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heavyhitterheaux · 8 months ago

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Got Me Thinking

Part 3: Kiss it Better (NSFW)

Synopsis: Jack ends up getting into an argument with Kelsey and quickly makes it up in his mind to visit you in order to take his mind off of it. Little did the two of you know that those feelings that had been buried all those years ago would come straight up to the surface.

Pairing: Jack Harlow x Reader

Read Part 1 and Part 2 first

Do not engage if underage

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Jack let out a frustrated sigh thinking about the argument that had ensued between him and Kelsey that morning as he was now currently on a plane to California for Druski's premiere. All that he asked of her was to be a little more supportive as he had been under a lot of stress lately and wasn't taking his feelings into consideration and that sent them into a full blown yelling match with her accusing him of saying that she wasn't supportive of him at all.

Shaking his head and trying not to think about it, he pulled out his phone to text you and see what you were up to since he wanted to see you before leaving the state. Druski's premiere was later on that day and he didn't plan on doing anything after except being with you if you were available.

Ever since the two of you reunited at his birthday party, you were all that he could think about. For the entire week that you were there, he spent about every day with you and it was safe to say that he missed your presence and being around you.

And his feelings that were buried deep down had made their way to the surface and had hit him like a ton of bricks.

Yes, he married Kelsey. But did he love her? When they got married he definitely did, but he didn't love her as much as he loved you and knew that no one else on the face of the earth would be able to fill your shoes. He was hurt when he found out you got married, but what could he had done at that point? The two of you hadn't spoken for years and even though he wanted it to be him, he was happy that you found happiness and would never try to ruin that for you. But now hearing about how Xavier had been treating you, he wanted to get you away from him as soon as he could. He knew you were trying to plan everything out, but he didn't want you to have to deal with that situation any longer.

Jack Jack- What are you getting up to tonight pretty girl?

You- Eating and sleeping. My all time favorite pastimes.

Jack Jack- Hmm, now you can't do that if I'm coming to see you, now can you?

You- 👀

You- When will you be here!?!?

Jack Jack- In about an hour or so. I know you're still working but I'm going to Druski's premiere and I wanted to see you after. So around 11 tonight? Is that too late?

You- Never too late when it involves me getting to see you. Now I'm hoping the day goes by a little faster.

Jack Jack- Aww does someone miss me?

You- Don’t push it lol

Jack Jack- Been having a shitty week but I know seeing you will make it better.

You- Oh no. My poor baby. Tell me all about it later. Just text me the address of your hotel and the room. I know how reserved you are and highly doubt you want paparazzi in your face.

Jack Jack- Can't wait to see you

Clay looked over at Jack and immediately asked what had him in such a good mood since he had literally been pissed off less than ten minutes ago.

“Who are you texting that has you smiling like that?”

“Well we know it's not Kelsey.” Urban muttered and Clay couldn't help but to stifle a laugh.

“My guess is Y/N, since he hasn't stopped talking about her.”

“The person that you should have married.”

“And how many times are you going to remind me? What was I supposed to do? Make her divorce him so I could marry her? We hadn't even talked in seven years at that point!” Jack exclaimed while looking at both of them.

“You should've been like I OBJECT!”

“I mean…… that plan could work because she had straight googly eyes when yall made eye contact.”

“And she didn't leave your side the entire night.” Urban added.

“And you don't like your wife. None of us do.”

“I… not too much on Kelsey now!” Jack said while attempting to defend his wife, but all they did was look at him.

“Bruh… DIVORCE.HER.ASS.”

“Because we're legit confused on how and why you married her in the first place. We told you not to and now look, sitting up here miserable and unhappy.”

“I care about her!” Jack said, defending his actions.

“Notice how you said care and not love? Yall argue every waking hour and you are always grumpy. You haven't been grumpy and in a mood since you basically spent your entire birthday week up Y/N's ass. Well except for today when you know, got into an argument with that woman who shares your last name.”

“Wait…. did yall… fuck? As in you and Y/N?”

“NO URB! I didn't cheat on Kelsey and did we forget that Y/N is married too?”

“What is that supposed to mean? We don't like him either. Don't even know shit about him, but he's not you and you and Y/N belong together. Don't make me start singing Mariah Carey.”

“And Kelsey treats you like the gum on the bottom of her shoe.”

“Facts, no printer.”

“Yall just don't know her like I do.”

“And we don't want to.”

Jack sighed and ran a hand through his curly hair because he knew that they were exactly right.

“Think about it like this. Your own wife didn't come to your birthday party yet, your EX-GIRLFRIEND from when you were in HIGH SCHOOL did. What does that tell you?”

“And who is she married to?”

“His name is Xavier.” Jack answered as he pulled up your instagram and handed Urban his phone.

“Oh.”

“Oh? What do you mean oh?” Jack asked as everyone had now gathered around Urban to get a glimpse.

“If this is the dude you're competing with, you can take him.”

“Maybe we could set up a boxing match.”

“Jack is definitely a lover and not a fighter. He wouldn't make it to the second round.”

“HEY!”

“Don't get mad at me because it's true.” Clay replied while holding his hands up in defense.

“But the thing is, Y/N told me she's divorcing him.”

“Good! Then ease your way in!”

“And he's about to have a baby on her.”

“Well got damn. HE CHEATED? ON Y/N? LIKE… JACK IF THAT WASN'T YOUR GIRL…”

“Don't finish that sentence, but yes.”

“Well divorce the wicked witch of the west so you can marry her.”

“Clay! Stop calling her that!”

“Why? It's funny and she's evil so it fits her personality.”

“Not the point!”

“Oh, so you agree?”

“Look, I’m going to try and make it work with Kelsey.” Jack told them, but at this point he didn't know if he was trying to convince them or trying to convince himself.

“I think I threw up in my mouth a little.”

—

You couldn't wait until your last case of the day since that would then let you go home and sleep until It was time to meet up with Jack. It was nice since Xavier was now on another one of his business trips, but you knew all that meant was his was with the woman who he was cheating on you with. He had hid it well when he first stepped out on you, but within the last year he had grown sloppy, but he still had no clue about you knowing.

It was still early in the afternoon when you decided to shoot Jack a quick text to let him know that he could now come over to your house seeing as your husband was nowhere to be found and went off to take a shower to wash the long day off of you.

You saw Jack's reply once you stepped out of the shower and he said that he would let you know when he was on his way. There were still a few more hours left to kill so you decided to take a short quick nap before he got there. But as much as you wanted to, your mind just wouldn't turn off.

The thoughts that consumed your mind consisted of Xavier and Jack and how you never should have ended your relationship with Jack because you knew for a fact that you would have been a lot happier. But, you loved Xavier too despite what he's doing to you even though it hurts to no end. He barely showed you any affection anymore and if he did, it felt forced. But when Jack did it? Felt like something out of a fairytale.

You simply wish you could fast forward to the part where you were happy.

Startled by a sudden knock on the door, you lifted your head to peek at your phone and noticed it was around 11:15 and instantly got excited because you knew it was Jack.

Once you opened the front door, you immediately tackled him into a hug as he kissed the top of your head.

“Hey Buttercup.” Your heart instantly fluttered hearing the nickname that Jack had given to you when the two of you were fifteen and the smile on your face couldn't help but to get bigger.

“Hey, I think the day went by extra slow because I couldn't wait to see you.” You replied as you stepped to the side to let him in.

Once he was in the foyer, he was taken in by his surroundings.

“You mean to tell me yall got this big ass house for only two people?”

“The goal was for it to be filled with little ones but that dream has quickly gone out the window.” You quietly answered and it looked like he was about to say something, but stopped himself.

But it came out anyway.

“You wouldn't want to be tied to someone like that for the rest of your life anyway. You deserve better than that.”

“I… I know. I just feel that I'm in a difficult position. But moving on because I know you didn't come here to hear me whine about him. Let me give you the grand tour.”

“It doesn't bother me. If you need to vent, I'm always going to be there to listen. No matter what time of day or night it is.”

“I really appreciate you saying that.”

Moving throughout the house, you showed him everything there was to see and you simply left your bedroom and closet for last knowing that he was going to spend at least an hour admiring your shoe collection.

Once you opened the double doors to the master bedroom, he simply laughed to himself.

“What in the world is so funny, Jackson?”

“I can tell that you designed this, didn't you?”

“He let me have at it so I simply did what I want with it.”

“So this is where the magic happens?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows and you rolled your eyes.

“Magic? As in me using my vibrator because that is literally the only magic that happens here. Anyway, let me show you my closet because I know you'll definitely like it.”

“So, we're just going to skip over the vibrator part that you mentioned?” Jack asked and you simply shrugged.

“Not every guy is in tune with his wife's body and knows how to please her, but that's a story for another day.”

“He definitely should be and there's no excuse for that.”

Jack then followed behind as you led the way into the walk-in closet and he immediately took note of your shoe collection just like you knew he would.

“I… Well damn. Maybe you should be an ambassador for New Balance too.”

“I can't help it. I literally buy a pair every time I go out. And a lot of that time is spent thinking about how my life is a hot ass mess. Sorry I'm doing it again. Now what had you upset earlier?”

“You don't have to apologize and it was Kelsey.”

“What happened?”

“All I asked was if she could be more supportive since I have had a lot going on and been kinda stressed out. She took it upon herself to accuse me of saying she's not supportive at all and it turned into a screaming match. Well her screaming at me really.”

“Did she not comprehend what you were saying?”

“As of lately, it seems like she's not comprehending anything when she used to not do that. Clay calls her the wicked witch of the west.”

You couldn't help but to immediately laugh.

“I'm sorry, but that is hilarious.”

“It's sad to say but I've gotten used to it.”

“Why? You shouldn't be used to arguing with your spouse all the time.”

“No, but… I don't know. I always say that I want to try and make it work between the both of us but when I replay these incidents over and over again it makes me think that it might not actually be worth it.”

“Then if it isn't worth it, let it go. Why would you want to be married to someone like that anyway?” You said which was similar to what he had told you earlier.

“Hmm, you want the honest answer?”

“Of course I do.”

“Only because my real bride was already spoken for.” He answered while looking directly at you.

You didn't answer him as he had quickly gotten distracted with something hanging up in your closet.

“Wait… Is this my hoodie? You've had it all this time?” He asked while holding it up and inspecting it.

“Yeah, it was comfy so I decided to steal it and never give it back.”

“Hmm, how does your husband feel about you having your ex-boyfriend's hoodie?”

“Well it's a good thing he doesn't know now isn't it? It still smells like you too believe it or not after all these years. And why should he even care? It's not like we're having sex with each other because that's exactly what he's doing and ended up getting her pregnant.”

“We're not, but it definitely sounds like you need someone to please you because he's not doing his job.”

The two of you were now dangerously close as Jack once again started playing with the ends of your hair as the hand that wasn't occupied cupped your face. Before you knew it, he leaned in and his lips were on yours. After kissing him back you immediately pushed him away from you.

“Jack… we can't and you know that.” You said not believing your own words for a second.

“Is it the fact that we can't or the fact that you don't want to admit that you feel the same way about me as you did when you were fourteen?” He asked you as he closed the space in between the two of you once more.

When you were quiet, he asked you once again and your thoughts were running rampant.

“Y/N, do you want me to stop?” He asked as he began to kiss down your neck and you could feel the river that was beginning to form between your thighs.

“No.” You breathed out before bringing his face back close to yours.

His hand reached under your shirt and was surprised to find out that you weren't wearing anything underneath and began to massage them and roll your nipples in between his fingers instantly making them hard as he kept his mouth on yours.

You broke apart from him as he was simply staring at you with his thumb grazing your cheek.

No words were spoken as you led him back into the master bedroom with both of you trying to strip out of the clothes that you were wearing at a rapid speed.

Once you were left bare underneath him, he slowly inserted two fingers into you seeing how wet you were and he immediately smirked as he leaned down to kiss you.

You moaned into his mouth and that was when he increased his pace moving his fingers in and out of you.

By this point your eyes were closed and you rightfully gasped as you felt him take one long lick across your folds. Jack then spread your legs to the point where they were behind your head so that he would have enough room.

“I don't think your husband would take it too well that I'm fucking his wife in his bed but clearly someone has to do it since he can't get it right.” You heard him say and you let out a quiet laugh before you once again felt his mouth on you.

You couldn't even remember the last time that you were in that much pleasure, but knew that Jack was only getting started.

Between him using his mouth and his fingers, you knew it wouldn't take long in order for you to reach your peak and you decided to speed up the process by playing with your pierced nipples.

As you loudly moaned his name, Jack then went to suck on your clit and you knew it was only a matter of seconds before you were going to hit your peak.

“Oh, fuck. Right there, stay right there.” You said as your hands were now tangled in his hair in order to be able to keep him as close as possible.

“Baby, I’m about to…”

“Then do it.” Jack said as he broke away from you to answer but went right back to his original position.

Your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks that your legs were shaking, but Jack hadn't stopped eating you out which quickly made you go into having another one.

No sound was coming out of your mouth as Jack let you ride it out before detaching from you and crawling back up your body with him planting kisses on your skin along his path.

Once he reached your lips, he gave you several pecks before you felt his fingers now massaging your clit and he was now smirking at you.

“You ready for me, sweet girl? I can tell that your body is, but I need to hear you say it.”

“Been ready for you.”

As you noticed the precum leaking from the tip, you sat up and quickly took him in your mouth, making him hiss and throw his head back in pleasure.

You used your hand for where your mouth couldn't reach and you soon felt him twitch and took that as a sign that he was growing closer to hitting his peak when he suddenly lightly pushed you away from him and you quickly looked up at him confused.

“There's no way I'm about to last much longer and I need to feel you.”

“I'm on birth control, so it's all good. Nothing to worry about.” You said as you got settled once more at the top of the bed as he took hold of your hips and slowly entered you, leading to a moan escaping both of your mouths.

“You feel so good around me, but you have to relax baby and give me some room. Just relax, I got you.”

It was definitely easier said than done.

But once you did and the two of you got in a comfortable rhythm, your arms went around Jack's neck as he buried his face in your shoulder.

Hearing him moan in your ear let you know another orgasm was right around the corner as you then reached down to play with your clit. Your hand was soon replaced with his as you then heard the garage door open.

“Fuck, he's back early.”

“We're not leaving this bed until you scream my name, you understand?”

You immediately nodded your head as Jack then increased his pace as you were hoping to not get caught by your husband. But at this point in time, you didn't care.

The thrill of being caught got you excited.

