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mariasont · 3 days ago

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One Clean Shot - A.H

summary: it’s a standard training session, until hotch steps behind you to adjust your stance and suddenly your biggest problem isn’t your aim pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warning tags: suggestive content, hotch accidentally touches your tits, r shooting a gun, hotch shooting a gun, r kinda objectifying hotch (i showed my friends then we high fived), dbf!hotch, age gap wc 1.6k

"Oh, for the love of—"

You bite down on the words, trapping them before they can tumble out as something truly impolite. You fire. Left. Again. Another shot. Too high. Again. Too wide.

The gun jerks in your hand, unforgiving and indifferent. Gunpowder starts to scratch at your throat, your lungs, your patience even. You were starting to believe that it was a possibility that you were just inherently biologically incapable of aiming correctly. Bad aim genes, perhaps.

You try to picture your father holding a gun, arms stiff, stance awkward, probably muttering something about how in his day, disputes were settled with a well-worded legal argument.

Yeah, okay, that might explain a lot.

Except no, you passed all your quals. You aced them.

It was just an off day.

A specific, very tall off day named Hotch, who was currently standing behind you, radiating silent judgement at a level so intense it should be considered a supernatural ability. He was probably analyzing every micro-movement, taking note of every error, mentally drafting a performance review that would start with you're doing fine and end with a perfectly professional but somehow soul-crushing but you can do better.

You try to steady your hands and you fail and you think maybe you should just hand him the gun and let him execute your dignity at point-blank range.

It's fine, you tell yourself. It's not like your entire self-worth is balancing on the edge of his nonexistent expression. There's a chance he's not even thinking about you. He could be mentally going over his grocery list or calculating how much paperwork he had left to do today.

Or there's the more terrifying chance that he is watching you and wondering why you aren't better, why you aren't like him—like your father, wondering why you aren't meeting expectations.

And it's humiliating, really. How much you want to impress him. How much you want to make him proud and maybe even—

"You're anticipating the recoil."

You turn too fast, the world tilting for just a second, your vision narrowing to the sharp angles of Hotch's face.

"Here."

The word is barely out of his mouth before his hands are everywhere—no, not everywhere, everywhere, just your vest. But they might as well be, because your nerve endings aren't capable of knowing the difference.

He grips your vest at the shoulders, jerks the straps tight, a firm pull that rocks you just slightly forward, just slightly into him. Then his fingers skate down, adjusting the collar, smoothing over the bare skin where fabric meets flesh, his knuckles barely grazing the dip between your collarbones.

And then lower. Over your chest. Between. The back of his hand ghosts along the swell of your breasts, then right where your ribs curve inward, where his palm would fit if he just—just—slid an inch lower.

It's fast. Nothing. Over in a second. But your stomach is tight, your breath is tight, you are tight. And you swear if he lingers a moment longer, you might melt into a indecipherable puddle on the floor.

Your pulse is all over the place, skipping, tripping, betraying. Heat rushes to your cheeks, slow at first, then all at once, like a delayed newsflash that your body apparently has opinions about this.

Because this is stupid. Stupid. It's not like he meant to touch you there. It's not like he noticed. Did he notice?

No, absolutely not because that would imply things, and there are not things.

This is just your problem. Your rogue nervous system. Your tragic inability to be normal about anything. You are making this a thing when it is very much not a thing.

But you felt the way your stomach knots around something you don't even have the vocabulary to name, the way your nipples pebbled like they had some vested interest in ruining your life.

It's—what? Hormones? Static electricity? Some kind of spontaneous full-body malfunction? Because you didn't want to think about it being him, a side effect to prolonged exposure to Aaron Hotchner. (Should you warn the others?)

And still, he keeps going, cinching straps, flattening fabric, all broad (very broad) hands and no-nonsense efficiency. Like you're just a piece of gear to fix. You, on the other hand, are actively considering the logistics of just dropping dead on the spot. It seemed feasible.

"Shoulders back."

The instruction comes at the same time as he moves in behind you, a hand landing between your shoulder blades, and pushes, forces your spine straighter, like you're something to be molded, adjusted, put into place.

Then his hands moves to your waist, shifting your stance just a hair, just enough to make you brutally of the size of his hands. How they fit against you.

Then—oh. His foot nudges between yours, then hooks your ankle, kicking your stance wider.

His palm finds the space between your shoulder blades again, pressing down just enough to remind you where you are, who you are, what you're supposed to be doing instead of, well, whatever this is.

"Breathe."

Oh. Right. Breathing. That's a thing.

You suck in a sharp breath, only now realizing you'd been holding it captive in your chest.

"A lot of people hold their breath when they shoot," he explains, his other hand pressing into your ribs as if to make sure you were following his instructions, as if you'd do anything else. "It feels instinctual, like bracing will make you more controlled. But if you hold your breath, you lock up. Tension works against you. Breathing through the shot keeps everything loose. It makes the release smoother."

You weren't sure when everything became so hot, pressing in from all sides. But you felt like you might be sweating because no one should be allowed to say things like that, in a voice like his, with hands like his, and with zero self-awareness of what words like release can do to a person in your position.

You try to focus, to take another breath, but even that feels like a trap, because you are suddenly mortifying aware of the way your chest rises, of the heat dissipating between you, of how close he is.

His arms come to frame yours, surrounding in a way that makes everything else feel smaller. His hands go over yours, his chest is against your shoulder, his forearm skimming yours, and his breath is now tickling your ear.

"Your thumbs need to be higher," he says, adjusting them with his own, the rough pad of his finger dragging along the side of your hand. "You're gripping too far down, which throws off your alignment. Keep them forward, parallel with the slide. It'll help keep the recoil controlled, make your follow up shot faster."

His fingers tighten over yours, making sure you feel it. "And support your hand, it's doing too much. The pressure should be between both hands. If you squeeze harder with one than the other, you'll pull your shot without realizing it."

You nod, because you always nod when he speaks. Because you listen. Because learning from him is something you like, something that makes you feel good, something that makes you feel seen. And maybe that's why your hands are shaking.

He steps back and it's immediate, the rush of air, the space, the clarity that surely wasn't there before. Your chest expands, lungs finally taking what they were denied.

"Try again."

You exhale, reposition, adjust your stance the way he taught you. His instructions replay in your head, and you obey, thumbs high, pressure even, breathing.

You fire. And it's improved, smoother, more controlled, exactly like he said.

"That's it. Better."

You smoother the feeling those two words give you, shove in into the pit of your stomach where it can't cause problems. Where it can't mean anything. You're pathetic.

"Watch."

He steps in, you step back, and—oh.

You try to focus on the technical aspects, really, you do. On how he grips the gun, on how his fingers rest perfectly in place, on how his stance is exactly what he just told you to correct. But your brain is completely uncooperative.

Your brain apparently has priorities, and right now, those priorities are his arms, the way his muscles shift beneath tight sleeves, the flex of his shoulders as he raises said gun.

And then lower, corruptfully lower, to the curve of his waist, where the fabric of his shirt strains, the way his belt rests just above the curve of his—

Absolutely not.

You blink hard, inhaling sharp, mentally shoving that thought into a vault labeled inappropriate. Do not open. The worst part, however, is that you can't tell if you're more mortified by the fact that your brain went there, or by the fact that, now that is has, you're not sure how to get it to stop.

"Focus."

Your mouth opens, then closes. "I—I am."

He doesn't look at you. Not once. But the way he reloads, it's like he's giving you time to wallow in the moment. And there's something, something, in the slight pull of his mouth, in the tiniest shift of his expression that's almost, but not quite, a smirk.

"Not on the right things."

His fires. One clean shot. Straight to the heart.

The paper doesn't resist, it just takes it, the force ripping clean through the center, leaning nothing but a perfect, gaping wound. It was precise in a way that shouldn't be surprising but still is.

It's a clean shot through something inside of you, too.

And you have no idea how to patch it up.

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x sweetheart reader #aaron hotchner x sweethear!reader #dbf aaron hotchner #dbf!aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner one shot

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darkbluekies · 1 day ago

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Til death do us part

Yandere!mafia oc x reader

Summary: A summer romance turns dark as Silas can't accept that you've married someone else

Warnings: kidnapping, murder, blackmail, threats, Silas belittling darling, violence, isolation, jealousy, possessiveness

Word count: 5k

He’s everything you could have ever wanted. He’s sweet, caring and works at a bank. He can provide for you. He’s from a good family. Everything about him is perfect, everything you could ever have dreamt of. You could never have imagined that you would find a man like him after what happened last summer.

You had met a man on the way home from dinner with a friend, someone that had helped you after the grocery bag you had bought food in on the way home. He had introduced himself as ‘Silas’ and had walked you home, carrying the groceries for you. You had thanked him. Silas had asked if you wanted to meet for coffee sometime, and you had agreed, innocently thinking nothing of it. You had gone out with him multiple times. Never actually becoming a couple, but acting like it. It was harmless, you thought. You kissed, went on dates and you knew that if things continued like this, you’d fall for him.

But you noticed that something was weird about him, and it made you feel cautious in his presence. He never told you anything about his life and when you asked, you noticed that something shifted in his dark eyes. As if he tried to come up with a lie. It creeped you out somehow, because why couldn’t he tell you? Maybe you shouldn’t have trusted a man who tried to cover up his tattoos.

You finally got to know the truth at the end of the summer. A friend who had seen the two of you together had recognised him from a newspaper. He was a criminal, a leader of a mob, who was more dangerous than you could have anticipated. You had cut contact with him and moved away so that he wouldn’t be able to find you again.

But he did. Somehow, he did.

Letters have been piling up in your mailbox during these last few weeks, addressed to you and written in red ink. Your heart had stopped when you read the first one.

“Y/N, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so terribly much. My heart bleeds and aches for you. You left me because you were scared. I get that. I get that very well, this is a world you should be afraid of, but I will protect you. I will take care of you better than that man ever could. Yeah, I know that you’ve found someone new. I know that you’re planning to get married. Quite quick, don’t you think? You haven’t known him that long, and now you’re getting married? Silly Y/N, you’re so cute. Do you really think you love him? Are you trying to reassure yourself that I’m a part of your past that will never return? Or are you trying to make everyone around you believe that you’ve gotten over me and moved on? I know you still think of me. I know you want me. And I want you too. I have never wanted someone other than you. You and me are meant for each other. Don’t marry him. Come back to me. It’s you and me til the end.”

You hadn’t shown your fiance, but he had noticed that something had been wrong with you. You had become silent and distant. Letter after letter came to your mailbox and he realized that something serious had happened. You had no choice but to tell him about Silas and your past with him, the present he doesn’t want to let go of, and the future he demands. Your fiance had promised that he wouldn’t get to you, and that he was only trying to scare you.

You had been expecting to see Silas at your wedding, but he wasn’t there—or at least you didn’t catch a glimpse of him. Maybe your husband was right? Maybe he was just trying to scare you?

The start of the honeymoon is set to be on the SS Anastasia, a proud liner with three yellow funnels, a solid superstructure and a great reputation. It is set to take the two of you to Spain, where you have decided to have the rest of your honeymoon, away from all eyes and to be with no one but each other.

A steward welcomes you on board. You thank him and give him a smile. He lets you know that your luggage, which you left down at the terminal, will be delivered straight to your cabin, a suite in first class. Only the best for the newlywed couple.

“I’m so excited to see the room”, you admit as the two of you navigate the ship to find the mani staircase.

“The agent said that it would be nice”, your husband replies and chuckles. “Now, if we only could find it …”

You laugh. It takes you nearly ten minutes to find the right door among mazes of identical white doors. The suite is divided into three rooms: a bedroom, a sitting room and a bathroom, all decorated with expensive materials and fashionable colors. Polished dark wood and electric lights.

“This is so nice”, your husband smiles, letting his eyes wander around. “I think we’ll have a good time here.”

You hug him and he chuckles, hugging you back.

“I can’t believe I married you”, he says.

Me neither, you think.

Your mind drifts back to Silas and you feel your heart sink down to your stomach. You won’t be able to relax until you know that the ship has left harbour. There’s a constant, heavy feeling in your chest that you can’t explain. But you tell yourself that it’s just that; a feeling. Nothing more than old worries that haven’t been able to come up to the surface before now. You squeeze the man tighter, sighing out. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be safe.

You have been promised a fantastic dinner, and the food delivers to your expectations. Everything is tasting like gold, served on a silverplatter. Sitting in the first class dining hall has given you an excuse to dress up. Everyone around is wearing their best clothes, and it is a silent competition in who looks the best. You look around, discreetly admiring everyone else’s attention to detail. You wonder how many of them have spent the entire day in their cabin, doing everything to look their absolutely best. The first night is usually relaxed, but a first time impression will always be remembered.

“What would you like to do after?” your husband asks and sips on his wine.

“I think I need to take a walk”, you joke.

“Oh, yes, the night sky must be so beautiful out on deck. I reckon that you’ll be able to see the stars much easier out here. No city pollution.”

You walk hand in hand down the promenade, looking up at the starry night sky, pointing at familiar shapes.

