#oh also when I make I wish I address it to god out of habit.

[deathsmallcaps]

Ok when I reblogged this last night, I picked 3rd because that’s what I’ve heard, but I also said maybe a little bit #4? Because at the time I thought ‘well something not really mattering to you = a sort of rejection” so I was a little confused as to how they were separate options?

And then when I woke up and I saw this I remembered that the ‘rejection’ idea was an antisemitic talking point. As in supposedly you saw the undeniable truth of Jesus and were like nah.

So I’m not sure how else it could’ve been worded - it was quickly visible to me after a good night’s sleep - but I wonder how many other people were thinking similarly to me when they picked #4, and how many are genuinely antisemitic. But I hope there’s just a lot of confused people.

[iouinotes]

Show-off | Mike Ross

pairing: Mike Ross x female!reader

show: Suits

genre: smut word count: 2,9k

summary: you and your co-worker Mike dont get along very well. But when you have something that he needs, suddenly everything is different.

a/n: Just watched the first two episodes of "Suits" and something about Mike is really attractive-

Working in a well-known office as a lawyer has it's advantages. Such as being respected by business people or being able to afford a lot of things, you spend all your evenings analyzing documents rather than meeting actual people.

Nevertheless, sometimes there are also negative factors. For example, my co-worker Mike, who really believes, that he is with his ridiculously skinny tie and sarcastic humor better than the others. Or right now, better than me.

"God, I cant believe you. Can you behave for once?" I use my fingers to push my hair back in frustration, noticing how my head starts to hurt. Its 10 pm and I'm currently trying to stay calm, though because of one man in particular, my nerves seem to be getting thinner within seconds. Valuable time is wasted that I could spend somewhere else instead of with him.

"Now it's my fault, that you don't have the documents with you? Sorry, I can't help you being organized in your own workplace." His voice irritates me. Everything about him is so frustrating.

"I told you, I didnt get the message! How am I supposed to know, that you need something, when you don't tell me anything about it? Maybe you should stop being so childish and ask me in the first place, instead of running to Rachel!" If our job had nothing to do with justice and we werent literally standing in a law company right now, I would kill him. And then I wouldn't hesitate to go to court and say it was self-defense, because I didnt want to hear any of his miserable excuses anymore.

"So what do you think, I should do? I need these documents for tomorrow. Please, I know you don't like me, but it is really urgent." Why does he has such blue eyes? The look he is going me is even more irritating than his voice.

I sign, exhibit my laptop and try to put the pens back, that are laying all over my desk.

"Okay, fine. As I said, the documents are at home, so-" I don´t even get to finish my sentence.

"Great, so I'll meet you there. And I wont even tell anyone, if your place is a mess." His eyes wander over my messy desk, and even If I don´t like to admit it, it's a bad habit of mine. But, he shouldn't make any assumptions about the neatness in my apartment.

"I hope you loose the documents on your way home." At my words, he grins smugly.

"Well, then I could lie and say you didnt found them anymore and I hadnt had the chance to go through them." He leans towards me.

"I'll run you over with my car." He raises his eyebrows at my threat.

"You sure should do something that makes you smile more often. Is that even something you know how to do?" I show him my middle finger and turn to left my office. When I close the door, I hear the laughter in his voice.

"The next storm should be named after you as quickly as you left the room." He follows after me.

"Can you shut up for once? Oh, I forgot. You don´t last one second being silent. Thats a shame, the world could finally heal." His hand rests on his heart, his features fake a hurt expression.

"Ouch. You really don´t like me that much, huh?" His eyes try to search mine.

"You get on my nerves on purpose every fucking day. Should I thank you for that?" I turn my head to look at him.

"Yes, you should. Your life would be so boring without me." He grins at me again from the side, that typical grimace that is always adorn on his face.

"You wish." When I tell him my address, he raises his eyebrows, but before he can make an unfavorable comment, I get into my car.