“That's it. That's it, pretty girl. Are you going to cum for me? Cum all over my dick.”

Without another word, both of you hit your peak at the same time with you loudly moaning in his ear. As he was letting you recover, he placed kisses all over your body before planting one more on your lips which immediately made you smile.

“We need to hurry up and get dressed before he comes upstairs? Don't you think?” Jack asked but not before taking one of your nipples in his mouth and lightly sucking.

“Don't start because now we definitely can't finish.”

“Hmm… to be continued.”

Once the two of you slipped your clothes back on and made your way back downstairs you were now sitting on the couch with the television on as Xavier walked in.

“Oh hey, you're back early.” You said as he leaned down to kiss you which now left a sour taste in your mouth.

“I figured why not since I wanted to spend time with my wife. And who do we have here?”

“Jack this is my husband Xavier and Xavier this is Jack. We went to high school together and he was in town so we decided to catch up.”

“Nice to meet you Jack.”

“You too.” Jack replied as he was taking in meeting your piece of shit husband in person for the first time.

“Doesn't surprise me you two are still catching up at 3 in the morning. Y/N has always been a night owl.” He said in a somewhat accusatory tone, but Jack quickly shut it down.

“Well I had a premiere to go to and didn't get finished until late, but I was just leaving since I have an early flight.”

“Well next time you're here, we all should go out.” Xavier offered and Jack quickly agreed.

“Sure thing and I can bring my wife so it will be a double date.”

Hearing him say that immediately made your stomach go into a series of knots.

“Come on Jack so I can walk you out.”

Once outside and by his rental car, the two of you immediately busted out laughing.

“I don't think I've ever gotten dressed that fast before. That had to be some type of record.”

“I mean he could have always come in to get a few pointers from me.” Jack replied and you lightly hit his arm.

“What? You know I'm telling the truth. When's the last time he made you feel that good?” Jack asked as he whispered the last part in your ear and slipped a hand in your shorts.

“Babe…”

“I take that as the answer being never.” He said as he removed his hand and brought it up to his mouth to suck on his fingers.

“Taste so good and you are making it so hard for me to not fuck you again right here and right now.”

“Behave, Jackman!” You exclaimed as he quickly began playing with your hair and the two of you stood in a comfortable silence.

“Until next time, buttercup.”

“Until next time, Jackson.”

“Oh and I hope you don't mind me taking these?” He asked as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the purple thong that you had been wearing earlier before it got discarded on the floor.

“You know purple's my favorite color.” Was all he said before he placed a kiss on your cheek.

After Jack had drove off, you went back into the house and the realization of what you had just done hit you.

You just cheated on your husband with your ex-boyfriend.

And didn't regret it one bit.

#jack harlow #jack harlow fic #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x black reader #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow smut #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow fanfiction #jackman thomas #jackman thomas harlow

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 2 months ago

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Hello! I got recommended to send you an ask by a friend, so I am sending you an ask! Ive recently discovered that I seem to not enjoy the physical aspect of sex at all. I’ve bottomed for men with dicks, and just tonight had sex with a guy without one(I couldn’t get him to cum, but he was moaning, so I think I put more good into the world nonetheless), so I can assuredly say I’ve had all the ways I can physically use my body for sex wise. Well not all the ways but you know what I mean. And throughout all of it I didn’t feel much physical pleasure! I enjoyed getting topped mostly cause I thought the action was hot, I enjoyed topping the guy I had over tonight because he was enjoying himself. The most I’ve ever gotten from sex was from someone giving me oral which honestly was just warm and tickled more than pleasure. But I do still enjoy masturbating, so I don’t think I’m asexual; I do like making others cum.

Sorry for the long ass Paragraph, but I guess my question is whether or not you can make heads or tails of this, cause I can’t. I find the idea of having sex hot but don’t enjoy actual sex, and I don’t see how I have it this way. Sorry again

hi anon,

okay, listen, I have to say this before anything else: asexual people jack off. I mean, not all of them, but lots and lots of asexuals masturbate all the time. I'm not saying you are or aren't asexual, that's not for me to decide, but just know that whether or not you masturbate is completely irrelevant to whether or not you're asexual.

anyway, I'm afraid I don't quite understand the mystery here. you're not personally getting off during partnered sex, but are you enjoying it? you mentioned that you think getting topped is hot and you like getting other people off, so I have to hope you're having at least sort of a good time.

(if I'm reading this totally wrong and sex is miserable then please stop doing that, actually.)

look: having an orgasm doesn't need to be the #1 reason you have sex with other people. evidently you can do that yourself, right? to my mind, having sex with somebody else is about the things you can't get alone. it's about the intimacy with another person, about playing together, about acting out things you think are hot, about enjoying the experience of making each other feel things. it's fine to say "getting me off isn't really a priority, let's focus on you 👀 " and it's fine to have sex because you think it's fun and hot. the orgasm is just, like, one potential part of that, not the end all be all.

#sex edventures 2024

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unmaskthewriter · 1 year ago

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Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You {Arthur Morgan x GN!Reader}

Summary: Arthur realizes he’s in love with you.

A/N: As suggested/requested by @photo1030 . I apologize for the delay as I’m packing for travel and also I just got into Read Dead online for the first time all while completing RDR1 (first time) and RDR2 (second time). I know you suggested a different song/title but I couldn’t stop thinking about Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You by Frankie Valli. also did just watch Jersey Boys this weekend so that could be why. Anyways, despite it all, I hope you enjoy.

Warnings: none, just pure fluff as requested <3 except for Karen threatening to commit violence on Sean 👀

Word Count: 650+

It was nearly evening as Arthur returned from the bank robbery in Valentine. As the sun sank lower in the sky, it created a beautiful array of colors on the water. He approached the savings box behind Dutch’s tent, placing half his take into the box. Micah sat with Bill and Javier at a table, talking them into yet another round of Five Finger Fillet.

“You’ve taken nearly all my money!” Javier whined.

Mary Beth and Tilly were sitting in their tent, working on laundry and clothes that needed mending. Karen was sitting alongside Sean around the campfire, a bottle of whiskey in her hand.

“Ah, c’mon lass, just one kiss!” Sean leaned closer to Karen, pointing to his cheek as she looked on, disinterested.

“Only thing you’ll be getting is this bottle over your head if you don’t quit your beggin.” Karen warned, taking a swig of the whiskey. Sean only laughed.

“Where would I be without ya, Miss Karen?” Sean questioned, to which she rolled her eyes.

“Dead, hopefully.” She mumbled, looking away from the Irishman.

“Oh, don’t play at that, lass. Ya know ya love me.” Sean teases the young woman.

Arthur ventured throughout camp in search of you. On a typical day, you were often around the campfire either listening to Javier’s music, or talking with the girls at their tent. He wandered out to the lake, leaning against a tree at the edge of the wood line. He lights himself a cigarette, taking a long drag as he watches on.

You were standing in the water, barefoot, with your pants rolled up to your knees. Jack sat nearby, making a necklace with small, coral flowers. Too focused on the line in the water to realize Arthur’s presence, Jack giggled as he looked at Arthur. The gunslinger only held a finger to his lips, smiling softly as the cigarette dangled there.

“I know I’m not quite the fisherman as I talked myself up to be. It’s okay, you can laugh.” You tease unknowingly. Arthur’s heart skipped at the sight, something he didn’t think possible. Prior to this evening, Arthur always believed he’d belong to Mary, even if she had moved on and married someone else her father approved more of.

Though now, seeing you there in the water while the setting sun reflected off of you and gave you this wonderful glow… all thoughts and dreams of Mary vanished in that very moment. All he could feel in this moment was a strange swelling of his heart when he looked at you. Now, Arthur never considered himself romantic but in this moment, doing something as simple as fishing and barely doing that gave him this light, fluttery feeling in his heart, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in quite some time. As you stepped out from the water, you turned to see Arthur standing there.

“Oh!” You held a hand over your chest, startled. You relax as you put the fishing rod away, “Didn’t see you there. How’ve you been?” You ask as Jack stands and gathers the flower necklace he had made.

“Good… was wondering what you were up to. See you’re teaching him all you know about fishing.” Arthur teases as he steps forward, putting the cigarette out beneath his boot. A blush creeps across your face as you look away, trying desperately to avoid his gaze.

“Don’t think I know too much on the matter, Mr. Morgan.” You admit shyly. Arthur’s lips part to speak, only to be interrupted by the child.

“Let’s go, I’m hungry!” He insists, now standing between the two of you, “Can you swing me?” He questioned excitedly. You look to Arthur who nods to you in return.

“Anything for you.” You ruffle the boy’s hair. Each taking hold of the child’s small hands, you and Arthur swing Jack gently between the both of you as you return to camp, like one happy family.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption #arthur morgan x reader #fluff #no angst #this time #rdr2 fanfic #jack marston #tilly jackson #micah bell #mary beth gaskill #javier escuella #bill williamson

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livlaughloveluke · 1 year ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧- 𝐣.𝐜

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you get jealous of jacks cast mate, when in reality you have nothing to worry about

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: reader is kinda self conscious? a little angst turned to fluff :)

based off this request: Reader thinks jack likes one of his other coworkers (or him and r could be childhood friends) but he acc likes her idk from @wonderstruck4llthew4yhome

𝐚/𝐧: hope you enjoy!! jack is SUCH a loverboy

jacks radiant laugh echoed from your computer screen, which made you pause the video and start sulking.

you were currently watching an interview over his new romance movie, and god did it make you feel envious.

while his heavenly giggle usually made you grin from ear to ear, this time it made you frown, and you could feel tears forming in your eyes.

you were upset because he was laughing at his cast mate, annie. annie played his love interest in the movie, and you could tell she liked him. and judging by the way he was looking at her in the video, you thought he liked her back.

she was gorgeous, and talented, and really funny too. everything you thought you weren’t.

and the real gut punch is you have no right to be jealous. jack and you weren’t dating, but were only childhood friends. you told eachother everything, and spent countless of hours hanging out.

although, there was one thing you didn’t mention to him. you were helplessly in love with him. your crush developed when you were 13, and it never stopped growing.

you felt like your heart had been stomped on and crumpled up after watching the interview.

it made you feel worse when you realized you were being to much of a “jealous girlfriend” to someone you weren’t even dating.

tears couldn’t help but fall as you scrolled through the comments.

user37638- jack and annie DEFINITELY have something going on 👀

jackslover- wait are him and the blond girl dating?!??

anniesfan4lifeeee- jack and annie would lowkey make such a cute couple omg?!?

you started to feel worse as you realized that maybe he was happy. maybe he did really like her, and you needed to support him. ruining fourteen years of friendship over some stupid feelings is crazy. right?

that was until you hear the front door to your apartment opening. oh shit. jack was supposed to come over at 12! why is he here so early?!?

you checked the time, only to find out that you had spent the whole day sobbing in your, now very messy, bed. you didn’t have time to react before jack was entering your room.

he immediately noticed your tears and went up to you. you stood up out of bed, still wearing your pajamas. well the oversized shirt you had on was his, but whatever.

jack brought you in to a warm embrace, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist. after some time, he let go to face you.

he used his thumb to wipe off your tears, looking at you with a concerned expression.

“y/n what happened? you know i hate seeing you like this. do i need to fight someone for you?” jack asks, trying lightening the mood a little.

you smiled, and he took that as his own personal victory.

“its nothing jack. anyways, how was filming in greece?” you say, trying your best to plaster on a happy face and skip over the topic. it didn’t work. god dammit jack, why are you so caring?!?

“it’s not nothing. y/n tell me, please.” jack looks at you with those adorable brown eyes and you know you have to tell him. even if you don’t want to, its best for jack to know.

“if i tell you this, you have to pinky promise this wont ruin anything.” you say, sticking your finger out. he locks pinkies with you, and you both kiss your thumb, signifying that the promise will be kept. jack then waits patiently for you to continue.

“i like you. more than a friendly way. I’ve felt this way since we were thirteen. if you dont like me back, that fine i guess! or if you like annie I totally understand and i think you would make a cute couple-“

jack cuts you off quickly after hearing the last sentence.

“i dont want annie. i want you.”

you look up at him shocked, your mouth slightly open. you notice him looking at your lips, and you get the hint. you close the gap, and place your plump lips on his.

its was like your lips were puzzle pieces, because of how perfectly they fit together. all of your envy washed away at the heavenly sensation.

you both pulled away from the passionate kiss, your lips coated in a mixture of you and jacks spit. you make eye contact with him, and smile. you could finally call him yours.

#jack champion #ethan landry smut #ethan landry #ethan landry angst #ethan landry x reader #jack champion x y/n #jack champion x reader #jack champion x actress! reader #liv’s writing !

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em-prentiss · 6 months ago

Note

Hello. Big fan of your writing. I was wondering if you could write Hotchniss from someone else’s perspective maybe the team watching them being cute and soft together and them seeing their new side?👀🤭

Heyy, thank you!! I really love this idea, so I hope you like my execution of it <3

you can see it with the lights out (you are in love)

----

“I think,” Penelope whispers, her smile evident in her voice, “this is the best thing to ever come out of the BAU.” Her eyes snag on the way Aaron buckles Emily’s seatbelt before he shuts her door. She’d been disbelieving at first, unable to imagine the two of them together. But now, looking at them, the gentleness of their love, she can’t imagine things being any different.

The car pulls away and JJ smiles at the sight of Emily’s head resting against the window. She’s already fast asleep.

“I think you’re right.”

Aaron and Emily, through different lenses.

Word count: 5.2k

Mild cw for some minor injuries, nothing graphic but a little blood mentioned

----

It starts slowly.

At first absolutely nothing changes, Aaron and Emily going about their work as Hotch and Prentiss—last names, the occasional (and still prevalent) disputes—as if the team hadn’t caught them making out in a storage closet.

It takes a few months for them to evolve further than the generously filled cup of coffee with a gentle hand to the shoulder and the secret holding of their fingertips beneath the table, a habit of theirs they still haven’t broken.

Their armor starts crumbling on a rowdy night out. One Aaron does not want to go to.

“Let’s just go home, Em.” It’s as close as he’s ever come to pleading in the nine months they’ve been together. It’s been a strangely quiet day and all he wants to do is go home and spend time with her and Jack, make them dinner and fall asleep on the couch to Cars with his head in Emily’s lap and her hand in his hair.

“And do what? Eat dinner and go to bed at 10 like old people?” Emily wrinkles her nose in distaste. “It’s our weekend, Aaron. The first one without a case in god knows how long.”