The next morning, after breakfast, the two of you walk to the lounge, deciding to take a calm day. Well deserved after planning a wedding and executing it. The lounge is cozy, reminding you of a simple living room rather than a first class room on an oceanliner. Maybe to make the passengers feel more at home.

Your husband takes the opportunity to indulge in a newspaper, finally having the time to sit down and actually read it.

You let your eyes wander around the large lounge, enjoying to admire the small details that give the room it’s cozy feel. But the feeling is quickly switched once your eyes land on someone. A man sitting in an armchair on the other side of the lounge, dark eyes feasted onto you, a small smirk playing at his lips when he notices you noticing him. You can feel your body go numb, feel yourself sink through your armchair, through the floor and through the ship’s metal. Feel yourself sink down to the bottom of the pitch black ocean. You forget how to breathe, head going blank.

He found you.

You glance towards your husband who’s still invested in today’s news. Silas raises his eyebrows testingly as you look back at him, as if to say “yes, I’ve noticed him, you think he compares to me?”.

Suddenly the air in the lounge seem to lose all oxygen. You need air, or else you will faint.

“I-I have to get some fresh air”, you hear yourself mumble.

“Are you okay?” your husband asks and looks up from his newspaper, eyes full of worry.

“Yes—”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“N-No, I’ll be fine, I’ll be back soon.”

You need to get away.

You hurry out of the lounge and out onto the enclosed promenade. The fresh air hits your face harshly. You grab onto the wall to support yourself while trying to find a way to breathe that doesn’t feel like needles poking through your throat.

“You thought I wouldn’t find you?”

You feel your heart stop. Quickly, you spin around, seeing his face way too close to yours. He tilts it, almost mockingly. You back away, stumbling over your feet and hitting your shoulder against the wall. Silas corners you, stopping you from escaping.

“What do you want?” you breathe out shakingly.

“Didn’t you get my letters?” he asks. “Or did you simply not read them?”

“Leave me alone. I-I’m married now.”

He smirks, tilting his head back and putting his hands into the back pockets of his suit pants.

“Indeed, you are”, he says and sighs out. “But do you really think that’s real?”

“What do you mean?” you almost stutter.

Silas meets your eyes. He’s smiling.

“Don’t you think I could have taken you whenever I wanted?” he asks. “The only reason you were able to marry that boring son of a bitch is because I let you. But, in the end, you belong to me. Isn’t that right?”

You don’t answer. You turn your head away, look out over the endless sea, and feel your eyes fill with tears. He wipes your tears with his thumb and you push his hand away.

“I don’t”, you say, wondering where you have gotten the sudden bravery from. “I don’t belong to you. I belong to him.”

You show him the ring on your finger. Silas clenches his jaw and grabs a hold of that hand, forcing it closer. He pulls of the golden ring, scoffs at it and throws it overboard. You gasp and try to run forward, hoping to catch it before it falls too far, but he pushes you back against the wall.

“Don’t ever say that again”, he warns you. “You don’t belong to him, how could you? I met you first. I claimed you first. He will have my seconds. Everything you do to him, you’ve done to me first. And he will never do anything as good as I did.”

“I left you because of this!” you hiss, reminding him.

“No, you left me because you were scared. You don’t understand that you are in more danger if you aren’t with me. I’m the only one that can protect you. I didn’t want you to know about it because I know you’d be scared, but—”, he cups your cheeks, forcing you to look at him, “—but I won’t hurt you. You’re so special to me. I love you so much. You did read my letters, I can see it in your eyes. You know how much I love you.”

“Let me go”, you plead.

“No. It’s you and I til the end, don’t you remember? I’m not letting you go again. I’ve been letting you have your fun for too long now. It’s about time I take you back. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Don’t hurt him either.”

You can see his eyes darken, his jaw clench. “You decide if it’s going to be violent or not.”

You freeze in his hold.

“You can choose to come back to me, quietly and easy”, Silas starts and caresses your cheek. “We will be happy and your boy will be left alone.” He traces your jaw with his finger. “Or … you reject me and I take out my competition and take you with me once we reach Spain. No one will see you again.”

He seems to tell that you’ve stopped breathing, because he sits you down on one of the sun chairs and massage your throat. Your eyes are stuck onto nothing, empty.

“I will give you until nine”, he whispers in your ear. “If you’re not outside my cabin at nine, A-30, knocking on my door, I will kill him.”

“You’re a liar”, you breathe out, voice barely audible. “You’ll kill him either way …”

Silas shrugs simply. “Maybe, but don’t you want to take your chances? You might save him.”

Silas stands up. You sit frozen.

“Oh, and Y/N?” he says as if remembering something and looks down at you. “If I were you I wouldn’t tell anyone. You know, for obvious reasons.”

He gives you a small, teasing smile before walking back inside. You sit still, not daring to move. Worried that if you move you’ll break down and realise what’s going on. You can feel your heart pound in your ears. No. No, this can’t be happening.

“What are you doing out here?” you hear a familiar voice ask. “You’re going to get sick!”

You feel your husband hang his blazer over your shoulders. The warmth, the familiar scent from him makes your heart hang heavy in your chest. You can’t help but feel like you’ve betrayed him, as if you’ve cheated your relationship, thanks to Silas’s threat. But if you cheat on it, you might save the love of your life. Can you cancel out a bad thing with a bad thing? Is it really a bad thing then? Can you be excused?

You can’t tell him about it, but if you did, would he understand you?

“You don’t look well, actually”, he says and helps you stand. “You’ve probably already gotten sick. You should go lay down and rest.”

He helps you, slow and steady, to your suite. You lay down in bed and he tucks you in.

“Should we ring for a steward?” he asks worriedly. “Ask for some tea and some medicine?”

“No, I’m fine”, you reassure him dimly. “I just need to be alone.”

“I’m worried about you. Something happened to you. I can help you.”

No, you can’t.

“Do you want to be left alone?” he asks.

What if he gets killed?

“No, stay in here”, you wish.

He nods. You hold his hand as you lay with your eyes closed, trying to think of what to do. He was clear; whatever you do, you’ll end up with Silas. The only thing you can choose—maybe—is to save the man holding your hand and whispering reassurance to you. The nicest you can do, in this situation, is to give in and beg Silas to leave him alone. You can’t be prideful and let him kill him.

You find yourself outside cabin A-30 with your head spinning. You don’t want to do this, but what choice do you have? Your first is heavy when you lift it to knock, the sound of your knuckles hitting the polished wood seeming to echo throughout the entire ship. You can hear his footsteps on the other side and see him tower over you when he opens the door. His smirk sends a wave of nausea over you.

“So, you came in the end”, he says cockily. “Good girl/boy.”

You lower your eyes to the floor. Silas steps aside and gestures for you to walk in. You do, on heavy, unresponsive legs. He closes the door behind you, locking it. You gulp. He lingers around you like a snake and you wait for him to put his fangs into your neck and shoot his venom into you.

“You should rest”, Silas says softly and wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Let’s go to sleep.”

He leads you to the bed and lays you down, lying down behind you. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything that could scare you. You try to keep it in, but your body fails you. Sobs, quiet at first, leave your body. Tears run down your face. You hold your hand over your mouth, but Silas is close enough to hear you. He hugs you carefully and you can feel him rest his face into your shoulder.

“There’s no need to worry”, he whispers. “You're back where you belong.”

It only makes you worry more.

“Your crying makes me so sad”, Silas whispers. “Everything will be okay, little thing. You're back now.”

You don't fall asleep that night, and you're sure Silas doesn't either. His grip on you remains tight and controlling, showing no sign of drowsiness.

The sun rises outside the porthole, and you're as wide awake as ever. Silas gets out of bed and starts to dress for the day. You remain in bed, feeling too empty to move. Your eyes fall onto the tattoos on his back and arms, wondering where he got them and what they represented. But something in you tells you that you don’t want to know.

“My darling”, Silas sighs and crouches down in front of the bed, caressing your face. “You don’t need to look so sad. You and me will have fun. We can do more than you ever could with that boy of yours could. My credit card never declines.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask, frowning.

“Oh? You didn't know?” His cocky face is getting on your nerves. “My men did some digging into him, and it seems like he spent a fortune on this honeymoon of yours. Barely anything left in his bank account. Poor thing was really trying to impress you, but the illusion would be all gone once you came back home. I, on the other hand, have all the money in the world.”

“Your money’s dirty.”

“Money’s money. I could launder it, and it’d be clean, but you wouldn’t accept it anyway. Which is why you’ll never get money from me. You’ll get jewelry, food, clothes—anything you want—and all you need to do in return is submit yourself to me.”

You sigh and look away.

“We don’t have to talk about this now”, Silas says and stands up. “But you will submit to me, I know you will. Get dressed now, my love, we’re going to eat breakfast.”

Food is the last thing you want right now.

“I’m not hungry”, you say.

“Do you want to stay in?” he asks. “I can go get you breakfast that you can eat later.”

You nod, whatever will make him leave you alone for a while. Silas gives you a comforting smile and pets your head before leaving the cabin. You take the time to cry, when you know that he can’t see you, planning to stop before he returns, but failing.

“Crying when you think I won’t notice?” he asks and scoffs, just a little bit amused. “Do you think I wouldn’t notice?”

He sets down a tray on the table in the room and walks over to the bed, crouching down and wiping your tears.

“You’re mine”, he says. “Crying about that boy won’t change that fact.”

You don’t answer.

“Will I have to stay in here the entire time?” you ask coldly.

“No”, he says. “Not all the time, but if you want to leave the cabin, you will be by my side. If I were you, I wouldn't try to run away from me or try to tell anyone, because the ship is filled with my men. You don’t know who they are, and they won’t bother you if you behave, but the second I tell them to keep an eye out for you, they will.”

You glare at him.

“But you wouldn’t do that, would you?” Silas asks.

“And then what?” you counter. “When we're in Spain?”

“Oh, we're not staying there. I'm not allowed there. My second in command is waiting for us there and will take us back to America as soon as we arrive.”

Oh …

“I don’t want to go back. Not with you.”

“Well, life's not fair, little thing. You should eat now. I got you all the things you told me that you liked.”

He takes you to the table in the cabin and starts to feed you the bread, the coffee and fruit. You eat, just you comply, too tired to fight with him. Fighting with a wall would be easier. A wall wouldn't talk back. A wall wouldn't threaten you.

“See how much easier it is when you obey?” Silas says.

You give him a quick gaze. He traces your cheek with his fingers.

“I look so much forward to having you all to myself”, he mumbled.

His words send icy shivers down your back.

You stay in the cabin the coming day. You wonder what your real husband is thinking of your disappearance. Sure that Silas has already done something to make him stay away … or worse.

“You're so down, baby”, Silas says. “How about we do something, hm? We have a whole ship to our amusement. There is a game room, a pool, a library, and a squash court. How about that? Why don't we play some squash?”

You nod, just to get out of the cabin. Maybe you can figure something out. Maybe you can hide.

“That's my boy/girl”, Silas says and takes your hand. “Let's go.”

Walking out with him, hand in hand, made you feel horrible. He looked so proud, so cocky.

He took you down to the squash court. He picked up a racquet and bounced a few balls.

“I hope you know the rules”, Silas said with a chuckle. “Or else I will win.”

A man came into the squash court. Silas gave the man a quick, stern look before glancing towards you, and then back at him. This is one of his men, you figure.

“Give me a second, darling”, he says and takes the man aside.

They turn their backs to you, whispering. You glance towards the door. As they mumble about something incoherent, you sneak towards the door, opening it silently and sneaking out. You run, but only get a few meters before a hand rips you back.

“Where do you think you're going?” Silas hisses in your ear.

He slams a hand over your mouth to prevent you from making any sounds and almost you back to the squash court.

“I apologize”, he mutters to his man. “Seems like my baby here can't behave.”

He holds your back firmly against his chest, hand resting securely over your mouth. “They'll learn soon enough, once they learn the consequences.”

You fight against him, but he doesn't budge.

“Stop fighting”, Silas hisses and turns to his man. “I'm sure it won't happen again, ill make sure it won't, but can you tell the others to keep an eye out for this disobedient little shit? If you ever see them wander around alone, you get me immediately. Leave us now, I need to lecture them.”

The man nods, bows slightly and leaves the squash court. Silas lets you go and you back away from him, but he's quick to corner you.

“You don't get it, do you?” he asks, and sounds a tad bit amused. “You can't escape me. And, come on, trying to do that on a ship? I really thought you were smarter than that. Where would you go? The only place you could flee would be to jump overboard. But you're stupid, not suicidal. And now, all my men keep an eye out. Just accept that your place is here, with me.”

“I want my fucking husband!” you scream. “You aren't my husband, you're a low life criminal!”

Silas’s eyes darken.

“Okay then”, he says, slowly. “If you want him so badly, go look for him. Go find him. If you do, I'll let you go with him. If not, you're mine.”

“Your men will take me back to you.”

“I'll tell them to leave you as long as you don't talk to anyone. Search everywhere. Go to the lower classes, for all I care.”

“What have you done to him?”

He smiles slightly, but it's not one out of genuine happiness, but of mockery. “Do you really want to know?”

You turn around and leave. He follows you. You barely have time to walk down the corridor before a man takes a hold of your arm. A different man from before.