Darkness surrounds me and when I see him going away, I lower my head to the steering wheel. He really is the best at confusing my emotions.

~~~~~

I turn off the lights of my car and get out of it, so I can finally make my way to my flat. Its not something special, I mean I have a living room, which is quite big and connected to the kitchen, a bedroom and a bath. But I am very lucky, because I have a small balcony, from which I can watch the stars at night. But I usually only do that when I can't sleep.

So, when I enter my apartment, I let my eyes wander over the manageable mess, I put some clothes back in the closet and the dishes in the washing machine. The place almost looks decent, when I hear the doorbell.

As I open the door, I'm nervous for some reason. I let him in and turn to my office drawers, looking for the document.

"Nice place. You live here alone?" His fingers trace my bookshelf, I see him reading the titles.

"No, my wife is still at work." When I look at him dead serious, I see him laugh in surprise.

"So, you do have humor. I thought, you were one of those exceptions that wouldn't be able to do that." He means it as a joke, but something in my chest hurts.

When I reply with a monotonous voice, I see his eyebrows pull together. "I live here alone. That's what you wanted to hear?" I'm getting more frustrated again with every second he's around me.

"No- I didnt mean it that way. I'm sorry. My intentions were good, I promise." When I look at him for a moment, I see his honest expression.

It would be so easier for me to hate him, if I didnt know, he was a good human. Well, most of the time.

We are silent for a moment, but when I hear his footsteps, I tense up.

"What are you doing?" He's now standing right next to me.

"Helping you. You seem a little, tense?" I glare at him for a moment and he raises his hands in defense.

"Just pointed out the obvious. But dont worry. You still look lovely." I stop in my movements at his words.

"Thats such shock for you?" His voice shows surprise and a certain curiosity.

"Only that you say it." I look into his eyes.

"Well, you may think I'm dumb, but I'm not blind."

He just called me beautiful, sort of. It´s confusing me.

When I finally find the documents, I hold my hand out to him.

"I don´t think you are dumb. I think you're annoying. And a show-off. I don´t like that." His eyes follow me.

"What do you like then?" His question surprises me. He slowly takes the documents out of my hand, his finger gently brushing mine.

"I don´t think that is any of your business." I try to clear my voice. His touch makes me shiver.

"Come on, tell me. Would that be so bad?" His whole presence is making me nervous and I feel my hands start to shake.

At work, I can always hide behind a mask, pretend that nothing he does affects me. I can act like I truly hate him, even though I catch myself looking at him, from time to time. Especially when he shows off his intelligence without realizing it, impresses his clients and -I would never admit it- me too. It's a certain charm about him, the way he always knows how to answer, while being mischievous and clever about it.

But now, that he's in my apartment and so close to me, it's suddenly different. And I don't know how to react to him being nice.

"I look for someone who isnt afraid of commitment. Someone who is honest and kind, but who also challenges me. I want to feel safe, so I can put my trust not only in myself."

He nods and is quiet for a moment, I begin to feel stupid for telling him all of that, when he responds.

"I get that. Someone whose shoulder you can lean on when things get too much. Someone who meets your needs, who wants to be in your life. For longer than a one-night stand." He smiles at me and I see for the first time, why I possibly could like him.

"Also, statistics show higher rates of being robbed or kidnapped, when you have one-night stands." This remark almost makes me laugh, even though it's frightening.

"Well, who would even notice, if I would disappear? Probably only my clients, because they need me." I lower my head, being completely honest with him for the first time.

"I would notice."

When I look at him, he takes a step towards me. His fingers gently slide over my shoulder and brush my hair aside, the touch makes a warm feeling bloom in my chest.

"I couldn't annoy you anymore. My life would be pretty boring without you. And it's not so bad to be able to look at such a pretty face every day, even if it always looks at me annoyed, like all the time." I quietly laugh at that, feeling surprisingly good because of his compliment.

We look at each other, now being really close. My eyes travel to his lips and I don´t even know how it happens, but suddenly he is all over me. His lips on mine, his hands on my waist, lifting me up to sit me on the desk. I moan softly when his hands tangle in my hair and he pushes himself closer to me, so that he's standing between my legs. One of his hands gently wraps around my neck and I feel my loud pulse.

My hands move too, stroking his back and holding him closer to me by his tie. As he pulls his lips away from me, he lifts my chin with his finger. Now, looking down at me with widen pupils. I hold his eye contact, forgetting all about my issues with him, when he speaks to me with a deep voice (which I suddenly don´t think sounds irritating anymore).

"Be angry at me tomorrow and mine for tonight. I bet, all your frustration from work and your thin nerves can catch a break, what do you say?"

Not much. Because I pull him towards me by his tie and kiss him again. I don't want to stop at all anymore. He returns the kiss with the same enthusiasm and his hands find their way to my waist again to lift me up again. When he crosses the living room with quick steps and lays me down on the sofa, I already feel out of breath and clearly turned on.

His kisses become more intense, his lips move from my mouth to my neck, leaving marks there. But it feels too good to make him stop.

"I will gladly hear your excuses, when someone asks you about your hickeys tomorrow. Because you will be all flustered, when you think again about this moment. Where you are ready to be fucked by your colleague, who you despise so much." I whimper as he pushes up my dress and his hands pull my tights down to my knees. The cold air hits my skin, but I don't really notice it, because his lips are on my neck again and his fingers connect first with my stomach and then further down. I hold my breath as his lips touch my ear and his fingers stroke my folds.

"So wet for me. Didnt think, I would turn you on this much." I kiss him to shut him up.

"You are-" I moan, when he finally puts a finger in me. "-so annoying." He laughs at me.

"Am I? But you seem to like it." I feel myself getting wetter, his fingers feel so good as they move gently but firmly inside me. One of his hands moves to push my dress further up and somehow, he manages to pull it over my head. Now, I'm lying in front of him in just a bra, his hands slowly find their way over my body and to my back, which I lift slightly so that he can open the clasp.

When I lie naked in front of him and he massages my breasts, his lips touch mine and his fingers stimulate me, I feel like I'm in heaven.

He breaks apart, so he can look at me and I draw my eyebrows together, when his fingers increase in speed. My mouth opens and the sounds that escape me echo in the apartment.

"I'm- god, I think I am going to come-" at that he starts to tease me, going slower but a lot deeper. My eyes almost roll back as he hits a certain spot inside me.

"That feels good? What do you say, when you want something?" You stupid idiot.

"You stupid-" I begin to say as his lips graze my nipple and his finger scissor and stretch me out further.

"One word, darling. Say it." And because I feel this knot inside me (and maybe this side of him turns me on, like a lot), I finally open my mouth to please him.

"Please, Mike. I-I need to-" My sentence is cut off as his fingers speed up and I moan loudly.

"Thats a good girl, you can be so good to me, if I make you." His lips search mine as I finally come. My breathing is heavy and when I come down from my high and look at his face, I see the satisfied expression.

"You are done-" I can't maintain my strict facial expression and suddenly have to start smiling. His eyes widen in surprise and I raise my eyebrows, still smiling softly.

"What?" I quietly laugh at his expression.

"Nothing, its just- I have never seen you smiling so happy." I roll my eyes gently. As I look at him closer now, I see the bulge in his pants and the loosened tie. As I lean forward, his eyes shift to my body.

"You still are fully clothed. A bit unfair, don't you think?" I watch him swallow and my hands move to his chest to slowly unbutton his shirt. As I also remove the tie and slip the shirt from his shoulders, I sit myself on his lap. Rocking my hips forward and seeing his eyes close. His hands move to my hips and begin to control the movements, my eyes close too and my head leans into the crook of his neck as the movements become faster.

Sighs and heavy breaths leave his lips and once again, one of his hands moves to grab my breasts, lightly grazing the nipples.

I look at him, noticing his swollen lips and his flushed cheeks. His hair is a mess and his forehead is furrowed, but he tries his best to pull himself together.

I groan as I look at him and suddenly think back to todays afternoon, when he was on a phone call and I heard how he listed one reciting fact after another, without any difficulty.

"What are you thinking about?" His voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

"N-nothing" I'm definitely too embarrassed to admit how much his intelligence and the way he seems to know everything, turns me on.

One of his hands moves to my entrance and teases me by just circling around it. When I try to push myself down, he pulls his fingers away.

"You tell me, whats going on in that pretty head of yours and you'll get me." My body feels so hot, I can't think properly anymore.

"You where on a phone call today and you just- you listed without any effort every single point that will help you win the case. You just said it like- it's nothing."

When his fingers dig into me again, I bite my lips. I try to control my moans and not pay attention to the fact, that I just gave him every opportunity to make him be more complacent than his usual self.

His fingers pump into me and I feel slightly overstimulated. But I wouldnt want to stop now.

"You get off by the thought of me, saying memorized facts? Who would have thought that my intelligence would turn you on so much." God, his ego probably doesn't fit in this apartment anymore.

"Don't think too highly of yourself, you still annoy me." Now I'm really just trying to get myself out of the situation. I lean towards him, so he can't say anything anymore and pull on his blonde hair to distract him.

Moans escape my lips and when I notice that his noises are also getting louder, I pull away from him. He looks at me confused.

"I want you inside me." Thats all I say, but he quickly complies with my request. I slide off his lap and wait for him to take off his pants and boxers until he's finally on top of me again. His fingers find my bottom lip and while maintaining eye contact, I open my mouth so he can insert a finger. My tongue brushes against his and after a few moments of him pressing on my tongue, he lets his fingers move back to the spot that needs him the most.

He stretches me for a few minutes until he finally guides his cock to my hole and slowly penetrates me. My eyes close and I hear his breath in my ear as he pushes further.

"You are so tight- good thing finally someone fucks you." I nod without thinking and hear his laughter in my ear.

"You think so too, huh. Would you let anyone fuck you then?" My stomach tenses, I feel the pleasure growing again and every movement of him. This feels so good-

I try to shake my head, but I'm too lost in the sensations to pay much attention to his words.

"No? But I thought, you hate me. Why would you let me fuck you, if you don´t even like me?" His thrusts become faster and more uncontrolled, I feel him getting closer to his own high.

"I-" I try to stutter "d-don´t hate you." I feel myself getting closer and reach into his hair, pulling at the roots and feeling his lips on my shoulder. His thrusts become more powerful and as he moves his hand and massages my clitoris, suddenly everything goes white in front of my eyes and I come.

I feel every inch inside of me, feel his fingers brush over the visible bulge in my stomach and think to myself: god I feel so full

When he comes too, I moan so loudly that it's impossible that my neighbors didn't hear me. His hand finds its way around my chin, he slides a finger into my mouth and I feel my vagina tighten because of it.

He hisses and his thrusts slow down until he finally pulls out of me, trying not to fall on top of me. As I give him some space next to me, he falls halfway on me, but pulls me on top of him in the next second and I can hear his strong heartbeat. With his outstretched hand he pulls the blanket over me, that had fallen to the floor.

We both try to catch our breath and as the minutes pass, only the wind outside is heard. He is the first to break the silence.

"So, you don't hate me?" I lift my head from his naked chest to look at him.

"Only sometimes." He shakes his head and smiles, gently stroking my back.

The evening went by quickly, we ordered a pizza and ate it (clothed) on the terrace. We were going over his documents for tomorrow, I blushed at the thought that this was the real reason he came here, but he just hugged me from behind after we finished and continued watching the stars.

It's not really clear what this evening means for us, but I don´t want to get into that, not yet. Because I'm not sure what it means anyway.

Because now, I have to get used to the fact that his voice no longer irritates me, that his jokes no longer annoy me and that he as a person, is actually not as bad as I imagined.

"Who thought, I was the one to get you relax."

But he is still a show-off.

[supercorpkid]

You are almost you again.

Supergirl, B!D, Kara Danvers x Sister!Reader, Alex Danvers x Sister!Reader, Lena Luthor x Reader, Reader insert.

Word Count: 2820.

Warning: Eating disorder! Please don’t read it if it’s a trigger! Please!

Notes: prompt by @greysgirl2456, I hope i did ok with this one.

“Y/N! I’m so glad you came in. God, I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.” Lena says as soon as you walk into her office. “I’m going to sue your company if they send you on another business trip soon.”

“I know, right?” You come closer, ready to walk into her open and welcoming arms. “I’ve been out of National City so much, yesterday I forgot my own address. I almost ended up in Kara’s place.”

“She would’ve loved that.” Lena smiles and hugs you tenderly. She breathes in, sounding extremely satisfied to have you in her arms. “I’ve missed you, darling.”

“I’ve missed you too, Lee.” You finally part the hug, looking at her with a wide smile.

“Come, let’s catch up over lunch.”

It’s a simple word. Lunch. Jesus, people talk about lunch and dinner all the time, and yet this simple word makes your body shiver in anticipation. Because lunch involves eating, and you, well, you’re not particularly fond of eating.

Except there is one thing you learned with this particular group of people, the Superfriends, is that everything has to be done over food. This is mainly because Kara is an alien and needs or likes food more than anything else in this world, but it became a habit to them. And that, unfortunately, means that you have to join.

“Oh,” Your body stiffens, when she moves around her office, with a big sushi platter in hand. “I didn’t know that’s what we were doing. Had I known I wouldn’t have eaten on my way here.”

“Oh no, really? I ordered your favorite.” You look at the food on her hands. This was once your favorite, she is right. But now… “Just have a bite with me.” Lena pleads moving to the couch. “All this traveling is making you lose too much weight.”

“What? No, it hasn’t.” You look at yourself, on your much larger clothes, because yeah, you have been losing weight and haven’t been around in National City much and when you are, the last thing you want to do is go out to buy new ones.

“Y/N.” Your name comes in a condescending tone that you hate. “Please. You’re like half of who you used to be.”

You move to the couch, sitting next to her. You must be doing some kind of face because she reaches out for your hand, supportively.

“I know how hard it is eating right when work is so demanding of you. Trust me, I’ve been there.” She smiles, fond and sweet and you agree with your head. Sure, let’s blame it on work, this sure is easier.

“Yeah, you get it.” You smile back at her, praying she doesn’t realize how fake you sound. “I’m basically living on a plane.”

“I know, darling.” She reassures you, sensing your guilt. “So why don’t we just sit here for 30 minutes, eat, and catch up on each other’s lives?” She asks, not breaking eye contact. “Shall we?”

You can’t say no. You wish you could, it would be a lot easier, but she might find it weird, and you can't have people catching on.

“Sure.” You smile, though on the inside you’re feeling quite the opposite. Right now, you wish you had Kara’s powers so you can fake an emergency and just fly out the window.

Yet, you eat, and talk, and do exactly what Lena had planned.

It’s something else, this thing you’re going through. You would feel guilty if you didn’t sit here and eat with Lena, but once you do, you also feel guilty as hell for putting so much food inside you.

It has become an obsession. One you haven’t found a way to break. One you don’t want anyone to know or worry about. One that makes you feel shameful and worse every time you do it, which only leads you to doing it more.

“Ms. Luthor? I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch, but the scientists need feedback on the new prototype.” Lena’s assistant shoots as soon as she opens the door and when she is done talking, Lena looks at you apologetic.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ll just say yes or no to this. Five minutes tops.”

“Oh,” you stand up when you see her moving. “I could-I could leave.”

“No, please don’t.” Lena holds your hand. “There’s still a lot to talk about and I haven’t seen you in weeks. Please stay. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, yeah, sure.”

Lena smiles at you, before accompanying her assistant out of her office, leaving you alone. You’ve been here too many times before, so you know exactly where the bathroom is. You look around furtively, before making your way there. There’s no one around, but you make sure to check it three times before going inside.

“Oh, I forgot the-” Lena looks at you, kneeled before her toilet, and your mind goes blank for a second, before being filled with crappy explanations in an angry rush. “Oh, Y/N.”

It’s the way she says your name that gives away the fact that she knows exactly what is going on. Which makes your heart sit heavy inside, and the food comes back out without you having to force it.

“The sushi-” You try when you raise your head again. Lena doesn’t look like she’ll believe whatever you have to say for yourself, but she still makes her way to where you are and holds your hair in a high ponytail.

“You’re ok. Come on, darling. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You’re filled with shame, and your face burns red in embarrassment. You can’t believe you got caught. You can’t believe Lena knows. She knows. It’s all you can think about. It’s your most stealthy and dark secret, something you wouldn’t -couldn’t- even tell your therapist, and yet, Lena knows.

And if Lena knows, then she’ll tell Kara. Then Kara will obviously tell Alex. Alex will tell her wife Kelly. And oh my God, the food tries to make its way back to your mouth and you breathe deep holding it down. Because somewhere between Lena helping you up and your negative thoughts while your mind spirals out of control, Lena is cleaning your face so you can’t throw up again.

She cleans one tear, you think, when her thumb strokes your face lightly. “It’s ok.” She guarantees.

But it’s not ok. It hasn’t been ok in months. It has been nothing, but you being stuck inside your raging mind, with a voice yelling that you’re not good enough, that everything you do is wrong, that you can’t control anything in your life except this. It’s a voice you haven’t heard before compelling you to act in the most harmful ways you can think of.

How do you tell Lena that you have been demanding, begging, for more work so you will have something else to think about aside from what to eat or not, how hard to exercise, how many calories you need to eat to survive, and how many can you take away from that, so you can continue to be in control of your body?

“Darling, you can talk to me.”

Can you? What can you say for yourself?

“Yeah, um, I think the sushi didn’t sit well.” You finally detach yourself from her, smiling through the tears. “Sorry you had to see that.” You flush and smile harder, forced, fake. “I should get going. You have to work, and I still have so many things to do.” You pass her going straight for your things, still talking, so she doesn’t have time to argue. “Thanks for this, Lee. I’ll see you soon, ok?”

“You promise?” Lena asks before you slip out the door.

“Yeah.”

What’s one more lie for someone who hasn’t been able to tell the truth for months?

To say that you threw yourself into work after that would be an understatement. Your sisters have been texting you for days about game night, then sisters night, then a CatCo event, but all of their texts are left on ‘seen’.

Sisters group chat:

Alex: What’s the point of a group chat if only me and Kara talk?

Alex: Y/N do you mind letting your sisters know that you are ok?

Kara: Y/N! ANSWER NOW OR I’LL SEND THE COPS!

Y/N: Gosh, you guys are so melodramatic. I’m fine!

Alex: Oh, would you look at that. She is alive, everyone!

Kara: Is she? Someone else might have her phone.

Kara: Picture now or I’ll still send the cops.

Y/N: Who are you sending over, Maggie?

Alex: Don’t be funny. Picture of yourself from now or I’ll call mom and tell her you’re on drugs.

Y/N: You wouldn’t dare.

Alex: Try me.

Y/N: You’re a dick.

Y/N: photo 📷

Y/N: Happy now?

Y/N: Hello?

Y/N: Alex DO NOT CALL MOM!

You abandon your phone on the dinner table, rubbing your eyes, trying to get rid of the sleep that is creeping in. You still have a lot of work to do, you need more coffee if you want to keep working.

It’s so fast the way your brain starts calculating how many calories you can still have today and if an extra cup of black coffee is worth all of it.

“Just one more.” You agree with your raging mind, while promising yourself you’ll eat even less tomorrow.

You’re on your way to the kitchen counter when you hear the doorbell. If they sent the cops, you swear to God.

“Baby.” Kara says, arms open wide, pulling you inside her arms for a long hug.

“I sent the picture!” You don’t make any move out of her embrace, but you’re annoyed they are both here after you did exactly what they asked and sent proof you’re still alive.

“And we saw that you’re still working!” Alex makes her way inside your apartment with two bags in her hands. It’s food. You can smell it and your stomach growls. “It’s late and it’s Sunday. Honestly Y/N, give it a rest.”

“I can’t.” You finally let yourself out of Kara’s embrace and turn around to look at Alex. “I can’t give it a rest until I’m done, ok? I have a deadline, Alex.”

“Baby.” Kara says again, and you turn to look at her this time. She looks at you in pity. “I haven’t seen you in a month, and I know you’re hungry. Let’s just eat together.”

“I’m not hungry.” Your stomach growls, proving that you are lying. “It’s growling with impatience.”

“Yeah, sure.” Kara ignores you, making her way inside to where Alex is. “I swear, next time I hug you I might break your bones if you keep forgetting to eat because of work.”

Hm.

They don’t know.

Lena didn’t tell them about the, um, incident.

“Guys, I appreciate you both worrying about me.” No, you don’t. You wish they would just leave you alone. “But this is a huge project, and the deadline is so close. I promise we’ll hang out more once I’m done with this.”

Kara, ignoring you completely, goes to your laptop, while Alex opens your fridge.

“Gee, there’s nothing here. This is either a fake fridge or you’ve found out a way to live without food.”

“Great, go around my apartment, why not?” You mumble to yourself and groan when Kara closes your laptop. “GODDAMNIT KARA!”

“Don’t worry, I know how to save a document.” She moves the laptop out of the way, along with all of your papers, making space for the food that Alex is bringing to set on the table.

“Seriously, I’m really busy.” You make your way to them, crossing your arms and hardening your features. Something’s gotta work.

“Sit down and have dinner, Y/N.” Alex pulls the chair for you. “I’m not going to say it twice.”

“I’m not your child, Alex.”

“I know you’re not. Because Esme knows when it’s time to eat, and she knows better than to argue with me about it.” Alex points at the chair, while passing Kara a dish. “Well?”

Reluctantly, you sit next to her. Kara serves you food, while Alex fills a glass of water for you. They wait until you have the first bite, so they can start eating too.

Your stomach thanks you, satisfied with real food going in, while your mind angrily shouts at you that tomorrow you’ll have to run farther, eat less, and so on. When you finish everything on your plate, feeling guilty and satiated at the same time, and are about to tell your sisters they have to leave so you can keep working, Alex clears her throat.

“So.” Alex starts, eyeing Kara to stop inhaling her food. “There’s something we want to talk to you about.”

Kara sets her food aside, looking way too serious. That makes your heart beat faster. “We’ve been noticing for a while that you haven’t been eating a lot.”

Oh no.

“Then Lena told me about what happened the last time you saw each other.”

“I felt sick with the sushi she bought. Don’t blame me.”

“We’re not blaming you.” Alex reassures you, immediately touching your arm for comfort. “We really just want to understand what’s going on, baby. We’re just worried.”

“You don’t have to. I’m fine.” They are not buying, and your heart is beating out of your chest, whilst your mind is being filled with blame and accusations. “I’m just working a lot and traveling so much.”

“Baby, your face is pale and bony. And just by looking at you I’m sure you are malnourished.” Alex gives you her best mother voice, and you think of all the times she’s done that before. “Don’t tell us there’s nothing wrong. We’re way past that. We want to understand what is happening with you, so we can help.”

Your first reaction is to fight it. To tell them there’s absolutely nothing wrong, that you don’t need help and that they must leave so you can go back to work. But it all comes crumbling down when Kara wraps you up in her arms, picking you up from where you are, and moving to the couch with you.

You feel like a child. Not only because of the way she’s holding you, or how they’re talking to you, but because you look so small when wrapped around Kara’s arms. You feel skeletal, your mind is sick and angry at your own existence, and sure, you are definitely malnourished.  

So when Kara kisses the top of your head, and Alex sits on your coffee table with a worried face and a hand on your knee for encouragement, tears stream down your face uncontrollably.

“I don’t know what’s going on, I just-” You cry and cry. They wait patiently for your time, for your truth. “I just hate myself. And sometimes I hate everyone around me, and work and life. And God, this is the only thing I can control. It’s the only thing in my life I can control, so I need it.”

“Hey.” Kara kisses your temple. “You don’t need it. You don’t. We love you so much, baby.”

“But why?” You beg. “I’m not-”

“Yes, you are.” Alex stops you before you go on with harming words about yourself. “You are amazing. You’re smart, and sweet, and beautiful, and funny, and so important to us. You are everything you see on everyone else but yourself, ok?”

“Alex.” You cry her name out of your lips and she gets it. Your older sister completely gets you.

“I’m here.” She holds both of your wrists, squeezing it gently. “I’m with you. We’re with you forever and we’re going to get over this together, ok?”

“I don’t even know what to do, where to start, I-”

“To be honest, baby, neither do we.” Kara holds you tighter. “But here’s one thing we know. We’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“We’ll learn how to deal with it together.” Alex calms you. “One step at a time, ok?” She cleans your tears with her hands. “You’ll have everything you need. Medical help, our help, friends’ support. We’ll give you everything so you can overcome this, baby.”

Alex gets up from the coffee table and sits next to Kara. Soon you are enveloped between both of your sisters’ loving arms, while they restate that there’s nothing wrong with you, and that they love you very much.

You love them too, even if sometimes along the way to recovery you find yourself hating what they’re doing, you make sure to remember that you need them and love them so dearly much, and that they are the best sisters in the universe.

It’s a hard, long road full of bumps, cracks, and obstacles, but with their help it gets you where you need to be and you start feeling like yourself again.

[cookinguptales]

I haven’t seen anyone comment abt that detail of nandor not asking for guillermo to close the lid bc “it would be a whole deal” thought that was interesting

god like I remember being !!!!!!! about it when it happened but it was immediately swallowed up by so many other things. I'm going to have to watch that episode about 10 more times before I can tell you everything that hit me like a fucking 2x4 while I was watching it.

the hits just kept coming!!!

But no you're right, that was a crazy thing to say. What was even crazier was actually the Djinn's reaction? Like he did not say, "I can just get up and close it" to him. He said, "Are you sure? I can just go fetch Guillermo." Which would have objectively been more work than just getting up and closing it with his fucking hand. But the Djinn knows whose job that is. He knows who Nandor trusts to do it. He knows it'll be a whole thing. He also knows that it's a whole thing that both of them like.

(I think this is also confirmation that Guillermo is still doing his daily/nightly duties with Nandor. Even the Djinn knows who gets Nandor in and out of his coffin.)

I really do think that Djinn pegged their dynamic the second he came out of that lamp to find Guillermo standing between him and Nandor and pointing a fucking knife at him. I remember him just looking at Guillermo like. Oh, I see. Then turning to finally address his new master. And any suspicions he had were reinforced by the dick wish episode. Like I'm pretty sure he knows for sure exactly what dynamic those two have, and that line next to the coffin proved it.

I also feel like I'm about to make a whole meta post about their sleeping habits and feelings of vulnerability so like. Incoming.

[live-the-fangirl-life]

Stolen Stamps

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - Stolen Passport Oneshot

“You took me on a trip just to break up with me so I stole your passport” - Prompt from @dailyau

I don't know where this came from, it just kinda happened, enjoy! Minor Chaolaena, Rowaelin endgame

Masterlist | Read on Ao3

Warnings: Language

2494 words

*******

The faint hum of the air condition filled the meticulously organized room in the back of the post office.

“Ms. Galathynius,” A deep, accented voice addressed her.

