lean into the touch and make that sound in his throat. Too quiet to be heard by the people around you over the din of the town, but you’ll hear it. It’s a sound just for you ♡

#salemwritesathing #genshin hcs #genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #wanderer x reader #scara x reader #scaramouche x reader #xiao x reader #albedo x reader #venti x reader #genshin fic

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museiest · 1 day ago

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WE'RE MEANT TO BE TOGETHER .ᐟ gojo satoru

PAIRING. ceo!gojo x kindergarten teacher!reader

ABOUT. ceo!gojo discovers he has a son which leads him to the harmony fields kindergarten, where the woman who almost ran into him with her car in the morning is his son's teacher and the cause of his future sleepless nights.

NOTES. it's finally here!! had some trouble with the written part of this smau so that's why i took so long in posting it, this was the winner in this poll. this is a multi-part smau. harmony fields is the name of the kindergarten.

WARNINGS. enemies to lovers ⋆ typos ⋆ ignore timestamps ⋆ english is not my first language ⋆ written part (is sh!t y'all) ⋆ gojo's is insufferable ⋆ utahime's the owner of harmony fields ⋆ written part takes place a day after the incident and it's 1,04k words.

part one | part two | part three | more?

“Okay. . .remember what we practiced?” the white-haired man immediately asked as he helped the boy out of his car.

The kid nodded slowly and looked up at Satoru, waiting for him to hand over the chips he bought for him on the way here.

“I’ll give them to you, kid, but first, let’s practice one more time,” Satoru warned, “You're going to say that i'm your dad and that your mom is away on a trip, 'kay?”

“But you said that you weren't my dad, and my mom isn’t on a trip,” the boy pointed out seriously, making the blue-eyed man sigh.

“Just say it, please? if you don’t, i’ll take you to the police station and let them deal with you," Satoru threatened with a unsettling smile.

“He’s my dad, and my mom is away on a trip,” Megumi repeated, irritated by the man.

Truth is, he missed his mom and he wished she was there with him instead of the stranger who was taking care of him now.

“Yes! Good boy,” Satoru ruffled the Megumi’s hair like he was petting a dog, he definitely wasn't used to dealing with kids, especially one his age.

How do you even treat a five-year old? Was what had been going through Gojo's head since his son arrived at his apartment.

“Ah, Gojo! Right on time, looks like having a son is finally doing you some good,” Utahime called out as she walked towards the entrance of her kindergarten, where the dad and son duo were.

“Utahime, my least favorite person! it's been, what? two months?" he sneered.

“It’s always such a disgrace seeing you, Gojo," she said bitterly before putting on her best smile and looking at the five-year-old, “And you must be Megumi, right?”

“He’s my dad, and my mom is on a trip,” Megumi stated almost robotically, making the Harmony Field's director laugh.

“Wow, how cool!” she exclaimed, gesturing for them to follow her inside.

“Yeah, his mom is at a seminar in Europe,” the ceo lied smoothly.

“Europe? You must be very proud, Megumi,” the dark-haired woman tried to make some chitchat but Megumi remained silent, walking behind them as quietly as possible.

“’Gumi doesn’t talk much, but it’s something i- we’ve been working on. . .” Satoru excused himself with another lie, though Utahime barely paid attention, too focused on you approaching. It was the perfect opportunity to introduce you to the new dad and the new kid joining your class.

“Yn! Come over here, this is Gojo Satoru and his son, Megumi,” Utahime introduced, making your eyes widen in surprise as soon as you locked eyes with the man you almost hit with your car on your way to the kindergarten.

“You?/You?” you both said at the same time, his eyes sharp enough that if looks could kill, you'd be in a coffin with people saying how good of a person you were; and you just forced a polite smile to hide your annoyance at seeing him at your workplace, such arrogant man didn't seem like a father to you, not even a bad one, he just seemed like the kind of guy who didn't care for kids at all but there he was, putting on his best smile with his son who didn't look like him at all except for his eyes and messy hair.

“You two know each other?” your friend and colleague asked, looking between you both expectantly.

“Yeah. . .turns out this dad likes to go running in the middle of the street in the morning,” you muttered through gritted teeth, making the man scoff.

“Right. And it seems like there's more and more of those crazy drivers these days, dangerous, isn’t it?” Satoru shot back. You barely heard Utahime’s response, too focused on the annoyance bubbling inside you. Who did this guy think he was? He had to be some kind of irresponsible deranged idiot.

You rolled your eyes once more before glancing down and noticing the little boy looking at you curiously.

You crouched down to meet his eyes and be able to speak to him directly, the first impression with children was always the most important to you rather than the one with the parent, “Hi, sweetheart! you must be Megumi, how are you?” you asked kindly, you've loved kids since forever and it didn’t matter that this particular kid belonged to the most insufferable man you'd ever met.

Megumi’s eyes looked sad, distant and lost, as if all he wanted was to be anywhere but here. Still, you tried talking to him, sensing his struggle in interacting with people.

When he didn’t respond, you continued, “You know, in the classroom there's lots of kids your age who can’t wait to meet you. They’ve been so excited ever since we told them a new friend for them was coming. And guess what? Today’s your lucky day because we have a special activity with puppies! How does that sound?” you asked with a warm smile and at the mention of 'puppies,' Megumi’s eyes lit up, an expression of excitement appearing on his face for the first time since he got there along with a soft smile. Even Satoru seemed surprised to see it, he hadn't smiled at all when he was at his apartment and now he does with a complete stranger? not that he wasn't one either but the father (if you could call him that) had tried everything the day before to make the kid laugh and all he got was a 'you're not funny' from him.

“Are there really going to be puppies?” Megumi asked, a special glimmer in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Of course! So what do you say? Want to wait for them with the other kids?” you asked, extending your hand to his smaller one. Megumi glanced between his dad and you before nodding and taking your hand with a small smile still on his lips and that was the first step to make this kid as happy as he could be.

Without hesitation, you led him towards the rest of the class, happy that your first interaction with the boy had been a success. You just hoped things would stay that way, today, tomorrow and hopefully forever.

ARTIFACTS .ᐟ

• hari fushiguro is megumi's aunt, she's took care of him for two weeks and that was it. she didn't have enough money to raise him and her daughter so she went to gojo's apt since she remembered he had a lot of money when they hooked up and made up a story about her sister and him.

• toji's dead and tsumiki doesn't exist in this one since toji died before megumi was born.

• his mom died two weeks ago but since he's still a kid, he doesn't know how to process it so he thinks his mom left him and that's why his aunt didn't want him either.

• ofc gojo isn't his father but they make him believe he is.

• that's all!! enjoy <3

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hivemuthur · 1 day ago

Note

i have a request for some ✨emotional, pinning smut✨ for viktor x female!reader based on “Crush” by Cigarettes After Sex

like viktor getting so flustered while watching her try on clothes (“i want to watch you as you’re trying on your clothes, and now you’re all i think about when i’m alone”) and him being just so down bad for the reader

and the sexual tension between them is *palpable*

just some good ol friends to lovers pinning, resolved with some smut

please and thank you, i love your writing 🥺🥺🥺🙏🙏🙏🙏

Hi Anon! I loved this request so much you have no idea!

Skin

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! lots of yearning, poor Viktor :v

author’s note: It's exactly what is says in the request. I listened to a lot of Cigarettes After Sex for this and when it began to annoy me switched to Grimes and remembered she had some good stuff going on in 2012, hence her song Skin will fit this as well if you read with music in the background :) @rennethen beta read!

word count: 2,4K

—

Viktor is trying to figure out a way to sink further into your armchair, have it swallow him whole—legs, arms, fingers, every single strand of his hair—before he disintegrates into a puddle. He had no idea it was going to be this bad when you said, "Can we just rest instead of studying for once?"

Sure, he could rest. He’s tried resting before. What could go so especially wrong? Other than, say, you deciding to organise your wardrobe on a whim while he’s trying to read. And then, when he finally gives up on reading—because it is physically impossible to keep his eyes anywhere but on glimpses of you dressing and undressing, tossing clothes around—another thing that could happen is you parading around in a T-shirt long enough to hide your underwear, but not long enough to hide your legs. And it’s just for a moment, just to change a song or take a sip of your tea, but it’s enough for him to sink so deep into the chair that he can feel the springs digging into his ass.

Or, say, you stepping out of the wardrobe in an appallingly microscopic mini skirt, asking, "Is this too short? Am I too old to wear things this short?"

Yes, it’s too goddamn short.

"Hmm, maybe a little?" he offers, trying so hard to make it look like you’ve just interrupted his reading. The same sentence, for about the fifteenth time—but he really is reading. So, just a glimpse. Just one look at your thighs, where they inevitably end and something else begins, and the skirt is so, so short he can almost—

"A little too short, or I’m a little too old?" you chuckle, and—God forsake you—you turn, and your ass cheeks peek from underneath, and now he knows you’re wearing a pair of white knickers. Just plain old cotton, but what it does to him. There is almost no chair left for him to squeeze himself into.

"Uh… both?" he offers weakly, not really knowing what he is saying, and you shoot him a look of mock offense.

"Forgive me, clothes are far from my areas of expertise," Viktor says, finding his voice—and finding some strength to look away and focus on the sentence he’s been trying to read forever. And the voice he’s found is nowhere near dignified enough for him to look you in the eye. It’s exasperated and breathy in a way that makes you pause for a moment before you shrug and retreat to the wardrobe, and he can breathe again.

"Expertise or not, you must have an opinion on something, Viktor," your chant reaches him as you shuffle between hangers, pulling out the next number to reconsider—a dress this time.

"Must I? I will remind you, I was lured into a trap with the promise of a study date, which somehow turned into a fashion show." Viktor mutters, shifting in the armchair—his stomach muscles actually ache from being flexed the whole time. All the forced breaths, all the cramps in his lower belly, are giving him such a hard time.

"Trapped? Excuse me, are you being physically restrained?" you ask, stepping out, your arms folded on your chest, having no idea that he actually is. Having no idea that his legs wouldn’t work, that if he were to stand up and leave, he’d have to crawl out instead.

"I am," he states bravely. "Weighed down by the sheer gravity of this experience." And you smile, thinking that he jests, but he really doesn’t.

Viktor looks at you in your silly dress, his face burning even hotter, lids heavy from all the warmth pooling inside him. He swallows, and you mistake the struggle for restraint as mockery.

"Oh, sod off," you cackle at the look on his face and step back inside, deciding you’ll keep the dress. "You're free to study if you want, you poor soul."

"Thank you, merciful creature," Viktor grits through his teeth, now carefully studying the letters in that one goddamn sentence he’s been trying to read for the past half hour. He’s never felt less free to do anything.

