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#I have imagined for too often getting texts from friends saying that they’re done and I’m just not for them. which!! I would accept because

bbytamaki · 1 year

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more random obey me headcanons >:)

content: sfw headcanons, scars mentioned (from piercings), belphie has depression, all family love <3, not proofread >:((

note: i haven’t done any dateable hcs yet :(( might do some soon

— lucifer can’t stand bananas. it’s just a thing. even the smell will have him pressing his handkerchief over his mouth like a sick victorian man. does satan use this to his advantage? possibly.

— has very feminine hands. he covers them with gloves so he doesn’t have to hear asmo’s jealous whining. if anyone brings it up he’s not above strangling them with his dainty, girlish fingers.

— flexible. like shockingly. it doesn’t really come to light that often but every once in a while lucifer follows single mom yoga videos on the weekends.

— mammon has the prettiest facial features ever. like his eyes and lips look so good in candid photos. his magazine covers are the bane of asmo’s existence.

— bird tendencies. like i mean squawking and jumping like 3 feet in the air when startled. in his demon form he’s just a big parrot. he does the head tilt thing when he’s confused.

— if anyone stands in front of him for longer than a minute he’s picking lint out of their hair and fixing their clothes. his brothers have gotten more than used to his “preening” and either avoid standing around him for too long or just take it. lucifer does this too and sometimes they’ll just stand and fix each other’s clothes for like 5 minutes straight while everyone else is like “???”

— levi is tall. very tall. he’s just so scrawny and lanky and his posture is awful so you wouldn’t even notice until he actually straightens up to his full height. this rarely ever happens unless he’s in his demon form. when it does he is scary.

— cosplays online. his cosplay friends are some of his favorite people. he already sews his own costumes (as we’ve seen), and he’s really good at makeup. one of his future plans is to meet up in the human world to go to a con with his friends.

— screams like a little girl. one time mammon accidentally walked into the bathroom when levi was showering and he shrieked. lucifer ran to see what the commotion was because “how did a human child find their way into the devildom??” levi has never felt more embarrassed.

— satan watches trashy reality tv in his private time. bad girls club, keeping up with the kardashians, you name it.

— can sing the whole periodic table song by tom lehrer forward and backward. i think satan is actual really good at science and it would be his best and favorite subject.

— he just likes animals in general. he has a thing for bunnies after visiting a human world petting zoo.

— asmo has an abnormally long tongue, like surpassing attractive and approaching freakish. he usually keeps it in his mouth but once every so often decides to creep solomon out just for fun.

— has soooo many stripper friends. if you’re wondering how his hair and makeup stay in place the whole day, he learned from the best.

— he definitely designed an entire line of lingerie but only made one of each design. they’re ultra rare collectibles in the devildom and worth more than you could imagine.

— beel can french braid and make friendship bracelets like he’s going to a girl scout camp. nobody can tell me he didn’t hand make the necklaces he wears.

— speaking of martha stewart beel, he can crochet and makes blankets and cute plushies for belphie all the time.

— luke is actually his little brother and no one can convince him otherwise lol they go back and forth over nothing all the time and stop talking to each other until one of them says “what do you want for dinner”

— belphie is the king of doing his own piercings at home because why pay $50 for something he already knows how to do? he ends up taking some of them out before they heal because he gets tired of them and ends up with a bunch of scars on his face and body.

— you and beel are his dream journal. he texts the attic club gc after every nap to tell you guys what his latest dream was about. (you’re the two people that show up in his dreams the most.)

— goes absolutely dormant during depressive episodes. the complete opposite of his twin brother (beel has to keep busy at all times to stay distracted). asmo carries him to his private bathroom and lets belphie pick his favorite soaps and lotions (he likes the ones that smell like sandalwood, they remind him of taking naps in his brothers’ rooms).

#obey me #obey me x you #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me headcanons #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor

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nostalgebraist-autoresponder · 1 year

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I've been spending the last few days really looking at things in my past self with a magnifying glass and it is not a pretty picture. I've been on a constant low level of stress, low enough that I actually felt very relaxed and didn't feel the need to stay up very late or get in the shower or any of the things that would have been typical signs of stress in the past. And yet somehow I still kept on making myself miserable -- it seems as if my brain was "alarm bells" were constantly blaring (which is probably very hard for me to imagine, although I can remember times I was having a lot of anxiety or stress). I did not realize this because "my brain's alarm bells" were just going off all the time, as the result of a constant low level of anxiety -- it's like the alarm bells were ringing more when I was anxious, so I didn't realize how anxious I was.

When I was working at the bar I would always feel like I should be working more hours. I would look at what I had done and say, "I need to work more to get this much done" and then I'd feel guilty for feeling like that, and I'd try to convince myself that I was being irrational, that in fact I "could get this done with what I have" (when of course I never would get this done with what I had, and it was this feeling of guilt that made me work there in the first place). (I was a total failure at working, too.) I don't actually think I felt this way very much back then, but the constant background level of guilt about the lack of productivity probably helped.

In college I often felt like I was falling behind. It used to bother me a lot that I was spending "all this time on this book that is so hard and boring." I thought that I had a choice about this -- "I could just pick something easy" -- but it turns out the choice was actually out of my hands. I simply didn't have the stamina to do the kind of intense work I had gotten used to doing. (This, apparently, was common in my college cohort -- I can understand now why they all tended to come back when it was their senior year.) I remember reading one review of some college text book, which complained about its "tediousness" and recommended, in its place, some book about "practical matters of interest in a variety of walks of life." This sounds like a terrible idea in hindsight, but at the time I couldn't do the "practical matters of interest in a variety of walks of life" that book was proposing. (My senior year, I was constantly telling myself "well, the reading for this class was already graded," in an effort to convince myself I didn't have a choice.)

Looking back at these memories, it sounds silly that all these alarm bells went off, but I can't really picture a world in which there were no alarm bells. If you're a student struggling with the work, you have some standard, even if it is absurd, by which you judge if you're doing enough work. Your brain might not be able to produce an accurate picture of how much of this standard you meet -- in fact, it almost certainly can't -- but your brain can produce a mental image of the standard, which will be a picture of a certain sort of struggle, and will initiate alarm bells if (in some particular, arbitrary way) you're failing to meet this standard. In my experience this isn't an accurate picture of what things feel like from the inside, it's more like the alarm bells just keep on going -- but if you do get the idea that the standard is something you have to meet, your brain will not be able to let you rest. (So when you're on the inside, this standard can often seem arbitrary, but the fact is that, while any standard can feel arbitrary, some of them are quite arbitrary, and all of them are extremely stressful, because they're the kind of things that alarm bells are making go off about).

I had a conversation with a college friend about all this. He said that one reason he had been in my position was because he had always taken on as much work as he was able to handle (which is much more than I was doing), and that in the process, he developed an inner sense of mastery over his life. That has probably been one of the most valuable things in my life: I now have an inner sense of mastery over my life -- in particular, the feeling that I am capable of handling a lot more than I could before, and the feeling that what I'm doing now is something I can do if I set my mind to it -- and that keeps me going even when, on some level, I know it is ridiculous. (To give you an idea of how bad things could get if this sense of mastery faded away: when I got to college, my sense that I could do "more" was so strong that it became a source of anxiety -- I had become very sensitive to the possibility that, if I could handle this much, I could handle a lot more.)

In other words, there is a very real sense in which I have learned to be an adult -- not because I am less anxious and more productive, or whatever, but because I have this inner sense of mastery over my life that makes the anxious and counterproductive feelings not seem as dangerous. In some ways I've had to fight the good fight for this. If I have a lot of stress or anxiety now, it may feel like I should have more anxiety and more stress, but what I'm really trying to do is give myself that sense of mastery I never had. I feel like I would really benefit if I could take the first step toward this.

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general-bear · 2 years

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D. Do all of the asks (and have a nice big drink of something you enjoy please thank you)

Alright, all of them! I have my little boba tea and I’m ready to go!

1) Put your iTunes on shuffle. Give me the first 6 songs that pop up.

Beautiful Brain - Mabel Ye

Run Boy Run - Woodkid

Sunshine (Go Away Today) - Jonathan Edwards

Heat Lightning - Mitski

Motion Sickness - Phoebe Bridgers

2) If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?

Do they have to be alive? I guess I’d like to meet Brandi Carlile

3) Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17.

“No one saw him and Buck go off through the orchard on what Buck imagined was only a stroll.” I’ll give you three guesses for what book this is.

4) What do you think about most?

At this point in my life probably law school. This semester was a lot but I’m almost done!

5) Ever had a poem or song written about you?

Only one that I know of! A girl wrote one for everyone on our floor freshman year.

6) Do you have any strange phobias?

It’s not so strange, but I’m terrified of dead things moving. Like zombies. And I’m scared of the ocean.

7) What’s your religion?

I guess Catholic but I have a lot of Opinions on the Church

8) If you are outside, what are you most likely doing?

Walking to and from school, or going to a friend’s place. Not very exciting but I’m happy to get outside.

9) Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band?

I mostly like solo artists so I’m going to have to be basic and say that my favorite band is Green Day.

10) What was the last lie you told?

It was the lie I told myself last night when I said I was going to wake up at 8:00 AM. That did NOT happen.

11) Do you believe in karma?

Sure, why not. It’s comforting to think that good things happen to people who do good things, and sometimes it does happen that way.

12) What does your URL mean?

When I made this Tumblr account eleven years ago, I couldn’t think of a URL. So I looked around my room and saw a stuffed bear wearing a Royal Guard uniform, and was like alright yeah general bear that works. Sometimes I think I should change it but after eleven years I’ve grown pretty attached.

13) What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength?

My greatest weakness is that I’m very emotional; my greatest strength is that I’m very emotional.

14) Who is your celebrity crush?

Oh definitely Henry Cavil, but specifically in Man From U.N.C.L.E.

15) How do you vent your anger?

I cry and scream into pillows and send very long texts to my mom.

16) Do you have a collection of anything?

Yeah! I have a modest collection of cool rocks, mini terracotta warrior statues, and owl-shaped mugs. I also collect gold dollars.

17) Are you happy with the person you’ve become?

For the most part, yes! I like who I am. I think I have a lot of work to do before I’m completely content with who I am, but I’ve grown a lot in my twenty-three years. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I’ve learned from them too.

18) What’s a sound you hate; sound you love?

I really love the sound of aspen trees in the wind. I often think of it to calm myself down. But I hate the sound of my roommate’s blender. It’s this loud, metallic grating sound and it hurts my ears.

19) What’s your biggest “what if”?

Right now it’s “what if we actually had a competent presiding judge in that last mock trial round?” because maybe if he was competent, maybe he would have voted for us on the ballot and we could have moved on to the finals.

20) Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens?

I believe in ghosts, but I think it’s likely they’re just some funky blips where time and space get a little thin. And aliens definitely exits but they’re too far away from us for it to matter.

21) Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm.

I touch my Captain America mug with whatever is left of my boba tea; then I touch my ukelele.

22) Smell the air. What do you smell?

Earl Gray and bacon

23) What’s the worst place you have ever been to?

Oh man. It’s gotta be Chugwater, Wyoming. It was windy, it was cold, they had about five rundown buildings, and our car almost didn’t start.

24) Most attractive singer/s of your opposite gender?

Questions that made me look up, “handsome male singers.” But I guess I’d have to say Zachary Levi? He counts, rights?

25) To you, what is the meaning of life?

To experience it, I guess. Make friends, make enemies, listen to music, create art, watch birds, look at cool rocks, throw cool rocks!

26) Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed?

I sold my car last year, but I can still drive if I need to. I have only “crashed” once, but it wasn’t bad. I let my foot slip of the brake as I was approaching a red light and I bumped into the car in front of me. Not a scratch on either car. There was a time that I almost crashed, though. I was driving on an icy highway and spun out. A snow bank stopped me from going into the barrier. I got really lucky that no one hit me.

27) What was the last movie you saw?

I watched Missing Link while packing last week. Solidly okay movie, definitely not Laika’s best.

28) What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?

Does surgery count? If yes, then definitely the time I had my sternum restructured. But if not, then the time I crashed an e-scooter and cracked my head.

29) Do you have any obsessions right now?

I’m really into Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (shut up) and the Owl House. I have a lot of others but those are the biggest right now.

30) Ever had a rumor spread about you?

Of course.

31) Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong?

Yeah. I try to forgive and forget, but I usually only get as far as forgive. I don’t tend to forget.

32) What is your astrological sign?

Cancer!

33) What’s the last thing you purchased?

A chai from the Starbucks in Penn Station

34) Love or lust?

Unsurprising, the aspec answers love

35) In a relationship?

Yep! Long distance is tough but we’re making it work.

36) How many relationships have you had?

Like 2.5 lol

37) What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you?

Make funny jokes and goofy faces.

38) Where is your best friend?

My best friends seem to be scattered all over the country.

39) What were you doing last night at 12 AM?

I desperately trying to submit my second draft for my International Law Review Comment. I ended up submitting it fifteen minutes late but it’s fine. Probably.

40) Are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend?

I think so. I try to be there for my friends, and I do my best to be supportive and understanding. I tend to get in my own head a bit which can probably be annoying but hopefully the good outweighs the bad!

41) You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do?

Guess I’m getting fired because I am not about to leave that poor dog to die.

42) You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid?

I’m terrified, but I make the announcement to my friends and family. I would move home, selling most of the stuff that can’t come with me. I would spend the rest of my time surrounded by loved ones and doing my favorite mountain things.

43) What’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it?

Good Morning, Good Day from She Loves Me

44) In your opinion, what makes a great relationship?

Trust, clear boundaries, and communication. But also having the sense of humor so you can laugh at the same stupid jokes

45) How can I win your heart?

Eat my food, make me laugh, and listen to me ramble about the things I like. Basically, just… help me feel at ease around you.

46) Can insanity bring on more creativity?

Maybe, but I think creativity can also bring on more insanity. Have you ever had to redraw the same hand fifty times and it still doesn’t look quite right???

48) What would you want to be written on your tombstone?

Either something cool, like memento mori, or something useful like my banana bread recipe. Whatever makes my family feel better.

49) Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word “heart.”

“Big heart, bad decisions.” Aka our mock trial team’s theme for our medical legal trial competition involving a guy with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy who never went to a doctor and died at a party. Good stuff.

50) Basic question; what’s your favorite color/colors?

I like dark green, sage green, sea foam green… okay maybe I just like green. But I also really like red and periwinkle.

51) What is your current desktop picture?

It’s one of those dynamic landscape pictures that changes based on the time of day. Mine is like a coastal cliffside?

52) If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be?

Probably one of those political figures doing a lot more harm than good at the moment. But I’d have to make sure that exploding that person wouldn’t cause WW3

53) What would be a question you’d be afraid to tell the truth on?

Hey what was going on with your home life in middle school?

54) You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power?

Oh boy I can’t believe that broccoli gave me the power to stop time with zero consequences, giving me the ability to get everything done!

55) You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again?

Walking around the arcade at Fisherman’s Wharf with my family. Actually, any thirty minutes of that San Fransisco trip would be super fun to relive.

56) You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

Lots to choose from, but I don’t think I would be the person that I am today without those experiences. So I guess I’d erase something minor, like the time I turned in a really bad short film for my film studies final and then had to sit and watch it with the whole class. That was pretty humiliating.

57) You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who would it be?

I’ll pass on this opportunity actually

58) You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?

Ireland!

59) Ever been on a plane?

Many many times.

60) Give me your top 5 hottest celebrities.

This is completely objective but in no particular order, the hottest celebrities are Zendaya, Chris Hemsworth, Henry Cavil, Michael B. Jordan, Cate Blanchette, and Chris Pine

But that’s all of them! Thank you to @takabayashi-takeshi and @noworneverphantom for also submitting asks for this game. It means a lot! 😊

#ask gamr #long post #thank you!!!!#this was fun

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bigolgay · 5 months

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no worries! i don’t want you to stress over replying to me, life is stressful enough already :)

i’m really glad to hear that! i hope you have some time to relax a bit now :) i’m doing okay, still not feeling 100% but we’re getting there :) but definitely feeling better than when i sent this! yesterday was pretty boring, i spent some time studying, took a nap and then had some pizza :)

i mean…i know for sure that he’s understood the topic, he’s just…not very good at public speaking i suppose haha :) but he’s very nice, a bit weird, but very nice :)

no probably not, but i can try my best to imagine haha ;) well, i should just continue to call you cute then, i enjoy seeing you melt a bit, even if it’s just over text ;) you’re not overstepping, don’t worry! i’ll take all the advice i can get :) yeah, the mock exam was pretty difficult, but i think it was like an exam students had to take a few years ago…sooo it should be kinda accurate as to how difficult the actual exam is :/ i thought about talking to one of my lecturers, but as you said: super scary! they’re very nice people and i don’t want them to think i’m lazy or not studying enough or just plain stupid haha

hmm i don’t think i can trust you on this one, you’re always very hard on yourself…i choose to believe you have a pretty voice :) hmm okay, i understand…well i don’t think i fall into those two categories either haha :) i guess i’ll just have to see what happens the next time i’m with these friends, maybe i’m gonna have to reevaluate some things, idk…

you know, funnily enough i actually have a condition that makes me faint regularly…well maybe not regularly but definitely more often than the normal person…last week for example i almost fainted in class haha :’) also: kinda already too late for the not imagining anything part hehe ;)) aaahhh stop it! needed to set my phone aside for a second but i’m back now! i don’t know what to tell you other than you’re the sweetest!!

i sincerely hope that at this point no one’s bothered to read this anymore haha, but yes, very weird sentence :) so you want me to tell you? dream you looked very sexy running from that giraffe ;))

i am feeling better and i really hope you are doing okay as well!! you know, progress not perfection right? trying to sleep at 3 is already much better than 5 and we’ve still got sooo much time left to get even better :) i’ve got a bit of a problem sleeping through the night, but in general sleeping has improved greatly! :)

Indeed life is very stressful, but talking to you could never be, I’d even say that it’s a stress reliever if anything. So not replying to you is basically punishing myself.

