#or at least not make things harder than they need to be

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 she ignored my letter!

pairing: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, James writes you a love letter and hides it into your luggage carrying your clothes, not knowing he put it in a pocket you never open.

Warnings: angst, fluff, james pov, this inspired by awae (aka the best show ever)

a/n: heyyy... i had sm fun writing this, can't wait to write the rest of this bc i literally LOVE anne with an e and this is inspired by it ofc!!!! anyways, im barely writing now..smh, its cause im reading manacled and its literally heart breaking... im also editing on ae and its so hard so im slowly learning😭 but i want to finish this mini series by next week!!

series masterlist ! - divider creds: i-mmaculatus & dollywons

James had liked you for a while now. He wasn’t quite sure when it started—maybe it was the way you laughed at his jokes, always the loudest in the room. Or perhaps it was when he’d catch you staring at him, your gaze lingering just a bit too long, thinking he was too distracted to notice.

With the Christmas holidays fast approaching, James knew he had to make a move. He had to let you know how he felt. If you didn’t feel the same, maybe the time apart over the holiday would make it less awkward. But he couldn’t let another term slip by in silence.

Knowing your love for all things old-fashioned, James decided there was no better way to confess his feelings than through a handwritten letter. It felt personal, genuine—something you’d appreciate. But writing it turned out to be harder than he imagined.

He’d written and discarded at least a dozen drafts, each one crumpled and tossed aside in frustration. Finally, after half an hour of agonizing over the perfect words, he settled on this version. It was short, straightforward, and sincere:

Dear, (Y/N)

I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a complete idiot. I’ve tried a hundred times, and every single attempt has been worse than the last. So here’s the truth—I’m hopelessly in love with you.

You’ve probably guessed I’m not great at being subtle. But what I’ve never been able to say outright is how much you mean to me. The way you laugh, the way your nose scrunches when you’re concentrating—Merlin, you make it impossible to focus on anything else. I want you to know that you’ve made me braver, happier, better. If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay—I just needed to get this off my chest.

Yours, James

He sighed deeply, folding the letter carefully before slipping it into an envelope. Your name was written on the front in his slightly shaky handwriting. Taking a steadying breath, he tucked it into the inside pocket of his robes. He’d leave it somewhere you’d find it tomorrow, just before you both left for the holidays.

As he lay awake that night, James tried to figure out the best way to deliver the letter. Should he hand it to you directly? No, that was too nerve-wracking—he’d probably end up babbling like an idiot. Maybe he could slip it into your bag and avoid the risk of witnessing your reaction.

The morning was crisp, the kind of cold that painted your cheeks red and sent little clouds of breath swirling in the air. On the platform, the train sat waiting, puffing out plumes of steam that mingled with the frosty air. It was alive with the sound of students saying goodbye and dragging their luggage over the cobblestones.

James walked beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He was doing his best to appear casual, though every step he took felt heavier with the weight of the letter in his robe.

“Let me take that for you,” he blurted suddenly, nodding toward your luggage.

You blinked, surprised by the offer, but your lips curved into a warm smile. “Oh, thanks, James. That’s really sweet of you.”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but his ears turned a telltale shade of pink at your words. “What kind of bloke would I be if I didn’t help you out?” he mumbled, his voice tinged with nervous humor.

The two of you chatted as you strolled toward the train. You told him about your plans for the holidays—how you were excited to see your family, how your mum always made far too much food, and how you couldn’t wait to decorate the tree. James listened intently, nodding and laughing at all the right moments, even as his mind raced ahead to the task at hand.

Then, his opportunity came.

You turned away for a brief moment, waving at one of your friends across the platform. James acted quickly, pulling the envelope from his pocket and slipping it into the outermost compartment of your bag. His fingers brushed the fabric for only a second, but it felt like an eternity.

His heart was hammering so loudly he was certain it could be heard over the clamor of the platform. He straightened up just as you turned back to him, completely oblivious to what had just transpired.

“Thanks again for carrying that,” you said with a smile, your eyes meeting his.

James gave a small, lopsided grin and shifted your bag on his shoulder. “Anytime,” he replied, his voice steady despite the storm of nerves swirling inside him.

As the train’s whistle blew, signaling it was time to board, James knew there was no turning back now. All he could do was wait—and hope that when you found the letter, you’d read it and understand the words that had taken him so long to say.

It had been days since you’d left for the holidays, and James still hadn’t heard from you. Each passing day only worsened the sinking feeling in his chest.

Did you not feel the same? Did you hate him for ruining the friendship? Or worse, were you so disgusted by his confession that you couldn’t even bear to send him a letter saying so?

By Christmas morning, the knot of worry in James’s stomach had become unbearable. He’d stopped pacing and pretending not to care. He spent the early hours staring at the window, waiting for an owl that seemed as though it would never come.

But then, just as the first rays of sunlight streamed through his frosted window, he saw it—a familiar owl perched outside, clutching a small envelope in its talons. His heart leapt with a desperate flicker of hope. Maybe you’d only just found the letter. Maybe you’d taken your time because you wanted to write something perfect.

James hurried to open the window, shivering as the cold air rushed in. The owl extended its leg, allowing him to untie the letter. “Thanks, mate,” James murmured, absently offering the owl a treat before it flew off into the winter sky.

His fingers trembled as he opened the envelope, eager to see your handwriting. But his heart sank the moment he read the first line.

“Happy Christmas, James!”

No mention of his letter. No response to his confession. Just a short, cheerful note wishing him a wonderful holiday and apologizing for not writing sooner. You explained that things had been hectic at home and promised to catch up with him soon.

James felt his chest tighten, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The hope he’d been clinging to was slipping through his fingers.

You’d ignored his letter.

You’d chosen to act as though he’d never written it at all, as if he’d never poured his heart out on that piece of parchment.

James scoffed, his grip on the letter tightening. Fine, he thought bitterly. If you were going to pretend his confession didn’t exist, he could do the same.

He shoved the letter onto his desk, glaring at it as if it were the source of his frustration. Deep down, though, he knew the truth: he didn’t want to ignore you. He wanted to write back, to ask if you’d found the letter, to make sure you weren’t upset with him.

But pride was a stubborn thing, and James Potter wasn’t about to let his vulnerability show again—not now.

As the snow fell softly outside his window, James sat in silence, staring at the letter and wondering if he’d made a mistake by ever writing to you in the first place.

When it was time to return to Hogwarts, James made no effort to find you. Normally, he’d scan the platform, pretending it was a coincidence whenever his eyes landed on you. This time, he couldn’t bring himself to look.

He saw you anyway, just briefly—standing near your family, your face lit up with that familiar smile. His heart leaped in his chest, and his legs almost betrayed him, ready to stride over and say something, anything. But he stopped himself.

Instead, James turned sharply, mumbling a quick goodbye to his parents before heading onto the train. He didn’t want to see you—not now.

The walk through the train felt heavier than usual. He knew exactly where his friends would be—the same compartment they’d claimed since their first year—but it felt like an eternity to get there. When he finally slid open the door, the familiar faces of Sirius, Remus, and Peter greeted him.

“Oi, Prongs!” Sirius called cheerfully, but his grin faltered when James slumped onto the seat next to Peter with a loud huff.

James leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He could feel Sirius’s gaze on him, curious and probing.

“What’s got your wand in a knot?” Sirius asked, unable to resist.

“Don’t.” James’s voice was sharp, firm. It was rare for him to be in a foul mood, let alone snappish.

Sirius raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I won’t say a word.”

The tension in the compartment was palpable. The train rattled on, and the usual chatter of the four friends was noticeably absent. Sirius kept stealing glances at James, who sat brooding, arms crossed. Peter fidgeted nervously, while Remus flipped through a book, clearly uncomfortable with the silence.

Finally, about an hour into the ride, James broke.

“She ignored my letter.” His voice was low, bitter, but it shattered the quiet like a hex.

The others exchanged looks before Peter spoke hesitantly. “She really ignored it?”

“Yes, Peter,” James snapped, his tone sharp enough to make Peter flinch. Realizing what he’d done, James sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Peter mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

“Maybe she didn’t see it,” Remus offered, his tone calm and rational. “What if it got lost in her luggage? Or someone else found it and hid it? Maybe you gave her another piece of parchment? There’s always a chance—”

“Moony, no.” James cut him off, his voice strained. “I double-checked. It was the right letter, in the right spot. And who doesn’t check their trunk full of clothes over the holiday?”

“Maybe she doesn’t,” Sirius said with a shrug, trying to lighten the mood. “You know, women can be unpredictable. Maybe she’s got a secret stash for random letters in her trunk.”

“No, she checks,” James said with certainty. “I’ve slipped plenty of things into her luggage before, and she’s always found them. She just doesn’t fancy me back.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, but he forced a small, bitter smile. “And it’s fine. I’ll get over it. I always do, right?”

The compartment fell silent again, the weight of James’s words sinking in.

Sirius leaned forward, a flicker of frustration in his eyes. “It’s not fine, James. If she didn’t fancy you back, that’s one thing. But ignoring you? That’s—”

“Don’t,” James interrupted quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Don’t make it worse, Padfoot.”

Sirius bit back a retort and leaned back in his seat, muttering under his breath.

The rest of the ride passed more comfortably, but the shadow of James’s disappointment lingered. His friends cracked jokes and told stories, trying to lift his spirits, but even when he laughed, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Deep down, James wondered if he’d ever stop wishing that you’d read his letter and felt the same way.

Hours later, everyone had gathered in the Great Hall. The enchanted ceiling reflected the dusky evening sky, and the buzz of students catching up after the holiday filled the room. Normally, James would sit with Sirius to his left, you to his right, and Remus and Peter across from him. It was a familiar arrangement, one you’d fallen into without question.

But tonight, James broke the routine.

He subtly nudged Peter into the spot on his right before sitting down, leaving the space where you’d usually sit conspicuously empty.

You walked in a moment later, scanning the Gryffindor table until you spotted your usual group. But when you approached, your steps faltered. Peter sat where you always did, looking apologetic but saying nothing.

Your eyes darted to James, silently questioning him, but he avoided your gaze, his attention fixed stubbornly on his plate.

Confused, you looked to Remus for an explanation. Out of all the Marauders, he was the one you trusted most to give you a straight answer. But Remus only shrugged, his expression carefully neutral, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth hinted at discomfort.

You scoffed, your chest tightening. First, James ignored you all through the holiday, and now he didn’t even want to sit near you? Fine. If he wanted to sulk like a child, you weren’t going to beg for his attention.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked further down the table, sliding into a seat beside your other group of friends. You forced yourself to laugh at their jokes and join in their chatter, but your mind kept wandering back to James.

At the Gryffindor table, James���s eyes flicked toward you more often than he’d admit. Every time he saw you laughing with your friends, his stomach twisted.

“Why is she acting like I’m the one in the wrong?” James muttered under his breath, jabbing at a piece of roast potato with his fork.

“Maybe because you’re acting like a prat?” Sirius replied, his tone laced with amusement as he leaned closer.

James shot him a glare.

“Look, Prongs,” Sirius continued, dropping the teasing. “She doesn’t know what’s going on. You didn’t even give her a chance to explain, and now you’re sulking like a first-year who lost his chocolate frog cards.”

“Explain what? She ignored my letter, Padfoot. What’s there to explain?” James hissed, though his tone lacked its usual conviction.

Remus sighed, setting down his goblet. “Did it ever cross your mind that maybe she doesn’t even know what letter you’re talking about?”

James froze, his fork hovering mid-air.

“Just talk to her, mate,” Sirius said, giving James a nudge. “Or don’t. But if you keep this up, you’re only making it worse—for both of you.”

James huffed, slumping back in his seat. The truth was, he didn’t know if he had it in him to face you just yet.

From across the hall, you caught the way James’s shoulders sagged, and for a brief moment, you considered walking over. But pride held you in place. If James wanted to act like this, fine. Two could play that game.

You and James hadn’t spoken in what felt like weeks. The once effortless connection you shared had been replaced with an awkward silence that weighed heavily on you. It wasn’t just James—it felt like the whole group of Marauders had grown distant, their usual antics and inside jokes missing their spark when you were around.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d done something to upset him. But what? You racked your brain for answers, replaying every interaction from the past few months. James had always been one of your closest friends—why was he acting so strange?

Charms class was the hardest part of it all. You always sat beside James, sharing notes, exchanging whispers, and stifling laughs when Professor Flitwick wasn’t looking. Now, you sat in the same spot, the chair next to you glaringly empty.

You tried to focus on the professor’s instructions, but your thoughts were louder than his voice. Scribbling aimlessly in your notebook, you hardly noticed when someone approached your desk.

“Are you alright?”

Startled, you looked up to see a boy with a blue-and-bronze tie standing beside you. His face was vaguely familiar—you’d seen him around in class but had never spoken to him.

“Yeah—yes, I’m fine,” you stammered, blinking in confusion. Why was he talking to you?

He gave a polite, slightly amused smile. “Well, can you move your stuff? I’m sitting here now. We’re partners for the project.”

“Oh!” Heat rose to your cheeks as you hurriedly shoved your books to one side. “Sorry about that. I didn’t realize.”

“No worries,” he said, settling into the chair beside you. “I figured you weren’t paying attention—no offense. But I was, so I’ll explain what Professor Flitwick said.”

You managed a small smile, relieved by his casual tone. “Thanks. That’s… helpful.”