Finally, he admits defeat and puts the book aside. He takes a sip of his tea—now cold—and thank God for something cold in his mouth, because his tongue is a piece of burning coal. Stretching his legs in front of the chair, he surrenders to this slow, exquisite torture: watching you try on skin after skin, none of them particularly vulgar or filthy, but the sheer thought of you being nearly naked just a wall away makes something writhe inside him. Once in a while, he catches vignettes—an arm, a bra strap, a thigh, a little bit of bum as you lean over to pick something up.

And he would have done something a long time ago, but you are such good friends. It would be a real pity to complicate things. So he bears it—all of it. Every accidental touch, every fleeting glance, and allows himself to wonder sometimes, when your face dusts pink around him, if it's really his doing or just circumstantial evidence. If your pupils dilating at his lousy compliments mean something, or if you simply like to be praised. If you invite him over for his exceptional conversational skills. And if yes, he wonders how disappointed you must be today, as all he’s given you are quiet grunts and chuckles to cover how close he is to being absolutely ruined.

His skin is still burning when you step out again, this time wearing just a long sweater, and even that does something to him. You lean over him to press next on the music player, and Viktor catches a whiff of your scent, forcing his eyes not to roll back. He fails, so keeps them clamped shut.

"Is this also undergoing the purge?" he asks, clutching at straws, desperate to redirect his thoughts to any other thing in the universe but your skin under his fingers.

"I don’t know, you tell me." You pause mid-rise, face suddenly close to his. He blinks slowly, and you make nothing of it. His pupils are blown wide, lips parted, but you make nothing of it—just wait for him to reply.

"You must have an opinion," you press, and it feels like you are pressing on his chest, forcing the answer out of him.

"I like the sweater," Viktor whispers, taking the sleeve hem between his fingers. His skin brushes yours. "I like all of your clothes, actually." A confession finally escapes him, voice barely there as something sparks between the contact. And suddenly, you're no longer talking about clothes.

You glance at his eyelashes—long and dark, boyish and shy as his eyes move between two points: your wrist and his fingers.

"This one… is nice," he swallows, accent cutting his words into whispers. He can’t help it. He indulges—just once—in the light brush of his thumb across your wrist, where the skin is so thin he can feel the stutter of your heartbeat.

And you are aware of what’s happening in your chest. But you feel less embarrassed once you spot the similar rhythm pulsing through the vein on Viktor’s neck. And you tell yourself you are only checking if his heart is beating equally fast to yours, not staring. You tell yourself that while staring at the column of his throat and imagining how your tongue would fit in there. How Viktor would lean his head back and sigh if you pressed your lips to this tiny point where his heart echoed.

With you frozen, hovering over him, Viktor doesn’t exactly indulge further—but his hand moves outside of the jurisdiction of his will, fingers wrapping around your wrist. Once his suspicion is confirmed, though, he moves with intent. His fingers slip beneath the sleeve, caressing your forearm before sliding back down, memorising the shape of your knuckles. Your hands are so cold against his, burning, but it’s not the hottest thing you’ve felt yet.

Gently, carefully, he lifts your hand and holds it close to his mouth, palm facing him. His lips barely press against your wrist, and you exhale, your breath visible in the movement of his hair. Still frozen, you close your eyes as Viktor’s mouth travels up your palm, your nails grazing beneath his ear, goosebumps rising along his neck in response. Your fingertips catch on the plush of his lips before he sucks them into his mouth—his tongue hot, hotter than even his touch, swirling over your index finger. You can feel the edge of his teeth against your skin, and your forehead presses against his as you pathetically moan out his name.

The moment the silence is broken, he stops, and it takes everything in you not to whine. He chuckles out a nervous sound but doesn’t let go of your hand.

You decide you owe him the next move. Slowly—so painfully slowly—you shift in front of him, sinking onto your knees on either side of his thighs, still hovering just above him as you weigh the moment, wondering if shoving your fingers into his mouth was enough of an invitation.

Viktor’s hands answer for him. They slide up your legs, thumbs hooking over your hips to press you down onto him, and he groans at the contact. He squeezes, despite himself, looking drunk on the sensation of your core pressing against his, both of you sinking into the tight embrace of the chair. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers tangling into his hair, and Viktor gasps, „Oh, God.” His eyes remain closed.

Your fingers on his scalp are almost enough to have him undone, as his hips buck up and you follow his cry with a less dignified, “Oh, fuck,” catching on his lips.

"Please say something," a plea escapes him on an exhale, eyes still hooded, as if opening them could shatter the moment.

Instead, you press your lips to his—a light, hesitant touch at first. Viktor startles, and for a moment, you both just breathe into each other’s mouths. Then, as if something clicks into place in his mind, Viktor moves his tongue. Licks your upper lip, tentative, before his hands slide up your sides—one wrapping around your waist, the other gripping your neck as he pulls you deeper into the kiss.

His mouth claims yours, firm, almost bruising, and he catches up on breathing through his nose. Thumb stretches out your cheek and when you part, it’s only for an inch. He finally looks at you and you whisper, “Something.”

Faces close to each other, foreheads touching, you wordlessly reach for his belt and Viktor’s eyes follow the movement of your fingers. You tug on his pants to slide them down his hips and take in the vision of his cock, outlined in his boxer briefs, throbbing and leaking, a patch of wet cotton sticking to the head.

He grabs your hips, slides them over himself and you both moan as your wet underwear meets his. Hands everywhere on you, under your sweater, on your ass, as if Viktor can’t decide where he wants to touch you the most. His lips find your neck and your spine arches, your cunt pressing firmer on his cock. You feel his breath coming in hot pants with each movement, his tongue swiping along your neck, lips sucking hickeys into your skin.

He tugs at your jumper and with no words said, you lift your arms to help him rid you of it and do the same with his layers, baring his chest. You kiss his clavicle, and Viktor can’t help but whimper at the feeling of your hot mouth against him.

His fingers hover over your back, a silent question about your bra but before you can nod or say anything, you undo it with one flick and Viktor’s lips are on you immediately. On your breasts, on your nipples, just frantically licking and nipping before his tongue travels back up, tracing a slick line through your sternum, your neck, chin and lands back in your mouth.

He pushes you closer to him, your chests meet, and you sigh at the feeling of his heartbeat next to yours. You kiss him and between kisses Viktor breathes, “God, you are so wet.”

“You are so wet too,” you reply, and he chuckles. You rub against each other, your hips rolling on top of his and he hides his face in your neck, forcing himself not to come before you. You wrap your arms back around him, mouth hanging open against his forehead, his hair tickling your face. One, two more rolls of your hips, two more rubs against his clothed cock and you come twitching, pressing his face into your throat, with a force that could snap his neck, and he both feels the moan vibrating in your larynx and hears it ringing in his ears.

Not letting you go, he ruts into you, sliding his cock between your sore, swollen lips, soon to join you with your name falling from his mouth in a quiet broken whimper, muffled with a bite on your neck and you can feel the wetness spreading between your legs, hot and sticky as your underwear merges into one mess of cum. You both breathe heavily, stay embraced before looking at each other.

When Viktor shivers beneath you, you suddenly remember that you might be crushing him and wince, asking “Am I hurting your leg?”

“No, God, no,” he mutters into the pool between your collar bones and his breath is still so warm. His palm is splayed on the nape of your neck, heavy and firm, other encircles your waist. You comb his hair away from his forehead and look at him firmly. “So… fashions shows. Not so bad in the end, huh?”

He cackles, caught off guard. “Not so bad, no,” he muses, looking you deep in the eyes. Spent, happy, cheeks pink and hair tussled, he looks so pretty it takes everything in you to not smooch him in another kiss. “I might want to frequent those more often,” he says bashfully, and you smile.

“Oh, there is a lot to be seen. I haven’t even begun with the underwear drawer,” you whisper against his lips and kiss him softly and to Viktor it’s abundantly clear, that he will have to crawl out of here were he ever going to leave.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #request #viktor x gn!reader #viktor fluff #viktor x reader fluff

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astercontrol · 8 hours ago

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omg I have some complicated feelings about this.

so there's one comment in the notes about how "lazy" employees would refuse to send an email for customer convenience even though it would take "just 2 seconds" to send. Which... yeah, valid complaint

but it's more than just "laziness" on the part of employees (although there definitely are a lot of employees who have lost all empathy for what customers and patients are actually going through, and that's its own whole problem, and it's frustrating as hell for those employees who still do care).

It's also a systemic "laziness" on the part of corporations: a refusal to put certain things in their own employees' job descriptions and to allot enough staffing to do those things.

yes, at my pharmacy job it could take 2 seconds to send an email, IF there was an established template for emails and an easily accessible button to select, customize and send it for the patient who currently needs it. But if it isn't so seamlessly integrated into our job, it will require composing the email from scratch on our own.

Which still isn't a LOT of time and work… but, suppose it takes 1 minute. Then multiply by, say, 30 customers who need it done per day per employee (in a busy pharmacy day shift). That's 30 extra minutes of work for the employee who gets those 30 calls. Who, in many cases, is already assigned more work than physically possible to complete in a day, even skipping all breaks, and will be penalized for taking any overtime. If this extra email-sending is not explicitly a required part of the employee's job description, an already overworked employee is not likely to try and make time to do it.

Now, I'm the kind of employee who still does this sort of thing for patients who ask. And I did this even at my worst and most overworked jobs. Where it was thankless work, each individual case more likely to get me yelled at than praised by management (although, once I'd established it as an expectation customers had, I'd then also get yelled at for not doing it, by both customers and management, once the managers got the customer complaints). No-win situation for everyone.

Another source of frustration for the busier pharmacies I've worked in: The responsibility of calling for prescription transfers. Everyplace I've worked has had basically the same rule: If a patient wants to get a med transferred from one pharmacy to another, calling for it is the responsibility of the pharmacy that is to receive the prescription.

I think the reason is partly corporate self-interest ("no pharmacy takes on the extra work of making calls to give away their own customers to another pharmacy. The pharmacy getting the new business has to work for it.") But it's also probably an issue of responsibility for error-- if I call another pharmacy to transfer out a prescription because a patient told me to, I'm at fault if I've been given the wrong contact information and end up transferring it to the wrong pharmacy.

Or, if the patient hasn't even looked into whether the other pharmacy even CAN fill this prescription, they just think it'd be more convenient-- then, if I call the other pharmacy to transfer, they are likely to assume I know what I'm doing (especially if I get an entry-level, barely trained employee, as is often the case). They'll accept my word that they should be able to fill it. And then, if it ends up being something they don't sell, or an insurance they don't accept, THEN we've got the prescription stuck at a pharmacy that can't do anything with it, and it'll be another whole mess to get it back, and then it's my fault for not just leaving the work to the pharmacy that's invested in getting the new Rx.