She’s restless, her body humming with unspent energy, and today is exactly the kind of day where a night out at a bar actually sounds good. She perches on the edge of his desk, lets her knee touch his. “Please?” She smiles, her eyes bright and her smile brighter still.

Aaron wilts. He has yet to find a way to say no to her when she flashes those brown eyes, dark and beautiful and like a knife straight through his heart.

He sighs. Emily’s smile widens; she knows she’s got him.

“It’ll be fun,” she assures, the open blinds of his office only barely holding her back from kissing his downturned lips.

“You’ll get to touch me,” she reminds him, reaching her hand out to soothe the furrow between his brows instead. “And dance with me.” Her thumb softens the creased skin, runs over it until it’s flat. Aaron feels his lips tip upward in a smile.

“And you’ll finally get to scare off any guy that tries to hit on me,” Emily grins, recalling the last time they went out with the team. She could see the tight line of Aaron’s jaw all the way from the bar, his forceful gaze searing onto her skin as he gripped his drink so hard she thought the glass would shatter in his hand.

“Okay,” he concedes.

Emily beams at him. She leans forward, her nimble fingers undoing his tie with ease. Aaron’s eyebrows shoot up. “Undressing me in the office already?” He asks mildly. “At least close the blinds.”

“Hush,” Emily laughs as she slips the tie from his neck. Tossing it carelessly on his lap, she pops his collar and undoes the first two buttons of his shirt, feeling her whole body heat under his gaze as he watches her closely. “I’m making you bar-ready.” She murmurs.

“I see.” Aaron hums. Emily looks up at him and smiles as she meets his eyes. She brings a hand up and runs it through his hair, thoroughly messing it up.

“Hey!” He laughs and grips her wrist lightly. “You said bar-ready, not…delinquent.” He protests.

Emily laughs and swats his hand away. It falls to her thigh as she continues messing up his hair, shaking up the leftover gel in it until it’s soft and wilting over his forehead.

“That’s better,” she murmurs, proud of her handiwork. Now he somewhat resembles the Aaron she sees at home, soft and relaxed. Only one thing left. “Take off your jacket.”

Aaron sighs and obliges. “Any other orders, Ma’am?” He looks up at her as he places his jacket on the desk, his softened gaze betraying his annoyed act.

Emily smiles coyly and takes his right hand into her lap. “Roll up your sleeves,” she says as she starts doing the task herself, popping open the button on his cuff and rolling his sleeve up to his elbow.

Through the open window, JJ, Morgan, and Reid watch with rapt attention as Emily perches on their boss’ desk and casually attacks his meticulous appearance, her fingers mussing his hair and undoing his buttons.

“Interesting,” JJ murmurs when Hotch simply shakes his head at her, his laugh visible even from the bullpen in the way his large shoulders shake. He does nothing to stop her, leaning back in his chair when she takes his hand into her lap, her head bent as she fusses with his sleeve.

“Weird is more like it,” Morgan mutters. He’s never seen Emily smile so wide at Hotch before, never seen him smile like that at all.

“He’s letting her sit on his desk,” Reid comments, mildly intrigued at their lack of interest in the open blinds.

“That, pretty boy, is one of the many advantages that come with dating the boss,” Morgan says, his voice dripping faux wisdom.

“You seem like you know all about that,” Reid retorts snarkily.

Morgan exclaims in surprise and JJ huffs out a laugh, “Behave, both of you,” she looks behind her to find Hotch and Emily walk out of his office. “Or else Mom and Dad will ground you both.” She winks at them, promptly shutting them up.

________

He’s tense against her, his eyes fixed on the table their friends are at. Reid ducks his head to avoid Aaron’s gaze but Rossi meets him head on, making him grimace.

Emily turns to glare at them, her icy expression forcing Rossi to turn away.

“Ignore them.” She loops her arms around Aaron’s neck and tilts his head down. He meets her warm eyes, feels the ruckus around them slow down to a buzz as she threads her fingers into his hair and smiles reassuringly at him. She presses closer to him and he relaxes, his shoulders slumping as she presses a lingering kiss to his jaw.

Until he hears the loud squealing and whooping of Penelope and Morgan back at their table. Aaron instinctively turns to them, his eyes leaving Emily’s. She feels him tense against her again and holds back a growl.

Emily tugs his head back to her, a little too forcefully. “Eyes on me, Aaron.”

His eyes immediately snap back to hers. Emily smiles at the darkened look in them, her words accidentally snapping into a command. He turns his back to the team and focuses solely on her. “Yes Ma’am,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a smile before he bends down and presses them against hers.

Emily grins into the kiss. She links their fingers together and tugs him deeper into the dance floor until they’re crammed between throngs of people, away from the eyes of the team.

She starts moving against him and he’s gone, so far gone, any inhibitions disappearing as Emily moves to the beat of the music in his arms. Aaron finds himself smiling as he matches her rhythm. He suddenly realizes that they’ve never danced together before, at least not like this, with pounding music in his ears instead of her soft sighs and bitten back moans.

He voices the thought out loud to her as his hands tightly grasp her hips and pull her closer. “We’ve never done this before,” he breathes in her ear, feeling her link her fingers together behind his neck.

“Fun, isn’t it?” She smiles brightly, her eyes glittering, and he can’t help but agree.

“Yeah,” Aaron murmurs, leaning down to kiss her. He slips a hand into her fluffed out hair, his other digging into her waist and feeling the smooth skin peeking out from the hem of her shirt.

Across the bar, two blonde women are clutching each others arms.

“Oh my god.” Penelope squeals, just barely holding in the urge to jump up and down in glee. “Look at them, Jayje. Hotch is smiling!”

“I see them, Pen,” JJ laughs, but she can’t help but feel her friend’s reaction is just a little bit understandable—just a tiny bit.

Aaron and Emily are deep into the dance floor, lost in their own universe as they dance together, laughing and smiling, their bodies moving against each others with practiced ease. It feels almost private to see, the way Aaron smiles at Emily, how she digs her hands into his hair so casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Her shirt rises up her stomach, her jeans low enough on her hips that she sees something on her skin. Multiple somethings. Four circular marks, dark against her pale skin and peeking out from the hem of her jeans. JJ frowns, wondering if she got hurt, but she’s moving around carelessly, the bruises obviously not bothering her. She’s about to look away when Hotch’s hands trail lower, his fingers pressing directly on the bruises. They disappear beneath his fingertips, the perfect size, and—oh.

JJ flushes.

They watch as Emily turns around in his arms. She leans into him, cards her fingers through his unusually messy hair and pulls him down for a kiss. His palm slips up her shirt and JJ turns away, swallowing down her surprise.

Penelope grins next to her, officially losing her mind. “Oh my freaking god,” she slurs, throwing back her drink and gripping the glass tightly, “boss-man has moves?” She exclaims in disbelief, her eyes widening. “No wonder Em is all over him.”

JJ doesn’t like to intrude, but her eyes are drawn to them. Hotch seems so carefree, so relaxed, his body limp as if Emily had taken the weight of the world off his shoulders. She sees his face break out in another smile, a dimple dug deep in the cheek she can see—she’d bet money there’s another equally deep one carved into his other cheek—as he says something to Emily. She laughs back, her cheeks flushed, and Hotch brightens, his whole face glowing.

JJ smiles, her heart warming at the sight of them. At first she’d doubted Emily could fall for someone so serious and stoic, but she glows under his gaze, his touch. She doesn’t know how this happened, but she does know one thing; they’re in deep.

“Did you know he has a dimple?” She turns to Penelope, her eyes sparkling.

Emily turns her head slightly and laughs at the sight of JJ and Penelope gawking at them. She’s sure if she was in other situation, any less drunk, she’d have been annoyed. But right now she can’t really bring herself to care.

“They’re losing their shit,” she whispers to Aaron, her lips nipping at the warm skin of his jaw. He hums as she continues her lazy kisses and slips her hand into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Let them.” He looks down at her, breaking her contact from his skin. Aaron tenderly tucks her dark hair behind her ear, his knuckles lingering on her cheek. He shifts so his back is to their friends and leans down to kiss her, softly, gently, starkly different from the heated kisses they’ve been sharing all night.

“I’m glad we decided to come,” he squeezes her waist.

Emily’s eyes light up. “Really?”

Aaron smiles. “Really.”

****

Penelope startles when she catches sight of her boss standing in the doorway. It’s still weird to see him like this, as simply Aaron and not Hotch. He’s dressed in casual jeans and a t-shirt, his lips turning up in a soft smile as he looks at Emily. Her friend is sprawled next to her on the couch, hugging a pillow to her chest and laughing at JJ’s story, cheeks softly flushed pink from the multiple drinks she’d had. She doesn’t notice him yet, her attention on JJ sitting cross legged on the floor.

“Sir Hotch!” Penelope may or may not yell, and Emily’s gaze slides from JJ to Aaron. Her face transforms as she beams at him, her smile spreading impossibly wider as he awkwardly scratches his hair.

“You don’t have to call me sir outside of work, Garcia.” He insists yet again as he crosses the living room, his eyes already locked on Emily’s.

“Feels weird not to,” she says cheerfully, yelping at JJ’s pinch to her socked foot. What? She mouths at her friend. JJ mimes zipping her lips shut, her eyes wide and curious.

Her comment goes unanswered as Aaron crouches down in front of Emily. “Hi, Em.” He says softly.

Emily smiles lazily. “Hi,” she slurs. She drops the pillow and lurches forward to wrap her arms around his neck. His arms band around her back as she almost slips off the couch and halfway into his lap, her movements unsteady and clumsy. Her knees knock into his chest but he doesn’t seem to mind. She whispers something to him, her dark hair nestled beneath his chin, and he smiles.

Penelope feels something in her melt at the still unusual sight of his dimples, his smile so soft her heart aches.

The room is too quiet to mask his reply. “I missed you too,” his voice is quiet, low as Emily leans back and gives him a sloppy kiss on the corner of his mouth.

Aaron flushes. His eyes dart to Penelope and JJ, who hurriedly look away as Emily mumbles, “Let’s go home,” into his skin, her inhibitions lowered as she slips her fingers into his hair and nuzzles her face away from her friends, into his neck.

Penelope bites her thumb between her teeth, trying to hide a smile as Aaron clears his throat and awkwardly stands up, juggling Emily in his arms as he unsteadily gets to his feet. She feels a grin spreading wide on her face despite her best efforts, a look at JJ telling her she’s struggling, too. They hadn’t seen more of Aaron and Emily since their initial night out, case after case steering them clear of bars and dinners.

At least the alcohol is a good excuse for their unabashed interest.

Hotch—Aaron’s—cheeks are dusted pink as Emily stumbles into him, her arms wrapping around his waist. She lays her head on his shoulder and turns back to her friends.

“Sorry guys, I hav’ta go,” she tells them, her eyes almost comically wide. “My pretty boyfriend gets lonely when I go out for too long,” she whispers loudly, breaking out into giggles as Aaron bites back a sigh.

“Right, Aaron?” Emily turns to him, her lip bitten between her teeth. Her hand slips off his hip and slides into his front pocket, the movement thoughtless, instinctual.

Through her drunken haze, Penelope watches Aaron’s cheeks flush bright red, as if he’d been drinking along with them. Another giddy thrill goes through her at this new side of him, another chip of his armor removed and thrown to their feet. The reason for it is still moving impossibly closer to him, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

He swallows but doesn’t refuse her touch as she leans into him. “Sure, Emily,” he mutters, clearing his throat and turning to JJ. “Can we have a bottle of water for the ride?” Aaron asks, firmly wrapping his arm around Emily’s waist as she sways against him.

“Uh huh,” JJ nods and pushes herself to her feet, unsteady as she heads to the kitchen. Penelope scrambles up to follow her, socks slipping on the hardwood floors.

“Oh, Jayje, aren’t they the cutest?” She whispers as JJ opens the fridge and takes out a water bottle. “Hotch is blushing,” she sighs dreamily. “I didn’t know he could do that.” Her eyes drift to the living room wall separating them from Aaron and Emily, briefly wishing it were transparent as Emily’s voice faintly drifts toward them.

JJ giggles, “He’s like a tomato,” she agrees, promptly taking out another bottle and pressing it to Penelope’s flushed cheek. Her friend yelps as JJ takes out another bottle for herself along with Emily’s. “Now we know he’s kinda human.” She wiggles her brows.

Penelope gasps loudly. “That’s mean,” she slaps JJ’s arm. “Hotch has always been fully human with me,” she insists firmly, even as her words slur together.

“Em is just helping him show it more. Isn’t that cute?” She sighs as they walk back to the living room again. She stumbles and JJ loops their arms together, though she’s hardly any more steady.

“’s cute,” she mumbles, resting her head against Penelope’s as they walk into the living room again.

Emily’s face is firmly tucked into Aaron’s neck, her hands in his back pockets and his arms around her back. He abruptly stops whatever he was saying, his soft voice tailing off into a hesitant smile as he takes the bottle from JJ.

“Thank you, JJ,” he says. His cheeks are decidedly less pink than they were before, but he still doesn’t hold their gazes for long.

“Sure,” she hums in reply.

Emily untangles herself from Aaron’s arms and gives her friends a joint hug, JJ’s arm still looped through Penelope’s.

“Night, mes amours.” She gives them quick kisses and bounces back as suddenly as she came, her arms barely wrapping around them before she goes back to Aaron’s side.

“Next time at my place, yeah?” Emily grabs his hand and pulls it around her shoulders as JJ and Penelope hum in affirmation.

“Good night.” Aaron tells them over his shoulder as Emily pushes him toward the door.

“Night,” the women grin back. JJ smiles at the way he submits to Emily’s will, lets her push him around even with his arm steady around her waist. Who would’ve thought, she sighs as they disappear from view, her heart unbearably warm at the sudden, unexpected happiness her friends had found.

“Pen’s bangs are nice.” Emily’s voice floats to them from the foyer, wistful and slurry, a couple octaves louder than it usually is. “I should get some too. D’you think I’d look pretty with bangs?”

The door creaks open. Aaron’s voice is low as they walk out into the night. “You’d look pretty in anything.” He says, affection seeping through the words. “Just not tonight, hon.”

The door slams shut behind them and the two blondes wilt against each other, sighs and giggles escaping their parted lips as they see Aaron guide Emily into his car, his hands gentle on her even through the living room window.

The car pulls away and JJ smiles at the sight of Emily’s head resting against the window. She’s already fast asleep.

“I think you’re right.”