“You're not supposed to walk around”, he says.

“It's okay”, Silas says a few steps behind you.

He wears his chin high, a smirk on his face and his hands in his front pockets. You rip your arm from the strange man's hold.

“My baby is using their brain”, Silas says and reaches the two of you. “We'll see where that gets them. Keep an eye so that they don't talk to anyone. We don't want to encourage talking to strangers, now do we, little thing?”

You glare at him.

“Go, then”, Silas says. “What are you waiting for?”

You don't like how he's changed. Just five minutes earlier he was set on making sure you wouldn't wander … and now he encourages it. Something has happened to your husband and you want to find him as quickly as possible.

You walk away, leaving Silas and his man in the corridor outside the squash court. You're not sure where to start. As soon as you get out of their sight, you stop and sink down alongside the wall. Needing to just catch your breath.

But you don't linger too long. Before you change your mind, you stand up and start to walk. You end up walking back and forth for hours, sure that every eye that lands on you is a member of Silas’s organization, someone being paid to make sure you obey.

You search every little corner on the ship, but your husband is nowhere to be seen. Your suite is empty, but there are signs of struggle. A glass lying on the floor, more than one person's shoe marks on the carpet. You walk over to his suitcase and take out one of his shirts. Crying as you hold it.

“Any luck?” you suddenly hear him say.

Your blurry eyes dart to the open door, seeing him lean against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks so nonchalant, so careless. How can he?

“There are words for people like you”, you sniffle with a voice draped in hate. “Did you know that?”

“What word?”

“Inhuman.”

Silas scoffs out a small smile. “If only you were as smart with thinking as you were with words, you’d have figured it out by now.”

“What?”

“You haven’t found him anywhere on the ship, and you’ve been looking for hours.”

He doesn’t have to remind you. Your aching feet is enough to make you feel your loss.

“What did you do to him?” you ask weakly.

“I have already told you, if you listened to me, you’d figured it out earlier. I said that there is only one way to escape me.”

Your eyes widen as you dart your eyes to the round porthole.

“Atta girl/boy”, Silas says, voice smooth as honey as he walks over to you.

“Y-You … y-you …”

“Don’t look at me. I didn’t do it.”

“You ordered it.”

“Are we back to the ‘dirty money’ thing again? Does it matter if I gave the instructions or not? It happened, and even if I said I gave the instructions, you wouldn’t take it.”

You hang your head heavy in your hands, crying. Silas hugs you and you try to fight back, but he doesn’t let you go. He holds you tightly, his rough hands keeping you against his body.

“Now that he’s gone, you have no other choice than to accept me whole heartedly”, he whispers in your ear. “You have no one else. Only me. Until the end of time, til death do us part.”

You sob in his hold, wanting nothing more than to escape. You manage to glance towards the porthole.

Silas holds your hand in a tight, painful grip as you walk off the ship, surrounded by a few of his men. People on the dock cheer and welcome their loved ones, but you’re pulled right through the crowd. You can’t hear any of them, your own sorrow drowning out all sounds of happiness. Silas takes you over to a car. A black haired man leans against it, but stands straight when he sees Silas. His second in command.

“Boss, there you are”, he says with a small smile. “Did you have a good voyage?”

Silas lifts your tightly intertwined hands with a smirk on his face. “What do you think?”

The second in command looks at you up and down and smirks. “Congratulations.”

“I wish we could stay here but if the cops get me I’ll be in trouble”, Silas says and pulls you close. “Let’s go to the yacht before we’re noticed.”

He helps you into the automobile and you’re off, on the way to the ship that will take you back to America. Tears run down your face silently. You shut them, trying to imagine yourself in another place, somewhere far away from Silas and his evil entourage. Somewhere where you had never crossed paths with him. Somewhere where things had turned out different. A bump in the road forces your eyes open again and you’re pulled back into the car that will take you straight to your own personalized hell, with a man who is ready to kill for you. You wish you had never allowed him to carry your groceries.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oc x you #yandere mafia #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc

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astrolook · 2 days ago

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Moon in the houses

Moon in the 1st House: Emotions? Yeah, I’m wearing them like a neon sign.

Mood Swings? Who Needs a Weather App? – One minute, you're on cloud nine, ready to conquer the world, and everyone around you is like, "Wow, you're so inspiring!" . The next minute, you're in a full-on emotional hurricane, and people are like, “Uh, is everything okay?” Yep, they can literally see the storm clouds forming.

You’re basically an emotional X-ray for anyone who needs to know how you're feeling. Super helpful in knowing exactly where you stand.

You have the perfect built-in therapist, your mom, who never asks for a copay and always responds with “I love you, sweetie.”

Moon in 1st gives you a youthful young face. If a man, could be a mama boy. On the flip side, mommy could be overbearing.

When you're happy, you radiate positivity like the sun itself. You make everyone around you feel like they’ve just had a shot of espresso… without the jitters. But when you're in a mood, watch out. It’s like the ocean’s about to swallow up the entire coast. You can go from zero to “I’m emotionally drowning, help!” in 0.3 seconds.

Moon in the 2nd House: The Emotional Shopping Spree - You feel things, and you buy things. Repeat.

When you're feeling happy, it’s like “treat yo' self” day, and suddenly you’ve got 14 new pairs of socks that totally spoke to you in the store. Feeling stressed? Well, it's probably time for a little retail therapy... because nothing says “I’m handling my feelings” like buying a $50 scented candle you’ll never use.

Impulsive purchases. When your emotions take a dive, so does your bank account. "I'm sad, I need a new purse."

When someone asks how you're feeling, your response might just be, "Well, I bought a new jacket, so I’m feeling fabulous."

Your Emotions Are Always on Sale. You're like, “You know what would make me feel even better? A cute new scarf!” Because nothing says “I’m emotionally balanced” like a $15 markdown.

You love investing in things that make you feel good—whether it’s a cozy home, a nice meal, or that perfectly curated playlist you bought (yep, it’s a thing). Your finances are tied to your emotional health like a carefully organized spreadsheet.

Moon in the 3rd House: The Over thinker's Hotline - You think, you feel, you text… then you overthink it all.

Your emotions are running wild and they need to talk. A LOT. Like, you’ll have a deep emotional moment and then immediately text your bestie about it, but also text your mom for a second opinion, and then maybe send a message to a group chat for a third—just to make sure everyone’s on the same emotional page.

You’re the Emotional Wi-Fi of your social circles—always transmitting and receiving feelings, whether anyone asked or not.

You overanalyze everything. Sent a text at 11:30 PM? Now you’re wondering if that emoji you used in your response was “too much.” Did they think you were crying in that voice message, or just, like, “really emotionally engaged”? You end up spiral-commenting under your own messages. "Wait, I wasn’t mad, I swear!" Cue overthinking every single word.

You’re emotionally open, but also maybe one text away from sending an entire novel about your mood swings. If you have a Moon in Aquarius in 3rd house, you are very much into conspiracy theories.

The overthinking is so strong, even Siri gets nervous. “Did I say that correctly? Does it sound too emotional? Let me try that again, Siri, do you think they’ll understand?"

Moon in the 4th House: Home is Where the Feelings Are - Your emotions? Oh, they're all cozy in your emotional fortress… with snacks.

If you're ever feeling down, you know exactly where to retreat: the couch, surrounded by blankets, a mountain of snacks, and probably a weirdly specific playlist of “emotional” songs you know no one else understands.

Your vibe says, "Come on in, let me feed you, and here’s a blanket!" You’re basically the human version of a warm cup of tea.

On the flip side, you can get way too attached to your personal space. Don’t even think about messing with your “comfort zone,” because that zone is sacred. You might find yourself overly attached to places, people, and objects in your home that just... feel right.

If someone says something you don’t like, you might retreat into your home and pretend to reorganize your kitchen for the next four hours. Not because it’s necessary... but because it’s emotionally satisfying.

If there’s food involved and your loved ones nearby, you’re ready for some serious heart-to-hearts.

Moon in the 5th House: The Drama Queen of Feelings - Life’s a stage, and you're always in the mood for a performance.

Your feelings take center stage like you’re auditioning for a Broadway show every single day. You’re all about self-expression, fun, and creating joy—because, let’s face it, life’s too short to not have an emotional karaoke session on a Tuesday night.

Moon in 5th bestows with a girl child. Of course, we need to check whether it is associated with any other planets.

Professions like actor or any artistic professions fits you. You can turn any situation into a joyous celebration and make even the most mundane things feel like a special event.

The flip side? When you're down, it's like the curtains close on the show, and you’re the star in a drama you didn’t sign up for. You may exaggerate your emotions a little (okay, a lot)—an offhand comment from a friend turns into a full-blown emotional musical number. Cue the tears, dramatic exits, and possibly a solo performance on why no one understands your very deep feelings.

You’re basically the person who gets emotionally invested in every movie, reality show, and Instagram post you see and also celebrities.

Moon in the 6th House: The Emotional Overachiever - Feelings? I’ll just organize them into a to-do list.

With the Moon in the 6th House, you take your emotions very seriously—like, spreadsheet-level seriously. You're not just feeling your feelings, you're tracking them, analyzing them, and organizing them with the same precision of a perfectly color-coded calendar.

Your home? Probably a Zen-like temple of organization. You could be a productivity guru and an emotional support animal all rolled into one.

You’re probably the person who compulsively checks your horoscope, wellness app, and to-do list while also making sure you're drinking enough water—because, yes, your emotional health must be on track.

Service - oriented professions.

Probably keeps a journal. Your motto - "Productivity meets therapy!"

Moon in the 7th House: Emotional Rollercoaster + Relationship Drama

You Have a PhD in Relationships – You analyze, you nurture, you feel. Basically, you’re the emotional therapist of every relationship/partnership you’re in.

Emotional Dependency? Yup, It's Real – Your partner's mood? It's now your mood. If they’re happy, you're on cloud nine. If they're sad, well, buckle up, emotional crash ahead!

You Can’t Just "Date" Someone—You Feel Them – It's never just a date night. It's a journey. You’ll be emotionally invested before the appetizers even arrive.

If your partner says, “I’m fine,” but their voice cracks, you’re immediately putting on your emotional detective hat. Something’s definitely wrong.

Your partner's mood shifts and you’re already planning a 5-step plan to emotionally heal them. Just call you “Dr. Love.”

Moon in the 8th House: The Emotional Detective with a Dark Twist

If emotions were a rollercoaster, you’d be the one flipping the safety bar off and screaming, "Let’s go faster!"

Family gatherings? More like family mysteries. You can feel the unspoken tension, and you’re practically Sherlock Holmes, trying to figure out what’s being left out. Every holiday dinner has a side of “What aren’t they telling me?"

When you lose your virginity, you could even hide it from your family.

Being vulnerable with you is like peeling an onion—layer after emotional layer until someone’s crying. Sometimes you overshare, sometimes you say, “I’m fine,” but everyone knows you’re not. You can’t help it.

You can turn pain into growth like a magical wizard. Hurt feelings? Great, now you’re ready for transformation. You take all that emotional mess and somehow turn it into deep wisdom—or a really great, tear-filled diary entry. Either way, it’s epic.

Moon in the 9th House: The Emotional Philosopher on a Soul-Searching Road Trip

Your emotions don’t stay local. You feel them on an international level, like, “Why am I feeling so deep right now? Is this about my past life in a distant land or because I watched a documentary on the Amazon?” Your emotions are basically the United Nations of your soul.

Family & Friends Talks Are Like TED Talks – When you try to explain your feelings to family/friends, it’s less “Hey, I’m upset” and more “Here’s a 45-minute monologue on the meaning of life, and also I read a book on existentialism last week.”

One minute you’re high on life, quoting philosophy, and the next, you’re googling “Why does everything feel so overwhelming?” You’ll go from thinking you’re a wise sage to wanting to crawl into bed and watch Netflix documentaries. Your moods are basically a journey, so pack your bags.

You can't just feel something—you need to analyze, interpret, and probably give it a name. "I feel anxious. Is this anxiety or is it just me tapping into the collective consciousness of humanity?

You’re an Emotional Nomad – You can’t sit still. Emotionally, you need to keep moving, exploring, learning, and growing. "Home? Well, I feel emotionally connected to 17 different places.

Moon in the 10th House: The Emotional CEO of Life

Your emotions are always on display like you’re giving a TED Talk about your deepest feelings.

You don’t just work; your career is an emotional journey. “Am I feeling fulfilled at work? If not, should I change my entire career path? Do I need a promotion to feel better about myself?!” Your job? Basically your emotional therapist, but with more PowerPoint presentations.

Public approval is your emotional fuel, and you’re like, “Did I mention I’m emotionally attached to other’s opinion of me?”

Your mood? It directly impacts your work ethic. When you’re emotionally stable, you’re like, “Let’s take over the world.” But when you're upset? You’re still working, but you’re crying in the break room, making dramatic phone calls to your loved ones.

You’re emotionally invested in how the world sees you. You need to be the best at everything, but emotionally—"Did I look too emotional during my presentation? Was my inner turmoil apparent?" It’s a lot of pressure to keep it all together, but hey, it’s worth the “likes”.