In practice, though, the way it's done is ALSO an absolute mess.

At my busier former workplaces, it would go like this:

I pick up the phone. It's one of our current patients, calling to say they need their prescription transferred to another pharmacy. I tell them that they will have to call the other pharmacy to call us. They fight back, pointing out that this is extra work for everyone (because at that point, me calling the other pharmacy would be just one more call, whereas them calling the other pharmacy and having them call me would be two more calls.) I agree but reiterate that it's our policy. The patient hangs up. Then later-- assuming that those two calls out of my control actually went through-- our pharmacy will hear from the other one, and we'll start the transfer process.

BUT I'd better have made sure I added a clear note on the patient's profile about their earlier call, AND that my coworkers actually bother to look at the profile notes. Because, turns out that call wasn't just wasted time on the patient's part-- even though the patient may now think it was.

Because, if we don't have any record of the patient's earlier call, then whichever of my coworkers received the new call is now just getting a random out-of-nowhere call from another pharmacy asking us to give them one of our customers! And there've been issues with pharmacies that have done that without even having the patient's permission. SO we've got to call back again to confirm with the patient that they actually want this. It's the most excruciating game of phone tag and everyone involved totally hates it.

And this is before I even get into the subject of calls that involve doctors' offices or fucking insurance companies.

Which… no, I'm not going to get into that now. (crashes in exhaustion)

I think this is just a trend everywhere but I've been very frustrated this week by how much admin work is being outsourced to me as the patient/customer.

My orthodontist tells me I can make an appointment with the surgeon. I call the surgeon. They tell me I need a new referral. I call the orthodontist. They do a referral. I call the surgeon. Referral didn't come through. They tell me about their special unique system we have to use. I call the ortho again and walk them through the referral. I call the surgeon. They say the referral was missing some details so they have to do it again. I call the ortho.

The insurance company calls me about repair shops. I give them the name of the repair shop which I already gave them yesterday. They say they're not in their system but I can use them, but I have to call the repair shop to ask them to contact the insurance company. I call the repair shop and they say the insurance company is supposed to email them.

I feel like at a certain point these constant fetch quests become unreasonable?? Is it too much to expect these groups to communicate with each other instead of making me run back and forth between them???

#notron anyvirus #reblogster #userworldproblems

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grvait · 3 days ago

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more old art!! featuring theo and my human harley fan design!! RUN THEODORE RUN (he's cooked)

im gonna talk about chapter 4 under here so only click if ur ok with spoilers! also its a huge yapfest. like HUUGE. i just want to voice my opinions about prototype because i've seen ppl sort of miss the point of what happened at the end of the chapter

I LOVED CHAPTER 4! IT WAS SO COOL!! i was sooo worried but im glad it turned out good. rip pianosaurus tho..

tldr (for the bunch of paragraphs where I talk abt prototype)

prototype being ollie is deranged because it means he was terrorizing the toys of safe haven on purpose for the fun of it when he could have killed them at any time. he also created an extremely close emotional bond with poppy for OVER A DECADE just to tear it all away from her at the end and tell her it was meaningless (he then proceeds to taunt her over the phone abt it). bro is LITERALLY TROLLING

you cant tell me that final scene w the "ive got something special in mind. i prepared it just for you, and this time you'll never want to leave." isnt some tom and jerry shit

ABT PROTOTYPE REVEALING HIMSELF AS OLLIE... (the long explanation)

we ALL knew he was ollie, but i don't think people are seeing the point of this reveal. it wasn't about revealing himself to us the player, it's about the implications that arise from it. he had been playing both sides for 10+ YEARS. that's deranged enough but not even CLOSE to the end of it

as ollie he had emotionally supported poppy in her lowest moments (as heard in the ollie and poppy tape). this tape also insinuates that (at least around the time it was recorded) the two of them called frequently, possibly every night. he wasn't just pretending to be everyone's ally, he was PRETENDING TO BE THEIR CLOSEST FRIEND THAT THEY COULD VENT TO 😭 he heard this poor girl sob into the phone and tell him about how she felt her humanity being taken from her, AND HE KEPT UP THE CHARADE AND COMFORTED HER, KNOWING THIS PATH HAD BAD INTENTIONS

what's worse than all of that, though, is that him being ollie means that at any time in the last 10 years he could have used the persona to force his way into safe haven. AT ANY TIME HE COULD HAVE KILLED THEM ALL. HE COULD SIMPLY USE THE OLLIE VOICE AND ASK THEM TO OPEN THE DOOR. why is this worse, you ask? because HE WAS LITERALLY TERRORIZING THEM ON PURPOSE.

think about the note in the cart/cave area. a toy from safe haven writes that prototype was right outside the door the night before, he'd gotten past the traps and was just tapping on the wall and staring. they said after he was gone they still felt they could hear it. HE IS LITERALLY BEING SCARY ON PURPOSE???? LEGIT TRAUMATIZING THEM AND FOR NO REASON. HE COULD GET IN THERE, HE'S SIMPLY CHOOSING TO MAKE THEIR LIVES HELL

so thats crazy.. BUT ALSO THE ENDING? in the poppy and ollie tape he says "im right here, poppy. for you. i'll always be here." AND AT THE END OF THE GAME, WHEN POPPY ASKS WHAT HE DID WITH OLLIE, HE SAYS THAT. you know what that means? that means he said that shit to her ALL THE TIME. clearly only the two of them would be familiar with the phrase which is why after he said it, she immediately knew he was ollie the whole time

i feel bad for poppy. she ran off but she was valid for that. all her friends from safe haven are dead, the only ones left are the player, kissy and ollie, but she soon realizes that ollie is WORSE than dead. he is LITERALLY HER ENEMY. the thousands of conversations they had, probably hundreds of times she vented and told him her plans and discussed her life with him? ALL FOR NOTHING. any time she thought she was winning the past 10 years was a lie, she was ALWAYS LOSING because he was GETTING ALL THE INFO FROM THEM. she genuinely never had a chance and i think she realized that

in her dialogue you can tell she's grieving ollie (obviously he IS prototype, but i think she's grieving the thought of him). saying "you lied to me" to the prototype of all people is absurd (considering he's done far worse than lie) but when you think about how she feels, it makes sense.

also the part where she said "this isn't right". again, a weird thing to say to him of all people, but if you put yourself in her shoes she's grieving the friend she thought she had, and she's struggling to grapple with the fact that it all meant nothing. somewhere in her mind she believes "ollie" as a personality is there somewhere, because how could someone be that close with you and mean none of it? she thinks that voicing this pain he's inflicted will change his mind, but it won't. and that's why it's genuinely really sad. that's why she asks if there was ever an ollie. i don't think she meant it literally, and i don't think his answer was literal either. she didn't mean "were you a mf named ollie once" she meant it like "was our friendship ever genuine?" which makes his response both heartbreaking and interesting.

so not only is her world shattered now, most of her friends are dead and the one who wasn't turned out to be her opp, but now he's TAUNTING HER OVER THE PHONE AND THREATENING HER. nice one... (loved the quip after she ran off btw. that shit was hilarious. like bro u made her crash out and went "some friend, huh?" YOU CANT SAY THAT BRO)

anyway think of it from her perspective: everyone you knew is gone, and soon the only 2 people that remain will be too. you can't run, or hide, or do anything. he WILL find you, and when he does he'll lock you away FOREVER where NOBODY WILL BE LEFT TO SAVE YOU. I WOULD RUN TOO.............. plus her running off probably led him away so.. she saved us sorta.

ALL THAT TO SAY THAT I REALLY LIKE THE OLLIE REVEAL FOR REASONS FAR BEYOND A SIMPLE TWIST. him being ollie for over a decade raises many many questions, and suggests very dark things.

hes crazy and the fact he did a monologue means he knows he won. he wouldn't have spilled the beans otherwise...

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forever-rogue · 1 day ago

Note

hii i love the way u write for Joel and was just wondering if i could request something.

so i always see people write joel coming home later then usual after patrol and reader is very worried but i haven’t seen much of it the other way around, like reader is on patrol without joel and joel is all worried and can’t sleep and is just waiting for reader to come home and maybe reader comes back with a few cuts and bruises but nothing to serious but joel is just taking extreme care of her 🥹

AN | Oh, but I love this concept! Enjoy💕

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | None

Word Count | 2k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Pacing ain’t going to get you anywhere,” Ellie stood at the foot of the stairs with her arms over her chest as she looked at Joel, “you of all people should know that better than anyone. ‘Sides what are you even worrying about?”

“Ellie,” he sighed her name in that familiar tone that never failed to amuse her. He’d been at the front door, poking his head out and looking around the yard and surrounding area, “why are you still up?”

“It’s only ten o’clock, old man,” she made a show of looking at her watch, one he had gifted her a few years back, “and I’m not ancient. And…I knew you were worried and I can’t sleep if I know you’re worried.”

“I’m not…” he stepped back inside, closing and locking the door behind him. He leaned against the door and looked at the girl with a small smile, “ain’t no use lying to you, is there?”

“Never has been,” she walked over to the couch and flopped on it, leaving ample space for Joel, “and there never will be. I can see right through you. You’re not as brooding and mysterious as people like to think.”

“Well then you should probably know exactly what’s on my mind,” he sat down with a groan next to her, kicking his feet onto the coffee table. The two of them exchanged a quick look, “I can’t not worry about either of you. You’re….you’re my girls and it’s my job to worry. She was supposed to be home this afternoon. She’s late.”

“Don’t you think we worry about you as well?” she nudged his leg and he huffed with a roll of his eyes, “we do. You know that. It’s okay to worry…even if there’s no use. They’re probably just running a little bit behind. You know how these things go. It doesn’t inherently mean that anything bad happened.”

“There is always use,” Joel insisted, “even if you don’t want to think there is anything to worry about, there’s always something. You can’t just trust anything outside of our walls.”

“Yeah…well, nothing’s ever happened to your sweetheart so I think it’ll be okay,” she insisted softly. Ellie barely managed to stifle a yawn as Joel raised an eyebrow at her before looking pointedly towards the upstairs. She rolled her head back and groaned, “fine. Fine. Maybe I’m tired. Are you sure you’re going to be okay? You’re not gonna stay up all night looking out the door every five minutes?”

“I’ll be alright,” he promised. He knew that, logically, everything would be alright but it still didn’t help to quell the lingering worry that was hanging on at the back of his mind, “I’m about to go to bed too. You’re right; ain’t no use with worrying about something I can’t change.”