Her gaze on the tall bookshelf in the corner jerked back to the man sitting across from her behind his desk. His hands were crossed, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, exposing part of a tattoo that wrapped around his muscular arm. She tried not to watch as the muscles shifted as he leaned forward when he spoke to her.

“Can you please explain to me why you were trying to mail a very,” He paused, glancing at the messily-wrapped bundle on the center of his desk, “suspicious-looking package to the Adarlan embassy in Antica?”

Aelin opened her mouth to try to explain, but no words came out.

He raised a silver eyebrow and waited.

She sighed, “I swear, it’s not what it looks like.”

***

The cab ride to the airport was a blur. So was the flight, and the ride to her hotel. It wasn’t until Aelin locked the door of her hotel room and set down her bags, that the events of the day finally hit her.

Whether it was adrenaline or shock or relief, she couldn’t be sure. Aelin fell back onto the bed and rubbed her face, groaning. She thought back to that morning when everything had been fine.

Fine, not great, just fine. That’s how things always felt with Chaol, just fine.

Her brain was still working through what happened when she jolted up from the bed, eyes wide.

“Shit. What did I do?”

Aelin scrambled towards her purse and rummaged through it. She couldn’t find it; maybe she didn't take it. She turned the bag upside down over the bed and watched as her things fell out. She pushed aside her little paperback mystery novel, her lipstick, her boarding pass, she moved aside a wrinkled coupon and froze.

“Fuck.”

***

After wearing a track into the carpet with her pacing, Aelin decided to call Lysandra. It was going about as well as she expected.

“Lysandra, I did a bad thing.”

Aelin chewed her fingernail between her teeth, a bad habit she couldn’t kick when she was stressed, as she tried to tell her best friend what just happened. She was standing on the small balcony of her hotel hoping the fresh air would help clear her mind. So far, it wasn't doing a great job.

“Aelin,” Lysandra’s voice sounded amused through her phone, “This is you were talking about, you’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

Rolling her eyes, Aelin ran a hand through her hair. “I did a petty, horrible, impulsive, really bad thing.”

There was a long pause as Lysandra seemed to realize how serious Aelin sounded.

“Okay. Now I’m getting worried.” Then a sharp gasp, “Was it illegal? Have you been arrested? Are you calling me from a foreign prison?”

“Lys—” Aelin tried cutting in, she wanted to stop the hysterics before her friend’s imagination got out of hand.

“When you told me you were going on a trip with Chaol I thought you’d be spending time on the beach, not using me as your one phone call from a dirty jail cell hundreds of miles away!”

“Lysandra!”

“And where’s Chaol? Is he there with you?”

“Lysandra, stop! I haven’t been arrested, I’m not in prison, I’m fine. Actually, I’m great.” Aelin closed her eyes and sighed, trying to scrounge up some guilt but failing. “Actually, it's because I’m feeling great that makes what I did so much worse, because I don’t really feel bad about it.”

“Don’t scare me like that.” Her friend's voice echoed in her ear. “If you’re fine, then tell me what happened and tell me why you’re calling me at,” she paused and groaned, “six in the morning.”

“Sorry,” Aelin winced, “I’m still on a different time frame.”

“Still? Where are you now? Are you not in Antica anymore?”

“Slow down, Lys.” Aelin loosed a breath and ran a hand through her hair, “I’m back in Terrasen.”

“What? When did you get back?” Lysandra sounded confused, and Aelin couldn't blame her, after all, she was supposed to be in Antica for four more days.

“Today. Less than an hour ago. I’m at a hotel, I just needed to clear my head.”

After a moment of silence, Lysandra asked again, “Where’s Chaol? Have you talked to him about whatever this is? Not that he’d help much “Lysandra muttered the last part, but Aelin still heard.

Here we go, Aelin thought, “No. We broke up.”

“What?” Lysandra was definitely awake now. “Really? Oh, honey, I’m sorry if you’re hurting, but good for you, I never really liked him.”

“Yeah, I know.” Aelin barked a wry laugh, “He dumped me, actually.”

“He dumped you?”

Aelin barked another laugh, getting angry as she told Lysandra the rest, “Get this, that bastard invited me on this trip specifically to break up with me”

“What the actual fuck?”

“Yeah, and honestly?” Aelin took a deep breath, feeling a mess of emotions as she explained. “I can’t blame him.” She amended herself quickly at Lysandra's sound of protest, “I don’t mean about taking me on a trip to do it, because that’s fucked up, but I mean the actual breaking up part. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later, it was more about who would pull the trigger first. Come on, Lys, you knew I was more excited to spend a week on the beach than to spend a week with him.”

Lysandra snorted, “Yeah, Ace, I knew that. I was hoping you realized that, too.”

“Well, I did. So, I left. I’m back in Terrasen, there was no way I was staying there with him any longer, that would’ve been too weird.”

Aelin could hear Lysandra’s coffee machine buzz to life through the phone and suddenly wished she had a cup of coffee. Once she figured this mess out, she’d go find a cafe.

“Right. Okay,” The brunette’s voice rang out, “let me get this straight, Chaol took you on a trip solely to break up with you, and now you’re back in Terrasen while he’s still on the Southern Continent. I’m still not seeing what exactly you did that’s making you freak out.”

At that, Aelin flopped back onto the bed and flung an arm over her face, groaning.

“I know breaking up with Chaol is for the best, Hellas, I feel relieved. But at that moment, I was so angry. I was furious that he’d take me on this trip instead of just doing it at home like a normal-fucking-person—I mean, who takes a break-up vacation? Anyways, when I was packing my things to leave, I, kinda, sorta, took something of his.”

“Aelin…what did you do?”

Aelin looked at the foot of the bed where the remains of her purse were strewn over the blanket. Her eyes caught on two matching little booklets with gold seals on them.

“I stole his passport.”

***

“Ms. Galathynius—”

“Aelin, please.” She cut off the silver-haired man behind the desk.

The only change in his stoic demeanor was a small twitch of his lips. “Aelin. Can you explain what exactly you’re trying to mail, that looks like that—”

‘That’ being the layers of spare newspaper she found tucked away in her hotel room haphazardly wrapped and tied with the thread from the complimentary sewing kit, also from her hotel room. She hadn’t been able to find any tape. Aelin thought if she brought it to the post office then she could re-package it with actual materials, but she’d chosen not to unwrap it before getting there. An obvious mistake.

“—to an official, protected, government Embassy?” His voice was stern and his green eyes steady.

This looked bad. Aelin could easily admit that this looked really bad.

She placed her hands on his desk and watched as his eyes tracked the movement. “I can explain. It's definitely not as bad as I’m sure you think it is.”

He remained silent, watching her expectantly.

She caught sight of the nameplate on the side of his desk. “Mr. Whitethorn—”

“Rowan, please.”

Did he sound amused?

Taking confidence from that, she sat up a little straighter and said, “Rowan,”

His mouth quirked a little higher as she said his name.

Clearing her throat, she started again, “Rowan, you can open the package, I assure you it's nothing bad. It’s just a passport.”

One of his eyebrows rose skeptically, “A passport?” He asked doubtfully.

“Yes, a passport. That’s why I was trying to send it to the embassy. It belongs to my b—ex.” She stumbled over the last word, still unused to Chaol’s new title.

He—Rowan—looked even more intrigued.

“You’re mailing your ex their passport, but decided to wrap it in the most suspicious, threatening way possible?”

Aelin winced. “I didn’t have many options.” She chuckled, remembering trying to tie the string together in the hotel bathroom’s fluorescent lights. “I thought I could fix it once I got here, but I didn’t even have a chance to ask for materials before being escorted in here.” She waved a hand vaguely and looked around his office.

Rowan was fully smirking now. He leaned back in his chair and watched her for a long moment. “It is my job to confiscate suspect packages. Especially when those packages are being sent to, say, a government building.”

Leaning forward slightly she smiled and told him, “Well, you seem to be very good at your job.”

Gods, was she flirting? She and Chaol literally just broke up. But she couldn’t deny she was attracted to Rowan. Not with the way his pine-green eyes lit up with amusement or the way the muscles in his arms flexed when he shifted in his chair. Not to mention that tattoo; she was a sucker for tattoos—and she’d never told him this, but it always disappointed Aelin that Chaol never even considered getting any ink.

Good gods, she was flirting. And not very well.

Still smirking, Rowan leaned forward and asked, “Care to tell me why you’re sending your ex their passport?”

Was it her imagination or did he say ‘ex’ like it was the most interesting word in his question.

She couldn't stop the small smile twisting her lips. “I don't see how the ‘why’ of it is any of your business.”

Rowan surveyed her and Aelin tried not to blush under his gaze. She couldn't stop herself from comparing him to Chaol, he never made her feel this flustered with just a stare. Rowan's eyes tracked her face, tracked the way her cheeks heated, and she tried with all her might to fight the blush.

She wasn’t a teenager with a crush, she was a woman who knew how good she looked and was very attracted to the man whose eyes had not stopped roaming over her. She fought down the blush and flipped her hair over her shoulder, smiling charmingly at him.

He seemed to like it and his grin widened before putting on a faux stern face.

“I try to be as thorough as possible, Aelin,” Gods, the way he said her name made her toes curl. “It would make things easier if you explained why. I could finish my paperwork quicker, get this thing sent off, and we’d both be free of this passport and your ex.”

Wow, he wasn't beating around the bush. She liked it.

He sent her a slow grin, “I’d be able to take my break at nine, and go for a cup of coffee.”

The way he said the last part left no room for guessing what he meant. He wanted to take her out for coffee.

A small part of her hesitated, she had just broken up with Chaol. But on the other hand, he took her on a fucking breakup vacation, so screw him and she could do whatever the hell she wanted. And she wanted Rowan. She wanted to go get coffee with Rowan.

So she smiled, winked at him, and said, “I’m mailing it back to him because I stole it from him.”

Rowan’s smile faltered and he blinked.

“You what?”

“I stole it from him.”

He stared at her another moment before a chuckle escaped his lips and he was shaking his head but smirking.

“You stole his passport.” He sounded very amused as he wrote a note down, most likely for the report he’d have to file.

“Yup,” Aelin’s grin turned feline, “He took me on vacation to break up with me, so I stole his passport and left him there.”

Rowan stopped writing and looked at her with raised eyebrows, “He’s still there? You have his passport, and now he’s stuck,” Rowan glanced at his notes, “in Antica?”

Aelin laughed; a loud, cheerful, sound that filled the office and pulled a small grin onto Rowan’s lips.

“Okay, I’m sure you think I’m a bit crazy,” Her grin didn't falter, “but it was impulsive and as soon as I realized what I actually did, you know, kinda leaving him stranded there, I tried to send it back to him. I couldn't remember what the hotel was, so I figured the embassy would be a good choice given it's a passport, and he is from Adarlan.”

“He’s from Adarlan, you’re not?” Rowan asked.

Aelin smirked, “That’s what you got from what I said?”

He matched her smirk, “That's what I want to know.”

“No,” Aelin shook her head and glanced out the window in his office, “I’m from here, Terrasen is in my blood.”

It seemed like that was the answer Rowan was looking for. He smiled, wrote down a final note, and looked back at her.

“I think that’s all I need right now, Aelin,” Again, the way he said her name sent butterflies flitting around her stomach.

He stood up and she did the same, pulling her purse back over her shoulder. He walked around his desk and opened the door for her.

“Aelin,” Rowan’s voice made her pause as she stood in the open doorway.

“Yes, Rowan?” she looked up at him expectantly with a small smile.

“I take my break in half an hour, there's a coffee shop just down the block, if you want to hang around or come back then, I'd like to take you out for coffee.”

Aelin smiled brightly at him and nodded, “I’d like that. I’ll come back in half an hour.”

He grinned and held her gaze another moment before she turned to leave.

“Oh, and Rowan?” She turned back to look at him but saw he already—or still—had his eyes on her.

“Yeah?”

“You don't have to use express shipping on that, it's fine if it takes a couple days.”

The sound of Rowan’s deep laughter followed her through the doors.

*****

Taglist:

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[shootingstarwritings]

Couples Therapy

Marcus glanced at his client before going back to his notes. As usual, it was a young woman who looked as though she was on the verge of tears after giving him a mile-long list of grievances towards her husband. For the first few years, everything was like an eternal honeymoon until the two began to drive the other crazy. From the little info Marcus had, the blame seemed to rest on two personalities that didn't feel like compromising—as it usually was.

However, compromises didn’t put food on Marcus’ table, so it was in his best interest to pin the blame all on the husband. “Like my services advertise,” he told the wife, Julia, while sliding a sheet of his talents over to her, “I can fix your marriage to be as blissful as it was on your wedding night. All I need is your consent and I can shape your lover as you need him to be.”

The tears soon dried up. "Um, huh…?" Julia grew sheepish as her eyes skimmed over the sheet. Not good. "Shape him? My friend said your type of work was unique, but changing my husband…? I didn't hear anything about that."

Tilting his head, Marcus said, "Did you not notice how your friend's partner changed? He was happier, more agreeable, and far more pleasant overall. Always carried a strong conversation and had the manners of a perfect gentleman. Don't you want the same for your husband?"

“I-I thought you just gave them counseling!” Julia stood up from her chair, hands clasping her purse as though Marcus was a violent, money-hungry criminal. “This is crazy. A-And, honestly absurd. I'll have no part in this lunacy!"

“So you’re okay with your husband’s divorce?”

Julia stopped just before her hand reached the door. Though she didn't turn around, she said, "What do you mean?" Her voice was tinged with fear despite her attempts to hide it.

“When you made your appointment, I did a little digging on your husband,” said Marcus, lying as naturally as he breathed. “Digging into his soul, of course. My abilities allow me to do so.”

He stood up and strode over to Julia. “He’s growing increasingly dissatisfied with your union. Every little action, every little word, every little annoyance from you pushes him more and more towards the arms of another.” While Marcus remained stone-faced, he was smirking inside as beads of sweat cascaded down Julia’s brow. 

Perfect.

“A young woman your age already divorced? What will the neighbors think? Your friends? Your family? But,” he shrugged and made his way back to his desk, “if you insist that you don’t need my services, I can do nothing about that. I sincerely wish the two of you a happy marriage. However long it lasts.”

Julia excused herself to go to the bank but promised she would return with the payment.

Marcus’ target was a man by the name of Trevor. Attractive, admirable, and breakable. All it would require was a few weeks in his body and Marcus’ job would be finished. Julia had signed the contract, so his body was completely available.

That was the limit to Marcus’ powers. Without some sort of consent from one who at the very least shared the name or a bond with his target, he was unable to do anything. Now, all Marcus had to do was take over Trevor’s body.

But first, Marcus was curious about what was going to happen in their ordinary lives. While Julia had given him a whole list of things that she wished Trevor would do, Marcus skimmed it before throwing it away. For the most part, his clients didn't know what they wanted—and what they did was something ridiculous like 'makes me breakfast in bed every single day.' It was all nonsense straight out of a soap opera. Marcus preferred to just take a look at what pissed his client off and doing a few favors here and there. The only part of Julia's list that Marcus even remotely paid attention to was, "Being more open to pegging."

Other than that, Marcus would just sit by and watch how a typical morning went for the couple. He made his way to the address Julia had provided him during their meeting in an astral form and peeked into their lives.

“God, another spill, Jules?” Trevor groaned as he looked down at his stained pants. “C'mon." While Julia let out a stream of apologies, Trevor just rolled his eyes and said, "I'm trying to get a goddamn promotion here!"

“I-I’m trying…!” Julia said, backing up as Trevor grabbed the empty mug and smashed it on the ground. “Th-That was mine...”

“And so’s the mess,” Trevor shot back. “When you’re the breadwinner in this relationship, you can decide what does and doesn’t get broken.” With that, Trevor left to get changed while Julia cleaned up the kitchen.

That was all Marcus needed to see. The bastard needed a major attitude adjustment. His wife was a complete klutz, but there was no need to bite her head off for making a mistake. Marcus didn't feel any particular sympathy for Julia, but assholes like Trevor pissed him off to no extent. "Only natural," Marcus said to himself. "Assholes hate assholes. Don't like pricks like him on my turf."

Floating over to Trevor and Julia’s room, he admired the assets he would borrow for the next few days. Trevor’s pants were off, allowing Marcus to get a nice glimpse of the package he would be showing off for the next few days. Along with that were nice, juice thighs and a good chest peeking out of the nice polo shirt he wore. No longer able to resist, Marcus just dove towards Trevor.

"HNNG! What the fuuuuck?!" Trevor moaned as Marcus phased through his back. Entire body tensing up, Trevor stood in place, his back arching while his head was thrown back. Feet planted to the floor, he moaned in pleasure and panic. "Wh-Who the hell?! What the—HAA! Ahhh…! What the fuck are youuuu?!" Unable to keep his balance amidst the barrage of pain and pleasure mixing, Trevor collapsed onto his bed, convulsing uncontrollably as the foreign intruder wore him like a suit.

“Mmm,” Marcus moaned, rubbing his hard-on against the mattress. “Oh, that’s niiice. Thanks, Julia.” Still face-down on the bed, he spread his legs and let his hands wander towards a certain untouched hole. “Don’t worry, I’ll turn your hubby into the subbiest bottom in town.”

Purposefully ignoring Julia, Marcus left the house and headed towards Trevor’s place of work, relying on muscle memory and the information Julia had given him for navigation. Eventually, he arrived at some fancy insurance firm full of suits who looked like they could use a healthy dose of Viagra.

Once more, Marcus relied on Trevor's muscle memory to guide his way through work. And once settled into Trevor's impersonal cubicle, Marcus began his work. At once, he worked on smiling more in Trevor's body. Man was a creature of habit and the human mind was a sponge for information and mannerisms. Because of that, Marcus would adopt certain behaviors for the week or so he would be in his hosts' bodies. The end result was a spouse that would compliment their partner far more.

On all levels, it was wrong. However, Marcus continued without losing a wink of sleep.

After making sure Trevor was smiling more, Marcus also stretched and relaxed his muscle. "God, you're so tense," he mentioned as he rolled his shoulders back. "Or, I'm so tense." Grinning, Marcus continued chatting to himself. It was always fun getting into a role. Perhaps it was his theater kid days, but adopting a new identity was always fun. "I should get more into yoga," he said, stretching as much as he could in that uncomfortable suit. "Do some squats. It'll help me make my ass all nice and firm. Flexibility'll be nice in the bedroom for Jules," he proclaimed, repeating it to himself to make sure it remained imprinted to Trevor.

To make sure those thoughts remained in Trevor's head, Marcus headed off to the gym after each workday. He worked until Trevor's already well-developed muscles were pleasurably sore by the time he arrived back home. "Keep acting as though I'm Trevor," Marcus had texted Julia before. "It'll make it easier for these thoughts to stick to your husband." His words didn't ease Julia's awkwardness, but Marcus didn't mind. Working with pathetic actors wasn't anything new for him.

By the final day of Marcus' planned stay, Trevor's boss called him into his office. "You're not in trouble," his boss, a man by the name of Arthur said. "Just wanted to catch up with you, is all." His words were even, but Marcus noticed that his gaze was not. Arthur's eyes kept traveling and his fingertips kept grazing Trevor as much as they could while retaining that facade of professionalism. "I've noticed your recent change in attitude. Rumors travel quickly throughout the office."

“When there’s not much to talk about,” Marcus began, “it’s easy to become the talk of the town.”

Arthur cocked an eyebrow. “Your attitude and your tongue’s changed, Trey. I'm surprised but pleased. Productivity for the whole office has gone up this week. And your more positive attitude has really helped with that. I've noticed the environment in general is a lot less toxic."

“Sorry about that, sir,” Marcus said with a curt nod. Yet, he made sure to keep a cocky, inviting smirk on his face. The blood was rushing to Arthur’s cheeks despite his stony expression. “Hadn’t realized how much my attitude had an impact on the office. But I’m sure you’ll be just as satisfied as my wife about the new me.” By now, Marcus was happily rubbing his thighs, making sure they stood out alongside his bulge in those tight slacks he had purchased for Trevor. During the week, he had made a habit of dropping his things and bending over to reach for them in front of his various coworkers. If his eyes didn’t deceive him, he was certain about the office spent more than half a second staring at Trevor’s assets.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Yes, well. Nonetheless, just wanted to show my appreciation for this sudden turn. Always happy to see my workers in a relaxed, pleasant environment.”

Standing up, Marcus leaned in close to Arthur’s lips. “I can think of a few other ways you can show your appreciation, boss,” he whispered, unbuckling his belt. This same scenario had played out so many times Marcus was certain his gaydar was impeccable. “Why don’t you bend me over your desk and show me who the boss is?”

Arthur hesitated for about a second before locking the office door and tying Trevor’s mouth shut with his own tie. “Take! This! You! Slut!” Arthur roared as he pounded Trevor’s ass raw. Marcus, back arched, face pressed up against the cold desk, just moaned like a slut. He eagerly met each of Arthur’s thrust with his strong workout for his hips.

This is my favor for you, Julia, he thought as Arthur pulled on his hair. Your husband’s hole might not be as tight as you want it to be, but he’ll definitely be up for stuff up his ass by the time I leave.

"Make me your bottom bitch," Marcus begged, trapped in a nirvana of pleasure and pain.

The next time Marcus saw Julia and Trevor the two of them were walking down the back, arms linked. Both were smiling and laughing so animatedly that Marcus was certain the songbirds were jealous. On occasion, he spotted Julia lightly slapping Trevor's ass and her husband reddening like a tomato at the sensation.

Marcus returned home satisfied at another successful trip.

[mypoisonedvine]

The Kind of Girl You Take Home to Mom | Andy Barber x reader (part 1)

summary: Jacob was finally taking his college girlfriend home to meet his family.  how was she, a sheltered Harvard girl, supposed to know not to trust the famous, respected lawyer who just so happened to be his father?

word count: 3.5k

warnings: smut (dub con??), age gap, infidelity, fingering, dirty talk, a lil choking, wedding ring kink, lots of awkward conversations lmao

@donutloverxo @evnscvll @ballyhoobarnes​

“They’re gonna love you,” Jacob beamed at you as you buckled into the passenger seat.

“I dunno, Jake, I’m not usually a parent’s favorite…” you mumbled nervously, adjusting to be comfortable for the drive.  It wasn’t that long of a trip— just from your dorm at Harvard to the southern suburbs of Boston; your discomfort was a lot more psychosomatic, in fact.  Isn’t it normal to be afraid to meet your boyfriend’s parents?

“Well, my parents are pretty chill,” he assured you.  “Besides, what’s not to like?”

You still felt a little dizzy as you tried to prepare yourself for a weekend with them.  You’d hoped Jacob would just have you guys meet at lunch or something but nope, he insisted that you come with him the next time he visited over a three-day weekend and you’d agreed cause you didn’t know how to say no.  Now here you were, practicing ‘Hi, it’s so nice to meet you!’ in your head as if you were going to forget how to speak English in the next fifteen minutes.  

Honestly, with how nervous you were, it was plausible.

The sun through the trees cast flashing light and shadows through your window as you watched the scenery roll by.  Something by Bon Iver was playing through the car speakers, but the mumbled lyrics were lost to your distracted mind.  You’d heard a decent amount about his parents through him— his dad was apparently quite the bigshot lawyer— but you had no idea how much they knew about you.  You hoped he talked about you a lot but you also sort of hoped he didn’t, so that you’d have a clean slate to start with.

“Your destination is on the left,” Google Maps informed you both.

“There it is,” Jacob smiled as he lifted a hand from the wheel to point to the house.  It was nice, really nice, and a little tinge of jealousy hit you.  

You took a deep breath and gave him a weak smile as you prepared to meet Mr. and Mrs. Barber.

~

You went through the motions of every great introduction to people who need to like you.  So nice to meet you, I’ve heard great things, you have a lovely home, all that good stuff.  Laurie, his mom, was bubbly and kind, and insisted you not call her Mrs. Barber because it made her feel old, apparently; Mr. Barber was a little more stern but still seemed warm enough.

After some basic hand-shaking and introductions, Laurie had explained that she was making dinner.  You offered to help but she insisted that you wouldn’t lift a finger while staying in her home.  That sure did sound nice, though you felt guilty.

So, while Jacob unpacked your and his stuff in the guest bedroom, and while Laurie was cooking, you and Mr. Barber were stuck together in the living room.

“We’ve been hearing a lot about you,” he informed you.

“Oh, r-really?” you stammered.  “Only good things, I hope.”

“Only great things,” he assured.  

You nodded, not sure what to say but realizing the conversation was going to peter out quickly…

“You can relax,” he encouraged with a smile, “we’re not giving you the third-degree or anything.”

You let out a little laugh of relief, trying to keep from looking too rigid.  “I’m sorry,” you sighed, “I just really want to make a good impression.”

“You already have,” he assured you.  “You’re a natural.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you laughed nervously, “I’ve never met anybody’s parents before.  I mean, of course I’ve met people’s parents, just not a boyfriend’s or anything— that’s not usually my sort of thing…”

His eyes went a little wide, and you mirrored it as you realized the implication.  “Oh, I don’t mean— it’s not like I only do hook-ups or something, I don’t do that, I just meant I’ve never really had a serious relationship before—” oh god, is that a bad thing to say?  Does it make me seem like I’m too immature for Jacob; or does he not think we’re serious?  “I mean, it’s not like we’re serious serious, it’s not— we haven’t really— we’re not thinking that far ahead, we’re young and all that…” God, even Jacob and I haven’t had this conversation, why am I having it with his father?!

“Well, whatever it is that you two are, he seems to care for you greatly.”

“That’s… good to hear,” you sighed, hoping you could just keep your mouth shut for a few minutes.  Awkward silence was leagues better than this.

“The weather’s great so I thought we could sit outside for dinner!” Laurie suggested.  

“Sounds lovely, honey,” Mr. Barber nodded, jumping off of the couch at any excuse to get out of this conversation.  You resisted the urge to hide your face in your hands.

Their patio was spacious and covered in meticulously-gardened plants, with a glass table that had already been set with four place settings.  You helped carry out some of the food and took your seat in the wrought iron chair.

“Do you want any wine, sweetie?” Laurie offered as she turned towards you, bottle in hand.

“Oh, I’m not twenty-one yet,” you explained quickly.

“Well, yeah,” Laurie raised an eyebrow, “but we’re not so sheltered, we know what college kids get up to— just a glass won’t hurt.”

“You’re kind to offer,” you relented, “but I don’t drink.”

“Really?” Laurie questioned, looking a little incredulous.

“Really,” Jacob butted in.  He laughed when his mother gave him a look of surprise.  “Yeah, I know, she’s like, the one person at Harvard who’s sober.”

“Finally, a little respect for the law in this house,” Mr. Barber added as he stepped out onto the patio.  

“You want a glass, honey?” she asked him, seeming to ignore his apparent distaste for her offering alcohol to you.

“Sure,” he nodded, taking a seat.

“So,” Mr. Barber addressed you as he sat down, “what are you majoring in?”

“English,” you answered with a nervous smile.

“And what do you wanna do with that?”

“Whatever lets me read as much as majoring in it allows me to,” you chuckled.

“Do you think you’ll go to graduate school, get a Master’s?” he pressed.

“Actually,” Jacob interjected, “she’s thinking of going for a doctorate.”

Mr. Barber turned back to you with an impressed expression.  “Wow!  Smart girl.”

Something about him calling you ‘girl’ made you feel yourself blush slightly, and shift in your seat.  Or maybe it was the praise.  Still, for some reason it coming from him felt wrong but wonderful at the same time.  “Um, I suppose so…”

It continued on like that for a while; he and Laurie asked you questions, you and Jacob told a few stories.  Mr. Barber managed to get you to open up a little and not be so worried about him judging you or assessing you all the time.  But then again, you’d heard he was a bigshot lawyer so he probably knew how to get people comfortable and talking so he could go in for the kill.

Sometimes you caught him looking at you like he was about to go in for that kill at any moment.

~

“Do you think it went okay?” you asked with faux nonchalance as you slipped into bed, watching Jacob brush his teeth in front of the mirror.