Moon in the 11th House: The Emotional Social Butterfly Who Forgets Why They Came to the Party!

People love your warm, nurturing energy, and your squad is basically a second family. Just be careful—you might adopt every stray friend like a lost puppy. You could even get in trouble for helping your friend.

One day, you're the life of the party, the next, you’re ghosting everyone because feelings. People around you should have learned to just roll with it.

If you are feeling bad, you might turn to strangers online for some emotional support.

You’re energized by like-minded people and might thrive in large social circles, community work, or even fan clubs (yes, you might cry over your favorite celebrity’s life updates).

You might bend over backward to fit into a group, even if it means suppressing your own needs. That’s right—you RSVP to events you know you don’t want to go to, then regret it immediately.

Moon in the 12th House: The Emotional Mystic Who Feels Everything & Nothing at Once

congratulations—you’ve unlocked "Feelings: Hardcore Mode." Your emotions live in the deep, mysterious waters of the subconscious, making you an intuitive, dreamy, and sometimes tragically misunderstood soul. You might love solitude but also feel unbearably lonely, sense energies others miss, and randomly cry for no reason (or is there always a reason?).

Your intuition is next-level. You pick up on vibes, unspoken emotions, and even spiritual messages like a human radio antenna. Your relationship with your mother could feel distant, mysterious, or full of unspoken emotions. Either she was deeply spiritual and nurturing or emotionally unavailable and hard to read.

Unlike most, you actually enjoy being alone. Your inner world is rich, and isolation helps you recharge from the chaos of life.

Even in a crowded room, you might feel disconnected. You crave deep emotional bonds but struggle to express your own feelings.

Emotional stress can manifest physically—sleep issues, mysterious body aches, or just always feeling tired for no reason.

You might secretly love someone from afar rather than openly express your feelings. (Just confess already!). You crave deep, spiritual connections but may self-sabotage by isolating yourself. You love soulmate vibes, but fear vulnerability.

#astrology #astrology readings #western astrology #astro observations #astro notes #vedic astrology #vedic astro notes #vedic astro observations #moon astrology #birth chart #moon sign

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theorist-fox · 3 days ago

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Simon makes love to you

Drabble to get me out of the block

Word Count: 1.6k

18+

CW: fluff, smut, contains themes of depression

Simon fucks you hard.

It's an unsaid promise, a sort of bargain.

You need someone to fuck your head empty, he needs someone who'll let him unload whatever mess is brewing inside of him.

You like it hard.

He needs it hard.

Mutual agreement. Everything had clicked so easily you two had never even bothered setting ground rules or whatnot. They flowed naturally, as if you knew, and he did as well.

Whenever you wanted, you just knocked. If he was up for it, you'd spend the night in his bed until your throat would go raw and your limbs would turn floppy.

The same happened when he was on the other side of the door.

Independently on who asked, the outcomes rarely changed. If ever.

Yet Simon now finds himself in front of a crossroads, when you knock on his door with bloodshot eyes and a tiredness so horrible that, for a moment, he feels afraid.

That lasts a swift second, though, because the next thing he registers is complete discomfort. Helplessness.

He doesn't think he can fuck that out of you. Not when your eyes are so chock full of tears yet so hollow.

Your lips look cracked and swollen, like you've spent a while nibbling at the flakes of dry skin. He's sure they'd taste of iron if he were to kiss them.

As he takes in your state, he narrowly misses your sniffle, the tremble of your hands. Or the way your voice, so feeble and strained, as if exhausted from the words themselves, whispers:

"Can you make love to me tonight?"

Simon barely reacts as it reaches his ears. On the outside, he's impassive as ever—inside, on the other hand, he's rattled to the bone.

Because he doesn't know how to do that.

What he does know, is that he could tell you no, and you wouldn't so much as bat an eye. You're not one to push, and neither is he. It's always been such a balanced thing.

And yet he'd rather gouge his eyes out than watch you tremble any more than you already are.

Which is why he doesn't answer verbally—doesn't trust himself to do that, to sound as kind as you need him to be. He simply curls his hand at the nape of your neck and pulls you in, lips to lips.

And exactly as he thought, taste of iron they do.

Simon's kiss is not devouring. It's hesitant because he's new to it, soft because you asked. There's no tongue yet, simply lips smacking and a gentle hand on your hips. The white lights of the building's hallway flicker overhead—some old place in which neighbours don't ask much about what's happening in the other flats, which is exactly what he needs.

Gently, he guides you inside, closing the door behind you with the flat of his hand. Feels the salt of your tears on his own lips, like he's cried them as well.

Your hands cradle his neck, fingers dreadfully cold and rough—callouses you've bitten in anxious habit, perhaps to cause pain so the one inside would quell.

Simon guides your back against his door, as his hand blindly reaches for the lock. It twists smoothly in his fingers. Clicks. You unravel there, like the sound's given you permission to do so.

Simon is used to drinking up your moans, never your sobs. He tries as you hiccup in his mouth, holding you gently yet firmly, grounding you to where it matters.

Careful as ever, his fingers tug at the zipper of your coat, and then helps you out of it. Similarly, your own lift his shirt up and off his head. And then it's a dance he knows by heart, hands tracing the shape of you the more it gets exposed.

Loose clothes on the floor. Your cold hands holding onto him for dear life. His own guiding you to the bed, steering your body where he needs it—where you do.

But differently from previous times, there's so much softness in his fingers that they tremble almost as much as yours, like he's afraid he'd bruise you when he bloody well knows he's held you far more harshly and you never complained once.

And then you're on his bed, on your back with his own body as an anchor to reality. A big arm snakes in the sliver of space between your bodies to reach your sex.

He kisses your cheeks first, as his fingers draw soft circles at your clit to get you wet. Your chest stutters with hiccups to catch your breath, tired hands threaded through his hair—perhaps to keep him closer, perhaps to ground yourself.

Whatever the reason, he lets you. Feels your breath—thick, heavy, wet—brush his skin. Your lips reciprocate his kisses, landing damp and swollen on his shoulder, on his neck.

That night, Simon fucks you softly.

He doesn't thrust into you until you can't breathe but keeps his hips flush to yours instead. He rolls idle circles that sheath him fully inside and cradles your head to keep you still—to keep you comfortable, to give you what you asked.

Can you make love to me tonight?

Simon is not sure he can, doesn't think he has what it takes.

But still, his hands hold you gently, instead of marking you blue. His mouth draws in your breath, like he's trying to even it out when you can't.

"That's it," he whispers when he feels the stutters in your chest settle down. "That's it—deep breaths. Good girl, y're doing so good."

Your hands come to hold him like he is you, and then you cum around him breathing hard and burying your face in his neck instead of moaning and clawing at his skin.

"There it is," he tells you quietly when your pussy clenches around him. His voice chokes on itself because you're not the only one affected by this—not by a long shot. "There it is, swee'heart. Jus' like that."

He keeps his focus on you as you come down from it, satisfied when he notices that the trickles down your temples are of sweat and not tears anymore.

But there's something in your eyes, he thinks. Something that has been torn to shreds so many times you gave up even trying to fix it. A loneliness so fierce it’s burning you to ashes, an exhaustion so deeply engraved you carry it within your bones.

How a man as attentive as him has never noticed is beyond him, but now he finds himself wanting to see it, to try and help you mend it until you're whole again.

"Fuck, you're lovely, yeah?" He murmurs when your hands come to cradle his cheeks and his do the same. "Sight f'sore eyes."

You smile for the first time since you knocked on his door.

Can you make love to me tonight?

Simon is not sure he can, but he'll be damned if he doesn't try—if it means you smile like that again.

Your hips start moving to meet him, ankles locked at his tailbone. Simon cums inside of you for the first time since you two started seeing each other, rocking his hips as you caress the back of his head.

He’s always tried his damned hardest to avoid leaving strands of any kind that could tie you to him. He's a dangerous man, one you shouldn't be tangled with.

But if you look so safe in his arms, enough to seek him at your lowest, enough to smile even when your world seems torn asunder, then there's little he can do to fight it.

To fight you.

He collapses, chest to chest, knocking the breath out of your lungs—a sound so soft it tickles his ear enough to raise goosebumps.

Simon holds onto you something fierce, arms tucked under the hollow of your spine—inked skin, rough and thickened by a harsh life, against the velvet of yours.

Usually, you’d spare a few moments for the two of you to catch a breath, and then you’d leave, or he would, and life would roll on by. Tonight, he senses your hesitation in the tremble of your arms, and how they’re still holding on tight, wrapped like a silk ribbon around his neck.

Simon finds himself at a crossroads again, but this time it’s so much easier to make a choice.

Can you make love to me tonight?

As he nuzzles your skin, Simon realizes he never even had to try.

“Stay,” he whispers into your neck.

It’s then that you suck in a deep breath, one that bullies its way into his own lungs too. The curve of your cheek presses into his temple, as if you might be smiling. There, something fills him just right.

He wants to look up and see if he’s fixed a few of those shreds, if he’s managed to at least squeeze a thread in there, within the broken seams.

Perhaps he has, because your voice quivers less, and there’s that golden touch of hope in it, refreshing and bright—somehow louder than the sobs he’s been striving to take from you all night.

“Okay,” you breathe. “O-okay, I’ll stay.”

Thing is, you never leave.

If not once or twice, with Simon in tow, carrying a few boxes in his hands with your initials scribbled on one side.

Until your books are on his shelves, your toothbrush on his sink, and your name on the doorbell, right next to his own.

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sttoru · 18 hours ago

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𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. caleb x female reader. fluff, suggestive/smut-ish, tiny bit of angst. not proofread. aftercare with boyfie caleb ^_^

caleb is nothing but sweet to you, in public and in private. but he’s especially considerate after he collapses on the bed, with both your bodies sweaty from the passion you shared. aftercare is mandatory to the colonel—it doesn’t matter when or where you two do it.

“you okay, sweets?” caleb’s voice is a rough rumble, his voice hoarse from exhaustion. you nod wordlessly while trying to calm down after your intense climaxes. his strong arms hold you against his chest with ease, “breathe in ‘n out, mhm, there ya go. atta girl.”

he watches you mimic his pattern of breathing and grins in response. you always blindly followed his instructions—that trust and vulnerability of yours is something he adores and wishes to keep that way. his large hand settles on the back of your head to pat your hair soothingly. you slowly come down from your high and limply rest your head against his hard pecs.

“you did so well, i’m really proud of you,” caleb pinches your cheek like he always does, making you huff and stick your tongue out at him playfully. your boyfriend chuckles before doing the same thing again. he can’t help it; you’re too adorable for your own good.

you shake your head and nuzzle your face into his chest. “mmmh, hurts,” you whine as you try to move your body. your hips are already sore from exertion and they ache whenever you try to move them an inch.

caleb’s eyes darken at your little whine. “hurts? where?” he cups your face immediately to tilt your head, your eyes locking. you’re a bit taken aback by the sudden change in his tone—from laid back to concerned and protective in a split second.

“ah, no, my hips are just a bit sore. nothing out of the ordinary,” you quickly reassure your lover. you know how overprotective caleb gets, and if he had accidentally hurt you in any way, he’ll feel extremely guilty for the rest of the day.

caleb’s frown slowly disappears, but the concern still lingers in his softening eyes. he sighs in relief and a small smile tugs at his lips. “i’m sorry, baby. i’ll make it up to you,” he croons with a breathy chuckle following right after.

his large hands, warm and callused from all that he experienced, settle on your bare hips to massage them. you hum in relief and your eyes close to enjoy the warmth spreading through your tired body.

a loud ringtone suddenly cuts through the lingering tension between you two, snapping you out of your daze. caleb faintly clicks his tongue before turning his head towards his nightstand. he grabs his phone with one hand to check the caller’s id.

the brown-haired man beneath you tenses up. you can feel it almost immediately. his other hand stops massaging your hip for a second before it continues, this time more slowly. caleb’s gaze is cold and his jaw is clenched as he tries to figure out what to do.

“not gonna pick up?” you ask curiously as you lift your head from his chest. caleb quickly tosses his phone away after pressing the red decline button. he shakes his head and that charming smile of his quickly returns to his face.

“nu-uh. no one’s more important than you,” caleb grins and boops your nose. it’s an attempt to distract you so you wouldn’t ask any more questions about the possible caller. and it seems to work, considering you laid your head back on his bare chest, snuggling up to his bare body beneath the crumpled sheets.

you breathe in his musk and can’t help but love it. the faint traces of his cologne mixed with the scent of his body—it’s a heady combination. caleb seems to do the same, his nose buried into the strands of your hair, breathing you in. you smell like home and he loves it, lives for it really.

eventually, you decide it’s time to detangle yourself from your lover. as much as you want to keep him inside and beneath of you, you need to clean up and go to the bathroom.

caleb hisses when you try to roll over and change positions which had caused you to instinctively clench around him. he tightens his muscular arms around your waist to keep you squished on top of him, refusing to let you move.