****

Dave can count on his fingers the amount of times Aaron Hotchner ever lost his shit. Even when he was a quiet, overly confident agent fresh out of the academy, he barely lost his cool, always staying frustratingly in control.

That is, of course, until Emily walks into the conference room leaning heavily on an officer, blood slowly leaking from a gash in her forehead and her left eye quickly turning sickening shades of purple.

“Emily.” Aaron jumps up from his seat at the table. She lets go of the officer supporting her and sways on her feet, but Aaron is in front of her in an instant.

“Woah,” she says quietly as she grips his forearms, her knuckles white and her face bloodless. Dave feels a pang in his heart as she stumbles headfirst into Aaron, her legs shaky and weak.

“What the hell happened?” Morgan demands as Aaron helps Emily into a chair, his brows tightly drawn and his jaw clenched. His hands are soft, though, his voice softer still as he quietly whispers sit down, honey, frowning when Emily slumps into the chair with a low groan.

Dave turns away from them and looks at the officer that accompanied Emily, his brows raising as he waits for an explanation. They were only supposed to interview the victim’s boyfriend.

The officer pales when Aaron turns to him as well.

“We saw him outside his apartment, he was already looking like he was ready to bolt. We just introduced ourselves then he kinda…slammed her into a lamppost.” He ends lamely, swallowing as Aaron’s gaze turns vaguely murderous.

Dave doesn’t blame him.

A weak scoff breaks the tense silence. “He wasn’ too happy we wen’ to visit him,” Emily mumbles. She raises her hand to block the lights, her face twisting in a grimace as she leans back into the chair.

Aaron grips the back of her seat, standing guard over her even though the damage is already done. His tone is low when he speaks, buzzing with barely controlled anger. “JJ,” he grits out, “put an APB for that asshole’s car and tell the detective we need to be on the lookout for him. Morgan, call Garcia and have her track his phone. Reid, get me a first aid kit. Now.” He barks, and they all snap into action.

“Than’ god, I really didn’ wanna go to the hospital,” Emily slurs as everyone clears out of the room. She squints at Aaron as he crouches down in front of her. “Y’re all blurry, though.”

Dave reaches for one of the cold water bottles on the table and holds it to Emily’s forehead. “Hold that there, bella,” he says quietly as Aaron works on unlocking his tight jaw.

Emily holds the bottle without complaint. “Than’s Rossi. Tha’ bastard got me good,” she winces.

“If it’s too bad, we will go to the hospital, Emily.” Aaron says firmly. His eyes don’t leave her as he blows out a breath and gently tilts her face under the lights to see the extent of the damage. Dave can almost hear his teeth grind together as he examines her eye, nearly swollen shut.

“No, ’ron, I don’ need it.” She mumbles. Aaron ignores her as he carefully runs his finger around her eye, prodding along her cheek. He presses on the bruised skin of her nose and she flinches.

“Ah, fuck, why’d ya do that?” Emily hisses.

He blanches and pulls away as if he’d been burnt, “Sorry, sorry,” he rushes out, dropping his hands from her face. “Just wanted to check if anything’s broken.”

“Is it?” She scowls, holding the bottle with her other hand.

Aaron shakes his head and steadies the bottle himself. Emily lets go and closes her eyes, her throat bobbing as she swallows. She curls her fingers in the fabric of her pants, her knuckles turning white from her grip.

The sudden silence makes Dave hyper aware of his own presence.

“Anything you need me to do?” he asks, suddenly feeling like he’s intruding on something unbearably vulnerable; Aaron crouched in front of Emily, her knees pressed against his chest as he holds the bottle to the split skin on her forehead.

“Have Garcia dig into his life,” Aaron says tightly. “We need to work him into the profile, re-interview the parents and their friends and see what their relationship was like.”

Emily opens her eyes and flinches back a little, her knuckles sharpening under her skin. “The lights hurt,” she mumbles.

Aaron’s pained look doesn’t surprise Dave so much as Emily’s admission, quiet and slurred, clearly meant only for one person. Reid finally comes back with the medical kit and Aaron sets down the bottle, popping the kit open and grabbing a pair of alcohol wipes.

“I know, honey, just close your eyes.” He whispers, gently swiping the wipe over her skin. It grows red in seconds, and he quickly discards it to tear open another one. “You definitely have a concussion.”

“Doesn’t look like it needs stitches,” Reid murmurs, leaning forward to examine the gash as Dave leaves in search of the detective. He explains the turn of events and is halfway through re-arranging the interviews when his phone buzzes with a message from Aaron.

Taking Emily back to the hotel. I’ll coordinate with you once she’s settled.

We’ll handle it, Dave sends back, unsurprised by the message. These past few months Aaron has slowly been loosening his tight grip on work, instead shifting his focus to prioritize his son and a certain brunette whenever they needed him.

He sees them walking out of the precinct, Emily leaning heavily against Aaron with her arm around his neck, trying her best not to sway. Aaron’s grip is tight around her back, his steps small as he matches her pace.

Dave is half surprised he doesn’t carry her outright.

****

Spencer stands next to the sliding door leading to the backyard, trying to leech warmth from the living room. He stuffs his cold hands into his pockets and wonders who encouraged Dave to plan a barbecue in the midst of winter.

“Here,” JJ walks over and hands him a mug of coffee.

“Oh, perfect, thanks,” he sighs as he wraps his freezing fingers around the mug, tipping it back and feeling the hot coffee scorch his throat as it goes down. JJ hums in response and takes it from him to steal a sip, the cold seeping into her skin despite the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

“This really was a terrible idea, wasn’t it?” She laughs as she looks around at the backyard, Emily hissing and spitting as she rubs her arms, Penelope huddling next to the grill and effectively Morgan, her gloved hands wrapped around his bicep.

Dave seems to be the only one enjoying himself, watching over Morgan and Aaron like a hawk, making sure they don’t burn the steaks as he leisurely sips his scotch.

“Yeah,” Spencer agrees, shivering as a gust of wind cuts through his clothes.

JJ smiles. “Here,” she opens up the blanket so he can join her. He doesn’t hesitate, eagerly wrapping it around himself and huddling into her for warmth.

“Thanks.” He hums as the cold starts to leave his body. She hands the mug back and Spencer tries not to fuss too much over the idea of her lips touching the same area of the rim as his. He lets it warm his hands instead, his eyes catching on Aaron and Emily next to the grill.

She’s frowning, rubbing her arms as her mouth moves quickly—no doubt in complaint, Spencer thinks with some amusement; he always appreciated Emily’s bluntness. The tip of her nose is red, the sleeves of her sweater stretched over her knuckles as she rubs her palms together, her lips turned down in annoyance.

Aaron smiles at her and passes the tongs in his hands to Dave, who mildly protests as he takes them. Aaron ignores him as he steps away from the grill and in front of Emily.

JJ’s arm presses into Spencer’s as she reaches for his coffee mug again. He hands it to her absentmindedly, his eyes on Aaron as he opens up the sides of his jacket.

“That’s weird,” he murmurs as Emily’s frown disappears. “Why’s he—oh.”

She walks into Aaron’s arms and promptly stuffs herself inside his jacket.

He hears her laugh as Aaron tucks the sides of his jacket closed around her body, fitting her snugly against him and pressing his lips to her hair as she snuggles closer. Emily’s scowl is nowhere to be seen as she looks up at him, her lips twisting in a smile as she says something, too far away for Spencer to hear.

He feels his heart grow warm suddenly, as if he were the one tucked into someone’s jacket. Spencer smiles a little, his mind clocking the difference between this Aaron and Emily and the ones he’d known a year ago. They used to be tense and stiff, hesitant to show outward affection as if someone would scold them for it. But they’re both fully relaxed now, soft dimples in each of their cheeks as they ignore everyone else, brown eyes locked on brown.

“Wish I had that,” Spencer mumbles to himself, acutely feeling the cold sink into his bones.

JJ turns to him in surprise, an excited sparkle in her eyes. “A relationship, you mean?” Her brows raise into her hairline.

She looks far too excited at that prospect. Spencer shudders, “God, no. The warmth,” he clarifies, looking down at JJ and giving her a wry smile. “They look awfully comfortable, don’t you think?”

JJ laughs as she looks back at Aaron and Emily, the two of them huddled close together. Her head is tucked under his chin and his lips are pressed to her hair, his hands holding the sides of the jacket closed over her back. There’s not an inch of space between them.

“They do,” she agrees.

However, not everyone enjoys the domesticity.

“Hey lovebirds!” Morgan calls out, pretending to twist his mouth into an irritated frown. “How about you make yourselves useful?”

Penelope slaps his arm and he bites back a grin.

Emily rolls her eyes and puts her lips to Aaron’s ear, mouthing something that looks an awful lot like flip him off.

Spencer is proven right when Aaron hesitates, his hands tightening on her back. “That’s childish,” he hears him say.

Emily heaves a huge sigh and turns her head back to meet Morgan’s gaze. “Fuck off, Morgan,” she grumbles and huddles close to Aaron, fitting her head under his chin. “You wish you were as warm as me right now.”

“Like I want to be that close to your boyfriend,” he scoffs, setting down his tongs. “Besides, I got my own babygi—”

“He’s my fiancé, I’ll have you know.” She retorts, the way her eyes widen telling Spencer the words slipped past her lips without much thought.

It’s quiet for a few stunned seconds before Aaron breaks the silence.

“Emily.” He laughs, the sound breaking them all from their reverie. “It hasn’t been two days,” he shakes his head, but he’s smiling at her, amused and utterly infatuated.

“Sorry,” she grins up at him, not looking sorry in the least as Penelope grabs her shoulders and pulls her out of his jacket.

Emily yelps and stumbles backward, but the blanket flaps against Spencer’s side and suddenly JJ’s there to steady her, hands tight on her shoulders.

They squabble around her and Spencer smiles as she takes out the chain tucked beneath her sweater, the one he’d seen the outline of earlier today and asked her about. Spencer tunes out the squeals as her ring glints in the weak winter sun and raises his brows in mock surprise as he approaches Aaron along with the other guys.

“Congratulations, Hotch,” he grins, his words drowned out by Morgan’s enthusiasm and Dave’s I knew it.

And when Aaron smiles, the curve of his dimple is no longer unusual, but familiar.

#hotchniss #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron x emily #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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chronically-ghosted · 9 months ago

Text

you got your claws in me honey, like a tiger in love

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

word count: 8K

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

summary: you arrive at your estranged uncle's door. what else is there to do but catch up over grilled cheese? well, if you have anything to say about it, you might end up doing a bit more.

warnings: dbf!dieter, grilled cheese as a way to guilt trip your dad's best friend/uncle into fucking you, drug use (weed), raising arizona that comes with its own warning, flirting with someone twice your age, no smut — that’s what part 2 is for, reminiscing, a cliffhanger? 👀

a/n: the original fic came out MONTHS before the mcu rumors, so either i have precognition, or the apocalypse is becoming predicable. happy valentine's day you filthy animals because nothing says romance like porking your dad's best friend

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From the voicemail of Mr. Paul Landeau, official Hollywood talent manager and agent to one Mr. Dieter Bravo . . .

Tuesday, 6:43PM

No, I’m not doing it. I’m not.

There has to be something else out there. Look, I know Fire Monsters: A Cliff Beasts story didn’t do as well as we hoped, but Reddit says it could be a cult classic so why don’t you focus on making that happen, okay? Instead of giving me shit roles like this. I’m not doing it.

– the sound of a door opening and the phone being shuffled – – a zipper rips – – liquid pouring –

We fucking talked about this, man. I told you I needed something different, something new. Tiktok is just reels of me screaming and dying – it’s fucking bullshit –

– more liquid –

I’m done playing the fucking bad guy. I’m not signing any more headless action figures for those little snot-nosed, little fuckers in line. I’m not asking to sign their moms’ tits, either – okay, maybe – but Jesus Christ, Paul, what you sent over is, like, the opposite of where I need to be. It’s for little teeny boppers with one or two B horror movies under their belt to finally break out into the mainstream – or where actors over forty go to cash in an easy paycheck. And yes, I fucking know we need something, but fuck – is this really all there is?

– liquid stops pouring – – zipper rips – – the sound of a toilet flushing –

Don’t fucking call me back, Paul, unless you’ve got something. Something real.

Tuesday, 8:23PM

OW! Motherf–

– a skillet clattering –

Okay – fuck, that hurts – okay, Paul, what about this? It came to me in the bathroom. Remember Jack from the Christmas party at the studio’s place? So, he’s got those two Sundance films, right, but they’re in Spanish, so not appealing to an American audience. Nicki told me that he’s thinking about doing another project, one with a wider appeal, and I’m thinking I should totally give him a call. I think we could vibe. I really liked his stuff – reminded me of my old small town, fucking around with the neighbor kids, you know? Kinda hometown hero sort of thing.

– sharp inhale then a cough –

It’s not my usual thing, but I think we should give it a try. Gimme a call.

Oh, do you know how to make a grilled cheese sandwich? Been craving one but I think I might burn down my house if I try again and UberEats doesn’t reach the good places further south. Oh, fuck, wait –

Hey Google, how do you make a fucking excellent grilled cheese?

Tuesday, 9:21PM

No, fucking–

Siri – how.do.you.treat.a.burn?

Calling. . . Burger King . . .

No! Fuck!

Tuesday, 10:49PM

Paul-y! Baby! Paul-ito!

Don’t worry. I got an idea that’s going to make us a million dollars.

A shop that makes only grilled cheese. But like – fancy grilled cheese. What do the kids fucking call it, ah – boogie – yeah, boogie grilled cheese. Like gouda and white cheddar, and butter churned by blind nuns or some shit. Tomato soups that have been blessed by the Dalai Lama.

Big sign out front that says, Vegans Can Eat Shit.

They’ll eat it up.

Fuck yeah, they will.

– silence for three minutes and sixteen seconds –

Fuck acting, man. Fuck this place.

And fuck this fucking cheese that keeps burning – goddamn it!

Tuesday, 11:52PM

Paul, why don’t we hang out anymore?

When I got started, we hung out all the time, man.

Hot dogs on the Santa Monica pier. Beer in the Pacific Ocean.

You showed me all the cool spots that no one else in LA knew about. You got me my first bump and my first stripper. God, that was fucking wild, man, you remember? I was so nervous I thought I was going to throw up. Did I ever tell you that before? Coke probably didn’t help a kid from a small town in South Cali, but – fuck, it made me feel better. Like I could get my shit together if I really tried.

What, are you too good for me now – is that it? Am I not good enough for you, huh?