Joel had had the intention of going up to bed after Ellie, but he'd remained on the couch for a few minutes longer. Soon enough he had changed positions and was fast asleep, snoring away softly, despite his intentions of actually getting up and going to bed.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

By the time you walked into the house, the sun was starting to rise; you’d planned on being home the afternoon before but you know, life always seemed to have a different plan. You hadn’t planned on getting injured either but here you were; your shoulder was grazed but patched up the rest of your scratches weren’t anything of note. Well - to the average person they wouldn’t be anything to take a double look at but your partner was far from the average person. You were pretty sure he’d have a heart attack, or something close to it when he saw you.

You opened the door as quietly as possible, slinking into the front room and shutting and locking the door. You’d been sure that Joel and Ellie would be fast asleep but instead you found Joel sprawled on the couch, snoring softly.

“Oh honey,” you whispered sweetly, careful not to make too much noise to rouse either Joel or Ellie.

A smile graced your face as you dropped your bag and kicked off your shoes, trying to be as quiet as possible. You grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and gently draped it over Joel’s frame. He mumbled something softly but didn’t stir otherwise. You tenderly pushed some of his stray curls out of his face, and brushed your thumb over his cheek. Your original plan had been to take a quick shower and slip into bed and maybe, kinda, sorta pretend you’d been there for some time, but as soon as you’d seen him on the couch you knew that wasn’t going to be an option.

Instead of any of your original plans, you yanked your sweater off and tossed it the pile by the door before gently pulling the blanket off Joel’s frame and sliding in next to him. You had just enough room to make it in, and as soon as he felt your body next to his, Joel wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his frame. You made a small sound of content as you settled into him, quickly feeling yourself lulled to sleep.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel hadn’t heard you come home - not entirely anyway. He had been half awake when he’d heard the door open and then felt someone drape the blanket over him. He was pretty sure that he was having some sort of dream so he hadn’t questioned it or bothered to try and fully wake up.

When he did finally wake up, he was confused by the warm body next to him. Panic was his first instinct but then he quickly realized that it was you. He let out a small sigh of relief at the fact that you were finally home. He put two and two together and realized that what he thought was a dream was actually just you coming home. You hadn’t woken up yet so he gently maneuvered himself out from behind you and made sure you were comfortable before going to gather up your things to put them away.

But before he managed to walk away he touched your face and almost froze.

“What happened?” he asked sharply, as he looked over the bruising on the side of your face that led down to your shoulder. He exhaled sharply when he spied the bandage that was covering most of your shoulder. He hadn’t meant to ask so loudly, but it caused you to startle awake.

You blinked away the bleariness that was remaining in your eyes and found Joel looking at you with a worried expression on his face. A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth when you realized it was him, “hey Joel.”

“Baby,” he sighed softly, crouching down in front of you, “thank god you’re home.”

“Happy to be home,” you whispered, yawning lightly, “sorry it took so long.”

“What happened? Do you have any other injuries?” Joel was ready to rip the blanket off and look you over for himself to make sure there wasn’t anything hiding from him. If anything happened to you, he wasn’t sure he’d survive. He’d been through too much in his life and he wasn’t sure if he’d survive another such heartbreak. He knew, he was well aware, that he was spiraling and was trying to control himself but it was hard. But logically, judging from how you were still quietly laying on the couch, he knew that you were more than likely okay and if you had anything more it would be superficial.

“Just scratches and stuff,” you mumbled as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and shifted to sit up. You slowly stretched, careful not to aggravate any of your injuries further and fully aware of Joel’s eyes being locked onto you, “nothing I can’t handle. You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Miller.”

“I hope I never get rid of you,” he mumbled as he took your face gently in his hands, appraising you with gentle eyes, “I’m gonna need to keep staying tough, baby.”

“I don’t plan on changing,” your words came out as more of a whisper than anything as you looked at him with sweet eyes and a saccharine smile, “I love you.”

“I love you,” he promised in return, closing his eyes and letting out a soft sigh, “I just worry.”

“Yeah, I know you do,” you put your hand on top of his and gave his hand a gentle squeeze, “but what does worrying get you? Nothing except a few more wrinkles and worry lines. It doesn’t change what’s happened or what will happen. I know it’s easier to say than do but promise me you’ll try?”

“I’ll try,” he agreed and you gave him a knowing little smile, “I didn’t say I was going to be perfect. But for you I’ll try anything. You gonna tell me how you got that injury then, darlin’?”

“Joel…it’s fine,” you swallowed thickly, absentmindedly running your hand over the bandaging, “just know it’s all going to be alright.”

“Now what makes you think I would accept that as an answer, huh?” he said back down in front of and offered you an expectant look. You knew that he wouldn’t just accept that answer and you’d been a fool to even try that one on him. Silly girl. The only way Joel Miller would accept such an answer was when he was long cold in the ground and even then it wasn’t a guarantee, “you’re smarter than that.”

“Promise you won’t get mad?” your voice was small and gentle as Joel nodded.

“I’d never be mad at you, baby. I just want to know…please.”

You let out a small sigh as you nodded, “well, it turns out that I was a little slow and umm, well, t-there was a clicker and the fucker was a just a little faster than me. A-and it got me so yeah….”

Joel’s mouth dropped as he processed what you said, “I-”

“W-wait, I didn’t - I wasn’t bitten,” you hastily pulled off the bandage to show him as though he needed some kind of proof. You’d never put anyone else in danger and neither would Joel, “just scratched and scraped. See - I-I’m fine.”

“Baby - baby,” he put his hands on your upper arms, doing his best to calm you down, “I’m not worried about you being bitten. I know you wouldn’t…no. But this is….it’s still not great. It looks-”

“Terrible,” you finished for him, fully aware that you would be bearing a nasty scar for some time, “I didn’t want you to panic.”

“I just want to know that you’re okay. I don’t want this to get infected - don’t laugh at that - and lead to something worse,” you hadn’t meant to laugh at his inadvertent comment but you also were tired and felt half delirious from everything that had happened, “but it looks well looked after. You’re just going to have to be careful for a while, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed softly, “you’re not going to let me go on patrol for a while, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he agreed, causing your heart to melt at his sweet tone, “I’ll pull double duty if I have to, but you ain’t going out there. Not right now - I think everyone can understand that. And if you even try, darlin’, you won’t even make it to the stables.”

“I wouldn’t dare to try,” you were absolutely a strong independent woman…but you couldn’t deny the fact that when Joel grew so protective and in charge it did something to you, “can I ask for a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Can we go to bed?” you asked softly, “I just wanna go to sleep and want you to hold me.”

“We can do that,” he slowly rose to his feet and stretched before helping you off the couch, “that sounds great to me. You’re trouble, but I love you.”

“I’m just your kind of trouble,” you offered as he huffed through a laugh, “I love you too, Miller.”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal #tlou

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aangelinakii · 2 days ago

Text

SAYING SOMETHING STUPID.

— and then you go and spoil it all.

summary : you and jason have been dating for a year, and although both of you know it, neither of you have said the dreaded L word. what happens when, accidentally, the truth comes out?

note : technically zimtsterne are christmas cookies so pretend like this is a christmas time fic

despite the countless beatings he took each and every night, jason's forearm was already beginning to ache. you had him whisking egg whites until they looked like snowy mountains, but not too mountainous, you'd said.

"where did you find this recipe again?" he hummed, not wanting to take his eyes off the bowl he was attempting to whisk at a flash-speed. beside him at the counter, of which he'd stepped away from to allow you more space, you were mixing ground almonds, cinnamon and powdered sugar into a dough. "what even is a zim— zimt—"

"zimtsterne."

"yeah, that."

"i found it online," you responded, barely taking your eyes off your almost-mixture. once jason would whisk the egg whites into soft peaks, you'd add half to your dough and it would be ready to cut into star shapes.

"online?" jason snickered, bumping your hip lightly with his. "you heard it on that game you play, didn't you? what was it again... choices?"

before you could get a handle on yourself, your eyes rolled almost back into your head. at this, you whipped your head over your shoulder to cast a very meaningful look to your boyfriend. "i only play it to get diamonds. i don't even use them, i just want to reach ten thousand just in case."

"how many do you have now?" he asked in return, looking back down at his white foamy mixture.

with a soft munch on the gum of your cheek, you turned back to your own bowl sheepishly. "more than ten thousand."

from behind, jason's warm laugh hummed through the kitchen. soft footsteps approached from behind, and his broad figure ghosted against your back. at once, a muscular arm, as well as his bowl, came into your vision. "this good enough?"

in the bowl, much faster than you would've been able to, jason had whisked the three egg whites cracked in there into soft peaks, leaving a little fluffy curl when you pulled the metal whisk out of the mixture. "perfect!" you grinned in return, taking the bowl in your own hands and scooping half the egg whites into what you'd so far made from the ground almonds.

watching you scoop and mix, scoop and mix, jason leaned back against the counter, hands resting on the edge, the veins pronounced on the back of the hand he'd used to whisk. "you're not gonna ask me to do any more whisking, are you?"

a soft chuckle brushed past your lips as you placed the bowl of egg whites back on the counter, and resumed stirring the zimtsterne mixture. "not today, you lucky boy," which earned an uncertain smile from jason.

"i liked that," he hummed bashfully.

"what, being lucky boy?"

jason gave an uncharacteristic laugh, his body swaying slightly against the counter. "maybe."

when you'd started dating, jason todd had never been an outwardly affectionate type; it took a few months for him to finally be willing to hold your hand in public. he was so used to suppressing his feelings, his affections, that it was certainly a challenge to get him to unlearn certain behaviours. now, a good year in, jason was getting more and more comfortable being the person he truly was.

still, at times, you weren't used to that person, hidden under years of trauma and dirt and grit.

but here he was, presenting himself to you in his cupped hands.

with a laugh matching his own, you paused your stirring for a moment to look up at him. "no more whisking, but i need you to get a tray, put a piece of parchment paper on it, and sprinkle some powdered sugar on the counter."

obedient like a dog gone soft, you could hear the clashing of pots and pans and opening and closing of cupboards behind you, until the cooking tray was placed on the counter beside your bowl, where the batter was coming along nicely.

jason tore off a square bit of parchment paper, and lay it upon the tray, where the corners curled, but otherwise stayed on, then he peeled open the bag of powder sugar. "how much do i put?" he asked, glancing over at you, hand hovering above the flour.

"not too much just yet, but we'll probably have to add more later."

and so his hand disappeared into the bag, and when it reappeared, he sprinkled a good serving of sugar along the countertop.