“stay like this for a little while more, yeah? i promise i’ll let you go in a bit,” caleb whispers in your ear before his tongue teasingly licks at your lobe. he smirks against your skin and you can feel it. you know it’s a lie—he will not let you go for the rest of the night. hell, he might even be ready to go another round.

even if he technically has to leave to take care of all kinds of things. things that will keep you safe and out of harm’s way.

anyway, caleb will deal with the consequences of skipping his duty later. for now he’ll settle to cherish this serene moment with his beloved, before reality comes crashing down again.

#sttoru writes.#lnds x reader #lnds smut #lnds fluff #caleb x reader #love and deepspace smut #caleb smut #caleb fluff #lnds caleb x reader #lnds mc #lnds fic #lnds imagine #lnds x female reader #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace fluff

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missdynamighttt · 13 hours ago

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kickin my feet and shi thinkin abt husband! katsuki not leaving without his goodbye kiss from his wife, even after an argument.

you stood by the kitchen counter with your arms crossed, still fuming from the argument that had erupted the night before.

katsuki, equally stubborn, was getting ready for work, his movements a little harsher than usual as he shoved his phone into his pocket and grabbed his keys.

neither of you had really spoken since the fight. it was stupid, really—something about schedules and plans.

"gotta go."

you heard the jingle of his keys as he walked toward the door. for a moment, you thought he was just going to leave. good. let him leave. maybe a day apart would cool both of you down.

but then, he just stopped.

you didn’t turn around, but you felt his presence by the door, unmoving. you were about to glance over your shoulder when his voice broke the silence.

“where’s my kiss?”

your heart stuttered. slowly, you turned to face him. "excuse me?"

"you heard me," katsuki grumbled, his ears tinged pink. "you always give me a kiss before i leave. so... where is it?"

your lips parted in disbelief. “we just argued for the whole night and you want a kiss?"

"yeah, and? doesn’t mean you can skip it."

the audacity. the nerve. you opened your mouth to tell him off, but the stubborn, almost childlike look on his face made your resolve crack.

he was dead serious. this man could be furious with you—could spend hours brooding in stony silence—but he still needed his goodbye kiss like it was a non-negotiable part of his day.

"katsuki, i’m still pissed at you."

"and i’m still pissed at you," he shot back, brows furrowing. "but we don’t leave without a goodbye kiss. that’s our thing and i’m not leavin’ without it."

he looked genuinely annoyed—and not just because of the argument.

ever since you’d started dating, no matter how bad the fight, you never let each other leave without a kiss. this was the kind of annoyance he reserved for things that threw him off his routine.

and apparently, your daily goodbye kiss was part of that routine.

still, you stayed put, stubborn as fuck. he shifted, gripping the keys tightly in his hand like it was the only thing stopping him from marching across the room.

you saw the conflict flash in his eyes—pride battling something softer.

"just...” he finally muttered, voice low and rough. “c’mere. please.”

that single, reluctant please just broke you.

with an exasperated sigh, you stomped over to him. he watched you carefully, guarded but hopeful. you stopped just inches away, folding your arms.

“this doesn’t mean i’m not still mad,” you mumbled.

“i know,” he said softly.

you placed your hands on his chest and stood on your tiptoes, giving him a quick, chaste kiss on the lips. or at least, you tried to. as you pulled away, his hand shot out, cupping the back of your neck.

“oi,” he said, voice losing its earlier irritation. “that ain’t a real kiss.”

you glared up at him, ready to argue, but the intensity in his eyes made your heart stutter. his thumb brushed the side of your neck as his grip softened.

"even if we fight," he muttered, voice lower now, "i still love ya. and i still want my kiss."

your chest tightened. damn him for being sweet after pissing you off.

you leaned in again, pressing your lips to his more firmly this time. he responded immediately, mouth warm against yours, his hand cupped the back of your head, deepening the kiss.

it wasn’t soft or tentative—it was desperate, almost punishing. his teeth scraped your bottom lip, and his tongue pushed into your mouth like he was trying to kiss the fight right out of you.

when you pulled away, his expression had softened, the hard lines of frustration melting into something quieter.

"i love you." he kissed your forehead, then straightened. “well?”

you raised an eyebrow. “well, what?”

his gaze darkened. “say it.”

you roll your eyes dramatically. "say what?"

his jaw clenched. "say you love me too. you don’t get to leave me hangin’ after all that kissin’ shit.”

a smirk tugged at your lips. oh, he was really fishing for it now. “i love you too, okay?”

the words barely left your mouth before his hand shot out, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you toward him.

"good," he muttered, before slamming his lips against yours in a another kiss that left you breathless. it wasn’t sweet or gentle—it was hungry, desperate, like he was trying to make up for lost time.

“wait, katsuki, you’re gonna be late—” you gasped against his mouth as his hands roamed down your body.

“fuck work. i’m late anyway," you tried to speak again, but he kissed you so hard it left no room for words.

the argument? forgotten. work? completely irrelevant. all that mattered was the way he was making you feel in that moment, pulling you closer, making your head spin.

his hands tugged at your clothes with an urgency that told you he wasn’t planning on letting you go anytime soon.

“got better things to do while my girl is pissed at me.”

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ hi everyone!! js wanna put this out as a thank you for the 2k follows, oh my gosh i am beyond happy i made it this far. hope yall stick around for more^^

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moonstruckme · 2 days ago

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Hi! So I have the issue where I’m not able to turn my brain off I guess and I’m having to constantly be aware of everything happening around me and managing everyone because if I don’t do it no one will. It’s so tiring to never have a minute to not be a very aware of every little thing. That being said, could I request a Remus or poly!marauders where reader is able to not be in constant manage mode? I know that’s really weird and if it’s too much just ignore this. Thank you for everything you do on here ❤️

Not weird! Very relatable actually haha. Thank you for requesting angel <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 823 words

“I like my system,” James says as you kneel in front of his suitcase, folding shirts. “My pants go on that side, then shirts in one corner and the rest in the other.”

“I don’t think it counts as a system if you’re just piling stuff in, Jamie.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well, doesn’t it bother you that they’re all wrinkled?” You frown, taking out a balled-up pair of trousers. It bothers you, and they’re not even your clothes.

“Not really, no. It’s a holiday, lovie, who am I trying to impress?”

“Um, me?” Sirius shoots a look across the bedroom. He’s busy stuffing things into his own suitcase on the other side of the bed.

“Oh, always,” James says gamely. “But you love me whether my shirts are wrinkled or not, don’t you?”

Sirius makes a wishy-washy noise that sees James tossing a pair of socks at his head. He dodges and they bounce to the floor.

“Did you remember your glasses cleaner?” you ask James, feeling about the pockets of his suitcase.

“All under control, angel. It’s in my backpack.”

“Perfect.” You finish neatly folding the last of his things and stand to kiss him. “Thanks.”

“Thank you. Though you didn’t have to fold my underwear, I could have managed that myself.”

“It was no problem.” You round the bed to where Sirius is packing, peering down at his suitcase.

He looks up with a raised brow. “Can I help you?”

“Are you packing your conditioner?”

Sirius’ other brow comes up to join the first. “Yes, I am. Do you have a problem with my hair smelling lovely?”

“No.” You smile, rolling your eyes when he pinches the back of your thigh playfully. “Just remember that it has to be under a hundred milliliters if you’re not checking your bag.”

“I’ve got it, doll. You worry about your milliliters, and I’ll worry about mine, m’kay?”

You hum. “And, um…”

“What?” Sirius’ tone is dry, but it’s all fondness in the tilt of his mouth as he looks up at you. “You gonna fold my underwear, too?”

“No, just, have you eaten? I don’t know if we’ll have time to eat at the airport.”

“I think Remus wants you, sweetness.”

“Hm?”

Sirius points with his chin, and you turn to find Remus watching you from the doorway to the bedroom. He looks a particular brand of appealing in his travel clothes. The trackies James got him for Christmas probably shouldn’t go so well with his overlarge jumper, but Remus being Remus, of course it works. He beckons you toward him.

“Oh, okay.” You glance back at Sirius one more time as you go. “Don’t forget to take your lighter out of your bag, security will take it away.”

“Love you too!”

“Hi,” you say to Remus, who wordlessly folds you into a hug as soon as you leave the bedroom. “Everything okay?”

He hums. “Everything’s great, yeah. Are you excited to go?”

You’re bemused but pleased by his hand running up and down your spine, his freshly shaven jaw pressed to your temple. “I am, yeah.”

“Mm. Relaxed?”

“I’m…yeah, sure.”

Remus chuckles softly. “You seem a bit strung up, lovely. Are you all packed?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Me too. Anything else you need to do before we go? Have you eaten?”

“I ate, yeah.” You glance back towards the bedroom, the movement almost involuntary. “I think I just need to make sure—”

“You’re all ready then?”

It’s not like Remus to cut you off, but when you turn back around his expression is all fond patience.

“I think so,” you say. “At least, my stuff is all done.”

“Perfect.” He kisses your head, then takes your hand, leading you away from your boyfriends. “Let’s relax for a bit while they finish up, then, yeah?”

You let Remus guide you to the couch. At first sitting, then curling up against his side, your head resting over the steady beat of his heart. His hand runs up and down your arm, and slowly the tension seeps out of you.

“Sorry,” you say after a while. “Was I being annoying?”

“No,” Remus reassures you. “Of course not. You’re only helping. You just don’t have to, you know?”

You cringe at yourself. At the clarity of hindsight. “Nobody asked for my help.”

“We’re adults,” he agrees. “We don’t need to be managed—or we shouldn’t. If Sirius packs too much conditioner, he can sort it out himself.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Remus tuts, kissing the top of your head. “Please don’t be sorry. We all just want you to be able to relax. Give yourself a break, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.” You snuggle closer to him, letting the last of the tension sap from your body. “That doesn’t sound so awful.”

“I’m glad.” The smile is audible in Remus’ voice. He rubs your arm again, encouraging you to relax further.

“But what if James doesn’t know—”

“Dove. He’ll figure it out.”

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rafesangelita · 23 hours ago

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♡ first encounter with sheriff!rafe

warnings: implied age gap (a pretty big one pls scroll if it’s not your thing), arguing, slut shaming, descriptions of mild injuries, excessive use of force, tending to wounds, flirty banter, rafe defends you, very slight fluff, mild humor, kissing

a/n: read more fics with sheriff!rafe here <3

wc: 2.1k

rafe couldn’t wait to get home already. after a long day of bullshit patrolling and knocking out a stack of paperwork as high as his waist, all he could think about was cracking open a cold beer and searing a steak for dinner while he watched football highlights on his poor excuse of a tv. he lived a relatively quiet life. having been the head deputy of his department for the last decade, everyone in town knew who he was and vice versa.

the town was so small, there really wasn’t any room for crime to actually take place. the line never rang for anything else except a few noise complaints, petty theft, and drunken fights breaking out at the local bar. there was nothing profoundly exciting about his job, or life for that matter; until one fated night sheriff thornton was dragging you into the station. you were cussing at topper, calling him every name in the book as he basically threw you into a holding cell.

you yelped, glaring at topper from under your lashes. “fuck you! you have the dumbest haircut i’ve ever seen, asshole!” rafe lifted his head once he heard the commotion, his eyes finding you in an instant. topper snorted, leaning down so he was in your face. “yeah? well you’re the one in high heels and knee high socks with your tits hanging out, you’re the sluttiest thing i’ve seen since i first got my hands on a playboy magazine.” he scoffed, walking off before you could rebuttal.

rafe heard every single word that topper told you, his chest growing hot as he shook his head. although he didn’t know what you were arrested for, he didn’t think anyone, let alone topper, had the right to tell you any of those things. as soon as topper was out of sight, rafe watched the way you looked down at your lap, a small pout forming on your lips as you felt exposed. you wore a mini skirt and tube top thinking you’d be spending your night at a party, not in a fucking sheriff station.

your arms were scratched up from when topper had you pinned down in the rubble just outside of the abandoned house where jj maybank’s kegger took place. he had a knee pressing down into your back and you still manged to slip out from under him, his grip on your shirt finally giving him the opportunity to cuff your wrists. you scanned the room, everyone’s eyes practically glued to your nearly naked form. rafe included.

he watched you shudder, cursing under his breath once he realized he couldn’t stand to look at you for another second without doing something. “thornton.” rafe got up from his seat, motioning towards his office. “what is she in here for?” topper glanced over at you, a laugh falling from his lips. “resisting arrest, and assault to a police officer.” rafe’s eyebrows knitted in confusion as he gave topper a once over. “assault on an officer? you look fine to me.”