Look, I’ve got Raising Arizona on right now, so why don’t you come over with a six pack –

Oh, shit, that’s right. You got a fucking family now.

Not a good influence, ol’ Dee.

Not a good –

Wednesday, 1:05AM

Fine, Paul. Fine.

I’ll play Mr. Fantastic in the Fantastic Four reboot.

Dieter’s thumb brushes the red End Call button and tosses his phone onto the kitchen island with a growl. He can feel himself coming down from the bump earlier – a thing he absolutely did not want to happen – and he shoves his palms into his eye sockets.

There is more coke upstairs, but that would require him to walk through his very long hallways to get there. Very long, and dark, and empty hallways.

He should have asked Maria to stay once she was done with the laundry. He would have done it right too – big bowl of popcorn, fully dressed, with a sign around his neck that said, I promise I’m not trying to sleep with you.

He is becoming increasingly aware of how many erratic voicemails he just left for his agent, aware that behavior like that was libel to get him a sit down in Paul’s office with all the blinds and windows closed, Paul’s narrow face serious and using Concerned Emotion #5, as he asks, “do we need to go back to rehab, Dieter?”

We.

There once was a “we”, now there was just “he” – in a house with seven bedrooms and a pool that could fit a sixteen wheeler in it.

And TWO kitchens – why the fuck did he think he needed two kitchens –

Well, he knew he didn’t need two, but it would have been cool to show them off to someone – If there was anyone to show them off to . . .

Fuck this downer mood.

Dieter snatches up his phone again, and the movement brings up his latest apps. UberEats is the second one. He taps in a few keywords, blatantly ignoring his latest call list.

Goddamn Burger King . . .

The front doorbell rings.

Dieter frowns, pulling the screen closer under his big nose. Now, he knows he is high and he knows he should be wearing his glasses when reading but there’s no fucking way . . .

He goes out of the kitchen, the room still smelling of burnt cheese with the cast iron skillet in the sink and a black husk sticking to its bottom. He goes left, then right, his robe tightly wrapped around him as if he is some huffy housewife, then down a hall and across the marble entrance way – fuming – why is this house so goddamn huge – who thought this was a good idea?

And so he wrenches open the front door – to a girl, not holding a Burger King bag. No, she’s got a roller suitcase behind her, bright blue, and she and the case are dripping wet. Like, just sprayed with a hose kind of wet and her big bottom lip is trembling. Behind her, the sky pukes buckets of rain, groaning with thunder.

Now, he likes his call girls (he always thought it was classier to call them that) a little more . . . vampy than this, but hell, he had been turned on by much less than this— than her with her big eyes, fat droplets rolling off her lashes, flushed cheeks – and oh, shit, her shirt is totally see-through – is that purple, he feels the back of his mouth flush with spit – wow, is this Paul’s way of apology because –

“Uncle Dee?”

And he’s mentally shoving himself back into his pants because no one in years has called him that and that was a very different time in place, when he was a completely different person and if this girl is the person he thinks it is, then – Jesus Christ, he’s bound and gagged straight for hell –

He squeaks out your name and you smile, sort of grimace, at him and wave.

“Yep, it’s me. Been awhile, right?” You finally give into the mortification of your stupid plan and you scrunch up your face, your hand wrapped around your elbow. “Look, I’m so sorry, this is too weird. I don’t have your number, but I panicked when my flight got canceled and my phone’s dead and you’re the only person I know in LA and –,”

“No, no – you’re fine – sorry–,” Dieter blinks before stepping back and letting you through. You sigh in relief and yank your baby blue suitcase over the threshold as you walk in, dripping water everywhere. “Sorry, it’s been a weird night and for, like, two seconds, I thought . . . nevermind . . .”

I thought you were a fucking ghost.

You bite the corner of your lip, glancing at him, knowing it was probably unwise to piss off your one chance at not sleeping on the ground tonight — or if what you were about to say would piss him off in the first place.

“Yeah, well, it’s been eleven years since we last saw you, Uncle Dee.”

Early on in his career, he wanted to build up rep as not only an actor but a real tough guy, so he asked if he could do some stunts for an old cop show. For all his bravado, he ended up getting a real round-house kick to the face and it sent him reeling.

This feels a little bit like that.

“No way, it can’t have been that long. Besides, I know I left my number with your dad or your grandma before I left and —,”

His throat closes up when very old guilt washes over him. It’s intensified when you give him an uncomfortable look.

“So your dad didn’t give you my number then.”

It’s not a question. You shake your head. You don’t tell him that your dad tried to call years ago and got a busy tone for the first few, and then a few years after that, was brusquely informed the line had been disconnected.

He chews on his lip.

You try to smile at him again but then another shiver takes hold of you and Dieter grimaces. “Shit, sorry, one second. I think this closet down here has towels.”

He all but sprint-walks down one of the many halls branching off from the entrance, the ends of his robes flapping. You hear the creak of doors, several, as he digs around in the walls.

“Why do I have so many fucking linens?” You hear him grumble and you smile to yourself. You feel like you need to wring your hair out but wouldn’t dare move from the spot where he left you.

After a thump and more grumbling, he comes back, rubbing the back of his head, but holding out a giant lime green towel. In the light, you can see the dark circles under his eyes when you take the towel and immediately go to stop your hair from dripping on the marble.

His brain is waffling, ping ponging, between his memories and what is standing right in front of him. This? This is the little girl, not his literal blood relative, but she’s Enrico’s kid – Enrico, a slugger and one hell of a outfielder since he was eight years old, whose mom made enchiladas like nobody else in the goddamn world – Enrico, whose house became like a second home, Ricky's family a better family than his own – this is the same girl who hoarded Skittles like a fiend, the same one who he took to the pool on the weekends in the summer, and the zoo during Thanksgiving break? This little girl –

– is the same girl who is all legs under damp denim, eyes that could make Cleopatra fly into a jealous rage, and a fucking rockstar smile?

And, holy shit, those tits –

Dude, you cannot be checking her out. Dig deep and fight your fucking caveman brain. You’ve fucked up a lot in your life and you cannot do that right now. You cannot do that to Enrico.

You cannot do that to her.

You notice him grimace as he squints into the light of the chandelier above you both. “So, uh, not that I mind, but, uh, what are you doing here? I mean –,”

You laugh and it seems to echo in the empty house. “No, that’s a fair question. I was on a flight back from looking at colleges out east and my flight got grounded in LAX because of the storm. I absolutely don’t have enough money to stay in a hotel or rent a car and drive back home, so I needed a place to crash and call my sister to send me some money. And my stupid driver didn’t want to get flagged for harassing a celebrity, so he dropped me off at the corner, hence . . .”

You wave at yourself and inside his slippers, his toes curl, respectfully not looking at your damp legs and a definitely purple bra visible through your shirt.

Your mouth suddenly capsizes. “Shit, is that okay, if I stay here for a night? I didn’t even think - I - I’m not . . . interrupting anything, am I?”

Dieter chuckles, your expression undeniably cute, and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his robe.

“Nah. Not unless you call making the worst grilled cheese imaginable a party.”

At that moment, your stomach chooses to make the most aggressive growl in your entire life and you flush deeper than the cold outside.

“Apparently someone thinks that’s a good idea,” you chuckle weakly, horrified that your body is actively trying to sabotage a normal conversation.

Did it matter that you had posters of him in your bedroom when you were thirteen? That you went to midnight releases of every one of his movies?

No. Not at all.

“I got some food, mostly leftovers.” He worries at his lip as he realizes the only thing by way of something green in his fridge is the jar of olives he got for martinis. Even then, he has a sneaking suspicion he replaced the olive juice with vodka, but the memory of that night is entirely butchered. “But, uh, I’m sure we can find something.”

You smile at him. “Actually, grilled cheese sounds great.”

“Only if you do it.” He smiles, honestly, when you laugh. “What? Don’t laugh — I’m serious. I can’t make a sandwich to save my fucking life.”

“Pretty sure I can manage two slices of bread and cheese.”

His eyebrows jump as his lips press themselves together and you watch the thumb-sized bare spot on his beard twitch.

“Yeah, that’s what you think and then your goddamn kitchen is on fire.”

“Lemme change, do some rocket surgery and brain science, and then I’ll attempt to crack this grilled cheese thing.”

“Okay, but remember we do have Chinese leftovers and I can definitely crush a microwave. This way.”

You follow him through the halls, his shoulders loosening underneath the off-green fuzz, and you try and not to stare at the immaculately beautiful walls and expansive, clean floors, so your eyes wander, and then you’re trying not to stare at the immaculately beautiful man in front of you.

You push away the thought that this house looks nothing like you’d expect someone like Dieter to have, as he leads you to the kitchen — all black and chrome and steel, like what a Norwegian serial killer would have — and nods to a door towards the opposite wall. He’s digging around for the last slices of white bread when he says,

“Bathroom’s down there. I’ll get it all ready, but I’m leaving it up to you. Can’t afford to lose another pan.”

Your eyes finally drift down from the bare walls, unsure if you should be offended that nothing of the family back home is here, or accept that there was just nothing personal anywhere. You smile gently at him and nod in thanks.

He watches you go, that bright blue suitcase flashing as loud as a tornado siren, and he shakes his head. God, he needs a drink but drinking also makes him horny and he needs every mental facility available to him if he wis going to make it through this night with his sanity still intact.

Had it really been eleven years? He always meant to call up Enrico and the old neighborhood gang. He probably forgot about that last fight anyway – even if Dieter hadn’t – even if it wasn’t more than a decade ago. Mama Gonzales always said there’d be a place for him, even after his own father said acting was for maricos and drag queens. It always hurt more when the postcards from the Gonzales family stopped coming than when Mom stopped calling. And he always meant to send back a proper return address when he moved out of that crappy loft after his first real movie premiere but that was the 90s, and much of the 90s was spent between working shit jobs and drooling on the floors of rave warehouses. It wasn’t them specifically he didn’t want to see him like that, but anyone. Anyone who knew him before Dieter Bravo.

Certainly not anyone who called him Uncle Dee —

Something flashes in the corner of his eye and he realizes he’s always fucking hated the fact that the a) the back of his house is just one big window and b) he never bothered to put in curtains. Because, the thing with windows is they reflect things — things like his pseudo-niece taking her top off in his guest bathroom. Reflected and in full color right across his kitchen island like the sexiest hologram that will haunt his fucking wet dreams until the day hell freezes over.

Yep, that’s definitely your hips, your ribs, and okay—

Nope. Absolutely not.

Dieter’s knees give out and he crouches (more like slumps) to the floor behind the island, his palms so far in his eye sockets he can only see stars.

Yeah, only stars. Focus on the stars, not the image of the curve of your gorgeous tits that’s running around his brain like a child with scissors and a Thanatos instinct off the fucking charts.

Fuck, and he just wanted to get high and watch Nicholas Cage in a mullet.

“Hey, I’m done. Dee, you still here?”

He stifles a groan and stands up. You smile at him, the wet jeans and agonizing white tank top gone, only to be replaced by a black Fleetwood Mac tshirt and — fuck, where are your pants?

You lower the handle to your suitcase and go to stow by the bathroom door. And that’s when he realizes you are actually wearing pants, black shorts that are practically hidden by the oversized t-shirt and are comically, hilariously, painfully small. He can’t actually see the curve of your ass as you walk around the side of the island but he is absolutely not going to let his gaze linger long enough to confirm.

He clears his throat as you come to stand beside him. He gestures to the four pieces of white bread and a stack of Crafts American cheese.

“H-h-have —,” he clears his throat again and his forebearers groan collectively in embarrassment. “Have at it.”

You smile and tuck your hair over your ear before picking up the knife.

“D’you have mayonnaise? Butter?”

No amount of irredeemable hotness can distract him from that. “What? What do you need mayonnaise for? It’s grilled cheese.”

You cluck your tongue, an eyebrow raised. “Brain science and rocket surgery, remember? Don’t question the master.”

He can’t help but chuckle as he goes to his steel monolith of a fridge.

“Jeez, sorry, I asked,” he grumbles playfully.

He comes back with an (thankfully) unexpired jar and tub of butter and you get to work. Silence stretches a bit too long, something Dieter has never been good with, especially with beautiful women. He loves running his mouth and sometimes he's found that the women liked it too. He resigns himself to sit across from you at the island, watching you spread mayonnaise on both sides of the bread.

“So, uh, how are the folks? How’s your, uh, dad?”

You nod slowly and even though he hasn’t been around in eleven years to pick up on all your tells, he swears your hackles go up.

“Fine. All good. Dad’s still at the car repair shop — owns it now, actually. Makes decent money, I guess.”

“You guess?” He hadn’t made it his life’s work to mimic the human condition to not recognize cagey language.

You glance at him briefly before flipping over the last piece of bread and dropping a dollop of mayonnaise on top.

“Yeah. I — uh, we haven’t — I actually haven’t talked to them in a while. Though if I had, I probably wouldn’t be here right now.” You sneak another glance, this one ladened with a smile that had a secret curled up in its corners. “Serves me right, probably.”

“Yeah. Probably.”

He can’t help but return the smile, one of a familiarity he hasn’t earned yet. You were smiling at him as if you two had years of secrets together, memories and inside jokes that were for the pair of you alone. For the life of him and all the water in his ridiculous pool, he couldn’t fathom why you were being so nice to him. Letting him off the hook. It had been eleven fucking years after all. There are a lot of things he takes guilt free from the world. Your fucking star-eyed smile is not one of them.

So, he lets you off the hook. He doesn’t push it. If you don’t want to talk about your folks, he is happy to chatter aimlessly about something else. But, his brain winds up, what happened that caused you to fall out with your parents? Enrico, even back then, had been a hard ass, with you and your brothers. Always made sure to walk the straight and narrow. Detested drugs, always shined his shoes, thought tattoos were the devil, never kissed a girl on the first date —

And here you are, making fucking mooneyes at his daughter.

Well, one thing was for sure, he muses, something warm spreading in his gut, you are nothing like your daddy.

The hiss of the bread hitting the hot butter in a pan (you didn’t even need to ask where another pan was, you just helped yourself to his cabinets and he couldn’t have been more proud) jerks him out of his daze and he realizes that annoying silence has set in again.

“So, colleges, huh? Anything in particular spark interest?”

You nod excitedly as he found a topic that made you glow. Clearly, no one had asked about your interests in a long time.