While he began outlining the project details, your focus wavered, glancing at James out of the corner of your eye. He was across the room, seated next to a loud and enthusiastic partner who seemed to be trying desperately to get his attention. But James wasn’t listening.

His gaze was fixed on you.

There was a flicker of something in his expression—jealousy, maybe? Regret? Whatever it was, it made your stomach twist.

You quickly turned your attention back to your new partner, nodding along to his explanation, even if you weren’t entirely listening. You felt James’s eyes on you the entire time, but you refused to look back.

Across the room, James’s jaw clenched. His partner waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his trance.

“Oi, Potter! Are you even listening?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure,” James muttered, though his eyes drifted back to you moments later.

He hated this—seeing someone else sitting beside you, making you smile when that used to be his seat, his job. But he didn’t know how to fix it. The letter. The silence. The way he’d avoided you. It all felt too big now, too messy to undo.

Still, James couldn’t stop watching you, his heart sinking further with every laugh you shared with your new partner.

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[orangerafe]

reader giving innocent!nerdy!rafe a blow job for the first time

cw; smut, blow job, nothing else I don’t think

School usually wasn’t a problem for you. You soared through middle school and high school with flying colours, getting A’s and B’s in every class. You thought collage would be easy, and it was at the start. But now you were on your second year, and it was getting harder each time you went to your classes. So after some hassling the teachers and begging for some guidance, they thought it would be a good idea to pair you up with Rafe Cameron

He was the schools golden boy, the one who passed every class with no problems and whose father funded the school to no end, favourited by everyone except most students. You didn’t mind him, he was a sweet boy and you found working with him fun. He explained things well, helping you understand the work better than most teachers did. Everything was going swimmingly, you two would meet up every Thursday and study for a few hours, sometimes getting dinner together

It was harmless, just casual studying after hours. That was until one night you just couldn’t help yourself. Your ovaries were on fire, making your hormones and horniness go through the roof. Poor rafe just wanted to help, and that’s how he found himself laying down on the bed, letting you take off his trunks

“Fuck, you’ve been hiding all this the whole time?” You almost moaned, taking his half hard cock out of his briefs and admiring the piece of flesh. He was big, thick and veiny. Absolutely made to satisfy your needs. He looked down, adjusting his glasses with his finger. “I-I yeah I guess so…” he mumbled, cheeks flushed a light pink. It was adorable really

You glanced up at him, a smirk playing at your lips as you poked your tongue out of your mouth, licking a strip from the base of rafes cock right up to his roaring red tip. Rafes mouth fell open, a low groan escaping his parted lips. He was now harder than ever, the feeling of his muscles spasming in your palm making you giggle. “You like it?” You asked him, watching his cheeks grow redder

Your tongue started to swirl around his tip, teasing the sensitive end. Rafes eyes rolled back, his head leaning back to the pillows as he let out moans of his own, even soft whimpers. You stared up at him, watching his every reaction as you started to throat his length, hallowing your cheeks and flattening your tongue to accommodate his largeness. He was hitting the back of your throat, and you hadn’t even taken him fully into your mouth yet

His hands moved down to thread through your hair, holding it into a makeshift ponytail. “Fuck, your so good at this” he breathed out, hips bucking into your mouth unintentionally. The way he pushed his his made you moan around his dick, the vibrations making him let out a slight whimper

The sound of his whimper made your stomach whirl, butterflies shooting through your body at the sound. You moved your hand to rest around his base, rubbing the rest of what you couldn’t fit in your mouth. Rafe was loving it, head lolled back and eyes shut in pleasure. He knew he wouldn’t last long, but he at least wanted to try last a little longer

Your tongue swirled along the underside of his length, the taste of his cock lingering on your tongue. “Your so good at this — I’m not gonna last” he hissed out, gently tugging on the coloured locks of your hair. You picked up the pace, wanting him to have a good orgasm, a good first experience with oral

His moans became louder, throatier as he came closer and closer to his climax. He was teetering on the edge of whimpering, sounds growing more stretched out and needy. You took him deeper into your mouth, determined to make him cum better than ever before. He whimpered, hands clutching onto your hair. “I’m — fuck I’m about to cum” he nearly whined, sounding desperate for this orgasm

It only took another bob of your head, another rub of your palm and swirl of your tongue for him to be cumming deep in your mouth, warm salty liquid spurting down into your throat. You pulled away, swallowing his load with no problems, minus the little bit that was dribbling down your chin. Rafes body was weak after cuming so hard, looking at you with dazed eyes that had you smiling

“You did good rafe, really good” you praised, rubbing his bicep as you grabbed his boxers and the tracksuit bottoms he was lazily wearing. Rafes cheeks flushed a little, still feeling a little overwhelmed. “Thanks” he replied, voice a little strained. Both of you then laid back on his bed, relaxing and enjoying each others company after something quite intimate

[scribeofmorpheus]

I hate how LLMs have made it very untrustworthy to regard what one comes across as genuine craft anymore. i know artists are struggling big time with scrapping. I even wrote a paper on how openai was scrapping ao3 based on their early story prompt structures reading like a lot of popular fanfics i'd read before.

i was actually so paranoid that i locked most of my fics on ao3. sometimes i roll back the lock when i work on a fic again, but i usually lock em back up again after a while. scrapping is abhorent and i hate how much ai has shifted digital art paradigms and is now seeping into fandom culture.

I will say that i do find the "nonsense description" portion of this post a bit hard to align with. I'll get into it below the cut. but this is purely discursive, I'm not condemning or abstaining (I'm on op's side here), I'm just pointing out some factoids of my own for perspective!

here it is:

""her nimble fingers worked with quiet precision" (ct. 1), "his grip firm but tender" (ct. 33), "her gown pooling around her like embers" (ct. 1)."

See, I write like this, becuase i was trained in poetry first and then moved on to prose later. i use imagery, i use atmospherics, i use sensation in place of actual telegraphed motion or action that one expects of an action alone--it flows better, sounds sweeter and sometimes, yes, nimble fingers can move with quiet precision (not quiet as in "sound" but as in "understated", as in "draws little attention to the movement"). Firm but tender is another of my favourites--juxtaposition, contrast between the outward seen and felt execution of the action and the internalised, more personal mode of emotion conveyed so as to angle how we broach the situation. "firm but tender" is assuring, it's safe. "firm and rough" is more edged, and since we're left with little assumption of the setting and intent of such action, we cannot tell if the action and the emotions align--if its sexual, is it also consensual? if it's violent, is it because of haste to act, fear, annoyance, etc, etc. now "pooling like embers" is odd. embers spark and bristle and fly and catch things on fire, they disperse and scatter, never hold a body of matter congealed enough to pool. pooling like unfurled flame from dragon's breath? yeah, now that works! especially if it's a magic setting.

all this to say, ai is making it exceeding harder to prove craft is genuine if you work outside structural modes one can fact check. if you try to be more experimental, there's high chance you'll end up like me, and chip away at rigid writing structure in order to form your own voice. repetition and favoured descriptions is also a known trait of writers. one of my fav fanfic writers back in the day used to love "hard" after a pause. like: "he slammed the door, hard." or "his kiss pressed deep into me, hard." and it was noticeable and i loved seeing they had a tell.

though, i do agree that one of the things that need the least repetition in fiction is hair colour. but even published books like to remind readers of physical traits id it's something the author is so beguiled by. poor writing, but writing none the less.

i did suspect something was off with TSATS because of how fast the updates rolled. because damn! 23k word update after a 13k word update with less than 48 hrs between? crazy if true. but alas, i don't think i have it in me to be disappointed if i go seeking and do indeed find a pattern that proves LLM usage.

but to all my fic writers that take like half a day to write 3 pages and the other half procrastinating, if you (like me) got notified of all the updates and wondered if you weren't "productive" enough, you are not making a product, these are labours of love, keep at it, at your own pace, with your own skill, the process is the process!

we need to talk about The Silence and The Song

as per my last post, i have received a lot of encouragement to go public with this, and the more disappointed people i have in my dms, the angrier i get. so i will.

the silence and the song is an ancient arlathan au DA fic on ao3 by luxannaslut, and it is partly, if not entirely, written by an ai. i have no wish to be involved in any kind of fandom drama or witch hunting or bullying, but as a writer myself there are few things that piss me off more than watching people steal the work of others because they can't be fucked to write. it's disrespectful to your fellow writers, it's disrespectful to your readers, and it's disrespectful to the authors of the works the ai is stealing from.

ai is a plague that has no business being in creative spaces and you must do better.

the writing pattern

there was something very odd and monotone about the sentence structure of tsats that i couldn't quite place, so i fed chatgpt a prompt along the lines of "two people in a fantasy novel hate each other, but they secretly desire one another, and they kiss", and the screenshots above are the results. the third one is an excerpt from chapter 40 of tsats. the writing pattern is identical and it doesn't seem like the "writer" has even bothered to pretend they wrote it. if you're going to use ai, at least be sneaky about it. you know, paraphrase a little.

nonsense descriptions

"her nimble fingers worked with quiet precision" (ct. 1), "his grip firm but tender" (ct. 33), "her gown pooling around her like embers" (ct. 1).

fingers don't make sound, so what does quiet precision mean? as opposed to what? her joints cracking with every movement? how is a grip firm but tender? what does that mean? since when do embers pool?

the entire fic is littered with these adjectives that contradict each other or just straight up do not make sense, because all an ai does is generate descriptive language with no understanding of what the words it's spitting out actually mean. i could spend hours picking out examples from the seven billion pages worth of text, but i quite frankly have better things to do and would simply challenge you to try getting through a chapter or two without noticing the pattern.

repetition at structure-level

all the scenes in this fic are described in pretty much the same way. they open with purple prose vomit of the surroundings; solas is standing somewhere looking "unreadable as ever"; ellana's fiery golden molten fire copper ember ginger red hair is flowing this and that way; there's some dialogue with whoever is present and it leaves ellana feeling different variations of "something she couldn't name". this is, once again, a blatantly obvious sign of ai. below is the result of me feeding chatgpt the line "write me a scene from a fantasy novel where a woman with red hair is sitting on the ground in a magical garden at night", and side by side with that is the opening scene of the fic. make your own judgement.

repetition at word-level

this one speaks for itself. we fucking get it. her dress is orange, her hair is red, mythal's presence is heavy in the room, solas looks unreadable, compassion is sitting on her head like a crown, solas' ears are betraying him and ellana's move with every thought she thinks. we get it. the issue here is that an ai remembers the info you feed it, but not necessarily the info it shits out. if it's being told to write scene after scene of an elven woman with a gown that looks like fire doing xyz, it's going to do so with no regard for how many times the reader has already been informed of these details.

lastly: the breakneck speed

359,6k words in four weeks by a person who allegedly is employed and married and hasn't pre-written anything? no. any writer will tell you that this simply isn't possible. it absolutely infuriates me to see how much praise this "writer" gets for posting up to three full chapters in a day without anyone calling bullshit. i am pulling out my hair, you guys.

why i'm not going to live and let live this one

perhaps i would be less angry if the fic was some silly bullshit court intrigue Y/A stuff, but this is a text that handles very heavy and triggering topics such as SA, coercion, domestic abuse, and other things of the same vein. to sit back and put your feet up while having a robot write these extremely sensitive and very real human experiences with words it has stolen from texts written by actual persons is fucking heinous. the "writer" should be deeply ashamed of themselves and i'm sick and tired of watching people eat up their bs.

and on that note: the amount of people in my dm's telling me that they feel stupid and naive for not clocking this has infuriated me more than anything else. you're not foolish for this. being fed ai-generated bullshit is not what is supposed to happen on any creative platform and much less a fandom-centred one, so of course no one approaches a fic through that lens. fandom and fic writing is supposed to be about passion and the only person in this situation who needs to do better and change their behaviour is luxannaslut. polluting our creative spaces, wasting the time of your readers, and minimising the effort of actual writers who are working hard to provide content for us all to share and enjoy is vile and so, so lazy. i beg of you: do better.

[ssa-danhotchner]

please i need a least angstier version of happier maybe reader has to go to a mision like s7 aaron in pakistan a he sees how much he really misses her

What we left behind | Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

note: I tried my best, I hope you like it!

english isn't my first language so please be kind

cw: BAU reader, beth is in here, angst, regret, past relationship struggles, unspoken feelings

wc: 1.5k maybe?

It wasn’t like you hated Beth.

She was kind, warm, and approachable—the kind of woman people gravitated toward without hesitation. She seemed good for Aaron, too. For all his years of shielding himself, she brought out something softer in him. When you saw them together, he smiled more. He laughed in a way that had felt rare, almost forgotten.

But watching them together hurt in a way you hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t jealousy exactly. It was grief.

Grief for what you and Aaron had been, for what you thought you might have been.

He was the one who ended it, after all.

You remembered the night so clearly it still stung, like a bruise you kept accidentally pressing. He’d invited you over, his voice softer than usual on the phone. At first, you thought nothing of it. But when you arrived, the heaviness in the air made your stomach twist.

Aaron wasn’t one to stumble over his words, but that night he did. “You mean the world to me,” he’d said, his voice breaking slightly. “But I can’t give you the life you deserve.”

You’d stared at him, stunned. “What are you talking about? We’re fine.”

“No, we’re not,” he said quietly, looking at you like it physically pained him. “You deserve someone who can be there for you, who isn’t constantly distracted by the job, who can give you all the things I can’t. And I... I can’t keep holding you back.”