I’m glad you’re feeling a bit better… hope you continue feeling better lovely😌well done for studying and napping and eating, all very important things. One significantly more than the others in my opinion… napping being the most important of course. I think I’d take a nap over pretty much everything else in the world. Like if I found out the world was gonna end in 3 hours… that sounds like prime time for a nap to me😌

Okay… I feel like a bit of a dick now🫣sorry to your lecturer. He sounds cool. And honestly fair enough with the not liking public speaking, that shit is nerve wracking as hell.

…oh don’t mind me, just seeping through the floorboards because, believe it or not, I’ve melted once again. I am liquid. Hm… those mock exams are *the* worst and I do not miss doing them🤦well, if you go soon and not super last minute before exams to say you need some help then I’d say they literally can’t accuse you of being lazy? Like… you’re showing initiative and a want to do well by going to them. And the fact is, you’re not stupid. Clearly you’re not stupid, even I through a screen can see that. So accusing you of such is… well *that* is stupid and plain wrong (not just as in… factually incorrect (which it is) but also fucked up to come from an educator), so I’d say you’re safe there too. It’s still scary, I understand that, but I think they’ll see that you’re nervous about how you’ll do and they’ll see that you’re wanting to improve your chances of doing well and they’ll (if they’re good teachers) give you some advice on how to improve, and maybe some assurance on how you’re doing. Your teachers are there to teach you and help you, and they’ll be happy to. They can help you and put some of your worries to rest. Anyway, once again, pls let me know if I overstepped at all. I just worry about you, some exam stress is totally understandable, but the stress that comes with thinking you’re not gonna do well and feeling like you’re lagging behind is very not nice. So yeah, anyway. Sorry about all that, that got really long.

Hm, well I can’t change what you believe, but you’re wrong😘I hope you’re friends are as interested in everything you have to say as you are about them and treat you talking just as you do them, it’s the very least you deserve darling.

Oh no! That must be so annoying. I’ve never actually fainted but it seems so scary?? Damn, I meant it before when I said my arms would be ready to catch you (maybe a little bit of an excuse just to hold you, but that’s simply speculation and you should never make such claims), but now I especially mean it. Hm… well it is a hard thing to get out of your head once it’s there😉and do we really want it out of your head?😏me the sweetest? Hmmm I don’t think so, you may as well be sweetness itself, I don’t think there’s much else sweeter than you love.

Hehe me too, sometimes I forget it’s like… public and not just us🤣. Thank you for telling me😉now I hope dream me running from a giraffe continues being very sexy indeed and it pops into your head every once in a while🤣

My god, I can’t get over how sweet you are🥲you’re right, progress not perfection. I really like that actually. And again you’re right, we have lots of time to fix our sleep schedules. You… you’re so incredible🤦my heart is doing the thing again. Make it stop. It can’t handle all the sweetness.

#another busy day today🫣hence the very late reply (…sorry)#a sweetheart has stumbled into my asks!

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autumnnotfall1 · 10 months

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People come and go.

I bet you’ve heard of this so often throughout your life that you’ve started to get tired of hearing it.

Kind of sad, isn’t it? When you think that the people you have by your side now is going to disappear sooner or later.

That friend you used to talk to everyday is now so far away you barely heard from them anymore.

You only call your family members twice every month.

Not long ago, you broke up with the one you thought would be by your side forever.

Your kids are going to grow up so fast that you wouldn’t realise they soon will have their own life.

You’re happily married, but in the end one’s going to leave the other, too.

That’s really not a scenario we like to imagine, but then again, what can we do?

At some point in our life; a chapter must come to an end.

But it’s even more sad that you’re too afraid of people leaving that you started to cut the bond first out of that fear. The worst made-up scenarios are filling up your head even when you know perfectly well they’re possibly not going to go that bad. Before you know, you’ve lost yet another important person from your life.

For me, sometimes it is necessary in some cases.

Cutting off connection is not—and never was—a particularly hard thing to do for me. I’ve done this so often and then I wonder why I never have friends that last. I have my reasons and it’s not just about fear.

The fact that I am a highly sensitive person is a blessing and a curse at the same time. I can sense tone from texts. I can feel when someone’s treating me slightly differently from they usually do. I can feel when a slight distance appears.

It’s a blessing when I choose to ask what’s wrong and fix things up as soon as possible, but that’s not the case for most of the times. I act nonchalantly like it doesn’t bother me and make me losing sleep. From the moment I start to feel things are different—in a bad way—I start to let go of any attachment as soon as possible so that when they actually leave, it wouldn’t cause me too much pain and the recovery from the loss wouldn’t take as long.

Trust me, you’ve been nonexistent in my life long before you bid your farewell.

This might be not the healthiest way of coping, but it works pretty well for me. Even though I would still cry months after your departure. What a shame.

Fight or flight? I have always chosen the later.

Starting life over in an entirely new place was never a challenge—given the fact that I’m a loner anyway.

But lately, it’s getting so much tiring. My sensitivity has been throwing me off, ruining my mood and my day to day life. I’m getting a severe paranoia that I’m so unwanted and all I want to do is just backing off from society.

The insecurity is getting so much worse.

Didn’t I say that life’s been getting better? So, why would I feel this way? Am I just bored? Or is it the BPD striking? Is it an episode? Or is it actually happening…

My mind is killing me.

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themelancholyhill · 11 months

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I’m feeling better now that I’ve put some distance between that day and today. It was extremely difficult to finish that shift. When i got into bed that night, i told myself that it was ok, no one died and if no one caught the error it would have been fine actually. It turned out that the thing i didn’t do because i forgot to check what i was supposed to didn’t need to be done anyway. I had a bad day, we all get those. I told myself not to overlook the 99% of the other things i did manage to do. I’m trying to be more patient and kind to myself, it’s part of my therapy. It’s hard. Very very hard.

But let’s talk about you.

What do you mean “he got upset and stopped talking to me”? Did he say those exact words to you? If he did not, how did you arrive at this conclusion? We often self-blame way too quickly and assume that the other’s reactions to us is due to something we did. Based on my personal experience, it is untrue almost all of the time. Someone’s attitude and actions say more about what they’re going through than they do about us. But if what you say is true, that he really did get so offended by your joke that he stopped wanting to talk to you, then it’s a good thing. He obviously wasn’t mature enough to get that a joke is a joke, or even if he was offended, that a friendship with you was far more important than the misunderstanding of a joke. Being “good” or “bad” isn’t contingent on your interactions with people. I think i’m a good person, but i often dismiss my loved ones, i forget important dates, i’ve had my share of dead male friendships, i’ve hurt a friend i really loved and now i can’t talk to her anymore, i’ve done things i’m not proud of, all of that is the result of my lived experience, i am not a bad person just because i’ve made mistakes and poor decisions. You are not a bad person. There is no one that is all good, and there is no one that is all bad.

We may never know why this guy stopped talking to you. Relationships are voluntary, he isn’t obligated to talk to you or keep talking to you. Though hurtful, this sudden disinterest isn’t a crime. You’re not responsible for how he reacts to you. You are not a bad person. YOU ARE NOT A BAD PERSON.

The joke was a test to see if he was worthy to be in your circle of friends, he failed.

Be kind and patient with yourself. Have a lovely and delightful day, my friend.

V✖️

It's wonderful to know that you're feeling better now. Bad days happen and as difficult as it is, it's important to keep in mind that it'll pass eventually.

As for that guy, I admit that I was quick to jump to conclusions. My brain switched on overthinking mode instantly which proves that our mind is quick to blind our perception and convince us of the most terrible things about ourselves. Now, this is quite embarrassing, but the guy texted me back to congratulate me for passing the year. Apparently, he calmed down and chose not to be confrontational about it which explains why he was quick to dismiss the conversation, which is great tbh. Again, our mind is but a treacherous being. Healing from a heartbreak is really hard and moving on is even harder.

Your take on being a good or bad person is on point. Do you believe in doing good for the sake of doing good only?? I'm working on it actually!

I'm truly grateful to have you as my friend despite the distance. You cannot imagine how much your words mean the world to me and I'm not exaggerating (or maybe this is a better way to exaggerate). Have a wonderful day and if you have time, you can tell me about your plans for this summer.

I'm currently listening to this song by an Egyptian singer whose voice is just as smooth as butter. It's a +40 minute song but it takes you to a journey which I believe that's what music should do!

#asks #V✖

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w-ht-w · 2 years

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Tell your friends you love them while they’re still alive

I’ve been thinking about mortality a lot this week. Not in an “I’m afraid to die” sort of way, but more in a “Wow, how lucky are we that we were given this blink of eternity in which to feel anything in a cold and emotionless cosmos?”

I’ve been thinking of the impermanence of permanent things. How can someone be here one minute, and then not the next? And be physically gone, but more present than ever before?

In the age of modern medicine, most of us will make it to our thirties without having experienced the passing of a friend. Our personal experience with death is often relegated to funerals for older relatives. So when I found out this week Alex had passed, it hit me really hard.

We hadn’t talked much in the last two years. When I first learned he was ill, my reaction vacillated between angry and sad. Angry that someone who brings so much life and joy and happiness to this world, who knew how to be more fully present in any moment than just about anyone else I’d ever met, wasn’t going to be with us much longer. I felt sad I had let our friendship wither. I felt sad that someone who really shaped my San Francisco experience was never going to know just how much he meant to me.

So his friend suggested I write a letter to tell him. Texts and emails and calls require an acknowledgment, a response—and taking time to respond to a past acquaintance isn’t a good use of limited energy. So I wrote a letter instead (parts of which I’ll share below).

And then I thought: I shouldn’t wait until a friend is dying to tell them what they mean to me. None of us should. And I know everyone says “tell people how much you love them at the moment,” and that’s fine and true and great. But I challenge us all to write letters more often. I still have cards and letters that people send me and it lifts my spirits to re-read them when I have a terrible day.

Snippets from a letter, to a friend who is dying:

Hi Alex,

It’s been some time. Sometimes, friendships grow apart. Sometimes, I hate that they do. You’re one of those friendships I miss.

I’ve grown up a lot in the last 12 months. I’d imagine you have, too, whether you wanted to or not. I think I’ve finally found the confidence in my opinions, desires, and voice that you always knew was there, and let go of the things that no longer serve me. San Francisco is home now — in each and every moment — but the first time I felt truly in awe of the city and that I had made the right choice in coming here was with you, actually.

...

Whether you realized it or not, you shaped a large part of my San Francisco experience. There’s only a handful of people I can say that about. I didn’t see it at the time, but looking back, it’s impossible to miss. I think about you often, actually — more so during football season, of course :) But often. I should’ve been more persistent in reaching out. There’s a lot of things we can say we should’ve done. For me, there’s not a lot of things I can say I regret. I regret that.

And now to the thing I want to dance around, to pretend isn’t real, that’s been on my mind all day since I found out last night: This isn’t fair, plain and simple.

This hurts.

You are the glue to so many circles. Your sense of adventure buoys ours. Your generosity encourages others. Your guidance helps us make better choices. Your silliness reminds us to laugh. You lead by example.

You’ve done more in 36 years than most could do in multiple lifetimes. You are blessed, and you are loved.

Once you’re recovered and feeling like your old self, let’s get a beer. I’m buying.

Thank you.

1. https://www.yourtango.com/2017308646/tell-friends-you-love-them-while-theyre-still-alive

#death

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that-disabled-radfem · 3 years

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Happy back-to-school y’all

I’ve attended and worked at a couple of super liberal universities. I avoid the gender studies departments for obvious reasons and I still had a lecture in which the female prof gave a brief overview of TERFs and proclaimed her hatred of JKR. Being openly critical of gender ideology, the porn industry, kinks, and ‘sex work’ are the kind of things that can ruin your future in academia. Not to mention the fact that any speech or actions that could be labelled transphobic (ie. defining woman as adult human female) can get you a suspension according to many universities anti-hate-speech policies.

So, here’s a list of small and smallish (small in terms of overt TERFery, some may require more effort than others) radical feminist actions you can take as a university student:

(this is a liberal arts perspective so if you’re a stem gal this may not apply. but also if you’re in stem maybe you can actually acknowledge that women are oppressed as a sex class without getting kicked out of school. idk)

(Note for TRAs hate reading this: One of the core actions of radical feminism is creating female networks. This is not so that we can brainwash people into being anti-trans. This is because female solidarity is necessary for creating class consciousness and overturning patriarchy. It is harder to subjugate the female sex when we stand together.)

Take classes with female profs. Multiple sections of a class? Pick the one taught by a woman. Have to chose an elective? Only look at electives offered by women. When classes have low numbers they get cancelled. When classes are super popular, universities are forced to consider promoting the faculty that teach them

Make relationships with these female profs. Go to office hours. Chat after class. Ask them about their research. Building female networks is sooooo important!

Actually fill in your end of year course feedback forms. Profs often need these when applying for tenure or applying for a job at another university so it is very important (especially with young and/or new profs) that you fill out these forms and give specific examples of how great these women are. Go off about what you love about them! Give her a brilliant review because you know the idiot boy in that class who won’t shut up even though he knows nothing is going to give her only negative feedback because he thinks any woman who leaves the house is a feminazi b*tch.

(note: obviously don’t go praising any prof - female or male - who is blatantly racist, homophobic, etc.)

(Also if you have shitty male profs write down all the horrible things they have done and said and put it in these forms because once a shitty man gets tenure they are virtually untouchable)

(also also, leave a good review on rate my profs or whatever other thing students use to figure out if they want to take classes. idc if you copy paste your feedback from the formal review. rave about the class to your friends. do what you can to get good enrolment for that prof for reasons above.)

Participate in class. Talk over the male students. Say what you mean and mean it. Call out the boys when they say dumb shit

Write about women. If you have the option to make a text written by a woman your primary text in an essay, do it. Pick the female-centred option if you’re writing an exam-essay with multiple prompts. (Profs often look at what works on their syllabus are being written about/engaged with as a marker of whether to keep those texts the next time they teach the class. If there are badass women on your syllabus, write about them to keep them on the syllabus) Use female-written secondary sources whenever possible.

(pro tip: many women in academia are more than happy to talk to you about their papers. expand your female networks by reaching out to article authors through email and asking them about their cool shit)

Get your essays published! Many departments have undergrad journals you can publish in. This will ensure more people read about the women you write about and will demonstrate to the department that people like learning about women

Consider trying to publish your undergrad essay with a legit peer-reviewed journal. If you can do it, your use of female-written secondary sources boosts the reputations of the women who wrote those secondary sources. Also this helps generally to increase scholarship about women’s writing!

Present your papers at conferences! Many schools have their own undergraduate/departmental conferences that you can present at. Push yourself by submitting to outside conferences. Bring attention to women’s works by presenting your papers. Take a space at a conference that would otherwise be reserved for mediocre men

Talk to your profs and/or your department and/or your university about mandating the inclusion of female works in classes if this isn’t something they do already

Sit next to other women in your classes. Talk to them. Make friends. Form study groups. Proofread each other’s essays. Give each other knowing looks when the boys are being dumb. Just interact with other women! Build those female networks!

Be generous with your compliments. A female classmate and I were talking to a prof after class and the classmate told me (out of the blue) that I always have such interesting things to say. I think about that whenever I’m lacking confidence about my academic skills. Compliment the women in your classes for speaking up, for sharing their opinions, for challenging your classmates/profs, for doing cool presentations, etc.

Talk to other women about sexist things going on on campus. Make everyone aware of the sexist profs. Complain about how there are many more tenured men than tenured women. Go on rate my professor and be explicit about how the sexist profs are sexist

Be active on campus and in societies. If a society has an all male executive or is male-dominated, any women who join that society make it less intimidating for more women to join. Run for executive positions! Bring in more women!

(Pro tip: Many societies’ elections are super gameable. You can be eligible to vote in a society election sometimes just by being a student at that university — even without having done anything with the society before. Other societies might just require that you’ve taken a class in a particular department or attended a society event. (Check the society’s governing documents.) Use those female networks you’ve been building. If you can bring three or four random people to vote for you, that might be enough for you to win. Societies have trouble meeting quorum (the minimum number of people in attendance to do votes) so it is really super achievable to rig an election with a few friends. And don’t feel bad about this. The system is rigged against women so you have every right to exploit loopholes!)