“Okay?  I fink it went greaf!” he responded, the toothbrush in his mouth making his words difficult to parse.

You laughed a little at his silliness, though you were glad to hear he thought it was a successful day.

“And they don’t mind us sharing a bed?”

Jacob snorted with a quick laugh before spitting out his toothpaste into the sink.  “They’re not conservative like that,” he dismissed with a shake of his head.  “I mean, we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, it’s normal for us to share a bed.”

You nodded because it was true, but you also found yourself twisting a piece of your hair between three fingers; you wondered if his parents assumed that you two did everything that was normal for boyfriends and girlfriends to do… and, as always, you wondered if Jacob was growing impatient with you in that regard.  He always said that he didn’t mind and was going to wait as long as you needed, but it was still hard to believe.  Sometimes you just wished he would break up with you so that he wouldn’t have to deal with celibacy and you wouldn’t have to deal with the guilt.

“You ready for bed?” he prompted, tearing you from your train of thought as he sat down on the other side of the bed.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you agreed with a nod, laying down completely and plugging in your phone.

Jacob switched off his bedside lamp, and you were ready to fall asleep, but he quickly pulled you into him.

Oh, yes, cuddling.  This was normal, this was expected; you should feel relaxed right now, and not nervous and confused.  You tried to force yourself to, but it didn’t really work. 

He hummed contentedly, kissing behind your ear.  “Goodnight, honeybun.”

Another girl would love this kind of attention.  Any girl should.  You smiled, but it was fake.  “Goodnight, Jake,” you replied quietly.  You really did like him, you never doubted that.  But as he drifted to sleep beside you and you took in the surroundings of Jacob’s old room— renovated and updated, but still feeling like the graveyard of a childhood— you couldn’t help but question why you were here at all when you knew, deep down, that this relationship was missing something that couldn’t be found.

~

You woke up for no particularly good reason in the middle of the night, a habit of yours.  Squinting as you lifted up and unlocked your phone, you read the clock: 2:16 a.m.

You sighed and realized that you weren’t going to be able to get back to sleep, at least for a while.  

Peeling Jacob’s limp arm off of you and slipping out from underneath the comforter, you tiptoed out of the bedroom and shut the door behind you.

The streetlights cast faint yellow light into the kitchen, enough that you could see somewhat; enough that you didn’t stub your toe, thankfully. 

You did your best to open the refrigerator quietly as you searched for a snack.  I could make a sandwich but that’s a bit too much food.  There’s so much weird diet food in here, is that Mr. or Mrs. Barber’s?  A glass of juice probably isn’t enough.  Yogurt?  Hmm, maybe…   

“Burning the midnight oil?” the deep and smooth voice of Mr. Barber came from behind you.

You jumped a little as you spun around, finding him standing in the entryway to the kitchen, wearing pajamas and a smug little smile.  You let go of the door and it slowly closed itself; Mr. Barber turned on a dim light and you were able to see him a little better.

“I think we’re a little bit past midnight, sir,” you chuckled softly.

He seemed slightly uncomfortable with the title, shifting awkwardly and clearing his throat.

“Did I wake you up?” you asked, concerned.

“No, no, not at all,” he shook his head.  “I haven’t been sleeping so well recently.  A finger of scotch usually helps…”

For some reason, him telling you this felt too intimate.  You cleared your throat nervously as he poured the aforementioned drink into a crystal glass.

“You really don’t drink?” Andy asked you suddenly, and you laughed a little.

“I don’t know why it’s so hard for you guys to believe!” you replied.

“No, no, I believe you…” he trailed off.  “I guess I’m just surprised because Jacob seems really into the party scene.  You two seem sort of opposite in a lot of ways.”

“Yeah, we are,” you admitted.  “I think it works for us.”

“You keep him honest?” 

“I keep him from failing out,” you scoffed, though as soon as you’d said it, you instantly regretted your brutal honesty.

“Ah, I get it,” Andy smirked.  “He’s partying while you’re back in the dorm studying enough for the both of you.”

“That’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he instructed, a little more stern than you anticipated.  “With what I do for a living, I’ve learned to spot a lie from a mile away.”

You swallowed, thinking this was getting a bit out of hand already.  “Well, I ought to get back to bed,” you realized, “and… so should you.”

As you stood up and started to walk past him, he suddenly reached out and grabbed your arm, stopping you.

“Mr. Barber, I—”

“Call me Andy,” he encouraged, stepping closer until you were pressed against the wall and he was pressed against you, finally releasing your arm but leaving you just as trapped.  This close up, your height difference was staggering.

“O-okay, Andy, I don’t—”

“Has he fucked you yet?” 

The question made your eyes shoot wide open and your stomach burn with embarrassment.  How could he ask you something like that?  But he seemed cool and collected, staring down at you as he took the last sip of his scotch and set the glass aside.

“I think as his father, I have a right to know,” he added firmly.

“I… we don’t… he and I aren’t…”

“So, no?”

You nodded quickly.

“Well, why not?  Is there something wrong with him?”

No, there’s nothing wrong with him at all, and I hate that about him because I should love him but I don’t.  “N-no!”

He looked you up and down quickly before responding.  “I can’t imagine how he keeps his hands off you…”

You knew you shouldn’t be enjoying this kind of attention, especially from your boyfriend’s father, but something about his gaze made shivers erupt in its wake.  You looked away and forced yourself to remember everything great about Jacob.

“He’s been very patient with me,” you explained shakily.  “He knows I’m not ready.”

“Not ready?”

“To be with someone… that way…”

You shivered when his fingers began to toy with the hem of your nightgown.  “This is nice,” he complimented softly.

“Um, thank you…”

“You’re a very beautiful girl,” he informed you, leaning in a little closer.

“I—” you began, but he was already about to kiss you.  You almost melted into it, you almost let your eyes flutter shut as you tilted your head; thankfully, you stopped yourself at the last second, pushing your hands against his chest.  He was strong enough that your protest would’ve been useless if he hadn’t chosen to stop in the moment.

“Andy, your wife…” you explained weakly.

“She hasn’t touched me in years,” he grimaced.  “She just wants my money, and the appearance of the perfect family.  You have no idea what it’s like to lie next to someone every night and still be completely alone.”

For a split second, Jacob flashed in your mind and you wondered if you did have an idea.  

“I’m… sorry to hear that…” you mumbled.  “But I can’t— you can’t—”

He lifted your chin with one finger, and you looked up at him with wide doe eyes.  “Is he treating you right, sweetheart?  Is he everything you deserve?  Don’t lie to me…”

“He’s…” you whispered shakily, unsure how to respond, “he’s great.”

Andy chuckled incredulously, seemingly not believing your answer.  “Listen, he’s my son; I love him, obviously.  But I know his flaws better than anyone.  And even though I like to think he’s smarter than a lot of boys his age, they’re all the same when it comes to one thing: girls.”

“I think he’s pretty smart in that regard,” you defended.

“If he was smart, he would be taking you to nice places, buying you nice things, treating you right.  If he was smart, he would’ve fucked you already.  If he was smart,” he smirked a little, “he wouldn’t have left you alone with me.”

His hand slipped under the bottom of your nightgown, grabbing your thigh.

“Andy!” you yelped, but he lifted a finger to his mouth with a soft shushing noise.

“Don’t wanna wake anybody, now do you?”

I kinda do though… you thought to yourself.

His fingers travelled higher and higher, nearly brushing against the edge of your panties; you shivered, wondering if you should stop him, and if so, how.

Your hands were still resting on his chest from when you’d tried to push him away, but instead of fighting back all they did was clench and pull at the soft cotton of his t-shirt as his pointer finger hooked into your underwear and pulled them down.

The thick, calloused pad of his finger swiped through your folds, and you bit your lip.  Something about it being the middle of the night, about the forbidden nature of it all, about the way his gaze burned right through you made your entire body so sensitive.  He found your clit instantly, and barely had to touch it to get you bucking your hips into his touch; you only somewhat managed to suppress your gasp.

He leaned in to kiss you again, but this time it actually came to fruition and his lips were soft but determined against your own.  You reciprocated eagerly, eliciting a little smile from him as you both realized how bad you wanted this even when you shouldn’t.  The moment his tongue slipped into your mouth was also the moment his middle finger slid into your tight and pulsing channel.  You moaned with surprise and it mixed with his own soft groans while your tongues intermingled.

A second finger joined his first, stretching your walls and making you nearly bite down on his lip in your mouth.  He smiled and twisted them within you, pushing right against a spot that made your knees weak, while his thumb stretched out to keep circling around your clit.

He broke the kiss to watch your face, admiring the way your brows furrowed together, and your eyes fluttered shut, and your swollen lip caught between your teeth.  Your head fell back against the wall, the effort of supporting it suddenly seeming too much, and it caused you to look up at him and make some awkward yet sensual eye contact.

“Has he ever made you come like this?” he whispered, jealousy apparent in his tone.  You shook your head ‘no.’  “Has anyone ever made you come like this?”  You shook your head again.  “Fuck,” he groaned.  “Including yourself?”

You nodded and he laughed a little, stooping down to kiss your neck.  “Always such a good girl, huh?”

His tone shifted as realization crossed over his face.  “Baby… am I the first thing that’s ever been inside you?”

You bit your lip, feeling a bit embarrassed, and nodded again.

He groaned and pressed his hips forward into your hip; the hard shape of his cock against you made you gasp.  “Feel what you do to me?” he smirked.  “God, you’re too fuckin’ perfect…”

“A-Andy, ‘m close,” you whimpered 

“Come on my fingers, sweet girl,” he encouraged.  “I wanna see how pretty you look when you let go.”

It felt like a wave of sensation was about to crash over you, faster than you knew how to handle it.  You reached down and tried to push him away by the forearm, an instinctive way to run from the intensity of the feeling as it started to make your eyes roll back and your toes go numb.  But he was too strong; your fighting was useless as his fingers kept fucking into you and pressing against your constricting walls.

“No, baby, you can take it,” he hissed.  “Come for me, sweetheart.”

Just as you were sure you were about to scream, his other hand clapped over your mouth.  You could feel the hard shape of his wedding ring against your lips and just as guilt hit you, so did your orgasm.  Your knees went weak; you would’ve fallen if it weren’t for the hand inside you all but holding you up.  

Your moans were muffled into his calloused palm as pleasure rippled through you.  You felt your channel grip his fingers at the same time as a gush of arousal coated his hand and even began to drip down to his arm.

Your breathing slowly stabilized, and Andy trusted you enough to finally take his hand away.  He pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to his lips, licking them with a smirk.  “You taste like heaven, honey,” he praised.  “Go ahead, clean off my fingers,” he instructed as he pressed the fingers into your mouth; it was already hanging slack from exhaustion.  You closed your lips and sucked on his fingers, moaning at your own taste and at the way his skin felt on your tongue.

Once he was apparently satisfied with your work, the hand in your mouth moved back and instead wrapped around your neck as you whimpered.

“Tomorrow,” he growled against your ear.  “I’m gonna get you alone, and we’re gonna finish this.”

You were a little too busy panting to respond to that.  Honestly, you had expected that you would have some post-nut clarity at this point, or even just be satisfied once you’d reached your peak.  But apparently not; even still coming down from it, you already wanted more.  With a sigh, you realized that you were already completely addicted to Andy Barber, and you were going to come back for more as soon as you could.

“Tomorrow,” you agreed in a raspy whisper.

(part 2) // (part 3)

[gureishi]

I'm the same anon who asked!

Could you talk about Saeran? It doesn't need to be detailed or NSFW, I'm good with anything, I just want to know more about your headcanons!

Hello again lovely anon! ♡

Oops aaaand once again (no surprise, I know): it’s long. I just wanna preface this one with a couple things:

1. There are quite a few Certified Saeran Simps on this site who truly know him much better than I do. Take whatever I say with a grain of salt—I’m no expert!

2. I’m also not an expert on DID! Which isn’t the focus of these HCs, but is obviously relevant. I read lots of books! About brains n stuff! But please never hesitate to tell me if I describe something poorly.

3. I wrote for the AS timeline here but if you want me to talk about SE Saeran or Unknown tell me and you know I will <3

Tw: discussion of childhood abuse, neglect, and subsequent trauma symptoms

Saeran’s body headcanons

A child who grows up the way Saeran did—kept indoors, often physically restrained, and sometimes starved—is not going to develop in a healthy way. There’s a reason why, even as an adult, Saeran is a full 2 cm shorter than his identical twin: he never gets the nutrition and exercise that kids need in order to grow.

We know that his mother uses his sickliness as an excuse to keep him indoors: but was he born sickly, or is he sick and weak because he’s been malnourished and kept from running or playing or interacting with other children? He breathes stale, dry air all day; he’s living on mostly white bread, and not always at regular intervals (plus whatever sweets his brother can steal for him from the outside world). He is not well.

Child Saeran never learns any sports or games. He doesn’t learn how to play with other children, or tie his shoes, or make himself a snack. Adult Saeran doesn’t know how to skip—you’ll have to teach him.

If the twins didn’t have each other, neither one of them would have survived.

And as we know, the neglect that Saeran endures worsens tenfold after Saeyoung leaves. Any glimpses he was getting of the outside world—sneaking out when their mother was unconscious, getting whatever snacks and books Saeyoung could gather for him at church—are cut off.

I’m not gonna tell you when the alters appear, because I am by no means an expert on DID. From studies I’ve read, I can say that typically alters become manifest after a “traumatic turning point” (which is not necessarily the “worst” trauma endured, but simply a particularly salient traumatic experience). It’s definitely possible that the alters emerge in late childhood, while he is still in the house with his mother.

When Saeran is taken from his mother’s home by Rika and V, he is (needless to say) not in good shape. He is painfully skinny, extremely malnourished, and very weak. He still has his red hair and golden eyes, but already he is looking less and less like his brother: his cheeks are hollow and his eyes are dull. 

There is a brief period of time, before his “cleansing” (Oh god. We’ll get there), where he is reasonably well cared for. For the first time in his life, he is eating meals—and he is getting to bathe regularly, and he is getting his hair cut and combed. He still believes, at this time, that he’ll be reunited with his brother. And he is going outside! He is learning how the grass feels between his toes and how the sky looks through clear eyes.

As we know: this doesn’t last.

The elixir is a truly horrifying combination of hallucinogenic substances. No human could consume this cocktail of drugs repeatedly and feel well: and Saeran is already physically weak, and severely underweight. The fact that he survives as long as he does under these conditions is a miracle.

We know that he is being tortured at this time, too: physically as well as emotionally. Saeran has scars, like his brother; while Saeyoung has lots and lots of tiny scars all over his body, Saeran has larger, more distinct scars: perhaps on his wrists, and his throat, and his ankles.

It is around this time that his eyes and hair change. The means by which this happens is incredibly vague in-game, and everyone’s individual HCs are valid. My personal belief is this: he dyes his own hair—first, in a frenzied, desperate attempt to stop seeing his brother looking back at him from the mirror. He keeps dying it because Rika approves: and he never does a good job, and it’s rough and fried, and that “pink” at the bottom? Just the red showing through his patchy dye job.

As for his eyes: I personally believe they change as a result of the elixir. If they were contacts, I don’t think that GE Saeran would necessarily still wear them—and in every timeline, he has those startling blue-green eyes.

The alters take care of the body in different ways.

Ray does not feed himself. He lives on caffeine pills and sweets (and, of course, the concoction of drugs that he’s being fed in increasingly large amounts). The body becomes even skinner when Ray is fronting. And he bites his nails and fingers—brutally, so they are chapped and cut and scarred. But Ray goes outside, and he works in the garden under the sun: his body is getting some form of exercise: and this is good for his lungs, and invigorates his weak, tired muscles.

Ray also takes care of his appearance—something Saeran never did before. He brushes and styles his hair; he dresses himself carefully in the clothes Rika has picked for him; he covers himself in beautiful scents so that he is more appealing to you.

When Suit is fronting, he wants to strip his body of anything that reminds him of Ray. So he styles his hair differently (but still: he is styling it), and he tries desperately to wash the scent of Ray off his skin. He doesn’t feed himself, either—but, if any of the alters are trying to become physically strong, it is Suit (of course). I’m certain that the Believers have a workout regime they’re supposed to be following; maybe Suit even does it (on his own, of course, in secret). He knows he needs to be able to protect himself—and he needs to feel powerful.

When you meet Ray, you don’t notice right away just how poorly he is doing. Rika has intentionally dressed him in a way that hides just how bony he is—and he wears those little gloves, of course, so you don’t see his ravaged fingers. But it doesn’t take long to catch on: he is so skinny you could almost blow him away, and there are dark shadows under his eyes, and he doesn’t sound like he’s taken a deep breath in years.

By the time you meet Suit, you already know the state their body is in: malnourished and weak. Ray cooked for you, but you wish you could cook for all of them; and even when Suit is starving you (in other words: reenacting the very abuse that was dealt to him in childhood), you wish you could wrap him in a big blanket and feed him a bowl of soup.

The Saeran that escapes Magenta with you—GE Saeran: the fusion of Ray and Suit (or a new alter, depending on what you believe)—has never made a single choice for himself in his whole life, until this moment. He never got to pick his own clothes, or what he would eat (if he ate at all), or how he would speak, or what he would do. Running away with you is the first real choice he has ever made—and no wonder this is pivotal and transformative for him.

The AE doesn’t portray the timeline of healing in a realistic way. After two weeks, we see GE Saeran so much healthier, both physically and mentally. And yes: two weeks of eating real food and sleeping in a bed make a difference: we see him with fuller cheeks and brighter eyes.

But what the game doesn’t address is the withdrawal he likely endures when he stops taking the elixir, which is full of substances that are both dangerous and addictive. It doesn’t address the time it takes to build up muscle mass, and get accustomed to healthy sleeping and eating habits, and to begin to heal from years and years of repeated trauma.

GE Saeran doesn’t heal right away, because healing doesn’t work that way. It’s not linear, or straightforward, or simple, or beautiful. It’s slow, and sometimes it’s painful.

But he does heal.

A Saeran who is in love with you is soft, and patient, and willing to put in the months and years (a lifetime!) of hard work to heal his body and his heart. You’ll get to watch as the dark circles under his eyes disappear, and his cheeks become less hollow, and his body grows stronger as he cooks (with you, and for you) and eats real meals and learns to run in the grass the way he never did before. He’ll make a garden, and you’ll get to see how he looks with sun on his face, his eyes clear as the sky as he gazes up at you—smiling.

You can show him how to moisturize his dry lips and cracked hands; you can help him pick out clothes he likes to wear; and you will learn how to support him when his memories haunt him.

And you can hold him: this beautiful, small, soft man, with his thin shoulders and scarred fingers. He’ll close his eyes and you’ll taste the sun on his skin as you kiss his eyelashes. He smells of earth and sky; he loves you with all the power of the universe.

[gunpowdville]

Brian. Brianbrianbrianbrianbrianbrian. God my brain is so full of this man I don't even know where to start. Fuckign. Him.

I don't think he has many regrets. If he actively chooses to do something and believes it's for a good reason, he will never quite fully regret it, no matter what problems it may cause. This applies heavily to his backstory, and his raising of the dead in that. But this isn't to say that he doesn't have any regrets, because he has certainly done many things that he is not proud of and wishes he hadn't. He can be terribly impulsive sometimes.

And he can be selfish. He can be oh so selfish. He can make decisions entirely based on how they would benefit him, and completely ignore the repercussions they will have on others. He can get so caught up in fixing his own mistakes and trying to better himself that he will destroy everything he has, and he knows it. He knows he does this but he doesn't realize he's done it again until it's much too late. when he goes out of his way to keep himself from doing it he only makes it worse.

Brian is such. A bastard. His morals are utterly fucked up and always have been. Even on MJE, he is still following his moral code, and throughout the millenia the boundaries of what he will and won't do shift. Because it's not just 'good Brian' and 'bad Brian'. It's just the thought process of how he makes his decisions that changes. It's still Brian.

(more thoughts under the cut, this ended up being very very Long)

He used to hate the morality switch a lot more. In the beginning he thought of it as a form of mind control. And he hates not being in control. I've said it before and I'll say it again: this man is so so fragile. Any semblance of control over himself or his situation that he can have he clutches tight to his chest and refuses to let go.

Brian is, as he says, an honest man. Sometimes too honest. He tells the truth and often doesn't see the point in lying, preferring to be as brutally honest as possible. And I mean brutal. He will say exactly what he thinks unless there is some critically important reason not to. He tells the truth, and the truth is this: he cannot be trusted. He is not a steady force to put faith in. He can't even trust his own image of himself. He will hurt those around him as long as they stay around him. He cannot be trusted.

Brian is angry and he is sad and he is so so fed up with the universe treating him like some sort of sick joke. He lashes out. He can crush a skull with his bare hands and he uses that ability. He has a habit of ignoring things he doesn't want to address. He can and will manipulate his way into never having to address them if he wants. He is so. Very. Flawed.

But he cares. He cares so very deeply and so very strongly for the other mechanisms, and often those they encounter on their adventures. He hurts them because he can't help it and it's what he's used to, but he also throws all the love he has into them. He prefers the version of himself that he is with them, when he can relax and let himself be gentle and comforting. He makes it his responsibility to take care of them, because if he has something to focus on, to channel his energy into, he can avoid spiraling down a bitter path that ends in him alone, which he desperately does not want.

He uses the music as a coping mechanism. Most of the mechs do this, using telling their stories as a way to deal with what they've been through. The problem is, he already has such a paper-thin image of himself and his identity that adding roles and stories as another version of himself just makes that so much worse.

But adding to this, Brian actually oddly enough knows a lot more about himself and is a lot more insightful about his emotions than any of the others. Due to the fact that he is having an identity crisis 90% of the time. He's a lot more in tune with what he's feeling and thinking than he believes himself to be. This, however doesn't mean he's not an absolute mess.

oh and the PROPHECIES. He gives prophecies because he genuinely wants to help, but also he relishes in the ability to change people's lives, to twist their narratives and feel like he's in control of the story. He enjoys it a little too much, and therefore he doesn't give out as many prophecies as he could. He doesn't want to be a puppetmaster. He just wants to help, and he won't let himself go any further than that. Which is also often why he keeps his prophecies somewhat vague, because he doesn't want to control people's lives like that. And he always blames himself if the story ends badly, even if it isn't entirely his fault.

There is so much he struggles with. But he works so very hard on himself. He figures that he's immortal, after all, and takes the time to work through his issues and what he deems the worst parts of himself. And he does get better. He learns how to reign himself in and smooth out his rougher patches. Not entirely, but enough that by the end of his immortal life he deems himself someone he could maybe be proud of.

OH I FORGOT TO MENTION: he is a stubborn bitch and can be immovable when he wants to be. He waits a lot longer than he should to launch himself into the void for the last time, because he doesn't want to leave any of the others and part of him is terrified. He's given up on heaven or hell, at this point he really hopes he doesn't end up anywhere. And he's actually made his peace with the afterlife, as he ran into the priest from his backstory multiple times over the millenia, and they actually talked about it once or twice. He just hopes that wherever he goes he won't be lonely. And he isn't, even as he dies. He has the stars for company, and the billions of stories he's told that have all become such a vital part of himself. He dies alone, but not lonely.

[khaleesiofalicante]

JACE WEEK - Jace + Kit Ficlet

“So, the bracelet made him fall out of love with her?”

“No, no,” Jace corrected. “It made him fall in love with her. It was almost like a binding spell. But very dark magic. Dangerous stuff.”

However, dark magic could sometimes be cool. He tried not to grin when he said that though. The last thing he wanted was the kid to get involved with dark magic. 

“Wait, was this the guy who was obsessed with an STD?” Kit asked. 

“No, that was his dad,” Jace corrected again. “William Herondale.”

It felt good to be the one who knew. It felt good to be the one who wasn’t in the dark. It felt good to be a Herondale. 

Jace only hoped that Kit would feel that way soon too. 

“Will,” Kit smiled, as if thinking of something private. “Jem and Tessa’s Will.”

“Yes,” Jace beamed. 

Will had been Tessa’s husband and Jem’s parabatai. They had been Will’s…well, everything. Theirs was a relationship that often made Jace feel pleasantly surprised. It was nice to know that love like that existed - love that surpassed time. 

Jace hoped he could build something like that with Clary. A love story that lasted a lifetime. 

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Kit said and tucked his feet underneath his lap. “William was the STD one and James was the bracelet boy. Herondales are…”

“Memorable?” Jace offered.

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Kit grinned. 

“Ask Jem about Lucie,” Jace said when he remembered his chats with Tessa. “She was a writer. And she could talk to ghosts too. I think you might like her.”

“She sounds dope,” Kit nodded. “Herondales are a little artsy by the way. All the reading and writing and composing.”

“That they are,” Jace said proudly, which was a feel he was slowly getting used to with regard to his last name. 

“Do you like to write, Kit?” Jace asked now, because he often felt like he didn’t know anything about the boy at all. Of course, that was the purpose of the monthly visits to Cirenworth. Yet, Jace knew Kit was holding back. He wondered if it he did that with everyone else too. 

“Not really,” Kit shrugged. “I don’t play any instruments either. I don’t think I’m artsy like the rest of them.”

“Rest of us,” Jace corrected, it had become a habit with Kit. “Jem told me you like cookies. Cooking is an art too. Do you like to bake them?”

“Nah, I just like to eat them,” Kit pointed out, staring at his shoes. “S’okay. I know I’m not like the rest of them. But hey, in my defense I didn’t know I was one of them until like a year ago!”

“One of us,” Jace corrected again, because he never wanted Kit to forget. “And yeah. Valid point. I don’t want you give you an identity crisis. Been there. Done that. How about we do something? We can throw daggers or sharpen our swords?”

“Pass,” Kit said and flopped back into the grass. “Doing shit is exhausting.”

They were quiet for a moment then. Kit was on the ground with his arms crossed behind his head, simply staring at the sky - probably wondering how long he had to do these monthly sessions with Jace for. Meanwhile Jace himself was picking out grass and trying not to freak out. 

“What about love?” Kit asked after a while, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tessa said Herondales are destined for great love stories.”

Jace closed his eyes and saw a flash of colour - the shade of autumn leaves and tempered fire.

“I’d like to think so,” he tried his best not to sound shy, he didn’t want to leave an impression as a softie. 

“Were there…Were there any gay Herondales?” Kit asked, his voice quieter with every question. 

Oh.

Jace had so many questions. So many. Why do you want to know? Are you gay? Do you like someone? What’s his name? And his address?

But his parabatai had taught him to always listen before speaking. Alec could really get into one’s head sometimes.

