#only to be confronted with the fact that these people that i’ve been getting to know and be friends with

[maxdibert]

Everything you’re saying is nothing but assumptions and headcanons. You accuse Severus of going around using Dark Magic on people, and I’m telling you that when Lily confronts him, she doesn’t mention him using it—she mentions Mulciber. That Severus had an interest in Dark Magic and developed DEFENSIVE spells because he was an abused child is another matter entirely. Stop making up nonsense because no one buys into your cheap hater rhetoric.

James starts the fight, and Severus defends himself. If someone slaps me, I have every right to punch them back because they provoked me. Sorry if you don’t understand how things work, but the person who attacks first is the one at fault. You keep victim-blaming over and over again, and you’re worse than one of those guys who, in the face of a rape case, says, “Well, she must have done something to deserve it.” You’re spouting the same rhetoric as those people—it’s disgusting.

No, Remus and Sirius never said James kept attacking Snape because he was afraid Snape might retaliate. What nonsense are you even talking about? Seriously, stop smoking hallucinogens.

Lily didn’t cut ties with him solely because of that incident. It’s obvious their relationship had already been falling apart before that, and they had been drifting apart for a while. It’s clear Lily had distanced herself from him more and more due to the company he kept and the incompatibility with her own circle of friends. That moment was simply the breaking point. And it’s not the same to get along with a Gryffindor Muggle-born as it is to openly confront an entire house, as you’re suggesting, and ACTIVELY RENOUNCE that house’s ideology when you have to sleep in the same dorm as those people. As I said, you must be incredibly privileged to think that someone without social, economic, or familial support has the freedom to stand up to a majority that not only outnumbers them but also wields enormous social influence. I don’t know what world you live in, but it’s clear you’ve never opened a book on class dynamics in your life. You sound like some neoliberal capitalist idiot spouting the “if you try hard enough, you can” narrative. Don’t come at me with that garbage when I’ve been a Marxist activist since I was 15 and have been working with at-risk populations since I graduated.

If Severus were a girl and a guy hung her upside down, exposing her underwear in front of the whole school, would you still have the audacity to say it’s not sexual assault? Leave your disgusting double standards at the door. James humiliated him in front of the entire school because Sirius was bored and wanted some fun. It was two against one. And the fact that the spell was Severus’s means nothing—what, are you serious? If I carry a knife to protect myself from being raped, and the rapist takes it and holds it to my throat, is it my fault that I was assaulted? Do you understand how problematic your comments are when applied to real-life situations? If you genuinely think like this, you’re terrifying, and I hope you never have to work with children or teenagers because you’re incredibly irresponsible.

Many Slytherins could afford to remain neutral because their families were powerful, socially and economically, and no one would touch them. Severus wasn’t a Nott. Severus wasn’t a Greengrass. Severus was a working-class half-blood with no familial, economic, or social support, which made him easy prey—both for being indoctrinated into a cult and for being targeted by a couple of rich bullies.

You’re defending a rich, upper-class kid with no reason or trauma to justify his sociopathic and violent behavior, while demonizing a working-class child from a highly dysfunctional family environment who had no resources whatsoever. Maybe take a hard look at your disgusting classism and your bootlicking attitude toward elites—we’re in the 21st century. You’re like a typical worker who’s always sucking up to his boss. It’s revolting.

No James wasn’t the devil and snape wasn’t his innocent victim.

Lately I’ve seen Snape Stans insisting that snape only became a death eater because of James or Sirius or his father or anyone else they want to blame, and that snape was innocent before hogwarts and innocent in all of his choices. It’s clear in the books that this is not the case. In the flashback scenes which take place before hogwarts, snape intentionally attacks a muggle with magic and makes it clear to lily that he sees her as an exception to blood purity and other muggleborns because she’s different. When lily asks him if her blood status matters he hesitates before saying it doesn’t matter, this is because it does matter to him but he thinks that she is special enough anyway. Not to mention that snape began using slurs against muggleborns before saying it to lily in fifth year, which she reveals she knew about when he tried to apologise for it.

Snape also already knew more dark magic than most adults as an incoming first year, which is listed as one of the reasons that snape was so hated by James, as Sirius and Remus say that James was always against dark magic and blood purity. Snape was using dark magic as a student early on, lily mentions he and his friends using dark magic - even against another student which snape says was just a “joke”.

I cannot find it reasonable to hate James for hating snape when snape was using dark magic and slurs on other students and clearly well on the way to being a death eater even in the early years. James learnt he took things too far as he grew up and began to avoid snape not wanting to provoke a fight, and snape would seek him out to attack him causing James to defend himself (ootp). This is not the actions of an innocent boy and his devilish bully this is a rivalry with the tensions of the war looming over them.

Also, the idea that snape was abused by his muggle father, and therefore it’s somehow okay that he became a death eater, is essentially a headcanon and a weird one. The only mention of his parents in the books is that they argue with each other and that his father is a generally miserable person- but not abusive. The idea of snape being whipped by his father came from a website, not the books or the movies or even written by jkr herself - it is therefore not canon. It is also so weird for people to try and justify snape becoming the equivalent of a Nazi because his father abused him and he happened to be a muggle, when snape grew up in a muggle neighbourhood and would have had many other experiences with muggles that were not abusive. It’s just nonsense.

Furthermore, trying to justify snape being a death eater by saying he had no other choice because he was a slytherin is again nonsense. Not every slytherin became a death eater and most people were not involved in the war based on the size of the order of the phoenix and the original named death eaters. Snape was not forced to be a death eater simply by proximity, he could have chosen to remain close to lily or other people who were not involved in the war- but he did not. He chose to be a death eater for the power and freedom to use dark magic, and because he was a blood purist as a younger man even if he grew out of it later in life.

Overall, it’s just not true to claim that the actions of James or anyone else are the reason snape “turned out” the way he did. The rivalry with James did not make snape turn out how he did because he was already like that before he even met James.

Snape is a very grey character, in my opinion more dark than light, and trying to justify his terrible behaviour by blaming everyone else takes away from the depth of his character and is also just not accurate to the canon.

[hobisexually]

long winded rant in the tags coming that’s partly about weight but in a very unfiltered sad way so if that triggers you do Not read on

[catboywizard]

whelp.

[chaoticallyfluffy]

I’ve been forced into reading Danny phantom fanfics because I’m desperate for Billy Batson content and for some reason half the stuff on ao3 is crossover stuff so I guess I like Danny phantom now?? Kind of?? I haven’t watched it and I don’t plan on it but I really like the idea of it.

Anywho,

Billy has maintained a very delicate balance of half truths and lies of ommision over the years to protect his identity as a literal child. He uses facts he learned from his patrons and his interest and knowledge in history, specifically Ancient Greece, to convince people he’s ancient.

Then one day this ghost guy joins the league claiming to be incredibly old as well except he just goes around straight up lying about stuff, saying whatever the hell he feels like about the past if it’s convenient to him or just funny. Most of it contradicts with the story Billy has been delicately weaving over the years and he’s kind of panicking.

One day he confronts the ghost guy and is like “I know your not actually ancient but I’m not a snitch, how old are you?”

And Danny kind of feels bad about pretending to be ancient in front of someone who has literally been around since at least Ancient Greece and confesses that he’s 14. Captain Marvel stares at him for a few minutes before breaking out in a big grin and transforming into a 12 year old Billy. They instantly become inseparable.

You’d think that Billy would ask Danny to stop lying all the time because it’s gonna get them caught, but no, he thinks it’s hilarious. Now whenever Danny says something absurd or directly contradictory of the actual history that Billy told them, they’re just like “oh yeah both of those happened at the same time but all the scribes were at the same spot so no one wrote about the other one and it was lost to time” or “there was a time loop for a good few years back in good old Greece so a lot of weird things happened that just didn’t stick.” Or “that did happen but only ghosts could perceive it.” Or sometimes, if they absolutely cannot get away with any other explanation, “dang must have dreamt it!”

The league is hopelessly confused and 90% sure they’re being messed with but they have no proof and if they look at the history at least MOST of the stuff they say is true so there’s really no reason to doubt it when Danny claims he once fist fought the god of time while the entirety of Rome cheered for him and placed bets, especially when Billy nods sagely and says he remembers having to clean up the space time continuum after the fight and that he lost the modern equivalent of ten bucks in the bet (he still doesn’t lie, just doesn’t disagree with the blatant dishonesty. He honestly did have to clean up the space time continuum multiple times after Danny messes with time a bit too much thanks to Clockwork + shenanigans. They make bets all the time too lol)

I think the contrast between ‘never lies’ and ‘lies all the time for funsies’ with the same motivation of ‘do the funniest thing possible at all times’ can be extremely entertaining and interesting.

[sescoups]

favorite coworker - choi vernon

masterlist

word count: ~5.3k (i'm so sorry)

summary: vernon is your favorite. he just gets you. of course you can't resist him - not that you would ever want to.

a/n: this is definitely NOT proofread, and i'm sorry. idk i just have the fattest crush on vernon, honestly i can't be held accountable

18+, MDNI!!! warnings under the cut <3

warnings: oral (m. receiving), making out, creepy old man (he doesn't do anything, he's just a creep), mention of vomit, lmk if i missed anything! <3

“Wait so hang on, you mean to tell me you’ve never what..? Gone down on a guy?”

“Oh yell it out, why don’t you,” you groan, smacking your forehead into the counter. Thank fuck you just cleaned it.

Vernon is your coworker at the record store in the middle of the city. He’s super chill, does what he’s supposed to but doesn’t stress out or get pissy if you’re having a bad day and work slowly. He’s great. He’s just… a bit unaware of his surroundings, a lot of the time. You’re lucky only two people are in the store at the moment, or you would have simply passed away.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I just kinda can’t believe it? I mean, you’ve had sex for sure, right?”

“Yes, Vernon.” You roll your eyes and glare at an old man who is shamelessly looking you up and down. “I’ve had sex before. Just not a lot, I guess. And why is it so hard to believe?”

Had he been looking at your face, your raised eyebrow might have tipped him off to the fact that he should drop the topic and back off. Unfortunately, in typical Vernon fashion, he was doodling nonsense on a notepad, so he missed it completely.

“Well I mean, you’re hot,” he said before finally looking up at you. He started tapping his pen against the counter, leaning his weight on one hand against the counter. “You’re also pretty open about your life in general, so I just figured two plus two equals one, you know.”

“What the fu- Vernon. Think about what you just said.”

“Oh fuck. Yeah I deserved to fail math in high school.”

You burst into laughter at his words. This is exactly why you love Vernon, and why he’s your favorite coworker. You’re laughing so hard you barely manage to greet the new customer who just entered the store. Your coworker is smiling, satisfied with his ability to make you laugh.

The old man who is still eyeing you, now with extra focus on your boobs, comes up to the register just as you manage to sober up from your laughing fit. You clear your throat and turn to face him, giving him a tiny smile in the spirit of customer service. Apparently a mistake.

“Excuse me, sweetheart,” he starts, running his tongue over his front teeth in what you suspect is supposed to be a seduction attempt. “Would you mind maybe showing me some of the records you have in the back?”

The smile leaves your face immediately, and you’re about to absolutely emaciate him when Vernon cuts in to make sure you do not lose your job over some smarmy geezer.

“She cannot, sir. It’s store policy. Soz.”

You hold your snort in, but barely. The old man huffs and glares at the man next to you, crossing his arms over his chest. Honestly, you’re curious at this point. You’ve never seen Vernon handle confrontation - again, very chill dude - but you also know he is very protective over his friends.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” the old man says with an eye roll. “I was talking to the pretty young lady.”

His smile sends a shiver down your spine, and you take a deep breath. The old man watches your boobs rise and fall. Seriously, fuck this guy. You force the customer service smile back on your face because you actually really like and need this job, and decide this sack of shit isn’t worth it.

“He’s right, sir. It’s against store policy, and I’m currently on register duty. If there is a specific record you wish to see, we can look it up in the system.”

“I’ll keep looking for a while… in case you change your mind.”

The way he winks at you makes your blood boil, and it’s a wonder your teeth don’t crack from the pressure of your jaw. The man walks away, and so does Vernon. He can’t really kick the guy out unless he does something physical, so you don’t know what he’s trying to do. Soon, though, your confusion melts into amusement and glee as you watch your coworker follow the man around the store, loudly dissing his music taste whenever he picks up a record. He keeps walking just a little bit too close for comfort, and after about three minutes, the man gives up.

You take huge pleasure in the way the man skulks out, hands in his pockets and back hunched over as if he’s trying to get away from something - or someone. Returning to the register, Vernon grins to himself and resumes his doodling without a word. You shake your head in amazement before going to help the other two customers in the store.

The next time you’re working with Vernon, you have the closing shift. Usually only one person is supposed to stay back after closing and clean up, but you just received a large shipment of vinyls that need to be sorted and placed into protective sleeves, so the two of you are working overtime together.

It’s a pretty slow shift, and the two of you pass the time by playing music for one another and guessing the artist and the title. You’re much better at it than he is, but only because you’re good at memorizing things; he has a far more varied music taste than you, and would easily have won had he remembered more than two song names and five artists. As per the terms of the game, the loser has to go out to get the dinner you preordered from a restaurant down the street. It’s not far, but it’s raining, so you’re glad to be exempt.

While your colleague is gone, you close out the register and sweep the floor so you only have the vinyl sorting left after you’ve eaten. The break room smells like wet dog and Doritos, so you bring two chairs out together with the foldable table that you’re going to use to sort the vinyls. Since no one is in the store anyway, you can people watch through the windows while you eat.

Vernon comes back in just as you finish setting up, soaking wet from the pouring rain. You coo at him when he shivers, and he shoots you a playful glare. He ends up holding his glare for all of two seconds before a wide smile stretches across his face.

“I left an extra shirt here at some point, do you think it smells like teenage boy?”

You escape the break room with two plates and some utensils in hand, laughing at his question and probably unfortunate fate.

“Because of the proximity to the break room? Probably. That shit is unavoidable.”

He grimaces before taking his jacket off, hanging it on a hook behind the register. He disappears to change while you plate the food, humming to yourself. You try not to think about how he’s probably half naked right now, and turn your attention to the fact that he most likely will smell atrocious to keep your head on straight.

You do love Vernon. He’s a great coworker, obviously, and he’s a great friend too, but that’s not really the full extent of it. You’ve been battling your crush on him for months now, because it’s pretty clear that he isn’t interested in you. Besides, if you ever did date, things would get awkward at work if you broke up. No, he is one of those people who should stay firmly at arm’s length. Unfortunately.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a loud bang, making you jump a good foot in the air.

“What the fuck, Nonnie?”

“Sorry,” he grimaces, checking that the door he managed to fling directly into the wall hadn’t done any damage. “I tripped.”

“Only you, Vern,” you sigh. “Well, food is ready to go. Let’s eat!”

The meal, consisting of some kimchi jjigae, rice and side salad, passes by in relative silence. You occasionally hum in content, and Vernon often slurps his jjigae really loudly which prompts you to giggle. He always looks glad to have amused you, and you need to look away often in order to control your emotions.

“Dude,” he groans after his third serving, “I’m so fucking full.”

“I’m not the one who got an order for five people, genius,” you groan back, your own stomach feeling like a water balloon. “So good though.”

“So good,” he nods earnestly.

You can’t stand to look at him like this; you need something to do with your hands. So you stand up and stretch, which actually does help the food settle in your stomach a bit. Your hair, tied in a bun to avoid getting any food in it, comes down to release some of the pressure on your scalp, and then you feel ready to get started.

“Take all the time you need, man, but I’m gonna start on the first box. I want to get home before dawn, if I can.”

He flashes you a thumbs up and slumps against the table to enter into a food coma. You scoff at him and shake your head before clearing the dishes from the table. Thank God you have a dishwasher in the break room.

You bring out the first box and start sorting it, referencing the list you have as you go to take inventory. It’s repetitive work, but it’s kind of soothing, too. You do your best to make the plastic of the vinyl coverings crinkle as little as possible, wanting Vernon to rest for as long as he needs to. Three servings of kimchi jjigae would make anyone drowsy.

The first sign that he is still alive comes ten minutes later when he starts drumming a random rhythm on the table. You snort when you recognize the rhythm, pausing with a vinyl halfway into its covering.

“You can’t drum the melody to Dun Dun Dance, Vernon.”

“I can do whatever I want,” he protests weakly, cheek still pressed firmly against the table surface. “But nicely done. What about this one?” He drums out another rhythm, and now that you know it’s a melody he’s following, you recognize it quicker.

“That’s Candy by H.O.T.”

“Nice.”

“You gonna work or rest, bud?”

Vernon whines at your words and rolls his head to rest his forehead against the table instead. You wait patiently as he gathers the strength to sit up properly and kick a box of vinyls over to him when he seems more alive.

“Life isn’t fair,” he pouts, “I just did so much work eating all that food, and now I gotta do more?”

“It’s like that,” you agree absentmindedly, marking off a stack of vinyls on your list. “Can you turn on some music, please? The silence is creepy.”

He nods and connects his phone to the store speakers, choosing the playlist the two of you created together on a similar night of overtime. After that, the two of you slip into a rhythm together, unpacking vinyls, checking the list, and then putting them into a protective sleeve. It’s mostly silent aside from the music, and sometimes Vernon drums along to the beat on the table, but it’s comfortable. You kind of don’t mind spending a few hours like this.