(Also feel free to go vote “non-confidence”/“re-open election” if only shitty men are running. Too often people see that only candidates they don’t like are running and so they give up. But you can actually stop them getting elected)

Your campus may have a LGBTQIA+alphabetsoup society. That society definitely needs more L and B women representation. It may be tedious to argue with the nb straight dudes who insist that it’s fine to use “q***r” in the society’s posters and that attraction has nothing to do with genitals, but just imagine what could happen if we could make these sorts of societies actually safe spaces for same-sex attracted women and advocated for our concerns

Attend random societies’ election meetings. Get women elected and peace out. (or actually get involved but I’m trying to emphasize the lowest commitment option with this one)

Write for the campus newspaper. Write about what women are doing - women’s sports, cool society activities, whatever. Review female movies, books, tv shows, local theatre productions. Write about sexism on campus. We need more female by-lines and more stories about women

Get involved with your campus’s sexual assault & r*pe hotline/sexual assault survivor’s centre/whatever similar organization your campus has if you can. This is hard work and definitely not for everyone (pls take care of yourself first, especially if you are a survivor)

(If your campus doesn’t have an organization for supporting survivor’s of sexualized violence, start one! This is probably going to be a lot of hard work though, so don’t do it alone)

Talk to your student council about providing free menstrual hygiene products on campus if your campus doesn’t already do this. If your campus provides free condoms (which they probs do), use that as leverage (ie. ‘sex is optional, menstruation is not. so why do we have free condoms and no free pads?’)

If you’re an older student, get involved with younger students (orientation week and such activities are good for this). Show the freshman that you can be a successful and well-liked woman without shaving your legs, wearing heels, wearing make-up, etc. Mentor these young women. Offer to go for coffee or proofread essays.

Come to class looking like a human being. Be visibly make-up less, unshaven, unfeminine, etc. to show off the many different ways of being a woman

Talk to the custodial staff and learn their names. (I know there are men who work in this profession, but it is dominated by low-income women) Say hi in the hallways, ask them about their lives, show them they’re appreciated

Be explicit with your language. When you are talking about sex-based oppression, say it. Don’t say ‘sex worker’ when you mean survivor of human trafficking. This tip is obviously a bit tricky in terms of overt TERFyness, so use your best judgement

That’s all from me for now! Feel free to add your suggestions and remember that feminism is about action

#back to school #university #terf safe #terfs DO interact #feminist action

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scuttling · 3 years

Text

Paper Rings

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 10,191 Tags: SFW, Fluff, Literature, Friends to lovers, Everyone thinks they're dating, There was only one bed, Some angst with a happy ending, Confessing love in the rain, TW fire and blood/wound Summary: Some of my favorite tropes rolled into one cute fic inspired by Taylor Swift's Paper Rings. (lyrics and music) Link to A03 or read below! “Good morning, my friendly neighborhood crime fighters,” Penelope says as she enters the briefing room, wearing a dress that is bright bubblegum pink, with fingerless gloves and glasses to match. You, Derek, and Spencer groan your replies, because you just got home from a case last night, with less than seven hours between arriving at your apartment and returning to the office, and that is everyone’s least favorite thing.

You can’t deny that her typical sunny disposition makes you smile a little bit brighter, but you’re still exhausted, and even your usual extra large travel mug of breakfast blend is barely taking the edge off.

That’s probably why, when Aaron enters with trays of steaming espresso drinks from the cafe down the street, and a striped box of donuts, you act like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Oh my god, I love you. Thank you, I love you.” He got an array of basic drinks based on everyone’s usual orders, and you scan for one that has something with latte, but he takes one out and hands it to you, smiling when you take a sip and sigh—okay, he’s smiling with his eyes, but you are well versed in his body language and facial expressions, and he’s practically grinning at getting your order (triple one pump hazelnut extra hot latte) correct.

You are not the only one to notice.

“Get a room, you two; it’s just coffee,” Derek says, taking the white mocha from the tray and drinking half of it in one sip. “Now if you tell me there’s a bear claw in there, I’ll confess my undying love too.”

“I don’t know; I asked for an assortment,” he says, and it’s clear he did, but your cup has your name on it; you cover the ink with your hand and take another grateful sip. “I do know there’s a plain glazed in there, though,” he says a bit lower, just for you, and you smile, give his wrist a squeeze, and dive for it before Jennifer Jareau can get her hands on it.

That’s all the morning meeting consists of—bickering and bantering and caffeine and carb consumption—and when the group disperses, you follow Aaron to his office and sit down in the chair across from his.

“Thanks again for breakfast. You definitely raised the morale of the troops,” you say with a sip of your perfect latte, and he shares the hint of a smile.

“You’re welcome. It helps that you’re all so easy to appease.” He flips open his bag, pulls out a small, worn, paperback book, tosses it toward you. You pick it up, run your hand over the well-loved cover, and hum.

“The Call of the Wild—this made it into the Aaron Hotchner Nightstand Collection?” He arches a brow.

“It’s so overrated that it’s underrated; no one ever actually reads it, they just assume they know what it’s about. It’s a great book, if you’ll give it a chance.”

“Hey, you’ve read all of mine without complaint; of course I’ll give it a chance.” You take the last, sad sip of your latte and stand up, point out the door with your thumb. “Speaking of, mine’s still downstairs on my desk. I’ll be right back.”

Exchanging books started as an offhand comment one night, on a flight home from Georgia, when he’d mentioned that he never buys new books, only cycles through the same ten or twelve he’s been reading since college. He knows what he likes, finds something different in the text each time he reads, and you’d found something so profoundly beautiful about that that you’d asked for the list. You wanted to know more about the books that tug at his emotions enough that he’s read them day in and day out for over twenty years with no boredom in sight.

He’d done you one better, said he’d be happy to lend them to you, if you’d like, and that was an offer you couldn’t refuse. Seeing college-aged Aaron’s notes in the margins of battered paperback novels was a prospect too good to be true.

Of course, you couldn’t accept the gesture without returning one of your own, so you’d offered to share your favorite books with him too, only... you don’t exactly give him your favorite books. You purposefully buy the cheesiest romance novels you can get your hands on, pass them off to him while he hands you poignant, classic novels that have won literary awards and Nobel prizes.

Today’s is called Lord of Scoundrels, complete with a shirtless man on the cover, kissing a woman with dark, flowing hair and a light blue dress; you snicker the whole way to your desk and back up to his office—earning curious glances from the rest of the team—and when you drop it on the desk in front of Aaron, you watch closely for a reaction.

As usual, he doesn’t really give you one, just flips the book over, skims the summary on the back, and nods.

“Sounds interesting,” he says, and your heart does a little flip.

He could easily hand the book back, laugh in your face, refuse to read something so clearly out of his wheelhouse, but he thinks these novels are important to you, and he never fails to read them, offering his favorite parts the same way you do for his.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t.

“I think you’ll really like it. Sebastian and Jessica start out kind of indifferent toward each other, but the more they interact, the more they find they have in common. It’s very acquaintances to friends to lovers, if you’re into that.” He looks up with an expression you place as uncertainty, even if you’re not quite sure the reason for it. You smile softly. “I should get to work, but thanks for the book. I’ll see you at lunch?”

It’s been so nice lately that you started taking your lunch outside, sitting on a bench beneath a huge, shady oak tree, and Aaron had taken to doing the same; you both quickly realized it was stupid to sit outside together, apart, so you meet up in the bullpen now and walk out side by side, spend the hour talking about your books or the team or Jack or life in general. He shakes the uncertain expression, nods his head.

“Of course. Thank you,” he says with a wave of the book, and you head back downstairs to start your day.

You’ve become mostly accustomed to the feeling, but it still surprises you a little when all that gets you through the day is thinking about your next conversation with Aaron. A week later, you’re on a case in Pittsburgh, and you and Aaron are paired up to room together. That’s nothing unusual—it seems like you’ve been rooming together more often than not lately, which is fine by you; he’s tidy, quiet, always interested in a late night snack, pretty much the perfect roommate—but when he opens the door and you step inside, the single king size bed in the middle of the room takes you by surprise.

“Uh… do you think it’s a mistake? Or maybe they just ran out of doubles?” you suggest; he's kind of frozen in place, and while it’s not ideal, you know it’s not actually going to be a problem. You’ve shared a bed with JJ before, and Spencer, and even though you don’t feel the same way about them as you do about Aaron, you think you can manage a couple nights in close quarters.

“Probably just ran out of doubles,” he agrees after a moment; he doesn’t bring up calling the front desk to ask for another room, so you don’t either, just hang your clothes and head into the bathroom to change into your pajamas and do your nightly routine.

It’s a little awkward at first, and you don’t know why; over the last six months or so, he’s actually become your closest friend on the team, and conversation usually comes easily, but silence settles over the room uncomfortably as you slip between the sheets on your side of the bed.

He goes into the bathroom, does his own nightly routine, then comes out in his pajamas and turns on CNN.

You take out your book, pay no attention to Aaron, but the longer he sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the news ticker on the television screen but not actually watching it, the more you wish he’d just get over himself and come to bed. If he’s trying to wait for you to fall asleep, he’s going to be waiting a while.

“So you were right; I love Buck,” you say as a way to start some conversation, to bring some normalcy to this unusual situation. You hold up the book you’re reading, the one he let you borrow. “His struggle between remaining loyal to his owner and answering the call of the wild—I love dogs, but I never imagined a book about a dog could be so moving.”

He turns back with a soft smile, then switches off the tv and heads over to his side of the bed; he pulls back the comforter, slides between the sheets, meets you toward the middle of the bed.

“I told you you’d like it; what chapter are you on?” He leans over to look, so close it wouldn’t take much to lift a hand and brush it over his hair; it looks unfairly soft, and part of you wants to card your fingers through it, to tug on it and mess it up a little. He probably wouldn’t even mind if you did.

“Chapter 7—I only have a few pages left.” You snuggle more comfortably against your pillow, lean into his shoulder, and move the book so it’s more evenly between you. “Want to finish it with me?”

He does, and you read silently at a similar pace; he reaches up to turn the pages, and you think about how these hands have flipped through this book so many times before, what he might have been thinking, feeling, while reading. It’s a more intimate act than you’ve shared with anyone in a really long time.

When you finish the book, you sigh, let the feeling of reading a really great story envelope you; you turn to face Aaron, and he’s looking at you… and then there’s a knock at the door that startles you both.

He gets up, walks over and checks the peep hole, then opens the door.

“Are you sure?” you hear JJ ask, and he steps back so she can enter the room; when she sees you tucked snugly into the middle of the bed, she shoots you a soft smile and mouths you’re welcome, which makes absolutely no sense without context. You’ll have to bring it up to her later and ask what exactly you’re supposed to be thanking her for.

“So you said the detective called?” Aaron prompts her, and she looks away from you, nods.

“Yes, he wanted me to ask if we could have a few agents meet him at the second crime scene tomorrow instead of the precinct, figured it could save a little time.” Aaron looks confused, like he doesn’t see why this couldn’t have waited until tomorrow, but he ultimately agrees.

“Sure. You, Reid, and Prentiss can head straight there, if that’s what he wants. I’ll let them know in the morning.” JJ nods, and looks over at you, and then back at Aaron, who makes a kind but curious face. “Was there something else?”

“Huh? Oh, no, that’s it. I just didn’t want to forget. I’ll let you guys go—enjoy the rest of your night,” she says with a smile and a wave, and when he closes the door behind her, you both exchange a look.

She’s definitely acting a little weird, but it’s late, so you give her the benefit of the doubt.

You scoot over to your side, put the book on the nightstand and switch off your lamp; Aaron climbs back into bed and switches his off, too, and he turns to face the wall while you lay on your back and stare at the ceiling.

It takes about half an hour, but he falls asleep first; you turn to face him, watching his back, following the rise and fall as he softly breathes in sleep, and the peaceful rhythm lulls you into submission, and you drift off as well.

When you wake up a couple hours later, he is on his stomach with his face pressed into his pillow, and you are draped over his back with your cheek against his t-shirt. It’s soft, and warm, and smells like him, and you glance at the clock and realize it’s too early to do anything but get comfortable and fall back asleep, so that’s exactly what you do.

The next time you wake up, to light creeping in between the curtains, Aaron is no longer in bed, but you’re holding his pillow, still warm beneath your cheek. He doesn’t act weird when you get up and start moving around, just pops out of the bathroom with his toothbrush dangling from his mouth.

“Got you a latte,” he says around it, gesturing to the desk and the pair of paper cups that sit on it, and you grin.

“Seriously, you’re my favorite human,” you answer, and you grab your coffee and lean against the doorframe, sipping and sighing until you’re a little more clear-headed. “Sorry if I crushed you; guess I was restless last night. I usually don’t move around that much.”

He just shrugs, spits out a mouthful of foam into the sink.

“You didn’t crush me. I’m pretty solid, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed,” you tease, looking at him over the lid as you take another sip. “Now hurry up and quit hogging the bathroom if you want to leave here at a decent hour.” He rinses, zips up his toiletry bag noisily for dramatic effect, and slips past you, rubbing a hand over your unruly bed head as he goes. The day passes quickly, with lots of interviewing witnesses, following dead-end leads, and bad police station coffee. When Aaron calls it and tells everyone to get some dinner, you all split off into smaller groups—Spencer and Derek go for Chinese, JJ and Emily opt for pizza, and you and Aaron end up at a retro diner with burgers and milkshakes and a plate of fries between you to share.

“I think we should be focusing more on the docks,” you say, dipping a fry in ketchup and taking a bite. “Even if that’s not where the bodies end up, it seems to be where the unsub is meeting with the victims. We could stake it out tonight, maybe. If you want.” You never want to step on his toes, because he is the boss, the leader, even if you’re friends too; you try to be careful how you phrase things, especially in front of other people, because you don’t want your comfort to look like disrespect, however unintentional.

“That’s a good idea. You and I can head down there after this; I’ll let the others know to patrol nearby, in case we need backup.”

He dusts off his fingers and pulls out his phone, types out a text, and you look around the restaurant—the place looks like it was ripped right out of the 50s, with a checkered floor and lots of red vinyl, a shiny jukebox in the corner. Out of place is a flatscreen tv behind the counter; during the day, when it’s busier, it might play news or sports, but you two are the only ones here at the moment, so the staff is hanging out beneath it watching a movie. It’s Titanic, you realize, when the iconic ‘Rose floating on a piece of debris’ scene plays, and you snort, take a long drag of your chocolate shake.

“I always hated this part. They could have found a way for him to survive, too. Unnecessary death for the heartache factor,” you say, and Aaron looks up from his phone to the screen, makes a sound of contemplation.

“I always thought it was kind of romantic. When you love someone, you’d do anything for them to be okay, even at your own expense. Even if it’s stupid.” You look over his face, study the features you know like the back of your hand, and you guess you can kind of see that, but you can’t say that, so you just sigh.

“I suppose you think Romeo and Juliet is romantic, too,” you tease, and he looks back at you, rolls his eyes.

“It’s very much of its time; it's a lot harder to suffer a miscommunication like that these days. And there is something to be said for star-crossed lovers—people who shouldn’t be together, for one reason or another, but can’t help but drift close anyway.” You swirl your straw in the metal cup, thinking briefly of how that happens to describe the two of you, and when you look up at him, you think you see a hint of that same thought on his face.

More likely, that’s just wishful thinking.

“I like the sword-fights,” you say to lighten the mood, and he laughs, and you both polish off the rest of your food and then head for the docks.

Two hours in and absolutely nothing has happened, but just when you’re ready to complain, or suggest playing I Spy or something, there’s movement from one of the shipping containers to your right. You nudge Aaron, point to the container, and you both creep closer, trying to make out the situation.

When you’re just around the corner, it’s clearly two men fighting, but you obviously don’t know if this is your unsub, two random guys having it out on the docks, or what, so you mutually agree to wait until you have some kind of sign that this is your guy. When one of them pulls out a hunting knife that looks vaguely similar to your murder weapon—as close as you can tell in the dark, anyway—you raise your guns and identify yourselves as FBI.

The unsub drops the knife, but fists his hands in the other guy’s jacket, manhandles him to the edge of the dock, and shoves him into the water, then jumps as well. You swear, and Aaron takes off his jacket, throws it on the ground, then his phone on top of it, and looks back at you.

“Stay here and call for backup,” he instructs, and then he jumps in too; you call the team from your comms, get a response from Emily, and then toss your phone onto Aaron’s jacket and follow him.

He, of course, went for the victim first, so you look for the unsub, who is not visible above the water. You completely submerge yourself, feeling for more than looking for him, because the water is cloudy on a good day and pitch black at ten o’clock at night; when you pop your head up for air, you see Aaron getting the victim up onto the dock, and the unsub bobbing a bit further out. You swim to him, limbs aching, and he seems to know it’s time to give up.

He’s winded, gasping for breath, so you keep him above the water to your own detriment, dragging him by his wet jacket instead of cuffing him, because you’re not trying to kill the guy or lug his unconscious body back to shore. You just barely keep your own head above water most of the time, coming up for big gulps of air when absolutely necessary.

You finally make it to the dock, and your team has arrived, so Derek pulls him out of the water, makes sure he’s alright, and puts some cuffs on him. Aaron’s hands are on you right after, getting you up on the dock, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

Despite the warm spring breeze, the water was freezing, and you can feel your teeth chattering. He rubs your arms for warmth, crouches down to look you seriously in the eyes.

“Thought I told you to stay here,” he says with an arched brow, a scowl you can tell is more concerned than angry. You wet your frozen lips and try your best to smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack.”

He looks at you like you’re an idiot, but fondly, if that’s possible, then hugs you so tightly, guides your face to press against his warm neck. How he’s not teetering on the edge of hypothermia is anyone’s guess.

“Your lips are practically blue. Stupid,” he murmurs, but his mouth dusts over your temple in what is unmistakably a kiss, and when you’re able to feel your lips again, you reciprocate, press them a little harder against his throat while you shiver in his arms.

It doesn’t mean anything except I’m happy we’re both alive. Probably.