“Yeah, actually. Emerson in Boston was amazing. I loved the city, but not sure I’d survive the winter. Swarthmore sounds good, Amherst too, but again, cold.” You grin sheepishly and flip the sandwiches, pressing the spatula (he didn’t even know he owned one of those) into the bread, making the butter sizzle and the air fill with a smell that can only be described as mouth-watering.

“It’ll be a nightmare, taking out loans for those places, but fuck, I think I’d be really happy there.”

He leans against the counter, facing you with crossed arms. He smiles a smile that he knows doesn’t reach his eyes.

“What, your folks wouldn’t pay for it? Or at least help out?”

Something sharp flashes in your eyes, like a rabbit catching the scent of a predator, before you shrug your shoulders flippantly. A well-worn deflection, he notes, right next to the place where he’s got all the places you mentioned are about as far away from California as possible. If you had mentioned somewhere in Europe, he wouldn’t have been surprised.

“Nah. I wouldn’t let them. Don’t want them thinking they get input into my life because they hold the purse strings over my head.” You turn off the stove and he moves to get the plates out from the cabinets – something to contribute as you made him a better meal than he’s had in ages.

“So, uh, we eat in there?” You glance down the hall to the eerily clean dining room, a place he’s pretty sure he’s never once set foot in after three years of living in this goddamn mansion.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “C’mon, I already have a movie picked out.”

You follow him, plates hot, down carpeted stairs to clearly the only room in the house that Dieter actually lives in. The lights down here are low, much more bearable than the white spotlights of the kitchen. Against one wall, there’s a fully stocked bar, with most of the alcohol halfway empty and costing a fortune. Across from the stairs is a massive record collection, going up to the ceiling, next to a gorgeous old record player — all wood and black vinyl — with big, plushy earphones curled up on a black leather recliner.

But the star of the show is the wall-to-ceiling television, with a brown, mouse-soft leather sofa that wraps like a giddy, up-turned grin in front of it.

And of course, in between the superstar television and the cozy couch, is a low glass table where he had snorted lines of coke more times he could count and where a virgin joint sits, unsmoked and tempting.

Dieter flushes as though he’d been caught by his parents with his pants down around his ankles.

“Fuck, sorry–,” he rushes over, the plate clattering with the glass, and he reaches for the joint, ready to squish it into his pocket when–

You laugh. “Relax, Dee, I know what a joint is. In fact, we are very well acquainted.”

You fold yourself into the couch, legs crossed, grinning at him as you bite into your sandwich.

He swallows, unclenching slightly as he sits down next to you. He watches you eat for a moment, trying to think of something cool to say.

“Sounds like I’ve missed my calling as the fun uncle, getting you high for the first time and all that.”

You snort and swallow your mouthful. “Yeah, by like two fucking years.”

“Oh, what a fucking lifetime. You poor thing,” he says, pouting dramatically and you giggle again, bumping into his shoulder. It sends his sanity knocking around in his brain.

You don’t notice, though, your eyes falling to the joint in the small ceramic bowl. The smile slides from your face.

“Well, you might have missed my first joint, but I’d be more than happy to take this one as my next.”

His eyebrows practically bounce off his forehead. “You’re serious?”

Your eyes slide away from the joint to his, something distractingly dark hiding there. “I mean, if the parties on your Instagram are anything to go by . . . And, well, when in Rome . . .”

You trail off, smirking, gesturing around you as if you had any idea the levels of debauchery that were obtained in this very room. Come to think of it, he halfway considers picking you up off the couch and putting a towel down underneath your perfect ass.

This is how it went sometimes, with the slower hook ups. No wet clothes, or grilled cheese, or bringing up family trauma — but initial touches, curling smiles, and then drugs. Always drugs. As if there needed to be another hand that tore off the cap of the pressurized, fizzy soda bottle. He’d play music then, for them, to show off his vinyl collection and have a plausible reason to rub his dick between their ass cheeks while dancing slowly to something croon-y from the seventies.

Not that any of that would be happening with you.

He wasn’t a complete monster after all.

With a playful grin that he had mastered over many press junkets, he snatches up the joint and lighter, and presents both to you in the flat of his hand.

“First hit goes to you, since you were so kind to make dinner for an old fuck like me.”

You snort and put your plate onto the table, wiping your hands free of crumbs on your black shirt.

“Such a gentleman.”

With deft and practiced hands, you take the joint between your index finger and your thumb, and sparking the lighter, brought the flame to your lips.

Just for one second, one goddamn second, he swears he saw The Look reflected in your eyes. He glances away, his cock fluttering awake like goddamn Lassy hearing the calls of another well-begotten child. He picks up his own plate.

“Hardly. It was all a ploy to get you to admit you follow me on Instagram.”

You burst out coughing, smoke chugging from your nose and mouth. “Dieter!”

He cackles, his tongue between his teeth, as you shove him away from you — do not think about her fingers clenched around your bicep — try to sit up and inhale again. You hang your head and groan.

“Fuck, I can’t believe I said that.”

“Yeah, and for that, I get two puffs,” he says out of the corner of his mouth, the rest of it full of the most perfectly cooked grilled cheese sandwich he’d ever had. He finishes chewing and swallows. “Hand it over, princess.”

You hand over the lighter and the joint, the paper slightly greasy from your fingers, leaning back dramatically into one of the many plushy cup holder seats spread out along the very long couch.

He chuckles devilishly again, far too satisfied, as he lights up and leans back into the cushions.

“And, as gesture of goodwill, I’ll admit that’s a good fucking grilled cheese.”

Your eyes snap open and a wide grin splits your face. “Hell yes! Mayonnaise on both sides, butter on the side with cheese. Best family recipe. Mwah!”

“Fuck, even I know that’s too much cholesterol for me,” he grunts and digs into the cushions, feeling around for the remote.

“Well, that’s not enough cholesterol for me,” you wink as you take the joint from the hand on his thigh, eyes daring you to do something about it. Nowhere near high enough to take the bait, he just narrows his eyes at you as he clicks the button and the entertainment system comes to life with a primordial hum.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, eyes wide, as the speakers roar and the lights dim further and the screen glows, “it’s like I’m in a fucking movie theater . . . in space.”

“It’s great, right?” Dieter moans like a loving father over his first child. This thing is his pride and joy, the only thing he could stomach in this goddamn house.

The DVD buffer for Raising Arizona begins and you squeal quietly, sliding onto your back, the joint dangling between your lips.

“No fucking way, I love this movie.”

Dieter stilled. “Really? You do?”

The few times he felt nostalgic for his old life — his old, old life when he was still a kid from nowhere, a nobody, you couldn’t pick him out of a line up of his sweaty, grubby cousins when they were all cobbled together like crooked teeth in front of Abuela Josefina’s television that still had knobs and bunny ears to watch movie after movie of Nicholas Cage reruns. Even with knees in his back, elbows in his ears, Dieter could quote every single line, his heart swelling.

That’s gonna be me some day.

“This movie is from, like, another century,” he mutters as he watches you settle in, something sickening like adoration clawing up in his chest.

“Yeah and it’s great,” you say eagerly, ignoring the way he plucks the joint out of your fingers. “Put it on!”

He resolutely ignores the pinch in his low stomach at your almost whine and presseS the play button with a little more force than necessary. Then, balancing the joint on the ceramic bowl, he sticks his fingers into his robe, pulls out his glasses, and puts them on without a second thought – just as he always did when watching movies.

It is only when he realizes he doesn’t hear you breathing that he realizes what he has done. Slowly he pulls the square glasses off his face and looks at them, feeling as disgusted as the day his doctor put them in his hands.

Near-sighted. Very common. Happens when people as they age.

“Got ‘em–,” his throat closes again, “got ‘em a few years ago. Only have to wear ‘em to see things up close and, uh . . . Well, I think they make me look old as shit.”

He can’t quite look at you, unsure what he’ll see on your face and knowing for sure that he couldn’t stand it if it wasn’t the way you look at him before. If you just would tease him about it, then —

“No,” you say, your voice very soft and small. His heart nearly punches out his throat, his neck nearly snapping in half as his head whips up to look at you. You sit up on your elbows, the darkness of the room cushioning your soft cheeks and muting the glaze in your eyes as you watch him over the bend of your knees.

“Nah,” you say, your nose scrunching, the weight of the high clearly settling into your skin, “they make you look . . . Uh, they’re cute.”

Dieter sucks in the side of his cheek, nodding slowly and sliding the glasses back over his nose. Cute, he could work with that.

“Jeez, would you start the movie already?” You poke his side with your toe. He doesn’t need to look at you to hear the faint blush in your voice.

He turns the volume up and crosses his arms, smiling faintly. You’re warm next to him, he thinks vaguely, his own high finally starting to sink into his bones.

Cute. Definitely not a word he’s going to obsess over.

The movie goes on.

Nicholas Cage is Nicholas Cage with a mullet.

Your laugh is the clattering of bells in his ears and he can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard his sides hurt.

He’s coming up from bent over, knees almost to his chest, laughter nearly popping his ribs, when he realizes your feet are in his lap. The arches of your soles, the delicate bones of your ankles, the long smooth planes that run up to your gorgeous calves—

They are there, in his lap, and you don’t seem to mind. Head turned towards the screen, face bright from laughing, your arm arched back over your head, pressing your chest up — it’s like you meant for them to be there.

It’s just one hand, right? Two at the most. Just putting his hands down where he had them a moment ago. Up and — down.

You don't flinch. His palm is on the arched top of your foot, the other just above your other ankle.

You do smile, but that might have been because of Nicholas Cage raging again.

And then, during another bout of giggles, he clutches your shin bone, wraps his fingers around your heel, and laughs and laughs and laughs.

You wipe the tears away from your eyes, the end credits rolling.

“Fuck, that’s a such a good movie.”

He swallows, swiping quickly under his glasses before taking them off and chucking them onto the table in front.

“You’re fucking right it is,” he says hoarsely, leaning forward and plucking up the last of the joint. He inhales, letting the smoke ease stifle the tears in the corner of his eyes, gulping down a breath before offering it to you.

You take it, distracted, eyes on the credits, the light from the screen glowing on your cheeks.

He presses up under your ankle with his middle finger. “What? You knew what was gonna happen, you’d said you’d seen it before.”

You nodded, still not looking at him.

He goes for a more direct approach. He pinches your calf, and you scowl, the light back in your eyes.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, a bit sharply. He’s not nearly done having fun with you, not nearly. You take another sip of smoke before setting the joint back on the table.

You huff, settling onto your back, pinching at your nails.

“Just . . . Nothing, it’s stupid.”

Dieter hums. He knows when to let him come to you. He taps the arch of your foot.

“How are you feeling?” His gaze nudges the joint on the table.

You grin. “Really good. Tingly. Warm. Like everything else is a million miles away.”

Just the two of us.

“Enough to tell ol’ Uncle Dee what’s on your mind?”

You roll your eyes and sit up a bit, yanking a pillow behind you.

“Just thinkin’ about the old days, I guess.” You glance up at him from under your eyes. “Not in a bad way. At all. I just . . .”

“What?” If you gave him hell for the last eleven years, then fuck it, he deserved it. He pulls at your ankle. “What?”

With a big sigh, you lean back, something finally breaking and, with it, comes a great big smile.

“Okay, remember when you’d put on those plays with the rest of us kids during those super lame family reunions o-o-or Christmas? Marissa would have everything written out, all the cousins cast and you’d beg her to let you play – fucking – Bear Number 5 or something ridiculous – and she’d fight you on it but she’d relent, always putting on a show of her own – as if a ten year old could be put out like that.” You giggled, biting on your thumb, a sparkling in your eyes that made something in his chest burn.

Yes, he remembers the incredibly stupid fuzzy ears and the bear claw mittens. The fake roaring. TMZ would have a fucking stroke if those pictures of him, baby-faced, were to ever surface online. He smiles at you and basks in the warmth of those memories, his high making them brighter.

“I think it would have crushed her little heart if you didn’t ask,” you said, heavy-lidded eyes on you again. “I know it broke her when you stopped showing up at all.”

His heart actually pinches at that. He knows you’re not scolding him but fuck, maybe he’d feel better if you did. What a fucking idiot he was, for leaving all of that for empty mansions and meals from UberEats and all this fucking gunked up shit in his veins that made him feel older and older every year. Like he was chasing something that was never real in the first place.

“Look, honey,” the pet name is out of his mouth before he can stop it. He’s twisting towards you, both hands under your calves now. “I should have called. Should have made sure that at least you knew where to find me, even if things between your dad and I were fucked.”

“Oh, God, Dee, no. I don’t blame you. I don’t even blame my dad, sometimes. You just were very different people. He’s fine living his life in the same small ass town in the middle of nowhere. But you weren’t. And, fuck . . . I’m not either.”

He frowns. You bite your lip and continue.

“You know, I thought about following you out to Hollywood. Because of those plays. I had the best fucking time doing them and Hollywood didn’t seem so scary . . . with Uncle Dee out here. But, uh, I dunno. I grew up, I guess. Figured I was better at telling stories than performing them. I just knew I didn’t want to end up like my dad. Dying where I lived. Unremembered.”

His gut doubles in on itself. Please don’t say you gave up your dreams because I stopped calling.

“Do you still think about acting?” He asks quietly, trying to fight the faint ringing in his ears.

“Oh God, no,” you wave your hands, dusting away his near-panic that he’d somehow ruined your life. “I really do prefer writing stories, even if they exist only within the pages of a book. Or a really bad pamphlet, once or twice. I tried to continue the plays at home for a few years, after you left and Marissa took up cheerleading and thought she was too old to play with her little cousins anymore. But it just wasn’t the same without her. Or you.”

He realizes all too late that he can feel your pulse under your ankle. Strong. Pounding. Pounding, hard. Like you’re nervous. So struck by the notion that he can feel something so personal of yours, the smoke trapped in his brain lifts only slightly when he catches your eyes looking somewhere you absolutely should not be.

Oh, fuck.

Oh, fuck, he knows that look. You blink at him, then your gaze slowly slides down, down to his crotch, as smoothly you can beneath the weight of the smoke in your brain and he battles between the desire to throw your legs off him or pull you underneath him.

It’s The Look.

Men, women, it didn’t matter. The look was the same.

When the possibility of sex first enters their mind, when that first bloom of lust rushes down their spine and the memory of the physical exertion of fucking – all the panting and the heavy breathing, aching muscles and sweat – comes back, as real as a song stuck in your head. When that spark of imagination threatens to sway from the hypothetical to the actual, it’s a look he knows so fucking well, he might as well be able to carve it from clay, blind-folded.