When you’re two thirds through the stack of boxes, you both decide to take a break. Your saint of a colleague brews some coffee, and you hop onto the checkout counter to browse through your phone while your brain cells take a well-deserved rest.

“Bless you,” you say as you accept a mug full of coffee. “We’re making pretty good time today, eh?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, taking a sip and wincing at the scalding temperature. “We haven’t really been talking, so.”

“That jjigae really took you out, huh?”

“Oh yeah.”

You grin at him and blow gently over your coffee. It’s still too hot to drink, as evidenced by the steam rising from it, but the smell alone is kind of waking you up. Vernon grabs your attention by clearing his throat gently, and you turn to look at him. He’s fidgeting a bit with a pen left on the counter close to your thigh.

“I, uh… I wanted to say I’m sorry about that dude the other day. The creepy one. I probably should have kicked him out, but I didn’t know if I could…”

Your heart melted a little in your chest. It was obvious he had been carrying this around with him, mulling it over and worrying about it. About you. It was endearing, and dangerous for your heart. You bit your lip and placed your coffee mug on the counter next to you.

“It’s okay,” you say earnestly. “He sucked, and I was uncomfortable, but you still made him leave. I didn’t feel like I was in danger or anything, so don’t worry about it.”

“I just feel like it’s partially my fault, for kind of yelling about the fact that you’ve never sucked a dick before.” You’re incredibly grateful that you weren’t drinking coffee at that moment, because you definitely would have spat it out all over the floor. His bluntness never ceased to surprise you. It was unbearably adorable. “I should be more aware of my surroundings, especially when talking about something sensitive like that.”

“Well,” you start, pausing thoughtfully. “I don’t really think that man would have acted differently either way, to be honest with you. Men like that are just… like that. I also don’t really care who knows I’ve never given a blowjob before. It doesn’t matter, at the end of the day. I haven’t done it because I haven’t slept with anyone who’s dick I wanted to suck, and that’s all. I just wish I knew how sometimes, you know?”

He shuffles his weight around at your words, shifting from foot to foot. He’s still fumbling with the pen on the counter, but now his fingers are clumsier than usual. You glance up at his face only to find him staring into empty space in front of him. You figure you made him uncomfortable with your oversharing.

“Sorry. That was TMI.”

“No,” he answers quickly. “We share everything. I told you when I threw up on Seungkwan’s lap and cried because I felt bad, didn’t I?” You smile at the reminder and nod. He finally meets your eyes again. “I was just thinking, you know.”

“What about?”

Vernon’s mind is the most fascinating thing to you. The way he thinks is so out of the box and different, and so beautiful. He has shown you the lyrics he writes for his friend Jihoon sometimes, and they’re so poetic you find yourself turning them over in your mind for days afterward. And the best part about it is that he always answers you when you ask what’s going on inside his head. He grants you access to his thoughts and feelings, and it’s the greatest gift you’ve ever received.

“Well. I don’t know if this is going to come off as creepy or not,” he warns, “but I was thinking like… Maybe you should just get it over with.”

“Get what over with?” Your eyebrow rises as you ask the question, and his furrow in response.

“I just mean that you could know how to give a good blowjob, if you wanted to. You could just… pick someone to sleep with. And ask them to teach you. You know?”

“Nonnie,” you start, and your bewildered tone makes him shrink a little. “You really believe the best of people, don’t you?”

“Well- I mean yes, but I didn't mean you should just sleep with anyone. You could just pick someone you already know.”

His words give you pause. You have plenty of friends in possession of a penis, but the thought of sleeping with most of them feels kinda gross. The one exception is… Well, Vernon. And you sincerely doubt that he is offering himself up. So you do what you always do and make a joke to force your mind away from the thought of sucking on your friend’s dick until he cums for you.

“What, are you offering?”

“I mean, yeah,” he shrugs.

You stop breathing. He is actually, genuinely offering to teach you how to suck dick. More specifically, his dick. The one that has been the star of many of your more illicit fantasies. You want to say yes so badly, want to finally get the experience of being something more to him, but you also don’t want to get ahead of yourself. But…

The room is silent while you’re thinking. You feel his eyes on the side of your face, feel the way he’s cataloging every emotion that overtakes your features, and you swallow harshly. Your heart is beating out of your chest and your hands are shaking, and your brain is running a mile a minute with no end in sight.

Then Vernon places his hand on your thigh. His touch is warm but light, ready to pull away as soon as you want him to, but it’s enough to bring your soul back into your body and get a grasp on your thoughts and feelings. You bite your lower lip and breathe in deeply before letting it go. Yeah, you’re doing this.

“I uh, I’m going to need some guidance,” you say, and you almost miss the way your friend’s eyes widen at your words.

“O-Of course. And if you want to stop at any time, just like, tell me, yeah?”

You smile at the comfort his words bring you. “Yeah.”

There is silence once again, but this one is heavy with a different kind of tension. You both know what’s happening, but you don’t know what your next move should be. Technically, you should be working and saving any… other activities for your own free time, but you don’t think waiting is something you’re capable of at this point.

He is the one to make the first move, placing his half-empty mug on the counter and placing himself between your legs. His hands find a place on your waist, bunching the fabric of your shirt slightly. Sitting on the counter means you’re a little bit taller than he is, but you really don’t mind it. He holds your gaze for a few seconds before his left hand lifts to cup your face.

“Are you okay with kissing?” His voice is a bit deeper than normal, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t make heat pool between your legs. “I understand if not, but-”

You interrupt him with a gentle kiss. His lips are pillowy against yours, smooth and plump. You thank your past self for bullying him into using chapstick, because you can honestly say that this might be your favorite kiss ever.

Vernon’s hand moves from your jaw to rake through your hair, and you moan a little when his fingers catch a little in the back. He responds by stepping even closer to you and sliding his entire arm around your back, your chest pressing against his deliciously. The only thought going through your mind is the fact that you are kissing your favorite coworker, and how you really, really want to bury his cock in your throat.

He chases after you when you pull away slightly to catch your breath, and you don’t even mind that the oxygen deprivation is making you dizzy. You slump against him a little when he tugs on your hair again, and you move to return the favor. As soon as you pull on the hair at the back of his neck, he forces himself to pull away and gulp down some air.

His eyes are glazed over, his lips slick with a mix of your and his saliva, and his chest is rising and falling where it’s pressed against yours. It's painfully attractive. He rasps out a quiet groan and leans his forehead against yours. You love the feeling of his harsh breaths hitting your face and answer back with your own.

You feel like you’re in a bubble, because the world around you feels muted and time feels like it has stopped moving. You wouldn’t be surprised if the earth had stopped spinning.

“Sorry,” he breathes. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and inhales your scent. “I just really wanted to do that.”

“Stop apologizing,” you respond, bringing your hand onto his head to scratch at his scalp. “I liked it. Maybe a bit too much.”

Your words bring a whine out of Vernon, and he squeezes you tighter. You’re still on top of the counter, but you can feel his bulge against the inside of your thigh. It twitches against you every time you tug at the ends of his hair, and it makes you smile.

One of your hands snakes down and cups him through his jeans. He reacts strongly despite the thick material separating you. His willingness to show you how good you make him feel make you fall for him all over again. As if he wasn’t already perfect enough.

“Y/N,” he gulps when you move your hand against him, “we’re taking this at your pace, and I can go as slowly as you want to, but I think I might go insane if I don’t get these pants off.”

You giggle breathlessly as you pull away from him, and he forces himself to take a step back from you. You lean back on your hands, your knees still spread from where he was standing previously. He’s distracted for a few seconds before he finally remembers to unbutton his jeans and tugs them down his legs.

The bulge had been apparent through the jeans, but you can truly tell how hard he is when they come off. The way he twitches in his boxers is so obvious you almost feel bad for him. You decide it’s time you follow through and receive your lesson.

You hop off the counter and slide onto your knees in front of him. It’s unfair how attractive he is even from this angle, you think, and slide your hands up his thighs. You’ve given handjobs before, so it’s not exactly your first time touching a dick, but the goal is different now. This time, your hands are just the warmup and not the main event. You’re just hoping you can bring him some sort of pleasure in spite of your inexperience.

“Tell me how to start,” you whisper up at him. He blinks a few times at the sight of you before sucking in a deep breath.

“Yeah,” he rasps. His throat is already dry with anticipation. “I uh, I mean everyone is different when it comes to this stuff, so uh-”

“Just teach me what you like, Nonnie.” Your hands are massaging his thighs, nails digging into his skin every now and then. Whenever they do, you can feel him shudder.

“O-Oh, okay,” he breathes, sounding broken already. “I prefer skipping the handjob first, I guess. I really l-like the feeling of licking, especially at the tip, and uh-” He is becoming redder by the second. “One step at a time. Uhm, start by removing my boxers.”

You nod obediently and slide your hands up to his lower tummy, watching the expressions of pleasure as they take over his face. You assume you will never get to do this again, so you do your best to burn it all into your mind for later use on lonely nights spent with your vibrator. He shudders again when your nails scratch his skin lightly. Your fingers curl around the hem of his underwear and tug.

His cock is beautiful. It’s pretty long, curving slightly towards his stomach, and the tip of it is a perfect shade of peach. Your mouth waters at the thought of getting to taste it, and you eye the drop of precum spilling from the tip. You gently shuffle closer, but he stops you.

“Sorry, you’re fine, I just need something to lean against,” he explains when you look at him in fear of having done something wrong. He maneuvers you both so that he’s leaning against the counter you were sitting on not five minutes ago, and you’re in front of him.

“What now, Nonnie?” you ask, his eyes shutting and chest expanding to accommodate a deep breath.

“You should probably just uh, stroke me a few times first. Then uhm, then you can do whatever you want.” You blink at him a few times, trying to indicate that he’s supposed to be teaching you how to do this. For once, he gets the hint. “Like I said, I uh, like licking. When you take me in you just have to make sure not to like, bite me. Other than that, you can take it at your own speed and depth - for your comfort, of course, but I’m also not picky.”

You admire the flush decorating his cheeks and neck. He looks so good like this, towering over you and looking at you like you hold the answer to his ultimate pleasure. You try to convince yourself that you do, that you will be able to listen and follow his guidance well enough that this will feel good for him. You decide that you will.

Raising your right hand, you grip him tightly in your fist. It makes him suck in a breath, and you feel the muscles in his thighs tense up. You pump him a few times, going slow and using his precum as lube. It’s not enough, of course, but you will move on soon.

“Fuck…” he heaves, leaning back onto the counter even more. He looks into your eyes and swears again. “Please, sweetheart, as soon as you’re ready, I-I want-”

You cut him off by pressing your tongue against the head of his dick. The flavor is salty and a little bit bitter, but it tastes like heaven. Your eyes briefly slip closed as you continue kitten-licking at his slit, and he lets out a winy moan. You open your eyes and look at him, only to find him with his head tilted back to look at the ceiling.

“How is this?” you pause to ask, continuing before he’s had time to answer.

“Good, baby,” Vernon answers through his labored breathing. “So, so good. Keep going, you’re doing great.”

The praise bolsters your confidence, and you give a long lick from his base to his tip. The motion makes him moan again, so you repeat it a few more times. In no time at all, his cock is covered in a mixture of your saliva and his own precum. You decide it’s time to try and take him in your mouth - both because you’ve teased him enough, but you’re also too impatient to wait anymore.

His tip breaches the heat of your mouth , and you find you have to open your jaw quite a bit to accommodate him. A punched out groan leaves him, and one of his hands comes down to tangle in your hair. When a strand of it falls in front of your face, he gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail at the back of your head.

You love the weight of him on your tongue, and dare to sink down a bit lower. He hits the top of your mouth. You gag around him, and he gently pulls you off of him to check on you.

“You okay? You don’t have to keep going,” he reminds you. It only serves to make you more determined to make him cum down the back of your throat.

“What can I do better?” you ask while stroking him in your hand. You still want to improve.

“Honestly?” he wheezes, his hips jumping of their own accord. “You’re doing great.” You glare a bit at him, and he smiles down at you apologetically. “Sorry. But you are doing great. Maybe try sucking a bit more? Not just placing me in your mouth.”

You nod and sink right back down on him. His noises of pleasure are never-ending, and they only increase in volume as well as frequency once you properly suck around him. You bob up and down on him, his hand clenching in your hair as he’s doing his best not to fuck your throat. You’re making it pretty hard.

“Please, baby, I’m gonna fucking- Where do you want me to cum?”

His voice is hoarse and strained, and his grip on your hair has grown so tight it’s stinging your scalp. You savor the pain and rub your thighs together, mewling around him. You grip his ass and push deeper to signal for him to cum in your mouth, and it’s not a second too soon because he immediately spills his seed into you.

Vernon cums so much that some spills out onto your chin, but you diligently swallow what you can. He tries to keep his eyes on you, but his vision quite literally whites out as he reaches his high, so his eyes screw shut without his permission. You, on the other hand, couldn’t tear your gaze from him if you tried. He’s beautiful when he cums, his eyebrows scrunched in what almost looks like pain and his jaw slack in awe. His thighs tremble, and you’re glad he’s leaning against the counter so he doesn’t collapse onto the floor.

“Fuck, how are you so good at this,” he heaves out when his vision returns. You just smirk up at him, some of his cum still covering your chin and lips.

“I had a good teacher,” you tease back. Your voice is raspy after bobbing on his cock, and he finds it painfully attractive.

He notices the way you clench your thighs together and realizes you’re still on the floor. He’s quick to bend down and help you to your feet. As soon as you’re in front of him, he’s kissing you. He doesn’t care about the cum transferring from your chin to his, nor the fact that his softening dick is still out in the open; all he can think about is that he wants to pay you back for what you just did for him.

“Nonnie,” you breathe between kisses, and instead of pulling away it makes him kiss you harder, faster, deeper. He loves when you call him that. He reluctantly pulls away when you push gently against his chest, though. “We should finish the-”

“I need to eat you out, baby. Please, please let me.” His interruption surprises you, and so does his suggestion. He must see your confusion, because he quickly clears things up for you. “I want to, because I like you so much. I promise to ask you to be my girlfriend after this, but please, let me eat you out first.”

“Okay, but Nonnie-” you say, but he interrupts you with a passionate kiss as he mumbles thanks against your lips. “Nonnie.” He sighs and pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. He closes his eyes to stop himself from jumping you again, and you smile. “I’ll say yes right now. I want to be your girlfriend. Is that okay?”

He kisses you so deeply you lose track of where he starts and you end, but you’re just so glad to be kissing him again you probably couldn’t have figured it out anyway. You don’t talk much more that evening, and you definitely don’t get home before midnight, but at least you go home and fall into bed together. Maybe his inattentiveness was a blessing, after all.

masterlist

a/n: don't forget to like and reblog if you enjoyed this post! <3

[millysastroblog]

Random Astro Theory’s

🔭I have a theory that Saturn's influence on relationships doesn’t necessarily mean someone will marry later; in fact, it could indicate the opposite. In the charts of some people I know, I’ve observed that when Saturn is in Cancer aspecting Venus or in the 7th house, there tends to be a strong focus on long-term, serious relationships that can lead to marriage. These individuals prioritize stable, equal partnerships, and while they might be late bloomers, once the time is right, they are committed for real. This could also apply to someone with a Venus-Jupiter aspect in Cancer or Cancer in the 7th house, who might even experience family-arranged marriages or similar situations."

🔭Plutonic Synastry/Composite isn’t about love in the way we typically think of it—it’s about transformation through intensity. It's like entering a vortex that forces you to confront the deepest parts of yourself. This connection is a catalyst for deep inner work. You get caught in this whirlwind, feeling that intoxicating rush of what seems like love, but it’s really more of a temporary trap that pushes you to face everything you’ve been avoiding. It’s like a snake that slides unnoticed through your at first, suddenly strikes with a sharp, unexpected bite. The sting feels like betrayal—like you’ve been deceived or hurt, and the trust you once had is shattered. But that venom coursing through your veins? Its something that you needed, even if it feels like it’s killing you in the moment. The poison is your awakening, forcing you to face your deepest fears and wounds.The process is messy and painful. It’s like being in a pressure-cooked cocoon, where the heat of it all brings everything to the surface. All the things you didn’t want to deal with fear, trauma, insecurities come pouring out. But once it’s all released, you are left with a new self, one that’s been purged, cleansed, and rebuilt from the ashes. You come out stronger, more self-aware, and ready to take on the world, like a butterfly emerging from the cocoon. 🦋🦋🦋

🔭I feel like Gemini and Pisces are similar in the way they’re often disliked or called "flip-floppy" or "fake" due to how broad, diverse, and unrestricted their worlds are. For Gemini, ruled by the twins, they don’t just have one way of doing things; it’s always split into multiple opinions, perspectives, and options. Whether it’s the information they share, the people in their lives, or even their choices in food, clothes, or money, they will figure things out in different ways. It’s easy for them to get bored and restless if something doesn’t stimulate their mind or offer something new, which is why they can quickly drop things, change their minds, or shift their personalities. So, if a Gemini flips on you, it’s usually because they’re bored.