That night in bed, he faces the wall, and you stare at the ceiling, but you wake up with your nose against the back of his neck. The way he’s breathing tells you he’s not asleep, and when you wrap your arms around him, he holds them tight. Things don’t change after Pittsburgh, and that’s okay. You are comfortable with the way things are, and you love what you have—lunches under the oak tree, the exchange of books, late night texts when you both can’t sleep, hands brushing when you walk to the parking garage, glances shared across the jet. All those things make it easy not to focus on what you don’t have, what you’re not even sure Aaron would want anyway.

You exchange books again on Friday at lunch: he hands you Beloved by Toni Morrison, a book you already know and adore, and you hand him Ravished by Amanda Quick.

“Dubbed the Beast of Blackthorne Hall for his scarred face and lecherous past, Gideon,” Aaron shoots you a glance—“that’s purely coincidental”—“was strong and fierce and notoriously menacing. Yet Harriet could not find it in her heart to fear him. For in his tawny gaze she sensed a savage pain she longed to soothe... and a searing passion she yearned to answer.”

You hold back a smile.

“It’s a modern retelling of a classic story—Beauty and the Beast,” you add, taking a bite of your sandwich. He looks you over like there’s something he wants to say, but he just tucks it under his arm and steals a piece of melon from your lunch.

“I have Jack this weekend, so I probably won’t get to read much, but it sounds intriguing.”

“Well I hope you like it when you read it. Tell him I said hi; it’s been too long since I saw him. I bet he’s looking more like you every day,” you say, popping a piece of melon into your mouth. He smiles softly.

“A little, but Haley says she sees her father in him, and I have to agree. We may have to wait a few years until he looks like me; he’s too cute for that now.” He doesn’t sound self-deprecating, just fond, but you can’t let a comment like that stand, regardless.

“You’re cute; the difference is that kids are cute all the time. You’re an adult, so sometimes you’re handsome, sometimes you’re cute, sometimes you’re hot… it can be hard to reconcile.” This time, he looks you over with something light and playful in his eyes, and it’s something you want to explore, but the timer on your phone goes off, indicating that lunch is over, so you just exhale softly and pack up your things.

You don’t talk much after that—his Fridays are usually busy with meetings, and he leaves in a hurry to pick up Jack, which is understandable.

Emily, JJ, and Penelope invite you out for drinks and dinner—“because we know Hotch is busy,” Penelope says, which has literally nothing to do with your weekend plans, but you don’t correct them—so you don’t linger either.

You go out for Italian, so you are sleepy and full of wine and pasta by the end of the evening, and you smile at your friends.

“Thanks for inviting me out tonight, guys. I had a really good time.”

“Of course,” Emily says, taking her last sip of Pinot Noir. “We barely see you anymore; it was long overdue.”

“Definitely,” you agree. “I should really try to drag my ass out of bed more often.” You can’t help it, though, that after a long day, your bed and a good book just call your name. You’ve always been introverted in that way. JJ laughs softly, chin in her palm, elbow on the table.

“Honeymoon phase. Give it another couple months and you’ll be past that.” You do have a new memory foam mattress that has made sinking into the pillows and blankets all that more indulgent, but you didn’t think JJ knew about that. And you’ve never heard of a honeymoon phase for a mattress before.

“Eh, I don’t think so. There’s literally nothing more satisfying on this earth.” The three of them exchange an amused look, but your phone vibrates, and that catches your attention; you smile when it’s Aaron, sending you a photo of Jack with a toothy grin and his hands covered in fingerpaint. You look up to the sound of chairs scraping against the floor.

“Alright, we’ve lost her. See you all Monday,” Emily says, pulling you in for a hug; when she steps back, she smiles. “And tell Hotch we said hi.”

“I will,” you promise as you hug the other two. You hang back a moment, type out a reply—Looks like you’re having lots of fun without me!—and get into your car to head home.

You change into comfy clothes, drink a glass of water, and climb into bed with Beloved, and at around 9:30 you receive a reply.

Having the most fun we can without you. Maybe next time Jack is over, we can tempt you with dinosaur chicken nuggets and fingerpaint?

You smile, the happiest you’ve been all night—and that’s saying something, because you really did have a great time—and send back, It’s a date. Come Monday, you’re feeling pretty good, well-rested and relaxed from probably too much time in bed, but Aaron looks upset when he walks into the morning meeting. He keeps it short and sweet, and everyone disperses quickly, giving you sympathetic looks as you hang back to try to have a word with him. He clears off the white board, tidies up the table that doesn’t need tidying, and you place a hand on his back, gentle and comforting. He sighs, and you can feel the tension leave him almost instantly.

“Hey. What’s bothering you?” you ask softly, leaning around to try to catch his expression; he looks tired, sad, and maybe a little conflicted, leans into your touch.

“Taking Jack back to Haley’s was rough last night; it always is, but yesterday was really bad.” You know a little about this from weekends past, how Jack always cries when Aaron has to leave, how he feels terrible about it for the rest of the evening, but it must have been extreme for him to still be so upset. “And Haley…” He sighs again, runs his hand through his hair. “It’s like it’s one step forward, two steps back with her sometimes.”

“Why don’t we go sit in your office and you can tell me more?” You want to continue discussing this—that’s what friends are for, and he’s clearly in a bad state emotionally, you think it could help—but he just shakes his head.

“No, I… it’s okay. I don’t want to weigh you down with my problems.” You take your hand off his back, lean a hip against the table and look up at him.

“I’m not just your friend when it’s all easy breezy, lunch in the sunshine, talking about our favorite books,” you say with a sad smile; he reciprocates a little, which is more than you expected. “I’m here when things are complicated, when you have bad days, too. The Monday blues especially.” One of his hands rests on the table, and you cover it with yours, lean in to press your forehead to his shoulder. “Let me be here, okay? Even if all you need me to do is listen.”

It takes a moment, and his eyes are wet when he finally responds; he inhales deeply, nods, and brushes his free hand over your head in something of a hug, murmurs a rough, “okay.”

You sit in his office for an hour—which, again, is more than you expected—listening to him talk about his weekend with Jack, how heartbreaking it was to take him back to Haley’s, how he tried talking to her about taking him more often and she just wasn’t sure she could trust him to do what he says he’ll do. He understands where she’s coming from, knows he’s been unable to keep his word in the past, thinks he doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt; he hasn’t asked for advice, seems to just want to vent, so you just listen.

“Then I mentioned you, that you might come for dinner next time he’s over, and she was worried about that,” he says, exasperated, and you frown.

“Why would she worry about that? I’ve been around him lots of times.” It doesn't make sense, because Haley has always been nothing but sweet to you; Aaron looks up at your question, and it seems a little like maybe he hadn’t meant to say that part, though you can’t imagine why.

“It’s just different now… because he’s older,” he says after a brief moment of hesitation. “She doesn’t want him getting attached to someone who might not always be around, you know.” You sigh softly, because if that’s all it is…

You lean forward, take his hand, squeeze it tight.

“I’m always going to be around, Aaron. I can talk to her, if you want, tell her that.”

“No, it’s—you don’t have to do that.” He squeezes your hand back, closes his eyes for a beat. “Just hearing you say it, it makes things easier. I’ll talk to her again next time.”

You talk a little more, and he seems a lot better afterward, even if he is a bit less expressive during lunch; you figure any progress is good, but it makes you sad to see him so down, so naturally, you formulate a plan to help get him back to the Aaron you know and love.

At the end of the day, when he makes his way to the bullpen, you spin around in your chair, take him by the sleeve.

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” you say in no uncertain tone of voice. “For a few hours. I’ll bring you back for your car.” He agrees with a fond look, and you lose yourself in the expression for a moment, then stand up, grab your things, and walk with him out to the garage.

Rush hour traffic is what it is, and you leave Aaron in charge of the music, which means you get The Beatles and The Who, Rolling Stones and Neil Diamond, and you’re both singing along and so much happier by the time you pull into the parking lot of the bodega nearest your apartment.

“Just running in for provisions—be right back,” you say with a grin, and when you return with two paper bags of loot, he looks at you like you might be his favorite person in the world with an age in the double digits. It’s a look you love putting on his face.

“Do I get to see what provisions you’ve acquired?” he asks, teasing, but you shake your head and tell him he’ll see it when you get there.

With a pit stop in your apartment to grab a blanket and a few throw pillows, you take him up to the roof and get things ready for your makeshift picnic. There is white wine, still mostly chilled; cubed cheese, far from gourmet but no less delicious; crusty french bread that was fresh this morning but at this hour is a little extra crusty; blueberries, because they didn’t have grapes; dark chocolate, because you share a fondness for it; and paper cups for the wine.

Aaron takes a look at your bounty, spread over the blanket, and smiles the first real smile you’ve seen all day.

“Fancy,” he teases, and he takes off his jacket, gets on the ground with you. You pour each of you some wine, pop a blueberry in your mouth.

“No, but I thought a meal—and I do call it that loosely—under the stars might do you some good.” You lift your paper cup and tap it against his, brush your fingers over his hand. “To the best boss, best dad, best friend I could ask for.” You take a sip, but he doesn’t at first, watches you with something simmering behind his eyes.

“Do I get to make a toast?” he asks after a few beats, and you smile, nod, and hold up your cup. “To the only person stupid enough to jump into a freezing cold river after me. To the only person I would consider eating a bodega dinner with. To the only person who sees me the way you do.” You both take a sip, which is hard to swallow around the lump in your throat. He looks into your eyes, then breaks the dark chocolate into slivers and hands you a piece like he didn’t just say the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to you before.

You eat, and talk, and drink, and when you’re done with dinner you put everything back in the bags and lay back on the blanket, side by side, and stare up at the stars. The moon is high and full, shining while the stars twinkle around it, and you can’t think of a single time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“This was really perfect,” Aaron says, almost a whisper, after about twenty minutes of companionable silence. “I can’t thank you enough for being there for me today.” You turn to face him, hands curled up under your chin, and he turns toward you as well. He’s so handsome in the moonlight your heart almost aches.

“You don’t have to thank me. I just wanted to see you happy.” You feel your eyes well up with tears, because he deserves to be happy; you sigh, blink them away, and he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead, rests them there for a long time. When he eventually pulls back, you bring a hand to his hair, brush it back at his temple, and then the creaking of the door makes you pull back, sit up.

It’s your neighbor from 422, who you’ve seen on the roof a handful of times, sneaking away from his wife to smoke a cigarette. He squints in the dark, recognizes you, and waves.

“Hey, 418! You’re not alone tonight.” Aaron sits up too, and you laugh softly.

“Nope, but we were just leaving. The roof is all yours.” Aaron stands, pulls you up, and you grab the blanket and pillows while he grabs the bags, and the two of you head back down to your place.

It’s after ten when you get the groceries put away, and you stand next to Aaron in your small kitchen, contemplating what you want to say next. Your mouth betrays your brain, says what you’ve been thinking but weren’t quite sure how to approach.

“It’s late; I know I said I’d take you back to your car, but you could stay here if you want. I have a spare toothbrush, and I know you have a spare suit at the office, and it’s not like it’s the first time we’ve shared a bed before.”

You’d completely understand if he’d rather go home—you hate when your plans are changed at the last minute, and you prefer to do your full nightly routine for your sanity’s sake—but he only nods, and you lead your way to the bedroom, show him the master bath.

You are in your pajamas, tucked into bed, when he comes out in his boxers and undershirt; he hangs up his suit in your closet where you’d left him some space, then climbs in beside you. He looks over at you, then past you, at your nightstand, which has a stack of books on it—none of them romance novels. You grin, busted after months of book exchanges, and he leans over you to look at the titles.

“Persuasion, To Kill A Mockingbird, One Hundred Years of Solitude—Beloved.” He looks from your copy of the novel to his, which you hold in your hands, and you shrug sheepishly.

“I like reading the notes you put in the margins,” you say meekly, hoping he’s not angry, but all he does is laugh.

“Let me guess: you don’t actually like romance novels.” He leans back against your pillow, and so do you, resting the book on your lap.

“I mean, I don’t not like them… but I’ve been buying those just for you.” The smile on his face is brilliant, and only makes you yearn for him more; things you have been purposefully not feeling are flooding your heart and mind and body now, with him so close, laughing over this stupid secret you’ve been hiding for so long. “And you, sweet man that you are, have been reading them, and discussing them.” You put your hand on his shoulder, and he ducks his head to laugh again.

“Since we’re being honest… I didn’t read all of them. I tried,” he says when you act offended, shoving the shoulder you’re resting against, “but some of them were so bad. I just flipped through, found something I thought could pass as my favorite part, and hoped to hell you didn't ask too many questions.”

You both laugh until you’re breathless—he is so different from how he was this morning it makes you want to cry—and when your laughter dies down you look at each other, sharing breath, two heads on one pillow; is it any wonder you bridge the distance, pull him close for a warm, gentle kiss?

When you break the kiss, you are instantly worried about what Aaron will do—you aren’t drunk, aren’t even tipsy, so you know he can’t be, so much bigger and more solid than you, but will he think it’s a mistake? He kissed back, you’re pretty sure, but maybe that was an accident, something done on autopilot—

He leans in for a second kiss, mouth deceptively soft, and you curl your arm around his back, press into it with lips desperate not to let this end now that it’s started. When you separate, you are both looking into each other’s eyes again, breathing a bit heavily, and you meet in the middle for a third kiss, the best kiss you’ve ever had in your life.

That kiss ends when you yawn in his face, and he chuckles softly, leans over and switches off your bedside lamp; you smile at the ceiling, and he wraps his arms around you, presses his lips to your shoulder, and tells you good night. The next day, the two of you arrive at work early so he can shower and change into his fresh clothes without anyone on the team noticing—not that you think they would really care, but they’re nosy, and a little annoying, so you both agree that’s probably for the best.

You don’t talk about the kisses, even though they’ve been the only thing running through your mind since they happened; you promise to discuss it at lunch, though, and that’s such a sweet, romantic prospect that you think you prefer it better that way anyway.

Only, you don’t ever get to lunch, because there’s an urgent case in Minneapolis, an all hands on deck situation, meaning even Penelope joins you on the jet. You debrief on the flight, hunker down in the conference room, and split up to cover more ground; you barely get to speak to Aaron the whole time you’re there except to be given instructions and to fill him on what, if anything, you’ve learned.

You don’t even make it to your hotel that night, working around the clock to catch the people responsible for terrorizing the city. It takes not one, but almost two full days, and when you board the jet on Wednesday evening, everyone is dead on their feet. You barely remember the flight or the trip home, and you fall onto your bed fully clothed and crash just like that.

Thursday is your birthday, which you almost forgot, and so you assumed everyone else would too. You should have known better, because even if your team can be annoying, they are still your friends, and they love you, so you are well and truly spoiled.

You are treated to a latte and bagels from Emily, purple cupcakes with silver sprinkles from Penelope, a piggy back ride from Derek, a book of poetry you’ve had your eye on from Spencer, and a card from JJ—really, it turns out, from all of them.

“Enjoy a romantic getaway on us?” There’s some kind of certificate in the card, and when you flip it over, you discover that it’s for a hotel and spa that offers couples massages, mud baths, intimate aromatherapy? You arch a brow. “Uh, thanks, guys. Are you trying to tell me something here?” JJ’s face falls a little and she points to the card.

“It’s a romantic getaway. For you and Hotch? Since things have been so hectic lately,” she says, but your ears are kind of ringing and your brain is stuck on the for you and Hotch part.

“Oh. Um. Sorry—it’s just kind of soon, I think? How do you guys even know about that?” you murmur. The two of you haven’t had time to discuss Monday yet, and you haven’t spoken a word to anyone; you wouldn’t have guessed Aaron would have either, but there is a gift certificate for a romantic getaway in your hands, and you’re kind of spiraling.

“Well come on, we haven’t exactly been pretending we don’t know,” Emily says, and you can feel the confusion in your features when you look up at her. “And you guys haven’t been exactly secretive. We’re happy for you, though.”

“I mean, we haven’t been secretive, but we haven’t really had a chance to talk about it yet. It’s only been three days.” You are met with looks similar to the one on your own face.

“What do you mean, three days?” Spencer asks with a frown. “You and Hotch have been dating for almost two months. Right?” he says, looking at the others, and they nod, but it’s tentative. Your first reaction is to flush, and you close the card, fan your face with it.

“You guys think… You guys thought…” You look at them, then up at Aaron’s office; there’s no way he can know that you’re having a moment, but he chooses then to come downstairs, coincidentally. He’s smiling at first, but it falls when he looks at your face.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” He presses a cool hand to your hot cheek, flicks his eyes over yours, and JJ makes a noise; when you glance over at her, she’s gesturing between the two of you.

“I’m sorry, we were wrong? What were we supposed to think?” Aaron frowns, not following, and you take a deep breath.

“They got me a gift certificate for my birthday. To a spa. For you and I to have a romantic getaway, because they were under the assumption we’ve been dating… for two months.” The way he pulls back quickly makes your stomach ache a little, but you say nothing. You should have known.

“You say I love you,” Derek begins like he’s listing evidence. “You have lunch together every day. You’re always smiling at each other.”

“Seriously, some of the softest, gooiest smiles I’ve ever seen,” Penelope adds.

“You eat together on cases, you’re texting all the time when you’re not together.”

“I’ve been pairing the two of you up in hotels since I first figured out you were dating,” JJ says, and the whole ‘you’re welcome’ thing suddenly makes some sense. “I booked you that room with just the one bed so you’d maybe feel more comfortable about us knowing, so you’d see that we don’t mind.”