"perfect," you hummed once again. "next what we're gonna do is take the batter and press it down, then use the star cut-outs."

"we have to put our hands in that?" jason groaned, although playfully, you knew.

with a casual shrug, you began digging your hand into the zimtsterne mixture and pulled out a chunk to roll into a ball in your palms. "i mean, i could always do it by myself — if baking is too difficult for you."

a massive shoulder came into view, and jason's hand dunked into the bowl. "hell no! i can bake."

eyes closely watching the movement of your hands, jason rolled the amount of dough into a ball between his palms. then, once you'd placed your dough on the powdered sugar, pressed it down with the heel of your palm, jason followed suit.

you reached across the counter for the small star cutter, and sunk it down into the dough. "and... there! it's a little cinnamony star."

despite the grit and sheer size of him, in your company, jason todd was small, all soft touches and blush along cheeks.

as you carefully placed your star atop the parchment paper, jason took the small metal cutter in his calloused fingers, skilled in pulling the trigger.

he was careful as he pushed the cutter into the dough, glancing over at you a couple times as though he were doing something wrong.

somehow reading his mind, you reached over, hands placing them atop of his, spreading them in the muck of the dough you'd made, though jason didn't seem to mind; he'd had worse on his hands. "you're doing great," you smiled softly. "to get a clean cut you need to shake it a bit now."

and, with a laugh, your grip on jason's hands tightened slightly, and you helped jiggle the star cutter, separating his little biscuit from the rest of the dough, which you could reuse for another zimtsterne star.

a breath brushing past your ear, jason gave that kind, boyish laugh, and when you glanced over your shoulder, his eyes had halved into crescents, little moon shining down on the kitchen. "this is the strangest thing i've ever done."

perpetual smile by his side, you pulled away and tore the remaining dough from around the cookie cutter, pressing it into a sugared mound to be used again. "put that one next to my star on the tray," you ordered, although kind. "i'm gonna put more sugar down."

with ginger movements, jason lay his dough zimtsterne star down upon the parchment paper, a few inches from the one you'd made. eyeing him for a moment, to make sure his biscuit was far enough away from yours, you dunked your hand into the pink bag of icing sugar.

with a soft smile you made a nice comment on jason's placement; he was just about to reply when everything went white.

it must've caught through the gaps in your fingers while you weren't looking, must've been more than you'd meant to grab, for the powdered sugar hit the sleek countertop, and jumped back up in a whisp.

jason donned a white tuft of hair in his raven normally, but when the sugary fog began to clear, you could barely tell where the original streak ended and where it began.

your powder-covered hand shot to your agape mouth. "holy— that was an accident, i swear!"

his emerald eyes blinked open, sending some more snow-white dust into the air as it bounced off his eyelashes.

in one swift swoop, jason reached up to his blizzard of hair, and stretched out his hand over your face. you didn't need a mirror to know you probably looked like a snowman slapped you — but this action only caused room for ammunition, your dropped jaw setting and clenching as you pulled your arm back and launched.

the remnants of icing sugar in your palm exploded through the air, and whatever didn't land on the floor or counter (and most of the parchment paper) certainly his jason.

you could see in the way he lurched forward, but halted himself, that he was purposely holding back; you'd seen the way he would react when dick or tim tried to one-up him at the dinner table at the wayne family dinners you'd been brought to, or when training. his instincts are primal.

but, beneath the avalanche of icing sugar, his lips thinned. letting out a small sigh, jason shook his head, sending powdered sugar down onto the counter, where you could make your next zimtsterne star.

he gave a joking scoff. "you should be grateful i love you, or else this whole kitchen would be white."

it was a one-off sentence, supposed to be casual as he took the mound of dough in his hand to press flat against the monstrosity of sugar on the countertop. but it caused you to freeze, right in your place, hand gripping the edge of the counter falling slack.

jason hadn't seemed to notice.

he continued palming the dough until it was flat, but thick enough to be carved into a star, and reached for the cutter, content smile etched into his white powdery face.

"what did you say?"

your voice, however, was small.

even after a year now, neither of you had said the words he just had; you knew he had issues with attachment and relationships, so you supposed it just had never crossed your mind that he would... love you.

jason glanced up casually, shaking the star-shaped cookie cutter and placing down the new biscuit on the tray with the others. "oh, i was just saying that you're lucky, because if you were timothy drake, it would be over."

"no, no, you didn't say that." two steps forward, small, uncertain, but curious, aching to hear it again, make sure you weren't dreaming.

you placed a hand on his elbow, urging him to turn and look at you, which left a snowy handprint along his flesh. once he had carefully pushed the dough onto the tray, he placed the metal cut-out back on the counter and turned. "maybe not verbatim, but that's what i meant."

seeing the urgent look in your eyes, his smile faltered, but the lines it had made remained in the sugar.

"you said... you said you love me."

as the words left your lips, jason's eyes widened, and his body shuddered as if to stagger away from you, but your grip on his elbow tightened and didn't allow him.

"jason, is that true?"

beneath the powdered sugar, his bottom lip gave a tremour. "i... i guess i did say that."

your thumb brushed carefully over the bone of his elbow. "it's okay if it's true, i just want to know." trying to convince him he was safe — that you were safe — your voice softened, and you forced your body out of its initial shock.

but he didn't respond, only lips thinning, stare remaining still, like he'd been caught out on a really bad lie.

"i think so," he mused quietly, almost... afraid?

instinctively, your grip tightened once more upon his elbow, and you leaned in, eyebrows raised, a smile widening by the moment. "you love me?" it was spoken more like a song, more like it were an accomplishment than a question.

jason's bottom lip quivered, and when he spoke he sounded rather shaky, but he put on a brave, sugar-covered face. "is there– is there a problem with that?"

not minding the powder on your hands — and you hoped he wouldn't either — you leapt forward, engulfing his tough frame with a hug so tight it was possible all the knots in his back unwound at your touch. jason stumbled back, one sugared arm finding the small of your back and the other taking hold of the counter's edge to stabilise him.

sugar dusted itself along his breastbone, where you pressed your face into him. "oh, i didn't want to scare you away, or say anything i shouldn't," you began, voice extraordinarily muffled, until you pulled away to finish, gazing into his eyes, the only colour besides white on his face. "but i love you, jason. i really, really love you."

feeling suddenly shy at your sudden confession, your fingers toyed absently with the fabric of jason's once-black shirt, and your teeth sank awkwardly into your bottom lip.

but jason didn't hide away; he didn't contort into fear or anger. instead, his body sunk into yours, a warmth comparible to that of the pre-heated oven behind you. any uncertainty in those brilliant eyes of his seeped out through the corners, creating a coccoon of watery sugar beneath his lashes.

one of your hands came away from his back, and lay itself upon his cheek. an equally as powdery thumb swiped carefully beneath his eye — jason didn't even flinch.

all he could think was how stupid he was to have ruined the moment, not even thinking as he spoke, but also that he had finally admitted it out loud, and that you had reciprocated without any semblance of hesitation.

#aangelinakii #dc #dc comics #dc imagines #dc reactions #dc headcanons #dc universe #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagines #jason todd fluff #jason todd headcanons #red hood #red hood x reader #Spotify

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purplesaline · 12 hours ago

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If you want to learn to communicate better more clearly, and more effectively take notes from the Autistic community.

No that wasn't a typo. Autistic folks are some of the BEST communicators out there. The reason they struggle so much isn't that they're bad at communicating, it's that WE'RE bad at communicating and they lack the ability to bridge that gap. Autistic communication is very assertive, say what you mean, mean what you say. Ask questions to try and understand the core truth of something rather than make assumptions. Be open to changing your opinion and beliefs when enough logic and/or evidence supports the opposing idea. Ask for things you want, don't hint at it and hope someone makes the right assumption. Don't expect people to read your mind and just know something is bothering you.

Allistic communication relies on so many unspoken rules and expectations, and it's even different across the gender binary as well! It's a big part of why men and women so stereotypically struggle to communicate clearly.

Of course this is a generality, not all autistic folks and not all allistic folks etc., etc. and there is purpose to the sort of small talk allistic folks tend to be naturally good at and autistic folks tend to struggle with. When it comes to conflict management teams though having a few autistic folks in the ranks can be incredibly helpful.

The biggest thing we can do to help mitigate conflict in communities though is to let people make the "wrong" choice without judgement. If people are afraid of being judged for their choices they aren't going to come back to the community to ask for help when they realize they made the wrong choice which will just cause them to either leave, or double down and create more conflict. Not to mention very few choices are ever have a objective right and wrong answer. You need to provide as much information as you can so the person can make an informed decision and then you need to trust that the person to make the best choice for their situation (because you don't know all the variables in their life that inform that decision). Sometimes they will make mistakes and as long as you maintain a space free from judgement they're likely to come back and ask for help getting onto the right path. That is how you keep a community of people with different beliefs and ideals together.

Lastly, there are of course behaviours that are unacceptable in any given community. Note that I say behaviours rather than beliefs here. It's an important distinction. I can be in a community with someone who believes that me being gay is a sin long as they behave with respect toward me. Be clear and up front about what behaviours are acceptable in your community and which are inappropriate. It can help here, as well, to avoid being judgemental about these things. One of the phrases I've used a lot when resolving conflict in one of the communities I've created is (paraphrased) "[behaviour in question] isn't acceptable in this space. If this is something that is important for you then this space might not be the right fit for you and you may feel more comfortable in a space where [behaviour] is acceptable. We value the contributions you've made to our community and you're welcome to remain if you refrain from engaging in [behaviour] in our space."

There will be, of course, more extreme ideologies that you'll want to keep out even if those ideologies and beliefs aren't acted on in your community space. Being a Nazi elsewhere and behaving themselves when they're in your community, for instance, isn't the same as someone thinking you're going to go to hell because of your sexuality but has no intentions of speeding up the process. Keep in mind the more ideologies and beliefs on your no compromise list the smaller your community will be. Sometimes a small community isn't an issue but there will be times when you need a larger community in order to achieve your goals so you'll need to look at which of those ideologies you'd be willing to compromise if those goals are important to you.

And I'll leave it there because it's already far longer than I meant it to be.

#conflict management #conflict resolution #because not all conflict can be resolved #but it can be managed

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lupinqs · 2 days ago

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN ━━ Show a Little Loving

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 6.4K

❀ ━ warnings: detailed make out but it doesn’t go any further

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: think TATBILB

THE NEXT MORNING, Jo woke up feeling like she was in a completely different reality.

Nothing looked different—the room was the same, the dim winter light slipping through the curtains, the soft weight of the blankets tangled around her legs. The air in the cabin was cool, and the scent of coffee and something sweet, maybe cinnamon, lingered in the air from downstairs. Normal. Everything was normal.