His words shattered something in you. “I didn’t ask for perfect, Aaron. I asked for you.”

He closed his eyes, his jaw tight, and shook his head. “You’ll see, one day, that this is what’s best.”

You didn’t fight him after that. You couldn’t. And maybe some part of you even believed he was right. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

--

For months, you carried that pain with you like a shadow. You buried yourself in work, throwing yourself into cases until you were so exhausted you couldn’t think about anything else.

It helped, a little.

But then Beth showed up.

The team was supportive of Aaron’s new relationship, of course. They were profilers—they could see how happy Beth made him, and they teased him lightly about it. Even Rossi, who had a knack for keeping things professional, cracked a joke now and then about Aaron’s “smiling problem.”

You played along, smiling and laughing at the right moments, even as it chipped away at you.

“You okay?” Emily asked one day, catching you lingering at the coffee machine longer than usual.

“Yeah, fine” you replied quickly, avoiding her eyes.

Emily didn’t press, but the look she gave you made it clear she didn’t buy it.

---

When the opportunity to work with the State Department in Pakistan came up, you jumped at it. The mission would take you halfway across the world for months, giving you the distance you desperately needed from Aaron, Beth, and the suffocating reminders of what you’d lost.

“It’s a great opportunity” you told the team, forcing a smile as you shared the news during a team meeting.

Morgan gave you a skeptical look. “You sure about this, kid? Seems... sudden.”

“I’m sure,” you said firmly.

Rossi, always perceptive, gave you a knowing look but said nothing.

Aaron, however, was harder to read. He’d been quiet during the meeting, his dark eyes flicking to you now and then, but he didn’t say a word.

Later, as the team dispersed, he stopped you outside the conference room.

“You’re really going?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

“I am,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “You didn’t mention you were thinking about this.”

“I didn’t think it mattered,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

Aaron flinched slightly, his jaw tightening. “Of course it matters.”

You sighed, softening your tone. “Look, this is a good opportunity for me. I need... a change.”

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he nodded. “Be careful,” he said quietly.

---

Pakistan was everything you expected and more. The work was intense, the days long, and the challenges endless. But it was exactly what you needed. The distance, the change in pace, the focus on something new—it all helped you start to piece yourself back together.

And yet, there were nights when the loneliness crept in, catching you off guard. You missed the team. You missed Garcia’s bright enthusiasm, Morgan’s playful teasing, JJ’s steady calm.

You missed Aaron.

You told yourself you didn’t have the right to miss him, not after everything. But you couldn’t help it. You missed the way he grounded you, the quiet strength he carried even in the hardest moments.

---

Back in Quantico, Aaron found himself drifting. The bullpen felt emptier without you, and he hated how often he caught himself looking at your desk, expecting to see you there.

He tried to focus on work, on Jack, on his relationship with Beth. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the nagging emptiness you’d left behind.

Beth noticed, of course. She was too perceptive not to.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she said one evening as they sat on the couch, a glass of wine in her hand.

“I’ve just been busy,” he replied, though they both knew it wasn’t the whole truth.

Beth studied him for a moment before setting her glass down. “It’s because she’s gone, isn’t it?”

He froze, his heart skipping a beat.

Beth sighed, setting her wine glass down. “I’ve always felt like I was competing with someone who wasn’t even here.”

“I’m sorry,” Aaron said quietly, his throat tightening.

“I know you care about me, Aaron,” Beth said gently. “But it’s not enough, is it?”

He looked at her, guilt and regret twisting in his chest. “You deserve better than this. Better than me.”

Beth nodded, her eyes sad but understanding. “And so does she.”

---

When you returned to Quantico, the familiarity was both comforting and suffocating. The bullpen buzzed with the usual energy—Garcia’s colorful office lights glowed from the corner, Morgan leaned casually against Spence's desk, and Rossi greeted you with his characteristic warmth. But despite the smiles and hugs, there was a lingering sense of unease.

You tried to shake it off. You were home now, and that was what mattered.

But then you saw Aaron.

He stood at the far end of the bullpen, just outside his office, his dark eyes locked on you. The usual stoicism in his expression faltered as you met his gaze, something softer, almost hesitant, bleeding through.

Your breath caught in your chest. It had been months since you last saw him, and yet it felt like no time had passed at all. He looked the same—polished suit, perfect posture, the slight furrow of his brow that you’d memorized years ago.

He started walking toward you, his steps slow and deliberate. You tried to prepare yourself for the moment, but when he finally stopped in front of you, the carefully constructed walls around your heart wavered.

“Welcome back,” he said softly, his voice carrying a gravity that made your pulse race.

“Thanks,” you replied, forcing a small smile, though your throat felt tight.

There was a beat of silence. The bullpen buzzed with life around you, but all you could focus on was him—the way his eyes lingered on your face, the way he seemed like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

“Can we talk?” he asked finally, his voice low enough that no one else could hear.

You hesitated. Part of you wanted to say no, to protect yourself from whatever this conversation might bring. But the way he looked at you—vulnerable and intent—made it impossible to refuse.

“Yeah,” you said quietly.

He led you to his office, holding the door open for you before closing it behind him. The sound of the latch clicking seemed to echo, amplifying the tension in the room.

You stood awkwardly near the desk while he lingered by the door, as if trying to keep some distance between you.

“How was it?” he asked, gesturing vaguely. “Pakistan, I mean.”

“It was... intense” you admitted. “Challenging, but good. It gave me a lot to think about.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening as he seemed to weigh his next words. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Thanks” you said again, the word feeling hollow on your tongue. You couldn’t take the tension anymore. “Aaron, what did you want to talk about?”

His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, and when he finally looked at you, his eyes were heavy with regret.

“I owe you an apology” he said, his voice low and rough.

You blinked, startled. “An apology? For what?”

“For walking away” he said, stepping closer. His gaze held yours, steady but full of something you couldn’t quite name. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought letting you go would... would give you the chance to find someone better, someone who could give you what I couldn’t.”

Your heart clenched painfully at his words, but before you could respond, he continued.

“But I was wrong” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was hurt both of us. And every day you were gone, I felt it—I felt how wrong I was.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. “Aaron, I—”

“I missed you” he interrupted, taking another step closer. “Every day you were gone, I missed you. And I realized that I’d rather spend my life trying to be enough for you than spend another day without you.”

Tears blurred your vision, but you blinked them away, trying to process his words.

“You ended it” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You told me I deserved better.”

“I thought I was doing the selfless thing,” he admitted, his expression pained. “But all I did was rob us of the chance to fight for what we had. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The rawness in his voice cracked something open inside you.

“Aaron, I...” You trailed off, shaking your head as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I don’t even know what to say.”

He stepped closer again, closing the remaining distance between you. “You don’t have to say anything. Just... tell me if there’s still a chance. If there’s even a small part of you that still feels the same way.”

His vulnerability was overwhelming. This was Aaron Hotchner—the man who never wavered, never let his guard down. And yet here he was, standing before you, baring his heart.

“I missed you too” you admitted finally, your voice breaking. “But I don’t know if I can do this again. I don’t know if I can survive losing you a second time.”

“You won’t” he said firmly, his hand twitching at his side like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I swear to you, I won’t let you down again. I’ll fight for this—for us. Every day, if I have to.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way his dark eyes held yours, left you breathless.

And in that moment, you realized something: you still loved him. You always had.

Slowly, you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. His breath hitched at the contact, but he didn’t pull away.

“Okay” you said softly, your voice trembling but sure. “Let’s try again.”

Aaron’s shoulders sagged with relief, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he smiled—a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes.

And as he squeezed your hand, you felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

---

[agendercrisisx]

𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝙶𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚢

Ship: Simon "Ghost" Riley x female!reader

If there are any mistakes they will unfortunately not be corrected, because I'm too tired to read and this is what has been served. <3

Warnings: SEX! Porn no plot at alllllll, nipple play, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, switch Ghosty, desperation, reader-insert, reader gets fucked... and cum a lot of cum and creampie.

Summary: Ghost has been away on a mission for way too long and you miss him more than you can handle. This is pure smut, no plot.

Word count: 3880

Your legs are hugging each side of Simon’s hips, his hands are placed on either side of your waist, holding you firmly in place. He is slowly pulling you back and forth on top of his aching crotch, pulling soft whimpers from your lips every time one of your sensitive spots grazes him. The pair of boxers he is wearing is the only thing separating the two of you, the only thing any of you are wearing. You had dropped most of your clothes the moment he had stepped through the door. His jacket and boots were the first to go, and then he was almost ripping the clothes of your body. Not that you were wearing much.

You had waited for his return, hoping he would be sent home a day early. Hoping for his immediate arrival home. You were desperate. You needed him, and your hand was far from enough anymore. Not even the toys Simon had bought for you, to “help” while he was gone, had any effect. You had been pent up for days, and not a dropped had spilt. You were more than desperate to see your husband again. Touch him. Feel him. Fuck him. And as his gaze had met yours, you realized how pent up he too was.

He had quickly picked you up and thrown you over his shoulder. Ridding you of your remaining clothes on the way to your shared bedroom. His movements were gentle as he had put you down on the bed, but you knew that his soft and gentle touches weren’t going to stay like that much longer. You were right, they hadn’t.

His grip tightens and the rub of his clothed dick, against your sensitive pussy, is almost already too much. You knew you were pent up, but to this extent? You were so addicted to your husband, and he you. A groan escapes his lips as he presses you down on him, while he grinds up into you. A whimper falls from your open mouth, and he is quick to pull you down to swallow it whole.

His cock is painfully hard and not long ago you could clearly see a spot, from where he was dripping precum. Now everything is soaked, and it is entirely your fault. The moment he had laid his hands on you, your whole body had set into breeding mode. Your breath turned short, your face red, your legs shaky, your nipples hard, your pussy wet, and nothing or no one could stop you from climbing the mountain, that is your husband.

“Mhm… Need, need you…” You take a shaky breath, in a desperate attempt to calm your voice enough to utter the words. “… You in… inside. Please… Oh please. Simon, please.” Your voice is dripping with need, and the words falling from your lips are barely understandable. But Simon understands enough.

“Anything…” A groan falls from his lips as you press your hips harder against him, it isn’t even intentionally, your body moving on its own.

“Love, gotta… oh fuck. You gotta… let me breathe…” His breaths coming out raspy, letting his head fall back into the pillows. He is trying to compose himself enough to get inside that pretty pussy of yours, but the way you’re grinding against him, has his mind blank. He can’t think about anything but you, and how good you make him feel. He is even more pent up than you, you at least had the time to make the worst go away. He hasn’t touched his cock in eight days, the last time he came was in you, right before he left. Just the thought of you while he was away, made him nearly dizzy. Price had to pull him out of his own head several times, but even on missions his mind always found you. Your soft skin, your smile, the way your eyes light up when you see him, your voice as you tell him about your day, the way your hand feels in his, your mind-numbingly beauty, the way you say his name, your moans, the whimpers he can pull from you with just a finger, the way you feel around him, you, you, you. You. Always you.

He can’t think anymore, his thoughts always filled with you, are mush. He can only register how good you feel, nothing in his mind. And he isn’t even inside, he is going to bust the moment his cock touches your sweet cunt. He needs you so bad. He needs you more than water. More than the air he breathes. If this was his last moments on Earth, he would die happy. Nothing more than you fills his senses. Now he just needs to fill you.

His muscles are flexing painfully, his whole body on edge, every nerve feels like it could snap, his entire body pent up, ready to bust any second. His hands are clenched by his side, his legs cramped up, and first as a soft feathery kiss is laid on his inner thigh does he realize your weight is missing. You aren’t sitting on him anymore and his underwear has been removed too. He tries to lift his head to look at you. But his body doesn’t move.

Another light kiss on his inner thigh, makes his body tense to a point he thinks it’s going to break. Whimpers and groans are leaving his lips like a waterfall, and drool is running slowly down his chin. His chest is covered in sweat, his dick is twitching almost violently, and his teary eyes are clenched shut.

You plant a last kiss on his thigh, just besides his balls and another whimper leaves his lips. He is sensitive. More sensitive than you think you have ever seen him before. It’s been years since you were separated for so long, normally it’s just a few days and you can both barely handle that. It has been over a week, you get pent up when he doesn’t touch you for a day. This is nothing short of torture.

Simon throws his head back in a silent cry, as you nose lightly grazes his ball. You bite softly down on his inner thigh and a moan slip past his lips. Normally he wouldn’t make a sound, he doesn’t like being vulnerable, but his mind is so blank he can’t even seem care. The enjoyment you get from the sounds he makes, is clearly shown in slick dripping down your thighs. The sheets under you already ruined, and you haven’t done anything.

You’re sitting on your knees between his thighs, you press your legs apart so your throbbing cunt can rub softly against the already soaked sheets. You whimper at the contact and your mind fall numb for a few seconds, before a soft gasp can be heard from Simon and you mission becomes clear. You must help your darling husband, he seems so tense, he needs relief, and it’s beyond clear that he can’t handle that himself.

Your lips brush his pelvic bone, and your lift yourself up on your elbows to have full access to his leaking cock. You grind your hips against the bed, and your moan mixes with his groans. You lean down to softly kiss the tip of his aching cock, you push your tongue out, and you softly kitten licks the tip.