As for Pisces they often don’t know themselves fully they just know that their reality is more fantasy, where they can take different forms, shape-shift, and be whoever they want. Because of their vivid imagination and deep sensitivity, they easily adapt to their environment, people, or situations, but often only if it serves their so-called limerence or false reality. Once that illusion is cracked and no longer meets their expectations, they can easily disengage or withdraw."

🔭Venus conjunct Chiron is a placement that gives someone a pure heart and soul when it comes to relationships and connections. These individuals have a unique way of accepting, nurturing, and understanding others in a meaningful, deep way. They’ve been hurt and betrayed many times, often feeling inferior. Most of the time, they've gone through a difficult, painful phase in life, only to suddenly transform into something beautiful, like a swan emerging from the struggle. They are often misunderstood and incredibly adorable, yet carry an air of quiet strength. People with this placement tend to crave love but often feel unworthy of it, which can lead them to attract unbalanced or unequal relationships. Despite the hardship and challenges they face, they possess an incredible capacity for forgiveness and empathy for others. There's a special allure or charm they exude that effortlessly draws people in. Over time, their biggest lesson will be to learn to value themselves first, to feel whole without relying on external validation whether that’s money, beauty, or luxury so that they can attract the right kind of people into their lives. In doing so, they also teach others how to do the same.

🔭Chiron doesn’t necessarily mean that you will suffer in one specific area of life forever. Since Chiron orbits between Saturn and Uranus, it takes on qualities from both planets. Saturn is about longevity, hard work, and the lessons we learn through persistence. As such, Chiron's energy can be challenging, especially in the beginning. It brings harsh and painful lessons that are meant to help us grow as individuals. However, the pain and suffering tend to lessen over time as we gain wisdom, knowledge, and maturity traits associated with Saturn. If someone doesn’t reach a certain level of enlightenment or growth, the cycle can repeat in the same, difficult way, as Saturn teaches us that growth comes through effort and time. But just like in the example above, there’s the potential for a breakthrough with every Chiron placement. These breakthroughs can be sudden and drastic, unlocking an evolution in our consciousness and allowing us to integrate healing in this life.

🔭The Midheaven (MC) shows how people perceive you when they first meet you, not how they view you over time. The 10th house, which contains the MC, is the highest point in the birth chart. Initially, people will see the energy of your MC placement, but as they get to know you better, they can start to appreciate the traits of your 1st house, Ascendant, or Sun sign.

Example: I have Capricorn on my 10th house/MC, conjunct Mars, opposite Saturn.

The Comments: "You look mean, you have resting bitch face, you seem so closed off, I didn’t know you could be nice." These are some of the first impressions I hear when people describe how they first saw me. I also get a lot of comments about my body and face being beautiful, but despite that, people don’t tend to like me right away. And honestly, I kind of get why.

🔭The negative expression of Neptune can be described in just few words in correlation to the planets :

Absence , disillusionment, deception of…

Sun: your Dad

Moon: your Mum

Venus: your Man/Woman

Mercury: your Perception

Mars: your Power and Will

Jupiter: your Beliefs

Saturn: your Limitation

Uranus: your Freedom

Pluto: your Control and Obsession

ASC: one Self

MC: your Public image

~•Milliy•~

[no-144444]

Hello!!! First of all, I love your writings♡ Second of all, May I please request a fanfic of Paul Aron with reader who's like bestfriends with his sister and reader is like unsure of how to feel about Paul's crush on her cause yk hes got a bit of playboy vibes to him, but Paul's actually in love with her and can it lead to eventual smut?

I'll give you my first born for this fic 🙏💗

playboy- p.aron

summary: you've been weary about paul and his advances, a confrontation changes everything.

pairing: paul aron x reader

a/n: no need to give me your first born :)

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“Looking good, Y/n,” Paul winked at you. He was one smug bastard. 

You rolled your eyes, not giving him the time of day (for once), and his smirk dropped. 

“Getting sick of me?” he mused. 

“I’ve been sick of you for a while Paul, you just didn’t care before,” you scoffed. You weren’t sick of Paul, you never would be. You’d been… weary of his advances for years. Paul had more than a reputation. He was known for hooking up with girls and discarding them, the typical playboy you had avoided your whole life. You were getting a bit annoyed with the fact that he was still trying to get with you, even though you were his little sisters’ best friend, someone who wouldn’t leave his life if you two broke up. The worst part? You’d overheard him speaking with one of his friends. He was talking about what he wanted with you. 

“She’s so hot, you don’t understand. I’d do anything to get with her.”

And what else were you supposed to think? There’s no way he actually liked you for you, just for your body. 

He frowned. This wasn’t you. He was used to playful banter and flirty smiles. He was used to ending up with either a headache or heartache from being around you all night (usually heartache when he saw you going off with some other guy). He liked it that way. He liked that he had your attention, even when you didn’t want to give it to him. He liked that he annoyed you. A negative emotion is emotion all the same, and it meant you cared. He cared a lot. He wanted you, more than anyone, he wanted you. 

He grabbed your arm, holding you back from walking on with the group. “What’s up with you?” 

You pushed him off, trying to walk on, but he got a grip on your waist this time, and he was holding on tight. “What do you mean?” you asked. 

“You won’t talk to me, you barely look at me, and you’ve been in a mood all night,” he listed. “What’s wrong?”

“You should stop flirting with me,” you told him. “Some people aren’t into being used for sex and then discarded. Go find your casual hook-up with someone else-”

“Stop, what do you mean?” he questioned. 

“I heard you talking with Ollie. A-about me.”

His face drained of colour. “So then… you heard.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed. 

“And you don’t feel the same?”

You stared at him for a moment. “What do you mean?”

He stared back, equally confused. “What? You heard me saying what I said, yes?”

“I didn’t hear everything-” you admitted. He slapped a hand over his face. 

“Y/n I was telling them I was in love with you, that’s what I was doing!” he stressed. “And if you don’t feel the same that’s alright, I just-”

You stopped him, actually clapping a hand over his mouth. 

“Ouch,” he said, muffled. You ripped your hands off of him, apologies falling from your lips, he chuckled and took your hands, putting them by your sides, and wrapping his hands around your waist. “I’m fine,” he told you. “I-”

“I li-love-like you too!” you blurted out. He chuckled and gently pressed his lips to yours. It felt… right. He was soft and gentle, but there was no doubt in your mind that he wanted you. You pulled back. “This is a relationship, right?”

He nodded. 

“So no more flirting with random girls we meet, yeah?”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I only did that to get your attention.”

You rolled your eyes. “Such an idiot.” “Your idiot,” he smirked.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[endereies]

THOUGHT YOU WERE MINE - CS

No Nut November - Day 5

NNN Masterlist...

-➤ When Chris was finally ready for a relationship with you, it was too late

Your situation with Chris was complicated to say the least. You had been running around with his for the past few months, sneaking off during parties and events. You loved the risk between getting caught with someone who was only meant to be your best friend. But it never stayed that way.

At first you sought out Chris’ attention in the midst of a drunken decision, yet as time went on, you found yourself seeking his frame in the crowd as soon as you arrived. It was stupid, you were aware of that. Chris never did commitment, that he made clear. Countless conversations spiralled around the idea of you two and what you both wanted.

You had thought you could escape the pain of falling for someone you couldn’t have. As soon as your heart clenched when he complimented you, you knew it was over. That feeling only grew and even if in the moment you felt like the only girl he’d ever look at, it was a lie. It didn’t help that when you snuck off with him, it wasn’t always for sex. Occasionally you’d find his hand tangled in yours while the concrete steps lay below you. Sounds of the party called the pair of you back. You always ignored it.

He'd steal the odd kiss from you, in front of people and never batted an eye. The two of you would be dragged into the stage by the other to your favourite songs and you never care how you looked when you were with him.

Those moments made him question how he felt about you, seeing your vibrant smile as you danced with your friends. Or the way you’d laugh without a care in the world. Little did you know he was falling too. He hated it.

Chris was open about his commitment issues to you. He wasn’t someone who was immediately happy getting into a relationship, the whole idea intimidated him. Having a label felt too intimate for him, and after being hurt in a previous relationship it was easy to see why. The fact he was falling for you was already enough to throw him off course, he just couldn’t turn away.

The way you both felt wasn’t subtle. Your friends always giggled when they noticed the smudged makeup that was lining your lips. No matter how many times you denied the accusations of you two dating, the butterflies in your stomach became obvious.

That was until you confronted Chris about everything.

“Hey Chris...? Vulnerability filled you as soon as the words left your mouth. Quick glances around the room failed to aid you in finding anything else to converse about. His hand stilled from your hip, the touch burning your skin. “Mm? What’s up?”

You hadn’t even said anything to him, and you already felt sick in your stomach. Is this how every confession goes? “Can we talk…about us?”

“What about us Y/n?” You could tell he was getting concerned, yet not out of fear, but the fact he’d have to repeat himself again.

“I don’t want this anymore…like, I don’t know. I guess I don’t want to act like this is all casual anymore.” His touch on your hip no longer burned as it withdrew completely.

“I’ve told you, I’m not into that shit Y/n. We agreed on that, you knew. I’m not meant to be in a relationship, especially with you. That shit would hurt the both of us. We talked about this, end of.”

Tears brimmed at your eyes, and you felt so childish. He was right. You had discussed this more than once, the rules were clear. Weren’t rules meant to be broken. You couldn’t believe that you could be so stupid, the false hope from your friends fed into things that shouldn’t have been touched.

“Right…Well maybe I should go.” He didn’t protest, or even acknowledge you leave. Asking you to stay felt like too much to him, even if every cell argued with him.

The door shutting felt too real. You had actually left, this wasn’t a prank? Chris’s gaze was held on the door, praying you’d push it open and walk back through. You never did.

You quietly left through the front door and walked away from the porch, both your hands in your pockets. You were thankful for the dark sky, that way no one could see your tears. It was too quick, to reactive. It felt scripted hearing those words from him. ‘I’m not meant to be in a relationship, especially with you’

With you…

Maybe if you were someone else, he’d be more willing to hold your hand and call you his. He would always step in and call you ‘his girl’ when any other guy got a little to close to him. For once you wished it wasn’t a ploy. Chris never played you, never treated you badly, never gave you a reason to walk away. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much, he was too perfect.

Steady weeks went by with no contact from you. You never came over to his place anymore, invitations to parties remained unread. He didn’t care, he shouldn’t. What was this weird feeling in his chest.

It hurt seeing you so close and yet so far. Your contact was there, staring him in the face. Your face beaming in the profile picture wasn’t helping him. Chris felt out of place now. Without you by his side he had no one to kiss, no one to hold. He had no one to rant about his day to, no one to console when things got bad. His friends weren’t the same, he needed you. As much as he hated to admit it, all his thoughts revolved around you more than ever. Whenever he used to think about you, his heart clenched with resolute admiration towards you, now it felt sour. It was like a deep breathe wasn’t deep enough, distractions weren’t fulfilling enough.

He hated the feeling of falling for you, but the feeling of losing you was a nauseating sensation he wanted to scratch off his skin.

Not even alcohol could wipe the stain of you, nothing was working. He waited too long and fell comfortable to the casualness of your relationship. He was willing, willing to work through any fears if it meant getting you back.

Before he knew it, his front door was locked, and footsteps disappeared into the night. Stars began to light the sky above him. He found himself wondering if you were looking at them too, like you used to. The walk was only 15 minutes away but each second felt too long. he had waited too long. Now he hurt someone he cared about for his own selfishness.

When Chris turned the corner, his body stilled, and his stomach dropped to his feet. An unfamiliar car was parked outside your house, tilted against the concrete. Your hand placed gently into another’s as they pulled you from the car. You inched closer towards them, yet Chris remained frozen. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Who was he, why was he here, with you.

The voices were too meek for Chris to make out, yet the message was clear. It was evident when the distance between you two close, his lips softly touching yours.

Only then could Chris turn his eyes away, he felt betrayed without reason. Chris wasn’t ready and when he finally was, he pushed you away enough to move on.

Yet, he loved you first.

@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckerrss @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris @colorthecosmos444 @anabethinking @zay-sturns @anyaa2s @emilyfaith2003 @jassturn @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @sturniolosiphone @ribread03

© ENDEREIES 2024

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine you can fix him. No, really, you can.

Warnings: drama, angst and (explicit) smut; long post; some canon divergence…

***

You’ve been raised at court as part of Princess Helaena’s retinue. Due to your noble status, this isn’t different any other lady of your station might’ve expected.

You have grown close to the princess, and the two of you are very good friends—more like sisters, truthfully. Due to your similar nature, both of you found yourselves reading, sewing and dancing when possible.

But as you grew, you eventually found another companion to spend your time at court with. The second wayward son of King Viserys, Lord Aemond.

Here’s how all it began…

***

• (I) Broken infancy.

Right after the mess where the Queen confronted her stepdaughter about what had happened between Rhaenyra’s offspring and Aemond, you opt to go after him.

It’s dark. It’s late and you should be elsewhere, but you pay little mind to these rules. You find Aemond outdoors, sitting in the stairs as if he’s contemplating quietly the price paid for losing an eye.

You think you hear a sniff, but you’re not sure. You wait until silence is absolute before making yourself announced.

“L-Lord Prince.”

Aemond turns abruptly, completely out of guard. He hates the vulnerability, but before he can come out with a snark response, you step forward and say:

“I do not mean to intrude. But… may I offer you company?”

The boy looks at you with distrust.

“What are your business here, Lady Y/LN? You should be with my sister.”

“I was worried about you…”

“I don’t need your pity”, and saying so he spits out.

“You don’t”, you agree calmly even if you’re shaken inside. “But everyone needs a friend.”

There is a small pause where you anxiously wait for him to give you some space. Eventually he does since there’s no one around.

“Well. Helaena doesn’t like many people, but here you are, the only one she actually spends time with”, mumbles Aemond.

You smile before taking a seat by his side.

“It appears so.”

Neither of you speak for a while. You know Aemond is still getting used to your company, so you speak nothing.

“I’m sorry”, you tell him.

The prince casts a look at this y/c haired lady of the house y/c dressed in the manner of the Hightower. Despite the remaining distrust in his eyes, you know he reads you.

What a process to forge a bond, and yet here you are.

“For what? You did nothing wrong.”

“No. But I lament for the loss you went through.”

“Well…”, and here he inclines his head towards the great shadow flying over the dark skies. “It was worth the dragon I reclaimed.”

“Like every Targaryen before you.”

Something about you said seems to knock his defenses down. However this isn’t something Aemond is prepared to admit. Yet.

***

• (II) Darkness & Light.

Aemond keeps an eye on you as much as you keep an eye on him. You’ve grown to a handsome woman, wearing gowns that reinforce your curves even though nothing in your actions deem other than innocence.

You and Helaena are almost twins. Could be so had you been birthed by Queen Alicent. Perhaps this is why Aegon looks down on you as much as he does to his sister-wife.

But the wayward, gloomy Prince, who at times opts to find his path towards his… whore, cannot divert away of you.

In fact, he is rather surprised to see you gravitating towards him just as he leaves the room.

“Y/N”, Aemond whispers your name, hands behind his back, not turning his head to welcome you… and because he hopes you don’t spot a slight, timid smirk that forms on his lips due to your presence.

“My dear Aem. Going to practice with Ser Criston again?”

You purposely link your arm to his, nudging his side playfully to tease him the way you know he doesn’t like.

But the prince can’t get rid of you, can he?

“Like always.”

“May I watch it?”

“If you want to.”

Aemond knows silence is not your best trait, something that he, in fact, appreciates.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been out of my sight again”, you muse, eyeing him closely.

He avoids your gaze, aware of what you talk about. But why does he feel a hint of shame knock his pride?

“Hum”, it’s all he says.

You sigh heavily. By how you breathe heavily, Aemond knows you are about to lose your temper.

“Don’t “hum” at me, Aemond Targaryen. You’ve been whoring again, haven’t you?”

To your surprise, he stops abruptly, turning at you in such a way that makes you blush. Aemond reads you, him too baffled when discovering you might actually have feelings for him.

How else would you feel so possessive towards me, Y/Nickname?

Today, your hair is tied in two perfectly braids. They are long enough to fall over your waist, Aemond notices. Your eyes are livid, he can tell the amount of repressed feelings that are behind the colour that paints them—and he is intrigued to know what these are.

You are chewing your bottom lip, a sign of nervousness—he never took you for an insecure person.

Are you afraid of losing me?

And then there’s something about the gown, green like always, that makes him want to rip it. He can tell your breasts are tied… and he wants to release the pressure this gown is making on them. Suddenly, comes to his mind a scene where he is sucking your nipples, rubbing one with his thumb all the whilst using his tongue to play with the other.

Perhaps you’d like that, Y/N. To be treated well. Perhaps you’d be a better replacement than my whore.

Indecent thoughts that he cannot sweep off his mind, but that his mind plays a good effort to it because you are a good precious damsel who doesn’t serve to be part of his dark, sinful self.

And yet… what he sees in you is the light that blinds him. Another sight he cannot lose. So he does what’s best of him to do: push people away.

“How does this concern you, Lady Y/N? You’ve been a good friend, but you are nothing more to me.”