Except for the fact that Jo was—and still is—decidedly not.

She’s never been less normal in her entire life.

Because for the first time in her entire life, she likes someone who isn’t Asher Davis.

And that someone is Paige.

When she woke up, Jo stayed frozen under the covers, trying to process it—like if she just laid there long enough, she could force her brain to make it not true. But the weight of it merely pressed down on her, undeniable, suffocating. She felt like she’d just unlocked some secret part of herself she wasn’t supposed to find, like she’d just opened a door that can’t be shut.

She spent the entire night tossing and turning, hyper-aware of every single thing Paige did.

The way Paige curled up beside her like she always does, shifting close like she’s drawn to Jo in her sleep. The way her breath tickled against Jo’s neck, steady and warm. The way she tucked her face into Jo’s shoulder, lips brushing against her skin. Jo barely slept because of it. She just laid there, rigid, heart hammering against her ribs like a drum, panicking.

And then later this morning, when they were brushing their teeth together in the tiny bathroom, Paige kept nudging her shoulder. Jo doesn’t even know if it was on purpose—Paige is like that, casual and comfortable, always touching Jo like it’s second nature—but Jo noticed. She felt it. And it was so stupid, so small, but it sent a wave of something through her, something warm and unbearable and foreign.

And now—now they’re on the ski lift, and Jo is trying so fucking hard to act normal.

It’s not going well.

Paige is sitting way closer than necessary, thighs pressed against Jo’s even though there’s a whole chunk of space open on the other side of the lift. The cold metal bar rests against their laps, and the mountains stretch out below them, snow-covered and endless, but Jo can’t focus on any of it.

She can only focus on Paige.

She doesn’t get it. Paige has always been touchy with her. They’ve shared a bed countless times, always leaned against each other, always sat too close. This isn’t new. This isn’t different. But now, it feels different. It’s like Jo’s senses have been turned all the way up, like she’s suddenly attuned to every single point of contact, like her body is tracking Paige without her permission.

And she doesn’t like it.

She shifts slightly, just enough to put some space between them, but Paige only grins and leans in closer, bumping their shoulders together. “You’re quiet,” Paige says. “Cold?”

Jo forces a shrug, not trusting her voice. She knows it’s uncharacteristic, but everything about her seems to be that way today.

Paige hums like she doesn’t quite believe her, but she doesn’t press.

Jo bites her tongue inside her mouth and stares straight ahead, pretending to be interested in the scenery, pretending her heart isn’t trying to climb out of her throat.

She cannot be weird about this.

She won’t be weird about this.

Because if Paige notices something is off, Jo has no explanation. What the hell is she supposed to say? Sorry, I just realized I have a thing for you and now I can’t function like a normal person anymore?

Absolutely not.

And worse—what if her family notices? They know her better than anyone. If she doesn’t get her shit together, they’ll realize something’s up.

Jo swallows hard, stomach twisting. She can hardly survive herself knowing this—if other people did, she doesn’t know what she’d do.

So she keeps her mouth shut, keeps her body still, and hopes to God this feeling will go away before she completely loses her mind.

And then, thankfully, they reach the top of the lift. Meaning Jo has something else to focus on.

Getting off of it on a snowboard isn’t hard, not really, but it’s definitely not something you want to mess up unless you enjoy face-planting in front of a bunch of strangers. Jo angles her board as the bench slows, pushing herself forward with practiced ease, gliding down the short slope leading away from the drop-off point. She turns just in time to watch Paige follow behind her, arms slightly outstretched, knees stiff.

Paige doesn’t fall—which is honestly impressive for a first-timer—but Jo can tell it’s more luck than skill.

They then make their way over to the side, where Jo’s family is already securing their bindings. Jo sees Paige watche, then follows suit, crouching down and clipping in her back foot like she’s done it before. For a second, Jo thinks maybe she has—that maybe she totally overestimated how difficult this was going to be.

Then Paige stands up.

And just stands there.

Jo doesn’t even have to say anything—she can see the exact moment Paige realizes she has no fucking clue what to do next.

The thing about snowboarding is that, once both feet are strapped in, there’s no casual shuffling around like with skis. You have to commit to your movements, shift your weight with intention, trust the board to follow. Paige, currently, looks like she doesn’t trust anything. She’s frozen in place, weight too evenly distributed, arms slightly hovering like she’s trying to counterbalance pure fear.

Jo’s family doesn’t notice. Of course they don’t. They’re already pushing off, racing down the slope like they forgot they just dragged a complete beginner onto what is definitely not a beginner run.

Which means it’s entirely Jo’s problem now.

Jo sighs and turns back to Paige, who immediately schools her expression into something completely nonchalant, like she wasn’t just panicking a second ago.

“I’m good,” Paige says, nodding.

Jo lifts a brow. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Paige insists, overconfident. “I ski all the time. How hard can it be?”

Jo snorts, shaking her head. “That’s like saying, ‘I can ride a bike, so how hard can a unicycle be?’”

Paige glares. “That’s not the same thing.”

“It’s exactly the same thing.”

Paige groans but doesn’t argue further, which is good, because Jo is pretty sure that if she lets her go down the slope without at least trying to teach her something first, she’s going to have a very injured best friend by the end of the day.

Which—yeah, Paige doesn’t need any more injuries.

Jo drops down onto the snow, motioning for Paige to do the same. “Okay, before you kill yourself—”

Paige sighs. “Very encouraging, thanks.”

“—I’m gonna teach you the basics.”

Paige rolls her eyes but listens as Jo explains how to shift her weight, how to stop using her heel edge, how to not immediately die the second she starts moving. She nods along like she gets it, but Jo knows she doesn’t, because when she tells her to try stopping, Paige just stares at her.

“Like this,” Jo demonstrates, digging into her heel edge and coming to a smooth stop.

Paige squints. “I don’t think my feet can do that.”

Jo gives her a look. “They can. You just have to actually try.”

Paige glares at her, then attempts it—and immediately wobbles so hard she almost eats it.

Jo bites her lip, trying so hard not to laugh, because she knows if she does, Paige will shove her straight into the snow.

Still, watching Paige struggle is… entertaining.

Actually, no, it’s worse than entertaining, because Jo is finding it way too endearing, and that is a problem.

But it’s hard, because Jo is stuck here watching Paige, her flushed cheeks, her concentrated little frown, the way she huffs whenever she messes up but refuses to ask for more help.

Jo has to get it together.

She clears her throat and moves on to the next part—teaching Paige the “falling leaf” technique, which goes just about as well as expected. Paige flails. A lot. She makes little frustrated noises, glares at Jo when she tries to help, insists she’s got it even when she absolutely does not have it.

Jo grins, probably too much, but she can’t help it. She’s never seen Paige like this before. Paige is good at everything—basketball, school, literally any sport she tries—but right now, she’s an absolute disaster.

And Jo finds it so ridiculously cute, it makes her chest constrict.

Why, why, why, why, why?

By the time they move on to full turns, Paige is mildly competent. She’s still wobbly, still too tense, but she starts linking her turns together, starts actually looking like she knows what she’s doing.

Jo watches her, nodding approvingly. “Look at you.”

Paige looks at her, grinning wide, blonde hair slipping out from under her beanie, flushed from the cold, happy.

And Jo—Jo feels something tight in her chest.

Something warm and annoying and confusing and—

She tears her gaze away before it turns into something worse.

Eventually, they decide Paige is ready for the slope.

Jo isn’t entirely sure that’s true, but there’s only so much practicing they can do before Paige gets impatient and wants to actually go somewhere. And Jo gets it. She does. Paige isn’t the type to sit around mastering the basics—she’d rather dive in headfirst, figure it out on the way down.

Which is how they end up at the top of the easier slope—the one Jo’s family didn’t go down.

It’s still not technically beginner-friendly, but it’ll have to do.

Jo studies Paige as she shakes out her arms, shifting her weight back and forth like she’s hyping herself up. She’s still pretending she’s not nervous, but Jo can see it in the way she breathes in deep, lips slightly parted, exhaling like she’s about to take a game-winning shot instead of just… sliding down a hill.

Jo shakes her head, telling the blonde, “You’re gonna be fine.”

Paige doesn’t meet her eyes. “Yep,” she says, sounding uncharacteristically unenthusiastic.

“Mhm,” Jo confirms.

Paige rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. Instead, she pulls on her goggles. And then she takes a final breath, gives Jo one last I’m totally calm and confident nod, then pushes off.

Jo follows immediately, ready to intervene if Paige immediately eats shit.

She doesn’t.

In fact, Paige actually does an okay job.

She’s still stiff, still a little too tense, but she’s making turns, shifting her weight properly, keeping herself upright. Jo even hears her let out a small whoop at one point, though it quickly turns into something that sounds suspiciously like a scream before she regains control again.

Jo has to laugh. “Not bad, huh?”

Paige breathes out hard. “I’m doin’ great, thank you.”

Jo grins but doesn’t argue. Paige’s balance is still shaky, but she’s improving with every turn, her confidence visibly building—until they get too close.

Jo realizes it a second too late.

She shifts left, trying to create space, but Paige is still a beginner, and she wobbles at the exact wrong time. She catches an edge, stumbling forward, and Jo barely has time to react before she gets caught in it.

“Shit—”

Then, they’re both tumbling.

Jo crashes backward into the snow with a heavy thud, the impact sending a jolt up her spine, her board kicking up powder. Paige lands right on top of her, effectively knocking the air out of her lungs.

Jo groans, blinking up at the sky for a second before lifting a gloved hand to shove her goggles up.

“Shit, bro, that hurt,” Paige mutters against her chest, fumbling with her own goggles, breath puffing out in visible clouds.

Jo exhales sharply, trying to process—not the fall, not the pain, but the fact that Paige is on top of her, head pressing into her heavily layered chest like it belongs there.

She’s too close.

Jo feels it everywhere—Paige’s weight, the warmth of her breath against the fabric of Jo’s jacket, the way her hand is braced against Jo’s sides as she tries to push up, but she’s still struggling with her goggles, fingers catching on the strap.

Jo shakes her head. “You’re a mess—”

Without thinking, she reaches up, gloved fingers brushing against Paige’s cold skin as she pushes her goggles back, slipping them up over her helmet.

Paige shakes her head a little, her other hand dropping to Jo’s side to keep herself balanced.

The world is quiet around them—just the muffled sounds of distant snowboarders, the crunch of powder under shifting weight, the occasional gust of wind.

Paige blinks down at Jo, blue eyes so blue in the snow-bright lighting, her face flushed from exertion, from the cold, maybe from something else too.