“I’m sure there were some,” Jace answered instead of asking. “I mean, it is statistically unlikely that there weren’t any LGBTIAQ+ Herondales in the past.”

Kit laughed out loud, something Jace wished the boy did more often. “Did you just say LGBTIAQ+?”

“Yep,” Jace grinned.

“Someone did their research,” Kit pointed with a smile and Jace felt oddly pleased.

“I did,” he nodded. “After Alec.”

He had asked for Clary’s help in learning more about it. He never wanted Alec to feel like he couldn’t talk to another shadowhunter about how he felt. So, Jace had spent hours after hours reading pamphlets and guides and watching videos on something called MeTube.

It had been mostly confusing. But all the research had left him more informed than he had been before.

He had begun reading once again after becoming the head of the institute with Clary. Being a leader meant understanding the needs of your team members. All team members.

“Do you think there were any gay Lightwoods?” Kit asked, his tone suggesting that he wanted to move on from the topic.

“Yeah, let’s not talk about the gayness of Lightwoods,” Jace chuckled. “We need a whole other day for that.”

“Hmmm,” Kit hummed.

“Whether it’s a boy or girl or a non binary person,” Jace said and Kit grinned at him again in surprise. “There is one rule of love that applies to all shadowhunters.”

“What?” Kit asked. “Wear black on all first dates?”

“Nephilim love only once,” Jace pointed out and explained what he had learned  as all shadowhunters before him. 

Kit chewed his lip and looked away. “That sounds a bit intense.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Jace grinned.

Kit was quiet again. He was fidgeting with his shoes. Jace understood the boy was nervous. He wanted to help. Jace knew there was much to say and much to know. He knew Kit needed to understand that love required sacrifice, hard work and resilience.

Jace couldn’t help but feel like he needed to give Kit support and guidance to navigate through all of this.

But he also felt that what Kit needed right now was space. So, he decided to do just that.

They sat there quietly, lying on the fields and talking about street food in New York. After a while, Kit looked at him, looking slightly more comfortable than before. “Let’s go back to the house?”

“And pretend we trained?” Jace asked and held out his hand.

“Yep,” Kit took his hand and raised himself up. “Let’s run back. We need to sweat. Also, make sure to ask for water as soon as you walk in. They think you’ve been training hard.”

“Damn,” Jace said, not knowing whether to be concerned or impressed. “Alright. Race you to the kitchen?”

“Are you ready, Jonathan Christopher?” Kit smirked.

“I’m ready, Christopher Jonathan,” Jace winked.

“Oh my god, your family is so wack,” Kit yelled as he broke into a run.

“Our family is so wack,” Jace yelled as he ran after him.

[winterscaptain]

berry hill.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: i am so excited to share this one with you. the tropes are PACKED in here, and it was a blast to write. i also realized some time ago that i keep forgetting summaries on my works, so i’m gonna do my best to add those from now on. as always, let me know if there are any mistakes in here! thanks to @writefasttalkevenfaster for helping me today <3  intended for the ‘a joyful future universe,’ but does not require context. takes place in 2011, early season six, prior to the valhalla arc.  words: 12k warnings: language, some vague mention of aaron’s anatomy, alcohol use, when i say slow burn i mean s l o w burn. 

summary: "...and there was only one bed."  - old fanfiction proverb

waldosia (part 2) | absence (part 3) | mean it (part 4)

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed! updated: january 5th, 2021

It’s way too late and you know it, but Jack is still on his annual winter vacation with Aunt Jess and the rest of the Brooks clan, so there’s simply no incentive to leave. You’re with Hotch at his desk, kicked back like you own the place, while he sits back in his chair with his hands laced behind his head.

The Montana case wrapped up neatly, and any remaining or incoming paperwork this week is light. Though it is admittedly weird without JJ, Seaver seems to be settling in alright. You’re glad that the team decided to take a chance on her like they did with you. 

“What do you mean he drew on the wall?” You say through a laugh, popping a grape in your mouth. “Are we talking like a crayon mark here and there or a full-on mural.”

“Multi-media mural - glue, paper mache, markers, crayons, you name it and it was there.” He laughs and he takes a grape from your bowl, kicking his feet up on the desk - mirroring you. “I have no idea how he managed it. I was in the house the whole time.”

“Oh my God, he’s a terror!” Before Aaron can agree, your phone starts ringing. You pick it up, smiling as you see the caller ID. 

“Hey Dean!” You stand and give Aaron a ‘sorry, just a second’ finger and step out of the office, leaving the door open behind you. You stay where Aaron can see you, leaning on the rail next to the stairs. You don’t really mean to stay within his eyeline, but it’s habit at this point. 

“Hey babe, I hope I’m not calling too late.” 

“Oh not at all. I’m still in the office with Hotch getting some work done.” 

You catch Hotch’s eye and he mouths ‘Work?’ and you shrug as if to say ‘It’s a loose term.’ He rolls his eyes and steals another one of your grapes. 

“Ah, I see. Late-night work with the hot boss-man.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. “So what’s up?”

He sighs, and you already know what’s coming before he says it. “Something came up at work and I won’t be able to make it to the wedding next week. We’re closing on this huge property in Georgetown and it’s really big for the firm and -“

“It’s okay. I get work stuff, trust me.” And you do. It just fucking sucks. 

“I’m so so sorry to leave you hanging. I know it’s going to be super rough. Maybe one of your work friends can go with you? Maybe boss man? His name’s Aaron, right? Hopscotch or something?” His humor doesn’t make you feel any better, but you promise to keep ‘Hopscotch’ for later.  

You tip your head up to stare at the ceiling and will the tears away from your eyes, blinking them back. “Yeah, I’ll figure it out. None of them knew to ask off work, so if we have a case I’ll be on my own regardless.” 

“I’m so sorry.” 

Two tears fall out of the corner of your eyes, and you turn around, wiping them away. “It’s okay.” 

“I’ll call you day-of to check in, okay?”

Hotch watches you carefully, doing your best to hide your tears from him. Bad news, certainly, but he wishes you wouldn’t hide from him like you do. Or rather, he wishes you wouldn’t try to hide from him like you do. 

He can’t hear the entire conversation, obviously, but he resolves to do what he can to return at least a little of the care you always show him without hesitation, 

“Okay.” You heave an uneven sigh. “I’ll talk to you then... Really - don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” You hang up before he can respond and rest your forearms on the railing. You let your head hang for a second, collecting yourself before you have to face Hotch again. 

You take a deep breath and turn, sitting across from him again. Attempting to restore your good spirits, you kick your feet back up and have another grape. 

Hotch’s voice is quiet. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” but your voice breaks. You clear your throat and blink a few more times. 

You can feel him squint at you. “What’s wrong?” 

“Oh, you know.” You sniff, and gesture vaguely as you continue. “My best friend from college was supposed to be my date to a friend’s wedding next week, and the friend getting married also happens to be someone I dated in college so I was really hoping Dean could come with me, and now…” You trail off, realizing you’re rambling.

He’s quiet for a little while, and you shove some more grapes in your mouth to make up for the silence. You know each other so well, but it still feels a little weird to explicitly talk about your personal life in the office. Sure, you spend a fair few weekends together with Jack, but the whole thing is a little embarrassing - and you’re not sure if the worst part is admitting you have an ex-boyfriend from college or you now have to go stag to his wedding. 

“Do you want someone to go with you?” He watches you chew on your lower lip. A long time ago, he decided there was nothing worse than seeing you upset. 

This is the least you can do, Hotchner. First personal weekend in nearly four years, you can at least do what you can to make it suck less. He reasons with himself, but he can’t help the sly thought that sneaks in on the tail end. Being a backup is better than being nothing at all. 

That’s enough. 

You scoff. “Well, yeah. Obviously.” 

He smiles a little, knowing you completely missed his point. “If you wanted…” He clears his throat and looks out the window, and you reply before he can continue. 

“Oh, God, Hotch.” You cover your face with your hands. “Please don’t feel like I’m trying to guilt you into anything. I’ll be fine.” You try to laugh it off, but can’t hide the anxiety in your voice. 

His laugh warms you. “You’re not guilting me into anything. I’m offering.” 

You remove your hands from your face and look at him. There’s an earnest sort of kindness in his eyes, and you find yourself a little short of breath. “Really?”

“Really. I can get the weekend off - things are pretty slow around here. Where is it?” You had trouble reading his tone. Really, he’s just treading carefully. He doesn’t want you to feel pressured, or give away his own selfish motivations.

“It’s, ah,” you stutter for a second, getting your metaphorical feet back under you. “It’s down at Berry Hill Resort, right by the North Carolina border.” Your lip disappears between your teeth again. “It’s about a three and a half hour drive.” 

He opens his phone, and you know he’s checking the map. “It’d be easy enough if we left early and switched in Richmond. I’ll start, if you’d like.” 

You smile at him, wide and genuine. “Hotch, you’re the best.” 

+++

Hotch calls you up to his office, and you swing in, your hand gripping the doorframe. You bite back your greeting as you find him on the phone. 

He beckons you in and you step inside, closing the door behind you.

“...Thank you, sir. I’ll be sure to pass that along to the rest of the unit...You too, sir.” He hangs up and laces his fingers, addressing you. “Question.”

You sit, resting your elbows on his desk. “Answer.” 

“Funny.”

You smirk, and he continues. “I’m not sure if it matters to you, but I have an absurd number of ties. Color preference?”

A huff of laughter leaves you in disbelief. “You called me in here to ask whether or not I want to have a color scheme?”

“Yes,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “A united front, or at least a coordinated one, seems like the best strategy, right?”

+++

Aaron walks down from his office, his phone to his ear. You’re helping Ashley with a consult, walking her through your process just like Emily used to do with you. 

“Hotch usually likes to approach the profile starting with a demographic consideration, but I usually start from physical evidence and -”

A hand falls onto your shoulder, and you look up. “Yeah?”

He pulls the receiver away from his mouth. “Jack wants to talk to you.”

With a shake of your head and a fond smile for Hotch and an apologetic one for Ashley, you put the phone to your ear. “Hey, bud! How’s Grandpa’s house?”

“So fun,” Jack says, almost yelling into the phone. “Aunt Jess has let me play in the snow every day.”

You laugh. “I am so glad.” 

“Dad says you’re busy at work, but I miss you.” 

“Aw, bubba, I miss you, too. You’ll be home really soon, and when you get back we’ll go out to ice cream and you can tell me all about your visit.” You, for just a moment, forget where you are, and you lean back in your seat as if you’re leaning into Jack himself. “Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I love you.” 

Your breath catches, and you keep our eyes firmly planted on your consult as you reply. “I love you too, bub. Here’s your dad.” Placing the phone in Hotch’s hand, you return your attention to Ashley and do your best not to acknowledge Aaron as he walks back up the stairs. “So, like I said, Hotch prefers to -”

“Hey.” Ashley stops you with a hand on your arm. “You’re really good at your job.” 

A confused smile pulls at your lips. There’s a question in your eyes, and she answers it. 

“Oh, I just...You’re a good teacher and a good friend, that’s all.” 

“Thanks, Seaver.”

+++

On a rare weeknight off, Emily and you gather at Penelope’s apartment. You’re all sitting on the floor, bottles of wine making an occasional rotation, and a pile of snacks on the floor taking up the space in the loose circle you’ve created. 

“You’re taking time off this weekend?” Penelope sounds almost insultingly surprised, as if the concept never occurred to her. 

You nod. “Yep. First time in four years, so I think I’m about due.” 

Emily laughs and asks. “Where are you going?” 

“I’ve been inexplicably invited to an ex-boyfriends wedding - he’s a friend from college and we were friends before we dated etc. etc.” You wave your hand as you speak, outlining the tedium of it all. “His mom loves me, and I suspect she was the one who added me to the list.” 

“Are you going with anyone? Penelope’s concern is touching. 

“Yeah. One of my college friends was supposed to be my date, but he bailed for a work thing.” All the girls roll their eyes and nod. They get it. “So, Ho - someone else - is going with me.” 

“Who?” Emily narrows her eyes and searches you. 

“Oh come on, profiling is against the rules.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, okay, sure.” 

“Spill it.” Penelope throws a goldfish cracker at you to emphasize her point. 

You take a deep, long-suffering breath, suddenly missing JJ and her powers of redirection. “Fine. Hotch is coming with me -” you intercept their eager questions “- only as a favor.” 

“That’s very...thoughtful of him.” Emily’s chin tips up suggestively, and you throw Penelope’s goldfish at her. “Who’s idea was that?”

There’s a moment here somewhere, where you realize you’ve just dug yourself a hole you’ll be hard-pressed to get out of. “He overheard Dean bail, and offered. I’m sure he’s just doing it because he feels bad and -”

“Oh, don’t be stupid!” Penelope nearly falls into Emily, giggling. “I can’t believe you two.” 

You throw your hands in the air. “What?”

Both women share a look before looking back at you with identical disbelief. Emily speaks first. “You can’t be serious.” 

Take a deep breath. You’re not that obvious. 

Maybe you are. You’ve only been half-or-completely in love with him for five years. 

Shut up. 

“Serious about what?”

Emily rolls her eyes and finishes her second glass of wine, reaching to refill it immediately. “Nevermind. You’ll figure it out eventually.” 

+++

You’re finishing your last bit of packing, leaving your toothbrush and toothpaste out for the morning, when your phone rings. 

“Yeah?”

“Hey, it’s Aaron.” 

“Ah, my saving grace,” you say with a laugh. “Calling to cancel on me, after all?”

His laugh just isn’t as good over the phone, but it’ll do. “Not even close. Is 6am still good to come get you?” 

“It’s so early.” There’s absolutely no shame in your whine, and you’re rewarded with another laugh. “But yes, that’s fine. That gives us enough time even if we hit some traffic out of the District and into Richmond.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

You look at your suitcase, resting open on your bed. “You’re still okay with this, right? I know I couldn’t grab that extra hotel room for you and I don’t want you to feel pressured or -”

He cuts you off, calling you out by name. “Enough. I offered, remember? I’ll see you at 6. Bring a pillow so you can sleep in the car.”

Your lips pinch, holding back a smile. “Thanks, Aaron.” And he knows you don’t just mean it for the pillow reminder. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Of course. Sleep well.” 

You don’t, but are nevertheless ready with bells on, pillow tucked under your arm, and coffee in-hand at 5:55am the following morning. He looks surprised when he pulls into the driveway and sees you standing on your porch, looking only a little worse for wear. At least your teeth are brushed.  

“Thought you might want this.” You hold out the travel mug to him as he approaches, and he takes it (and your suitcase) from you. 

“Thank you. Jump in.” 

You follow instructions and immediately stuff your pillow between your head and the window as he throws your suitcase in the trunk. You’re forever grateful Aaron drives the same SUVs you all have at the bureau. He claims it’s easier to not think about different car specs, but at this moment you only care about the temperature control and familiar, soft leather seats. Your eyes shut on their own accord, still heavy even after your abbreviated morning routine. 

He slips into the driver’s seat and, with your eyes closed, you miss the way he looks over at you with a barely-there, fond smile. Your sweatshirt is too big for you and your face is adorably smushed into the pillow. 

With a sigh and shake of his head, he places his hand on the back of your seat, backs out of the driveway, and gets on the road. 

The silence gives him plenty of time to think about things he’d rather not address. This favor, for one, is something he’s still trying to reconcile. 

Would I have offered to Emily? JJ? Hell, Dave? 

If any other member of the team had a friend bail out of their role as a wedding date, he’d like to think he’d drop everything and take the weekend to make them feel better, but he knows that probably wouldn’t be the case in reality. He knew you were different, and it frustrated and confused him. 

As often as he acknowledges his love for you - he wishes it would just stop.  

Only a year and change had passed since Haley’s death, and there were still some mornings where he woke up and couldn’t breathe. Jack still had some nightmares too. Those broke his heart more than anything in the world, but he knew you would always pick up if he called - no matter the hour. 

It happened more often than he’d like to admit. 

“Hotch? Aaron? What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to wake you.” 

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.” 

You’d always talk to him about something or nothing at all, sometimes turning on your bedside lamp and reading from whatever book you were perusing before bed. 

He knows you understand. You were the only one there with him, when he found her body. You were there to take his son out of his bloodied hands. You were there when he was afraid of himself. 

The nightmares still come for you, too, sometimes. There are nights where Haley’s dark blue eyes stare into you, whether your eyes are open or closed. You told him that, once, and he was grateful - grateful that he wasn’t the only one. 

You murmur something in your sleep, about twenty minutes outside of the city. You’re still an hour or more away from Richmond, and Hotch figures he’ll let you sleep if you don’t wake up between now and then. It’s not a hard drive to Berry Hill, and you need the rest. 

Might be good to pick up some food on the way...

He turns the music off, letting the sounds of your breathing and the road wash over him. 

“Aaron.”

He turns, expecting your watchful eyes, but finds you burrowing further into the pillow, a little smile on your face as you remain blissfully unaware of your surroundings. Something warm starts to radiate in his chest as he looks back out at the road, the Virginia countryside stretching out in front of him, around him, and in every direction he can see. The warmth vibrates into his fingertips. He flexes his hands around the wheel, trying to shake it.

He fails. 

You’re not sure how you manage to sleep so soundly in the car. You had tossed and turned all night, thinking only of facing a part of your life you hoped you’d never address head-on ever again. Why you accepted the invitation at all (or why you even received one) was beyond you. 

It must be his mother’s doing. She always loved you, and she did her best to keep your friendship alive much longer than its natural death. 

Exercising control over her child’s life due to an exceptional lack of control and consistency during her upbringing. Relating to her son’s partners to achieve some semblance of intimacy without facing the root of her insecurity that she’s failed as a parent.

The profiling never stopped, it seemed. 

It wasn’t just the wedding keeping you up last night. The thought of spending the weekend with Aaron in an environment where you will inevitably feel (if not look and act) distraught close to the whole time still wears on you. Spending weekends at home, where you sit together with a glass of wine and leftover popcorn after Jack gets tucked in feels different. 

That’s comfortable. That’s safe. This? This is scary. Vulnerable. Burdensome.

Even then, there’s nobody you’d rather have at your side while you face friends you haven’t seen in ages. He’s charismatic, almost entirely unapproachable (when he wants to be), and tall. All those factors should be enough to keep anyone from trifling with you for the duration of the weekend. 

But now, in the car, all those thoughts are far from your mind. Your mind is blissfully dark and blank, your body soothed by the low hum of the car and the smell that follows Hotch wherever he goes - spicy, earthy, and something that reminds you of the air right before lightning strikes. 

The car slows, and the subtle change in ambiance wakes you. You lift your head, finding Hotch turning on an offramp. 

“Are we in Richmond already?” You ask, bleary. 

He smiles. His sunglasses are resting on his nose to combat the rapidly-rising morning sun. “Not yet, but I figured you hadn’t eaten yet.”

You tip your head. He’s right. “I could eat.” 

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “You should eat.” 

+++

After food and a top-off for the gas tank, you offer to drive. 

Aaron refuses. “If you drive, I don’t get to pick the music.” 

“I thought shotgun picks the music.” You frown at him, admittedly still a little tired. You’ve shoved your pillow behind your seat and start to sit like an actual human being for the first time that morning. 

“Those are Morgan’s house rules, not mine.” 

“Ah,” you say, sagely. “I see. What are your house rules?”

There’s a smile behind his sunglasses. “Driver picks the music and critically considers any suggestions made by shotgun.” 

Thus, the Beatles’ White Album starts from the top. You can’t say you’re surprised - it is his favorite. You’ve grown rather fond of it yourself, if you’re honest, Though, you’re not sure if you fondness for the album has anything to do with the man beside you - the one who’s hair is soft and floppy in the morning light, the one wearing an uncharacteristically casual ensemble of jeans, sneakers, and a black t-shirt, the one singing along under his breath.

“Why is this one your favorite?”  You hear yourself ask. 

He’s quiet for a minute, as if you are the first to ask that question. Maybe you are. “I’m...not sure. I think it might have something to do with my mom. She bought the record a couple of weeks after I was born in late ‘68, and made sure I had a copy when I got my own record player in my first college apartment.” He shrugs. “It’s been around just as long as I have, and there’s something a little - I don’t know - comforting about that?”

You nod. “I get that.” You’re quiet for a moment, considering all the things that happened in 1982. “Grease 2 came out the year I was born, so I can’t say I share a similar affinity for the pop culture phenomena of my birth year.” 

Hotch lets out a low whistle and a grimace. “That film really was awful.” He waits for your laugh and is rewarded before continuing. “I saw The Who on their final tour that year.” 

You furrow your brow. “Weren’t you like, barely in high school?”

He nods. “We snuck out, a couple of friends and me. It was really stupid and we got in a lot of trouble, but it was fun.” There’s a nostalgic smile on his face. “I have no idea how we managed to get all the way into the District, let alone find tickets, but everything was a little less complicated back then. Buses ran on time, people read maps, and parents didn’t all have cell phones.” He shrugs and shoots you a smirk. “But of course, that’s before your time.” 

You roll your eyes. “Oh c’mon. I’m not that young. I remember the world before the mainstream internet and 9/11 and all that pre-Patriot Act shit. I remember when the Berlin Wall came down, at least.” 

That gets a laugh out of him. “Fair enough.” 

You lapse into silence for a little while, handing him fries from the drive-thru bag when he puts his open palm over the center console. You notice his left hand shift slightly in time with the music, and you watch a little more carefully. 

And I see it needs sweeping Still my guitar gently weeps

I don’t know why Nobody told you How to unfold your love I don’t know how Someone controlled you They bought and sold you…

“Hotch, do you play guitar?” There’s a touch of disbelief in your tone, but you try to hide it for the sake of his pride. It’s not that you think he doesn’t have a musical or creative bone in his body, but you’re rather surprised by the relaxed subtlety of his movement. It was your impression he never did anything without thinking about it, and to see the slight, almost unconscious action sparks a pleasant little flicker of warmth in your chest. 

He shrugs. “I played a little when I was younger. I guess you could say I know how to play, but I don’t claim to be decent at it in the slightest.” His head tips, and you could swear you see an eye roll. “Sean’s always been better at those kinds of pursuits.” 

As usual, he doesn’t seem thrown or surprised by your question and doesn’t hesitate to answer them. After almost five years, he’s used to your keen observations. He’d never admit it, but he expects them - maybe he’s not able to guess at the content of the questions themselves, but he always knows there will be one eventually.

“Have you and Sean always butted heads?”

Aaron snorts, and gives you a simple, “Yes.” 

You’d never met the younger Hotchner, but you’d seen photos and heard tell. From what you understand, he’s a little wilder than his older brother, a little more idealistic and far less practical. Sean seems like someone you would like, but you doubt he would rise to the top of your Favorite Hotchners List - a list with only two names so far, tied for first. 

It’s safe to say Jack and Aaron are hard acts to follow. 

+++

You talk about everything and nothing, when finally, he asks. “So, who is this guy?”

“Ugh.” You tip your head against the seat. “You really want to know?”

“Of course. Isn’t it protocol to brief the team before arrival?”

You snort, immediately regretting your decision to make fun of Strauss over drinks last week. “Yes, sir.” 

He laughs, and you tell him. 

You tell him about Austin and how you met in a random general education class and became fast friends and started dating, talked about marriage and kids and the whole nine yards. You told him about your semester abroad, your traveling, and returning home to find he’d been dating someone else while you were away, without your knowledge. 

“It’s kind of cliche, I know, but it broke my heart in half.” You laugh a little to cover the truth of it. Hotch keeps his eyes on the road, letting you go at your own pace the same way you let him the entire time he’s known you. “I was really close to his family, and we did our best to remain civil and friendly for everyone else’s sake, but we’ve only kept in touch through other people the last few years.

“I think his mom sent the invitation. I mostly accepted because I’d love to see her and Austin’s little sister - I miss them the most.” 

“What are they like?”

There’s a smile on your face as you tell him about them - how Allison likes more cream than actual coffee in her mug, how their mom has the best taste in books and still sends you worn copies of her favorites every once and awhile. 

“It’s good of you to keep in touch.” 

You shrug. “I guess. I mean, I know it’s different, but you have Jess.”

The difference, he decides, is that you are kinder, more patient than he is. Jess would hardly be in his life at all if Haley was still here. He had a hard enough time keeping up with Haley’s family when they were married. Keeping up with them after the divorce? 

There was no way to know, but he can’t remember much affection between them even before Haley’s father decided to hold him personally responsible for her death. 

You notice his preoccupation, and reach out. Your thumb traces back and forth over the skin of his bare forearm. “It’s different now, and it would be different then. There’s no right way to do anything.” 

He exhales in a huff, and you bring your hand back into your lap. “I spent almost twenty-five years knowing Haley. You know that?”

“I do. I also know you spent longer than twenty-five loving her, and probably won’t ever stop.” 

There’s a sigh, and then an elbow on the center console. He leans heavily on it, and you do your best to keep your hands to yourself. “How do you know everything?” He asks. 

You rest your head against the seat and adjust so your body is angled toward him. A small smile crosses your face as you take in his profile - relaxed, his wrist hanging loosely on the wheel, sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “I dunno. I guess I just pay attention.” 

+++

You let out an exhausted exhale upon reaching the room you will share with Aaron for the weekend. One king size bed dominates the room, instead of the two doubles you halfway expected. He recovers faster than you do, shrugging and setting his things down on the left side of the bed, closest to the door. 

Instinctively and completely without previous confirmation, you kind of figured he sleeps on the left side. The realization of that fact is a little unsettling, but you follow his lead and set your suitcase on the stand opposite his, unzipping it and unfolding your garment bag. 

There’s a small part of you that’s pleased by this arrangement. Another part of you shames that part. 

He’s going to think you’re taking advantage of him. 

Are you kidding? He’s a SWAT-trained senior FBI agent. And a lawyer. It’s impossible to take advantage of him. 

Yeah, of course that’s what he wants you to think. 

Do you ever shut up?

Your outfits for the cocktail hour and the ceremony day are all set. So are Hotch’s, apparently. You look over to find him hanging a grey pinstripe suit in the closet you’d never seen before. It looks beautifully tailored, and expensive. 

“Mind if I take up some real estate?” You ask, holding up your handful of hangers. He shakes his head and makes some space for you. 

When you’re all settled, you sit on the bed, still tired. It doesn’t make any sense, seeing as Aaron insisted on driving the entire way. 

“What time is our first obligation?”

You huff a laugh at his rhetoric. “5pm. Cocktails at the hotel bar. Rehearsal dinner after that is wedding-party-only, thank God.” Glancing at the clock, you confirm, “We basically have the day to ourselves until then.” 

He nods thoughtfully before meeting your eyes over your shoulder. “How do you feel about a nap?” 

I love you. 

Shut up. 

You can’t imagine how tired he is - working off minimal sleep and coming off a drive just shy of four hours long. “I feel great about a nap.” 

Aaron’s lips quirk up in a smile, and he picks up a pair of flannel pajama pants from his bag and shuts himself into the bathroom. 

Oh my god. Oh my god. 