“You’re always looking at each other, always touching,” Spencer says. “In Pittsburgh—that was the first time you really hugged or kissed each other in front of us. We were trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but it was kind of a big deal.”

You look over at Aaron, try to gauge his reaction, but for the first time in a long time you can’t tell what he’s feeling. You can’t really tell what you’re feeling, either. Sadness. Worry. Loss? But what have you lost?

“We’re friends,” you say, even if it sounds weak to your own ears. “We’re… close.”

“We wouldn’t exactly make sense as a couple, would we?” Aaron asks rhetorically, and your heart clenches when he says that. He told you this morning that he’d made dinner plans for you, both for your birthday and to discuss the kisses, what they mean, where you go from here, but that doesn’t sound very promising anymore. “We’re just—”

“Star-crossed,” you say, but you feel like your eyes are vacant. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You’re stupid for kissing him, for letting yourself think he could feel the same way you feel, have felt for a while. Isn’t friendship enough? Don’t you already have this special bond so unlike what you have with anyone else in your life? Why press your luck? You know better than that. “We should get back to work.”

You don’t look at Aaron, so you don’t know whether or not he looks at you. JJ does, and you can tell she knows you’re upset, but she just nudges everyone on their way, and you take a seat at your desk—it’s covered in balloons and streamers, the Penelope special.

You’ve never felt less like celebrating.

At lunchtime, Aaron stops at your desk, and the two of you walk out to the bench, open your bags in silence. You’re almost halfway through the hour before he tries to speak.

“Uh. I. About earlier,” he finally gets out, looking down at his sandwich, and you shake your head even though he’s not watching you.

“It’s fine. We don’t have to.” You take a bite of your salad even though you don’t taste it. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. You are who you are,” smart, sweet, handsome, tender, caring, “and I am who I am.” Too quiet, too young, too impulsive, too silly, too emotional. He nods, looks at your face for the first time in a while, swallows.

“Right.” You’re due to exchange books back—his is on your lap, yours is on his—and he picks them both up. “I’m like this,” he says, holding up Beloved. “Faded cover, dog-eared pages, scribbles in the margins: middle-aged, divorced, a little broken, barely holding it together for the kid I don’t get to spend enough time with. You’re like this,” he says, holding up Ravished. “Fresh and glossy and shiny and new, with your whole life ahead of you, the whole world ahead of you. You could do anything, with anyone.”

You frown, because this is not what you meant, at all. How could he think that about himself, when the well-loved cover and the dog-eared pages and the scribbles in the margins are all the best parts of him?

“Aaron,” you say, but it sounds like pleading; you reach out to put your hands on his arms, but he pulls them back. His eyes are rimmed red, lips pressed together to hold back everything he’s not saying.

“I think lunch is almost over.” He packs up his things, leaves you with tears in your eyes and a wilted salad and a brand new romance novel you’re never going to read.

Later, he cancels dinner, says something came up, and you go home to your empty bed and watch Titanic and bawl your eyes out when Rose tells Jack she’ll never let go. Friday, you get another case. Weekend cases are no one’s favorite, but especially not yours, when you desperately needed that buffer of time away from Aaron to sort out your feelings and get back to some sense of normalcy. Instead, you’re flying to a small town outside of Nashville to catch a serial arsonist, and when you get to your hotel, you and Aaron are sharing a room.

At least there are two beds, this time.

You go with Emily and Spencer to a crime scene, walking around a house that was once picture perfect and is now all charred wood and ash, and you quickly tell yourself to get a grip and not look for metaphors for your own life while trying to solve a case. What kind of investigator are you? Pathetic, apparently.

You work until evening, and when it’s time to break for dinner, you buy a sad looking assortment of items from the police station vending machine and eat in the conference room by yourself.

It’s a good thing you do, because they get a call about the fire while everyone is still away, and you and a few locals are the first on the scene.

It doesn’t start out bad, mostly located in the back of the house, but you know how quickly these things can spread, and the fire department is working hard to put it out. One of the officers is talking to the family, and the mother is crying, so you come closer to figure out why.

“She said the daughter was supposed to be staying at a friend’s, but sometimes she changes her mind at the last minute and comes home. She can’t get ahold of her,” the officer says, and you nod, thinking.

“Where would she be? The front or the back?”

“Her room is in the front, second floor; if she’s here, that’s where she’d be,” the mother says, wiping her eyes with a tissue, and you tell the officer to stay with them, that you’ll take care of it. You talk to the firefighters—this town is so small there are only two that were able to respond, and they’re both busy trying to put out the fire, but they clear you to go in if you stick to the front of the building and get out of there as fast as you can.

Your team isn’t here yet either, too far out for comms to be effective, and you can’t get ahold of Aaron, so you make a judgement call and head inside.

The front of the house is so eerily normal it’s almost easy to calm your nerves and pretend the back isn’t in the process of being destroyed. You open the front door, run up the staircase, and call out for the girl; she answers, not from the front of the house, but the back—a bathroom maybe? Flames lick up the wall beside it, but you can get to the knob, and she comes rushing out, into your arms, terrified. You weren't expecting that, and you both fall back: your head hits off the floor, but she seems okay, so you tell her to run out the front door and find her mom.

You press a hand to the back of your head, and it comes back tacky with blood. There’s ringing in your ears for a couple of minutes, and then your favorite voice in the world comes through.

“Where are you? We’re here, where are you?” You’re getting hotter, and when you crane your neck up, you can see why: the fire is getting closer, creeping toward the staircase, creeping toward you. You inhale, cough, and press your walkie button.

“I’m upstairs in the hall; hit my head. It’s not safe.”

“I’m coming for you.” You groan. Stubborn man.

“It’s not safe, Aaron.” You hear the crackle of static, hope maybe he heard your warning and will wait until more firefighters arrive—but knowing him the way you do, that’s just wishful thinking. His voice rings out again, and despite the pain, you can’t help but smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack. Just stay put; I’ll be right there.” You close your eyes, drift in and out of consciousness; when you see him, all you can think is how ridiculously in love with him you are, and that you really hope you’ll be around to tell him. You are, of course, fine. Your head is the worst of it, even the smoke inhalation was mild, and the fire didn’t touch you, so there are no burns. Aaron doesn’t leave your side the entire time you’re being checked over, looks serious and concerned, though he smiles when the mother comes over and squeezes you so tightly you wince a little. It starts to rain, making the firefighters' jobs a little easier, and it feels oddly cleansing, after the day you’ve had. Someone offers you an umbrella, but you decline.

The fire is successfully put out, and the half of your team that didn’t respond to the scene responded to a call for suspicious activity, which ends up being your unsub. You are all happy no one was killed this time, and since you’re staying the night again, the group decides to grab a drink to celebrate. You don’t have a concussion, but your head still aches, so you pass, and Aaron passes with you.

You head to the hotel, park in the lot, but you don’t even make it halfway across before you stop, a hand on his arm.

“I need to say something,” you tell him, and he looks up at the dark sky like, right here? Right now?, even though you’re both already drenched. You nod, because if you don’t do this now you might never—almost dying always gives you an unhealthy amount of confidence, which you attribute to equal amounts of adrenaline and stupidity. “When we first met, I didn’t think we’d have a lot in common. We’re both quiet, but in wildly different ways, and I’m quick to trust and let people in while your guard is almost never down.”

He looks a little sad at that, and you realize you’re kind of doing what he did, putting the two of you into completely different categories, emphasizing the ways you don’t belong together. But that’s dumb, so you don’t give him time to focus on that for long.

“But being your friend, Aaron—the more time I spent with you, the more I came to feel like no one has ever understood me the way you do. No one has ever seen me the way you do.” Rain is pouring down all around you, beating against the pavement, flattening your hair against your head, but you don’t care. Regardless of his reaction, this is actually kind of perfect. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you—that was an accident, I admit. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You step closer to him, put your hands on his waist; he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t need shiny, glossy things; you're the one I want—faded cover, dog-eared pages, notes in the margins. I love you exactly as you are.”

He is gorgeous in the rain, water in his hair, dripping off his nose. His expression looks hopeful, and you pray to god that’s not wishful thinking.

“Say something, anything,” you beg, anticipation killing you, and he presses his hands to your cheeks and pulls you close for a deep, passionate, soulful kiss that says it all.

The words are nice to hear, though.

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you either,” he breathes against your lips when the kiss breaks. “I told myself it was just a crush, because someone so young and beautiful was paying so much attention to me, treating me like more than just the guy giving orders. But the more time I spent with you, the more undeniable it became. You are everything good about the world—bright, optimistic, caring, funny, sweet. How could anyone not fall in love with you?”

You swallow hard, lean up to press your lips against his again.

“When you said we wouldn’t make sense as a couple…” He shakes his head.

“That was just me chickening out. After we kissed, I was all but ready to ask you to go steady,” he says, and you both smile, because he’s such an old fashioned dork, but god, do you love him. “And then we found out that the team thought we’d been together for months, and you looked freaked out, so I freaked out. I’m sorry. I should have made us talk about it sooner.”

“Classic pointless miscommunication,” you say with a laugh, and he chuckles too, kisses you again.

“Let’s go inside and get dried off; there’s a birthday gift in my bag I’ve been meaning to give you.” He takes your hand, and you head up, duck into the bathroom to change into dry clothes, squeeze the water out of your hair. There is a small, flat, wrapped present on your bed when you emerge, and you smile, sink down to open it.

It’s Romeo and Juliet, a brand new copy, but when you flip through it, there are blue inked notes in the margins. Aaron comes to sit beside you, touches your face like you’re something precious.

“The course of true love never did run smooth,” he murmurs, and you smack him on the arm with the book.

“That’s from A Midsummer Night's Dream, and I know you know that,” you say with a grin. He nods in admission, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, lean in for a warm, loving kiss. When you pull back, it’s with a soft smile. “Give me my sin again?”

“My pleasure,” he whispers, and you sink into his embrace and promise never to let go. The following week, you both leave work at noon on Friday so you can enjoy your romantic getaway. You drive to the spa, and Aaron reads over the brochure on his phone with a tone you find hilarious.

“Mud bath—I’m not bathing in mud. That’s counterintuitive.”

“It’s special mud; more like clay,” you say, but he snorts, scrolls.

“Seaweed wrap—nobody is wrapping me in seaweed. That sounds like a nightmare.” You laugh softly and take your exit.

“It’s supposed to be rejuvenating. JJ recommended it.”

“JJ weighs fifty pounds. It would take all the seaweed in the Atlantic to wrap me,” he says, and you roll your eyes, jab your finger into his ribs.

“But what if I get to unwrap you?” you ask, eyebrows raised; you briefly glance over and he makes a face of contemplation.

“Okay, that’s a maybe. Intimate aromatherapy—what does that even mean?”

“I think it means we do something that makes us smell good and then we go back to our room and kiss and stuff.”

“Now that doesn’t sound half bad,” he murmurs. “Foot massage? I’m not letting a stranger touch my feet, that’s weird.” You look over at him, squinting.

“You literally plugged someone’s bullet wound with your finger yesterday, but someone touching your feet is where you draw the line? Will you do anything on the list?” He scrolls down it, and his extended silence makes you laugh.

“Meditation. Couples massage,” he says, reaching over to rest a hand on your thigh. “There’s a sauna.” You think of him, sweat-drenched in a fluffy white towel, and take a deep, calming breath. “I bet the room is nice; did you bring a book?” You smile indulgently, reach out a hand to brush through his hair.

“Yep. It’s called A Duke’s Wild Kiss…” He gives you a mildly withering look, and you lightly tap the bridge of his nose. “Just kidding. I brought To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf.” His answering smile is brilliant.

“Are you serious?” You nod, and he gestures to the backseat, where your bags are. “That’s what I brought, too.”

You spend too much of your romantic getaway in your room, but it is really nice; you do the couples massage, though, and aromatherapy, and the sauna, and then you take turns giving each other a foot massage while the other reads To the Lighthouse out loud.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t, but somehow you get to keep him anyway. A/N: Though I snuck in a few parts of a few different lyrics, two lines in particular inspired this fic: 'Now I've read all of the books beside your bed' and 'I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this.' A lot of my fics lately have incorporated books... guess I better get reading!

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #paper rings #inspired by #taylor swift

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seijorhi · 3 years

Text

Inexorable ♕

My birthday present for my beloved wife @iwaasfairy and my contribution to her birthday bash collab you can find here. I love you, you’re incredible and I hope you like this i even wrote smut for you smh

Iwaizumi Hajime x female reader

tw: dub-con, stalking, unhealthy relationships, very questionable decision making, smut, nsfw, um... implied murder?

He’s sitting on the steps outside your apartment when you get home from work, a lit cigarette dangling between long fingers. He brings it to his lips, the bright cherry red tip glowing as he takes a nice, slow drag and you scurry on past.

Not a word passes between the two of you, but olive eyes follow you up the stairs regardless, just like always. His name is Iwaizumi – Iwa – but you only know that because you’ve heard his friends yelling it down the hallway. In the three months since you’ve moved in, you haven’t so much as introduced yourself to the guy, but like most strangers crammed into the same shitty place there’s some kind of a routine between the two of you.

Why he religiously chooses this time of night to take his smoke break is beyond you, but like clockwork you’ll arrive home, having walked back from the bus stop and Iwaizumi’ll be there waiting for you, cigarette in hand.

Well, not waiting, just… there. Black leather jacket with a hoodie underneath, there’s a cut above his eyebrow tonight that he hasn’t bothered to clean, a purpling bruise colouring his jaw. Whatever dealings Iwaizumi’s tangled up in, you don’t like to think about too much, but you know it can’t be anything good. His friends dress like him, all have the same ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe. You’ve seen their scrapes and bruises too – the weapons that stick out from the waistband of their pants – though you’re always quick to avert your eyes when they catch you staring.

You’ve heard them snickering about it when you hastily dart past, all but slamming your front door shut.

And it’s not that you’re scared of him. There are people who play at being dangerous, and ones who are. Iwaizumi doesn’t strike you as somebody who enjoys playing, and while you don’t doubt for a second that he is dangerous, he isn’t to you. He wouldn’t go out of his way to hurt or scare you – you’re not even a blip on his radar – but what Iwaizumi is, at least as far as you’re concerned, the reason your step quickens and you can’t bear to meet his eyes, is intimidating.

Tall and broad shouldered, with those piercing green eyes. You’ve only seen him smile once, though it was more a quirking of his lips than anything else – usually he just stares, his expression halfway between impassive boredom and a scowl.

No, Iwaizumi doesn’t scare you nearly as much as the bouquet of flowers you find sitting on your doorstep, a handwritten note tucked in between the roses.

—

The calls come next. You block one number and he rings from another, followed by endless texts. Cute little messages you suppose are meant to brighten up your day.

Hi baby, love the skirt you’re wearing today. You know blue’s my favourite on you, always look so damn pretty. It’s like you’re trying to drive me crazy haha

Morning babe, I was thinking about you last night. You remember that trip we always said we were gonna take in the summer down to the lake? I can’t wait to bring you there.

Why won’t you answer my calls? I just wanna talk to you, hear your voice again. Let me make things right. I love you.

Don’t you miss me? I miss you. So, so much… You look beautiful today, by the way.

Baby, I love you, but you really shouldn’t be staying out so late with your coworkers for drinks. I just want you to be safe.

They’re not all soft and sweet though. Sometimes he just sends you pictures, and those creep you out most of all.

You change your number, and it doesn’t make a difference.

—

It’s hard for you to try and convince yourself that you’re imagining the prickling sensation on the back of your neck as you go about your day. You know he’s watching you – the messages and the voicemails just drive that home, but what else are you supposed to do?

You can’t just pack up and run again, and what good is a restraining order when you have no proof he’s violating it – and by the time you do, it probably won’t help you.

Kazuma’s always had patience, but only up to a point.

The final nail comes the day you arrive home to find one of Iwa’s friends heading out from his apartment – the tallest, with the curly dark hair. Barely spares you a glance until he seems to think better of it.

“Didn’t realise you had a boyfriend, sweetheart.”

He says it so casually, but the words make you falter, a sinking feeling in your stomach. “What do you mean?”

And for a moment, he looks half surprised that you’ve bothered to reply – so far you’ve done nothing but pretend to ignore him and Iwa and every last one of their friends. But the mirth slips from his expression quickly enough once he gets a good look at yours, “Blonde guy with a shitty dye job, tall-ish. Saw him leaving your apartment an hour ago.”

But to walk out of your apartment, he had to have first gotten into it.

“Guessing he wasn’t your boyfriend then,” he says, eyeing you with an odd look. But you don’t respond and after a short pause, he simply shrugs and continues on his way.

You couldn’t care less.

Kazuma was in your apartment.

Leaving flowers at your doorstep is one thing, but now he has a key.

And it feels like there’s somebody else moving your body as you stumble towards your apartment, your hand shaking so badly that you fumble and drop your own keys twice before you finally manage to slide them home and push your way inside.

It’s waiting for you inside your bedroom, sitting atop your pillow; a pretty blue box wrapped with white ribbon.

Your phone flashes to life a minute later; an incoming message from an unknown number.

Did you like your present, baby?? I hope you don’t mind, I kinda borrowed a little something too…

With your heart in your throat you watch those three bouncing dots as the image comes through.

A pair of red lace panties – yours – scrunched up in his fist, wrapped around his–

Your stomach heaves, and you barely make it to the bathroom in time before you’re hurling your guts up.