No more than two grazes in, and his body cramps up. A delicious groan is pulled from Simon’s lips, his hand finds your head on instinct, as he takes a good grip in your hair. He pulls you back to his cock and a last soft kiss to the tip has him cumming undone. His body convulses and string after string of hot cum, falls over your face. Your mouth opens, trying to catch as much as possible. His hips are bucking into the air and his dick is twitching relentlessly. His mind is only filled with pleasure and no coherent thoughts is anywhere near him.

As he finally unloads it all on you and the bed, his lips stay open. Short, shaky breath leaves him, and his chest is falling rapidly. You let a hand run along his thigh, and his desperate sighs is more than enough to make you keep going. He always came so much and so many times, when he comes home after deployment. And you aren’t going to stop, when you know just how much your poor husband need this special treatment.

Your mind is almost as blank as Simon’s, but you desire to keep your husband cumming and happy is stronger than any lust could ever be. Your pussy is going to be second priority right now, it’s your darling husband’s sweet turn. You know how many loads he has in him normally, if he hasn’t cum his entire deployment, and he normally doesn’t, then he needs more than a single measly orgasm, a lot more.

His chest is rising and falling rapidly, and soft moans are escaping his swollen lips. He must have been biting them as he came, he does that sometimes, trying to keep his delicious sounds concealed. Not that he did a very good job this time.

“Gon’ make you cum’ again, pretty boy.” It’s more to yourself than him, but soft whimpers come from your husband. Your face is rubbing softly against his crotch, you let your tongue slip out running along his balls. Slowly pulling one into your mouth and sucking softly on the sensitive flesh. Simon’s hand is flung over his face in a desperate attempt to keep his flustered face hidden from your hungry eyes. You pull your lips off his balls with a ‘pop’ sound following, and a grin spreads on your lips.

“I love you soo’ much. Gon’ make you feel al’ good.” Muffled sounds can be heard from your husband, but his arm covering his face makes it hard to make out if he is saying something or if it’s just more pathetic whining. You wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, finally getting to put his sweet cock in your mouth. You wanted that for days, you missed his cock, his taste, him. You missed him so much. And what better way to show him than let him cum in your throat?

You pull your lips off, to lick a long strip up the underside of his cock. Before lapsing your lips back on his leaking tip and getting your first good taste of your darling husband. A mix of cum and precum was running down and the salty but sweet taste got your own body tensing, close to your own high. His hips are bucking into your awaiting mouth, letting his own body fight for the sweet relief of your lips. You swirl your tongue around the head and a soft moan leaves your lips. Simon groans at the added vibration from your sweet voice.

“Got’a… need’… baby… fuck… just… please… I need…” His soft voice is finally coherent enough for you to make out the words, even though there is no meaning behind them. Every word interrupted by a groan while you move you lips up and down his hard cock. It hadn’t softened at all after his first orgasm, and his movements were more than desperate.

“You got’ to speak up.” Not that your words were much more understandable than his, but it was so rare to see him like this. You needed to remember every moment of it, save it in your brain like an exceptionally good porno. Needed to save every whimper, every moan, every soft sound slipping past his bodacious lips, every damn movement. You needed it all engrained in your brain, like a light picture.

The view from his crotch up was godlike, his abs perfectly laid out before you, shiny and covered in sweat. The bumps of muscle sprawled out before you like a meal, and you are nothing, but a woman starved. You keep your attention on his cock, but the need to lick his abs. Taste the sweat on his hard stomach, kiss along the scars and feel his abs tense as you nibble at his skin. The urge to ride his abs, grind you swollen clit along his broad stomach, and make yourself cum just by grinding on his muscles. You know he would love it. He loves watching you, your every move, studying you, memorizing you. You could put on a show for him to remember.

Maybe take a hold of his soft pecs, the muscle on his chest jiggly and delicious. His chest was nothing short of breathtaking. Simon is a fucking baby, loving to suck on your chest, nibble and suck on your sensitive nipples. And as the sweet wife you are, you decide to repay the favour. You lick his tip a last time, before lifting yourself up. You press your chest against his stomach and groan escapes his lips, one of his large hands move to tangle into your hair. Your lips wrap around his nipple and a soft pull can be felt in your hair. You smile and as your teeth softly grazes his hardened bud, and the sweetest groan leaves him.

His grip tightens and he pulls you up so his sore lips can come in contact with yours. He is aggressive but in a sweet way. Pushing his mouth so firmly against yours, that for a moment your teeth touch. His tongue dominating and in control. You body is pulsing, clamping around nothing but air and occasionally when a breeze flows through the room you can truly feel how wet you are. A dripping mess for him, a river of desire for him and only him.

A light touch against your clit, makes your body collapse. You press your face against his neck burying yourself as a moan leaves your lips. His finger circles you again, slowly dipping down to collect some of your wetness to make the glide over you easier. As he comes back up and softly pinches you. A loud whimper escapes your lips, while your body desperately starts humping his hand. Fighting for any sort of friction, to make that awfully lust differ.

His lips find your neck, tracing his tongue along your jugular and planting a kiss right below your ear. He must have composed himself, because soft words leave his lips and you cum in an instant. The way he says, “cum for me darling,” has your entire body convulsing and cramping. You moan and whimper into his neck, biting down on the muscle of his shoulder. You pussy contracting around thin air, but begging, begging so desperately for his cock.

 “Please, ple’se, ple’ce.” Your words are hard to distinguish, and the letters warps together into a blur. But he understands it. More so from the way your body moves, the way your head falls back into the pillows, and the way you so desperately reach for him. He knows. He knows you so well. Every movement of your body is underlined for him, he has looked and studied them a hundred times over and he is sure of every twitch.

A smirk grows on his lips as a single digit of his snakes its way down your fragile body. His nail softly scratches the skin of your stomach as you grow more and more impatient. A whimper falls from your lips, and you buck your hips into the air to get his attention. His eyes find yours and he chuckles. Removing his finger from your stomach to set his hand down beside him. He lifts himself from the bed, to move down between your thighs.

The slightest moment of control seems to fall from his grasp as he sees the wetness dripping from your desperate pussy. His eyes light up and his tongue peaks out to lick himself around the lips like some starved animal. He falls to his elbows, his face now just inches away from you. He can smell you, the meal he is so desperate to taste. His eyes surveying your soft flesh, hungrily looking at your bare cunt. Inspecting your pussy.

The smile on his lips is soon gone, as his head is roughly pressed between your thighs. His tongue darts out to taste you, running along your tight walls, eagerly licking up everything you have to offer. Your screams and whimpers are not of short, as he grabs the back of your thighs with his hands and pulls you even closer. Pressing his nose against your soft bundle of nerves, while his tongue explores your insides. Your hand desperately reaches for anything to grab but finds nothing other than the soaked bed sheet. You moan, and as he hits a particularly sensitive spot, your hips buck into the air pressing even harder against his face. He laughs and the small amount of vibration is enough to push you over the edge.

Your high hits you like a wave, your body contorting and contracting in a mess of limps. You pussy doing anything to find back to him and his so sweet relief. Your hands finally finding something to hold and taking a firm grasp in his hair. You moan while you push his face against your cunt, milking every last drop of your orgasm from his sweet tongue.

You fall breathlessly back into the pillows, taking a moment to catch your breath. But not a second later, you whimper as Simon once again comes in contact with your pussy. He knows you are not done. You know it. But the orgasm that had just rippled through your body had taken its toll. But he and you was fully aware that if he just slightly pushed into you, you would be back on top of him etching him to move.

His finger runs slowly up, a gasp leaves you as his finger glides over your aching hole and another one as he just barely touches your clit.

“You gon’ give me another one. Need ‘nother one luv, come one darlin’, please. Need you to cum for me, y’know just once more. Please sweetheart, just once. Just cum for me once more, I’ll do wa’ever you ask. One time? I’ll make it worth your while.” The tone in his voice always made your knees weak, but with a slight hint of him begging for you to cum. Him begging? No one would believe you. But you know and that is enough. That the big strong sergeant is begging for you, saying he will do whatever you ask. With the fact that his digits are pushing into you, stretching you out, and your pussy is eager to welcome him.

Two of his fingers finds that sensitive little spot in you, and a gentle nudge and another soft whisper from him. “I’ll let you on my cock if you cum again, hmm? Promise to fuck ya’ real good luv.” You nod your head and bite down roughly on his shoulder. A groan escapes you and your body cramps in an instant. The heat enveloping makes you lightheaded, and the pulsing of your sensitive pussy makes your heart beat even faster. You cum around him in a sweel of cuss words and praise. Your body pulling him closer to you in anyway possible, wrapping any part you can around him.

Your mouth agape and legs falling apart, the view in which from Simon sees you is astounding. His beautiful wife, spread open for him. Whimpering at any soft contact and begging for him to touch you.

Your eyes find his and the lust in his makes you crave the sweet taste of him even more. You need him more than air to breathe.

“You are such a good fucking girl for me.”

His hands roughly grab the fat of your thighs and pulls you into his lap. Your still twitching pussy rubbing against his throbbing cock. His hands move to feel the soft ski of your waist and gently rub his thump against you lowest rib. The few seconds of gentleness is quickly overthrown by his own his eagerness to feel you and you no longer remaining self-control.

Before you realise you are pushed into a pillow, his right arm holding him over you as his left is helping him push the dripping head of his cock against your eager pussy. You whimper at the soft contact and a scream of pleasure rips from your chest as his slams into you. Filling you to the brim. His pace is set, hammering into you as he pulls your legs to rest on top of his shoulders. Letting his cock hit you at a new angle, a different string of sounds leaves you as you get used to the girth of your husband’s cock.

You clamp down around him as another orgasm is ripped from your body. Leaving you shaking as he continues the bruising of your cervix. His gaze meets yours and his eyes has a faint haze to them, he isn’t thinking he is running on pure adrenaline and lust. He is only thinking about the way you feel around him, the way you squeeze and moan. The way your hands are gripping at the hairs on his neck. The way your legs are pulling him closer. The way you bite down on his shoulder to keep yourself mildly composed. He only thinks about you.

“You feel so good luv’, can’t last long like this.” His words are a mess between heavy breathing and whimpers. You nod and pull him closer, your hands pulling his chest against yours. Running your hands up to his shoulders and down to his biceps to get a grip as his movements speed up.

He is so close, he can’t control himself any longer. His movements getting sloppy and unprecise as his body tenses.

“I’m gonna fill ya’ up yeah? Be a good girl for me and take it.” His words are followed by grunts and the feral movements of his body is all you need to know. You pull him tighter against you, whimpering against his ear and nothing else is needed for him to come undone. Groans falling from his lips, his body contracting and convulsing as he pushes harder against you. His head falling against your shoulder as a last string of cuss words escapes him.

…

"Dear Y/N L/N Riley,

Your intimate relationship with the Sergeant, Simon Riley, is to be none of the officers’ concerns. But as of late, a law of the state has been broken.

As the laws dictate, all destruction of government property is prohibited. As official, Sergeant Riley is defied as such, therefore the damages that have come to the Sergeant is classified as a crime.

You will not be incriminated for this instantaneously, but this shall refrain from repeating.

Regards, Captain Price

-don’t let this repeat Y/N, we cannot have Ghost running around with love bites on his neck in uniform."

Your cheeks are burning. You would have never guessed them to send a letter regarding sexual intercourse with your husband. But this only taught you one thing. Don’t leave hickies where others could see.

I've had this is my drafts for months and I just never pulled myself together to finish it. But now I finally did, the ending is a bit rushed but I would rather write something than nothing. I hope you liked it.

[aziraphales-library]

Back to bug you again! Randomly thought about "there was only one bed" and then immediately randomly thought "lol there was only one body" as in for some reason I was secretly starving for possession fics? Not a lost fic ask. Just a "got any for me?"

Read a great one, Tether by Gingercat a while back.

But it is a crime that "there was only one body" does not seem to be a tag.

Basically I mean I'm ISO fics with any unfortunate events that cause either Az or Crowley to have to possess the other's body. And most likely it devolves pretty quickly from there.

There is not a 'there was only one body' tag, but there IS a sharing a body tag. Here is a selection for you...

Possession by spunknbite (E)

“So my idea, and please don’t dismiss it offhand - ” Aziraphale settles back against the pillows, “I think you should possess me.” “That’s a terrible idea,” Crowley says flatly.

And I Would Hide My Face In You by amerande (E)

It had been six thousand years, more or less, since Aziraphale had last been without a corporation. He'd forgotten how different some things were. OR: The one where they share a body.

Bonded by Guanin (T)

Aziraphale had almost died, almost fucking died, and now he was sharing Crowley's body, his spirit surrounding Crowley, a loving, pulsing presence right in the very heart of him. He had never been this close to Aziraphale before, had never dreamed that it would be possible. He was sorely glad that he didn’t need to breathe, for he wouldn’t be able to manage it with Aziraphale’s presence making him feel drunk and mellow. It was a miracle that he could drive at all. Aziraphale had grafted himself onto Crowley’s soul, the border between them permeable and merging at the edges a little more with every second that passed by.

I've Got You Under My Skin by redundant_angel (E)

Crowley must possess Aziraphale in order to prove to Hell that he's worthy of keeping his demonic powers. Aziraphale agrees to help. ------ “Regulation demands that you must prove to us that you are worthy of your demonic status by possessing another being and having them bend to Satan’s will.” “Oh, is that all?" said Crowley.

Meanwhile… by TheTalkingPeanut (M)

My alternative take of these scenes/the near-ending of the 6th episode (and that one from the 5th). I got a 'what if' in my head after I heard these lines: "I just need to find a receptive body. It's harder than you think. I just need to find a body...pity I can't inhabit yours." To which MY mind added his response: "Why not? Who said you can't? I'm right here, Aziraphale. Take me."