You quickly shuck your sweatshirt, suddenly too warm. Standing, you cross to the window and draw the blinds, covering the room in a kind of gentle shade that isn’t quite darkness. You toe off your shoes and slip under the covers, thankful you never really changed out of your pajamas. Curling up facing the bathroom door, you try to stay awake until Hotch returns, but your eyes close of their own accord.

Hotch leaves the bathroom to find the room darkened and you under the covers, dead to the world. He takes another moment to look at you, the way your brow sits smooth and relaxed above your closed eyes, your hands curled loosely in front of your face, the way your breath evenly comes and goes past the curve of your lips. 

Taking the risk, he places his jeans back into his duffle bag and gingerly stretches out on top of the covers beside you. His eyes close eventually, but he can’t remember falling asleep - entirely preoccupied by the phenomenon before him. 

+++

When you stir again, your hands are warm. You take a deep breath and your eyes crack open, finding a sight that steals your breath. Hotch is on his side in front of you, ramrod straight, with your hands clasped between his. Your heads are bowed together - not touching, but close. 

There’s no memory of him joining you in the massive bed, nor any recollection of contact, so he either held your hands on his own, or you found each other in sleep. 

You’re not sure which one makes your heart flutter faster.

Resolving to get a little more sleep, you close your eyes. Only moments later, you feel him stir beside you. You know he’s watching you, and you endeavor to keep your breath even and slow, hoping he can’t hear the racing of your heart. 

He releases one of your hands, and you let it drop down to the cover, praying your fingers don’t twitch. 

You’re proud of yourself when you don’t flinch as his fingers brush butterfly-soft against your cheek, tracing from your brow bone, down your nose and across your lips. Impossibly gentle touches find their way down your temple to your jaw before disappearing. 

His hand closes around yours again and it takes everything you have to keep your breath steady as he presses his lips to your fingers before tucking them back to his chest. When his breath evens out again, you know he’s asleep. 

You open your eyes, thinking it's more than high time to study him for a change. 

He looks years younger in his sleep, closer to your age than his. Even awake, he hardly looks the picture of a father in his mid-forties. His graceful aging is more obvious when his face isn’t drawn up in stress or that aching kind of sadness that lingers around him. 

Curious about what he saw and felt on your face, you follow his path, slipping your hand out from under his, tracing his jaw, his cheek and brow bones, his handsome, straight nose. 

Your finger rests lightly on his cupid’s bow for a moment, his breath rushing slow and warm over your hand. The feeling of his breath stalls yours, and you swallow. The next breath you take is almost a sob, and you press your lips into a thin line. Light fingers brush through the hair at his temples, the sparse, soft silver strands seeming to glow in the low light. 

What you don’t know, however, is that he has taken a page out of your book. Though his eyes are closed and his breath even, he is very much awake, heart pounding. He’s sure you can hear it, or even feel it, with your remaining hand still trapped between his. 

The catch in your breath makes his chest ache. Even then, his eyes remain closed, and he’s mindful of his breath. With the route you take, tracing his features, he realizes with a shock of adrenaline and cold panic that you were probably awake, playing at sleep then as he was now. 

If that was the case, you know how he feels about you. He knows how you feel about him. 

But you can’t. You don’t want to take up space in his life he doesn’t have, space better used to heal, space reserved for his son. 

He can’t. It's too soon. He can’t subject you to the ghosts, the baggage, the long journey to wholeness he’s endeavored to embark upon with only his son at his side. 

The new normal, his therapist had told him, is the hardest thing to find. 

He was sure, then, that it would be easier to find the new normal on his own, but he wasn’t so sure, now. 

You slip your hands away from him entirely and roll over, making play at rising. You check the time on your phone, finding the early afternoon awaiting you. 

There’s a deep breath and a stretching noise, and you turn to find Aaron rolled over on his back, his hands laced behind his head. 

“Good afternoon,” you say, and you’re proud of yourself for sounding normal. 

A smile plays at his lips. He looks like he knows something. “Good afternoon.” 

“So, tonight.” You decide it’s best to move on before anyone admits anything they don’t mean to share. “Do you just want to be ‘work friends’ or do we want to lean into the whole ‘let’s ruin Austin’s life’ thing?”

He laughs a little. “I’m comfortable leaning in if you are.” 

+++

The cocktail hour isn’t as horrible as you thought it would be. Aaron sticks to your side like glue, your right hand firmly placed in the crook of his arm while your left babysits a small glass of wine, more for show than for anything else. 

You hear your name from across the room, and you see a huddle of some old friends and their respective dates. Aaron tips his head down to get the briefing, and you tell him names, relationships, and brief histories as you approach. 

As you expected, he’s warm and charming, taking cues from you as you navigate eight years of catch-up with classmates you remember well and alleged classmates you don’t recognize at all. 

“How did you two meet?” The woman asks (You’re certain she’s someone’s sister - Hotch caught her name while you missed it. Oops.). 

You glance up at Aaron for a second before answering. “We’re in the same department at work.” 

The man with her takes a sip of his drink. Him, you kind of recognize. Casey? Carson? Maybe. “Where is that, again? I can’t remember where you landed after your internship.” 

“DoJ, in Quantico.” 

Leslie, who you met in guided research your senior year, rolls her eyes. “They work for the FBI, Carson, keep up.” 

Carson, that’s it. 

“No shit!” 

A small group has gathered around you, and you shuffle closer to Aaron. He wraps his arm around your waist and steps a little behind you, protective and secure. 

“Shit,” you reply, jostling Aaron with your shoulder. “We don’t have our creds on us tonight, so if you get arrested you’ll have to bail yourselves out.” 

“We also don’t have jurisdiction even if we did, so keep it high and tight and we’ll all do just fine.” Aaron’s voice rumbles through you with a laugh, and you take an overlarge sip of wine. 

He really shouldn’t say things like high and tight with his hand where it is. 

And his hand isn’t really in any kind of questionable location, just resting above your hip with his chest to your back, but it's still more contact than you’re used to. He wasn’t joking about leaning in. 

“There he is!” Carson crows, and your head whips around. You almost lose your balance, but Hotch keeps his feet. A warm hand presses to your shoulder. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. You know he can hear you, and he presses a kiss to your temple. 

“Always.” 

It’s just an act. He doesn't mean it. He can’t mean it. 

Austin approaches with his drop-dead gorgeous fiancee and a smile. 

Aaron releases you as Austin gives you a warmer hug than you were expecting, and examines Hotch over your shoulder. He introduces you to his fiancee (Madeline), and you introduce them both to Aaron. 

“Austin, this is my…” you pause, realizing you never actually established a cover story, letting the implication speak for itself. “Aaron.” You recover with a light laugh, and Aaron pulls you to him with one hand while he shakes Austin’s with the other. 

You try not to smirk at the grimace that flashes across Austin’s face when Aaron’s hand closes around his in a very firm and assertive handshake. “Pleasure. Congratulations.” 

Austin laughs, a little uncomfortable, and stretches his hand once it reaches his side again. “Thanks. We’re really glad you both could make it. Mom will be really happy to see you.” 

+++

“That could have been so much worse.” You shuck Aaron’s blazer off your shoulders and hang it in the closet as he passes behind you. He’d passed it to you when you shivered slightly at the bar and it wasn’t even a point of conversation. It had been second nature to him, draping it over you and placing a hand on your back. The memory pulls a smile from your lips. “Thank you for enduring the mayhem down there.” 

Aaron sits on the bed and slips off his boots. “I can’t remember the last time I went to a social event that didn’t directly affect my career trajectory.” He looks up at you, and his grin makes your heart skip around in your chest. 

You shake your head, walking past him to retrieve your pajamas and toothbrush. “Do you ever want to move up the chain at all?”

“Not really. Something big would have to change to get me to leave the BAU.” He looks at you over his shoulder. “We tried that, remember?”

“I do, actually.” At his chuckle, you continue. “I can’t say that’s something I’d like to relive anytime soon.” 

You move easily around each other, changing into pajamas and brushing your teeth and getting otherwise ready for bed. He’s cute at night, with his pajamas and floppy hair and big yawns. It’s not like you haven’t seen this side of him before, what with all the late nights watching movies with Jack, but it is significant that it’s just the two of you. He’s not Jack’s Dad right now, or Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner who won’t go to bed until The Case Is Solved, but Aaron. 

Sleepy, charming, funny Aaron. 

Eventually, you throw back the covers and crawl in without thinking about it too much, while Aaron lingers in the bathroom doorway. 

“I really can take the couch.”

You look at him and pointedly turn off the lamp resting on your side table. “We’re adults. I don’t mind it if you don’t. And for that matter, if either one of us is sleeping on the couch it’s me.” 

“Oh?” He asks. “Why’s that?”

“Because as you so astutely pointed out earlier, I am significantly younger than you, and I think my back will fare better than yours after a night of lumpy cushions.” 

The bathroom light flips off, and you hear a scoff in the dark. “Never once did I say significantly younger.” 

“Well, Aaron, ‘before your time’ is rife with implication.” 

The mattress dips beside you, and his form takes shape in the darkness, facing you. Before he can speak again, you cut him off. 

“You know what? Nevermind. I forgot who I was talking to, and I would hate for you to go full-tilt lawyer on me.” You curl up, bringing the covers to your chin. He laughs, and you can almost pretend that this is your life, that you get to fall asleep beside Aaron every night. 

Don’t get comfortable. 

Why not? He’s here, isn’t he?

He is, but not like that. This is a favor for a friend, nothing more. 

You’re both quiet for a little while, listening to each other breathe in the dark. There’s a sigh, and you belatedly realize it came from you. 

“Are you okay?” Aaron’s voice floats to you in the dark, and you nod. “I know this isn’t easy for you.” 

You think for a moment, trying to articulate your thoughts. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just - I really can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re here with me this weekend.” A hand reaches out, and you find it. 

“Of course. I’m glad I can be here for you.” He means it. The trust you’ve placed in him does not go unnoticed or unappreciated. Your willingness to be vulnerable and funny and so yourself is a precious gift to him, and one he’ll never take for granted. “Thank you for letting me come.” 

I’d like to let you come -

Ew, dude. 

What?

Now is not the time. 

“With that in mind,” he continues, his voice gentle in the dark, “I’m really proud of you. And not in a ‘I’m your boss and you’re making significant progress,’ way. As your friend, I’m really proud of you.”

Your friend. 

He is your friend. 

I know but that…sucks. 

It doesn’t have to. 

There’s something in his voice that almost makes you stupid, but you hold your tongue. “Goodnight, Hotch.” 

He takes a deep breath, missing the way his first name fits in your mouth. It sounds safe there, like you’d never use it against him. “Goodnight.” 

+++

You feel warm and feeling somewhat constricted, but not uncomfortable. There’s weight at your back and an arm around your waist, and you lean into it in your state of half-wakefulness. A little noise leaves the body behind you, almost like a sigh with tone. 

Remembering where you are, you resist the instinct to jump. Hotch is wrapped around you like a koala, his knee between yours, one arm under your head and the other around your waist, face buried into the crook of your neck and shoulder. 

His hair smells divine, and he’s so warm. 

Your theory from yesterday morning seems confirmed - you definitely didn’t fall asleep touching each other, so you must have found each other in the night. The thought warms you, and you close your eyes again.

The ceremony isn’t until the early afternoon, so you have all the time in the world to doze and prepare for the hellscape of the day. 

That’s not a fair assessment. You think, and correct yourself. 

If the prior evening was any indication, things would go smoothly. Aaron was the world’s best wingman. He kept conversation flowing and took your cues without a second’s hesitation. Everyone loved him, and people asked you all night how you met, how long you’d known each other, how long you’d been together. The first questions were easy, but the last one was one you hadn’t prepared for. He, of course, had an answer for all three. 

“We work together.” 

“We met, what? Five years ago now? Maybe a little more?”

“We’ve been partners for almost four years.” 

And...he wasn’t lying. You always paired off with him at work, whether naturally or by assignment. His lack of specifics in defining your relationship both settled and raised your blood pressure, depending on the way you decided to approach it. The words accompanied an affectionate squeeze around your waist or a kiss to the back of your hand. 

You know he’s just playing the part for the weekend and everything will go back to normal when you get home. 

But God, he’s good at it. 

You almost believe him.

He’s still sleeping behind you, his breath fanning slow and even across your shoulder. You’re both fully clothed, but there’s something intimate about it. Sleep, you think, is inherently vulnerable, inherently a trusting state. You two not only managed to fall asleep in the same bed, but woke up tangled together. 

You drop your hand to your waist and rest your hand on top of his, falling back into sleep without too much thought. 

When Hotch wakes, it’s thankfully late. He’s far too comfortable to be in a hotel bed, but quickly realizes it’s not the mattress. You’re wrapped in his arms, and for a split second he almost panics, concerned that you’ll wake to find him glommed onto you like some kind of ridiculous backpack. 

But then he remembers the way your fingers traced his face when you were sure he was asleep, the way you leaned into him the night before - taking shelter in his willing arms. 

He feels your fingers pushed between his, your palm warm against the back of his hand, holding him to you.

He’s fucked. He’s totally and completely fucked. He’s even more fucked to even consider the possibility you’re fucked, too. 

How could you possibly want him? A man nearly fifteen years older than you, with one failed marriage under his belt, an inability to tear himself away from his work, and more than enough trauma to drown in is hardly the ideal partner for someone as vibrant as you, with so much life yet to live.

And yet, it’s so hard to imagine a life without you. Whenever he looks into his future, he sees you there with him. It’s far too easy to let himself fall into the fantasy as you peacefully sleep in his arms with your fingers laced together. 

You shift a little in your sleep, and he arches his back a little, definitely trying to keep you away from...certain parts of his anatomy that are a little more awake than the rest of him. 

Quit while you’re ahead, Hotchner. 

He very gingerly disentangles himself from you, and he’s pleased when he only gets a few sleepy protests in return. The shower is calling his name, for more than one reason including but not limited to the uncomfortable tightness of his flannel pajama pants. 

With one last lingering glance at you, he picks up his toiletries and locks himself in the bathroom for a long (very) hot shower, followed by a much shorter (very) cold shower. 

While he’s gone, you stir and stretch your arms over your head. A little disoriented, you find his side of the bed empty but not quite cold before you hear the running water of the shower. 

What if you just - 

Do not finish that thought. 

You are not one iota of fun. 

Reaching for your bag, you pull your laptop out and get started on some emails. You have a couple from Seaver and one from Emily.

You sigh and pull out your phone. 

“Prentiss.”

“Hey, Em. You wanted me to call?”

“Oh, I just wanted to see how things are going down there.” her voice is the picture of forced nonchalance, and you can almost hear Penelope leaning over her shoulder. 

You laugh into the phone and trace patterns on the bedspread. “Things are going well. Hotch was the perfect gentleman last night, and we have the ceremony and reception today. We head home tomorrow morning.” 

“Has anything happened? Where is he right now?”

“He’s in the shower. And no, don’t be ridiculous.” You shove your phone under your chin and answer all of Ashley’s questions in confident keystrokes. “You and I both know he’s just here because he likes to owe me favors.”

Aaron pauses in the bathroom, in the middle of towel-drying his hair. With a smile, he overhears: “...he’s just here because he likes to owe me favors.” 

He can’t hear the response, but he does hear you when you say. “My God, Em. Would you quit?” 

Ah. So it is Emily. 

“I’m not going to do anything about it because there’s nothing to do anything about...Don’t give me that...You have absolutely no proof...I don’t care if you’re a profiler or not, there is no way you can say with any definitive certainty -” You pause, and your voice drops to a low murmur he can’t hear over the hum of the bathroom fan. 

With a frustrated huff, he ties the towel around his waist and ventures out, entirely aware of his state of undress. 

You’re so glad you drop your voice to finish your thought (“- that he’s in love with me. Don’t be stupid.”) because the door opens and you are immediately confronted with Aaron Hotchner in a towel and every single coherent thought flies out of your head. He smiles a little at you, and something in you melts. 

“Are you good?” Emily’s voice is full of laughter. 

The heat rises in your cheeks and you whip your head back to your laptop, typing just for something to do with your hands. “Yeah, for sure.” 

“He just walked out wearing a towel, didn’t he?”

“Emily, you know I’m not going to dignify that with a response.” You roll your eyes, and miss the smirk on Hotch’s face as he grabs his hanging clothes from the closet.

“So that’s a yes.” 

+++

Austin’s family clearly spared no expense for either the ceremony or the reception. You and Aaron had walked in arm-in-arm to find a spot on the groom’s side near the back. It’s still weird - there was a time where you thought for sure Austin was the be-all-end all for you. 

But here you are, sitting next to Aaron. He’s wearing that beautiful suit that looks even better on him than it did on the hanger (and that’s saying something). As promised, his tie matches your outfit, and you’d be lying if you didn’t say it made your heart all warm watching him put it on. 

The ceremony itself is a blur. You stand and sit when you’re supposed to, and spend the vows with your head on Aaron’s shoulder - playing the role, of course. You take a few unsteady breaths, caught off guard by how affected you are by the ritual of it all. 

You don’t love Austin anymore, not by a long shot. That said, the reminder that you’re not married to anybody but work and rapidly approaching thirty is unpleasant. 

“Are you okay?” Hotch’s whisper doesn’t carry far. 

You nod. “Yeah. Just thinking.” 

“About?”

You shake your head, the soft wool of his suit jacket pressing into your temple. “Later.” 

His cheek presses to your hair for just a moment. He’s not worried about you, per se, but he’s never seen you in this existentially forlorn state before. It’s a feeling he recognizes in himself, but to see it on you makes him feel a new kind of helpless. 

+++

You’re at the open bar, snagging a glass of wine for yourself and two fingers of whiskey for Aaron (the good stuff, of course), when Austin’s mother warmly accosts you. 

“Darling!” 

Against your will, a genuine smile breaks out across your face. “Hey, Laurie!” You set the drinks down and embrace her, the familiar smell of her perfume engulfing you. Suddenly, you feel nineteen years old again. “Congratulations.” 

She pulls back and waves off your good wishes. “Oh, please. I haven’t done anything.” 

You laugh and shake your head. “I beg to differ, but alright.” 

She takes you under her arm and holds you close to her. “So.” Her tone is conspiratorial, as if a great plot is to unfold before you. “Who is that devastatingly handsome man you’ve brought with you to shame my son?” 

“I did not bring him to shame your son, he offered to come when my original date bailed. You remember Dean?”

“Of course. Such a sweet boy. Still married to his work?”

You shake your head. “I would be...hypocritical of me to get upset with him for that. My work at the bureau keeps me plenty busy. If I’m honest, this is the first personal time I’ve used in four years.” 

She squeezes you for a half-second. “I’m so glad you’re here with us.” Her lips purse. “But don’t think you can get out of telling me about that fine, fine man over there.” 

“His name is Aaron,” you start, fighting a smile. “We work together at the bureau and he’s just a friend, Laurie, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I always have ideas. Now, introduce me so I can see for myself.” 

With a long-suffering sigh, you grab the drinks off the bar and lead her to the table, where Aaron sits with his fingers pressed thoughtfully to his mouth, his elbow on the table and ankle crossed over his knee. Approaching from behind him, you set the whiskey down where he can’t knock it over and lay a hand on his shoulder. “Aaron.”

He turns, and a broad smile breaks out over his face. You’re sure he’s just being polite - you’ve never seen him smile so much. Offering a hand to Laurie, he stands. “SSA Aaron Hotchner. Thank you for having us. I’ve heard so much about you and your family.”

“Oh no, that can’t be good.” She laughs lightly and takes his hand in both of our own. “Laurie Miller. As I’m sure you know, I have a great amount of love for this one here.” She releases Aaron’s hand and tucks you into her arms again, kissing your cheek. You laugh, tickled by her demonstrative affection designed only to embarrass you. 

“C’mon, Laur. You don’t have to lie for my benefit.”

You try to ignore the fondness in Aaron’s eyes as he watches the two of you, Laurie cooing over you and your successes. She returns her focus back to Aaron. “Sit, sit and tell me what you crazy kids get up to over there in Quantico.” 

Aaron sits and relaxes back into his chair, resting his arm on the back of your seat. You lean forward with your elbows on the table, your hands propping up your head. Aaron’s a great storyteller, of course, and it’s so interesting to watch him talk about work outside of the context itself. He seems to bloom - effusive, charming, and warm - before you. 

When you look at him, it’s as if you’re seeing him for the first time. 

“...Preventing loss of life is always rewarding, and our team is a family.” 

Laurie is clearly enamored, completely drawn into his gentle description of your very-stressful and often-gritty line of work. “It’s so lovely you have so much fondness for each other. I imagine it makes everything much easier.” 

He nods, and glances at you. “It does.” 

Your phone buzzes on the table, and you excuse yourself with a hand on each of their shoulders. 

“Dean, you bastard!” You answer. Hotch’s huff of laughter tells you he overheard it, but he picks up right where he left off with Laurie. 

As you step out onto the banquet hall balcony, almost feel bad leaving him to his own devices, but then you remember all the times he’s been left alone with serial killers and you feel much better. 

“Hey babe! Are you surviving? Are you alone? Tell me everything.” 

You laugh into the phone. “I’m doing alright. Hotch actually offered to come with me. I just stepped out, but he’s in there holding his own well enough.”

“Oh my god. When I said that I didn’t actually think you’d do it!”

“What do you mean?” You look up and out over the property, and the views are simply breathtaking. The moonlight falling across the Virginia landscape almost makes the world look like it’s holding its breath. 

What it’s waiting for... you’re not sure. 

“When I said bring your hot boss to the wedding I was joking. You didn’t ask him, did you?”

You let out a snort and it almost disrupts the peace of the evening. “Of course not. He offered.”

“I have never met a pair of people so fucking stupid in all my life.” 

“You’ve never met Hotch, idiot.” 

“Don’t have to,” Dean says. “I know you are you’re dumb enough for the both of you.” 

+++

When the dancing starts, you’re understandably resistant. The playlist is a playful mix of contemporary and classic music, and you can’t help but laugh when Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I’m Yours) starts to play. 

Aaron stands and offers you his hand. You take his hand without thinking, belatedly realizing his intentions. 

“Hotch, you can’t be serious.” You stop dead in your tracks, but his grip on your fingers stays firm as he looks back at you with a look of humorous disbelief on his face. 

“When have you ever known me to be otherwise?” He tugs you forward, and you fall into his arms with a huff. “Humor me. Just one and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.” 

You glare at him, dubious. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because I’m lying.” 

And at the end of the day, you can’t refuse him anything - especially when he smiles at you like that. 

He’s an excellent dancer. Your grip on his shoulder slowly loosens as you grow more comfortable, trusting him to lead you around the dance floor. He holds you tight, his movement playful in a way that’s almost foreign to you. 

You’ve seen him dance exactly once, at Haley’s 39th birthday party, the summer before she died. 

You catch sight of Austin and Madeline on the other side of the dance floor and avert your gaze when you find Austin looking back at you. 

“Hey.” Aaron’s voice is low, almost a laugh.

Your eyes snap to Aaron’s. “What?”

“Relax.” 

“You’re one to talk,” you scoff. 

He rolls his eyes and throws you out by one arm, spinning you so your back is to his chest. “I’m plenty relaxed. You are tense.” 

The feeling of his heartbeat against your back ruins your resolve and you relent. “It just feels weird.”

“What does?” He spins you back out and pulls you close. You try not to be too distracted by the proximity of his face to yours when you land back against his chest, you hand resting over his heart.  

“I just -” you push through your reluctance and admit, “I don’t love him in that way anymore, but it’s super weird to even think that I could have ever thought he was it for me. And now he’s with someone he loves and both of our lives just...kept going after we split, you know?” You shake your head, scattering your thoughts. 

He nods. “I do.”

You believe him. The very concept of his heartbreak with Haley - the separation, the anger, the divorce, her death, the love - is overwhelming. You know he understands. 

The silence that lapses between you is comfortable. 

Yeah, I've done a lot of foolish things That I really didn't mean I could be a broken man Here I am, baby...

When he turns you under his arm, you laugh until you can’t breathe. There’s a smile on his face, too, and there’s something warm and inexplicable about it. You turn the tables on him, turning him under your arm and pulling him back to you.

The song changes to something slower and, true to his word, Aaron keeps you out on the dance floor. You’re exhausted all of a sudden, and your eyes close as you rest your head against his shoulder. 

“Thank you for being here with me.” 

You’re only sure you spoke aloud when Aaron replies, “Of course.”

+++

Your feet ache when you finally call it quits and head upstairs to your room for the night. Aaron’s suit jacket had long since left him, leaving him rolled sleeves and a loose tie with his top two buttons undone. It traveled from the back of his chair to where it now rests, slung over his arm.

You look over your shoulder as you slip your shoes off. “You look positively rumpled, Agent Hotchner.” 

He lets out a laugh, and it makes your breath catch. His laugh always takes you by surprise; it’s much brighter and higher than his speaking register, and frankly, adorable. “It’s past my bedtime.”

“You don’t have a bedtime.” And it was true - you could count on one hand the amount of times you’d known him to actually sleep, especially on a case. You could neither confirm nor deny that he even needed it to function prior to this weekend. 

The thought makes your cheeks a little warm, and you turn away from him, setting aside your pajamas and packing the rest of your items. 

There’s a little chuckle behind you before the bathroom door closes and the shower starts up. 

When Aaron leaves the bathroom, his hair wet and pajamas on, you’re asleep. Curled up on top of the covers, out like a light. 

He flips all the switches, leaving the room in darkness. Creeping to your side of the bed, he reaches over and pulls the covers down, gingerly shuffling your legs underneath, followed by your torso. You stir a little, and catch his hand as he moves to tuck your hands under the covers. 

His eyes close, just for a moment, before slipping his hand out of yours. He’s already dreading going back to his empty apartment tomorrow afternoon. 

That feeling is only amplified when you curl up against his chest as soon as he’s settled under the covers, your leg hooked over his. 

+++

You wake up warm again, and snuggle into the body beside you. Arms tighten around you, and you remember where you are and who you’re with. Unlike yesterday, you can’t pretend to be asleep - when you look up, Hotch is awake, brown eyes looking down at you. 

“Good morning,” he says. 

You tuck your face back into his chest. “I’m sorry - I’m clingy when I sleep.” 

His laugh sings over the crown of your head. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.” 

Don't read into that. 

I’m going to. 

Don’t. 

Fuck. 

“What time is it?” You crane your neck and look at the clock on his bedside table, but you can’t quite see with his arm in the way. 

“Just before nine. We have an hour before checkout. Want to get packed, grab some breakfast, and head out? I’ll drive.”

“You drove here.” You shove at him and sit up. 

He shrugs and you take a moment to admire the tousled, floppy state of his hair. “I like driving.” 

“I won’t argue with that.” 

You sigh, stretch, stand and start rolling. You brush your teeth (twice) and put your clothes back into your suitcase, zipping it up without much trouble. He, of course, takes it off your hands right away and brings the bags to the car while you take care of checkout. 

He meets you outside, sunglasses on, and the sun hits his hair. You can see all the nuances in the black - the touch of silver, the dark browns and reds. They all seem to make a halo around him in the sunshine. “Ready?”