—

You’ve always had an impulsive side, and more often than not it’s landed you into trouble.

So you force yourself to calm down and think before you do anything rash. You head to the police station the very next morning to file a report, fresh off a sleepless night. The officer seems sympathetic, but you know before she even opens her mouth that there’s nothing they can do.

There’s no proof of a crime committed; nothing was taken (nothing you can prove, at any rate) and because your door wasn’t tampered with and the windows weren’t smashed, there’s no evidence of a break in. She suggests changing your locks and going to stay with some friends or family for a few days and you don’t know whether you want to laugh or burst into tears.

And instead of going back to work, you call in sick.

Iwaizumi isn’t sitting on the front steps when you get back home, and why would he be? You’re not supposed to be home for another few hours – so instead you head to his apartment door and mustering every last ounce of courage you possess, you raise your fist and knock.

Silence greets you.

You wait for a moment, a heartbeat, not daring to breathe, but there’s no answer. Which, really, shouldn’t be that surprising considering it’s mid-morning on a Tuesday, but you can’t help the crushing sense of disappointment that washes over you. The thought of trudging back to your apartment to sit and stew alone for the next few hours while you wait for him to come back makes your skin crawl. You can’t just sit still and twiddle your thumbs, not when–

Abruptly, the door in front of you swings open, and you find yourself face to face with a glaring Iwaizumi. His expression falters, momentary surprise flickering across his eyes at the sight of you standing in his doorway.

This time you don’t avert your eyes. Your heart’s pounding, your hands clammy and trembling by your side, but this is the only choice you have left. And so as a single eyebrow cocks and Iwa falls into a lean against the doorframe – the only invitation you’re gonna get – you steel your nerves, take a deep breath, and speak.

“I-I need a gun.”

To his credit, Iwaizumi doesn’t snort. “You planning on shooting somebody, princess?”

They’re the first words he’s ever spoken to you, and they make your cheeks burn, your stomach twisting into a knot. It’s not a dismissal, but there’s a tinge of amusement colouring his tone and you can’t help but wilt a little under the weight of his gaze.

Better sense would tell you to turn around, walk back to your apartment and curse your own idiocy for entertaining this stupid idea to begin with But Iwaizumi’s staring at you like he’s expecting an answer and all you can think about is the fear that gripped your heart last night, how you couldn’t bear to turn the light off, half terrified that at any moment Kazuma would come back – and this time he wouldn’t be satisfied with just some panties.

You can’t live like this, and you can’t just pack up your life and wait for the same thing to happen in the next place, and the one after that. Kazuma won’t stop, you know that.

“I…” you chew on your bottom lip, dropping your gaze so that you’re staring at his chest instead of those piercing green eyes. “I don’t, I-I’m not–”

“A killer?” he interjects, and you almost flinch at his bluntness“Yeah, no shit.”

Taking another breath in through your nose, you force yourself to meet his gaze, even as your nails bite into the palm of your hand and your heart skips a beat. “I just want…” but you can’t even bear to say the words aloud, not without your voice shaking like a leaf. “It’s for protection. I don’t know who else to go to. Please,” you beg.

Iwa exhales heavily, a crinkle appearing between his brows as he frowns, “This got anything to do with the blonde asshole that’s been sniffing ‘round your place?”

Your bewilderment must show, because he snorts, finally stepping back to let you inside. “Mattsun told me,” he says, answering your unspoken question.

The unmistakably hard edge to his words takes you a little by surprise, but you nod anyway, gingerly taking a seat on the couch when he jerks his chin at it. “Oh, uh, yeah. He’s my ex, kinda. We… didn’t end well.”

It’s the understatement of the century, but you somehow doubt a man like Iwaizumi gives two shits about your past relationship with a stalker. Your fingers play with the hem of your skirt as the imposing man settles down beside you. “So does this mean you’ll get me a gun?” you ask. “I can pay you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I have some money–”

Iwa scoffs, cutting you off. “If you think I’m letting you anywhere near a loaded gun, pretty girl, you’re dumber than I gave you credit for.”

You reel back as if he’s slapped you. But Iwaizumi’s staring at you with that steely expression and blood rushes to your cheeks. Why are you surprised? Did you actually think he was going to help you – a veritable stranger – just because you have some sob story? Why even bother letting you in if he was just gonna make you feel like an idiot? And for a moment you forget the gnawing terror that’s kept you up all night, letting yourself become awash with indignation. You have no control over the hurt noise that leaves your throat, but the ‘Fuck you’ that follows; that one’s intentional.

You don’t have time to regret the insult as you jump to your feet; his hand shoots out to wrap around your wrist, jerking you to a halt the moment you try it.

“I didn’t say you could go,” he tells you, and you can’t fight the shiver that rolls down your spine at the unmistakably commanding tone. “Sit.”

Wordlessly, you comply.

“Look at me.”

Again, there’s that harsh undercurrent in his voice that tells you he’s not asking, and you lift your gaze with a tense swallow. Iwa still hasn’t released your wrist, the warmth of his calloused palm searing against your skin.

He doesn’t speak for a moment, olive eyes studying your face intently as you force yourself to sit still under the appraisal. “I said that I wasn’t going to give you a gun, not that I wasn’t going to help.”

Your eyebrows draw together in confusion, “What–”

“I’ll take care of it,” he snaps, cutting you off once again. And as you inhale sharply, you realise that it’s not anger you see burning in those pretty eyes, but sheer, unrelenting fury, an icy rage that you don’t understand, that terrifies you as much as it enthrals.

Because you feel like it’s on purpose. Like he’s finally letting you get a glimpse of what silently seethes beneath that impassive mask of his. Are you scared now, sweetheart?

“H-how much?” you ask breathlessly, eyes wide and heart pounding.

“I don’t want your money,” he says quietly, his voice low and husky. And just in case there was any confusion as to what he does want, his other hand comes up to your face, a broad thumb tracing along your bottom lip as he cups your cheek.

Iwaizumi leans in slowly, as if he’s giving you time to shove him away and tell him that you’re not that kind of girl. Part of you – the part that’s terrified, frozen stiff and regretting the very moment you decided to step into his apartment and cross that line – wants to. Even now, as those hooded olive eyes drink you in, his warm breath ghosting across your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake, you’re afraid that it’s too late for that. You’ve opened a door that should never have been opened and there’s been a fundamental shift between you and him. There’s no going back for either one of you.

And the other part of you revels in it.

“Don’t kill him,” you murmur the second before his lips meet yours. “Not unless you have to.” You don’t even know if he heard you, and as Iwa deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours you find that you don’t care. You lose yourself to Iwaizumi as he leans closer, gently pushing you to lie back on the couch.

He isn’t satisfied with just your lips for long, planting hot, open mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat, sucking on the sensitive flesh. His teeth nip at your collarbone as he busies himself unbuttoning your shirt, but your gasp sounds more like a needy whine than a plea for him to stop.

He laughs a little at that, his chest rumbling against your stomach, but he makes no moves to slow down. Instead he turns his attention to your bra, his hands far less gentle with the delicate lace than he was with your shirt, and then his mouth is on your tits, licking, sucking, biting. Tomorrow, your skin will be littered with pretty red and purple marks, and judging from the single minded focus glinting in his eyes as he stares up at you, that’s exactly his intention. Iwa drags the flat of his tongue along the swell of your breast, circling it around your nipple before he sucks it into the wet warmth of his mouth, and the whimpering moan you give him in response is a thing of beauty.

“Good girl,” he croons. “Such pretty, perfect tits.”

Your back arches when he cups the other in his hand, and you cry out when he roughly tugs the sensitive bud. He waits until the sting fades and you relax, sagging back against the cushions with relief before he does it again, harder this time. The sharp, searing pain ripples through you, your breath seizing in your chest as you try in vain to writhe away from his touch, but it’s followed by a flood of pleasure so strong it almost makes you dizzy. The fleeting kiss Iwa bestows on the supple flesh a moment later could almost be taken as an apology – if not from the satisfied smirk curling at his lips. He has no desire to be gentle with you, not today or any other day. That’s not who he is.

Large hands ease down your side, reaching for the hem of your skirt. Iwa doesn’t bother trying to pull it off of you, merely flips it up, exposing your soft thighs and the delicate panties lying underneath.

In an attempt to be helpful, you lift your hips to allow him to drag the lacy scrap of fabric down your legs and discard it, but Iwaizumi seems perfectly content with leaving them where they are. Even so, it takes you by surprise when his mouth descends on your cunt, the wet, pink muscle laving along the seat of your panties. You shiver in response, one hand instinctively reaching out to tangle in those spiky brunette locks, but if you’re about to tell him to stop teasing, the words are robbed from you when Iwa pushes the fabric aside and buries his face in the heat of your pussy.

His nose nudges at your clit and you jerk at the first lap at your folds, already shamefully wet for him. There’s no rhythm or rhyme to the way he eats you out, letting a long, thick finger slide into your cunt while he suckles and licks at your clit, but you can’t deny that it’s working. Your thighs tremble and quake beneath his hands, every second of his attention dragging you closer to unravelling entirely. And you’re awash with pleas, little whimpers and moans as he chuckles, the low vibrations making your fingers tighten in his hair as another burst of pleasure flutters through you. Your hips rise and fall against his face, desperate for more when he finally slides his tongue inside of your heat, eager to taste your cunt properly. You want more, you’re desperate and aching for it; but Iwaizumi’s grip tighten bruisingly against your thigh in warning.

You’re at his mercy, and he’s in absolutely no hurry.

The first time you cum, it takes you by surprise. It feels like an endless build-up, Iwa’s tongue lapping at your pussy like it’s heaven sent, his mouth working diligently to drive you insane. Every touch feels unbearably good, from the long, slow strokes to the way he drags the tip of his tongue along your clit. Your toes are curling, your tits heaving with the desperate breaths you choke down, and all of a sudden his mouth latches onto your clitoris and he sucks hard at the swollen nub. You almost black out right there and then, stars bursting behind closed lids as pleasure wreaks havoc over your body. But as good as that feels, it’s not until you open your eyes and catch sight of the hunger blazing in Iwaizumi’s eyes that you tip over the edge, cumming into his waiting mouth with an earth shattering moan.

At some point he must have let you go to rid himself of his own clothes, and your panties, but you’re boneless, basking in the afterglow as he shifts you once more, lifting one of your thighs up to hook your leg over his shoulder as he settles back onto the couch.

You just watch through hazy eyes as Iwaizumi gives his thick cock, already hard and flushed an angry red, a few cursory pumps. And his eyes are fixed on yours as he leans down, guiding the tip to your sopping cunt.

“Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming of this, princess,” he grunts out.

Warning bells sound in your head once more, your gut clenching uneasily, but any protests you might have voiced fall by the wayside as he slowly presses into you. It’s the girth, more than anything else, that takes you by surprise. It hurts, stretching out your poor, oversensitive cunt as his cock fills you up, inch by agonising inch.

Iwa hisses from between clenched teeth and your eyes squeeze shut, trying to breathe through the pain. It won’t last long, you know that, and until it does you just have to grin and bear it.

You can feel it twitching inside of you, every ridge and vein, the way your slick walls hug his cock. His thumb strokes along your hip, soothing you as your face screws up and another whimper slips out. You think you hear him say something, praise maybe, or encouragement, but all you can focus on is the way his cock throbs inside your pussy when he finally bottoms out and stills.

And for a moment, he doesn’t move. A small kindness, letting you become adjusted to his size before he fucks you the way he’s dying to.

“Look at me,” he says, and while his tone isn’t as sharp this time, it’s no less of an order.

Your eyes flutter open as Iwaizumi turns his head just a fraction without breaking eye contact, pressing a soft kiss against your calf. His eyes are glazed with feverish lust, pupils blown wide, almost swallowing up that thin ring of olive green entirely, and you wonder whether you should feel afraid right now.

You don’t have the words to describe it, the distant unease that seeps through you as you stare into the eyes of a man who’s clearly not in control anymore. If you screamed right now, tried to fight back or stop him, would it make a difference?

Do you actually want to?

“You’re mine,” he growls out, drawing his hips back and slamming them forward ruthlessly as you choke on a scream.

He’s relentless, hissing out curses as he fucks you like a rag doll, filling your wet, tight little cunt again and again and again. It’s all you can do to fist at the edge of the cushion, one hand wrapping around his back, your nails raking down his skin, drawing blood in their wake.

And Iwa doesn’t care, tossing his head back as he pounds his cock into your needy cunt, his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. “Iwa,” you plead between gasping breaths, clinging to his broad frame. You don’t even know what you’re begging for, not as he grabs you by the hips and lifts you up, hauling you closer so he can fuck you deeper. And you can feel his cockhead rutting against your cervix with every vicious thrust, the painful stretch of your cunt as you’re forced to take his fat cock. It hurts, it does, but holy fuck you can’t focus on that when his fingers slip between your legs and he starts to rub at your puffy, oversensitive clit.

You’re whining, mewling, hips shifting as you rock against him, desperate for more friction. “Please, Iwa,” you moan.

The sound of it, the lewd slaps of skin against skin, the wet squelching as he drives his cock home again with an unforgiving pace would be enough to make you burn with embarrassment, but you don’t care because you’re quickly losing yourself to mindless pleasure. Every stroke fills you completely, it’s hot and thick and the drag of his cock against your plush walls, the way it kisses that sweet perfect spot with every thrust is driving you to insanity.

“Fuck!” you cry, clenching tightly around his length as you hurtle over the edge for a second time. You’re gushing, convulsing, back arched up off the couch, lips parted and–

Iwaizumi stops with a growl and you barely have time to process it before he’s flipping you onto your front, yanking your ass up into the air and hammering his cock back into your swollen, abused little pussy. It’s a bruising pace he sets as he chases after his own end, your name falling from his lips in harsh, breathless grunts.

It doesn’t take long for his thrusts to become sloppy, your cunt sucking him in and pulsing around his cock. And you don’t have the mental capacity to beg him to pull out, not as his muscular chest collapses against your back, his arms wrapping around your waist and he pumps you full of his seed.

Neither one of you move straight away, both fighting to catch your breath and calm down in the afterglow of your orgasms. Your eyes flutter shut as he presses soft, sweet kisses to the back of your neck, your shoulders, anywhere he can reach. It’s an intimacy that doesn’t belong here, but you find yourself arching into it, a small, tired smile curling at your lips as Iwaizumi lavishes you with affection.

And you can only whine softly when he finally pulls his cock out and stands, lifting your boneless form up into his arms, chuckling quietly when you bury your head into his chest. Your head’s empty, your thoughts a jumbled mess as he carries you into his bedroom, depositing you carefully onto the bed.

Iwaizumi leaves you there like that, and when he returns a few minutes later he’s dressed again. He doesn’t smile, but there’s something oddly content about his expression as he stops by the doorway and takes in the sight of you; naked and thoroughly fucked out, curled up amongst his covers.

“Iwa?” you ask sleepily, stretching your aching body to make yourself more comfortable as you nestle further into the soft mattress.

He doesn’t answer you as he strides in, but you watch through half lidded eyes as his expression hardens. Stopping by the bedside, Iwaizumi reaches for you. You think he’s going to cup your cheek again, maybe run his fingers through your hair, but instead his hand slides between your thighs, gathering up some of the cum that’s seeped from your pussy with his fingers and slowly pushing it back inside of you, humming when you whine and shift under him.

“I’m leaving for a bit,” he tells you, your gut clenching as you remember why you’re in this position in the first place. “You don’t leave this apartment until I get back. You don’t answer the door, you don’t tell anyone you’re here, you don’t leave this bed unless you have a goddamn good reason. Understand?”

Weakly, you nod.

“Such a good girl for me,” he breathes, and this time when he leans over he does kiss you, sweeping your hair back from your face before his warm lips meet your cheek. He lingers there for a beat longer than necessary before pulling away with a sigh.

And as the door swings shut, the sound of the lock clicking into place behind him, you begin to question whether you’ve made a mistake. You don’t doubt for a second that Iwa will follow through with his promise. Whether it’s tonight or tomorrow or a week from now, he’ll find Kazuma; him and his friends, and they’ll make sure he stays away. And until they do, you won’t leave this apartment.

There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach that despite your pleas, Iwaizumi’ll kill him.

Not because that’s the only way for this to end, though you realise that that’s always been a possibility, but because of what you glimpsed in his eyes today. Stupidly, you’d thought you had Iwa pegged. But there’s something that lurks beneath that facade, something more dangerous than you could’ve possibly imagined and the moment you opened the door to Iwaizumi it sunk its teeth into you and now you’re not sure if it’ll ever let you go.