Words that shouldn’t have come out this way. But they do. When seeing the hurt in your eyes, Aemond knows the weight of his lies. Suddenly, he realizes he wishes he could be saved.

And you, as his savior, have been pushed away.

“I am not quitting on you”, you wear your prideful mask, which intrigues him. “Still going to watch your practice though. Besides, I was only asking… because of your mother.”

Aemond cannot amend the awkwardness, but his mind screams at him for not bothering in doing so.

“I know.”

So he turns his back on you. And to his consternation, you stay.

*

Whilst Aemond practices with his sword, you shut yourself in your world. Your eyes are carefully down whenever a courtier passes by—you detest to get the male attention, not when you wish for more on Aemond’s part.

But you little foolish thing, he doesn’t want you. The prince sees you as a friend, is all. An extension of Helaena.

You struggle with your tears as this thought occurs you, but perhaps this isn’t so bad, is it? Duty often sacrifices sentiments. Perhaps you should tell your sister, Queen to be, that you are ready to marry and then… stay away of him for good.

But the courage in this decision soon dissipates the moment you raise your eyes and find Aemond staring at you.

And you know you’ve been trapped.

***

• (III) Scars.

You are about to slip under your blankets when the door of your bedchambers are abruptly opened. You are frightened when hearing the sound due to your exposed state: your line nightgown poorly covers your nipples and you still have no time to throw robes to cover yourself when he stands before you.

Distressed, anguished. In who he really is. In one broken state you’ve only seen once.

You forget yourself when you run to hold Aemond Targaryen in your arms.

“My love”, you whisper, letting him sob. “My prince”.

You pull him to yourself, the only one Aemond trusts with his being. The only one he knows he can be himself, with his scars and open vices. He clings onto you, he digs his fingers onto your waist, letting him be guided to your bed before burying his head against your belly.

You can only imagine what had struck him like this. A feast of demons over his head, each fighting for his flesh. And yet you are here, battling against them.

When he finally stops sobbing, he looks up at him. You’ve never seen him so fragile, so famine for affection. And here you are. Providing what he needs.

“Tell me all”, you whisper.

“I do not want to. You’ll find a monster in me”, and yet he holds onto your hips, fearful you’d let go of him.

“You are not a monster, Aemond. You may have some vices, but you are a human being like anyone else”, you tell him gently. “Come here.”

Aemond obeys you, sitting in front of you.

“Let me tend you”, you whisper. “I’ll prepare your bath.”

“Y/Nickname…”, he holds your wrist firmly.

“I won’t leave you. I won’t abandon you”, you assure him. “Do you trust in me?”

Aemond nods his head.

“My boy, then let me bath you. Besides”, and here you dress your best smile. “You smell like old dragon.”

Finally something that pulls out a smile of him. As he sits there, you are quick to fetch servants to prepare him a good bath. When you go back at him, Aemond gives you that intense look which gives you shivers.

And wets you in between your legs too.

But this isn’t the moment nor the time.

“Come. It’s ready.”

You lean against the wall of the privy quarters as Aemond starts to undress. Even though he is damaged for what he’s done, he likes to feel the weight of your gaze on him. And he smirks when he stands nude before you.

“I don’t think you’ve seen me like this”, he muses.

You don’t look away when he says so. Aemond feels a heat growing inside him.

“No, I don’t. Not physically anyway”, you point out.

“Don’t look away”, he asks.

You dare to scan his body with your discreet gaze, eyeing his well build muscles, attentive to his scars and… his manhood, which is now erected. And quickly you look away, blushing, as he chuckles.

“You’ve never seen one up before, my lady?”, he asks, sliding into the tub.

You gently knee behind him and get to rub his back with a sponge.

“Do not take me to your whore, Aemond”, you snap at him.

The prince smiles at it. He lets you clean him before he dives into the water. When coming back to the surface, the prince is disappointed for not seeing you there.

A moment later, though, when he’s dressed in clean clothes, says Aemond with a subtle accusation tone:

“You left me there for one moment…”

“You surely can handle yourself as you finished you bath. I am only your friend, wasn’t that what you called me?”

Aemond sighs.

“Y/Nickname, I shouldn’t have said that.”

He comes at you and rests his arms around your waist, his chin on your shoulder. When you side look at him, you spot that old fragility rarely seen.

It’s what melts you down.

“Very well. Come here. Let me tend you”, and now back to your bed, you and him lace your fingers together, his head in between your breasts. “What did you do, Aemond?”

You stroke his hair with your loose hand, aware that he’d done something bad. But where others see him ruthless, you see a broken boy trying to find his worth in this misadjusted world.

“I…”, his embargoed voice has your attention.

“Yes?”, you lift his chin, now cupping his face; removing his eyepatch, you gently force him to look at you.

And here comes a tear.

“I killed him. But I didn’t mean to.”

“Who?”

But you know the answer.

“…Lucerys.”

Old wounds that never close… bleed endlessly. You sigh heavily, but rest your forehead against his.

“You shouldn’t have done that, my dear”, you speak softly.

“I understand.”

“But I won’t abandon you, you know that, do you?”, you hope to transmit him that, regardless of this sinful secret he shared with you, together you two are stronger.

“You are the only one who knows my weakness”, he buries his head against your neck, needy of you, weak and feeble. Fragile. “Do not dare to leave me.”

“You have always been sacred to me to be profaned now, Aemond”, you whisper.

He leans his body close to yours, transfixed by your irradiating beauty… and your unending loyalty.

The prince touches your face and you tilt your head, letting his slander fingers brush over your face and then going down to your neck. You partly wish that he goes below… a perception he sees evident in your eyes.

Aemond knows he’s as vulnerable as you. And yet his hand moves to your collarbone, unlacing your nightgown.

“So beautiful. You look as if I can be redeemed.”

“You can”, you lean closer, not minding how purposely your breasts slip out of the line. Your eyes remain locked with his all the whilst you take his face with your hands. “You can be redeemed.”

Aemond waits no further: his dragon fire awakes and he is about to burn you. You welcome his hungry lips thus, sighing in content as he crawls over your body, ripping impatiently your gown, promptly reclaiming you the same way he did Vhagar.

You subdue easily to him, letting him have his way to you. That his lips make his kiss ache every part of you gets a moan out of you, which in turn makes Aemond smirk.

You are mine and mine alone. I possess you, I take you as who you are, my lady Y/N.

Such are his thoughts, which you need naught to have the ability to read them; for they are readable in his tight grip of you, in how his tongue dominates yours along with his body.

Trapped under his dominance, you are found breathless and a puddle of mess when he parts the kiss to let slid his tongue over your jawline and neck, his fingers now pulling your hair gently, tangled in your curls.

Then he stops what he’s doing to contemplate your state under candlelight. And here he smirks.

“Divine you are, my lady. How can a man like me be worthy of a woman like you?”

You sensually lift your legs to pull him by his hips as you adjust your body so his can mould better in it. You like the lust in his eyes, one of the kind that doesn’t conceal his vices nor his virtues… one that shows his genuine feelings to you.

“You deserve all the love in the world, my dear Aemond. Let me heal you”, you stroke his cheeks, smiling gently.

“A flower soon to be deflowered by a rogue”, he sneers under his breath, but there’s no despise in his eyes, only the same old scars.

“I am your woman”, you tell him, and he’s surprised to find in you the same possessiveness there is in him. “I am not any flower, though.”

Aemond smirks. Whatever insecurities laid behind his good eye, now they are no more.

“You shall be more than that, darling”, he brushes his lips against yours, biting your bottom lip not long after. “My consort, mother of my heirs.”

As if to assure you he means every word, he not only kisses your neck and gets a few moans out of you, but leaves some bruises there. You’ve been marked.

Aemond, however, cannot take out of his thought the idea of corrupting you. Though it flings him with some guilt, the way your legs are wrapped around him, your bodies so perfectly moulded that leaves no doubt that it is hardly sinful what’s to be done.

You may spot some of it, so to assure him there’s no question of the legitimacy of the deed, you put yourself under him properly so he looks down at you… and yet your hand takes hold of his erect manhood.

“Y/N!”, he gasps in surprise.

You give him a malicious smirk at the same time there is nothing to encounter in your gaze that is not innocence itself. Inexperience you may be, but you have ears that long heard of maids doing so with their partners.

But to feel his cock responding well to your moves is a positive indicator that you are doing it well.

“My lady!”, he wants to stop you, but fuck it it’s so damn good. Aemond rolls his eye, almost falling over you. “You should not…”

“I want you”, you whisper in the back of his ear as you caress his face and hair with your free hand. “Carnally, emotionally, all that is between. I want my prince Aemond Targaryen the way he really is.”

It’s enough to wipe out any reasonable thought he may have in regarding preserving you of such naughtiness. Aemond lets out the repressed lust for you, his sentiments towards his lady—of the kind only his whore knew about—, and bloody seven hells… you know how to make him feel good!

All the whilst you enjoy feeling his precum getting your hand soaked, and twirling your thumb around the tip like he instructs you to—the very fact he’s the one teaching you also arouses him quite.

“Fuck”, and he growls against your skin, burying himself into your breasts, biting your nipples and sucking each ardently with the devotion of a lover.

So you too welcome a different sensation of bliss, a pleasure never before felt, hitting on your in waves of heat that get your body out of control. It does “worsen”, though, the moment he does to you what you do to him.

Aemond captures the surprise that flashes behind your eyes when he finds you soaked to the core. And then… not deeming to waste his seed, he takes your hands and pins over your head.

As his thighs are over yours, you see this handsome man towering over you. His well build muscles, his handsome manhood…

“Do you like the view, Princess?” Aemond asks gently, though the way he looks at you there’s nothing innocent or gentle.

And he sees how your body reacts. Which only arouses him further.

“Yes”, you are almost breathless. “Please, do not make me beg.”

Aemond chuckles low, hands wrapping around your neck.

“Oh, but aren’t you begging already, my love?”

And then he releases the pressure by inserting another finger in your womanhood.

“Mm. You like that, do you not?”, Aemond groans as you deliberately give yourself to him, a complete mess. He likes the view, to know he ruined you too.

And then he bends over… only to slowly insert his manhood into you.

“Oh Gods!”

Aemond side smirks at you.

“It’s going to be a long night, Princess Y/N.”

And to seal his promise, he pursuits your lips in a passionate kiss.

***

• (IV) The Great Escape.

As you stand quietly in the royal chambers, you detect grey clouds rumbling in the sky. You furrow your eyebrows at the sight, perceiving it as a bad omen.

It’s when Helaena comes at you, so suddenly and silently that you are almost startled by her presence.

“I see the boy”, she whispers at you, the only one who understands her. “He will conquer all.”

“Do you mean any of your brothers?”, you ask in the same tone.

Helaena smiles quietly, though in her eyes you detect a mix of apprehension and concern. You know she hesitates, so you hope to transmit calmness.

“Laena, do not fear. I shall keep your secret with me”, and you point to your heart.

She looks at your hands before giving a look at the horizon. You give her time. Then she turns her head and says:

“He shall not be king until other dies”, another pause. “You should not be here when Aegon becomes king.”

You are more than aware that Aegon is not really fond of you.

“Is war coming, dear Laena?”, you ask.

“No”, and here she smiles. “Not for you nor Aemond.”

You have the decency to blush. You’d think your secret encounters with Aemond remained a secret, but didn’t you underestimate your closest friend?

“I…”

“Do not apologize. You’ve brought him the light out of him.”

And in her own way of saying thanks, Helaena rests her head against your shoulder. So suddenly the announce of storm is dissipated… and your fears, likewise.

*

But before this light prevails, it is yet the time to cross the dark. Therefore, you are not entirely surprised to find Aemond vulnerable again. It’s late night and he comes for you in seek of solace. The one kind he’s been refused by his family.

Aemond slides through the half open door, already suspicious in not finding your privy chambers completely close. Hearing voices, a fang of jealousy threatens to bring out his worse when he comes to find out you and Helaena have been spending time together.

It is a relief, somewhat one that makes him smirk, to seeing you getting along with his family. Not that he cares about it, but…

He waits until Helaena is gone to surprise you. You are wearing a pink gown with details in pink and are just untying your braid, completely unaware of his silent presence.

Aemond is reclining against the wall, watching you remove the courtly garments that you wear daily, noticing in your distracted face different expressions he is used to see in you.

“You look exhausted”, his voice comes out as a single whisper right as you are caught off guard and almost crying out as a result. “What’s wrong?”

“Aemond!”, you yell. “Are you out of your mind? Always like a rat, aren’t you?”

He chuckles at your reaction, moving to where you stand so he can have you all to himself. You melt instantly in his arms, but then quickly recompose when noticing that vulnerability only you spot on.

“Wait. What happened?”

“You didn’t answer my question”.

You know it’s pointless to argue with him so you shrug your shoulders and say:

“Just tired, is all.”

You don’t think wise to tell that lately you’ve been having strange morning sickness, so you motion to fetch yourselves some wine before getting at him.

“Now your turn.”

Aemond doesn’t buy your lie, though. But taking the wine offered, he opts to keep that in his mind for a moment later.

“I’ve met the Strong boys.”

“Oh.”

And here comes the thunder…

“What do you mean by “oh”? I’ve been teased out and about, Y/N”, says a very moody Aemond. “Jacaerys and Joffrey think they can have their way out?”

And here he comes to burst in tears. That broken boy hasn’t been healed nor taken care of. You put your glass aside and move to embrace him. Like a needy child, he comes for support which you give him without second thoughts.

“What happened then?”

“A fight was only prevented because of my mother. She welcomed Rhaenyra and her bastards here.”

You let him burst out his anger, silent and pained, as you hold him. In moments like this is when he undress the rogue mask he often wore to public; -and it’s here his fragility is seen, which leads to a more intimate moment.

“You don’t feel at peace here.”

“No”, Aemond admits. “Not here not anywhere. But I aim to reclaim Harrenhal.”

A stranger shiver crosses your spine and even the prince feels it. He looks up at you, quizzically so.

“What was that?”

“Oh, the shiver? You felt it too?”, you try to make a joke about it. “So tight you felt it as if it were you, uh?”

But Aemond is serious.

“I am not joking, Y/N.”

“I had a bad feeling about this. You know the stories of Harrenhal.”

Now the silver haired man chuckles.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Dragons could be a myth, and were treated as such before the Conquest by the Westerosi. And yet here they are”, you tell him firmly. “Stories contain a degree of truth. I did my homework.”

“I can tell.” And softening, he rises to cup your face and kiss your nose and lips. “I did not wish to distress you. But I cannot stay here any longer,Y/N.”

“Well…”, and you smile as you rest your forehead against his. “Let us runaway, Aemond. Together.”

“To where?”, Aemond isn’t sure about the idea, but this possibility does bring some relief to him.

“The Free Cities”, you decide. “You aren’t the first Targaryen who flees King’s Landing to locate somewhere there. Essos is one of those who traditionally welcomes these Valyrian kind.”

Aemond chuckles, pleasantly surprised by your wit.

“We need little convincing, don’t we?”

“It is what you need most, my beloved. Some peace of mind and spirit will do you well.”

So the plan is architected. And the promised consolation shall come.

*

Yet, night arises and with it, demons that come to dispute over royal flesh. Aemond is tormented by his nightmares. As he watches you sleep peacefully, he envies your serenity.

Part of him riots against the idea of being with you. Running away sounds coward-ish and the ilidic paradise is an idea fit for poets and story tellers.

Reclining against the wind, naked, he is vulnerable and to feel it only makes him feel irc about it.

It’s when you notice the bed getting colder. As you turn around, you see you are alone once again. You almost panic at the idea of him leaving you, but this is wiped out of your mind when seeing the state he is.

“Aemond”, you don’t mind the clothes. “Come to bed”, you rest your chin over his shoulder. Suddenly you notice how tall he is.

He tries to avoid your gaze, but it is difficult to ignore you when you recline your body, so warmt, against his. In a stark contrast of fire and cold, he is like an ice berg to you.

“Please”, you ask him.

Aemond turns at you at last and acquiesces with your request. Silently he follows you, but he doesn’t sleep straight away.

“You are worthy of love”, you tell him, cuddling him. “You cannot ignore the wounds that hurt you.”

“I fear I am incapable of healing”, Aemond whispers, a tear rolling down his cheek. “How can you conceive the idea of us together, Y/N?”

“You can be saved.”

He snorts, eyes closing as he slowly drifts to sleep under your tenderness.

“Maybe I do not want to be saved.”

“To be saved or to be redeemed. Is there any difference? Sleep my life. The night may be long and full of terrors, but light always comes to win over it.”

You’d think Aemond had fallen asleep as you take the blankets and cover yourselves, but as you too lie down, your hear him say:

“I love you, Y/N.”

You smile warmly because this is the first time he admits it out loud. Wiping away your happy tears, you lean to kiss his forehead.

“I love you too, Aemond Targaryen.”

*

Indeed, funny as it is, you are now officially part of the House Targaryen. Daeron and Helaena had been the only witnesses of the ceremony that made you officially Lord Aemond’s wife.

“Welcome to our family”, greets Daeron. “Just hope one does not notice the mess we are.”

“Oh, nothing too different of my own family, my lord.”

“Lord?”, Daeron scoffs. “We are family now, sister. There is little need to use formalities.”