You snap back to attention and give him a wide smile. “Yes, sir!” 

Breakfast is an eventful affair. As soon as you sit down, you get a call from Penelope. 

“Hey, Pen, what’s up?” You look across the table at Hotch with amusement in your eyes, and he smiles, still digging into his eggs benedict like a starving man. 

“Tell me everything.”

“Oh, well we’re just at breakfast, almost on our way back. My laptop is in the car, can I take a look at that for you when I get home?” 

Not now, Penelope, I’ll call you when I’m home. 

She hums, following right away. “You better give me every single detail as soon as you step through the door or I swear I’ll riot.”

With a laugh, you reply, “Of course. You know, it might be easier if you just stop by - I’ll text you when I get home and we can do dinner or something.” You push your food around your plate, trying to ignore the fact that the only person you actually want to have dinner with is right across from you.

“Perfect. Yeah, just text me when you get home babycakes. Can’t wait!” She hangs up promptly, and your eyebrows raise for a half second. 

You put your phone away and shake your head. “She’s very predictable.” 

He nods, looking at you from under his brows. “Indeed.” 

You both continue to dig into your food, not realizing how hungry you are from all your antics the night before. His phone rings next, and it’s Jack. 

“Hey bud!” 

There’s nothing better than the way his voice transforms when he speaks to his son. You hear your name and return your attention to his conversation. 

“...we’re at a wedding this weekend, remember? We got to go to a big party last night, and we’re driving home today… Yeah,” he looks at you, “we did have a lot of fun… I’m so glad you had a good time with Aunt Jess and the Brooks cousins this weekend… You got to go ice fishing? That’s so exciting! Did Grandpa take you?... Awesome, bud… Sounds good, I’ll call you when I get home, okay?... I love you too.”

When he puts his phone away, you ask, “How’s he doing?”

“It’ll be a fight to get him home, that’s for sure.” 

You take another bite of your food. “How are things with Haley’s family? Any better?”

“Not at all. I’m not sure there’s much I can do, at this point. Jess does what she can, but her dad is… not a fan of mine.” There’s a kind of sadness in his eyes, and you almost regret asking.

“I know you know this, but none of this is your fault.” You look into him and hope he can see the sincerity in your eyes, hear it in your voice. 

He thinks for a moment, and you’re almost nervous he’s going to disagree (it’s happened before), but he just meets your eyes and says, “Thank you.”

+++

Hotch lets you pick the music on the way home, and doesn’t say a word when you sing along (sometimes good, sometimes bad). He does occasionally smile a little secret smile to himself, which makes your heart skip around in your chest. 

At a certain point, you turn the music off and sit back in your seat. 

As usual, Aaron knows you’re going to say something long before you say it. “Yes?” 

“I know I keep saying this, but thank you for coming with me this weekend.” Your body shifts toward him, and you can’t seem to tear your eyes from his profile. 

“You’re welcome.” He glances at you before looking back at the road. “Thank you for trusting me not to embarrass you in front of people you haven’t seen in almost ten years.” 

You smile a kind of lopsided sort of smile. “You could never embarrass me.”

He frowns playfully. “That’s not true.” 

“You are exceedingly upstanding, and you just got your hair cut, so the odds are in my favor.” 

“Hey!” He self-consciously runs a hand over the back of his hair. You reach over to shove at his shoulder and you’re rewarded with a laugh. 

“I’m kidding! I like it long.” You look over fondly at him. “It was longer when I first met you, remember?” You’re not sure why you continue, but you do nevertheless. “You started keeping it shorter after the div - well, after.” 

He quirks his brow, the corners of his lips upturned just the smallest amount. “Nobody ever accused you of being unobservant.” 

You grin widely at him and turn the radio back on. 

+++

You’ve never been more disappointed to see your own driveway in your whole life. Hotch pulls in and turns the ignition off, and you sit in silence for a minute. 

There’s so much to think about, and most of it is at least a little uncomfortable. Of course you’re in love with him and he’s your favorite person (and that’s bad enough), but that is even harder to stomach now that you have to go back into the real world. 

It’s easy to pretend that it was real, that it wasn’t just for show to make you feel less awful about the direction of your love life. If anything, now that you’re home, you feel even worse. 

The only person you want is seemingly the only person you can’t have. There’s something so unattainable about Hotch. You’re not sure if it’s his stern exterior or his age or his role, or if it has more to do with how devastatingly handsome he is, but it’s something. 

Aaron wishes he could do anything else, than leave you here at home. Nevertheless, he sighs and gets out of the car. You follow him around back, though you’re not really sure why - he takes your suitcase and insists on carrying it all the way to the door. 

You stand there, fumbling with your keys, feeling more and more like a character in a romantic comedy with every passing second. Aaron sets your suitcase on the ground and covers your hands with his. You look up at him, and he leans toward you, pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to your cheek. 

“Thank you for inviting me.” 

All you can do is nod, with a tight, closed-mouth smile. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says

“Bye, Hotch,” you call to him as he trots back to the car. “Thanks again.” 

He turns toward you, puts his sunglasses on, opens the door, and says, “Anytime.” 

You wave with the tips of your fingers and slide into your house. Your back to do the door, you slide down to the floor and cover your face with your hands. 

Fuck. 

tagged: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @saintd0lce @good-heavens-chris-evans @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @vintagecaptainspidey​ @micaiahmoonheart​ @ogmilkis @thatreallyis-americas-ass​ @marvels-agents100​ @newtslatte​ @risenfox ​@mrs-dr-reid​ @captain-christopher-pike​ @joemazzello-imagines​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @sebbybaby0​ @pan-pride-12​ @hotchlinebling​ @lee-rin-ah ​@sunshine-em​ @word-scribbless ​@jdougl-love​ @sageellsworth05​ @emmice9 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky​ @bauslut @yourlovelynewsbian @sparklingkeylimepie @aili28 @kingandrear @reader4027 @spnobsessedmemes @rogers-mouth @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @hotchnersgoddess @buckybau @phoenixfyre374 @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandi-ass-prentiss @songbird400 @dontkissthewriter @ellyhotchner @a-dorky-book-keeper @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @ahopelessromantic @violentvulgarvolatile @andreasworlsboring101 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @zizzlekwum @lcvischmitt

[honeyxchoso]

Promise (fuckboy!Satoru Gojo x reader) (college AU)

warnings: Gojo being a fuckboy who knows his effect on women all too well, MC's declining mental health implied

genre: angst? (sfw)

word count: 1.9k

“Please, just hear me out!” Gojo begged, face contorting into a desperate expression you knew all too well by now.

The scene is just like the numerous ones you’ve experienced in the past few months, all consequential to Satoru Gojo asking you out earlier that year. You should have known better. After all, you’ve been a witness of all of his intimate endeavours throughout high school. It was naive to assume that you would be spared of his promiscuous behaviour and that, somehow, this would be different.

“I promise you it won’t happen again!”

The exclamation just fell on deaf ears. That very promise, which he never fails to make in moments like these, has lost all meaning long ago. The sincerity fading more and more each time it was broken. These conversations, which once used to reduce you to tears, have now lost all meaning they once might have possessed.

All you know is the emptiness you feel resulting from your heart being shattered over and over again, your soul reduced to nothingness. You can no longer cry. You can no longer get mad. You are no longer surprised. Just a shell of the person you once were.

No longer are you even aware of your surroundings, lost in your own mind as Gojo spouted endless dubious apologies and false promises, all of which you’ve heard dozens of times before. How many times have you turned a blind eye so far? How many second chances have you given? How much longer will this go on? You do not know.

How did it come to this?

You and Satoru are first years in an honours programme at Jujutsu college, with you majoring in Biology and him in Physical engineering. Although you had known him since your first year of high school, you two have only gotten close in the summer leading up to your first year at college. During that summer, he’s managed to get closer to you than anyone ever has before. It really isn’t that difficult to imagine considering his flamboyant personality and stunning appearance.

Right now, you were at a cafe, waiting for Mr Perfect to show up for your weekly Math and Chem study session. You chuckle looking at a meme he just texted you. The lovely bastard is fashionably late per usual, but you are somehow never annoyed at that nasty habit of his. Five minutes of texting later, you feel a tap on your shoulder alerting you of Satoru’s arrival. Soon after the tap, you can feel his presence on the left side of your head.

“I think you can kiss heaven goodbye, as it must be a sin to look that good,” he proudly stated right next to you. You gazed to the side with widened eyes and your mouth slightly agape. It was just quick enough for you to catch a glimpse of those gorgeous sky blue eyes of his, mischievously peeking up at you from the pitch-black sunglasses the man always adorned. It truly was a sight to behold. To your great misfortune, however, it was gone as soon as it came, with him rising up to ruffle your hair a bit with his enormous hand before going to sit at the other end of your small table.

You focused on regaining your usual composure, as you’ve grown accustomed to his flirty persona during the summer while observing him picking up girls wherever you went. His sense of humour is just atrocious, but it eventually grew on you also. Despite his provocative behaviour and dirty humour implying he’s still very much immature for anything of the sort, you’ve started harbouring hope that one day, just maybe, he’ll give it a shot for you. Yes, as naive as it was, you couldn’t help but fall for the marvellous man sitting across from you.

You sighed at your inner turmoil and slightly irritably ran a hand through your hair. Satoru, of course, interpreted your reaction as you being annoyed at his borderline foul compliment and the thought elicited a deep, alluring chuckle from him. Slightly shaken from the beautiful sound, you plastered on a smile and looked at him, asking to begin your study session already since he was late again.

Two hours of studying later, you two were walking back to the student dorms on the other end of the campus site making small talk on your way.

“Argh! I hate this unit so much. Why do we have to memorise all the functional groups when it would be so much easier to just look them up in the data booklet during exams? It is so unnecessary!” you cried out, pouting while clenching your fists in exasperation. When Satoru didn’t respond, you relaxed your posture and turned to address him, only to blank out upon seeing the way he was staring at you.

He had a tender look on his face the likes of which you’ve never seen before. His lips formed into a small but genuine smile with his eyes relaxed as he just looked at you. You felt as though he was staring right into your soul. At this point, you both stopped walking instinctively and held your eyes locked wishing for the tender moment to last forever. Satoru was the first to speak up.

He called your name, not breaking eye contact. You just barely took notice of his voice, getting lost in his gorgeous blue eyes during your little moment just now. God, does your name sound good coming from his mouth. You barely had the common sense at this point to utter out a small “Hm?” and no notion whatsoever of what was yet to come.

“Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

You were baffled. The person you’ve been crushing on for months now just asked you out. You. Little old insignificant you. Too startled to form a coherent response, you replied with the only concern you had. “Me?”

After all, you were a nobody. You’ve seen the women who talk to him on a daily basis. The perfect height, athletic, well-adorned in all sorts of jewellery and fancy clothes, makeup perfectly done and never a single strand of hair out of place - those were the type of women surrounding Satoru Gojo. Compared to them, you were the lowest of the low. Your face contorted into one of confusion before your eyes started tearing up. This must be a joke...

That was only in the few seconds leading up to Satoru bursting out in a tear-inducing laugh. This did well to break you out of your small trance, sobering up a little before becoming even more confused. He asked you out, and now he’s laughing about it? Is this man in his right senses? You don’t recall him having any alcoholic beverages at the cafe so it can’t be. He stopped laughing soon after and used the tip of his right-hand sleeve to wipe away his tears.

“Of course it’s you, silly! It’s 10pm. We’re the only ones here right now!” he exclaimed, giggling a bit throughout forming his sentence still. This only served to confuse you even more. It must be a joke, then.

“You’re joking,” you voiced your thoughts. At this, his formerly happy expression fell and formed into one of concern.

“How could I be?” he asked. Seeming genuinely concerned as to why you’d think that. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips formed an unusual frown. “How could I ever joke about something like that? You have no clue what you mean to me, Y/N.” You could tell from his expression that he was being sincere, making you falter. Your face seemed to be enough of a response for him to continue speaking.

“You are honestly the best person I have ever met. You are strong and independent despite everything life has thrown at you. You are smarter than anyone I know. You have an amazing sense of humour and are a great listener. You’ve always been there for me when I needed you most. Along with being a good person, you also make me a better person myself. You fulfil me. Without you, I feel my very existence would be meaningless.” All the while saying this, he hasn’t broken eye contact once. “So I will ask you once again, Y/N, will you go out with me?

Following that evening, the two of you were in a happy relationship.

So how did it turn into this?

You first noticed something was wrong when you saw him dancing really close with a girl at a college party. He had his left hand low on her waist and his other hand entangled in her hair, bringing her closer so he could lean into her neck. It was just an embrace, right? Perhaps she was his friend who needed comfort of some sort? These are the excuses you made for yourself at the time to console the slight pang of concern and betrayal felt upon witnessing that scene. You never confronted him about that. At the time, you told yourself that was because there was no issue to address but reflecting on that moment now, you know it was the fear of your suspicion being proven right that discouraged you from bringing it up.

This happened about an additional five or six times before you started acting a bit more adverse to Satoru’s usual affection. You would no longer initiate kisses and would become stiff in his embrace. It was mortifying to know he was behaving so naturally around you when you know he’s off with other women when he thinks you aren’t looking. Despite this, the relationship was maintained as your love for him didn’t falter.

After a while, his endeavours would cause arguments. He would argue the women were coming onto him, that he was drunk or anything of the sort, just to get out of the situation, and you would argue he was fully aware of his promiscuous behaviour. These arguments would always end in forgiveness and the movie would rewind yet again. That is what led you where you are now. Your forgiving nature backfired and your feelings for the man were constantly extorted.

Sometimes, enough is enough.

It is time to put a stop to this neverending loop your relationship has turned into.

“Stop,” Satoru was still pleading for forgiveness when you interrupted him mid-sentence. Your simple exclamation seemingly pausing time, as it was the first word you have uttered in this conversation so far. Gojo looked at you anxiously, hope evident in his eyes that you would forgive him. Oh, how you loved those eyes of his, full of deceit.

“I’ve had enough. I’ve given you far too many chances and have been disappointed every time without fail. It is time for both of us to admit to ourselves that this won’t work. Not the way it is now.”

Despite your calm exterior, your previously empty inside now felt a sharp, anxious pain. No one said it was going to be easy. While the fear of change is strong, you know this is the right thing to do. Fear can bring no actual harm, but this relationship has and will continue to do so if you don’t put a stop to it. It is time.

“Goodbye, Satoru Gojo.”

[musette22]

Drunk in Boston

Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan)

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: A week or so ago, I saw this post. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I decided to write a ficlet, a little Evanstan AU. It’s a bit late maybe, since Christmas has already been and gone, but it’s still technically the holidays so just indulge me? :p 

Also, I hit 3k followers this week, so this is also a sort of thank you to all you amazing, wonderful, beautiful people for getting me here. Love you all as much as I love these boys as much as they love each other 💘 Hope you enjoy!

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

It’s 3 p.m. on 17 December, and Chris is a little bit drunk. Maybe even a lotta bit.

In his defense, he is currently in Boston for a bachelor party and they did just do a tour of the Samuel Adams Brewery. It’s not like he makes a habit of daytime drinking. Not this much, anyway.

Chris stumbles out of the bar that’s attached to the brewery, surrounded by a dozen or so old school friends, all of whom are in a similar state of inebriation, when they pass the gift shop and a familiar image catches his eye. Chris stops in his tracks. On closer inspection, what he saw turns out to be a photo, displayed in a stand outside the shop, of a park in Concord near where Chris grew up.

No, not a photo.

A postcard.

He plucks the card from the stand, swaying on his feet a little as he peers at it. In the image, the park is covered in snow, much like it would be right now, and stamped across it in a red, gothic font are the words ‘Happy Holidays’.

Instantly, Chris is hit by a wave of nostalgia. No doubt the feeling is heightened by the alcohol – he always tends to get a little sentimental when he’s drunk – but it’s not just that. It’s also the fact that Chris and his friends have been reminiscing about the good old days all afternoon as well as the sudden, depressing realization that despite all he’s achieved in the past decade or so, his happiest memories are probably those of childhood Christmases spent in Concord.

These days, Chris lives in on the West Coast. He’s kind of a superstar now, after all, and superstars live in LA – everybody knows that. Chris doesn’t usually let himself dwell too much on how lonely he is there, or how he misses the comforting accents and the real winters of the East Coast. Tonight, though, whether because of the booze in his system or the ghosts of Christmas past, he allows himself to feel the stab of homesickness.

Without conscious input from his brain, Chris finds himself buying the postcard. When the cashier asks him if he’ll be needing he stamp, too, he hesitates. “Yeah, why not,” he decides, on a whim. It’s a Christmas card, after all, and Christmas cards are supposed to be sent.

There’s just one slight issue with his plan, Chris realizes as soon as he puts the borrowed pen to the card.

He’ll need an address to send the card to.

Frowning, he taps the pen against the counter, thinking as hard as his beer-addled brain will allow him, but the only address he can think of off the top of his head is that of his childhood home, back in Concord. But… that would be weird, right? He has no idea who’s been living there, since his parents sold the house after the divorce. Then again, Chris tells himself, this could be his good Christmas deed. Sending a postcard to a total stranger just to wish them happy holidays, that’s totally in the Christmas spirit, isn’t it?

With a decisive nod of his head, Chris puts his pen to paper and starts to write. It’s just a few lines, because there’s only so much you can say to a total stranger, but when he signs off with his initials, he feels good about it. He asks the cashier for the nearest post box, which happens to be just outside the building, so he thanks the guy and heads outside.

Pulling his pea coat tighter around him against the glacial December air, Chris spares the card one last look, and drops into the post box. It feels significant, somehow.

He doesn’t get time to dwell on it though, because the moment his friends spot him, he’s immediately and enthusiastically subsumed back into the group and dragged on to the next boozy destination.

Three drinks on, Chris has forgotten all about the postcard.

***

On the morning of 18 December, Sebastian Stan opens his postbox to find a postcard with a photo of the park near his house on the front, and a hastily scribbled message on the back:

Hey,

I used to live in your house.

I’m drunk in Boston, and it’s the only address I know.

Happy Holidays,

C.E.

Even after re-reading the message three times, Sebastian is none the wiser as to who sent it.

It makes sense other people used to live in the house Sebastian’s been renting, but unsurprisingly, he has no clue who they were. It was only last year that he’d decided to relocate from New York to Concord, craving a change of pace and more peace and quiet than the Big Apple had been able to offer. He’d visited Concord on a research trip for his third novel the year before and had immediately taken a liking to it. So when, after asking his estate agent to put out some feelers in the area, the guy had found him this beautiful place to rent within a day, Sebastian had taken it as a sign.

It’s a big old house – more appropriate for a family than a man living alone, perhaps – but Sebastian can afford it, and it has a lived-in vibe that makes it feel intimate, somehow. Its location on the edge of a large park, peaceful apart from the joggers and young families that frequent it, suits his needs perfectly, too. Despite being a successful author, Sebastian prefers to keep himself to himself. He’s not one for ostentatious book tours or photoshoots, doesn’t believe in social media beyond its promotional potential, and he’s found that he blends in perfectly in this picturesque little town.

In addition to being a private person, however, Sebastian is an inherently curious one.

It’s why he became a writer in the first place, and it’s also why the random, slightly mysterious postcard instantly fascinates him. Someone who decides to send a Christmas card to the stranger living in their childhood home has got to be an interesting person, Sebastian figures.

Unable to resist the temptation, he finds the landlord’s number and presses call.

“The initials C.E.?”

“C.E., that’s right,” Sebastian repeats patiently. “I received a postcard from someone with those initials who said they used to live in this house and wished me Happy Holidays. I’d like to thank them for the card, maybe tell them they’re free to come by the house anytime, if that’s something they’d like.”

“Well,” the landlord says, clear hesitation in his tone. “I wouldn’t usually give out this kind of information, especially not about this particular person. But seeing as he approached you first, I guess it should be alright…”

Chris Evans.

Famous Hollywood actor Chris Evans used to live in Sebastian’s house. The house he’s renting. Whatever.

The point is, Chris Evans sent him a postcard. Sebastian would be lying if he said that knowledge didn’t make his heart beat a little faster. He isn’t one to get star-struck, normally, knowing full well the rich and famous are people just like anyone else, only with an added layer of expensive, sparkly veneer.

Chris Evans, though. Well, let’s just say Chris’s blue eyes, his dazzling smile, and his chest – god, that chest – had helped along Sebastian’s gay awakening considerably, all those years ago.

So even though he realizes what he’s about to do could be considered slightly unethical, the next number Sebastian dials is that of his agent. There’s no harm in asking if there’s any chance she could use her industry connections to pass on a message to Chris Evans, surely?

“Chris Evans?” his agent repeats blankly. “The British radio DJ or the actor?”

Sebastian huffs out a laugh. “Actor. Definitely the actor. Why would I want to send a message to a British radio DJ?”

“Why would you want to send a message to the actor?” she shoots back. “Apart from the obvious, of course.” 

Touché.

Once he’s explained the situation to her, his agent hums thoughtfully. “Alright, I’ll admit that’s pretty amazing,” she says. “As it happens, I know someone at CAA who owes me a favor. I’ll see what I can do.”

Sebastian thanks her warmly, and then he waits.

***

That afternoon, Chris gets a phone call from his agent.

“Thank you for the postcard,” she reads aloud. “If you're ever in the neighborhood, you’re welcome to stop by the house and have a look around, for old time’s sake. Happy Holidays, Sebastian Stan.”

“Sebastian Stan?” Chris asks, eyebrows shooting up. “The author?”

“Oh, you know him?”

“Well, no. Not exactly. I’ve read one of his books, though, the one that’s shortlisted for the Pulitzer price, I think? He’s very good.”

His agent hums. “If you say so. Do you want me to pass a message back to him?”

Chris opens his mouth to say yes, then closes it again. “Actually,” he says, making a spur-of-the-moment decision, “I’m still in the area so I think I’ll just pay him a visit. Do you think you could you cancel my flight back to LA this afternoon?”

His agent grumbles at him for a bit but eventually concedes, though not before she’s made Chris promise he’ll be back in LA on Tuesday, for the Christmas special he’s due to appear in. Fun.

For a few moments after he’s ended the call, Chris stares out of the window of his hotel room. It’s snowing again, big flakes fluttering down from the sky, slowly turning the grey, slushy roads white again. He wonders if Pulitzer-finalist Sebastian Stan likes to make snow angels in the backyard too, like Chris used to do.

Putting his phone between his shoulder and his ear, Chris starts to put his things in his overnight bag, and calls an Uber.

It’s almost twilight, by the time the cab come to a stop in front of the house. Chris thanks the driver and steps out, booted feet sinking into the freshly fallen snow. It’s piling up quickly, he notices distantly.

It’s odd, being back here, after everything that’s happened since he moved away, so Chris gives himself a moment to just stand there, in the middle of the deserted street, taking in the sight of house he grew up in.

The house that holds countless memories, many of them good, some of them not so much. His first dog and his first kiss. Scraped knees and snowball fights. Raucous laughter and hissed arguments.

The house looks the same but different.

Chris walks up to the front door, snow crunching under his boots, and rings the doorbell.

***

Chris Evans is on Sebastian’s doorstep.

All blue-eyed, bearded, gloriously muscled, six-foot-something of him.

“Uh,” Chris says, blinking at him in something like surprise before his gaze sweeps up and down Sebastian’s body in a blatant once-over. “Sebastian Stan?”

“Oh wow, you actually came,” Sebastian blurts by way of reply.

Chris’s eyes widen. “Oh, I’m sorry, I just thought- ‘cause you said-”  

“No, no, it’s fine,” Sebastian interrupts. “I did say that. I just- I guess I wasn’t expecting you to really turn up – or not this soon, at least. But it’s no trouble at all, I live alone so it’s nice to have a visitor. Especially, y’know. You.” Forcing himself to stop talking, Sebastian runs a hand through his messy hair and wishes he’d worn something better suited to meeting one’s celebrity crush. “Sorry,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “Let’s try that again. Hi, I’m Sebastian Stan.”

“Chris Evans.” Chris smiles back warmly as he shakes Sebastian’s extended hand. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Lovely,” Sebastian repeats, holding Chris’s gaze. There are tiny flecks of green mixed in with the blue of his eyes, and his lashes would put any Maybelline model to shame. It takes Sebastian longer than it should to remember to let go of Chris’s hand, but fortunately, Chris doesn’t seem to be in any rush either. Huh. Sebastian clears his throat. “Would you- would you like to come in?”

“I’d love to, if you’re putting out,” Chris replies. There’s a beat, and then he freezes, eyes widening in horror. “If I’m not putting you out – not- not if you’re- I wasn’t, I didn’t mean- oh my god, Chris, stop talking you meatball,” Chris groans covering his face with a large hand. His next words come out a little muffled. “I am so sorry. Just ignore me. I have a horrible hangover, I promise I’m not usually this much of a disaster.”

Sebastian laughs, equally charmed by Chris’s helpless chattering as he is by the blush coloring his cheeks, just visible above the line of Chris’s well-groomed beard.

“You’re fine, I’m not easily offended,” he assures him, stepping aside to let Chris into the hallway. “I can take a lot.”

Oh.

This time, it’s Sebastian’s turn to wince at his choice of words, but when he tentatively glances back at his visitor to see if he noticed, he stills. The look on Chris’s face instantly makes him forget all about feeling embarrassed.

Still standing by the door, melting snow forming puddles around his feet, Chris is watching him intently. There’s something curious in his gaze, something sharp and searching.

It makes Sebastian’s breath catch in his throat. He swallows, resisting the impulse to avert his gaze, play it off as a joke. Instead, he makes himself stare right back. Lets the tension build, lets it simmer and crackle as it stretches out between them, growing stronger with every second they spend looking at each other in heavy silence.

“That right?” Chris asks finally, his voice a low rumble that settles in Sebastian’s bones like smoldering embers. Chris takes a careful step forward, slowly, giving him every chance to back away.

Sebastian stays where he is. 

“Mmm,” he hums, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and biting down lightly, experimentally, on the soft, plump flesh. When Chris’s eyes flick down to his mouth instantly, homing in on it like an eagle on its prey, Sebastian decides to take a chance.

“Tell you what,” Sebastian says huskily, stepping closer under Chris’s dark, watchful gaze. “Why don’t you give me a tour and show me which bedroom used to be yours-” he comes to a halt right in front of Chris, looking up at him through his eyelashes, “and maybe you’ll find out just how much I can take, hm?”