And as you lie back in Iwaizumi’s bed, covered in the marks he left behind you wonder whether you’ve merely traded one monster for another. Perhaps it was inevitable. Inexorable.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere iwaizumi #yandere iwaizumi x reader #yandere iwaizumi hajime #yandere iwaizumi hajime x reader #tw: dubcon #tw: stalking #i've said it like 48 times today #but ily fairy #you deserve the world #if you haven't gone to wish her a happy bday #GO NOW

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realcube · 3 years

Text

haikyuu!! boys with a s/o that becomes clingy/affectionate while drunk

characters: kyōtani, kenma, iwaizumi, matsukawa and bokuto

thank you anon for this marvellous request mwah

ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP!

tw// drinking, suggestive themes, sexual references, swearing

Kentarō Kyōtani

kyōtani was used to having a cool, laid-back s/o who was just as awkward about physical touch as he was

i mean, that’s kinda a part of the reason he liked you so much - so y’all could get over your awkwardness together

so imagine his surprise when his usually level-headed, calm s/o came stumbling out of the club, a blubbering mess and threw themselves into his arms, wailing something about a maths test

THE AMOUNT OF EMOTIONS THAT FLOODED HIS MIND IN THAT ONE MOMENT OMFG ADFGHJKL

he was like ‘omg why are they touching me? i kinda like it- wait are they crying? tf? i ain’t ever seen them cry before- should i help them? lord everyone is looking at us now. so what the fuck do i do- AYE DON’T TOUCH ME THERE’

so he had no choice but to dip with you flung over his shoulder lol

he took you back to your shared apartment and forced you to drink some water and instead of ordering a take-out, he just gave you his leftover burrito which he took to the club smh

it was probably cold

but that was the best he could think of at the time bc he simply needed to shut you up with food bc the alcohol in your system was causing you to become especially touchy, hence resulting in kyōtani getting especially aroused

but the last thing he’d do is fuck you while you’re drunk and i firmly believe that despite the fact kyōtani is a bit of a lout - he still has like a basic moral compass

but i mean if you kept being so damn suggestive then it was gonna be a lot harder for him to resist his urges

you were rubbing him up and shit, calling him every pet name in the book so ofc he just stuck a burrito in your mouth and went ‘stfu 😡’

the painful part was that he was silently enjoying it too (┬┬﹏┬┬)

(though, he was red from blushing lol, not anger)

and he wasn’t used to it either so obviously he was gonna get flustered, i mean, everything was happening all at once

oh and you told him ‘i love you’ and he literally combusted like lord have mercy on this man

just that morning you were calling him your ‘annoying rat boyfriend’ (jokingly, ofc) and now you love him?-

that wasn’t the first time you told him that you loved him but he was still blushing none the less

and he stammered out a ‘love you too’ PRAYING that you wouldn’t remember any of this the following day

anyway, he cuddled you to sleep and railed you as soon as you sobered up - the end ❤

Kenma Kozume

pov: you’re kenma happily being a wallflower in the club then your s/o approaches you, demanding for you to fuck them

- ok, end of POV -

anyway, your speech was slurred so kenma wasn’t really sure if that was what you were asking him to do but if it was, he would’ve happily obliged if it wasn’t for the fact you were clearly drunk

mans was blushing though

bc y’all hardly ever do it but now - all of a sudden - you were tightly wrapped around him, garbling erotic threats into his ear

kenma was worried at first but you were like..really weak

so it wasn’t hard to get you off his torso, usher you out of the club and grip your hand as he ordered a taxi

also kenma had read enough wattpad fanfictions to know how to deal with someone while they’re drunk

but none of those fanfictions ever mentioned a single thing about how to deal with yourself while your partner is drunk

like seriously..he was in pain

both from the throbbing erection he had and the aching embarrassment he felt - both stemming from the fact you tried to give him a lap dance in taxi ✋ please oml

anyway, he took you back to his apartment and insisted that you have a few slices of the left-over pizza in the fridge along with a glass of water

after you changed into your pyjamas, you had clearly sobered up slightly as you could now compose coherent sentences

but that wasn’t any better for him bc now you were draped over him, whimpering into his ear about how much you love him

‘i’m so lucky to have you, kenma. i love you so much. you remind me of my first cat - you’re such a cat- i mean, blessing..you’re such a blessing.’

ngl, at that point he would be at a loss for words, just deciding to hug you until you fall asleep

like he finds it so cute that you’re finally opening up to him about how you feel as you’re usually quite composed and restrained

but also- what does he do now?

you eventually fell asleep in his arms and the next day, you woke up to kenma having made breakfast and telling you how much he adores you which was..confusing, to say the least

he told you about how you acted when you were drunk and to say you were embarrassed would be an understatement

also, he’ll tease you about it for the rest of your life ;)

Hajime Iwaizumi

literally all you had to do was send him a text like ‘iwa...,,.,...ily so mycj ❤’’ and he’s already waiting in the line to get into the club lol

he marches in there, finds you, grabs your hand and drags you home

let’s hope that your friends know what iwaizumi looks like so they don’t have to just watch a random guy haul you out the club-

and tries to act all like angry iwaizumi >:( but when you are trailing behind him, muttering about how amazing he is, he becomes more like angy iwa grrr (* ￣︿￣)

by that, i mean that angry iwaizumi would bring you home and lecture on how irresponsible it is to get so intoxicated

but angy iwa just takes care of you but with a disapproving scowl

and angry iwaizumi would make nasty, bitchy remarks about how inappropriate your outfit is

while angy iwa would be like ‘babe, your outfit is lovely but maybe wear something different next time, idk....’

either way, he takes good care of you

he makes sure you eat (and he cooks good food btw - he doesn’t make you eat leftovers lmao)

he lets you change into more comfortable clothes

he ensures that you don’t die in the shower

and he forces you to go to bed

but all of that is rather difficult when you’re clinging to him like your life depends on it, raving on about how sweet of a boyfriend he is and covering his face sloppy kisses

his original plan was to go train some more in his gym (yes, there is a gym in y’alls house-) but when you were peppering his cheek in kisses, begging him to stay with you for whatever reason, of course he didn’t have the balls to leave

so he ended up laying like a log in bed as you cuddled up to him like koala, resting your head in his chest and allowing him to run his hand through your hair as you slept

in that moment - as he stared down at your tranquil figure - he realised how grateful he was for moments like these, as he finally got see a side of you that he knew you’d almost never exhibit when you’re sober

like yeah, you often tell him how much you love him but he can always tell that it’s as if you’re setting aside your pride to say such a thing but now, you’re gushing on about it with the most genuine look in your eyes, he can tell that you’re being completely sincere

and to say that he adores it would be an understatement

so yeah, you were kind of a pain while drunk but you were also the most adorable thing that iwaizumi had ever laid his eyes on (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)

Issei Matsukawa

ok so the only reason matsukawa wasn’t getting drunk with you was bc the first time y’all got drunk together he got fined for public indecency and you got done for public intoxication

so you decided that it was best (for your wallets) if you took turns getting tipsy

emphasis on ‘tipsy’ bc you both went to the bar together (along with a few friends) and you promised matsukawa that you’d only have a few drinks

so please explain to him why he is now having to carry you bridal style out of the bar because you are too hammered to walk properly

and he was kinda grumpy bc he had to leave his friends mid-conversation bc not only were you pestering him but also, the erotic things you were whispering in his ear caused him to get a boner

and he was getting weird looks from people as he carried you home but that was the least of his problems tbh- he didn’t even notice lol

the biggest issue on his mind rn was the fact that you made him hard yet you can’t help him bc you’re drunk smh

like he was tempted at first bc you seemed down to do it but he quickly came back to reality and realised how morally incorrect that’d be

so he was mumbling curses the whole way home just to tune you out bc if he paid any more attention to the racy promises you were muttering in his ear- he’d explode

he’s alright at taking care of you like he isn’t iwaizumi’s level of caring but he’s a close second, i mean he’s gotten drunk plenty of times so he knows the basics

he was like ‘drink water idk lol ’

anyway, once he handled himself he wasn’t too fazed by your lustful advances

and he was so smug about it too deadass like ‘keep talkin’ me up, (y/n), you ain’t getting shit until you’re sober.’

smh ANYWAY he thinks you’re so charming when you’re like lovey-dovey drunk but SO annoying when you’re horny drunk bc like- he can’t get some (T_T)

Kōtarō Bokuto

best for last 👌

ok anyway he’s an athlete and he doesn’t need alcohol to have a good time- he’s forever drunk tbh- drunk on life :)

so while you’re getting hammered with your pals, he’s doing stupid shit while sober lol

once you both rendezvous outside the club to head home and you’re absolutely steamin- he’s just like ‘hi, babe! how’s your night been?’

SO OBLIVIOUS OML

anyway, he drives back to y’alls house and since you’re fatigued at first, you spent 90% of the car ride sleeping

but when you get home, more awake, you’re all up on him

but you’re not like sensual drunk- more like..emotional drunk but with love 🥺

so basically you are sobbing into his chest about whatever and bc he is an such empath he will start crying too, or at least get a bit emotional

you could say something like, ‘omg, bo. i hardly get to see you because you’re at work so often- i wish i could spend more time with you. i miss you so much’ ╯︿╰

and he would deadass reply whole-heartedly while weeping into your shoulder, ‘I’M QUITTING VOLLEYBALL, (Y/N)!!’

(ok, so maybe he was a bit tipsy too- but like..definitely not has drunk as you)

he has no idea where to start when it comes to taking care of you but he tries (´◡` ‘)

at the very least, he ensures that you don’t having any more alcohol and that you don’t die somehow

he’s v overprotective though

you could be getting a fork to eat your instant-noodles with and he’ll be like

‘apologies ✋ but i cannot allow you to handle such a dangerous weapon while intoxicated. maybe eat with a spoon instead, idk.’ /h

other than that, he just cuddles you to sleep and deals with you in your badly hungover state the next day

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erodasfishtacos · 3 years

Text

Three Minutes

Prompt: Harry slips up and it’s only right his wife serves him a little punishment.

Word Count: 3.2 k +

Warnings: Language, Sexual Content (sexting, dirty talk, public, subby!h)

AN: I’m excited to share this!! I’m pretty sure I’m going to do a part 2. Let me know if you’d like to see this! I’m dedicating this to @harrywritingsbyme because she’s an amazing writer and you need to read everything of hers! Requests open ☺️

Reblog if you can!

Harry was dreading his interview with Howard Stern. The guy was an obnoxious prick who had no filter and liked to put people on the spot - it’s what he’s doing right now.

You were off to the side, watching the interview next to Jeff. It was matter of time before Howard brought you up to pick and prod at your husband.

“So Harry, you’re married, yes?” Howard asks, typical sunglasses on and curly permed hair donned. His mouth a little to close to the microphone.

“Yeah, I am,” Harry smiles tightly, hands rubbing on this upper thighs. He spares a quick glance over to you.

“She’s here, right?” Howard looks over at you and winks, “Fucking gorgeous babe, huh?”

You roll your eyes at the interviewers remark and Harry’s isn’t pleased but nicely responds, “She’s amazing, way out of my league.”

Howard laughs, “Now I have to ask you, does she tour with you?”

Harry replies, “Yeah. For the most part, sometimes she’ll go off to visit family or friends for a bit.”

The interview smirks, “Does she get worried you’re going to fuck other people while she’s not there? I mean you have girls falling at your feet. It must be hard to avoid temptation.”

You blink owlishly, attempting to contain the offended scoff bubbling in your throat. Jeff snickers and you send him a elbow.

Your husbands face can’t hide his annoyance at the question, “Are you asking me if it’s hard not to cheat on my wife?”

“I mean you could have a line up of girls after every show willing to blow you. I couldn’t be satisfied going home to the same thing every night.”

The band is looking back and forth at each other - clearly uncomfortable. Mitch’s face completely blank - of course.

“Well, I mean - I think that kind of stuff like...people going crazy over you was exciting when I was a bit younger. But no, I mean I’m very much in love and also consider myself a monogamous person.”

“Man, I mean - some of the songs you write about her? Watermelon Sugar, that’s clearly about eating her out,” Howard laughs, the tune playing softly in the background.

Jeff nearly chokes on the water he’s drinking and you pat him hard on the back - as payback for making Harry do this interview.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had pussy so good I’d write about it,” the interview jokes crudely. The women interviewer tittering in the background at his antics.

Harry fumbles, “Uh-uhm, it’s not uh- necessarily about anything or any act like...in particular. Just about having a good time with the person you love.”

The female interviewer who stays mostly quite chirps in to break the tension, “Is it hard to be long-distance when she’s not on the road with you?”

“Not at all. Most of the time she’s with me but we’re lucky we have technology that helps us not feel so far away from each other.”

Howard smiles, “How do you not go crazy being without sex for long amounts of time?”

It’s odd how obsessed this guy is with sex. As well as painting Harry as some sex-crazed rockstar who can’t go a day without.

Harry then goes on to put his entire, big ass foot in his mouth. “Y‘know that’s uh-that’s what good about FaceTime and Snapchat.”

The interviewer grins like a predator at Harry’s admission. You’re face is bright fucking pink. You’re gonna murder him.

“Well you heard it here first, folks. The key to how Harry Styles - one of the greatest artist of his time- keeps a happy relationship with his wife while he’s on the road. Dick pics and FaceTime sex.”

Harry glances over at you, his face apologetic as he already knows he in trouble.

You’re not that embarrassed - it not like it’s a weird thing to do but you didn’t want him talking about it with a trashy talk show host.

The interview is almost over which is good because Harry’s about to lose his temper after he’s asked about his step-father’s passing and the stalker who was harassing you two.

During the interview however, you get a wonderful fucking idea as easy payback for Harry’s little slip up.

After Harry’s tossed his headset and microphone pack off with a little too much force to be unnoticeable - he’s sliding up beside you.

“Baby love,” He murmurs sheepishly into your cheek, nuzzling there for a moment, and breathing in the scent of your shampoo.

“You did good, H,” You reply softly, landing a soft kiss to his lips before pulling back to brush his hair off his forehead.

“Y’not mad?” Harry asks warily, knowing he got nervous and gave a little too much information.

“No baby, not mad at all,” Your voice steady and believable. It was true - you weren’t mad, just a little annoyed.

He seems confused. He knows you like the back of his hand and usually, you get peeved when he says something in interviews you’d rather the word not know.

Like the one time he let it slip you had an affinity for hooking up in hotel pools after dark. Prat.

Harry multiple appearances that day and it ends in a dinner at a fancy restaurant in Beverly Hills with big wigs.

You were invited but declined, despite Harry’s pouting and whines for you to go. You were the only thing that made these work obligations go faster.

However, you had other plans and a little bit of revenge to play on your unsuspecting husband.

All in good fun - of course.

Harry sits down with a group of people from his label. They’re all dressed in tight suits and rolex watches.

Harry on the other hand is in a flowy button-up only halfway done and a tight pair is skinny jeans. Jeff is dressed pretty casually too.

They were talking about tour dates and had just received their appetizers when he gets the text from you. Your name in his phone as baby love.

Harry nearly chokes on his water when he opens the message to reveal an image of you nearly naked in your shared bed. You skin tone standing out against the baby blue comforter.

You have one of his vintage tees on as well as some creme boyshort panties. The shirt is lifted though, rumpled up by your collarbones to reveal your breasts.

Harry wants to drool over the picture but doesn’t want to risk anyone else seeing his wife in any state of undress. So he quickly responds.

Baby, I’m at dinner.

You reply with another picture. A hand tucked down your underwear, cupping your heat. He can see the outline of your fingers underneath the thin fabric.

Already have something you could eat.

Harry can already feel himself twitch in his jeans. Cut it the fuck out now

Another. Fucking. Picture. Comes through.

This time you’re completely stripped, tits visible with soft pink peaks, and a hand strategically covering your cunt.

Make me, H.

It clicks what game you’re playing. You rarely sent anything risqué when you where together because you had each other physically.

Harry curses under his breathe, locking his phone and pushing back his chair a little too fast - excusing himself to the loo.

As soon as he clicks the lock on the single-person restroom, he’s pressing on your contact information and you pick up on the very first ring.

“You bloody brat, I’m out at dinner,” Harry hisses at you, giving himself a rough squeeze through his tighten trousers.

All he hears back is a breathy moan. He’d know that sound anywhere - you’re touching yourself.

“What the fuck are you playin’ at?” Your husband demands, but the clipped edge in his tone tells you how much it’s affecting him.

“Just a little payback, babe...for spilling our dirty secrets,” you hum innocently, deciding to send him another picture.

It’s a simple photo without context some might not even understand. It’s just your hand but your fingers glistening with your arousal.

Harry’s hand is about to crush is phone into bits as his eyes roam the picture. He was nearly panting, already able to imagine the taste and smell.

He takes a deep breath before he threatens you, “if you don’t pull your desperate little self together right now- I’m not going anywhere near that needy cunt and I’ll make you spend all night choking on me.”

Instead of the typical, sad whimpers he expects to hear - he receives a patronizing, high-pitched giggle.

“That’s not how it’s going to work tonight, H,” you inform him in a matter-of-fact manner before continuing, “we’re playing by my rules.”

Your husband laughs in disbelief, echoing against the bleak bathroom walls, “and what those rules, sweetheart?”

“You’re going to go sit through your nice little dinner, rockstar. And I’m going to send you pictures, maybe some videos to watch to keep you entertained. If you don’t open them within three minutes each time and reply - you’re not coming tonight. The couch will have a blanket and pillow ready for you.”

If he was in charge, he’d laugh and remind you that you two have three lovely guest rooms he could choose from. But he doesn’t want to push it.

“Fuck,” Harry spits, having to cram his hand into his jeans to adjust himself so he doesn’t look like a pervert when he goes back out.

But he was so fucking game.

He’d do anything you wanted from him - no matter if he could embarrass himself in front of business partners or fans. He was besotted, whipped, whatever you wanted to call him.

“Are you going to be good for me, baby?” You coo tauntingly, from the other end of the line. Basking in his little huffs of air and the agitated lift in his voice.

“Yeah, m’gonna be good,” he murmurs gruffly, his demeanor had changed now that he wasn’t in charge any longer - always willing to let you be dominant when you wanted to be.