A bit snug by fenrislorsrai (T)

“I do need a body. Pity I can’t inhabit yours. Angel, demon...probably explode…” --- And there was only one bed body. They can't be made to fight if they're both in the same body. It's the surest way to cancel each other out and make sure they won't have to face each other at Armageddon if they can't stop the end. They may not explode, but there's definitely other consequences. Not least of which is getting to know the parts of each other they hid from each other or were too afraid to admit to. What can they learn from each other's experiences? What ARE bodies? After all this time, they're finding their ideas of such were perhaps too limited by what they'd been told. What is Self and what part of it is defined by other's perception of you? and what if that Other is now with you? Can you still deny you are worthy of love when you must direct some of it back at yourself to love another who’s currently part of you. Which is all very serious but also they bicker a lot, flirt with someone in same body (awkward), have Opinions about how to take their tea, make a demonic pact, and confuse Gabriel with math.

And the one you mentioned...

Tether by Ginger_Cat (E)

Aziraphale, Supreme Archangel of the Heavenly Host, is just minding his own business. Really. It's not like he's trying to get summoned to Earth during highly important archangelic duties. And Crowley's not trying to summon him, he swears, but somehow it still keeps happening... Now, if they could only figure out why?

- Mod D

[amoristt]

pretty little thing

「 ✦ hwang in-ho / reader ✦ 」

tags: nsfw MDNI // exhibitionism, edging, unedited pls forgive me a/n: when it is going to be my turn original request (x)

it's hard to breathe. it's hard to even think to breathe anymore, your lungs betraying your bodies innate need to inhale. nerves alight from underneath your skin in tingling and prickly flashes. you're trying to hold back the sultry noises mounting in your chest, you really are, but In-ho's got you essentially powerless to stop them. you even try to close your legs, to jump from his touch, but he's got you held fast and in your place. no where to go except closer and closer to the inevitable.

when you'd joined him in his suite and settled on his lap, it really wasn't for anything other than innocently lounging with your lover. it was his fault, really, that you ended up sprawled over him with your legs dangling over the arm of the armchair and his hand buried between your legs while the other propped you up at the shoulders.

his suit is silky smooth against your naked skin. almost as smooth as his voice as he spoke with a square guard merely feet away from you.

you had entirely expected In-ho to stop when the man had walked in but he didn't. he didn't really react at all, in all honestly. other than actually speeding up the tight circles he was rubbing into your clit, like he wanted you louder, wanted you wetter. wanted you some squirming pretty thing in his lap.

there was no denying the way it worked, too. riveting waves of shame and lust engulfed you, dragged you below the murky waters of sex. you refused to look at the anonymous man, burying your face in In-ho's shoulder to try and at least pretend like this wasn't doing something for you.

but really, it's like the day fighting the night. inescapable. all consuming. you can't stop the way you're soaking his thigh through the fabrics of his pants, nor can you stop the way you try to urge your hips into his touch when he presses just a little harder, a little deeper into you. more than once now you'd been right at the precipice, ready to tumble down into ecstasy, only to suddenly find yourself without as he drew his fingers away.

the first time it had been for shits and giggles. the second time, it was because he loved the way you pleaded with your eyes.

the third was when the guard had knocked at his door and was welcomed in.

you know he's trying to see how far you'd go in front of the man before you. he's driving you crazy, seeing how long it takes to have you stupid and downright dizzy with need. you're almost there, too, starting to allow your outer leg to slide off the arm rest despite the guards presence. it's getting harder to care with every second- but you still do. only enough, though, to keep you hiding your face into In-ho's suit and squirming in his hold.

In-ho's voice is low, steady. the guard matches his tone almost evenly but you can hear it- the way his words take a moment to leave him, his brain struggling to fully process their conversation with the lewd display in front of him.

you twist your fingers in his coat, whining only loud enough for In-ho to hear. "please."

he doesn't even acknowledge you. just continued his conversation with his underling as if this were a casual meeting. you weren't tuned into their chatter, you honestly couldn't give less of a shit, too focused on trying to finally cum. you rock your hips, just barely inching into the feeling, but the movement makes your leg slide off the armrest and suddenly you're completely exposed to the pair of eyes on you. you yip, throwing your leg back and pressing your knees together.

In-ho sighs, pausing his conversation. his arm holding you up shifts, and for a blinding second, you're afraid he's going to stop again and you'd have to resort to begging and pleading like a whore in front of a total stranger. but instead he just knocks your leg back off the arm rest and grants himself more access to your body. bursts of pleasure spark behind your eyes as he fucks you with his fingers, down to the knuckles and curling against your gummy walls. your voice leaves you in pathetic keens. but even with pleasure riveting through you like static electricity, when you can see the guard in the corner of your eye, you're trying to hide in In-ho all over again.

that actually earns you a reaction. he chuckles low and deep in his throat.

"so shy. she's not usually like this." he murmurs in amusement, and you realize that he's not talking to you in shameful terror. your face flames with a fire so hot it could burn.

with one leg hiked up on the arm rest, your other dangling over his lap and your toes barely grazing the cold floor, you can't even try to close your legs. good lord, if you thought your face was hot enough to burn before, this could scorch. you can literally feel the guards eyes on you, swallowing you whole.

you whine again, a high noise lost in the back of your throat as you struggle to have even an ounce of decency. makes you try to throw your leg back up, but In-ho shoves your thigh to stop you.

when you try to cover yourself again, there's a fleeting moment where you actually think you may have annoyed him because suddenly you're being lifted and spun around. he presses your back to his chest with a oof and hooks your legs under the bend of his arm, hikes your knees up, folds you on his lap with your swollen pussy on full display.

the cold air meets your sex and you can't help but cover your own face with your hands when the guard noticeably bristles at the sight before him. his spine straightens, his shoulders square. his hands twitch at his sides.

"that's better." In-ho, resting back in his chair now that he's got you trapped in place, snakes his other arm around you and rubs languid strokes up and down your slit. your head tips back against his chest, your breath escaping you in shaky moans. every time his runs his fingers over your clit you whimper, trying to rock your hips into his touch but finding yourself successfully stuck in place.

their all-business conversation picks back up.

a particularly dirty thought jumps to the forefront of your mind- a seedy little wish that grew limbs like trees throughout your body and only heightened your arousal. the mental image of In-ho fucking you like this, slow and deep, taking what's his.

but then you remember that there's a total stranger standing right there watching you mewl and agonize on his bosses lap. and fuck, even despite the shame, even despite the humiliation of it all, you're dripping down his knuckles. you try to urge him for more, desperate to be filled but he's got a grip so iron that all you can do is uselessly kick your feet and plead.

you're almost there, close enough that you can feel it in your fingers and toes. that simmering pleasure making writhe in his grasp. your thighs are starting to shake, eyes unfocused as you stared at the ceiling overhead. just a little more...

"that's all. you may go."

that beautiful mounting pleasure is gone. His hand motions to the door, allowing the guard to see himself out after their talk. if you could kick him in the head, you would. you wanted to strangle him for letting you get that close again without delivery. you kicked your feet again in protest, tossing your head back and huffing.

the guard nods. you watch him through your fingers and god, you're fucking disappointed that he's leaving. but then In-ho is touching you again and nothing seems to matter anymore. the planets realign, the stars collide. his sinks two fingers into your puffy slit and rests his thumb on your clit, resuming his rhythm of rubbing circles into you. you gasp, you moan, arching against him and curling your toes.

"please, please don't stop." you whimper, eyes half lidded, your chest rising and falling in rapid pants. he slides in a third finger and the stretch is just too good.

with the guard gone, you stop trying to hold back all your lovely little sounds. he hooks his fingers and presses right up against your sweet spot, and you can't help but squeal, grasp onto his biceps as your walls flutter around his fingers. you jump in his arms, gasping, struggling to cope with how good it feels.

you're so lost in the feeling that you barely register when In-ho starts talking again.

"what is it." it's supposed to be a question, but he says it like a demand. you lift your head off his shoulder, eyes cracking open in a haze of lust.

the guard is still there. they'd not made it past the first few steps, lingering. watching. their chest moving in shallow breaths. they seem to struggle to speak, as if snapped from a trance. finally, they manage to answer.

"i am sorry if this is out of line, but... may i watch her until..."

a bold request. the end of his sentence trails off, mesmerized.

In-ho just laughs, presses his lips to your temple and you can feel his smirk. "sounds like they want to watch you cum."

you shudder at the lowness of his tone- fuck, you're so close. you're right there, so much so that you really can't bring yourself to even care that you're being watched anymore. you grip tight to In-ho's arm for purchase with one hand, the other reaching up to tangle itself in his hair with shaking fingers.

"well?" In-ho asks with a honey-sweet tone, dragging his fingers to the edge of your pussy before shoving back in, watching you wiggle and twitch with want.

"yes!" you whimper. anything to cum. anything. "yes, yes, mnn- please, i'm so close-"

"poor thing," In-ho leans back in his seat and you fall into him even further, expose yourself even more. "i suppose i have kept you waiting."

you nod fervently, frantically.

yes, you have, you fucker.

the guard stands ever present and silent, but their hands are making tight fists at their sides. you're affecting them- you can sense it. it spurs you on, makes you decide to let it all go. if they wanted a show, so be it. you toss your head back into In-ho's shoulder once more and sing for them. your pussy is swallowing whatever it can get, greedy and desperate for more.

you legs start to shake again, your orgasm teetering already.

"go ahead. show them how good you feel."

this time, In-ho lets you have it.

and even though you felt it coming, felt the heat of it spreading and coiling within you, it still hits you hard and sudden. hits you with a force so strong it knocks the air from your lungs and you're sent reeling against him, arching your back, toes curling and uncurling as you cried out thank you, thank you, thank you.

if your legs weren't already pressed flush together, you'd have snapped them shut as he continued to fuck you with his fingers. in between your wailing moans and the lewd wetness of your sex soaking his hands, it's a song In-ho's come to love. come to crave.

something he was clearly happy to show off, his little pet so needy and receptive to him.

"that's it. there you go." he purrs in your ear, though it barely reaches you through your swimming ears. you're sure you've soaked his entire lap by now, still riding out the last winds of your orgasm. "such a pretty little thing for me."

he strokes through it you until you're shying away, oversensitive and in need of reprieve. you're still babbling thank you's when he addresses the guard once more.

"satisfied?" In-ho jeers, only prying his eyes off you to look up at his underling for a dismissive moment.

"yes." the guard nods quickly, their voice strained. "thank you, sir."

they scurry out of the room like a roach, but not before lingering on you for a long moment. they take a begrudged step back before turning away entirely, seemingly having to force themselves out of the room, disappearing behind the door before it clicks shut. you melt against In-ho, panting, damn near put to sleep. he pats your thighs and lets you crumble against him, unhooking his arm from your legs. you sprawl over him like an old blanket, used up and spent.

"sorry to have kept you waiting for so long." he breathes, kissing the top of your head. you shrug, breathless.

"s' okay. felt good."

he chuckles again, petting a hand down your hair, over your shoulder, down your side.

"always so patient."

you giggle. "i really wasn't."

"patient enough." he kisses the top of your head again and hums. from the table beside the chair, he plucks a glass half full with dark alcohol and brings it to his lips. the sharp smell of it makes you scrunch your nose as he takes a drink.

you know any moment now you'll be carted off to your bedroom and laid out on the plush mattress, surrounded by only the most exquisite fabrics and pillows, but for now you just enjoy the way he's got his arms wrapped around you.

[tashism]

professor!art this, professor!art that I WANT TO TALK ABOUT PROFESSOR!TASHI

her thin glasses and tall, imposing figure stalking around the the front of the room and in between rows as she lectures everyone about women’s history, or biology, or climate change… you don’t remember what class this is. all you know is that you show up at 8:30 on the dot every tuesday morning to watch her slink around in pencil skirts or pantsuits, her voice as smooth as whiskey. you’ve never had whiskey, but y’know. educated guess. you never know what she’s saying until her damn claws are dragging over your desk as she walks past you, the slightest hint of a glossed grin on her face.

she makes you feel like prey.

staying after class just to talk. asking about her weekend, if she ever found that lotion she was talking about a few minutes before the lecture started last week. you could never remember which historian said what or how wrong they were, but you could remember that her hands get dry during the winter. you also remember her saying that her favorite classic is east of eden and her birthday is in september. all your staring and sweet words surprisingly worked on her — most of the time, at least. she was only really strict about one thing: due dates. that’s why you never missed a single one. you’re so desperate to make her proud, it’s so pathetic.

that’s why when you missed the due date of your heftiest essay to date by three minutes, your first instinct was just to beg. “please, miss- doctor duncan. please, please you don’t understand-”. she stayed silent the entire 7 minutes you rambled about how and why it was late, why you’re deserving of a make up or extension or at least 50% credit. god, she thought you were too cute. your done up hair, your skirts, your stupid messenger bag — she wants to ruin you. she crossed her long legs and turned in her creaking chair, arms folded over her chest in a blouse that had to be against school policy for teachers. “i could let you write a new one” she shrugs, looking around her desk before peering at the little window on the door to make sure no one was around. “but i think you need to work a little harder than that”

before you know it you’re under her desk, head buried between her soft legs, eyes rolling back like it feels better for you than it does for her. and honestly? it just might. but that’s okay with her; she’s here to teach you, isn’t she? “just a little faster, baby. n’ don’t be afraid to use your hands, okay?”. her manicured nails sink into your scalp as she pushes you further into her aching cunt, her head falling back into her chair with a soft sigh. as far as your concerned, this is as close as to heaven as you’ll ever get. you’re starting to think this is all that matters, that making her feel good might be your only purpose.

from how good it’s starting to feel, tashi might just agree.