And you’re giving it to him, right now.

You haven’t really thought about seducing him yet, no, that part hasn’t crossed your mind yet. But you definitely are imagining what his cock would feel like inside you, and you and your imagination and your wide-eyed gaze at his lap all whole-heartedly agreed: that would be a great fucking thing.

You, on your elbows, your heel dangerously close to his half-hard cock, the glaze in your eyes having something to do with what you were so shamelessly picturing, and your short breath having everything to do with what you were so shamelessly picturing.

He was quite sure you were completely unaware of the expression your face was making. Eyes hooded, mouth parted, breath short. Masking your emotions and filthy thoughts is a skill set mastered later in life and perhaps the last time you looked at someone like that, they simply bent you over the nearest surface and railed you till your knees buckled.

What a fucking excellent idea, his libido trilled. Now get off the couch and do something about it. I’m foaming at the fucking mouth here, man.

Dieter silences his inner horny monster, unintentionally squeezing his hand, the one that happens to be wrapped around your calf.

The movement seems to break you out of your dizzying spiral and you blink up at him.

He swallows. With a half smirk on the edge of your lips that you try to not let him see, you take your feet out of his lap, then reach forward, your palm alarmingly high on his thigh as you take the joint from his fingers. Your eyes flash like warning signs.

DANGER. DANGER, WILL ROBINSON. DANGER.

“So, you gonna give me a tour of this place or what?”

End of Part 1 | Next

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #the bubble fanfic #the bubble 2016 #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfiction

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r0semultiverse · 7 months ago

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Was Celia drunk as fuck or is this something supernatural?? 👀

Who the fuck is Jack?? 👀

Alice is such a delight, I love her!

Oof so one or both of them have trauma involving grandparents then.

I love Samama & Alice so much. 💜 They have a great dynamic!

Oh shit, right, Gwen is probably still getting over Mr. Bonzo too. 👀

"I just… I dunno. When I left the coffee shop, it felt like someone was following me."

Please don't take away Alice, she's one of my faves! I hope this post doesn't age poorly. Watch me have to quote this post very soon.

OH NO, is it that [ERROR] following her??? 😰

"Don’t joke about that, mate. I was dreaming about it all day." Okay, yeah, that's a creature.

Sam & Alice are both about to run into a creature... 👀

"Classifying unspeakable horrors all night for no discernible reason?" @/entities-of-posts & @/which-entity-this-post-serves is that you? :]

Hmm, now why is this episode called "marked?" I assumed Mr. Bonzo was gonna find his mark, but maybe Alice is marked by an entity/creature that was locked in the Magnus Institute?

"giving up the ghost" okay so someone saw an apparition? Honestly not sure what entity this episode is about so far.

It's giving The Corruption ✨🧟‍♀️⚰️ (maybe The Buried)

"It’s just that one of the graves had a body in that was too well-preserved for the age it should have been." 👀👀👀

This thing is about to jump out of the grave & run off, isn't it? 🏃‍♂️

"The back was completely covered in this complicated tattoo of a ship sailing across an open sea towards an open horizon." Peter Lukas?!?!?

Oh 100% The Buried, without a shadow of a doubt.

Lots of tattoo & carvings in walls imagery in this sequel prequel sidequel, isn't there? 👀

Hey wait, that's Ink5oul from episode 2, isn't it? 👀 Ink5oul definitely feels like a conduit or vessel for The Flesh or some other kind of entity.

Okay, there's something weird going on with this place, the salt water & waves near this cemetery are kind of seemingly enticing them to come drown in it's waters. In the very least it's messing with these guys' mental states! Pretty freakkyyyy! 👀🌊

Also the repeated emphasis on dreams is interesting this episode, wonder if that'll play a part in something later on. 👀👀

"If it’s any consolation, he’s with the sea now. The deep will care for his bones." I literally called it!!

I think Gordon Alan Johnson also wants to be with David. 👀🌊🌊

I don't know, Gordie, I think you did it! Unless Ink5oul is collecting tattoos like an alternate universe version of the Leitner books. Wait yeah, what if the tattoos are like conduits for the entities of this world or even the original one? 🖌

Another way to look at this is asking... Is The Deep a new entity/fear or is it a servant of a fear like The Vast? I stg there was a colossal water monster at some point in The Magnus Archives!

Okay so yeah, there's already a precedent for this. Also feels like The Lonely, The Buried, The Corruption, The Vast, & maybe even The Flesh are all involved in this one though I don't know if Flesh (Ink5oul) is working with or against the other fears at this time.

Gwen, you can tell your coworkers what's wrong, oh my fucking god. Please. Celia, you have me so invested in whatever is going on with you.

Weird unexplained noise at 17:44 too as Celia enters the office. Wonder what that's all about, maybe it'll come up later on.

"He is one of our Externals." Okay; so, there's more of them & they have their own secret hitman title too!

Mr. Bonzo when he was on TV

"And they usually like it." I bet fear creatures do like it when you scream. That makes a lot of sense actually.

Also what's that weird "boowomp" noise as they're talking or is it just the OST? 👀

Is Gwen going to be turned into something not quite human at some point? Just throwing darts at a board with that speculation, but wouldn't that be wild?

Okay; so, these little digitized noises are absolutely important!

I wonder how many times & when people have lied so far throughout this season. 👁️👁️

#someone should draw those two ( sam & alice ) in the style of that show at this rate. I have more questions every week i stg #is mr. bonzo gonna find his mark or is Alice dyer marked by [ERROR] place your bets!#okay so themes of coffins; decay; & rotting things; feels like the corruption or maybe even the buried #I stg if that weirdly aged guy is Peter Lukas somehow I'm gonna scream; it's an AU; anything can happen #Love seeing Ink5oul again; it's cool that they aren't just a one off character & are getting involved in the greater story #leitner tattoos canon??? maybe?? is this the equivalent of jurgen leitner books?? perhaps #the big water monster is giving The Vast energy; a lot of these feel like fear entities collaborating in this world #now I'm curious who the other externals are... is ink5oul one of them? They seemed to delight in reactions.#is this government organization called the magnus institute or what do they call themselves now? also who is mr bonzo after?#I wonder if the black ops guys that showed up to that charity place on hilltop were a counter organization or the government?#mine #op #tmagp liveblog #tmagp 11 #tmagp spoilers #tma spoilers #tma #tmagp #the magnus archives #the magnus protocol

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jung-koook · 1 year ago

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Hot take: Jungkooks Alternate version without harlows rap is the best version. Jungkook killed 3D. That is the worst rap I've heard from Harlow and considering he did a good job in lil naz s feature I was super disappointed. Also his lyrics were creepy. The only good line was the I am on that Jungkook. I am hoping in his album we just get Jungkookie no features (unless it's ot7 yoongi jimin ect.).

I'll be honest with you. I didn't like the version with jack harlow either but I really like the alternate version. I like mainstream pop music and that's what jeongguk has always liked too and that's what he's going after now. I'm literally in love with the 3d choreo and his adlibs there. I'm very eclectic, musically as in other things. I'm a person who likes rap/hiphop music too and you know that this genre is not so respectful towards women most of the time, so sometimes I listen to songs that I don't agree with the lyrics but I listen to them because sonically I like them. so for me it's really that I didn't like his rap that much but I don't think it's the worst thing I've heard in a song.

but I had to stay quiet about this subject "3d" because I'm physically and emotionally exhausted with everything that's been happening with jeongguk. It's disgusting, it's disturbing what people are doing to jeongguk. I'm stressed and mad. and every time I get angry and want to say something or reply to something I need to take a deep breath and not bring attention to negative things. I just report whenever I have time and I ask you armys to do that too. please stop paying attention to these people just report them to bighit! please! I think people are using 3d and this new phase of jeongguk to show how much they never liked him. most of the time, it's literally because jeongguk got tired of living for these people who call themselves his "fans" and who never saw him as a human being but a doll. jeongguk decided to live for himself. doing what he wants with his life and his songs. being a fan is not about loving everything your artist does or releases, no. It's okay, you don't like the music he's been releasing. but people crossed the line. people are criticizing things and doing things that have nothing to do with being someone's fan. jeongguk is here for us as an artist, jeongguk says he is here for us as our "best friend" but as an artist who wants fans to respect him as a human being too! however, this never gave people the freedom to cross the line and interfere in his personal and private life. and the fact that all members have already shown that they KNOW everything that people are talking about them, no matter if it is in south korea, japan or anywhere else in the world. they know what people are talking about them. the fact that I know this makes me even madder. jeongguk already said that he knows he would receive negative and positive reactions with his solo. he was already expecting that, but people ended up crossing that limit into something increasingly worse. I just hope he's okay and that he doesn't watch what these disgusting people are doing on the internet. and that he's with people he loves beside him and that he's focusing on the positive things that his solo is bringing to him, that he's archiving with all of his success. constructive criticism is always good especially from fans as singing artists also sing for their fans, but disgusting people are crossing the limits.

in his interview here, I didn't quite understand if he was referring to the old songs or the new ones on his album, but he mentioned namjoon and I think there's a chance that namjoon will be part of his album at least for something like producing or writing? 👀

#reply #anonymous

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nerdieforpedro · 6 months ago

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Nerdie! I should be getting ready to go into the office, but let's be honest. I'd rather ask you some of the emoji asks than go to work. This is way more interesting.

I also wanted to send you the entire list but I'm only going to send you four: 🍈, 🍍, 🍒, and 🍊. Four may be extra but in context, I'm showing some restraint.

Merci!

Some restraint you say Em? 😆 My Blorbo? MY BLORBO?! There’s three favorite blorbos. 🫣 Don’t tell the other Pedro boys okay? Shhh 🤫

1. Dieter Bravo - he enjoys horrible jokes and puns, touches all the things and people, has his robe, is an artist and he doesn’t always do drugs. He’s sensitive and smarter than people think okay?! He’s the little grabby trash panda that can! 🦝 Dieter likes to roll with what his partner does in the bedroom but on occasion, he’ll take charge. He enjoys surprises in and out of the bedroom.

2. Frankie Morales - he’s usually a pilot, sometimes a mechanic. Always does something with his hands. Those hands they take machines and bodies apart. No longer in combat, as a civilian. Sometimes it’s on a car or plane that they pull things apart. Other times, it’s the body of his partner as he makes them call and cry for him. He also isn’t good with his words so he’s more about actions though it can get kinda muddled. Frankie can switch between being dominant or submissive depending on his partner’s needs. They’ll need to remind him of his own needs.

3. Din Djarin - Sometimes he’s modern, sometimes he’s canon with his beskar. Always kind behind his sighs and despite looking like he’s break everything, he’s gentle and feels deeply. He might be a bit neurotic. It bodes well for plans of attacks and escapes not so much for over-analyzing everything a partner says or does. He’ll always take care of any foundling or child in his care - no matter if it’s Grogu or someone else’s child. Din is a soft dom. I will die on this hill.

I don’t really have any AUs I hate. I’m not a fan of school AUs mainly because I never know what to write for them and they’re kids and I didn’t stay on campus for college so I don’t have a reference for that. I enjoy modern AUs - easy to write for. 🤣 I should try an actual AU, maybe fantasy since I had an idea for that with Din but nothing is written. Just bullet points and vibes.

My favorite character dynamic usually starts off as plutonic and then becomes romantic or is some sort of meet-cute. I do like when maybe the reader or Pedro boy has been watching the other for a bit, and then finally makes their move. Hehe! 😆 I could write plutonic but I feel like there’s plenty of that in the movies and shows so let me live out my twisted dreams 🤗

There’s two characters I want to write more for:

I need to write more for Pero. Either canon, modern or in some other AU. I need to have more of this man on my masterlist being grumpy, growling, mutter Spanish at me the reader or OFC (we know I love my OFCs ok? I like names! 😁) his broad, curly haired self with a sword or soaking in a tub. 👀

I also need to write more for Jack Daniels aka Agent Whiskey, aka, the only reason I would ever don cowboy boots. A stronger southern drawl than Joel in 200% more denim and 100% more ten gallon hat. I’m not sure where I would stick him except in between some thighs.

I hope I answered your questions and fruits throughly. ☺️

#Nerdie’s ask box #fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #din djarin #frankie morales #dieter bravo #fruit emoji ask game #writer fruit ask game #pedro pascal fanfiction

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vibratingskull · 6 months ago

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About your last response, i love Thurfian. I wish people would write for him more. I wish I could write for him but I am useless with words, especially since I struggle with finding words in English since it's not my native language. I applaud you for managing that!

DUDE, GIRLY, NON BINARY ROYALTY!!!!!!!

You should totally go for it.

That's litterally the best advice I can give you, it's to go for it!!! I'm going to be fully honest : the firsts chapters are going to be crap and that is perfectly OKAY!

I cannot for the life of me reread my first ever chapters because they're bad but you know what? I still love them dearly because they're part of my writer journey.

Writing is such a pleasure I highly advise you to give it a try, even in your own language at first to find your footing and then switch to english.

You should use and abuse of all sites like Reverso, Google traduction, lingee, Wordreference and Grammarly, etc...

To get the jist of writing in english you need first to read in english. When I started to read fanfiction there was no SW fanfic in my language so I translated EVERY fics that caught my eyes with Google translate, PARAGRAPH BY PARAGRAPH.

It was long and tedious BUT NOTHING could stand before me and fanfics. And I read and read and read until i stop using google translate without even realizing it. I owe my current english level to fanfics and not school, school did jack shit for my english, its 100% my hyperfixation on fics that did all the work.

So if you are reading in english, CONGRATS! This already a big step. Read and read until you are comfortable to not use a translator or use it less.

Then try with a simple fic. Pick your favorites characters, your favorite trope and give it a try! Write it for yourself! Publish it if you want, but don't write it trying to please everyone. We can feel when a writer don't like what they write, so write for yourself, make it super duper self indulgent, screw everyone else!!!

I write for myself and what I like and just hope to cross paths with other degenerate that will like my stuff. If I don't like a chapter I rewrite it, if I don't like a request I tweak it or throw it to the bin, if I don't like a pairing I banish it from my sight.

Ask around if someone could be your beta reader, ask tumblr mutuals, ask discord friends, put on your big pants and ask other established Fanfic writers in the fandom! Don't be afraid to ask for help.

That's what I can tell you.

I would love to welcome you in the fanfic writer club my dear❤️Especially if you write for Thurfian 👀 We need more Thurfian lovers in this fandom!

But you should write because you enjoy it, that's the most important.