And Jo—Jo can’t look away.

Her chest tightens.

Her fingers are still against Paige’s face, and Paige isn’t moving, isn’t pulling back, just watching her with something unreadable in her expression.

Jo’s gaze flickers down—to Paige’s lips, slightly chapped but still soft, still way too close to her own.

And for a second, for one reckless, impulsive, insane second, Jo thinks about leaning in.

The thought sends a jolt through her.

She shoves it down so fast it makes her stomach churn, immediately pushing Paige off of her before she can even fully process what just happened.

“You’re too heavy to be laying on me like that,” she says, trying for humor, but the words come out a little strangled.

Paige grabs her own bearings, letting out a startled laugh, sitting up on her knees. “Hey!”

Jo rolls over, sitting up quickly, dusting snow off her sleeves, trying to act normal, trying to breathe properly, trying not to think about how she almost—

God.

She can’t do this.

PAIGE STEPS out of the bedroom, rubbing at her arms as a shiver wracks through her. She knew changing into just a t-shirt and sweatpants was a bad idea, but her sweatshirt is still damp from falling in the snow earlier, and putting it back on felt like asking for hypothermia. She’ll have to live with it, she guesses, even if the cold air nips at her skin, goosebumps rising along her forearms.

The day has been long, another one spent out on the slopes. Since Paige’s first time on a board yesterday, she’s improved tenfold, and today had been much much more enjoyable, only a few falls to round it out.

She hears movement in the kitchen as she rounds the corner, the soft clinking of mugs and the faint hum of Jo moving around.

Paige slows her steps.

Jo’s back is to her, standing at the counter, stirring something in a mug—hot chocolate, probably, based on the rich scent of cocoa that lingers in the air. The sight of Jo, standing there so effortlessly domestic, makes something warm curl low in Paige’s stomach.

Paige is used to it, at this point. It happens constantly, the unshakable heat that rises whenever Jo does literally anything. Yesterday, it had been on the slope, when Jo helped her up from the snow, when she brushed Paige’s hair out of her face, when she looked at her with something so unreadable, so intense, that Paige had felt frozen in place.

And now—now, it’s just the way Jo stands there, all soft and warm and anything but hers in the low light of the kitchen.

Paige hesitates for a second, then smirks to herself, an idea forming in her head. She moves quietly, barely making a sound as she steps up behind Jo, hands flexing at her sides, anticipation bubbling in her chest.

Then, before Jo can realize what’s happening, Paige strikes—

Cold hands pressing firmly against the back of Jo’s neck.

Jo screams.

It’s high-pitched, startled, and absolutely hilarious.

She jolts forward, nearly sloshing cocoa over the counter, then whirls around, eyes wild, before smacking Paige’s arm, sending a weak but retaliatory shove into her shoulder.

“What is wrong with you?” Jo yelps, voice still breathless from the shock.

Paige is cackling, clutching her stomach. “Oh my God, your face—”

Jo glares at her, rubbing at the back of her neck with a dramatic shudder. “You suck. I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Paige grins, stepping beside her, nudging her lightly with her hip. Jo just mutters something under her breath and turns back to the counter, still grumbling as she grabs another mug and pours some hot chocolate for Paige, shoving it at her without another word.

They end up drinking together, leaning against the counter in a comfortable quiet, warmth settling between them.

Paige takes a sip of her cocoa, sighing into the comforting heat, before glancing over at Jo—only to immediately snort.

Jo blinks at her, confused. “What?”

Paige just shakes her head, grinning. “Joey, you got a little—”

She gestures vaguely, but Jo just frowns, not getting it, so Paige doesn’t think much before she lifts her hand, reaching out, swiping her thumb carefully across Jo’s upper lip to wipe away the hot-chocolate mustache.

And Paige—Paige really should’ve thought about what she was doing before she did it.

Because suddenly, Jo is looking at her.

Really, really looking at her.

Those wide, dark eyes staring up at Paige, so open, so deep, so endlessly fucking beautiful, and Paige’s breath catches somewhere in her throat.

Her thumb lingers at the corner of Jo’s mouth, pressing lightly into the soft skin there, and Jo doesn’t move. Paige doesn’t even think she breathes.

Her lips part, and Paige’s gaze drops, just for a second, just long enough for something unspoken to crackle between them, thick and heavy and—

The sound of footsteps breaks them apart.

Paige jolts, snatching her hand away so fast it’s almost unnatural.

Jo takes a sharp breath, blinking rapidly, stepping back, shifting away.

And then Peyton waltzes in, completely oblivious to the moment she just shattered, announcing cheerfully, “I’m making cookies, and you two are gonna be my helpers.”

Paige’s heart is still racing, and she shoots a glance at Jo, who looks… composed, somehow, like she didn’t just—like they didn’t just—

But Paige knows her.

She sees the way Jo’s fingers twitch against the mug she’s holding, the way her jaw clenches just slightly, the way her shoulders are drawn just a little too tight.

And Paige knows.

Whatever that was—Jo felt it too.

It doesn’t really undo anything in Paige like it should. Because, recently, things have just been like that. It’s weird.

Paige swallows hard, turning back to Peyton with a too-easy grin. “Oh, yeah, we’ll totally help.”

Jo lets out a quiet laugh beside her, and when Paige glances over, she finds her smirking too, They both know they’ll be no help—if anything, they’ll be a nuisance, eating all of the dough before Peyton can even put it in the oven.

For now, the tension’s been almost buried under something playful, something safe.

But still—Paige knows.

She felt it.

And no matter how hard Jo tries to act normal, no matter how hard Paige tries to shove it down—

It’s still there.

JO LEAVES Mia’s bedroom, closing the door softly behind her as she rakes a hand through her hair. The faint scent of strawberry-scented hair chalk clings to her hoodie, and her fingertips are slightly stained pink and blue from helping Mia color streaks into her light brown hair. It had been cute, how excited she was about it—sitting cross-legged on the bed, practically vibrating with energy as Jo carefully twisted sections of her hair and dragged the chalk down in soft strokes.

Jo’s family does their gifts on Christmas Eve—Jo’s parents are firm believers in the magic of sleeping in on Christmas morning, rather than waking up at the crack of dawn to open presents—and tonight, was just the same as always. The living room had been a mess of ripped wrapping paper and scattered boxes just an hour ago, Jo and her sisters laughing over their gifts, their parents watching with fond amusement. Paige had fit into it like she belonged there, pressed beside Jo for the entirety of it.

Jo frowns slightly as she steps into the hallway, suddenly aware of the quiet that’s settled over the cabin. It had been loud earlier—Peyton arguing with their dad over the rules of a board game, Mia showing off her new gifts, Christmas music playing softly in the background—but now, it’s peaceful. Dim lighting, the distant hum of conversation from the living room. She wonders where Paige went.

She heads toward the kitchen, where her mom is finishing up the last of the dishes, running water humming over the faint clatter of plates. “Where’s P?” Jo asks, leaning against the doorway.

Her mom doesn’t even glance up as she says, “Oh, I think she went out to the hot tub.”

Jo nods, but her chest tightens, just a little.

She turns on her heel and makes her way to the room she and Paige are sharing, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. She exhales, standing still for a moment, debating.

She thinks about joining Paige. Thinks that it’s normal for best friends to do that, to sit in the hot tub together after a long day, soak in the warmth and relax. But she also knows herself, and she knows the way her thoughts have been slipping these last few days, the way she catches herself looking at Paige for too long, noticing things she shouldn’t be noticing. She knows that if she goes out there, if she lets herself be alone with Paige like that, she might not be able to control the way her mind wanders.

Whatever, she decides. She wants to get in the hot tub.

So, she grabs the bikini she packed, changing quickly before wrapping herself in a towel. The air in the cabin is warm, but she knows the second she steps outside, the mountain air will cut through her like a blade. Still, she forces herself forward, padding toward the back deck, bare feet light against the wood floor.

When she opens the back door, the cold hits her immediately, biting at her exposed skin. She shivers, hissing, “Shit, it’s freezing out here.”

Paige startles slightly, turning her head. She’s sitting in the hot tub alone, the water bubbling gently around her, steam rising in wisps. Her eyes catch the deck light for a second, flickering bright, and she huffs a quiet laugh. “It’s warmer in here.”

Jo rolls her eyes, setting her towel down on a nearby chair. “Oh, really?” she says, sarcastic, before stepping into the hot tub.

And then her gaze fully lands on Paige, and—well, fuck.

She looks good.

It’s not like Jo hasn’t seen Paige in a sports bra, in oversized sweats, in all kinds of casual, effortless outfits. But this is different. Her blonde hair is down, slightly wavy, damp at the ends. Her bikini is turquoise, standing out against her skin, making her eyes even more blue in the soft deck lighting. And—shit, Jo shouldn’t be looking—her biceps. Jo knows she’s been training through her ACL recovery, knows she’s been getting stronger, but she hasn’t let herself really notice until now. Hasn’t let herself register the way Paige’s arms look, the lean muscle in her shoulders. And then there’s the cross chain hanging at her collarbone, resting against her skin, catching just enough light to make it glint faintly.

Jo swallows hard, forcing herself to look away, sinking into the water as she exhales. The warmth is immediate, a contrast to the crisp night air, and she tries to focus on that instead of the low, lazy grin Paige is giving her.

“You finally decided to join me,” Paige murmurs, shifting slightly, the water rippling around her.

Jo smirks, because it’s easier than letting anything real show. “Yeah, well, I figured you’d get lonely.”

Paige rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue, stretching her arms along the edge of the hot tub, tilting her head back slightly. Jo catches herself staring at the curve of her throat, the faint glisten of water against her collarbone, and quickly looks away.

This is fine.

Paige doesn’t seem to notice the way Jo’s whole body is too tight, too aware, too much as she leans back against the edge of the hot tub. Instead, she shifts slightly, gaze flickering away from Jo, looking out toward the mountains. Jo follows her line of sight, letting herself focus on the view instead of the heat curling in her stomach, the undeniable feeling of wanting something she isn’t supposed to want.

The view really is something.

The mountains stretch high and dark against the night sky, the peaks dusted with snow, the stars scattered above them like someone spilled glitter across the horizon. The air is sharp with the scent of pine and frost, the only sounds the occasional distant rustle of wind through trees and the soft bubbling of the water around them. Jo’s been coming here since she was a kid, since before she could even really appreciate how incredible it was. It never gets old.

Paige exhales, voice quiet, almost reverent. “It’s kinda perfect here.”

Jo glances at her again, at the way the dim deck lights reflect in her eyes, making them almost glow. And for a second, Jo doesn’t think she’s talking about the view at all.