[ruewritesoccasionally]

The Reunion Pt.2 | Aaron Pierre

Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Black Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.4K

Chapter summary: Moving like the soulmates they are, Aaron's conversation with Marcus mirrors YNs with some thoughts of his own but will he act on them?

a/n: this is more of a filler chapter - i'm still thinking about the direction i wanna take things in but let me know how you think things are shaping up so far

Aaron woke up to the grey light of morning peeking through his curtains, the dull ache of sleep deprivation settling behind his eyes. Last night’s reunion lingered in his mind like a persistent hum, replaying moments he hadn’t asked to remember. He threw an arm over his eyes and sighed deeply, as if he could exhale the weight pressing against his chest.

He had managed to keep his composure the entire evening, but it was moments like these, alone in his flat with nothing but his thoughts for company, that the cracks began to show. He’d watched YN all night—not in an obvious way, but enough to catch the moments that mattered. The way she threw her head back when she laughed. The way her fingers lightly brushed her date’s arm as she introduced him. Trey. Of course, his name had to be Trey. Aaron had greeted the man with a handshake and a polite smile, but every fibre of his being had tensed as he’d watched YN’s hand rest comfortably in his.

It wasn’t jealousy—at least, not in the traditional sense. Aaron wasn’t the type to covet what didn’t belong to him. It was something deeper. A quiet frustration. A longing he couldn’t quite articulate. He’d seen YN with other men before, celebrated her happiness even when it wasn’t with him. But no matter who she dated, no matter how happy she looked, there was always this quiet, nagging thought in the back of his mind: It should’ve been me. Not because he thought he deserved her more than anyone else, but because he knew her. Knew her better than they ever could.

Aaron sat up in bed, rubbing a hand over his face before reaching for his phone. He hesitated for a moment, his thumb hovering over YN’s contact. He tapped it, not to call, but to look at the photo he’d saved. It was from a trip their friend group had taken to the coast a few years back. She was laughing, the sunlight catching her face just right. It was his favourite picture of her, one she’d never know he held onto so tightly.

A notification popped up on his screen, breaking him out of his reverie. It was a message from Marcus.

Marcus: “Coffee? You look like you’ll need it.”

Aaron smirked, shaking his head before typing out a quick reply.

Aaron: “On my way.”

At the café, Marcus was already seated at their usual table, a cup of black coffee in front of him. Aaron slid into the seat across from him, ordering his own drink with a nod to the server.

“You look rough,” Marcus said, leaning back in his chair with a knowing smirk.

Aaron chuckled dryly. “Good to see you too, bro.”

Marcus waited until Aaron had taken a sip of his coffee before speaking again. “So, how long are you going to keep this up?”

Aaron frowned. “Keep what up?”

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “You know what I’m talking about. YN.”

Aaron leaned back, letting out a long breath. “There’s nothing to keep up, Marcus. She’s with Trey now.”

“Oh, come on,” Marcus said, rolling his eyes. “You’ve been circling her for years. Don’t act like you don’t feel something.”

Aaron stared into his coffee, his jaw tightening. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is, but you’re making it harder than it needs to be.” Marcus leaned forward, his tone softening. “Bro, we’ve all seen it. The way you look at her. The way she looks at you. Everyone’s rooting for you two, even if we stopped saying it out loud. But if you don’t make a move soon, you’re going to watch her settle with someone else. And you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

Aaron’s chest tightened at the thought. The idea of YN with someone else, not just dating but settling, was a punch to the gut. But it wasn’t just fear holding him back. It was the weight of their history. They’d seen each other through everything—the highs, the lows, the in-betweens. They’d celebrated each other’s wins, mourned each other’s losses, and shared countless memories. How do you risk all of that for the chance at something more?

“What if it goes wrong?” Aaron finally said, his voice quieter now. “What if I ruin everything?”

“What if it goes right?” Marcus countered. “What if she’s waiting for you to make the first move? You’re a smart guy, Aaron, but you’re overthinking this. Just talk to her.”

Aaron sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not just about me. She’s with Trey now. I can’t just step in and—”

“And what? Tell her how you feel? Bro, she deserves to know the truth, doesn’t she?”

Aaron didn’t respond right away. He stared out the window, watching the people passing by. He wanted to believe Marcus was right. That there was still a chance. But the fear of losing her, of losing everything they’d built, was a heavy weight to bear.

“I’ll think about it,” Aaron finally said.

Marcus shook his head with a small laugh. “You’ve been thinking about it for years. Maybe it’s time to do something.”

Later that night, Aaron sat in his living room, the silence almost deafening. He leaned back in his chair, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips as memories flickered through his mind. He’d been there when she’d landed her first job straight out of university, the way she’d screamed and danced around the room when the offer came through. He remembered the late nights helping her prepare for interviews, quizzing her with mock questions, and watching her confidence bloom. He’d celebrated her wins like they were his own, the pride swelling in his chest as if her success was a reflection of his own. He even remembered the celebratory dinner he’d taken her out for when she got her first raise—how the dim lighting and easy conversation made it feel more like a date than a platonic outing. He’d laughed off the waiter’s assumption that they were a couple, but the warmth in her cheeks and the way she avoided his eyes for the rest of the night stayed with him longer than he cared to admit.

But she’d been there for him too. She was there when his grandmother passed, holding him through the quiet devastation that followed. She never pushed him to talk, never forced him to share more than he could handle—she was just there, her presence steady, like an anchor when he felt adrift. It was always the little things she did, the subtle acts of care that left an impression—showing up with food when he couldn’t bring himself to eat, sending texts just to check in, or simply sitting beside him in silence until he was ready to speak.

He swallowed hard, the weight of those memories pressing against his chest. How many times had he wished she was more than his best friend? How many nights had he lain awake, replaying moments when he could have said something, done something—anything—to shift the trajectory of what they were? But every time, the fear of losing her, of tarnishing the purity of what they had, kept him silent. He knew her inside out, her quirks and dreams, the way her brow furrowed when she was deep in thought, the laugh she reserved for things that truly delighted her. And yet, knowing her so well only made it harder. How could he risk ruining something so irreplaceable?

And then there was the nagging thought he could never quite shake: if they were so perfect on paper, why hadn’t they collided in real life? Maybe it was fate, or maybe they were cowards. Either way, it left him aching with the question that lingered every time he saw her: “What if?”

He picked up his phone, scrolling through his messages until he found YN’s name. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, words forming and dissolving in his mind. He wanted to say something, anything, but the courage wouldn’t come.

Instead, he opened their chat history, scrolling through old messages. Some were funny, others mundane, but all of them carried the weight of their bond. He stopped at a message she’d sent a few months ago: “Thanks for always being there, Aaron. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He closed his eyes, the ache in his chest growing heavier. He didn’t know what he’d do without her either. But for now, all he could do was wait—and hope that one day, the timing would finally be right.

taglist: @writingsbytee @venusincleo @nickidub718

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

[polytropic-liar]

Musings that are in no way intended to detract from OP's excellent points, just add on to them:

Whenever I see folks from other countries speaking as if we can identify the effects of Chinese government censorship in the final product, I think about the S&P notes shared by Alex Hirsch on the US animated children's show "Gravity Falls." These are censorship by a US corporation. They're in the same country as me, so ostensibly I'm familiar with the culture and ideology that the censorship is coming from. And yet, from watching the final product I would absolutely be incapable of identifying most of the things that are there, or missing, because of censorship. This holds true for most of the works from "my" culture: the only way I've ever been able to reliably point to the hand of censorship is from whistleblowing/disclosure by someone with actual knowledge of what happened, or enough knowledge of the industry to explain what the telltale signs are.

So with that perspective, it really does not make sense to me to try to opine about the hand of censorship, governmental or private, in media I watch from other places. Why would I be better able to see it there than in works whose cultural nuances I should be more attuned to?? Why wouldn't I, instead, do what I do with US works and look up insider analysis and accounts from whistleblowers, when they exist, of what the censorship actually did? Yeah, that info is harder for me to access, due to different platforms they're on and language barriers. And yeah, sometimes I will be frustrated that I'll never really know what happened behind the scenes.

(Confession: I already live that frustration every time I watch reality TV. I get so obsessed with wondering about the manipulation of actors and footage that shapes the narrative that I can't watch the show anymore because I'm pining for a behind-the-scenes documentary that doesn't exist. Tragic.)

But I think we do a disservice to ourselves, and fandom culture, and Chinese (including diaspora) cdrama fans who are trying to share a cool thing with the rest of us without being bulldozed by cultural imperialism, when we jump from "I see something compelling but subtle" or "I see potential that is not being explored" to "I know exactly why I see that, and it's censorship, because China." Like, are you sure? Maybe it's because writers, directors, and actors have as much agency and complexity to their craft in China as they do anywhere else? (Which includes sometimes it Not Being Very Complex At All Sorry because they phoned it in to make a ridiculous deadline, like they do everywhere else???)

Maybe, you see something in a work and there are a bunch of potential reasons why you might see it, and maybe you'll never know exactly why, but also maybe the important thing is that that thing you see is inspiring to you! Maybe you don't need it to have been The Real Explicit and Exact Meaning All Along If Not For The Hand of Censorship in order to affirm that it's meaningful and worth making art about and connecting with others over. Because that's, to me at least, the point of fandom: something spoke to you, and you want to connect about it. That's enough.

hmm i do think that danmei and dangai (censored danmei cdrama adaptations) being many non-chinese fandom people's first impression of chinese media has given them some misconceptions about mainstream chinese media, and it shows in a way that i find very frustrating when seeing discussions about cdramas on here. dangai dramas aside, even if government censorship didn't exist, the chances of your favorite cdrama gay ship becoming canon is about as high as the chances of any of those iconic homoerotic male friendships in a western TV show becoming canon. which is to say: extremely low.

what i think is that internationally huge danmei fandoms like mdzs and tgcf and drama adaptations like cql and shl have really fucked with people's conceptualization of danmei, in that they're using it as this reference point when analyzing relationships in all other forms of cn media, including cdramas and chinese games, which then manifests into people making very bold, very dubious claims about "queercoding" because 2 characters from a random cdrama reminds them of the one or two danmeis they'd encountered that shaped their entire perception of chinese media. basically it's this meme:

many people here need to understand that cdramas and chinese films are obviously mainstream forms of fictional media in china, just like how the mcu or the doctor who franchise is mainstream in the US and UK, or like shonen is mainstream in japan. not to burst your bubble of happy ignorance, but homoromantic relationships such as qingming/boya from the ying yang master are—for lack of a better term—fujobait. they are fujobait. bromances, because those sell well and everyone knows it. popular ships like bakudeku were not actually made canon in mha because shonen is mainstream, and in most industries geared toward maximizing capital, having full-on gay people front and center is considered a monetarily risky move. which sucks, of course, but china is absolutely no different. i promise you that if the govt removed their censorship laws for TV broadcasts, your favorite gay ship from mysterious lotus casebook or the blood of youth or fangs of fortune still wouldn't be canon. they might be allowed a bit more intimacy due to the lack of restrictive filtering, but they are not going to be sucking face for the same reason that gojo and geto from jjk didn't suck face.

danmei is still widely considered niche and risky in china, and if you haven't seen the recent news, authors are still getting arrested for writing it. assuming that chinese fiction, mainstream chinese fiction in particular, operate like dangais where the two guys with the most gay tension would be made explicitly canon were the censors to be lifted, is frankly pretty ridiculous. dangai dramas are adapted from danmeis, which are stories centered on a gay romance and narratively depend on the two guys falling in love. non-dangai dramas are very much... not that, hence why people shouldn't watch them expecting a censored danmei and then forcing assumptions of "my ship would be canon if only it weren't for censorship" on them.

it's very clear when someone who knows absolutely nothing about the actual situation with danmei and queer existence and mainstream TV censorship in china is trying to push their, if i put it crudely, "boss baby meme" perspective onto cmedia. fandom is all about poking at interactions between your favorite characters and giggling and speculating, but i think lots of fandom people (many of them safe in the pockets of their more progressive areas) view govt censorship as this big abstract dam that, if broken, would result in the canonization of all their favorite ships, which is not only an incredibly naive belief but also one that shows how much they view TV censorship as more of a personal inconvenience that's preventing their favorite ships from kissing on screen instead of the looming, deep-rooted issue depriving mainland chinese people of creative freedom it actually is. with cmedia fandoms there's a specific widely popularized "they're so gay omg how did censorship not notice" gag when there's any perceived homoromantic undertones in a story that's both rather insensitive and also ignorant, and many dangai and cdrama fandoms in particular (donghua fans too, link click shippers i'm looking directly at you) could really use some more education and sensitivity regarding this.

i've been in danmei & cdrama fandom spaces for years and post-pandemic this kind of nonsense has definitely gotten worse, especially when you compare shipping discussions here to shipping discussions in cn fandoms. here every 2 seconds someone makes an off-color censorship joke about tgcf donghua and over on douyin they are straight up commenting under the nezha sequel announcement post if there's going to be an oubing kissing scene. granted i obviously cannot see or know everything going on in cn fandom spaces because they are incomprehensibly enormous, but in all the spaces i've been in i've never seen a single censorship joke from anyone. why do people here absolutely insist on making them?

anyway. fandom be normal about chinese media challenge!