“oh, not me, ‘kelce is the one with the icepack on his cheek.” rafe looked past the sheriff in front of him, an amused smile gracing his lips once he saw kelce walk out of the back with a bag full of ice. “send her in here.” was all he said before taking a seat behind his desk. rafe gritted his teeth when he saw the way topper yanked you up like rag doll, the force making you trip over your feet. you pulled away from topper the second you got into rafe’s office, the man in front of you clenching his fists at his sides. “shut the door.”

you stood there until you heard the click of the lock, your cheeks heating once you saw rafe’s eyes raking down your figure. “what happened to your arms?” he walked over and closed the blinds before taking the master key from his belt loop. “ask sheriff thornton.” you scoffed. rafe grumbled something under his breath before he moved the chair out in the corner of the room for you to sit. “if i uncuff you are you going to slug me like poor kelce out there?”

the corner of rafe’s lips twitched when he heard your laugh, the sound making something stir in his chest. “if you don’t give me shit about my outfit, no.” rafe nodded, deciding you were pretty much harmless against him if you decided to act out again. “speaking of that..” rafe unlocked the cuffs, stepping away from you so he could grab the large leather jacket that hung on the back of his chair. “i’m gonna turn around so you could fix yourself up a little bit.”

you blinked, looking around even though you two were concealed from everyone’s view. pulling up the neck line of your top, you quickly fixed your skirt so the soft curves of your ass weren’t peeking out from under the hem anymore. “you done?” you hummed, accepting the comically large jacket he draped over your shoulders. “i’m gonna ask you a few questions, you alright with that?” you stayed silent, only nodding as he took out a notepad and pen.

“do you have any kind of identification on you? a state id, maybe a driver’s license?” rafe’s voice was rather calm, a stark contrast to the two idiots who yelled at you the whole ride over here. “i did, but i dropped my purse and they didn’t let me get it back. i think my best friend has it right now.” rafe scribbled down ‘dumb and dumber’ on his piece of paper, officially adding them to his shit list. “okay then, can i get your full name please?”

you obliged, taking off your heels and your socks in the process. rafe didn’t bat an eye when his gaze trailed down your bare legs. however, he froze once he heard your last name. there was only one person with that name, and him and that person go way, way back. “was your dad a football star in highschool?” you rolled your eyes at the reminder. “ugh, yes, that’s all he ever talks about.. his ‘golden days’” you stood up, crossing your arms over your chest as you inspected all the certificates and awards framed on the walls.

“oh, man, me and him played together! i always thought he would go off to university or something, he was just amazing out on that field.” rafe marveled, his mind flooding with old memories of celebrating championships and chugging beers at a random ranch parties. “nope. he met my mommy, fell in love, and i was here in no time.” rafe hummed, inspecting you closely. “so how old are you, y/n?” you swallowed thickly, sparing him a glance. “old enough.”

“old enough to drink?” he shot back, making you groan. “if you’re going to charge me and call my dad then just do it, i don’t need the lecture.” you sat down again, this time wincing when your elbows hit the arm rest of the chair. rafe hated how much his partners roughed you up, he knew it wasn’t right. sighing through his nose, rafe pulled out his first aid kit before motioning you to come over. “take a seat right here.” he patted the empty spot on the hardwood of his desk, helping you climb up before sitting between your thighs.

despite the position being really compromising, you didn’t feel unsafe having him this close. “i’m not going to charge you, and i don’t want you to get in trouble with your old man, so i’m gonna propose a deal and whether you decide to take it or not, that’ll determine how this night ends.” he opened up an alcohol wipe before taking your arm and gliding the small towelette over your wounded skin. “i’m listening..” you trailed off, studying his facial features.

“you take a vow; right here, right now, that you’ll never leave the house again in this skirt and i’ll also drop the assault charge against my officer.” you laughed, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you spread your thighs further apart. rafe’s jaw clenched, his resolve and restraint holding on by a thread. “how come? you don’t like it?” you feigned a sad expression, leaning back on your hands. rafe cursed when the material of your red, lacey thong peeked out, his eyes flickering up to meet your own.

“no, i like it a lot, actually,” he swallowed thickly, “which is exactly why it’s not a good idea to wear it.” your breath shuddered when you felt his hand softly skim your flesh. “okay, deal—” there was a knock at the door, both you and rafe pulling away from each other as if you two were doing something you weren’t supposed to, and in a way you guessed you were. you scrambled to the chair as rafe cleared his throat awkwardly. “yes?” he opened the door, in walking kelce as he threw daggers at you.

“i got the paperwork for this one to be processed. ‘let this be a learning experience that you can’t just punch cops in the face.” he threw down the hefty stack of papers, a smile playing on your lips as rafe grabbed your socks and heels from the floor. “well, you have to be quicker than that next time. i’m escorting her home.” kelce reeled back, his eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “what?!” rafe rose a hand before leading you out of the room by the small of your back.

“if you and thornton ever do so much as raise your voice or lay an ungentle hand on her again, you’ll both be suspended without pay. understood?” kelce narrowed his gaze, meeting your smug grin before giving rafe a curt nod. “yes, sir.” you winked at him before rafe walked you outside and opened the door to his cruiser. without a word, rafe turned on his radio and rolled the windows down before driving to the address you gave him.

so there you were, your feet in your new favorite sheriff’s lap, the wind blowing wildly through your hair as his favorite track blasted through the speakers. you felt something in you switch when you studied his side profile. sheriff cameron was all man. small waist, broad shoulders, deliciously huge biceps, he was it. instinctively, you rubbed your heel over his groin, his jaw clenching as he stopped you, wrapping a rough hand around your ankle.

“i have no ulterior motives with you. don’t feel inclined.” you smiled. of course he didn’t. just as you were going to keep up your ministrations, you saw your house coming up in the distance, your heart sinking at the sight. you didn’t want to go home yet. “well, this is you.” he sighed, rolling up just out front. rolling your eyes, you sat up straight, crossing your arms over your chest. “thank you.” rafe looked over at you, his eyes scanning over your form.

“you’re welcome.” god, the air was thick with tension. “so, uhm—” you cut him off, pressing a kiss to his lips before you could think, the coarse hair of his mustache tickling your nose. rafe was stunned, his grip tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. you tasted like cherries that were picked in the summertime, a groan rumbling from his chest before he gave in, pulling you from the passenger seat and onto his lap.

laying your hands flat on his chest, you leaned back slightly, allowing him to plant his large palms in the curves of your hips. both of you jumped when the honk sounded, a laugh bursting from your throat when you saw his eyes grow wide. “you’re gonna get us in trouble!” he scolded, basically tossing you back in the seat next to him. you were full on giggling now, pointing a red painted fingernail at him. “look at your face!” you tossed your head back, the tips of his ears flustered with a deep shade of pink.

“your old man can wake up and come out here!” he whispered. “and do what? call the cops?” he stared at you for a moment, resisting the urge to break out into a smile. deciding you better head upstairs before your father gets up to check on the ruckus outside, you hooked your heels between your fingers, adjusting the huge jacket that currently swallowed your frame. “i wanna see you again.” you blurted out, the porch light flickering on. “i do too,” rafe agreed, “but i don’t know when i can—”

you waved him off, running up the porch stairs before your father could come outside. “i have your jacket, so it looks like we have to meet up again anyways!” rafe caught your drift, wasting no time in peeling off onto the dirt road, his heart pounding with adrenaline. what the hell just happened? an hour ago he was bored out of his mind, wanting nothing more than to get home, and now he couldn’t wait for it to be the next day so he could get you back in his car.

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norikuna · 3 days ago

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DAYLIGHT! ☓ ── ( 呪術廻戦, multi )

⌗ valentines day with the sorcerer you love <3

ᯓ starring ─ jjk ensemble cast : gojo, geto, nanami, choso, sukuna, toji, ino, kashimo, hiromi

𝓶𝓾𝓵𝓽𝓲. ㅤ﹑ ( 呪術廻戦 ; x afab!reader ) ─── ❛ cw ⌓. sfw. wc ⌓. 2k. art, sea_Pall

﹙ 五条悟 : gojo satoru ﹚ ─ probably the type to pretend that he's forgotten valentines day to mess with you, acting clueless all morning. but he's dropping the entire extravagant surprise later for sure, including a red rose bouquet that could pay a month of rent, all your favourite chocolates and fireworks ! pretends not to sniffle and tear up when you give him your own gift, because for all his bravado it means a lot to him that you love him just as much. he just wants to see you happy, and he puts serious effort into making valentines day special, even if he hides it behind jokes and teasing. got a custom-made gift, something like a charm bracelet with small jewels and charms that represent all your favourite things. also the type to do shit like buying you a star in your name, right next to his because he thinks the idea of cosmic soulmates is so romantic. late at night, when it's just the two of you, he drops the jokes and tells you, 'you're the best part of my life, y'know.' and he means that with all his heart.

﹙ 夏油傑 : geto suguru ﹚ ─ complains about valentines day a bit, because he doesn't see what's so different about feb 14, but he still indulges it. if you're bad at giving gifts, he'll pretend to love whatever you give him, even if it's...awful. he prefers quality time over material gifts honestly, and he plans a quiet date where he can spend as much time as possible with you, over tea or expensive wine. but that's not to say that he doesn't put effort into a gift. it's definitely thoughtful and catered to your taste, and probably more sentimental instead of flashy (like chasing down your favourite author with rainbow dragon just to get an autograph on a copy of your favourite book). clasps your hands with his to kiss you, and tell you that he loves being with you because you give him peace.

﹙ 両面宿儺 : ryomen sukuna ﹚ ─ "why would i celebrate a human holiday?" but when you woke up, there was a velvet box beside you on your pillow, and he acts like he has no idea how it got there ('oh, it was just uraume, it wasn't me' and then he goes and gets all upset when you go thank uraume instead). he doesn't get the idea of giving flowers either, because well, they all die in the end right? but he knows they make you happy, so he's still chasing after the prettiest bouquet he can find. he'll never admit it, but he's obsessively protective over you, so the fact that he's even acknowledging valentines day means that you're special to him. the type to haul around a box of a hundred doves so you can open it as a surprise, and watch as all these birds fly all over your apartment. late at night, when no-one's around, he traces circles on your wrist and tells you that he doesn't do love, but whatever this is, he doesn't want it to end.

﹙ 七海建人 : nanami kento ﹚ ─ he tries to be serious about valentine's day, but gojo keeps texting him ridiculous gift ideas that keep fucking with his composure. if you surprise nanami with something romantic, he'll turn slightly pink and peachy, and say that 'this is unnecessary' but he won't stop smiling the rest of the day (#needthat). even though he's not a fan of big celebration, he wants you to feel appreciated. he probably goes down the classic route of a perfectly planned dinner, your favourite flowers, and a handwritten card -> the type of husband material where he attends one of those artsty card making/flower pressing classes just to make something for you with his own hands. when he pulls you close at the end of the night, he whispers to you that he doesn't need a special day to remind him of how much he loves you.

﹙ 伏黒甚爾 : toji fushiguro ﹚ ─ he asked what you wanted for valentines day and you said that you wanted him oiled up in the dining table. and toji's the type to lowk take that seriously, because that's kinda cost effective for him too. but he does genuinely try to do something nice and heads over to a shopping centre of stores that are way out of his pay grade, and tries to bat his pretty, green eyes into some type of discount. the sales assistants don't argue with a man built like an mma fighter wandering around the jewellery section. even if the two of you don't go out, he wants you to feel safe and secure, and he'll keep an arm around you all day. after everything toji's been through, you're the one thing that makes him feel human again. "i didn't think i'd ever have this," he tells you, holding you against him.

﹙ 脹相 : choso kamo ﹚ ─ doesn't quite the holiday, and choso just wonders if it's some sort of human ritual that he's not quite grasping. tries way too hard to make it perfect, but it's all the more endearing. choso was convinced he could handle a homemade dinner, but he burnt it so bad that gordan ramsey would have a stroke. but he was determined to bullshit his way through it, "what do you mean, babe? this is how it's meant to taste." all said with a straight face, the gall! picks out flowers based on their meanings because he wants them to represent all the real love and feelings in his heart. he's such a pda type of guy, always clinging to you and intertwines your fingers with his as he leads you around. definitely sees you as the most precious thing in the world, and he just cannot believe he has someone as incredible as you <3

﹙ 猪野琢真 : ino takuma ﹚ ─ is determined to figure out valentines day himself, without getting advice from other people (like nanami) but in the end, he finds himself tweaking out and trying to plan the perfect day for you. accidentally bought something that was really cute, little and bejewelled because he thought it would look gorgeous on your neck. didn't realise until afterwards that he picked it up from the pet accessory tub, and desperately hopes you don't realise. he spends the whole day just wanting to make you laugh, because if you're happy, he's happy. even if he does mess something up, it's just endearingly sweet and he makes up for it with pure enthusiasm. he gets all soft and melty when you reciprocate his feelings, and he tells you that he knows he's not perfect, but you make him want to be better.

﹙ 鹿紫雲 : hajime kashimo ﹚ ─ he kind of has a reputation to keep up, and rolls his eyes at the mention of valentines day. but no-one knows that back in the day (aka, the edo period in the 1600s) he was actually into things like poetry and courtly love. unfortunately, he's also an adrenaline junkie and you regret showing him the movie 'twisters' because he truly thinks storm chasing is a fun and romantic activity. he goes out and buys you something that he knows you'll actually use, more practical sort of gifts. he actually tries to go and pick flowers for you himself, instead of buying them. tries to act smug and above it all, but gets all nervous and twitchy when you compliment him and gift him something in return. almost started sweating and getting a headache when you told him that you loved him because he realised that now he actually has to be equally open about his (equal) feelings. of course, you know that hajime does love you but you just think its funny watching him go nauseous and pale at the idea of emotional vulnerability. its good to let the cocky man sweat a bit, good for character building.