Aemond smiles quietly when spotting a blush turning your cheeks into crimson. And speaking of informalities, Helaena welcomes you in her own way. To a general surprise, she in fact hugs you close before saying:

“Never forget. A king will come soon. To conquer all. The line must carry on.”

And then she takes Daeron away, leaving you baffled.

“What did she say?”, asks Aemond, curious.

“I’m afraid this time I didn’t understand what she meant, husband.”

“Well”, he shrugs his shoulders. “Not many of us do. Ready, my lady?”

You smile warmly and the sight makes Aemond content. Sun is rising in the horizon when he helps you mount old Vhagar.

And when she is ready to fly, you cling tight in your husband like a monkey.

“Oh my Gods!”

He laughs away. Never before he laughed so unpreocuppied, so carelessly, so free.

You know it. You feel it too. For when you look at him, you could tell how successfully you fixed him. Didn’t you?

***

• (V) Essos.

You may think you are brave for riding Vhagar, but braver so for mounting your husband. Now that you have enough trust to do so, you come to find out that is a lot better than in your wildest dreams.

“Oh Gods!”, and like any other day you are louder,a sound the servants are already used by now. “Aemond!”

It’s been three months since you and Aemond settled in Essos, and ever since the city not only welcomed you two properly like the royalty both of you are, but is also becoming the stage to Aemond’s ambitions—to which you turned a blind side to.

“So good, my wife!”, Aemond groans, pleased like always to see your boobs bouncing and how synced his body and yours are in one single move.

But domineering he is, so in a matter of seconds you are under his power again, a “victim” of his intense thrusts. And as he seeds you, it’s only then he comes to notice the changes of your body. Your breasts are bigger, you are curvier and your appetites… are different too.

As he collapses against your side, Aemond holds you close to him, though. Stroking your hair and helping to straighten it after messing you good, he smiles.

“I cannot believe myself when I recall the enormous quantity of years that took for us to get married.”

“You are slower than I’d assumed to be, husband”, you tease him, earning a few tickles.

“Life here isn’t as bad as it seems, though”, Aemond contemplates after kissing your forehead. “I think we can rebuild our life here in the manner of Westeros.”

You know there are certain ambitions that do not die, no matter the efforts in healing scars. It’s a side of his character that you’ve always accepted. Then you are reminded of Helaena’s prophecy and somehow you made your peace with it.

“Indeed, I…”

Oh no. Not that nauseous morning again! In a matter of seconds you are running to your privy quarters and throw all that you’ve ingested earlier the day… out.

When Aemond rushes after you, though, he doesn’t take too long to realize that an heir is coming. At last.

“My dearest wife”, he kneels after you. “Let me help you. The way you help me.”

For the first time in years he sees your vulnerability, your fragility. You try to conceal it, but he doesn’t allow you to shy away.

“Y/N… Do not be stubborn”, he helps you clean. “There is nothing wrong with it. Do you not realize what does this mean?”

When you give him a quizzical look, the prince chuckles.

“I cannot believe that I am the one to tell you… but you are carrying our child, my love.”

News that would come to change your lives…. But others too.

***

• Epilogue.

Three years later.

You are giving birth again—the price you pay for delighting yourself by engaging in marital affairs with your handsome prince—when news come from King’s Landing.

Aemond is holding baby Rhaella in his arms all the whilst watching his son, Aegon, practice sword ship. He’s very prideful over his eldest son taking so much after him where brain matters are concerned—and abilities too—, but the sweet temper is something the boy takes after you.

“See, Rhae? Your brother is going to protect you just fine”, Aemond smiles before kissing his daughter’s head.

She giggles, a sight he adores to behold, but every smile dies when a messenger dressed in green comes in.

“My lord Prince”, this young lad greets Aemond, sounding somewhat nervous.

“Who is this? Sent by mother, I presume.”

The lad delivers him an old parchment. When opening it carefully, the prince frowns.

“What does this mean?”

“There is war in Westeros, Ser. And King Aegon has summoned you.”

[astonmartingf]

ADORE YOU ; KR7

kimi raikkonen x mclaren driver!reader

. . . your relationship with kimi was always civil, not too close like friends, but not too far apart like strangers. somehow you got stuck in a situation leaving both of you confronting your feelings for each other.

amgf still one of the best things i wrote, ever. this is my baby, the time i spent making the radio graphics was all worth it, i love this so much ughh

death of a bachelor ; masterlist

Getting called in for a private meeting with the team principal is always worrying. Usually you’re called for one of two reasons, either you’ve done exceptionally well or if you’ve fucked up. With how things are looking up, you’re clearly called in because you’ve fucked up and one of the sponsors has found something to complain about.

You were used to it, sadly. And despite his constant reassurance, you know Fernando doesn’t have that much power to help you. Paired with his recent win in the driver’s championship you kept your mouth shut from the pressure held on you.

The last thing you want is to take away the spotlight from him, it was his win after all. Despite the number of news outlets questioning his position, and the ambiguity of it all with you in the center of controversy.

All because of some harmless photos with Kimi, one that caught him off guard. Not because he was unknowingly involved, but with the fact that he only knew then just how many people loathe you in the industry who are constantly waiting for you to fuck up.

Breathing out, you shake off the million thoughts running in your head. There’s no use overthinking what has been done, standing in front of the team principal’s door you brace yourself for the worst that could happen.

Thinking to yourself that maybe this is the end of it all, that maybe they’ve finally succeeded in leaving you without a seat for the next season. The worst that could happen is Renault pulling out your contract early, and you were preparing for the worst.

The person out of your equation is Kimi Raikkonen himself- the first person your eyes landed upon entering the room. Looking around your eyes scan the room, your teammate nowhere to be found. It’s just you, Kimi, and your team principal.

“Good Morning.” You’re voice curt and short as you feel the dry scratch at the back of your throat. Sitting beside Kimi you lean towards him whispering, “What are you doing here? Did McLaren form a complaint?”

Next to you, Kimi shrugs his shoulders equally unaware. “I was called in when I arrived earlier, I thought you were the one with the complaint.”

Brows raised, you let out a small sigh in disagreement, “I don’t think I’m in a position to complain, you on the other hand, God knows what people are saying.”

You don’t notice the frown forming on Kimi’s face, his brows furrowed in annoyance, “How are you empathizing with me right now? God knows how much worse you’re having it, and here you are worrying about me. I don’t care what they say about me, as long as they don’t involve you in it.” Kimi scoffs, watching the corners of your lips curl into a small smile.

“You must hate being involved with me that much.” Teasing him, Kimi shakes his head with his eyes rolling back.

A cough breaks your attention away from Kimi, reminding you that you’re here for a serious meeting with your team principal. Turning your head you see him with a big smile on his face.

Huh.

“Do you know why I called you here?” His voice reverberates in the room, leaving your throat dry. Your eyes widen, gulping before attempting to answer.

“No, you don’t have to answer.”

Pressing your lips, you shrink down back in your seat feeling the drops of sweat press against your team shirt. Your eyes widen, avoiding contact, you prepare yourself with the worst anticipating the next words out of his mouth.

“It’s all going well in fact that I’ve decided myself to let you continue with what you two are doing.”

An audible gasp left your lips, “But there’s nothing, we aren’t doing anything,” quickly defending yourself from your team principal’s accusations.

Bewildered, a loud cackle escapes his lips leaving you and Kimi in confusion, “That’s even better. Honestly, you don’t have to date each other, just continue what you’re doing.”

Kimi shakes his head, “Doing what exactly?”

“Listen, all you need to do is be seen in public. Think of it as a fake secret relationship. Just like you said, if there’s nothing going on with you two then there is no need to confirm it. Just to keep the sponsorships happy, and free publicity for both teams.”

You share a look with Kimi, gauging from his reaction he doesn’t seem to mind. Then again it’s not like anything is happening between you two, it’s like hitting multiple birds in one stone. You can keep being friends with Kimi, you keep your seat, and you keep the sponsors happy with the advertisement.

Clearing his throat, Kimi speaks up first, “You know if you don’t want to-”

“I don’t mind.” Giving him a small smile, you assure him of your consent, “I’d rather it be you than someone else, plus we get to hang out more often. Unless you don’t want to, then we don’t have to-”

“I’m okay if you’re okay with it.”

Clasping his hands your team principal is smiling over the moon, at least someone is happy with the situation,

“Well if you have no other questions, you’re free to leave Kimi.” Your team principal dismisses the Fin, leaving an uncomfortable taste in his mouth.

“Why? If you have something to say to Y/N you can say it to me as well. What are you going to scold her for? You should’ve been there to defend her against the comments, I won’t leave. Whatever you say to her, I will be here and listen.”

His sudden outburst caught you off guard, uncharacteristic for Kimi to go over his emotions like that. Though his outbursts are short it’s usually directed out of frustration, but this was out of nowhere. Your eyes dart back and forth Kimi and your team principal with conflicted feelings.

While you feel proud that Kimi defended you, on the other hand you grimace at the sight of your team principal, still and speechless.

“Well, you’re more than welcome to wait for Y/N outside but Fernando is coming along in a while- we’re having a team meeting for the next season.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll guide Kimi on the way out, you know in case he reads any of our world winning strategies.” Standing up swiftly, you pull Kimi’s arm, dragging him away from the office and out to the paddock.

It wasn’t until then you realized the awkward silence looming between you two. Looking up to his eyes, you stare at his blue ones, getting lost into the deep hues akin to a storm. In the silence, a mutual understanding was built.

And unbeknownst to you, it was the beginning of a deeper relationship with Kimi.

You were on your way to Maranello when the announcement of your transfer was released. Sinking in your seat you close your phone, thankful to be on a plane avoiding the constant ping and ringing of your phone.

It was a short-lived moment of relaxation, not long after the seat beside yours was occupied. Observing the person, your eyes squint at the sight of a familiar face.

"Kimi? I didn't know you were on your way to Italy as well."

Turning around, Kimi blinked slowly taking in your presence. "Was staying with me that bad that you need a different vacation?"

Scoffing at him, you shift in your seat facing his, "As much as I want more time for vacations unfortunately I'm going to Italy for work."

Kimi tilts his head, "Didn't know Renault moved to Italy. Are you going over factories?"

You still yourself, contemplating telling him the truth or getting away with a little lie. Not in the mood for conversation, you chose the latter.

"Something like that. They want me to check something personally. My manager arranged it for me so, I really don't have a say."

Kimi nods again leaving you to do your own things, something that you appreciate when you're with him. There's no need for small talk, it's always comfortable silence.

A few people you feel comfortable being with for long periods of time, it's either him or your teammate Alonso. Contrary to popular belief, there's no "feud" between the three of you– more on the two of them, you were somehow stuck in between their "rivalry" and just how the company milked the media for more coverage.

Truthfully faking a secret relationship with Kimi was one of the easiest things you had to do last year, purposefully being seen hanging out, going on "dates" and vacationing together without having to confirm anything, you were winning.

And the end of it all with you getting a seat with Ferrari. It was a whirlwind of emotions, not just for you but for your teammate Alonso who was poached to McLaren.

A secret you had to keep from Kimi while vacationing together. You did carry a smidge of guilt hiding him from his new teammate, but vacation meant time away from work and racing. And one thing you learned about Kimi is that he hates race talk at the dinner table.

You sit in silence catching the last hours of sleep. By the time you wake up, the plane has already landed. You feel the seatbelt around your waist, scouring the area you look for Kimi.

"You were asleep the whole flight, I put on your seatbelt for you." You blink your eyes, in an attempt to keep yourself awake.

"When did we land?" Your voice is croaky and dry, you squirm in your seat yawning and stretching.

A small smile can be seen from Kimi's face as he hands you bottled water. "We just landed, you want to go now or wait for a little while?"

A small pout forms your face as you unbuckle your seatbelt, grabbing the bottled water from his hands you take small sips feeling more awake by the minute.

"I want to go now, I want to change clothes before going to the factory." Grabbing you things you stand up leaving the plane with Kimi beside you.

"Is someone picking you up or do you want me to drive you to your hotel?" Kimi offers, putting his bags at the trunk of a Ferrari 599. The way his arms flex, as he pushes his weight, leaning upon the frame of the trunk.

You shake your head off your thoughts, "You don't have to, someone is picking me up. I guess I'll see you around then." Frankly, you booked a one-way ticket to Emilia-Romagna as soon as your break with Kimi was over.

Spending your vacation with Kimi was one of the best things you've done, but the longer you stayed inside the bubble that is Kimi Raikkonen, the more you realized your conflicting feelings towards him.

And that is something you're not prepared to confront yet.

Nonetheless it seems as though the universe has a way of bringing you together— it comes in the form of sitting beside each other on the plane ride, and now seeing him through the glass window in Ferrari's headquarters.

[waltricia]

Regardless of whether anyone actually reads this, I need to show appreciation for the writing, blocking, and editing of the last scene of 3x03, “Forces of Nature.”

Recently, I noticed that the LW line “this author is captivated” was very specifically placed over a shot of Colin and I knew it was intentionally done to convey the double meaning of the narration being about her and him.

Since then, I’ve realized that the same thing is happening throughout that entire LW narration. And it is fucking BRILLIANT.

So, first of all, this is the transcript of the narration:

“This author believes that all of man’s greatest inventions are nothing more than a distraction from what is most natural to us. Our instincts. The innate animal impulse that is inside even the most sophisticated of us. For when all is said and done, our nature will always win out. It seems Lord Debling’s instinct has led this man of nature to the most surprising pick of the season in Miss Penelope Featherington. Suffice it to say, this author is captivated. For in the battle between man and nature, it is quite clear that the battle is in fact between man and himself.”

Now I’m going to break it down with captioned stills so that you can see which words line up with which frames and I’ll explain what I believe it all means.

“This author” - When it’s first said, it’s on Pen. The second time it’s on Colin. I think there are several meanings here. Firstly, she’s Whistledown and she’s published. He will be, assuming he publishes his travel journals or whatever. Secondly, I think it highlights how they will be united, in the Whistledown storyline along with everything else. There’s a third meaning, but I’m going to get back to it later, once we get to the second use of “this author.”

This is the Innovations Ball, so on the surface, LW is speaking about man-made technology versus the natural world. But with the introduction of “man,” the shot immediately cuts to Colin, so the second layer of the narration is about him. All of Colin’s invented personality traits are a cover, hiding his true self- his sensitivity and his feelings for Pen. Obviously, this echoes what she wrote about him in 3x01, but it’s different. The context is the same, but this time, she’s not speaking directly about him, and really, she may very well not be thinking about him at all in writing it. After all, she still doesn’t know about his feelings for her. But we know. And the feeling of what she’s saying this time is less jarring; more, fittingly, natural. Because he’s starting to confront all of it as well.

In this shot, Colin has been walking across the room to get to Pen. There were people on his right, obstructing his view of her, but as LW says “natural,” Colin passes those people and, though we cannot yet see Pen, we can tell from Colin’s face that he finally clearly can. She is what is most natural to him.

He comes up to her and says that he has a question for her. The narration starts again. But on this shot, it’s only the one word, “our.” Aside from this just being romantic, I think it highlights that the narration is about both of them. But I also think that it’s not just about them. It feels to me as if, metaphorically, it’s written by both of them. Hence, my emphasis on the importance of “this author.”

We cut to our first close-up of Colin in this particular intimate sequence of close-ups. And we’re really in his perspective now, as he’s struggling to manage his feelings.

Again, he had been masking, trying to be like the other “sophisticated” gentlemen.

But a shift is occurring within him.

And this where I really hope there is at least one other person out there paying attention because all of the elements are coming together to tell us something incredible here. We have our beloved Julie Andrews delivering the line with a profound heaviness. We have Kris Bowers’ “Call Me Simon” coming to a close, sounding like a clock striking midnight. And we have the decisive sentiment of the words themselves. I'm convinced that the words “done” and “win out” being said on Pen speak to the finality of Colin’s feelings. If there was uncertainty before, it is gone now and there is no turning back. He is in love with Pen.

But before Colin can say anything else, Debling steps in and takes Pen away to dance.

Side note: Amazingly, I can back up my theory with this shot and another one of my theories:

I had said, when the trailer came out, that when true red shows up behind Colin, that indicates his love for Pen. This is the first time we see that happen.

But anyway, back to Whistledown…

Debling is the literal “man of nature,” while Colin is the metaphoric “man of nature.” Both have picked Pen.

We’ve finally come to the second “this author” and here’s the third thing I wanted to say about it: Possibly my favorite thing about this sequence, is that it acts as a vehicle for the representation of the Polin role reversal. From one end of the Whistledown narration to the other, Pen and Colin literally and metaphorically switch places, seamlessly. They exchange their physical places in the room. She’s the wallflower, then he’s the wallflower. She’s the author, then he’s the author. In a metaphorical sense, they’re both writing this Whistledown piece. This whole sequence serves to show us how Colin and Pen have really been equal this whole time. They’re just star-crossed. It’s like what Luke has been saying in interviews, Colin and Pen keep missing each other. They have brief moments where they eclipse each other and then they slip right past until the next time they orbit around to each other again.