“Yeah,” Jo agrees, looking away, looking anywhere else. “It is.”

Silence settles between them, thick but not uncomfortable. Jo tries to let herself relax into it, but then she hears the shift of water, the subtle movement before she feels it—before she realizes that Paige is moving closer to her.

She tenses before she can stop herself, her fingers curling under the water.

And then Paige is looking at her again, something soft in her gaze, something almost vulnerable, like she wants to say something but isn’t sure if she should. It’s a rare look for Paige, whose confidence is as natural as breathing, who always seems to know exactly what to say and when to say it.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Paige says, and her voice is quiet but serious, enough that it throws Jo off for a second.

Jo swallows, holding eye contact with her for a long moment before looking down at the water, watching the way the steam curls off the surface. Her face suddenly feels warm in a way that has nothing to do with the hot tub. “Well, it’s not like I’d ever let you stay at campus by yourself on Christmas,” she murmurs.

Paige tilts her head slightly, considering that. “Yeah,” she says slowly, “but a lot of people wouldn’t have just let someone tag along with their family for the holidays.”

Jo looks up again, furrowing her brows, because the way Paige says it—like she was expecting Jo not to invite her—rubs her the wrong way. “You’re not just any someone, though, P,” she says, voice firm. “You’re my—”

She stops short, the words catching in her throat, because—well…

She doesn’t actually know what this is anymore.

She’s never let herself think too hard about it, about the way they slipped into each other’s lives so fast, like gravity pulling them together. Her roommate, her teammate, her best friend. But none of those words feel right for this, for the way her heart is hammering, for the way Paige is looking at her.

Paige shifts closer still, the movement rippling through the water, stealing the air from Jo’s lungs.

“Hm?” Paige hums, like she’s waiting for Jo to finish.

Jo forces herself to breathe, gripping the edge of seat in the hot tub just to have something to do with her hands. She exhales sharply, shaking her head once, barely. “You’re just—my person,” she settles on, because best friend doesn’t suit the way her pulse is thrumming, doesn’t suit the way her entire body is tuned into Paige’s every shift, every breath.

She makes eye contact again, and—Paige isn’t looking at her eyes anymore.

She’s looking at Jo’s lips.

That’s definitely not something best friends do.

Jo’s stomach flips violently, her entire body going stiff with tension, with awareness, with want. Paige’s gaze flickers back up, just for a second, and Jo swears she sees something shift in her expression—like realization, like something clicking into place, like maybe, maybe she’s been thinking about this just as much as Jo has.

The air between them is heavy, electric, charged with something neither of them are saying.

And then it snaps all at once when Paige shifts even closer, so close Jo can feel the faintest brush of her knee against hers under the water, and Paige says, “Jo?”

It’s quiet, almost hesitant, and it’s the first time Jo has ever heard Paige say her name like that, like it means something more.

It undoes her completely.

She doesn’t think. Doesn’t even hesitate.

She just moves.

Leans in instead of pulling away, lets her eyes flicker shut as she presses her lips to Paige’s, her heart slamming against her ribs.

And Paige—Paige doesn’t pull away.

Paige kisses her back.

It’s soft at first, like they’re both testing the waters, and Jo melts into it, lets herself get lost in the warmth of it. Paige’s lips are soft, gentle against hers, and Jo feels like she could drown in the way Paige tilts her head just slightly, deepening the kiss.

And then—something shifts.

The hesitation begins to fade. Paige moves in closer, her hands finding the skin of Jo’s waist under the water, and Jo exhales shakily against the blonde’s mouth because oh.

Paige kisses like she plays basketball—effortless, confident, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Like she’s taking her time memorizing Jo, mapping her out piece by piece. Jo barely has time to process it before her body reacts on instinct, her fingers reaching out, finding Paige’s shoulders, gripping just tight enough to keep her as close as possible.

The heat between them rises, spreading through Jo’s chest, making her lightheaded. She’s hasn’t felt something like this in a long time—if ever, really. This dizzying, overwhelming need. She can’t remember if it was ever like this was Asher. Jo was always just so used to him—but Paige… Paige is entirely different.

Paige kisses fast yet slow, soft yet rough, the perfect mix. She shifts again, pressing in closer, and Jo can’t help but chase her, tilting her head, her fingers slipping up from Paige’s shoulders to thread into damp blonde hair. Paige makes a soft, pleased sound against her lips, and Jo swears she feels it all the way down to her toes.

Jo’s needy now, desperate in a way that catches her off guard, but she hardly finds it in herself to care. She tightens her grip on Paige, her nails digging into her scalp, pulling her impossibly closer because it’s still not enough.

Jesus fuck, Paige is a good kisser.

The blonde lets Jo take control for a moment, lets Jo press her back against the edge of the hot tub, but then—just as quickly—Paige is taking the lead again. Her grip on Jo’s waist tightens, fingers pressing into slick, warm skin as she shifts them, pulling Jo forward, guiding her onto her lap. Jo’s breath stutters as her bare thighs press against Paige’s, her knees pressing into the edge of the seat on either of Paige’s hips.

Paige’s grip is firm, her touch sure and steady in a way that makes Jo’s skin feel like it’s burning.

She should say something, do something, anything other than let out the small, helpless sound that slips past her lips as Paige pulls her in tighter.

But she does. And Paige hears it.

And something about it—about that quiet, desperate little noise—seems to spur Paige on, because then she’s tilting her head, chasing Jo’s lips again, capturing them in a kiss that’s deeper, hungrier than before. Her tongue slips into Jo’s mouth, licking around, and Jo inhales sharply at it.

Jo’s mind is a mess, spinning wildly, but all she can focus on is this—Paige, the way she tastes, the way she feels, the way every press of her lips, every swipe of her tongue, sends electricity straight through Jo’s veins.

The second Paige’s lips leave hers, Jo almost whimpers at the loss.

Her breath is uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly as moves beneath her, her lips ghosting away from Jo’s mouth, trailing down, down, down—until they’re pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the sharp line of her jaw.

Jo swears she forgets how to breathe, her hand tightening in Paige’s hair, half-gripping her chain, as well.

Paige doesn’t stop. She presses a kiss to the spot just beneath Jo’s ear, and Jo shudders, her fingers tightening in Paige’s hair. She can feel the heat of Paige’s breath against her skin, feel the way Paige’s lips part just enough for her tongue to sweep out.

Paige’s hands grip onto the skin of Jo’s waist before one begins to slide up, fingertips tracing Jo’s spine before settling firmly at the back of Jo’s neck, holding her in place. Paige’s other hand trails from her hip, down to the curve of Jo’s ass, palming and kneading it in a way that makes the brunette feel the need to clench her thighs together—anything to relieve the ache growing between them.

Instead, she makes a noise—something soft and high-pitched, something that she doesn’t even realize she’s made until Paige reacts to it.

Paige groans a little, exhaling sharply, her lips nipping along the column of Jo’s throat, her tongue sweeping across the skin to soothe it. Jo’s head tips back before she can stop herself, before she can think, before she can do anything other than feel.

And God, she feels everything.

Paige’s mouth, Paige’s hands, the firm grip keeping her exactly where Paige wants her.

Jo’s heart pounds, and she doesn’t know if it’s from heat of the water or the heat of Paige, but she feels like she’s burning from the inside out.

She tries not to think about what this means, about how everything is changing, about how she’ll have to deal with this later.

She tries not to think about whether Paige wants this the same way she does.

Paige has a roster. That much, Jo knows. She’s seen it, heard it, talked to some of it—mostly just Celeste, but still. Jo knows that all of this stuff is casual and fleeting for Paige, just another part of her life.

But Jo isn’t like that. She doesn’t do this kind of thing. She doesn’t let herself get swept up in the moment, something that could be nothing, in something that might not mean anything to the other person. Seriously, she literally dated the same person for nearly six fucking years.

But then—what could this be? Paige is her best friend, her teammate, her roommate. If they became something more, they couldn’t fuck it up because it could ruin everything. Not to mention the fact that it hasn’t even been a month since Jo and Asher broke up. She’s still trying to mend that crack in her heart.

All of these thoughts should make her pull away. It should make her stop.

But they don’t.

Because right now, with Paige’s lips on her neck and her hands holding Jo so close, it feels like none of that even matters.

Right now, Jo doesn’t care if this is just another fleeting thing for Paige or if she should even be doing this with a break-up so fresh.

Because right now, Paige wants her.

And Jo wants Paige.

So, she lets herself have it.

She tightens her grip in Paige’s hair, tugs just slightly, just enough to pull Paige’s mouth back to hers, just enough to draw another satisfied sound from Paige’s throat. Paige’s nose nudges Jo’s as she tilts her head, pressing into the kiss again, deep and slow and absolutely devastating.

And Jo lets herself get lost in it.

That is, until the sound of the back door opening shudders around them.

Jo feels her entire body jolt like she’s been electrocuted. The heat from the hot tub is nothing compared to the fire scorching under her skin, the way her heart slams against her ribs like it’s trying to break free. Beside her, Paige reacts just as quickly—springing away, water sloshing violently between them, the absence of her warmth immediately and startling. Jo doesn’t dare look at her, doesn’t dare move, because if she does, she’ll have to genuinely acknowledge what’s just happened. She’ll have to process the way her lips still tingle, the way her chest is still heaving, the way Paige was just kissing her like she fucking meant it.

But she doesn’t have time for that, not when Mia—innocent, unsuspecting Mia—is standing by the back door in her little Rudolph-themed swimsuit, eyes bouncing between Jo and Paige like she’s trying to put the pieces together.

“Hi…” the little girl says slowly, tilting her head.

Paige is the one that moves first.

“Um,” she stammers, her voice higher than usual, her hands flexing uselessly at her sides as she stands up too fast, nearly slipping in the water. “I’mma—uh, I’m just gonna—shower. Yeah—shower.”

Jo watches, still slightly frozen where she sits, as Paige snatches up her towel with more urgency than necessary and books it inside without so much as a glance back. The door slides shut behind her, leaving only the ghost of her presence and the realization of what’s just occurred.

Jo is still stuck, still trying to catch up, still trying to make sense of the fact that she kissed Paige—she kissed Paige—and Paige kissed her back—and—

And then Mia lowers herself into the water, grinning.

That fucking grin.

Jo narrows her eyes before Mia can even open her mouth. “Don’t.”

Because… yeah, she just—can’t talk about this yet. Maybe never.

Jo clenches her jaw, her teeth grinding together as she stares down at her hands as if they hold all the answers. Maybe they do—because just moments ago, they were holding Paige.

Jesus, what has she gotten herself into?

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