[allfearstofallto]

if you’re still doing the yandere alphabet, could you do E,L,P,T,X, and Y for childe? no worries if not, I love ur writing! <3

I've definitely been wanting to write more of these!! Thank you so much!!!

Yandere! Childe x Fem! Reader

TW: Yandere, obsession, mentions of stalking

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Childe is open. More open than you'd want him to be and more open than you're willing to hear. You tend to not care about his back story or his interests, but he'll tell you regardless and you're forced to listen.

But if you do listen, really listen, really take in what he says, maybe you'll be able to see how much information he omits. Stories he laughs off like they're funny, are traumatizing in nature. The things he says are horrifying, scary in a way that would change a person permanently. 

He assures you that no such thing has happened with a playful smile, but you see the subtle twitch of his eyebrow and quiver of his lip. He's truthful, but not completely honest.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Childe is one of the few yanderes who's approach will be different based on where his standing is with you.

Know him as that one guy you met on the streets of Liyue, the one who was rather charming, but also rather persistent about seeing you again and he'll court you proper. The whole nine yards. He'll be the ideal boyfriend, albeit with a few quirks that can be brushed off. Mostly his fierce, protective jealousy and strangely short temper. 

Know him as the fatui harbinger? He'll also be just that. It's even worse if you owe money to the northland bank, a debt that he insists that you pay back with your affection rather than money. He won't even attempt to hide his true nature. You already know who he is and what he's capable of. Rather, he'll try to force you to fall in love with the real him, by any means necessary.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling? 

Patient as a fighter, patient at heart. Childe isn't inherently cruel. At least to you he's not. He'll give you time, space, conversation, whatever he thinks you may need to make you more comfortable. But that isn't him being generous. His patience comes with the expectation that you'll eventually fall into the role expected of you.

Refuse or even worse, actively fight him after all the kindness he's given you and you won't see that tolerance anymore. Expectations are higher with harsher consequences if not done when he wants, exactly how he wants. 

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Oh, does he hate that crying face of yours. He can't stand to see you sad, let alone actually sobbing. Each year rolling down your cheek is like a stab to his heart, he can hardly bear the agony.

He's quick to console you when you cry, especially when he's the one who caused it. Although he can't help, but notice you tend to cry harder when he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a hug. Even though he hates your tears, he hates the disdain you have for him more. 

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Worship is a strong word. Childe loves you. Adores you. He does put you on a bit of a pedestal, believing you to be better than most people. But worship? Worship is a bit much.

Childe doesn't feel like he has to win you over. The depraved side of him believes he already owns you. Of course, you also own him as well, if you so desire. But because of that, his actions has him seeing you as almost an equal. Almost. There are still times where he loses himself in the desperation and desire to have you completely.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Like a fish needs water, like a man needs air, Childe yearns for you in a way that's animalistic in nature. Childe knows about you long before you know about him. 

“Snapping” is a term that can't entirely be used for him because of this. You can't really lose it if it was never really there. The second he saw you, the second he felt the way he did, the way you made his heart pound the same way it would if he were to be thrusts into the throes of a fierce battle, he's already plotting how he plans to take you.

[fancyfeathers]

Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling

Always Prey But Never A Bird

Okay so it may not be the ending but just thinking about if Daughter!Darling joins Young Justice when she becomes the sidekick of Black Canary, like I don't know if it would be the comic version or the show version but slightly modified timeline so at the start of it or something, so Dick is Nightwing instead of Robin, I don't quite know that part yet, but if it ends up that way just imagining her joining soon after Artemis joins or they brought in at the same time. Like she spent a few months training under Black Canary and given her past work on her original team in Gotham it's for the best that she works with others since that is what she knows and is familiar with, though it would be a little challenging when she has to work with Dick who is seriously against her being a vigilante.

It's a struggle for her in reality, she is not used to an environment like with the team, the type of environment she is used to is living in an abandoned, while renovated, warehouse and taking on more rough and gruesome crime on a street level, things like murders or whatever someone like the Scarecrow or Two Face has going on. She does not like dealing with the order of the Justice League puts on the team, even when she moved to work with Black Canary she was still treated as an equal to her, an equal with a bit more to learn still. When she joins the team, she can hardly stand how she is treated, like sort of how Roy (or Will really) acted in the very beginning, but she decides to give it a shot because Black Canary and Green Arrow think it would be good for her and they were the first two Justice League members to take a chance on her and think she could one day be a member of the Justice League or at least on the level they are.

When she is on the team it only makes things harder than if she was not, she constantly gets into fights especially with her brother, like he throws her back in fights as if to protect her but it just disrupts the missions even more. Then it does not help that when she first joins that her father is the one assigning missions, giving her the more safe tasks but she always deviates because she does not want to be stuck on the sidelines while everyone else gets to see action.

She worked far better than her old team, but after their final fight together in Gotham they all went their separate ways, while they remain in touch with one another, Daughter!Darling is the only one continuing work as a vigilante, or a hero would be a better word for it now. Like at the end of the first season when they vote in members of the Justice League, she gets brought onto the team, well almost, she decides to ditch last minute, she is meant to be a street level hero, not a Justice League member, not yet anyway, maybe one day but as of now she needs to work on herself and become able to function on her own, find herself without a team because all her life she had someone looking over her shoulder if that be her father, one of her siblings, an ex-boyfriend, an old team member, a new team member, or even her mentors.

She is going to become her own hero; become someone she can be proud to be, find someone who also needs to grow alongside her, who needs to break free of what they've known just like she does, find a Rattlesnake to her Songbird.

[warcats-cat]

Sacred Animal

Summary: Hermes takes you on a "mystery date" that becomes very cute and silly, very quickly.

A/N: I'm doing it, I'm being brave and posting one of the drabbles I wrote like over a month ago but felt kinda shy about. Biggest, most fluffy Thank-You to @lickoutyourbrains for reading and rereading and encouraging me through everything. If you guys enjoy this one I'll consider posting the others. Please let me know what you think, and as always let me know if I missed any tags!

Read on Ao3 here!

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Hermes' domains were a wide net that covered a lot. Travelers, Messages, Thieves, Trickery and Cunning, Athletes, Merchants, Speed, Language; the list went on for a while. And in keeping with the diversity of his domains, his moods and interests tended to whirl and swing around with the days. 

It made for some chaotic date nights. 

But really, you enjoyed the chaos; the thrill of his surprises, not really being able to guess but being able to follow where his mind was going. You could keep up with him, and he loved you for that. Therefore, date nights like tonight were surprising, but not completely out of left field. 

You were bundled up in a thick coat with ear muffs on your head; it wasn't snowing yet, but it was cold enough that the snow predicted for the following days would stick, and probably make a thick blanket on the ground. 

You faintly wondered if Hermes had ever made snow angels…

“Ready?” he asked at the front door of your apartment building; he was wearing a wide-brimmed hat instead of his usual helmet, and it cast a shadow over his eyes in lieu of his sunglasses. He also had a warm-looking red cloak, apparently lined with fur or some other fluff over a thin shirt that you couldn't quite see. He probably didn't need the cloak, he never seemed to feel cold, but it was important to keep up appearances when visiting public places. 

So you were going somewhere that would have other people. 

You huffed, checking the strap of the bag you carried to make sure it was close to your chest - he could still easily steal your wallet and phone, but it was a little harder when he couldn't just reach into your pockets. One of these days, you might just cave and buy the weird chest-strap bag that kept all your valuables up high and theoretically safe from nefarious hands. See if he could break into that…

Belongings secure, coat and muffs adjusted, you nodded and his face lit with a grin as he effortlessly lifted you into his arms. You could barely see the glow of his eyes under the shadow of the hat - the longer you dated Hermes, the more you learned to look closer for the little things. Right now, he was excited; more childlike joy than gleeful mischief, which was even more exciting for you. As much as you enjoyed his pranks and silliness, it was rare that he had this much anticipation for something. 

He was usually all soft smiles and warmth, but this was bright like a star. 

You tucked your face into Hermes' chest, knowing he was going to fly directly to wherever he was taking you. There would be no sight-seeing on this trip; another mystery to confuse you about potential locations. He pressed a gentle kiss into your hair before taking off, the wind quickly whipping around the pair of you as he sped towards your destination. 

It was still bright out - the sun wouldn't set for another hour or two, and the light and wind surrounded you for a few moments before you felt Hermes slow and finally land. At least this time he hadn't gone high enough to make your ears pop. 

You waited for his arms to loosen, looking up at him after a few moments. 

“Put me down?” You asked, teasingly. He shrugged. 

“Nah. It's pretty cold, it's nice to have a personal heater.” He replied. He only laughed when you lightly slapped his chest with the back of your hand, and finally released you. 

“How does your hat not fly off?” You asked, noticing the tips of his hair under the brim were ruffled, but the hat itself remained secure. He shrugged again. 

“God magic?” he theorized, jokingly. That was his answer to a lot of questions about his anomalies, and you knew better than to press. You rolled your eyes and huffed, crossing your arms. 

“Ok, fine,” you gestured for him to lead, “where exactly are we?” He took your hand and began to walk across a rather large expanse of grass, passing a little gravel parking lot full of cars, and you could see some farm buildings in the distance. 

“We’re gonna meet some friends!” the wide smile returned, as if his statement wouldn't raise more questions, but you just chuckled and followed. You were definitely on some kind of farm-store property; a place that probably did apple picking or a pumpkin patch in the fall. Right now, though, all of the trees were bare, the grassy field yellowish from winter frost, and the rows of dirt in the distance empty as the plants that grew there waited for spring. 

The pair of you walked up to a little gate, where an older man was sitting with a little cash box. The man smiled as you approached. 

“Well, how can I help you two?” he asked, a bit of a ‘country lilt’ to his words. You expected Hermes to wave a hand and work his ‘god magic’ on the man so he allowed you to pass, but instead your godly boyfriend handed over a real, American ten-dollar bill and responded “Two please.” 

You tried not to look at Hermes in shock and confusion; he ‘paid’ for a lot of your dates, but not usually with actual money. You faintly wondered if he was starting to understand the difference between stealing from corporations and small businesses; a subject of many debates and discussions throughout your time together. You were impressed. 

The man took the bill and traded it into his cash box for two bright green silicone bracelets, and began to fish out some change before Hermes held up a hand and told the man to keep the change. 

The god handed you a bracelet and led you around the gate as the man wished you both to have fun. After it appeared Hermes was not going to say anything about it, you tugged on his hand, causing him to stop. 

“Who are you and where is my boyfriend?” You asked, only half-jokingly. Maybe even less than half. 

He bounced on the balls of his feet; damn he was really excited. “I learn things when we talk! I'm supporting some local farmers!” He defended with a grin. “I’m not only a Patron of thieves, you know.” 

With that response apparently being all he planned to say, he began to walk again, taking your hand, and by extension, you, with him. The pair of you were walking around the main building which you were now certain was some kind of store, and as you turned the corner you could hear the excited jabbering of children. 

What the heck.

‘Meeting friends,’ he said. You were on a farm. There were little kids. You looked at the bracelet now on your wrist which read ‘Friendly Fields Local Craftworks and Petting Zoo’ in thin yellow letters. 

Well, this was certainly the most unique date he'd ever taken you on. 

In the rapidly diminishing distance, you saw a series of low fences housing several animals, and about a dozen children with parents in varying stages of exasperation. Most of the little ones were crowded around a hutch of extremely fluffy rabbits, but there was also a pen with mini ponies, one with two alpacas, one with a cow, one filled with chickens, and one with a small handful of sheep. You were pleased to notice that all of the pens had little heaters for the animals, and were sheltered in case it rained. 

You had to admit, this was kinda cute. 

Hermes continued to lead, heading straight for the sheep who ‘baah’d at him as you both came near. This one was the farthest off, and it seemed none of the children were very interested in visiting the sheep. 

“Hello, lovely ladies,” Hermes said as he leaned down and began to scratch one under its chin. You were a bit surprised; normally petting zoo animals were pretty apathetic towards their visitors, unless there was food involved. But all four of the wooly sheep had wandered over and were waiting for Hermes' attention. 

“So you're the god of sheep.” You said, a wry smile on your face as you watched him pet one animal with each hand. 

“Ha! You're close,” he replied, “I’m the god of shepherds. But sheep are one of my animals.” He paused, realizing you hadn't joined in, and stood back up to look at you. “Is this ok? You like petting things…” he asked, and now his face was hesitant.

You did like petting things. You constantly tried to pet the stray cats around your apartment complex, and the second someone offered for you to pet their dog you were all over those good boys and girls. You had even been to petting zoos before! Sheep were one of your favorite animals (although now you were absolutely not going to tell Hermes that). You felt your cheeks get hot, and it wasn't from wind burn. 

“Well, you looked like you were pretty excited to see them, and I didn't want to get in your way…” you said lamely. In truth, you just thought watching Hermes talk to a small herd of sheep was adorable, and had forgotten you were also supposed to be interacting with the animals. 

Hermes smirked, and pulled you a little closer, holding out a hand to the sheep closest to him, “here, just let her sniff you first. They'll probably feel a lot safer than normally because I'm here.” 