Ok, here’s the final stretch, and it is a fucking fascinating maneuver:

The battle isn’t between Colin and Debling. In fact, Debling doesn’t signify at all here. I’d say there are actually three other battles being referenced: Colin and himself, Pen and herself, and Colin and Pen. The first “man” of that sentence is said on Colin, while “nature” is said on Pen. So in the battle between Colin and Pen- for there is a battle, as Cressida will mention in 3x04 when she says “Eros and Psyche, battling it out”, and also there will be more blatant battling in part 2- the real battles Colin and Pen are facing are the ones within themselves.

Of course I’ve already written about Colin’s battle with himself.

The reference to Pen’s battle with herself is particularly interesting to me. At first, I didn’t see it and I didn’t understand why that bit of the narration was spoken over the Pen and Debling dance instead of over Colin. Then I realized that the second “man” of that sentence is said directly on top of this shot where, again, it’s not about Debling; it’s her face we’re seeing. Then, Debling spins her and the “himself” is on Pen too. And I know I’m right about this because the shot was in the trailer and I watched it so many times. And I noticed that Sam Phillips is very specifically looking away from the camera in this moment. I figured it was because we had to know that the moment was about her. And I was right.

Pen’s journey is her reconciliation with herself. Colin and Pen really have the same inner battles. They both need to drop their masks. That’s why the mirror scene is going to be so important- it’s about exposing and embracing the bare parts of both of them. They are already equal and united. They just need to see it.

Ok that’s it. I’m done. I got it out. And I literally can’t add any more images to this post. To anyone who will have read this fuckin novel I just wrote, thanks for sticking around. These ballroom sequences are particularly difficult for the cast and crew to do, and there is obviously so much complexity in this one, so I feel like it should all be acknowledged. Someone has to acknowledge it, and if that has to be me, I will gladly continue using up my Friday afternoons to do so.

To the cast and crew, to the captain of the season 3 ship, Jess Brownell, to the director, Andrew Ahn, and writer, Eli Wilson Pelton, to everyone’s favorite choreographer/movement director, Jack Murphy, to Luke, Nic, and Julie fuckin Andrews, I see you and I love you. Please keep doing what you’re doing. It’s all worth it. ♥️

[kamaluhkhan]

all the love we had and lost

pairing: conrad fisher x fem!reader

summary: you come back to cousins beach after a few years away. conrad is not particularly happy that you're back - and you aren't particularly thrilled, either. too bad there's a history (chemistry?) neither of you can deny.

warnings: lots of plot + flashbacks. angst with fluff in betweem. slightly suggestive dialogue/situations but nothing more than the actual show, a guy being pushy about hooking up with reader but nothing happens, mention of injuries and blood throughout, hints of alcoholism, brief mention of dieting (reader is competitive swimmer and deals with certain pressures from that), reader gets her period, takes on too much responsibility and argues with her mother (aka eldest daughter syndrome)

tags: @stargirlsirius-recs, @ifilwtmfc, @qwertyb2577, @allnrsnz, @baconeggndcheez, @peanutbelley, @imogen-skye, @geekinthefuschiahair, @tvije,

a/n: thank you thank you thank you for so much love on my first conrad fic!! i'm so excited to share the rest of the series, so stay tuned :))

read part one here

the best friends of our childhoods are the loves of our lives, and they break our hearts in the worse ways. (fredrik backman)

now — summer, age 18

you throw in some extra sprinkles, along with a few more tablespoons of sugar. belly has a huge sweet tooth. it's the night before her birthday, and you're in the kitchen at the fisher's house baking her coconut confetti cupcakes. 

born on june 21st — the summer solstice — belly conklin is the definition of a summer child. she's summer, personified: sunshine, sweet tea, sand, and smiles. having missed so many birthday celebrations, you’re determined to make this year special.

you go to the fridge to grab some eggs, and when you close the door, you're startled by the person standing behind it.

"what are you doing here?" you ask, holding a hand to your chest and setting the carton of eggs on the counter. the joy you felt making birthday cupcakes for belly fades away, replaced with a tingling in your chest. you and conrad hadn’t spoken more than three sentences to each other, or even been in the same room alone, since that morning on the beach. as the distance between the two of you grew, so did your frustration at him. 

conrad raises his eyebrow at you. he reaches around you into the fridge and pulls out a beer. 

"i should be asking you that." 

"the oven at my house is broken and your mom said i could come over."

“i’ve heard that one before,” he mumbles as he leaves the kitchen. you almost can’t believe he brought it up, even if just in a passing, somewhat snarky remark. conrad probably thought you didn’t hear.

these past few weeks, conrad hasn't just been cold towards you — which was a relief as much as it was heart wrenching. he seems more closed off in general, more inclined to spend time with others who hadn't seen him grow up. in fact, you imagine he’s on his way to see nicole now. maybe with her, he can pretend everything is fine. but not with the people in this house, who knew him inside and out.

you would never admit it — if conrad wants to ignore you, you could ignore him just fine — but it was eating you up inside, and it took everything in you not to confront him, to comfort him about whatever he was going through. you’d have arguments when you were kids, but it was nothing a ring pop or tub of cherry jello couldn’t solve. this time is different; the wound is deeper, harder to heal.

you wanted the old conrad back: the sweet boy who cared for you and let you care for him in return. 

then — summer, age 14

belly was turning 12, and you wanted to surprise her with homemade cupcakes for breakfast. only, the oven at your house was broken, which meant your intention of baking her birthday treats would have fallen through, if not for susannah’s ever-present generosity. 

everyone else was out of the house — you even asked laurel and susannah to take belly shopping to not ruin the surprise. you were decorating the cupcakes when conrad walked in from the deck. his wet hair stuck to his forehead and he was wearing a rash guard, so he probably got back from surfing. he looked paler than usual, even after being in the sun for hours, but you didn’t think much of it at first.

“hey,” he greeted, sounding slightly out of breath. “what are you doing here?” 

“the oven at my house is broken, so your mom said i can come over to bake these for belly’s birthday tomorrow.” you gestured at the clumsily decorated treats. the cupcakes had bright pink frosting and rainbow sprinkles. you weren’t a professional by any means, but knew that belly would love them.

“but i’m sure she wouldn’t miss one or two, if you wanna try one,” you offered, smiling at conrad.

he smiled back, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “yeah. yeah, let’s do that. i’m just gonna get changed first.”

conrad walked past you, and that’s when you noticed him limping — along with a bloody gash just below his left knee.

you instantly dropped the spatula back into the half-empty frosting bowl.

“connie, what the hell happened?”

“i’m fine,” he answered. “i wiped out, got cut by the fin of my board.” conrad must have noticed your eyes widened with worry because he grabbed your wrist gently, thumb rubbing soothingly on your pulse point. he was bleeding out on the kitchen floor, and there he was, trying to make sure you were okay. 

“i’m fine,” he reassured. 

the blood dripping down his leg suggested otherwise. years ago conrad would faint at the sight of blood, and though he’d mostly outgrown that, you knew it still made him queasy. you imagined the pain definitely wasn’t making it easier. without another word, you pulled him into the bathroom and made him sit on the edge of the bathtub. you washed your hands then sat cross-legged in front of him.

“you here to fix me up, sweetheart?” he smirked as he watched you gather supplies from the cabinet underneath the sink, your brows furrowed in concentration.

“what?” you paused, almost laughing. until you saw his wound again, and you got back to work.

“it’s from the hunger games,” he explained. “when katniss finds peeta in the arena? and he’s all, like, injured.”

“well, he was definitely in worse shape than you,” you assured. “your cut’s not that deep, it just looks bad.”

“it doesn’t feel great, either.”

conrad exhaled sharply when you started applying pressure to his leg with a damp washcloth. you placed your other hand on his right knee.

“it’ll be fine, connie. i’ve got you. keep your eyes on me, okay?”

he looked down at you, wet hair framing his face as he offered a short nod. 

you gestured at him to take over, and your fingers brushed together when he grabbed the washcloth, but he never looked down. his eyes still followed you as you searched the bathroom for something to cover his wound.

a comfortable silence followed. the two of you used to spend hours talking, sure, but what you loved about spending time with conrad is that silence didn't bother him. you could each be in your own worlds while in the comfort of each other's company, and that was enough.

once the wound was cleaned and the bleeding slowed down, you placed a gauze pad over his cut before wrapping a cloth bandage around it.

“i’m pretty sure it’s ‘you here to finish me off, sweetheart?’,” you remembered.

conrad shook his head. “i’m pretty sure it’s not. i’ve read the book like, three times.”

you move to sit next to him on the edge of the tub.

“how sure are you, connie? because i’m pretty damn sure.”

conrad shrugged. “i’m pretty damn sure, too.” 

you rolled your eyes, but with a smile. “okay, fine. we’ll check. but, when you see how wrong you are, you have to come with me to see jaws 2.” it was playing at the local movie theatre during their weekly throwback thursday — you and belly had seen it advertised on your way home from getting ice cream. you had wanted to ask conrad, but couldn’t find the right time.

because you hadn’t meant it to be a date, but you also hadn’t not meant it to be. something changed about how you felt towards conrad that summer; or, maybe, you just figured out what was different about the love you felt towards him compared to everyone else. 

(yes, love. again, something you would never admit.)

you thought maybe — maybe he felt it too. there was something different in the way he teased you, laughed with you, looked at you when he thought you couldn’t notice.

you did notice. it happened so much that eventually you decided that either it was all in your head and he didn’t love you that way, or he was also scared of what would happen if he did. which, to be fair, was the position you were in. you were very scared of what would happen if you crossed that line.

“i’ll agree to that,” conrad said. “if you agree to having a picnic with me on the beach. if i have to face my fear of sharks, then you have to face your fear of angry seagulls stealing your food.”

a picnic on the beach. you wondered if this was conrad’s way of subtly asking you on a date. did he also want to cross that line, become something other than friends? he looked at you so eagerly, you hoped he did.

“fine.” you held out your hand. “but you have to protect me from angry seagulls.”

conrad smiled at you brightly as he grasped your hand. 

“always.” 

in the end, conrad lost the bet. the screening of jaws 2 was cancelled, so you rented it from the video store instead. you got his favourite movie snacks, and some of yours as well, and made sure the couch had the comfiest pillows and the warmest blanket. you felt butterflies just thinking about the two of you watching together, cuddling on the couch. 

when the time came though, your plans fell through. the playdates your siblings had lined up both cancelled. your mother had plans to meet a friend at the bar, and claimed she couldn't reschedule. by then your parents were divorced and your father was elsewhere with his new girlfriend, so it fell to you to babysit your siblings.

conrad came over anyway: he helped you make rice and lentils for dinner, convinced your brother to eat his vegetables, and let your sister paint his nails. the four of you watched night at the museum and ate all the junk food you had gotten, with you and conrad sitting on opposite ends of the couch, but stealing glances and shy smiles at each other. when your mother came home, a bit after midnight and a little tipsy, she got angry that you’d kept the twins up so late and cheated on the diet she had so carefully planned for you — to keep you in shape for swimming, she claimed. you rolled your eyes, and that made her angrier. without you saying anything, conrad took the twins upstairs to get ready for bed as you and your mother argued. by the time conrad walked back downstairs, your mother had gone into the living room for another drink and you were in tears. he asked if you were okay, and you told him to go home.

you never talked about that night again, and everything went back to the way it was: with neither of you crossing that line.

now

the only reason you let belly drag you to nicole’s party is because it’s her birthday. 

as soon as you enter the house, nicole and the other debutantes whisk belly away to a table filled with elaborate cakes. you can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by how elegant they look in comparison to the cupcakes you made her. 

"come on," taylor groans. "let's get a drink."

taylor grabs two beers and hands one to you. you gratefully accept. the two of you catch up for a bit, when suddenly jeremiah starts serenading belly in an outrageously funny musical number. you laugh along with them, until you catch a glimpse of conrad with nicole on the couch at the other end of the room. nicole is sitting in conrad's lap, and she leans over to whisper something in his ear before kissing his cheek. your entire body heats up.

conrad was right before: you were jealous. as frustrated as you were with him, you were even angrier at yourself for feeling that way. 

"i’m gonna go find the bathroom!” taylor says, practically shouting over the music. 

"okay!” you yell back. “i’m gonna go get another drink." 

you know all too well that it isn’t a good habit to get into, but you need something stronger if you’re going to survive this party. you examine the drink table, finally picking out some mediocre tequila. you take a shot, then another.

“tequila. my kind of girl.” someone declares, creeping up behind you. 

it’s a terrible pick up line, and you already have a feeling that the guy trying to flirt with you is some rich entitled asshole. 

but, the guy — liam — can hold a decent conversation, and he’s cute enough.

he’s no conrad, though. you take another shot when that thought crosses your mind, and force yourself to flirt with leo. liam. right, liam.

liam leans in close, pretends to listen to you, lets his gaze linger on the deep v-neck of your shirt. you’re so close, you can smell the alcohol on his breath. 

“five minutes,” you boast after he asks how long you can hold your breath underwater. somehow, the conversation veered towards your time as a competitive swimmer. you’re just the right amount of tipsy that your inhibitions start fading away.

“wow,” liam says. “i have to say, i’m glad you didn’t have that training camp this summer.”

you bat your eyelashes at him. “oh? why is that?” you lean closer, trailing a finger down his chest.

“because then i wouldn’t be able to do this.” 

liam kisses you then, and you kiss back. he slides his tongue in your mouth, runs his hands over your body. you feel nothing. it’s fine.

“let's go upstairs.”

liam’s grabbing your wrist before you have a chance to answer. as he tries to tug you up the stairs, your eyes meet conrad’s from across the room.

suddenly, you feel nauseous. you rip away from liam’s grip and place a hand on the wall next to you to steady yourself.

liam turns around sharply. “what is it?”

“i changed my mind, actually. let’s just hang out downstairs.”

liam grabs your wrist again, his grip tighter than before. “don’t be a tease.” 

this time, your voice comes out louder. “i just changed my mind. that doesn’t make me a tease.”

“don’t be a bitch, then,” he scoffs, and you’re this close to breaking this guy’s nose. “do you wanna fuck, or not?”

“i don’t,” you answer instantly, struggling to break free from his grip. 

“okay, whatever. we don’t have to go all the way, but we can still go upstairs, and have a good time.”

he manages to drag you up two steps as you strain against his iron grip, now almost cutting off your circulation. your heartbeat quickens and you feel dizzy. finally, you grab onto the railing for leverage, forcing liam to stop in his tracks.

“what is it now?” he groans.

“just stop, liam.”

“listen,” he starts, speaking to you almost mockingly, like you’re a naive little girl. “i know what girls want, so you don’t have to be shy. we’re going upstairs right now and —”

“liam, is it?” the rest of the party is in full motion, but here’s belly, giving liam one of the most intense death stares you’ve ever seen. belly, who if you cut open, would bleed sugar. “i’m gonna have to ask you to let go of my friend.”

“whatever,” liam answers, rolling his eyes. “if you don’t mind, we’re kinda in the middle of something.” he tries to move you forward, but you stand your ground.

jeremiah is also glaring at liam from the bottom of the stairs, his golden retriever personality long gone. “back off, man,” he warns.

“just mind your own business,” liam snaps.

“they said leave her alone,” steven asserts, walking over once he sees what’s happening. “and you don’t wanna mess with us, trust me.” he clenches his hand into a fist as if proving a point.

in other situations, you and belly have definitely teased steven for his tendency to act all tough, but right now, you couldn’t be more grateful.

“who the fuck are you? her bodyguards?” 

“just let her go,” belly orders. 

“i think she can speak for herself. she wants this, but if you’re jealous, you can join, too.” 

your stomach churns. liam leans in close to whisper in your ear. “maybe we’ll see if those 5 minutes come in handy when you’re sucking my —”

as soon as liam lets go of your wrist, his hand trailing downward, you shove him away and punch him in the nose before he can finish his sentence. you deliver a final blow to liam’s ego as he’s doubled over:

“what i want is for you to leave us the fuck alone. there are other people in this house who i’d rather hook up with. people who aren’t complete assholes with fancy cars to compensate for their tiny dick.”

the flirtatious smile falls from liam’s face, replaced with the kind of anger only rich entitled assholes have when they don’t get what they want — figures that he only gets the hint when it literally hits him right in the nose. he’s angry enough to deliver a punch right back to your face. 

you hear a crack upon impact, and pain radiates from your nose. you fall down the stairs, but belly manages to catch you before you hit the ground. she holds you as jeremiah and steven step in front. you hear them shouting at liam over the music, but their exact words don’t register.

you lick your lips, tasting blood. your ears are ringing, and the room is suddenly all fuzzy.

“i’ve got her.” conrad’s calm and measured voice cuts through the chaos. you feel a strong, familiar arm wrap around your waist. “go find cam — the rest of us have been drinking, but he can drive her home.”

somehow, you find yourself in a bathroom, sitting on the counter as conrad stands between your legs. he carefully examines your injury, but you notice how he avoids making eye contact. 

you feel your head spinning all over again. maybe it’s the alcohol, or the adrenaline, or the fact that the two of you haven’t been this close in a while — probably a dangerous mix of all three. 