For a moment, Sebastian holds his breath, praying he read this thing right and didn’t accidentally sexually harass a virtual stranger – but then Chris growls and surges forward, and Sebastian knows his gamble is about to pay off.

Big time.

Merry Christmas to me, Sebastian thinks wildly, just before Chris claims his mouth in a searing kiss. After that, he stops thinking altogether.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

[laddieseddiemunster]

Salutations :) I just found your page and it’s amazing! I was wondering how you’d think the lost boys would react to a vegetarian s/o? I’ve always wondered what cross road that would be like cause as much as I’d love to be a vampire (who wouldn’t?) I don’t know if I could bring myself to actually hurt someone? Even if I was starving lol

Thank you very much! This is a very interesting concept because it seems like the boys are able to eat human food if they wanted to, so they either alternate or they just had the Chinese food to seem human towards Michael. I feel like it probably was a struggle for the boys at first, but they got used to it. I’m doing this separately because I feel like they’d all act differently. I also did a vampire reader, so I guess they had their first kill but hated the feeling of taking innocents lives away so they went vegan vamp.

Hope you enjoy!

The Lost Boys x Vegetarian!Vampire!Reader

David

David would definitely be pretty surprised when you told him. To him, being able to feed is like heaven, so he couldn’t understand why you didn’t feel the same way he felt. It’d take some explaining on your part to make him understand. When you explained to him that you didn’t like hurting people, David kinda thought you were joking.

To David, killing innocent people doesn’t affect him at all. He treats it as something he has to do, and he’s gotten used to it. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt guilty for slaughtering one of his victims. When he first turned he was a little scared to make his first kill, but is David gonna admit to that? Of course not. He understands where you’re coming from, but what he doesn’t understand is why you completely refuse to kill again.

According to David, killing and being able to drink from a human is one of the best feelings he’s ever felt. For you to feel the complete opposite and be a vampire like he is, it’s a huge shock for him. Knowing David, he’d probably argue with you about it. He’s hella stubborn, and practically refuses to understand your point of view. Eventually, he sort of starts to understand.

It kind of magically clicked into his brain one day. David realized that you not only cared about his or your feelings, but you also cared about other people’s feelings. You could never hurt somebody, even if you didn’t know them. David wasn’t like that. He could kill someone and not care about it the next day. David felt pretty bad for arguing with you over the whole situation. He definitely wouldn’t pressure you to kill, or even get upset with you over it anymore.

Once David completely understood why you didn’t kill, blood would never be addressed again. He’d completely get rid of the bottle with his blood, so you wouldn’t be reminded of it. Every time David would go out to feed he’d clean himself off of all the leftover blood before coming home to you. The last thing he’d want is to smell like human remains while he’s around you. Any conversation about killing would be completely shut down by David. If it made you uncomfortable, then god forbid one of the boys from bringing it up. There’s no way David would change his eating habits. He’ll change some of his regular actions to make you feel comfortable, but there’s no way he’ll stop feeding on humans.

Dwayne

Dwayne was a little taken aback when you told him, but in a way he understood. When he turned he couldn’t imagine killing other people in order to survive. But it’s something he does every day now, and he wouldn’t go back and change it. He’s gotten used to it, and he enjoys the feeling he gets when he’s feeding. When you explained to Dwayne that you felt the exact opposite, he was at a loss for words at first.

Killing innocent people isn’t exactly a concern for Dwayne. The only living humans he refuses to kill are children. They’re lives have just started, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he killed a kid. Other than that, Dwayne doesn’t really care about his victim’s feelings when he’s ripping them apart. To Dwayne, it’s just a meal. He has to eat to survive, so he’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.

Dwayne did not know what to say when you told him. He just kind of went “oh.” He understood that a first time vampire would have trouble making kills, but you weren’t a first time vampire, you flat out refused to kill anyone. Dwayne would never pressure you to kill anyone, but he’d definitely wanna know why you were a vegetarian vampire. The only other vampires he knew were the boys and Max, and they definitely would never give up feeding off of humans.

When you explained the reason why you were a vegetarian vampire to Dwayne, his heart kinda melted. You were considered an evil killer, yet you denied the tradition because you cared for other people. Just that explanation made Dwayne consider you his innocent baby. It sorta made him wish he never became a vampire. You were willing to change your whole eating habits because you couldn’t take someone else’s life away. Dwayne had been doing it for decades, and it’s too late for him to quit.

Since Dwayne knew you weren’t any normal vampire, he didn’t want to do anything to make you feel uncomfortable or uneasy. Dwayne made sure to never talk about feeding around you, and he made sure none of the boys would bring it up either. He’d always make sure to go and feed either before he saw you, or when you were asleep (although that’s a little risky because you go to sleep right before the sun comes out). Dwayne would treat it as something normal, and he definitely wouldn’t pressure you to start feeding. If this made you happier, than Dwayne was happy.

Paul

Paul didn’t really understand when you told him. You were a vampire. How could you not like feeding? Paul thought feeding was great. He loves being a vampire, but you didn’t feel the same. Paul would be pretty confused. He doesn’t understand why you refuse to kill. Paul knows that every time he feeds he’s taking someone’s life, but that’s what comes with being a vampire. He doesn’t remember the last time he was scared to make a kill.

Paul still wouldn’t completely get it even after you explain it to him a couple times. He just thought you had just turned, and were scared to make your first kill. But, boy, he was wrong. You were full, and you were a vegetarian vampire. When you told Paul that he was like “huh?” He didn’t even know a vampire could be vegetarian. He didn’t understand that you were telling him the truth. He kinda thought you were making the whole being vegetarian thing up because you were scared to make a kill.

When Paul finally realized that you were telling the truth, he tried to explain to you that killing someone wasn’t that big of a deal. He explained to you that it can be scary for the first couple kills, but you’ll get used to it after a while. Since you kept trying to explain why you refused, the whole thing turned into an argument. Paul didn’t mean for that, he just didn’t understand that you weren’t refusing to kill because you were scared, you refused because you cared about human life.

It did click into Paul’s brain once he saw you getting flustered after explaining yourself over and over. He felt bad when he realized that you were not afraid, you just cared for others. Paul hates arguing with you especially when it’s because he didn’t understand your point. He quickly apologized and didn’t bring it up for the rest of the night. He did end up bringing it up again a couple days later because he wanted to know what exactly you ate instead of humans. Paul wanted to know all the information about it.

Paul definitely wouldn’t become a vegetarian vampire along with you, but he wouldn’t never talk about feeding around you ever again. He’d probably never bring up you being a vegetarian vampire again. As long as you were comfortable doing this, then Paul was fine with it. Paul would probably check on how you were feeling from time to time because he doesn’t know what not feeding could do to a vampire. Your body always felt fine, but that didn’t stop Paul from checking up on you.

Marko

Marko didn’t exactly understand what you meant when you told him that you weren’t a vampire that made kills. He definitely thought it was strange. Wouldn’t a vampire die if they didn’t feed off of humans? You were still alive, so obviously they wouldn’t die. When you explained why you didn’t kill, Marko just thought you were afraid to. The adrenaline Marko felt when he made kills was something he thought every vampire loved feeling. He was obviously wrong.

Marko didn’t exactly know how to treat the situation. He didn’t understand why you didn’t want to make kills, but he didn’t know how to ask without sounding like he was trying to argue with you. It ended up turning into an argument. Marko tried to understand, he really did, but he just couldn’t. He tried to reason with you by explaining that the feeling a vampire gets after making kills gets better after a while, but you still refused. Marko ended up apologizing because he didn’t want you to be mad at him forever.

The conversation ended up being brought up again by Marko. He loved you more than anything, but he still didn’t quite understand why you were a vampire that didn’t make kills. Marko loved to kill, even if that meant someone had to die in the end. He would never give that up in a million years, but you gave it up in a heartbeat. Marko started to understand when you told him that you didn’t like making other people suffer.

Just the fact that you hated the thought of hurting someone else made Marko realize how much different you two were. Marko felt pretty bad for trying to convince you that killing wasn’t all that bad. He knew that it was, but he’d been doing it for so long that he kind of forgot. Once Marko fully understand what you meant by being a vegetarian vampire, he was a little worried at first because he knew vampires weren’t made to eat regular food. You seemed to be okay, so he eventually stopped worrying.

There’s no way Marko would become a vegetarian vampire along with you, but he stopping bringing up feeding around you. If it made you uncomfortable, then there was no way Marko was gonna bring it up ever again. The only time he’d ever bring it up was when he absolutely had to. Like when he was about to go feed and he had no choice but to tell you where he was going. Other than that, it was never brought up. Marko treated you being a vegetarian as something normal. The last thing he’d want is for you to feel like you were weird or odd for not making kills.

[ready-to-obeyme]

[OM!] College!AU Zoom University Headcanons

For the 7 Demon Brothers + Solomon

Scenario: Headcanons about how you interact with the demon brothers online during online lectures via Zoom (an online video platform that universities have been using to teach classes) and their habits using it

Notes: gn!MC, Considering most universities (including mine) are all online AGAIN fall quarter and we’re going to be using Zoom forever……. i kinda wish i DID have online classes with the demon boys (and Solomon) 

--

Lucifer

Video off, mic off, no profile pic just the typical first and last name, so you don’t really talk to him but you do see his name pop up in the Zoom chat to ask clarification questions

Accidentally has his mic on sometimes

First time you interact with him is when you private message him “hey, I think your mic is still on” because everyone can hear his brothers arguing in the background

The mic is soon turned off and you get a response back “thanks. Sorry you had to hear all of that”

“Yeah no prob. How many brothers do you have anyways?”

“Too many.” 

Thus starts your relationship with him as zoom buddies, asking each other privately what the professor just said and some clarification questions

If you’re shy about asking stuff, he has no problems asking for you; never makes you feel dumb about your questions

first time you hear his voice during midterm season when the professor doesn’t see your messages (“you’d expect them to know how this all works by now” he messages you dryly) and he asks his question out loud before the professor can move on

(lowkey think he’s hot just from his voice) 

Then highkey finds out he’s hot when his video is accidentally on for a few seconds when he’s distracted with Asmo or Mammon in the background 

Bonus points if you tease him about it 

Shows up at office hours when the TA is late and you just talk to him, exchange emails and numbers ;) y’know for homework help

If you’re going to do group projects, he seeks you out first-- god forbid he’s stuck with someone who doesn’t do the work ONLINE

Mammon

Mic is ALWAYS accidentally on until the professor mutes him or tells him to mute himself 

“Oh, sorry prof!!! My b!!”

Private messages you on purpose to ask a clarification question because he doesn’t want to seem dumb asking it to everyone or to the professor

You wonder why he chose you but then you realize it’s because you had asked a question yourself earlier in the lecture or answered a question 

It becomes a recurring thing-- like EVERY lecture

If you’re not annoyed at him, then you might suggest that the two of you share a document for notes or tease him about just having you teach the lecture if he’s confused

“Actually, that sounds great!” he types to you before you could say jk “that’d help me a lot, thanks!!”

Smh why did you sign up for more work for yourself but oh well, he seems like a nice guy

Is also a very attractive guy, you realize, when you schedule a zoom meeting with him and actually see his face

Realizes why he keeps asking questions is because he plays card games on a split screen instead of paying attention to lecture (same tho)

Invites you to join him by private messaging you a link to join (and you do eventually when lectures gets boring)

Sometimes sends the invite link to the whole class by accident 

He admits he wouldn’t even attend lecture and would just watch the recording but you’re always there so he goes 

Which means you suppose you should keep going to lecture if anything to have him go as well 

Leviathan

Already the master of online classes tbh and has no problem with the format

Finds it kind of annoying when there’s technical difficulties, but he just quickly switches to a tab to watch anime 

Probably is just watching anime on another tab if the lecture gets boring or slow anyways

He’s always the first one to answer forum/discussion posts because he’s just very tech-savvy and good at replying to people

First interaction is probably him answering one of your questions on the discussion question and from then on after you start messaging him privately during lecture when you have a question you think he can help with

A little hesitant on helping you, but you’re also just really nice to him so he’s okay with helping you, I guess 

Give him your email? Why? So he can send you the book pdfs and previous practice tests of course, why else?? 

O-Oh, you want to add him on social media? Just to ask for homework questions right? Okay, yeah, sure! o////o 

If video is on, you see the reflection of anime in one of his mirrors and casually ask him which episode he’s on

Has never been so shook or attentive in his LIFE 

Satan

He is a godsend during every breakout room because he ACTUALLY TALKS instead of leaving you in a quiet room alone with three other strangers

You think you’re lowkey in love with him when he has no problems volunteering to present to the professor and putting his thoughts into words so eloquently

He also appreciate you talking during discussion too, and enjoys the conversations the two of you have while you’re not even sure the other blank profile pics are even there anymore 

He’s the one to suggest making a shared doc to share notes and study together-- the man is productive and efficient about this, what can I say?

Manages to convince you to go to office hours with him and meet up for studying hours and ooooh he’s hot 

He’s actually a very good study buddy, especially when he’s teaching you something you’re confused about, but also just good to study together with (when you’re not too busy staring at him) 

The only reason why you’re focused during class because he’d look disappointed at you if you weren’t-- that’s on you for caring about what he thinks, but he’s just so PUT TOGETHER how do you NOT look up to him?

Finds out that he’s actually just a mess like everyone else when his brothers come in during one of your study session and he says “excuse me,” mutes the mic and goes off screen; you can see some shadows in the back as satan shoves his brothers out of the room and manhandles them till they leave

Is kind of embarrassed he forgot to turn of video too but you just think it’s funny because you relate to the lack of privacy of online classes (and perhaps annoying siblings)

Asmodeus

How the hell does he look awake and lively at a 9am lecture class????

Is that make up??? Is he… wearing PANTS??? (you don’t remember the last time you put on actual pants)

The most functional-looking person in the entire zoom lecture, asides from the professor 

Has video on all the time-- because honestly why wouldn’t he? He actually looks good

Definitely not paying attention most of the time, and you see it on his face 

Messages you first when you actually wear something nice for once because you’re going to go to the supermarket afterwards

“Ooh, where’d you get that accessory??”

The two of you end up not paying attention AT ALL and instead just gush about each other’s outfits

Definitely is not afraid to ask for your social media so you can follow each other and ask for homework help I guess but MAINLY to talk to each other because online classes can get sooooo tedious 

Really really wants to be able to meet you in person someday when it’s safe (“we’d look so cute together!!!”) but settles for facetime or zoom meet-ups 

Really does not hesitate to make friends and make the best out of social situations despite remote format bless him 

The only time he doesn’t turn on video is after a night of drinking with his brothers (“it was mammon’s birthday” he types into the chat with you, “ugh i’m probably going to go lie down, let me know how lecture goes”)

Beelzebub

Always eating-- even if this wasn’t online, he’d also be the one to bring snacks-- his whole LUNCH to class to eat so this isn’t too surprising 

You think it’s hilarious when he actually brings his laptop or phone (whatever he’s using zoom with) to the kitchen and literally makes dinner during the lecture

Sometimes you watch his tiny video of him putting stuff into the oven than the lecture slides and you bet your entire class is doing that too 

Sometimes you ask him jokingly what he’s cooking and you’re surprised when he pauses and answers your question mid-dinner making

“Lasagna. You want some?” 

“Yeah send it over through mail bro”

You don’t actually know if he’s actually retaining any lecture information, but apparently he’s doing decent enough-- still, if you offer to share your notes, he’d be so grateful

“Where do you live?”

“Ldfjalskjd why are you going to send me food?” 

“Yeah. What’s your address? I’ll send you a box of cookies or something.” 

Basically he just does NOT care what the entire class sees him doing; he could be cooking, eating, working out-- he’s listening to the lecture out loud but he’s giving you a show (whether it’s a cooking show or a work out video depends on the time of day)

Belphegor

If the lectures are recorded, you’ll never see him, especially if the class is early in the morning LOL

If you do see him during lecture and video is on, he’s always in his pajamas or sleep clothes, a pillow in front of him 

During discussion, if video is required, he probably has a screenshot of himself awake as a profile picture so he can snooze away pretending like he’s actually there 

You definitely notice because he’s the first video to show up in your gallery and his video is like never moving HAHA

You finally message him when the TA splits you all into breakout rooms when you’re all supposed to be finding the answer or discussing something to be shared later

Kind of awkward at first because he’s like… asleep, but when he wakes up blearily, he does participate-- if only for your sake and for discussion points 

“Hey… wake me up if the TA or professor asks us any questions, will ya?” he says as he puts his head down and sleeps 

Since you and him are now officially breakout room buddies, you message him when you have a question and know that he’ll probably respond to you by the end of class because he actually knows the material despite sleeping through half of the class

Is actually very appreciative of you that you volunteer to speak on behalf of your breakout room if no one else does because that means HE doesn’t have to do it

Bonus:

Solomon

The one to make the groupchat/slack link and send it to everyone in the class so we could actually help each other in the class

Shares a link to a google folder with resources

Highkey more useful than a TA sometimes 

Super helpful, efficient, and charismatic… but suspiciously so

Like where did he get all these pdfs? Where did he get all these 100% test from previous years? And-- is that an answer key??? To what???

Video isn’t on ever, so you have no clue what he looks like… until you’re in the same discussion as him and he turns on his video for breakout rooms

He always, ALWAYS sits at the island in the kitchen and sips coffee whenever you have discussion with him 

Responds back to you almost immediately if you ask him questions during lecture (because honestly, why not-- he seems smart and has his life together) but if anyone messages him in the groupchat, surprisingly takes a while to reply… maybe he’s busy?

Anyhow you’re not gonna question it; you’re gonna pass this class and Solomon is carrying everyone to an A+

[blueprint-han]

sunset and vine ↠ hhj.

           ↳ just a random day with your husband and your son. Caution because you may melt from the fluff. ;-;

genre: marriage au ; fluff

⇥ warnings: none, if you don’t count the tooth rotting fluff I wrote, also not proofread so please excuse any errors.

wc: 1.5 K 🤡 (This.... this was supposed to be a blurb...)

⇥ disclaimer: this fiction does not aim to represent the activities of the real Hwang Hyunjin, nor does it represent JYPE in any form. Events are pure fiction. Also Sunoo here is only the name chosen for MC’s and Hyunjin’s child, it does not represent the member of Kpop group ENHYPEN. ♡

type: drabble

network tag: @stayverse​​ @districtninewriters​​ @inkidz​​ 

part of: the url drabble game; requested by @sunoo-luvs​​

↯ note: duhuewh i seriously don’t know why I named this sunset and vine especially when it has no similarity. But anyways, I hope you like it Zaara !! This was fun to write, and hehe I hope you like the little thing I did at the end. ;) Also forgive if this is shit. I tried :(( ⇥ dawn.☀️

The loud wail of your son’s cry erupted throughout the room, leaving your body tense as you rushed to the small, but cozy corner of the room. You’d only woken up a mere half an hour ago, having to pry yourself off your husband’s embrace as you started your daily routine.

You’d brushed your teeth, washed your face, started the coffee pot before going to water all the lush green plants that grew in your backyard. The backyard held quite a lot of close memories to you. You vividly remembered fighting with Hyunjin — your husband — to specifically choose a house that had a backyard, being enamoured with growing your own plants.

And of course, Hyunjin couldn’t deny you. Even if he wasn’t a fan of gardening, he couldn’t deny you the moment you gave him the soft expression and the pout™. The one that always rendered him soft from inside, one he could simply not resist.

So, when you heard the cry, it was pretty obvious Sunoo — your son — had either woken up because of a nightmare, or he was hungry. You hoped it was the latter, because your son tended to get particularly clingy when he woke up from a bad dream, plus you wished he wasn’t tormented with any bad memories. It was a trait he’d gotten from his father — Hyunjin tended to cuddle you extremely close when he woke up from a nightmare, which you honestly never minded.

The sound had stopped when you reached for the door handle, but you nevertheless, tiptoed slowly into the room, being oh-so-careful to not make a single sound, so as to wake up your husband or your son for that matter. 

Immediately, you were welcomed with the sound of sweet giggles. Hyunjin had most likely not noticed when you entered, because as you stood at the doorway; he was lying on his back on the mattress, Sunoo in his hands as he lifted him high up into the air as though he were an airplane.

In fact, you were sure Sunoo thought he was an airplane, because the child spread his tiny arms out, a beaming smile on his face — one of pure joy. The scene honestly made your heart swell, you found yourself frozen at the door as you watched the almost raw, honest interaction between the father and his son. His hair and his eyes were jet black, almost tiny crescents because of how wide he was smiling, mirroring his father’s expression.

The sunlight poured from the half open windows (you’d opened it in the morning to allow fresh air to circulate) made it seem as though the both of them glowed. Almost trapped in the moment, so much happiness painted in their expressions.

Overcome with sudden emotion, you smiled, walking over to the mattress before plopping down at the edge. 

“Sunoo, say good morning to mama~” Hyunjin said, noticing your entrance.

“Good morning” The little child said, or so you thought. You stretched your hand out, almost melting when his tiny hand wrapped around your finger, a coo leaving your lips as you rubbed his soft cheek with your other hand.

Looking at him with loving eyes, you asked “I heard a cry.”

“Yeah, I think he’s hungry.” Hyunjin yawned lowly, lifting Sunoo into your arms as he stretched his limbs out. His expression was dazed, as one’s usually would when they just woke up. “Good morning love,” He kissed your forehead after straightening up, and you smiled and mouthed the same in reply.

“Fine, I’ll go get him some breakfast, would you keep him distracted till then?” You murmured, though you knew Hyunjin wasn’t one to say no, especially to spend more time with his son. “Of course, love.” Hyunjin sighed, reaching out to tuck a soft strand of hair behind your ear. “You look gorgeous today.”

“Oh shut up, I haven’t even washed my face yet.” Typical Hyunjin, always the one to fluster you with so many compliments, even after so many years. And even after years of marriage, you still felt yourself get bashful over his tiny words of appreciation.

“And?” You giggled when Sunoo lied his head against your shoulder, yawning slightly as he murmured “Mama, mama” in his sleep. Hyunjin’s eyes drifted to his son’s suddenly sleepy form thrown over your shoulder, automatically reaching out to stroke his hair gently as he smiled. 

His eyes glistened in the sunlight, filled with nothing but pure love and pinch of contentment at the scene in front of him. You — both of you — were his true home. This was the place, the sight that made him feel most joyous, the place where he could truly let go and be himself. The both of you were his guiding compass, and Hyunjin was ever-the-grateful. He would always be so.

“You’re too much.” You rolled your eyes playfully; handing Sunoo to his dad before rushing to the kitchen to prepare his meal. Knowing your son (a little too well), it would take about two minutes before he remembered that he was hungry again. 

While you quickly mashed up the strawberries and filled water into his cup, your husband had taken Sunoo out into the garden, and you figured he was most likely distracting him with the sight of the freshly bloomed roses. It was a good thing, because Sunoo also loved flowers — again, a trait he picked up from his father. 

While he looked a lot like you, he’d adopted most of Hyunjin’s habits — you didn’t really know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. But it was adorable, especially when he’d give you a flower that seemed massive in his tiny hand, a small smile on his face paired with an innocent expression — or when he’d pat your head to wake you up on the occasional day he woke up earlier than you.

When you went out into the garden, Hyunjin and Sunoo were seated on the porch, and you almost laughed at how seriously they were examining a rose bud — almost like it held a treasure deeper within it. When you sat down next to him in silence, setting the tray of food at the side, Hyunjin glanced at you the whole time, eyeing you with a smirk pulled on his lips. He looked like he was admiring you, and honestly? You could get lost in his eyes, they sparkled as bright as the stars in a night sky, in a galaxy.

“What?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hyunjin simply poked at Sunoo’s arm, and immediately, your sun turned to his side, extending his tiny (yes, you were still not over the fact that Sunoo was adorably small, even if he was a child) hand with the rose bud clutched tightly, mouthing the words, “For you, mama~” but because of the fact that he didn’t know how to pronounce well yet, it came out as “Fow wou, mama” which in all honesty, just made you explode with emotion.

I swear to god, you thought. You and your father are going to be the death of me.

“Awe,” You cooed, gently taking the rosebud from his hand as you took a moment to examine it’s petals. Hyunjin always taught him little phrases of speech, though a little part of you melted with fuzziness every time Sunoo tired them out on you. “Thank you, little one.” You rubbed his cheek with the back of your index finger again, an action that led Sunoo to burst into a fit of giggles. He always loved it when you did that. 

“I love you.”

You didn’t address the statement to particularly any of them, because it was meant for both. At this point, you were the happiest. Being with your small family in your cozy abode, sharing moments like these that always filled you with overwhelming warmth — the tiniest of things always gave you happiness, ever since you stumbled upon the man who ended up being your husband.

At this point, you knew, all fell at place. You could never feel grateful enough to have a literal angel for a husband, and then Sunoo came into your life. You’d always remember those small moments that brought a smile to your face, be it because of your husband or your son, or when they collectively plotted something to lighten your mood when you were feeling down, or when they were simply there, happy and smiling, almost like an embrace of joy.

When you snapped out of your daze, Hyunjin had gently taken your hand in his own, looking at you with an intrigued look, as though questioning what you might be thinking of. You shook your head, running your thumb against the skin of his knuckles.

“I love you too,” Hyunjin said, looking down to Sunoo, who was basically gawking at the both of you wide-eyed and open-mouthed. He laughed, the look almost intoxicating. Taking your son’s hand, Hyunjin placed it on your palm, a small squawk of delight leaving the child’s lips.

“And Sunoo loves you too.”

↯ note: 🕯️ ignore me this is just a small prayer that tumblr doesn’t make me battle the tags yet again 🕯️ may the tumblr gods be in my favor at least this once ;-; 🕯️ ⇥ dawn.☀️