﹙日車寛見 : higuruma hiromi ﹚ ─ a classy man (want him) and he treats valentines day with plenty of elegance. he's definitely secured an expensive and well-thought out gifts like a rare book, perfume, or a beautiful fountain pen (or all three). he takes you out to a fancy jazz bar, where he treats you to the prettiest cocktails and kisses your hand softly. he's surprisingly affection behind closed doors, and purrs when you run your fingers through his dark hair. also goes pretty shy when you flirt with him and get ridiculously affection, like he's pulling on his tie and trying to hide the red flush on his neck. your valentines day with hiromi ends with you and him laughing over a glass of pricey wine. he thought he was so clever for writing you a little note like 'roses are red, violets are blue, if you ever get arrested, i'll be there for you :)'

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dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling · 3 days ago

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Huge thanks to hattiemagix for commissioning this!

Doey & motherly fem reader

★ When Doey first met the reader, he was immediately wary of her. Her kind nature was unfamiliar and he couldn't tell if it was an act or not, it made him suspicious. Even though he liked it when you were around he tried to keep his distance. Can you really blame him? He’s met a lot of people who’ve pretended to be nice, only for them to end up hurting him.

★ Doey tested the reader's boundaries to see if her kindness was genuine. Slowly challenging her patience. "Let's see how long she can keep this up," he thought, observing her reactions closely. Shurely she would slip and show her true colors.

★ Even though it was a tad annoying, you were still patient with him. You never raised your voice or showed anger, even when he was acting difficult. Whether it was explaining something for the hundredth time or dealing with his defensive attitude, you remained steadfast in your kindness.

★ He started to realize that the reader genuinely cared for his well-being. Something he’s not at all used to. Doey never expected to meet someone, an ex-employee no less, who would try so hard to make him feel safe. He misses having someone to look after him, it's been so long, he almost forgot what it's like to be cared for.

★ After that he quickly got used to you, your presence became a comfort. As the days in the factory slowly passed he grew even closer to you. Soon enough he started seeing you as an adoptive mother. But he decided to keep that to himself, for now at least, he wouldn't want to make you feel uncomfortable.

★ If anything were to happen to you, he would be devastated. If you need to leave the Safe Haven, Doey becomes visibly anxious. He begins clinging to you, reluctant to let you go. He asks you to make a promise to stay safe and be careful. The thought of losing you fills him with dread."Promise me you'll be careful, okay? I need to know you'll come back safe”

★ After defeating the Doctor and the Prototype you bring him, and many of the other toys, home with you. Because of course you had to bring Kissy, Poppy and those who called the Safe Haven home out of the factory where they were starving.

★ Doey feels a mix of emotions—relief, uncertainty, and a bit of excitement—as he steps into the reader's home "This is... home?" he asks, looking at the various objects you have hung up and strewn about. “Of course” you declare, looking at him as he turns his head. Doey’s expression unreadable, “that is, If you want it to be.” you quickly add.

★ And of course he stays with you! Where else would he go? He's so attached to you he couldn't imagine living anywhere else. By this point, it was clear as day that he needed you around. The way he beams when you compliment him or how he always lingers by you gave it away.

★ After spending the past 10 years in the abandoned shell of a factory, Doey is very eager to make up for lost time. He's really excited to try something new. You take the opportunity to teach him various domestic skills. His new favorite thing is baking with you!

★ He still has nightmares about the factory. When Doey wakes up from a nightmare he's immediately disoriented and filled with fear, the trauma of the factory still lingering in his mind. His breathing is heavy and a sense of panic is overwhelming him. His panicked cries always wake you up.

★ You’re quick to comfort him, rushing to his side and hugging him close "It was just a bad dream. You're okay, and nothing can hurt you here." your gentle touch helped to ground him, "It's okay, Doey. I'm here. You're safe now." it's working, because now his cries have dissolved into a quieter whimper.

★ To help Doey calm down, the reader reaches for his favorite book, "The Adventures of Word Wizard." She knows how much the story means to him and starts reading aloud, her voice steady and comforting. As she continues, doey feels his eyelids grow heavy.

★ Just before he falls asleep, Doey murmurs softly, "Goodnight, Mom." The reader smiles softly, her heart melting from Doey's words. For the rest of the night, he sleeps soundly, knowing he's safe and cared for.

#poppy playtime x reader #player poppy playtime #poppy playtime #poppy playtime chapter four #poppy playtime headcanon #poppy playtime fanfic #doey #doey x player #doey x reader #doey the doughman #poppy playtime doey #ppt x player #ppt x reader #ppt doey

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pricegouge · 3 days ago

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shovel talk

it's not even six in the morning and yet the shovel grates across the walkway, grit of pebbles beneath its steel edge scraping and catching. it balks in unsteady hands, tries again with another drawn out rasp before meeting the wall of the bank. trembling as it rises, it spills a portion its spare load back across the pavers before being tipped meticulously atop the mountain of snow that runs parallel the walk. she lets the shovel fall carelessly ahead of her and grits her teeth, rises an inch and scoots forward minutely, dragging the cheap lawn chair she's been perched on along by a hand shoved between her knees, gripping the seat. it scrapes just as much as the shovel, heavy with implication. she's not even wearing a proper jacket, just a flannel over a zip up hoodie, the wool weave of her button up already beaded with melted snow.

she looks ornery and mulish, but so are you and you can't just keep walking past.

clear blue eyes turn on you when you call to her, ask if you can help. her hands might shake but her gaze is level, taking you in from head to toe before scooting herself along another inch. "shouldn't be doin' that," she advises, voice croaky in her old age.

"neither should you," you counter, nodding at her makeshift mobility aid. it teeters when she turns to chuckle at you, though she hides it in a cough. stubborn old bat, you can already tell.

"anyway my son will be here soon."

pursing your lips, you look the walk over properly. the poor woman's already done over half of it - how late is the son exactly? but you don't comment on it, step closer when her shovel catches on a shelf of ice instead. "give it here, please," you offer rather diplomatically. she frowns apprehensively but does as told, shuffling her seat back a smidge to give you room to work. it takes a couple tries but you catch the bottom edge of the ice, ply it back and huck it over the bank easily enough. it thunks as it sinks through the snow, a real ice breaker.

"and here i'd pegged you for some soft, sweet thing," she laughs, sheepish.

"must've loosened it for me," you shrug, and turn to finish the walk while she's distracted, laughing herself into a minor coughing fit. "should you go inside?" you offer, unsure if it's a good suggestion seeing as that would leave some strange woman alone on her front lawn.

thankfully she just waves you off as she calms herself down, heavy breaths clouding around her like the smoke that's probably catching up to her. "can't. gotta take credit for your work when my son gets here."

"oh, i see how it is," you snark, and purposefully leave a good quarter inch on the paver, a base level that will freeze solid soon enough and create another sheet of ice for her to struggle with in the future.

she just eyes you, thin eyebrow pulled low on a once-heavy brow. she may be old and frail but it's a sort of sternness that doesn't dull with age and you can only smile to yourself as you fix it. no wonder her son still comes by to help. "he running late?" you ask conversationally, nod up the path where she's already done most of the work by way of explanation when she hmm's at you.

"oh, no. he'll be two hours early, probably. which is why i'm out here three hours early. a woman's got to have her pride, after all."

you nod along as if that's reasonable. "well what's he gonna do when he gets here, then?"

"fix my water heater," she gripes. "say, you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

it earns an unladylike snort from you, but you don't think she's the type to mind. "'fraid not."

the stoop is easy enough, just a quick swipe to clean the steps. you note the name above the door with some interest, a misplaced desire to keep tags on her, come back and check maybe. "got any salt, mrs. price?"

she motions you toward the open garage behind her but sticks a hand out for help as you pass. her grip is surprisingly strong on your forearm, the fingers of her other hand digging into your tricep almost cruelly when she uses you to drag herself up. you snatch the lawn chair up before she can even try it, nod toward the garage questioningly.

"next to the overhead, please," she agrees, and you find the bucket of salt right beside it, an empty coffee can already filled and ready for dispensing. when you emerge from the garage, there's a truck parked out front.

"give me that," mrs. price hisses and you jump to find her so close, already snatching the can from your fingers. old bat can still move.

the driver's door creaks when it closes. you can only see the top of a blue beanie from over the roof of it but mrs. price doesn't wait to see him before hollering at her son. "i thought you wouldn't be here until nine!?"

tall and burly with his mother's same stern brow, price junior rounds the corner of his truck and frowns between the two of you."and i thought you didn't like when other people shoveled for you," he counters before tacking on a quick hi pet towards you.

"hi -."

"who's shoveled for me?" she demands, motioning up the walk with another spray of salt. "did this all on my own."

he hums as he comes closer, boots crunching over the thin dusting of snow that still coats the driveway. you sincerely hope mrs. price didn't shovel all that, but judging by the banks that line the drive you suspect a service was likely hired. why they couldn't take an extra two minutes to clear an old lady's walkway you'd never know. you think maybe the son is wondering the same, the way he's inspecting the short stretch critically, but when he opens his mouth it's not at all meant to insult the snow removal service. "you're losing your touch, woman."

you're unsure who's more offended, yourself or his mother. "what's wrong with it?" you blurt, unheeding of the way mrs. price elbows you again.

"i've done a fine job," she supplies, trying to save face.

he just tilts his head at her patronizingly, rocks up onto his toes to appear unnecessarily bigger. "you've forgotten we're expecting more snowfall soon. you'll want to widen the walk to push the banks back, make it easier to shovel out the next storm."

this ass. "well if you'd wanted it done right, you should have shown up on time," you huff, unreasonably defensive of the quick job you'd done.

he's still got that insufferable expression on when he turns to you, but you think you see an edge of something playful glimmering in his clear blue eyes, that same expression his mother had worn when she'd asked if you could perhaps also take his job fixing her water heater. "'on time' would be hours from now," he reminds you. "would you have had this all fixed by then?"

the worst part is, calling him out on the insult would mean admitting you'd done it, and you're suddenly very aligned with this man's mother re: his versus her pride. instead you turn his own words back on him, leaning close to your new friend to ask her if she's going to take that.

she chuckles. "oh, don't mind him. john here's just scared because he knows his job is at risk."

you watch john frown between the two of you, the furrow between his brows deepening in a way which brings you too much pleasure. part of you wants to stay, keep carving away at his pride, but you're now running late for work and you still have a few blocks to walk. "well, it was lovely to meet you, mrs. price," you say with an overly formal shake of her hand.

"pleasure doing business," she agrees with a wry smile. "see you again bright and early next snow storm."

john doesn't budge to let you pass, instead squints down at you in open assessment. you note his cheeks are rosy with the cold and you briefly hope he gets stuck outside fixing the damn walk, cold wind stinging the chapped apples of cheeks which his ridiculous beard doesn't quite cover. they scrunch up when he affects a smile, lend a sort of disarmingly childish quality to the patronizing tone he still can't quite drop. it just pisses you off even more. "didn't actually catch your name," he prompts, gloved hand extended, as if attempting to continue the ruse.

"that's because i didn't give it," you chirp in your best customer service voice. you brush past him when he can only blink in confusion, the contrast between your words and your tone evidently too much for him to process so early in the morning.

"she usually pays me with breakfast if you want to stick around!" he calls after you, far too late to start acting sweet.

you nearly slip in your haste to spin around and fix him with an overly saccharine smile. "oh, i already ate. got here at five," you lie, just to watch his face crumble into genuine concern.

behind him, his mother's thin mouth twists into a cheshire grin and you stumble away before she can solidify any real plans.

too bad she's just as stubborn and ornery as you.

too bad john's worse than both of you.

#idk i just wanna make him fall in love with someone who would absolutely hate him irl (me)#price x reader #shovel talk #captain john price x reader #john price x reader

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thatiswhy · 1 day ago

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I was WORSE. I was so much worse, holy shit.

Some things were done for me as far as the material conditions went (eg. cafeteria food and my parents took care of the mental and financial load of overheads), but I had barely any control of my life, didn't have any money of my own and was living in a world where I would have to put in years of work to entertain the idea that my wishes (as far as sexuality, career, way of life in general) even existed, let alone that they may not be aligned with what I was raised to... well, not consider. There is no consideration. Things just are. And if they are not (trash, you are excluding yourself from normalcy on purpose, either through lack of discipline or lack of intelligence to recognise the superior way), or not exactly like that (somehow worse, you were so close, if you weren't an utter failiure on purpose you could have scraped into acceptability, but nooooooo, you chose to be lazy about it), then you may as well die, but don't kill yourself, that would shed an infavourable light on the family. "What will people say" is poison, poison, poison!

You can't be your own person under someone else's thumb. You will live messily and suffer a lot, but it will be so much better even so, you can build yourself up, nobody else can do it for you, but getting to know you is priceless.

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theorist-fox · 2 days ago

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I keep thinking about Simon and how impassive he is.

Bit of a brute.

Socially inept (because he doesn't want to be social, not because he can't be).

Dispassionate. Bored. Like he'd rather be anywhere else.

Bastard at times. Measuredly. Likes to keep people on their toes about that.

But God, does Simon kiss like you might die tomorrow.