You followed his lead, surprised when the sheep forewent sniffing your hand and plopped her little chin in your palm. You could almost believe she was smiling at you. A surprised giggle bubbled out of you; no animal had ever done that. 

Seeing that there were now enough hands for all four to get pets at the same time, the whole little herd came up to the fence to vie for attention. It was strange and a little wonderful; their wool was thick and dense and incredibly warm, once you pushed your fingertips into the fleece. Hermes was saying something to the two in front of him, but you were only barely aware of that as you watched the little sheeps’ tiny, nubby tails wagging and twitching. 

He was probably giving them a blessing, the big softie; to be warm and live long and always have the tastiest grass. 

You had no idea how long the two of you had stood there, spoiling the little sheep with your scritches; thankfully the sun hadn't set yet, but it was a little darker. Hermes led you around to the other pens, now significantly quieter as several of the families and children left for the evening. There were still a good number of people around, but not so rowdy. One of the alpacas was interested in the pair of you, though not nearly as much as the sheep. The horses looked at you like you were some kind of aliens; as if you were the ones in the pens for their entertainment. Hermes avoided the cow, saying she was giving him a dirty look. 

You knew he had a history with cows but you didn't think it went that deep…

The chickens were also quick to look for Hermes' attention, running over to the fence posts to investigate. They formed a wide clump of feathers, and would have been centered around him if there hadn't been a barrier in the way. As it were, several chickens were reaching their heads through the fencing, clucking and (apparently) trying to peck at the god. You giggled. Hermes looked around a moment, that mischievous smile on his face, and you saw him pull his hat down in the back just far enough to free the wings behind his ears, which flapped a few times at the chickens in return. 

The chickens went wild, some of them darting away, some of them flapping their wings back, some almost screeching; to the point that one of the farmhands came over to make sure they weren't fighting, and Hermes had to quickly slip his hat back in place. 

You'd never pet a chicken before; and the farm hand was kind enough to let you and Hermes each hold one. They were warm, surprisingly heavy, and you were taken aback when you realized the bird was purring. Not as deep and consistent as a cat’s purr, but still noticeable; the vibrations just barely palpable in your hands. Hermes' face was practically glowing in the low light, looking at you holding the chicken. After a little more cuddling of the soft feathers, and watching Hermes (probably) whispering a blessing to the other birds as well, the farmhand helped you place the chicken back in her coop, and Hermes led you to the last pen; the bunnies.

Angora rabbits, to be specific, with their carefully brushed fur and softly padded pen. A visitor could see clearly that these were the prized animals for the farm. And they certainly were cute; well-socialized and hopping over to see the newcomers, hoping for treats, clearly relaxed while being handled by the humans. 

You opted not to hold a rabbit, but you did get to pet a few of them as they wandered from person to person - their fur was as silky-soft as you imagined; always hearing about angora wool being special and extra soft (and probably extra expensive) but never going out of your way to find clothes made with it. 

The sun was finally setting in earnest, and the farmhands were beginning to pack up the petting area and move the animals back into their warm barns and hutches; the little country store was still open though, and it only took a little bit of begging to convince Hermes to go inside and look around. 

He’d already been planning on going in, but you were cute when you made your sad-eyes and exaggerated pout. 

Inside, the shop was warm and smelled like fresh cinnamon and vanilla. There were a few people milling around, looking at the different products - lots of fresh baked goods, homemade preserves, craft items, and even a cubby of milled goat milk soap. There was also a large sign on the counter that read “Chelly is OUT” in large red letters, and you assumed the tile that read OUT could be flipped to say something like IN as well. 

You wondered if you'd get a peek at Chelly. You did love shops that had kitties wandering around. 

Hermes unpinned his cloak so it hung at his shoulders instead of clipped at his throat, and you loosened your coat as well; the shop was nice and warm, and you were getting a little too warm under so many layers. 

Hermes was definitely just showing off his shirt - a meme shirt, because of course he'd been collecting those recently... 

You took your time looking at different things, eventually Hermes handed you a little shopping basket with a knowing grin, and you blushed again as you carefully placed a bottle of lavender oil for baking and a pack of flaky, delicious looking chocolate pastries into the basket. You were a bit surprised when Hermes actually added some things to the basket - namely two little crochet sheep that had a tag reading [80% angora, 20% wool] and a crochet chicken that apparently had a squeaker in its body. 

Oh gods. That was going to drive his siblings insane. 

And then suddenly, Hermes yelped and jumped, floating just a second too long before landing and looking down at the floor. 

Looking at a little tortoise riding around on a skateboard-like contraption.

The yelp had attracted the attention of the woman running the counter, but Hermes was unbothered; consumed with the sheer delight upon seeing the little reptile appear from under the shelves. 

“Oh, I'm so sorry!” the woman said frantically, “she's perfectly healthy, I promise, she just gets a little feisty when it's close to closing time, because she knows once the customers leave she gets a strawberry. She didn't bite you, did she?”

Meanwhile, Hermes had become a metaphorical kid in a candy store, sitting down right on the floor and cooing at the tortoise. He waved the woman off, saying, “She's so cute! So fast!” And then addressing the turtle, a mess of babbling that included “Look at your little wheels!” 

You'd seen many moods from your godly boyfriend. You'd seen him happy, frustrated, confused, annoyed (usually by your car and your coworkers). You'd seen him drunk and giggly, when he had twirled you around until you both threw up. You'd seen him cry, though rarely; he rarely felt safe to do so. You'd even seen him divinely angry once when a nymph at one of Dio's parties asked why a mortal like you were allowed to attend. 

You had not seen him like this. This was newborn-baby-cute-aggression levels of babbling. He gently scratched around the tortoise’s shell, watching the reptile wiggle when he apparently hit a good spot. (It was admittedly adorable.) You were pretty sure you could see his wings ruffling under his hat. 

Thankfully, the woman was pleased with Hermes' excitement. “Oh, yes. Poor Chelly was hatched without her back legs working. My son made the little wheel board for her. She has one that only has wheels on the back, but she seems to prefer the ability to race around.” 

Ah. Chelly was the tortoise.

“It's brilliant!” Hermes' replied, and then after a moment of hesitation, he surprised you again. “Can I pick her up?” He asked, almost bashful. 

The woman only laughed. “Sure, if she'll let you! Just be careful, she likes to give love bites.” She patted the reptile’s shell gently and asked if you needed any help before returning to the counter to attend another customer. 

Your boyfriend was still sitting on the floor. 

Not knowing what else to do, you joined him on the floor. 

He gently wiggled his fingers in front of Chelly, and when she didn't reach out and bite, he carefully scooped her off of her skateboard and held her right up to his face. 

“Helloooo, Darling! You like to go fast, huh? Go Zoomies? You're such a pretty girl!” He was almost blushing, and for the second time you wondered what clone had spontaneously replaced the man you were dating. Meanwhile, the tortoise was content to extend her neck and brush his nose with her face. Her front legs wiggled as if she was still walking or possibly swimming, and he continued to talk to her. 

The longer you sat there, the more you wondered if they could understand each other. 

With a sigh, you gave Hermes a kiss on his cheek, told him you were going to look some more, and left to explore the other shelves. (You may or may not have snapped several dozen photos of him cooing at Chelly in the meantime.)

He sat there with the tortoise a full ten minutes; meanwhile you found your own mischievous gift. You had paid quietly and hidden the item at the bottom of your purse, under the ‘valuables’ and wrapped in a brown paper bag. That was for later. 

When he finally rejoined you, you playfully bumped him with your elbow as he took some offered hand sanitizer from the counter to clean his hands.  He paid for the rest of the items in your basket, once again with real money, and you knew better than to question it at this point. The pair of you rebuttoned your extra layers and prepared to go out into the night. 

“So, are you replacing me?” you asked. He smiled, nuzzling your cheek with a little huff. 

“Nobody could replace you.” He replied softly, and your face suddenly felt a little warmer. He easily picked you up once more, having put your purchases into his trusty messenger bag, and with little warning he took off. 

This time, he did fly a little higher, just so you could see the stars on the way home. The cold wind bit your nose and you would probably have chapped cheeks in the morning, but it was worth it. 

He landed easily outside your apartment building, fishing the brown paper bag out of his pack. He would have to be back on Olympus tomorrow morning, and was leaving tonight to have time to leave a trap for Apollo. You barely had a moment before he pulled you into a kiss, then twirling you around and dipping you backwards, throwing off your balance. At least he kept you from falling, even if it was an almost cartoonish dip. He was probably floating to have you so far back. 

“So,” he panted lightly, his breath making little bursts of fog in the night air, “did you have fun?” You laughed, patting his shoulders as a request to stand back up. His face was positively glowing as he helped you right yourself. 

Yes, he had been floating, damn god powers…

You laughed anyway; “Yes. More fun than I have in a while.” You said, and it was the truth. Hermes' silly side was your favorite thing about him, and you had gotten to see so much of it tonight. His smile was brilliant once more, and under the shadow of his hat you saw his eyes start to glow silvery. 

“I love you.” he said, and kissed you again. “I'll be back in two days. I'll pick you up from work.” 

“Okay. Don't be too mean to Apollo, okay?” You teased. He rolled his eyes, and began to break away, before you grabbed the strap of his messenger bag and stuffed your own small gift inside, feeling it disappear into the organized clutter of the bottomless bag. He quirked an eyebrow in question. 

“Don't open it until you get back to Olympus. Promise?” You asked, and held up your pinky finger. 

He snorted. “Sure. Promise.” He linked his pinky with yours, and you shook. Truly a sacred oath. One last stolen kiss, and then he was gone, zipping away into the night sky. You hugged the bag from the store to your chest, and went inside to your (thankfully warm) apartment. 

The treats went into the kitchen, to be enjoyed for breakfast tomorrow. You were already scrolling your phone for that lavender shortbread cookie recipe you'd seen a week ago and thinking you would have to go to the store tomorrow after work anyway. The little sheep plushies (you now noticed one was a ram and one was an ewe. Dork.) went onto your shelf of ‘Hermes Trinkets’ for now, though you knew you would probably move them to your bed for cuddling soon. Damn those things were soft. There was also a pair of thick purple socks that you hadn't seen him grab, equally soft, and you already planned to change into them with your pajamas. 

Not even an hour later, as you were settling in for bed, you received a text message with a photo attached. 

Hermes, his hair wild and hat off, with a gigantic grin on his face. Proudly wearing the crochet headband with a carefully curled pair of stuffed ram horns. Captioned: ‘Better than my laurels.’

You suddenly really hoped he wouldn't wear that to council meetings. You'd created a monster. 

(If you enjoyed, please reblog!)

[jukkariart]

Trying to write something longer than a prompt or more complex than a banter and not sure how I'm feeling about it. Or anything else but that's a separate topic

"Right. Didn't get the memo that you wanted to cook alone. I'll go find myself somewhere else to be" Alectris made half a step back towards the kitchen door "Unless you need an experimental nug to test that thing you're making"

Lucanis blinked slowly, his eyes still fixed on the simmering sauce, the sharp smell of hot peppers filling the air. It didn’t cross his mind she’d offer to try whatever he was cooking without asking any questions first. 

“Ah, thank you, but you might want to skip this one, Tris.” He shook his head finally, putting all the effort he could into sounding casual “I’m testing some suggestions Bellara gave me, this might turn out really poorly.” “Well, what else are nugs for, if not sacrifice in the name of cooking?” Alectris laughed, shrugging as she took a spot at the table “Come on, it smells great and I’m starving, you can’t just leave me hanging, can you?” He had to admit, despite the liberties taken in the recipe it did pass the initial sniff test. Which only made it harder to let her down gently without admitting what he was working on. And Alectris never showed herself to be easy to shake off. 

“The suggestions were about masking flavors. In this case masking the taste of deathroot extract to be specific.” Lucanis clarified hesitantly, his voice slightly clipped as if he was unhappy about letting her in on the secret. He had hoped to avoid any questions about poisons even existing in the vicinity of the kitchen. “Poison? Really?” She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly and the crow felt his stomach turn. 

“You always struck me as an honest type.” a small smile formed on her lips as she continued  “You know, knives and swords and garrotes, not venom in a glass of wine.”

“Don’t let Viago hear that.” he chuckled, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. “Oh? Would he try to poison me?” Alectris straightened out in the chair with amusement painted on her face. She was surely going to try ribbing Viago about poisons the next time she got a chance, Lucanis realized. 

“No, but he might give you a long winded speech and at least 17 reasons why the use of poison is just as honest and professional as knives. He’s very… sensitive on this topic” It may have happened that such a comment slipped out of his mouth once or twice in the past. The first one was entirely accidental, the other… Well, as bets lost to Illario went, that was not the worst outcome.

Good mystical morning, everyone!

It’s WIP Wednesday Thursday!

Just:

Reblog this post with a snippet of (one of) your current project(s) and I’ll reblog it again with commentary/encouragement !

It doesn’t need to be DA related, you can share whatever you want!

Very chill, no pressure at all! Hope you all are having fun writing/drawing/creating!

[adhdandcomics]

perhaps the most important question i’ve ever asked:

does anyone have tips for people trying to stop being chronically late to everything in the world that aren’t weirdly judgmental and aggressive or flat out lies

[wifegideonnav]

the worst part of long term depression is how fucking boring it is. like im on my knees begging my asshole brain to just let me be interested in something, anything, i don’t care what it is i just can’t take another day where the time crawls by excruciatingly slowly and i still have to do it all again tomorrow.