“you here to fix me up, sweetheart?” the question slips past your lips before you could stop it.

conrad looks slightly amused, and he finally meets your gaze. “that’s not the line,” he deadpans. you know (from trying not to but ultimately not being able to pull your attention away from him all night) that he’s had a few drinks as well; it seems like the two of you ignore each other best when you’re sober.

but, still, he remembers. his comment earlier and his smile right now is all the confirmation you need: somewhere in the back of his mind, he replays memories of you. no matter how cold he acts towards you, he still cares.

he continues wiping the blood off your face. “how’s your hand?” he asks.

you flex your fingers, inspect your hand. “it’s been better,” you answer, though your knuckles are slightly aching. “worth it.”

“i guess all those years away made you a badass.”

all those years away. the reminder feels like a stab to the heart, but you wouldn’t let it burst the comfortable bubble you and conrad had somehow stumbled into. 

instead, you offer him a lopsided smile.

“oh, connie,” the nickname rolling off your tongue with ease. “i was always a badass.”

“yeah, yeah. but it’s different now. you’re different.” he pauses. you’re worried he’s going to say something else. 

but he doesn’t. instead, he asks, jokingly: “did you join a fight club or something?” 

you take that as a good sign: like you, he’s trying to preserve the playfulness between you before everything else seeps in and ruins it, before you’re brought back to the present, where you’re both heartbroken and not talking to each other. 

“you know the first rule of fight club —”

“don’t talk about fight club,” you finish together. 

conrad laughs, even though it’s not that funny. you laugh, too. 

a silence falls over you, one that’s not unfamiliar, but not entirely comfortable either. conrad holds the cloth against your nose to make sure the bleeding stopped. 

it seemed to be a strange pattern between you two — being there for each other when you bleed.

then — summer, age 12

it was the end of july when you got your first period. 

you had made lunch for your siblings and walked them to their day camp, when you suddenly felt an ache in your abdomen. that ache turned into a sharp pain by the time you got home, and you ran to the bathroom to confirm what you’d suspected. 

that afternoon, mr. conklin was taking all the kids to mini golf, but you weren’t feeling up for it. you texted belly about what happened and spent the rest of the day curled up in bed.

you didn’t hear him knock over the sound of the movie you were watching, but suddenly you saw conrad standing by your door, holding a bag from the candy shop. 

“jesus, connie, you scared me!” you exclaimed, pausing the movie. 

he smiled sheepishly and flopped down on the bed next to you. “belly told me you weren’t feeling well. here.” he handed you the bag. 

you opened the bag, grateful that conrad picked out your favourite treats. you take one and bite into it. your stomach growled — you hadn’t eaten earlier because you felt nauseous, but now you could eat that entire bag in one go.

“how was mini golf?” you asked, popping another treat into your mouth.

“it was awesome! i finally managed to get past that giant hippo and get a hole-in-one. i got the highest score.”

you frown, wishing you had been there. if anything, to beat conrad’s score. 

“don’t worry, we’ll go back another time,” conrad added. “you can beat me then.” sometimes, you swore conrad could read your mind. he then asked if you were feeling better.

“no. i got my period,” you huffed. “it sucks.”

“oh.” conrad adjusted his glasses, a sign that he felt awkward. “i’ve heard about those. they sound pretty brutal.”

“health class?”

“no. my mom, actually.”

health class wasn’t much help for you either, and neither was your mother. you were lucky enough to have susannah and laurel, who had explained everything to you and belly. 

“anyway, what are you watching?”

“the hunger games,” you answer. “i just finished the book.”

“cool.” 

conrad didn’t move — he actually leaned back against the pillows even more — so you figured he wanted to stay. you moved the laptop so it sat between the two of you and started playing the movie again.

“you know, it doesn’t seem fair that you miss out on having fun just because of your period,” conrad said as katniss finds peeta injured in the arena.

you frown, about to point out that he has no idea how painful cramps can be.

he lifted his hand up to stop you. “not that i can judge what you’re going through. i’m just saying when it’s this bad, instead of being alone, just text me, and i’ll be there.”

when the time came, he watched movies with you in bed. he brought you junk food and pain killers. he even biked to the store when you’d run out of pads.

he was there for you, just like he promised.

now

those moments from past summers now feel warm and sickly sweet, like popsicles melting in the sun — then again, that might just be the remnants of tequila flowing through your veins. you think about what happened earlier, how belly, jeremiah, and steven stepped in to protect you. how conrad is here with you now, taking care of you so tenderly even after you’ve ignored each for so long. it’s like nothing changed. but once you leave this bathroom and the alcohol leaves your system, it wouldn’t be the same. you feared you'd never get that magic back, and that weighed on your chest so much, you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“why’d you go for liam, anyway?” conrad asks, breaking you away from your thoughts. he removes the cloth from your nose so you can answer, and the bleeding seems to have finally stopped.

“you really wanna know?”

“yeah. liam’s an asshole. and you’re…” conrad places his hands on either side of your thighs, leaning close. “you.”

“i went for liam because….well, honestly, i didn’t care who it was, as long as they made me forget you,” you admit, because what did you have to lose. you probably have a broken nose, you definitely have blood on your shirt, and your time with conrad is running out. 

conrad’s eyes darken. his fingers start to play with the hem of your shorts. 

“did it work?” his voice is a whisper, but he’s so close that it’s crystal clear.

“no.”

it’s hard to determine who leans in first, but soon enough your lips are on conrad’s. it's not the most elegant kiss — it's messy, urgent, with your noses bumping together, and teeth clacking against each other. he cradles your face in his hands, and you wrap your legs around his waist to bring him closer. you taste beer on his tongue, and maybe a hint of lime, but it’s overwhelmed by the salty, metallic taste of blood stained on your lips. you tangle your hands into his hair, and you swallow his moan as you gently tug. it’s clearer now: you’re not dizzy from the alcohol or adrenaline, but dizzy from him.

when you run out of air, feeling like your lungs could burst, you pull away. conrad’s gaze is heavy on yours as he traces your top lip with his thumb.

“connie,” you whimper, itching to kiss him again. 

“you’re still bleeding.”

conrad wipes away your blood with the cuff of his flannel. before either of you can do or say anything more, there’s a knock on the door. jeremiah, letting you know that it’s time to go. 

and, just like that, the moment is gone. 

a few days later, belly invites you over for a girl’s night. you paint each other’s nails, eat sour candy, and watch rom coms, just like you used to. she updates you on debutante season, the argument she had with taylor, and her blossoming feelings for jeremiah. you let it slip that you and conrad kissed at nicole’s party, though you admit you aren’t sure what it means — as if you hadn’t spent hours and hours thinking about the kiss, about him. belly gives you a knowing smile, but you change the subject before she can comment any further.

you’re halfway through 10 things i hate about you when belly falls asleep. you grab your phone, deciding to finally reach out to conrad, when you get a text from him.

he’s already on the dock when you arrive, looking out onto the water. 

“hey,” you greet as you stand next to him. “i was actually about to text you —”

“did you tell belly that we kissed?” he interrupts. you can’t quite read his expression as he waits for you to answer.

“no, i didn’t,” you lie. “but…would it matter if i did?”

“well, i mean, belly’s close to nicole and i don’t want her finding out," conrad explains. his words are deliberate, and you suspect he'd spent some time perfecting what to say to you. so far, you didn't like where this was going. conrad delivers another blow:

"it’s not like it meant anything.”

you feel like you could shatter into a million pieces right then and there.

“it didn’t?” you hate how fragile your voice sounds, compared to conrad’s stoic demeanor.

conrad shrugs. “i mean, we were both drunk and the thing with liam happened, so we just got caught up in the heat of the moment.” 

“you’re saying there’s nothing between us, then? nothing other than friendship?”

he turned away before he answered. “no. nothing.”

“then what about last summer?” you demand. you force yourself to keep it together, your tone firmer than before. “i guess that didn’t mean anything, either.”

“y/n…” he pauses, and you know you caught him off guard. “i don’t know what you want me to say. we’re barely even friends anymore. you come back here, after all this time, after so much shit has happened, and expect us all to drop everything to fit you back into our lives. but, you don't. we moved on. i moved on, and i can’t deal with you —" 

“got it,” you snap, already turning to walk away. “loud and fucking clear, conrad.” 

it’s not like it meant anything. we’re barely even friends anymore.

you replay conrad’s words as you crawl into bed next to belly, holding back tears as to not disturb her sleep.

you decide then that you didn’t love conrad anymore. you couldn’t because it would eat you up inside. 

then again, it doesn't seem like hating him would be any easier.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hey, I was wondering if you could do a Chesshire reader x yandere demon slayers were they're out on a mission and come across demon reader and after the demon slayer sees the demons skill they want them but before they can get the reader, they vanished so now the slayers are after the reader on a search for them

(You don't gotta do this,I know it sounds weird but I thought of it and since I suck at writing I thought you could write it Please?)

Cheshire Demon Reader | Yandere Demon Slayer

You are like Tamayo, acting on your own from Muzan Kibitsuji. With a smile as wide as the crescent moon you can easily make yourself disappear long before the drop of a hat. Something you seem to use in order to avoid others from apprehending you both against demons and their slayers. You’re akin to a mischievous yokai that simply appears to mildly inconvenience the townspeople, who are probably well aware of you. But when confronted about you they just shake their heads and wave their hands–”Ah them? They're no problem, just a sneaky yokai that likes to play tricks but when it counts they’ve got our backs.” 

And you do, enough to attract the attention of the demon slayers whose targets are no longer existent. Wondering who or what is killing these demons that have been so hard to track down. Only to find your smiling visage disappearing into the dark of the night:

Kyojorou Rengoku

“WELL….YOU DON’T SEE THAT EVERY DAY!”

He’s been put on a mission to catch a demon on the run

Eating people and destroying the remaining lives in its wake

So he arrives greeted by the people who both curse and rumor about Cheshire (Y/n)

And when night hits he finds a civilian in distress 

Only to be seconds behind at the flick of your disappearing tail 

The demon is subdued and he can only look at the demon pleading to die

“Oh, flame guy! Don’t you have the sword that’ll kill that thing? Go ahead, I wanna see what it looks like to die that way.” “OF COURSE! I PLAN TO! BUT WHY HELP ME?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He’s persistent 

And he decides to keep finding out more about you

“Why don’t you make like a tree and leave flame boy?”

“YOU’D LIKE THAT RIGHT? THEN COME WITH ME, I DON’T THINK I’D BE ABLE TO LIVE WITHOUT YOU AFTER THIS!”

He loves you for your willingness to protect the humans around you

He doesn’t mind your mischievousness 

But he’d appreciate it if you weren’t so slippery to catch

“COME DARLING! There is no reason to run! I have no plans to eliminate you. IN FACT IT’S QUITE THE OPPOSITE!”

Tanjiro Kamado

Same mission 

He’s led by the scent of the demon

Only to catch another

It smells like Ms. Tamayo except its more curious

“Well well, who is this young sprout? I’ve never seen you before, what’s your name?”

You meet him earlier on 

He probably doesn’t realize you're a demon though

Instead blushing at just the way that you are 

Completely unaware of the way you’ve stolen his food

“Huh!? I just had it?”

“Ah, it must have been (Y/n).”

“(Y/n)?”

“Yeah, they’ve been awfully curious about newcomers as of late.”

 He doesn’t mind it until he’s getting slapped around by the demon

Ready to pull out all the stops until you intervene

Saving his life and further making him fall in love with you

“I-I-I–”

“Awww don’t get your kimono in a twist baby Tanjiro.”

“I–”

“Ciao.”

It takes some time away when he decides to pursue you

You’ve broken away from Muzan so it's a given that he should want to know more about you

Don’t mind the weird bets he tries to instigate with you 

“I-I-I’ll have you marry me! If I win you have to marry me!”

“Whoa whoa, that’s hilarious little boy…Let’s do it.”

Iguro Obanai

“I’m sorry but I’m going to have to kill you, now.”

“Oh, will you then–!” 

You’ll have a blast with him

He’s such an antisocial outcast he’s perfect prey for your antics

He’s such a downer the townspeople are slow to inform him about your reputation

“Stop! Stop moving!”

“Ha ha okay.”

“No wait–don’t!” 

“Hehehehe.”

He gives up on killing you 

When you interrupt him again 

It’s to bring an end to the demon

And he quiets the attraction that bubbles in him when you terminate the demon

“Why…why would you save the people? As a demon.”

“ Don’t know. It’s fun here. And I won’t stand for anyone disrupting that.”

He figures he can take you 

After all, they let that stubborn kid keep one

Why can’t he?

“Just come with me and I’ll stop bothering you.”

“Hahaha, that’s hilarious. Why would I stop now!? This game of cat and mouse is one I’m quite good at!”

[ladycaramelswirl]

It Happened in Texas

Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader ❤︎

Chapter 3: You’re not trying to get fired - it’s just raw talent

series masterlist

A/N: The case in this chapter is based on s4e2 where Hotch ignores the doctors orders and goes straight to work after tearing his eardrum 🤡

tags: minor grovelling, slow burn. Hotch needs a hug. Some canon typical violence and a few uses of y/n. Sorry for any typos.

Word count: 2.8k

Enjoy! 🤍

❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎

You are so fired. 

Strauss is getting impatient with your fruitless reports. Hotch and you are not on great terms. In fact, since Jack’s party, he’s been avoiding you like the plague. He isn’t ignoring you or glaring at you anymore, but for some reason, he now never pairs himself up with you and keeps his emails to you even shorter than before. He also refuses to talk to you when Jack comes to visit and spends all his time at your desk. It had taken you months and a 5 year old to give you the courage to make any friends on the team. So why are you standing here, scolding your boss? You must have an innate talent for getting fired.

“Hotch. If you think that never hearing Jack say I love you again, or never hearing him laugh again is worth getting back in the field straight away, I’ll think you’re insane, but I’ll never bring it up again. However, I don’t think you’re willing to tell your son his dad can’t hear him anymore because he wasn’t taking care of himself”. 

You take a deep breath, and add for good measure,

“Sir”. 

Hotch stares at you. You are not a confrontational person (at least with your colleagues). And right now you were so out of line. While everyone else might have warmed up to you, you and Hotch aren’t exactly friends. But you had gotten to know Jack, who had been the catalyst to you becoming friends with the team. He’s probably the only reason that you don’t hate your job now. You love that kid. And after seeing Hotch clutch his ears at the graveyard and overhearing him ignore Morgan when asked if he was cleared to fly, you felt you needed to say something. Clearly no one else was going to. 

But why wasn’t Hotch saying anything? You shuffle your feet and try not to think about your face heating up from embarrassment. Where was the person from 30 seconds ago who was basically scolding her boss? Your resolve had completely evaporated. And now you were nervous. Which was a very bad thing to be in front of a profiler.

“I know that you’re my boss and we aren’t exactly friends, but I’m saying this as a…”, what were you exactly? An overeager people pleaser who had just gotten the team to get used to working with you. And an idiot who is currently screwing up her chances of staying employed at the one job you had left. “As a person who respects you a lot”, you decide on. This is definitely true. He was a good person, even if he clearly didn’t like you. He might be avoiding you, but he’s still polite. And if he didn’t say something soon, you were going to say something stupid. 

“You’re also the best boss I’ve ever had, so if you permanently lose your hearing and have to be taken out of the field, that would suck for me too”, you laugh nervously. 

Damn it, you were already in saying stupid things territory. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Oh god, what if your rant was hurting his ears? You start whispering.

“Are you okay? Am I being too loud? I’m sorry, I’m just going to shut up”, you say softly. He’s still staring. 

“I should go now”, you mumble and promptly run away, immediately making your way to the precinct bathroom and locking yourself in a stall. Why did you say anything? The rest of the team had just left him alone, but you were never a fan of turning a blind eye to people’s problems. It just didn’t seem right. Despite the fact that the other team members are clearly each other’s family, you are technically just a coworker. So you’ve definitely overstepped, but it just didn’t seem right to let it happen. To Jack. Not Hotch. Though technically you did care about Hotch too. As a friend. Probably. 

“Hey, you okay in there?”

You startle from your thoughts and see Emily’s shoes from under the stall. You quickly shake yourself together and flush the toilet you clearly haven’t used before coming out.

“Yeah? Am I not allowed to pee?”, you laugh, washing your hands. Emily frowns, but knows better than to press. She might have seen you run out of a precinct conference room you’d been alone with Hotch in, but you’re not going to tell her why and she doesn’t overstep boundaries. She pretends to believe you and moves the conversation to the case. The team has figured out who the unsub is and are about to raid her house. You both leave the bathroom and move towards the SUVs with everyone else. Everyone except Hotch. 

“We gotta go. Where the hell’s Hotch?”, Derek asks.

“He was on the phone with Strauss, said he wanted us to go without him”, Rossi says, walking to the passenger seat. “Let’s go”.

Derek shrugs his shoulders and everyone piles into the cars. You feel your stomach drop. Technically you did just tell your superior off. Was he going to report you for insubordination? Maybe he had had enough and was finally telling Strauss to transfer you. He hadn’t wanted you on the team in the first place. If you get fired from the BAU you’ll probably have to leave the FBI. You shake your head. Whatever happens, the case comes first. You need to stop the unsub before she hurts anyone else. 