He grabs your jaw, cocks your head back and dips in.

Opens your lips with the tip of his tongue and he's not gentle with it.

That's where he pours all his passion into: open-mouthed kisses that make your knees buckle every time. The flat of his tongue on yours, his gaze hooded at first, watching intently to see how he can make you come undone. Only to shut the world out later, drawing in a deep breath as his lids finally fall closed.

His hands match the fervour of his mouth; they pull you in, curve in the hollow of your spine, clutching at your clothes. His fingers in your hair, tilting your neck sideways or however he pleases, just so he can deepen a kiss that's already breathtaking.

Sometimes, he pushes your back to the wall, wrists snatched and trapped above your head using only one of his big paws, while the other one busies itself with your breasts or your tummy. Palm chock full of you—rolls, flesh, cotton (if it's still in the way and he hasn't ripped it off of you yet).

You're fully aware that you could breathe through it all, no biggie, but somehow you can't. He nullifies whatever survival instinct you have the moment he takes hold of you and crashes his lips to yours.

And by the time he's done, your knees are weak and your panties are wet.

To him, this is not inherently sexual. It's just the way he does it—and as you bloody well know, Simon never half-asses a single thing.

Not even kissing you goodbye as he leaves for work in the morning.

#i am brain rotting over simon riley again #stared at the wall all evening #and imagined how he would come back home and just kiss his partner until their cheeks would heat up like a furnace #Simon Riley please be real #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #cod #call of duty #ghost x reader #drabble #cod fluff #call of duty modern warfare #fanfic #x reader #foxy

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okwonyo · 1 day ago

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THE COCKROACH──── ୨୧ 성훈𓈒

✶ 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝑜𝑛𝑒⠀ㅤ𓈒⠀ 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝖻𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖾. 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖾.

neighbor!sunghoon & fem!rea 1OOO potential future relationship ㅇㅅㅇ skinship ⎯⎯ recue𝒾l

嘉 ܃ this is so silly and this isn’t my best work but .. i like it 🎀

reblogs ♡ feedbacks please + daily

being overdramatic has never been one of your characteristics. despite what some of your friends say, you think that you are rather rational when it comes to your emotions as well as the way you manage them.

you know how to control your fear especially. you swear, you are not the kind to get scared of the smallest things. fear doesn’t take over you easily at all.

however, if there was something that you could admit, it would be your dislike for certain creatures and your blood’s tendency to go cold at the sight of them.

it isn’t your fault, whenever you see one of those barely noticeable insects with multiple legs and arms, you can’t restrain disgust to get to you. and yes, seeing one of them always makes you scream at the top of your lungs. today is no different.

that scream is loud enough to make your throat hurt a tad. it keeps on getting worse the longer you look at the cockroach in front of you. when it moves on your not-so-brand-new apartment’s floor, you run out of your own home.

perhaps, you aren’t thinking straight or perhaps, it’s just the way you are— but you find yourself jumping in the arms of the first person you encounter, without taking a look at their face first.

your entire weight landing onto them without any warning doesn’t make them stumble, therefore you assume they are muscular.

under your fingertips, you feel their muscles, their broad shoulders are comfortable enough for your arm wrapped around them. it must be a man, you can tell at that.

as well as by his deep voice when he asks, “what’s going on?”

it is as if you are at a higher altitude than you were when you stand on your couch earlier. he is well built and tall, which is impressive. but it is not your main concern.

“i’m sorry, it’s just that—” you start, a little out of breath. you want to continue, but you turn your head towards the man and your breath catches. half of your voice dies in your chest, “there is a cockroach in my apartment.”

the man who lives in the apartment in front of yours looks right back at you. you observed him often since you moved in a few weeks ago, but you never caught his name.

it’s the first time you see him out of his work suit, including the first time you see him without the black tank top he wears at the gym. his long hair is quite messy, he isn’t wearing his glasses. on top of everything, he doesn't look bothered by your position in the slightest.

“do you need any help?” the handsome man offers. funnily enough, you are confused about what he is talking about.

however, he is too beautiful for you to refuse, “uh, yeah.”

your neighbor manages to make you stand back on the floor without you noticing. you are too absorbed in staring at him to see anything else. your eyes follow him while he gets into your apartment.

from behind him, you can see how broad his shoulders actually are, bigger than you thought they were, wider than when you see them from afar while you work out. he is even taller than you thought, taller than when you watch him get into the elevator on his way home.

you follow him like it’s not where you live, standing behind him and peeking at the paper cup that you used as jail for the ugly insect.

his big figure protects you so you feel safe enough to say, “it’s in that paper cup.”

the said paper cup moves slightly and you gasp. at the sound you let out, the man’s arm raises slightly beside him in a protective gesture.

“stay behind me,” he tone is soft as he starts speaking again. “i’ll take care of it.”

you don’t know him at all. yet, seeing him walking towards the spray on the table next to the trapped cockroach makes you understand what a wife feels when she sees her husband leaving for war.

attractiveness lays in his moves, how he rolls up his sleeves, how he squats down almost nonchalantly, how he sprays the cockroach in the paper cup. everything he does makes your heartbeats go faster.

you spend most of your time admiring the beauty in front of you than anything else. your gaze lingers on his exposed forearms, on his side profile, on his fingers. your heart burst in your chest when his voice reaches you:

with a reassuring and victorious grin, “i think it’s dead.”

you stare at him in pure admiration. with more admiration than when you see him lift seventy bench at the gym. “thank you so much, uh—”

your knight in shining armor begins to come back to you with his grin still plastered on his face. “sunghoon.”

“a–ah, right!” you say in an awkward laugh. “how can i repay you?”

sunghoon stops in the middle of his way back to you to put the spray on the tabe again, “there is no need,” he chuckles, in most beautiful way you have heard. “i didn’t do much.”

you want to protest but he gets well too close for you to think straight.

“it’s going to take a while before it dies properly, though,” he continues. “and you shouldn’t stay there. because of the toxic product you know?”

you didn’t know that. still, you nod at his words.

“so..” the tall man looks like he is waiting for you to understand something, where he is going. but you don’t— maybe it’s because of the said toxic product or the otherworldly guy in front of you.

he bites his lower lip when he realizes that you are still confused. he finishes his sentence with a huge smile that showcases all his teeth, fangs included.

“do you want to come to my apartment and wait?” it must be written all over your face, how you didn’t expect this outcome in the slightest. because his smile gets wider, “we’ll come back later to see if the cockroach is really dead.”

your stomach flutters, your tongue gets tangled. being so smooth and straight forward wasn’t what you expected him to be.

it’s hard but you manage to choke out, “s–sure.”

taglist open + net— @sgz-net

#⠀𝑓 ⟡⠀命运’𝑠 ⠀#enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen headcanons #enhypen drabbles #enhypen smau #sunghoon #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon oneshots #sunghoon headcanons #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon soft hours #sunghoon soft thoughts #sunghoon drabbles

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enwoso · 3 days ago

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would you do one where lovie is sick and wants Leah and not Alessia which surprises her

SEEKING SOLACE | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

grumpy masterlist

alessia had always been fiercely protective of you, as her daughter as someone who had became a mum young she had, slowly, become accustomed to the late night fevers, the endless cuddles on the couch and the soft whispers of reassurance.

but nothing could have prepared her for your tiny voice broke the quiet hum of your home this evening.

it had started with a small cough that morning while your mummy was having the weekly coffee morning catch up with the arsenal girls before training begun, a small sniffle coming from you here and there.

but by the afternoon and you were back home you were a shivering bundle of blankets. your face flushed with the heat of the fever which was quickly forming.

alessia had done her best to comfort you, offering you a warm bath and a cosy evening on the couch. the evening wore on and it became clear that your fever was getting worse.

alessia was used to being the one who you turned to and relied on, the one who wiped away your tears when you were upset and somehow find a way to make everything better. but as you settled on the couch, cuddled into your mummy side as she drew patterns on your back.

alessia was taken by surprise when your small fingers grasped the edge of her sleeve as you whispered, "i want le"

your mummy froze, her heart skipping a beat. the blondes girlfriend, leah had been a steady and loving presence in your lives. and while you like leah just fine, you had always preferred the quiet comfort of your mummy's arms when you were unwell.

"lovie" your mummy began gently, stroking a hand through your hair, "mummy's here, leah won't be home for some time yet"

you just shook your head, your bright blue eyes wide and glassy from your fever, "no i, i want lele.. please?"

alessia's heart ached. she never expected this. leah as always had been nothing but patinet with you, but your request took alessia by surprise.

for the past couple of months leah had been a constant figure in your life alongside alessia. the blonde having spent a lot more days at your house as well as staying over a few night a week but leah hadnt officially moved in, just yet. so alessia could understand how and why you'd grown such an attachment to her.

but alessia assumed it was her who you would always want in times like these - your mum, the one who knew how to make things right.

but maybe in the past few weeks you had saw something in leah that alessia hadn't noticed. or maybe just maybe, it was the tenderness leah brought with her when she did show up. the way she spoke so softly and her gentleness.

without a word, alessia picked up her phone keeping you tight in her arms as she sent leah a quick text.

'love i'm sorry and i know your out with your family but lovie wants you here. she's not feeling well.'

not even a moment later, her phone buzzed with leah’s reply.

lele<3 'i'll be twenty minutes.'

true to her word leah arrived just a few minutes after the twenty minute mark and it was as though the air lightened. she was still wearing the clothes she'd worn for to go out for dinner in, alessia having to put to one side the thoughts on the outfit - although she'd no doubt let her thoughts known later on..

leah's presence seemed to infuse the room with a claming energy and you who'd been restless moments before and immediately quieten when leah knelt down beside you.

"hey little one," leah said softly, her voice so warm and familar, "how you feeling? i heard your not feeling too great."

you, still feverish and tired stretched out your small arms towards leah as she didnt hesitate to gather you into her embrace. alessia watched on in awe as leah settled down next to the blonde rubbing circles on your back.

it was the same tender care alessia had seen leah give her countless times but watching it directed towards you, her daughter, was something new. something beautiful.

"i'm so glad your here" alessia whispered her voice thick with emotion.

leah smiled, her eyes soft and filled with love, "you know im always here, for both of you"

you nestled into leah's arms as your eyes fluttered closed as you were comforted by the warmth and gentle touch. leah stretching her arm out so alessia could be closer to her as she rested her head on leah's shoulder, her heart full as they were wrapped in the quiet, steady rhythm of leah's care.

as the minutes passed, your breath started to slow down and your feverish flush loosened as leah held her, whispering soothing words. alessia sat watch as leah's hands traced patterns on your back. there was something in the way leah was holding you, the way she had seemed to melt into their little family which made alessia's chest tighten with gratitude.

she'd known leah for a while now, had fallen for her slowly, but moments like this - moments where leah was not just the love of her life but the heart of their home - made alessia love her more than she thought was ever possible.

you let out a content sigh as your little body relaxed into the calm of her embrcae. alessia kissed the top of your head before turning her gaze back to leah. as their eyes met and in the quiet of the room as a thousand unspoken words passes between them - words of love, of relief, of togetherness.

alessia's heart ached a little at the tenderness in leah's eyes. she could see the joy in them, the warmth of knowing she was part of something real, something beautiful.

"i'm sorry again for cutting your family dinner short-" alessia whispered as leah just shrugged it off as if it was nothing. "i- i didn't expect her to ask for you" alessia carried on her voice soft but filled with emotion.

she settled closer to leah, still resting her head on her shoulder. "she's always wanted me when she's sick. i thought.. well, i thought i'd be the one she needed."

leah's hand found alessia's, fingers intertwining. she gave a small squeeze. "maybe she knew you needed a little time to breathe. you're always the one who takes care of everything. maybe it was her way of letting you lean on me for a change."

alessia smiled softly, her eyes lingering on the way leah held you. it was a quiet tenderness, the kind which made alessia feel safe, cherished. she leaned in, pressing her lips gently to leah's cheek, the soft touch lingering longer than it should have.

"thank you," alessia whispered against her skin, her voice thick with gratitude. "for always being here. for showing up.. for us"

leah turned her head just slightly, enough for their lips to brush, the breifest kiss which sent a spark of warmth through alessia. "always." leah murmured, her thumb gently brushing over the back of alessia's hand. "for as long as you'll have me."

alessia's breath cuaght and she kissed leah again - this time, slow and deliberate as if trying to memorise the feeling of leah's lips. her fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her just that little bit closer. the kiss deepened, tender and full of love they shared. a love that had grown strong through every shared moment and evey challenge they had faced together.

when they finally pulled apart, both breathless. alessia rested her forehead against leah's her hand still in hers. you were asleep now, your little body nestled safetly between them, your face soft and peaceful as light snores fell from your lips.

"sometimes, i wonder how i got so lucky" alessia whispered, her heart full of something deeper than she could even express. "i've got you both."

leah smiled, her thumb gently stroking alessia's cheek. "we're the lucky ones love"

and in that quiet, intimate moment surrounded by the soft sound of your breathing, alessia knew this was exactly where she was meant to be. with you. with leah. building their family. step by step, moment by moment. full of love, warmth and everything she had ever dreamed of.

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