#vibratingskull speak #thurfian #thrawn #anon being cute #anon ask #thrawn ascendancy

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thegrimdog13 · 1 year ago

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Hello! ^^ Got any room for fluff headcanons for Laughing Jack? 👀

There is always room for a lovely monochrome clown! Well I’m not sure if you mean ship wise or just fluff in general but I can whip up both for you! I’ll put non-ship first and then I’ll do ship at the divide. Keep in mind I’m making these personal to my au.Also I’m so sorry if I’m not writing fluff right I’m stupid lol. I hope this is good enough! If you want anymore LJ stuff or anything at all don’t be afraid to ask!

Non ship -

•When anyone is upset that he cares about he would definitely give them their favorite kind of candy.

•He definitely doesn’t really like children but has a soft spot for Sally. •He definitely does arts and crafts with Sally

•He also makes monochrome balloon animals for her

•He definitely plays pranks on everyone when he is bored. But mostly pranks like sponge bob were we will be like ohhh you asked for a couple of ice cubes and I gave you one

•He randomly does acrobatics

•If someone is having a birthday he will literally go all out with confetti, balloons, and sparkles.

•He literally is like Sundrop from fnaf in my au when he isn’t being an evil little demon

•He chuckles at literally everything even if it’s not funny

•He will start dancing randomly and singing but smashes into everything because of his long arms and legs

•Went all out with decorating his room so it literally looks like it came out of a circus ( technically cell because in my au they live in an abandoned prison)

•He only has monochrome versions of stuff but he adores color.

•He does tiny plays for Sally with Laughing Jill and definitely forces Jeff to be a princess or villain in the story (Jeff actually loves playing they villain in the plays and always takes it way to far)

______________________________________________

Ship-

Btw I think I’ll have him be with Toy maker and I know that people ship him with Laughing Jill but in my au they are twins.

•He would love to just dance around with who ever he is dating.

•He would literally force them to play dress up with him

•He would talk for decades about how much he hates kids and then go play with Sally lol

•Literally would have a balloon animal competition just to feel better about himself and his abilities

•If his lover did something he didn’t like he would literally hiss at them like a cat. So if they just look at him the wrong way.He just goes hisss.

•He would have the most impulsive dates and hangouts ever like go to a random tree or look at birds.

•He would draw little drawings of them holding hands

•You might think he acts like a kid at this point but he will make the dirtiest jokes or flirt all the time.

—————————————————————————

All of these asks are inspiring me so much and I want to make so much art😱

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sequinsmile-x · 1 year ago

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Hi, dear 💙

I hope you’re well 🩷 I really love your fics. They always manage to put a smile on my face 😘

I don’t know if you take requests, but here’s an idea 👀

I’ve had LASIK surgery (they fixed my eyeballs, you know) and well… I was unable to see after, it’s kind of what you have to do, not open your eyes for about 24 hours.

I was on great drugs, having a grand time without seeing anything. My friend even said I was hilarious. To be fair, I always think I’m hilarious. I think I probably looked like TS when she had hers, you know? I think it was on Jimmy Fallon, this excerpt. Like, I didn’t cry opening my banana the wrong way, but eating was a challenge, and my poor friend said I was very clingy 😂

Anyway, I thought about Emily getting that surgery (assuming she’s been wearing contacts and that it’s totally okay for field agents not to have 20/20 eyesight) and Aaron driving her home and taking care of her 🥹 All the fluff, the funny drugs, and her being very clingy. And of course McFrowny finds it adorable 🥺

Okay, cheers 🩷

hiiii bestie <3

This idea wouldn't leave me alone so here we are. In classic Vic style it got a little bit more hurt/comforty than I intended but overall it's very soft and them just being absolute idiots in love.

I hope you enjoy this!!

-x-

The Darkest Night

Emily has Lasik surgery to correct her vision, Aaron looks after her.

-x-

Warnings: Mention of surgery but only in passing, nothing detailed.

Words: 2.4k

Read over on Ao3 or below the cut

Aaron had always known she needed glasses.

Her vision was always mentioned in the annual physical every agent had to go through. As her superior, he had to sign it off, and would always look over a vague mention that there had been little to no change in her eyesight and that any relevant change to her corrective contact lenses had been made.

He’d always known that she needed glasses, but he had never seen them until they got together. He still remembered the first time he’d seen her wearing them. He’d left her in her bathroom after their shared shower with a kiss against her lips and settled into her bed as he waited for her to finish her nighttime routine. She’d walked out of the bathroom with her hair curling around her neck because it was drying naturally, and her glasses sitting on her face. They had black frames, slightly oversized so the bottom edge rested on the top of her cheeks, and she looked nothing short of adorable in them, not that he’d ever say that to her, and simply beautiful. The laid-back, relaxed side of her that he loved to see.

She’d paused in the bathroom door, looking self-conscious as he stared at her, and she asked if she looked ridiculous. Something he later learned was something a previous boyfriend had said and had always lingered in the back of her mind when she wore them for the first time in front of someone new. He’d jumped up, surprising even himself with the speed with which he moved, and grabbed her, hauling her into his arms and kissing her, pushing her onto the bed, taking her apart again and again as he assured her that he loved the glasses. It was an attraction he couldn’t explain if he tried, something about how she looked when she wore them that almost made him feral.

It was more than the physical attraction. It was as if he had his own secret version of her since she never wore the glasses anywhere other than either one of their apartments, and then their house when they moved in together. She’d wear them as she helped Jack with his homework at the kitchen counter, or as she sat next to Aaron in their bed and read a book before they turned in for the night. A simple, ordinary, thing in their lives that he knows other people likely wouldn’t even think about, but after everything they had both been through it was things like this he lived for.

It’s why when she first mentioned wanting the Lasik surgery he’d faltered, realising he’d miss seeing her wear them. That he’d even miss helping her search the house for them as she blamed him for them being missing, even though he never was the one to move them. He also hated the idea of her having any kind of surgery, no matter how simple and straightforward, because he knew it would bring him right back to visiting her in Boston, still wearing his suit from her funeral. He sat and held her hand, the very first time he ever had, as she slept, trying to recover from her body being torn apart by a man who ripped up the line between love and hate. A man who had destroyed everything in his path to get revenge on her.

They hadn’t even been together, but looking back on it Aaron knew he loved her even then.

She’d been insistent, irritated by contact lens checks and eye tests that she’d been subject to since she was a teenager. And ultimately, despite his reservations, he knew it was her choice. It was her body, and he would support her no matter what.

Which is how he finds himself sitting a the waiting room with his hands clenched tightly in his lap, desperately watching the clock as he waits to be told he can see her. He’d taken the same amount of time off work as she had, something she’d claimed was ridiculous, but he knew his fiancee. Despite her claims she would be fine on her own, even though she would not be able to see at all during the first 24 hours before he brought her back here to have the eyeshield removed, she would want him nearby.

“Mr Hotchner?”

He looks up, already standing before he can fully register that he’s been called for. He sees the nurse who had taken Emily back less than an hour ago standing there and smiling at him

“Is she okay?” He asks, and the nurse nods, her smile never fading.

“She is all done and ready for you to take her home,” she says indicating out into the hallway for him to follow her, which he does gladly, “She’ll be pretty out of it for the rest of the day. She…took well to the sedation,” the nurse says, a small smile flashing across her face, “We’ve presrcribed some pain meds that she can take as and when. and as discussed this morning she needs to keep the covers on her eyes until you bring her back here tomorrow.”

Aaron nods, feeling the tension that had built in his chest start to ease for the first time since Emily had left his side and kissed his cheek before she was led into the procedure room “Thank you.”

The nurse smiles and opens the door for him, and all of his focus transfers to Emily. She’s sitting up, her hair still in the braids he’d for her that morning, something she’d allowed in an attempt to stop him fussing. There’s a clear shield pressing into her eyes, looking almost uncomfortably wrapped tight around her head, and tape visible underneath holding her eyes shut.

“Hi sweetheart,” he says, wincing slightly as she jumps, her usually sharp senses dulled by the complete removal of one and the amount of medication in her system.

“Aaron?” She replies, reaching out in his vague direction, and he immediately walks over and crouches in front of her, linking his hand through hers as he rests the other on her knee.

“I’m right here, how are you feeling?”

“Mes yeux me font mal,” she replies with a slight whine, making him smile.

“English, please baby,” he says, squeezing her knee, his smile only getting wider as she attempts to frown, the part of her forehead covered by the eye shield held in place.

“That wasn’t English?” She asks, her confusion clear. It was something that happened when she was drunk as well as under the influence of strong medication. Her grasp on defining languages disappeared, and they’d all muddle into one, leaving her prone to speaking any of them at any given time.

It was something he’d warned the team here about so they didn’t think they’d caused some kind of neurological issue when the procedure was over.

He shakes his head before he realises she can’t see him, “No, Em. It was French.”

“Oh,” she says, swallowing thickly, “I said my eyes hurt.”

He stands up straight, his hand never leaving hers to assure her that he was still there, and he drops a kiss to her forehead, “That’s because you’ve just had surgery on them.”

She hums, swaying slightly as she stands, leaning into his side as he wraps an arm around her, “Can you take me home?”

Aaron looks over to the nurse who nods silently and he kisses Emily’s forehead again, “Yes sweetheart,” he says, making sure he’s got a secure hold on her, “Let’s go home.”

___

When he gets her home he helps her change into something comfortable. She’d insisted on his clothes, right down to a pair of his socks, so he’d found a pair of his sweatpants and a t-shirt that still counted as ‘his,’ unlike a lot of his clothes these days. He suspected she wanted to wear something that smelled like him, although she’d never say it, since she was always a little clingier when she was sick or not feeling herself than he ever would have guessed before they got together.

Jessica had offered to take Jack for the afternoon, so Emily and Aaron had spent the time snuggled on the couch with movies on in the background. She’d insisted on it, despite not being able to see, so he’d specifically chosen ones she loved, movies she’d seen countless times so she didn’t need to see the screen.

Eventually, she asks for a snack, insisting that ice cream would make her eyes feel better, so he leaves her on the couch to get and get it for her. He makes quick work of it, grateful that he’d anticipated this and made sure he had several pints of her favourite chocolate ice cream in the freezer for this.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to get you anything else…” He says as he walks back to the living room, drifting off when he sees his fiancee is nowhere to be found. He sighs and places her bowl of ice cream down on the coffee table and leaves the living room, his hands in his pockets as he strolls through the house looking for her. “Em?”

He hears something smash, followed by her growling in frustration, “Figlio di puttana.”

Aaron smiles and follows the sound of her voice, finding her seconds later round the corner and only a few paces away from the bathroom, a smashed vase that her mother had bought them at her feet.

“Sweetheart,” he says, carefully stepping over the broken pieces of ceramic. He grabs her hand and guides her away from it, his eyes fixed on her sock-covered feet to make sure she doesn’t stand on anything and hurt herself, “Why didn’t you say you needed the bathroom? I would have helped.”

“I can make it to the bathroom by myself,” she seethes, the bite to her words diminished by her eyeshield and the tape that was holding her eyes shut sticking out from underneath.

“Of course you can baby,” he soothes, his arm around her shoulders as he walks her to the bathroom, reaching into the room and turning the light on for her before shaking his head at himself as he realises it’s pointless, “Just humour me okay, that vase your mother got us has been an eyesore since day one, lets not ensure it actually causes you an injury.”

She pinches his arm, with terrifying precision, and she scoffs, “An eyesore? Really, Aaron?”

He clears his throat to cover a laugh, “Sorry,” he says, not hiding his smile since she couldn’t see him, “That was unintentional I promise.” He places his hands on her shoulders and turns her to face the bathroom, “I’ll be right out here if you need me.”

“I won’t,” she grumbles, closing the door behind her, her defiance quickly followed by the sound of her walking into something. Aaron lovingly shakes his head at her as he leans against the wall outside and waits for her, his eyes fixed on the vase he’ll clean up the moment he has her back on the couch. A couple of minutes pass until he hears a quiet voice through the door, “Aaron?”

He doesn’t open the door yet, but he leans closer to speak to her through it, “Yes, sweetheart?”

There’s a sigh, and he can almost feel her frustration permeate the walls, “I can’t find the toilet paper.”

___

He’s grateful that she’s still in bed when he walks out of the bathroom after getting ready to settle down for the night. She’s lying down, her head on the pillow as she fiddles nervously with her engagement ring, something that had replaced her old habit of picking at her cuticles the moment he slipped the ring onto her finger.

Her fingers stop moving as she hears the bathroom door open, tension visible in her shoulders across the room and Aaron smiles softly, “It’s just me, Em.”

She physically relaxes and sighs, “Sorry,” she says, clearing her throat as he climbs into bed next to her, “It’s weird not being able to see anything.”

He turns off the light and gathers her into his arms. He kisses the top of her head as she curls into his arms, one of her hands slipping under the hem of his t-shirt to feel his chest rise and fall against her skin.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he says, running his hand up and down her back, “I can imagine it’s disorientating.”

She hums, hooking her leg over his hips to anchor herself to him even more, hanging on to him as if he would disappear.

“My apartment in Paris was pitch black,” she says out of nowhere, her fingertips trailing back and forth over his chest, “It came with these blackout blinds in the bedroom that I didn’t have the strength to take down,” she adds, and he holds her tighter, any mention of that time, any time he learnt something new, unpicking the stitches of old wounds, “It’s absurd because I was never afraid of the dark as a kid, I was never afraid of anything really, but in Paris, I’d lay there in the dark waiting for Ian to emerge from nowhere. And now…” she trails off and sighs, shaking her head at herself, “There’s a reason I didn’t want to get black out curtains for the house.”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head, chastising himself for any time in the past he’d complained about the light that would stream into their bedroom in the summer and wake him up in the early hours of the morning.

“I’m right here,” he promises, kissing the top of her head again, “I’m right here and I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” she says, reaching out and squeezing his hand, linking their fingers together in the way that would sometimes make them both think they were made for each other, “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he replies, “So much,” he tilts her head up to capture her lips in a quick kiss, “You should get some sleep.”

She nods, pressing her forehead into his neck, the top of her eyeshield scratching at his skin, “Aaron?” She asks and he hums in response, his hand still trailing up and down her back, soothing her to sleep, “I bought a pair of glasses from the costume shop at the mall so I can still wear them during sex if you want.”

He laughs, a deep, booming thing that she feels through his chest, making her join in. He kisses her forehead and sighs deeply.

“I cannot wait to marry you.”

She kisses his jawline, “I can’t wait to marry you either.”

-x-

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