You try to forget about your earlier conversation with Hotch and focus on the case. The unsub’s apartment is empty, but Rossi finds her next target, Faye Landreaux, in her journal. You all drive to her house and Emily distracts the unsub while Morgan sneaks Faye outside. She’s trembling like a leaf and doesn’t respond when you ask if she’s okay, so you guide her to a paramedic to make sure she hasn’t gotten any injuries. Technically your priority right now should be the unsub, but the entire police department and 4 FBI agents have a gun pointed at her and Faye is completely alone. You don’t feel right leaving her yet, so once she’s been looked at, you try to talk to her when you hear a gunshot from behind you. Faye cries out and you let her know she’s okay. The sheriff has shot the unsub. It’s over. A police officer the victim knows starts talking to her so you move back to the team. Emily pulls back the unsub’s shirt to reveal that she had maimed herself to become the “Angel Maker’s” last victim. You fail to not feel nauseous. 

It’s late, so you’re all staying the night in Ohio. On the drive, everyone’s talking about how early they have to get up tomorrow. You look out the window and can’t stop thinking about love and what it does to people. What it did to Chloe Kelcher. To all of the “Angel Maker’s” fans. Female unsubs that hurt other women always bothers you more than other cases. Emily notices your silence. 

“You okay?”, she asks quietly. 

“Just tired”, you smile. If she notices it doesn’t reach your eyes, she doesn’t mention it. She nudges her knee against yours - an ‘I’m here if you need me’ without words. 

You nudge her back - ‘thanks. I know’. She smiles. You really are tired though - it’s 2am because the unsub liked attacking at night - and you stifle a yawn. You’re about to fall asleep when the car abruptly stops, signalling your arrival. 

It’s a cute inn, the owner offered you all free rooms for the night as a thanks for capturing the unsub. Everyone piles out, eager to go to bed. You’re suddenly awake though when you see who’s in the lobby handing out keys - Hotch. He’s looking straight at you. Everyone grabs their keys and turns in for the night. If anyone notices you and Hotch lag behind, they don’t say. He gestures to a corner with some armchairs. 

“Can we talk for a minute?”

You nod, slowly taking a seat. You’re too afraid to speak and keep your eyes on the ground. Was he going to fire you now? In some inn in rural Ohio?

“Thank you.”

What? 

You snap your head up to meet his gaze. 

“I called Strauss earlier to let her know I’m taking 2 weeks off from the field. You were right earlier. What I’m doing isn’t fair to the team or to Jack. I want to apologise for putting you in a position where you felt you needed to tell your boss that he was being stupid. That shouldn’t have to be your responsibility.”

He looks straight into your eyes and you can see the sincerity flooded in his. 

“I’ll be taking a car back to Quantico. I shouldn’t have gotten on a plane at all in my condition. You don’t have to worry about me.” He takes a breath. “And I appreciate you telling me what I needed to hear. Even if you shouldn’t have had to”, he adds. 

You don’t know what to say, so you say the first thing that pops into your brain. 

“I’m not fired?”

Aaron looks incredibly guilty. 

“You thought I was going to fire you?”

You nod, still unable to form coherent thoughts in your relief. 

“No you are definitely not fired. I’m sorry for making you feel like your job was on the line”, he says and feels even guiltier at the obvious release of tension in your shoulders.  “If anything I should be fired for endangering you all with my inability to make sound decisions”, he sighs. “When you’re the boss, people become too afraid to tell you that you’re wrong. And sometimes I forget that I can be”.

You try to find the right words. “I don’t think being worried about people getting hurt when you’re not working is wrong”, you say. “But I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself. And thank you for apologising.”

Aaron nods at this, searching your eyes for something. He seems to be pleased with what he finds and stands up. You follow suit, and the both of you start to walk towards your rooms. You lapse into silence as you walk up the stairs until Hotch clears his throat.

“Well, when someone tells you that they respect you but you’re being insane, you rethink your priorities a little”, he chuckles, trying to break the ice. 

You feel your entire face grow warm - you had forgotten that you had called him that. 

“Sorry”, you mumble.

He stops abruptly and you turn to look at him. 

“Please don’t ever apologise for what you said to me today.” 

His gaze bores into you as if to try to make you understand. No wonder he has the most confessions from unsubs in interrogations. His stare is a little lethal. Your knees feel a little weak. 

“Sorry for saying sorry?”, you manage.

He raises a brow at you. 

“Ok. Then I’m not sorry?”, you offer. He smiles at this. 

“Good. Because I’m very grateful it happened.”

You beam. 

“I’m glad you think so.”

“I do.”

You reach your room first. You move to unlock your door and he waits to make sure you get inside safety. Your hand stills on the doorknob and you turn around. 

“I hope you know that it’s still true.”

He looks confused. 

“I still respect you. And now I respect you for being able to step back. And for apologising. Maybe it doesn’t mean a lot coming from me, but I think you’re a great boss and a great dad. Jack is very lucky.” You meet his eyes so he knows you mean it. “You’re a good person, Hotch.”

A lump forms in Aaron’s throat. He doesn’t know how to tell you how much your words mean to him. He wishes, not for the first time in his life, that he was better at communicating his feelings. He shakes his head. 

“It does mean a lot. I respect you too, Y/N.”He pauses, as if trying to find the perfect words. “You’re always looking at the good in people. Jack loves you. And you’re kind, not just with the team. When we catch unsubs you always make sure to take care of victims.”

Your eyes widen. You hadn’t known that he’d noticed.

“You’re smart, loyal, empathetic. I know that these last few months have been… unpleasant for you. And I’m sorry for my part in that. But I’m proud to have you on our team. I know that this morning you were just doing what was right, and earlier you said we aren’t friends, but you were the friend I needed today. So thank you.” 

You blink, trying not to well up at his words. You don’t know if anyone’s ever said something like that to you. Afraid you might cry if you speak, you give him a hug. It’s quick, nothing intimate, but it feels righter than words in this moment. You take a step back.

“So we’re friends?”, you ask, opening the door to your room. He looks at you thoughtfully. 

“I’d like to think so”, he smiles softly. You give him a smile back.

“Good night, Hotch.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

You sleep well that night for the first time in a while. 

——

The next morning, you’re quiet as Hotch tells everyone he’s driving back to Quantico instead of taking the jet. You offer to take the drive with him, which surprises yourself just as much as the team. While you had gotten closer with the rest of the team in the last month, you and Hotch aren’t really close enough for you to voluntarily spend 7 hours in a car together. You’re not exactly sure why you offered either. 

You’re too busy trying to get everyone on board that you all miss Rossi’s barely hidden glee at this unexpected development in your relationship. 

“It’ll be fun!”, you say excitedly. 

“I love you, but 7 hours is crazy baby girl”

“Long car trips make me nauseous. In fact there’s a correlation between-”

“Yeah no, the baby makes me carsick.”

“The thought of being trapped in a car for 7 hours makes me sick”

You’re a little sad because a group road trip would be fun, and it would help to have a buffer between you and Hotch, but it is unfair to force everyone into something they’re uncomfortable with, so you give everyone a hug goodbye before sliding into the passenger seat beside Hotch. You can almost feel him overthinking. 

“You don’t have to do this”, he says.

“I know. I want to”, you tell him. Surprisingly, this is true. 

He stares at you.

“It’s 7 hours”

“It’ll be longer if you keep arguing with me”, you shrug.

He stares at you some more.

“I’m not leaving you to do this alone. Plus 7 hours isn’t that long if you’re with a friend”

He smiles at this.

“A friend?”

“Unless you’re taking back what you said last night?”, you ask tentatively. Had he just been reacting to what you said to him? What if-

“No. I meant everything I said”, he says firmly, looking directly at you to make sure you know he’s serious. His gaze that felt intimidating last night, now somehow makes you feel calm. But it might take a while before you can maintain eye contact with him. You turn to face the road.

“Good. Now drive, or I’ll call Reid and ask him to explain the statistics of car crashes in Ohio”, you tease. His eyes crinkle in amusement.

“Driving right now”.

You grin and start looking at your CD options.

“If I’m your friend does this mean I get to choose where we eat lunch?”, he asks.

You roll your eyes.

“You didn’t let me drive so I’m picking lunch.”

“Yes ma’am”.

Bonus scene:

“They’re driving here together from Ohio? Doesn’t Hotch hate her?”, Penelope asks through the screen. 

“I don’t think he hates her. Don’t you remember what it was like when I first joined?”, Emily asks the team. 

“We never hated you! Except maybe Spencer. But that was a whole other thing. I just don’t get why he still doesn’t like her. She’s so sweet”, Penelope pouts.

“He didn’t tell her no, so that’s an improvement”, Derek reasons.

“I didn’t hate Emily!”, Spencer scoffs.

Emily raises an eyebrow at him which causes him to sputter. 

“Well ok I wasn’t very nice to you at first. But it wasn’t because I hated you”, he tries to explain. Emily mouths a quick “I know” to let him know she’s joking. 

“I don’t think Hotch has ever hated Y/N”, Rossi chuckles. “He just needs time.”

Everyone nods. They all relied on him now, but Hotch was famous for being cold at first. Rossi grins at everyone missing his point. Being the only profiler on the team with relationship experience made for excellent entertainment. They’ll get it at some point, he thinks, sipping his drink. 

(to be continued)

Main Masterlist

[yuikomorii]

I got a question but I need an objective answer please. So I saw a lot of people complain about Yui being written in a very bad way in Ayato’s routes starting with More Blood and was curious if you think that she became a bad girlfriend as the story progressed?

// I will analyze Yui’s versions from Ayato’s routes and provide an answer at the end of this post.

More Blood:

Even from the first two chapters we are aware of the fact that Yui got a big crush on Ayato merely because of his looks and pleasure he gave her. At first sight, these reasons seem very superficial, but at the same time you can’t blame her completely for that. Yui went to a normal school and used to read magazines for teens, therefore it’s obvious she would have hormones and fall in love with someone who got features portrayed as the beauty standard.

It's understandable why some found her annoying, as she repeatedly cried for Ayato's love without making any real effort to earn it. Apart from giving him her blood, she didn't try to understand what he was going through, even when she noticed changes in him that made him crave so much blood.

Nevertheless, I believe that she did redeem herself in the last chapters, where she admitted being selfish and only thinking about her own desires, instead of focusing on Ayato’s struggles too. I know she paralyzed him out of jealousy and cheated on him in the bad endings, but in the good one, she’s actually a really loyal person. Yui waited years for Ayato to wake up from the coma and Ayato searched for Yui for years in his dream until he finally woke up. This ending confirmed the genuineness of their love.

In the After Story, Ayato planned to attend university for Yui's sake, aiming to get a job and buy a house. Yui helped Ayato with his studies and praised his skills. Initially, she fell for his looks, but in the After Story, she mentioned falling in love with him again because of his caring, determined, and hardworking personality.

Vandead Carnival & Lunatic Parade:

I really liked Yui in both of Ayato's routes and honestly, I can't find anything to criticize about her behavior.

It's not that Yui was a bad partner; it's just that Ayato was portrayed as too good, such as when he ran through flames for her or protected her from a bomb explosion. But that's likely because these are fan service games, where the love interests are designed to be your knights in shining armor. xD

Dark Fate:

I absolutely loved Yui’s portrayal in that route. It was the sweetest version of Yui I’ve ever seen, and I really enjoyed seeing her so happy and soft. Regarding her relationship with Ayato, he was truly the apple of her eye, lol.

The only problematic thing she did was pushing Ayato to face his abuser, Cordelia, even though he didn’t want to. I honestly don’t care if a character does something to another character, as long as it doesn’t affect them and the story, so since Ayato didn’t get mad at her for that, I didn’t mind it much either. However, from an objective point of view, I agree that doing such a thing is quite bad. Being in the presence of someone who ruined your life can trigger intense memories and forcing a confrontation removes the victim's agency in deciding how to cope with their trauma. Ayato might not have been mad at Yui for planning that, but if it had been Laito, I’m sure he would have shown why Yui was in the wrong.

Other than that, she was a kind and supportive girlfriend throughout the whole route, clearly having no ill intent, and I appreciate that she had an actual important role in the route.

Lost Eden:

Ok, I really can’t defend her anymore there. She literally had no redeeming qualities, no matter how many times she got the chance to fix herself. I discussed my thoughts about LE Yui in this post, but I’ll sum it up.

She tried to convince Ayato that despite Cordelia abusing him, she actually did it because she “cared about his future”, and then acted surprised when Ayato started feeling uncomfortable because of her words.

Yui knew the reasons behind Ayato’s behavior, yet when his brothers started mocking him, she didn’t even try to defend him. Everyone ganged up on Ayato, and he was on the verge of a panic attack, yet she remained silent.

Another terrible scene was in one of the last chapters, when Ruki admitted to turning the Vibora Clan and Church organization against Ayato out of envy, aiming to kill him. Instead of criticizing Ruki’s actions, Yui justified them and spoke ill of Ayato behind his back. I wouldn’t like to date someone who claims to love me but keeps hurting me without learning anything… It felt as if Ayato only continued being together with her because he had no one else. No wonder he didn’t marry her there.

Chaos Lineage:

I found Yui quite boring in CL in general, but she started off as determined and sweet in his route, so I liked that.

For most of the route, Yui’s entire personality seemed to revolve around Ayato, and she didn’t do much. There were many cheesy moments between them that made me cringe. Still, I’m sure a certain audience enjoyed those.

My only complaint is that when his brothers started treating Ayato unfairly, despite the fact that he came up with the idea of breaking the glass floor of the church, Yui did nothing to defend him, again.

However, I do appreciate that she gave him that adorable monologue. I just wish she had done it in front of others instead of only acting when Ayato was already insecure and sad.

Now… let’s see what kind of girlfriend Yui was in each route by judging her progress:

MB: Good

VC: Good

DF: Very good

LP: Good

LE: Very bad

CL: Decent

[toocabaret]

I’ve been having some Thoughts™️ about the weird meta paradox of gerri kellman’s sexuality. as basically The Older Woman on the executive floor she’s trying as much as is possible to blend in with her male colleagues while also not being perceived to be doing so. muted colours and understated makeup. a competent filing cabinet. her husband is dead and her daughters are nameless. she was sexual once but that’s out of sight out of mind and now it’s just the work. it must be a relief in some ways to become finally unfuckable because you’re over 40. she can finally be taken seriously, but only if she toes the line between being too female and not female enough. trying but not too hard. desirable in the past tense only. an honorary man but still in a skirt. and while the men around her can fuck their much younger assistants and get sports massages and run a sex trafficking ring on a cruise ship, she is the job and only the job and that keeps her safe. for a bit anyway.

the irony of gerri saving the company from the full legal extent of a sex scandal by dating someone from the DOJ??? like i’ll never be over it. even filing cabinets have to flatter and please and fuck when called upon. i genuinely don’t believe any of the other execs could have swung it because they’re not women. she dated laurie (generally unseen unless framed from another man’s possessive perspective) to save the men from going to jail for covering up rape allegations. the irony is delicious. and even though she did that, she’s discarded once she’s framed sexually. Dick Pic Gate was out of her control and yet when confronted with any element of gerri’s sexuality (even her PASSIVE sexuality, even after using it to save his company), logan dismisses her as weak or impractical or failing or whatever other excuse he uses to justify his disgust.

i would argue that roman’s interest in gerri is not in spite of but BECAUSE of her asexual framing. it’s a challenge that he’s never going to win which is ideal for his impotency issues; he can push and push and get the thrill out of it, out of the fucked up power dynamic, but he knows he’ll never have to actually fuck her. it’s all hypothetical: down a phone, through a door, half-joking, covered in sensible skirt suits. gerri’s deliberate lack of sexualizing is counterintuitively a turn-on for roman. and i bet the game of chicken they play is freeing for her too because the fact that she has to be professional and cannot be sensual is part of the fun of it. “roman is weird about gerri”. “it’s fucking disgusting”. not because of their family history, or their professional positions, but because she’s old. because the absence of her sexuality is enough of a presence to be off-putting. shiv patronising her about it as a power play is so weird because she’s talking to her simultaneously like a child and like an old woman, and gerri, agency-less, just has to keep reassuring her “i can cope”.

BUT it’s worse than that because it’s so meta. Because gerri is hot. her actor is attractive and like roman, many people watching find her sexless, no-nonsense framing to be titillating. me included. what if roman likes gerri not because of oedipal issues but just because she’s hot and god forbid we find a woman over 50 hot? but whether or not gerri is hot in the context of the show shouldn’t be a big deal, she should have been able to escape this by now!!! she’s in her 60s she’s a widow she’s tired stop sexualizing her!!! but don’t NOT sexualize her either because that’s problematic too and old women can be hot and old women shouldn’t have to be hot and suddenly i’m making gerri do what waystar does and exist as something sexual and non-sexual at the same time. she has a huge plotline in which she’s essentially a sex object. whether or not gerri is fuckable is talked about as much in the show with mildly-disgusted fascination as it is in the real world!!! she can’t win she’s hot she’s old she’s sexually framed she’s deliberately trying not to be she wants sex she doesn’t want sex she’s covering sex with sex and she’s telling roman to leave her alone so she can just do her damn job because she knows that this is what will bring her down!!! sex scandals historically don’t get men fired but an unsolicited dick pic knocks gerri off her podium in logan’s head forever. even now i’m talking about it at such length because i’ve given it so much thought!!! she’s the only woman in the old guard and she’s one of the most sexualized characters in succession. but only as a joke. in the abstract. never actually. because that would be weird. right?