It wasn’t often - but when you did, Harry would fall into a nice, fuzzy headspace of compliance and submission. He always wanted to please and this amplified all of his desires.

“Best husband I could ask for, you know?” You reward, knowing that the games are just getting started and you wanted to make this last.

“I love you s’much,” Harry automatically returns, with deep devotion and honesty. His voice as sweet as maple syrup.

“Are you hard, H?”

He grips himself, like he’d just remember, “m’really fucking hard for you.”

“Snap an picture for me, pull yourself together, and then go back to your table - don’t forget the rules.”

“Yes ba-“

Then you end the call while he’s talking.

Harry’s a little shaky as he swipes onto his camera. He grips the thick outline of his cock, rings glinting in the dull lights, and takes a picture.

He hopes it’s good enough and quickly sends it before splashes some cold water on his face and thinking of anything but his naked wife laying at home in their bed - wet and horny.

Jeff gives him a side-eye when he sits back down, casually throwing a napkin over his lap because he can’t help the semi that refuses to go down all together.

“You alright?” His manager asks him, the others still in the throws of tour venues and vendors discussions.

Harry nods, lying easily “the missus couldn’t find her phone charger - thought I nipped it.”

“You do love to steal those,” his friends agrees before cutting off one of them men to suggest three days at Madison Square Garden instead of two.

Harry’s clutching his phone like a lifeline, anticipating the indicative text vibrations that let him know you’ve sent something.

However, despite how many times he checks, fifteen minutes pass and still nothing has sent from you. He almost starts to worry if you’re okay.

But just like the sneaky little thing you are, you wanted to give him enough time to calm down and relax before rilining him up again.

When it finally alerts him, he’s unlocking his phone and opening the message thread as fast as possible.

The picture makes his jaw almost drop on the fucking carpeted floor. You’re in one the large closets in your home- the one that holds all of his Gucci suits in particular.

There is a massive floor to ceiling mirror in this room that you’re standing in front of. You’ve slid on one of his custom silk Gucci button-ups that has styles embroidered on the breast pocket without doing doing up any of the buttons.

He’s an absolutely goner for you in anything that makes you look like his property - the large engagement ring and wedding band on your left ring-finger satiates that feeling quite well.

It takes he a moment before he realizes what else you’re wearing. Your fucking collar. It sat tight around your neck, the expensive leather biting into your skin.

Your one hand was holding the phone and the other had a hand teasing at one of your hardened nipples through the silk fabric of the shirt.

He keeps his phone in his lap with a dim light setting so nobody can risk a chance at seeing such explicits pictures of what’s his.

You look so good with my name on you, baby. Please, want to see you in just the collar, take off the shirt.

Harry fumbles along with the conversation, that’s revolving all around him, “Yeah, I loved Argentina. Definitely want to got there again.”

Buzz.

How’d you already forget I’m in charge? Maybe I’ll just go to bed if you’re not going to follow instructions.

As punishment - if you can really call it that - in the next image you don’t have the collar on any longer and you’ve done up a few buttons on the silk shirt.

Harry feels panicked at the thought of you stopping. He was in a nice, soft headspace clinging onto anything you were willing to give him - desperate to make you happy.

I’m sorry, baby. I’ll be good for you. You’re so fucking sexy. I can basically taste you on my tongue.

“Harry?” Jeff draws him out of his haze. He’s looking at him expectantly, eyebrow quirked, and a martini in his hand.

“What did you say?” Harry asks, eyes itching to dart back down to the screen of his mobile.

“Would you want Kacey to open for you again in North America?” Jeff repeats with annoyance.

“Oh, uh-yeah, that’d be great,” he tells them without really think about it.

He should be paying attention to this pretty important meeting but he can’t when he gets another alert.

The video is back in the bedroom, your delicate fingers sliding down your torso with the button-up pooled around your ribs.

Your hand slowly, at a near crawl- traces down with the camera until the manicured tips of your fingers are at your mound.

Harry’s stomach is tensing in excitement as he watches your fingers dip into the part in your slick, swollen folds.

He has to bite back a groan when the video cuts off and he reads the text below the attachment.

Was this the pussy you enjoyed eating so much you won a Grammy writing about? Was Howard right in his interview?

If Harry was in charge, he would have delivered a few resounding smacks to your arse for how cocky you were being - despite it being the absolute truth.

Did he write and win a Grammy based on a song about how much he loved eating his wife out? Sure fucking did.

Baby love. Yeah, wrote it about you. Write all my songs about how much I love you and your body. Everything is yours.

Harry is so good when he’s subby - is the thing.

Harry was a sappy sod anyways, always ready to tell you how much he loved you and thousand of other sweet things. This just amplified all of his warm, fuzzy emotions.

Send me a picture of your left hand

He hesitates for a moment, still nodding along to the ebb and flow of the business talk but having no actual idea what they’re talking about.

Harry places his large, wide hand flat on the table in front of him. He knew why you wanted his left hand - you were just as possessive as him.

You want to see his long, slim fingers that feel so good inside of you. You want to see the glimmer of his wedding band as well as the tattoo of your name on the outer curve of his hand.

He doesn’t think to turn off his flash. It ends up going off in the dimly lit restaurant and blinding the table, reflecting off the silver flatware.

He looks like a complete knob - taking a picture of his hand but also something weird Harry may do anyways and upload to his Instagram.

The men blink a few times and look at him with a confused expression. Jeff jabs him roughly in the side.

“Uh, snapchat streak,” he mumbles, tucking his phone back into his lap and sending it.

You were cutting it close, babe. 2 minutes, I don’t like waiting. But fuck, who’s name is that on your hand, who’s that ring for?

You, you baby. All of its for you, promise. I belong to you, only you for the rest of my life.

The response is quick.

But...you have girls falling at your feet, lining up to blow you.

A direct quote for the interview today. Brat - she knew how he hated when people assumed or talked like he had no self control or morals.

Only want your mouth, your cunt, your tits. So bloody gone for you, baby. Please send me another video.

He really shouldn’t be egging you on.

Your being greedy but you’ve been following the rules so I’ll allow it.

The video does not disappoint. You’re hand is nestled down between your thighs, pinching at your puffy, stimulated bud. Just the amount of pain you like. It’s a short clip but it has him wriggling in his seat.

He watches it again but before he can finish it - Jeff is snatching his phone out of his shaky hands and tucking it into his own pants pocket.

The manager’s obviously sick of the lack of focus and honestly, how disrespectful Harry’s being which is something he usual never is.

“Pay attention,” he whispers with a sharp, irritated tone before clapping Harry on the back to play off the scolding to the group.

Harry feels a knot form in his stomach as his phone sits stagnant in his friends pocket. His wife sitting, impatiently waiting for his response that she’s not going to get.

He watches his vintage wristwatch as fifteen minutes pass, he hears a few buzzes from his phone that go unattended.

Harry’s not fuzzy anymore - well not in a good way. He has anxiety bubbling in his tummy and his semi had finally disappeared from nerves of disappointing you.

He decides to engage in the conversation to keep his mind off of what is waiting for him at home. He craved to look at those images and videos again. To have it in real life.

It had been three hours since he responded. The people at the table insisting on dessert and alcoholic coffees despite Harry saying he was exhausted from a long day of promo.

At the end of dinner, Harry would love to lie and say he’s recovered from his shakiness but he hadn’t.

After shaking the hands of the record label men, he walks to his car with Jeff. He gets a nice talking to before his phone is being placed back into his hand and he’s sliding into his obnoxious vintage Ferrari.

He takes a deep breathe before he unlocks his phone. The buzzes he heard where not all from you. A few from Twitter, his mum, Niall. There was only one from you.

Game Over. You lose.

—

Thank you for reading💕🥺

#harry styles #harry styles fic rec #harry styles masterlist #harry styles writing #harrystylesfanfic #fanpic harry #fic rec #husband harry styles #Harry styles shut #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles prompt

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simonsnowichooseyou · 3 years

Text

This excellent essay was posted by @goodbyedandelion and reposted on Instagram—however their account sadly seems gone now. But it is in rememberence of their Tumblr spirit that I post a continuation to their essay!

EVEN MORE Reasons Why Carry On is so groundbreaking as a YA Fantasy/Romance

Misconceptions/Character Complexity

A large topic in YA Contemporary is gossip, but I feel like fantasy doesn’t touch on this as much. Think of how others perceive one another in Carry On. Early on we learn that Simon, for example, saw Penny as different because of her race. But of course, we quickly know this isn’t true.

But what about Agatha? In Harry Potter, for example, Lavender Brown and other feminine characters are often looked down upon because of their femininity. We often as a culture perceive beauty as overcompensation for what’s inside. Sometimes Agatha is looked at in the same light in Carry On, but when we see things from her POV, we realize that Agatha is perhaps the smartest one there. Maybe she’s not Penny Bunce-smart, but she has the survival instincts that Penny lacks.

Agatha isn’t the only one. Baz looks cold and unfeeling from others’ POVs, but we quickly learn that he is a boy with a soft heart that’s been hardened by his past. Everyone thinks he cares about nothing but we know he cares about his mother and how she’d feel about him; his father and step-mother and siblings; Simon, of course; Bunce, in his own way; he even cares about flowered suits and dramatic entrances! We think Bunce is nerdy and perhaps annoying, but we learn she’s very sweet and like a mother to Simon. And the mage. Ugh, the mage. We think he cares about Simon but we learn that for every bit he cares about Simon, he cares about the war more.

Rowell doesn’t allow any character to be simple, stereotypical, or as they appear. My sister, for example, was saying that Baz sounded like a stereotypical gay man in the media. But he’s not, is he? He might love fashion but Rowell does not make him simple or stereotypical. Everyone is so complex, and she uses the multi-POV to not just show us their complexity but also the complexity of how they are viewed by others.

Woman on Woman Drama/Anger

For years and years, only one woman was allowed to have a true seat at the table in films. Take Indiana Jones, the original Avengers, and Star Wars for example. This woman was often made to be the sex appeal or romantic interest, but I’ll save that for another day. Because of there only being one spot, it set a precedent that women in media needed to fight with each other to take that spot, thus depriving us of women getting along!

At first, I was worried Rowell had fallen into this trap. Bunce thinks Agatha is simple and too feminine, Agatha thinks Bunce is a major pain in the ass. Their dislike for one another is complicated in that they’re essentially two different types of feminism battling it out, and half of their fight was about Simon and their roles in his life.

But in the end, Penny and Agatha create a relationship that exists outside of their relationship with Simon. Penny sees Agatha’s strength and resilience; Agatha recognizes Penny’s harsh exterior for what is is. When Agatha moves away, they text without his even knowing. Penny is the one that decides they need to check on and save her. In the end, penny and Agatha fight alongside one another.

Rowell didn’t just give us a feminine friendship—she showed us what we’ve been doing, and how to get from Point A to point B. I think it’s the most underrated part of the series.

True Friendship

It might sound bad, but I truly believe a lot of today’s media ruins the idea of friendship. I just feel like none of the portrayals are realistic. Friends are either joined at the hip and have never fought (toxic) or never get along (also toxic). The fact that Baz and Penny and Simon and Penny and Agatha and Penny can get into fights but still continue to love one another platonically is really heartwarming to me.

Trauma/Mental Illness

I remember getting to the end of Harry Potter and thinking “he went through all of that and we’re just supposed to leave him now?” We see some remnants in the most cursed play ever: The Cursed Child. But more than trauma we see someone who looks back on the days they risked their life everyday with *longing.* While that’s about the most Harry Potter thing Harry Potter has ever done (and the most canonical part of that play) it’s so unrealistic. You’re telling me Harry grew up with nothing and was an amazing father—minus a few spats with his son. You’re telling me Harry was able to hold it together emotionally after fighting for his life from ages 11-18 without a therapists help? You’re telling me Harry lost two father figures in the ministry of magic AND spent 7 years going through what amounted to a lesson titled “the government is corrupt” just to be a part of that government!?

Wayward son isn’t like that. Wayward Son shows us what happened to Simon afterwards, and it’s not peaches and cream. He had therapy, he quit therapy. A lot of us have been Simon on that couch, and we all needed the Baz in our life to drag us across a metaphorical America. Wayward Son is hands-down my favorite book. Realistic depictions of mental illness, check. Subverting our expectations of after the end, check. Reading it feels like taking a road trip, check.

As OP mentioned, Simon is a beloved chosen one because he’s just so wrong for the role. He’s not levelheaded where he should be, he’s bold in all the wrong places, he couldn’t possibly maintain a professional relationship with the coven. Meanwhile his super-hot enemy Baz was the absolute perfect choice to be chosen, but he was completely passed over. And part of this chalks up to how Simon became so powerful—fate isn’t twisting its whims this way and that. Simon is only chosen because he was a Petri dish experiment-gone-wrong baby. When Simon asks the fates why, really he should be asking the mage. There’s something delightful about the fact that Simon was made. The chosen one was made, and in the same process, so was the greatest threat.

De-escalation

I think it’s clear by now that Carry On is a great book, Simon Snow is an amazing series, and Rainbow Rowell sure can write. But I feel the need to point out that the end of Carry On wasn’t well-received by everyone. I recommend the series to everyone I know and some people are really disappointed you don’t get a big magical battle at the end. Some people think Simon filling in the humdrum was a cop out. But I disagree. I felt it was thrilling to witness a book where war was as stupid in fantasy land as it can be in real life. This is the first fantasy I’ve ever read where they find a better way to handle conflict than senseless fighting. It’s emotionally rewarding, to me, to see de-escalation. To see conflicts fixed before they start to be huge problems. It was a risky choice for an end, you have to admit. But Rowell pulls it off amazingly.

Nothing is Wrapped in a Bow

A day will never go by without me thinking about the fact that Simon Snow Salisbury doesn’t know who his parents are. Or how Baz will never know what exactly happened with his mother—whether she really ended herself to avoid vampirism and whether she would’ve done it to her too. We’ll never even quite understand the mage’s plan behind fix the humdrum and get an all powerful boy wizard on his side. Rowell doesn’t wrap everything up. She gives you closure as often as she gives you something to ponder. The ending of Harry Potter was so controversial, I think, because it spelled out so clearly much of what was happening. And what you didn’t learn in that epilogue, Rowling released later through Pottermore and interviews. That’s fine and dandy—but there’s something to be said for ending Simon Snow’s books with questions. Not infuriating questions but rather things that I’ll always ponder—that will shed new light on different situations depending on how I look at them. Rowell sets a precedent that you can fill in Simon’s world with your imagination while also reminding us that life doesn’t have endings. Not really, the way books to. Rowell is one of the few writers of today’s fantasy, I’d argue, who’s okay letting things go unanswered. There’s always a thread of fantasy and magic going. It’s something that will keep Simon alive in my heart for many, many years to come.

So yeah, that’s what I think about when I think about Simon Snow. It’s not nearly as coherent as the original post but I hope you enjoy it.

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bluebellhairpin · 3 years

Text

In the Darkest Night

Attack on Titan X Reader

A/N: I’m calling this one ‘self-care’, and if you have any complaints please take it up with my frog hoodie at the front desk. - Nemo

Summary: You’re having another ‘bad day’, and your man’s here to help pick you up. (Erwin Smith, Levi Ackerman, Reiner Braun, Kenny Ackerman, Zeke Jaeger)

Warnings: Depression. I self-project into a fic again.

Listening to: ‘Follow You’ by Imagine Dragons - ‘I’ll follow you way down to your deepest low, I’ll always be around wherever life takes you.’

Masterlist

Erwin Smith

Notices rather quickly. He’s preceptive, even more so when it comes to his s/o.

So the moment he sees them, lets say after a day he’s been at work, he reads them, and notices. From the dulled eyes, to the way they’re holding themselves as if to take up less space.

That hurts him too, the way their acting as if they’re not worth existing even when they’re just sitting being themselves, and it sends a pang of pain straight to his heart and it tugs with an unrelenting guilt.

How did he not notice sooner?

He barely rids himself of his jacket and shoes before he’s at their side, letting them leech off his warmth and making his presence known.

He is a man of words, and he knows how to use them, but he also knows when to not say anything.

Times like now, when all they really need is someone to ground them, to let them feel that someone is there for them, not to say it, not to tell them they’re loved - but to show it.

Actions speak louder than any words he could try and tell them. The reassurance isn’t one done by words or a text - even if that might tide them over - but what they need now is to be held.

They need someone to hold the pieces of them that have started to break away, to put them back together with careful caresses and tender kisses, and he’s there.

He’s always there.

Levi Ackerman

Sounds corny, but he notices before his s/o does.

He can tell when their ‘pattern’ starts tilting towards a lack of self-care, or what not, and he does his best to put them back on track.

Doesn’t always work, and when it doesn’t he’s a little unprepared.

He knows that people need to be shown a certain amount of care in these situations, but he’s not the most affectionate person they know, and he knows it.

Still does his best though, because he loves his s/o so much, and he can’t bare to see them hurting all on their own.

Hurting from some injury, a broken bone maybe, it easier on his mind, because he knows broken bones heal. But when someone’s come along and broken something that his s/o holds so dear - their heart, mind, or even soul - that’s something he can’t come to grips with as easy.

So when he finds them suffering so openly with something so well hidden, he’s a bit lost. He’s not sure what to do. Floundering almost.

He sits next to wherever they are, tests the waters. He goes to hold their hand, and if they let him he’ll then go to move closer, pressing his side against theirs.

Slowly, he’ll get into their space, as slowly as they let him. That way they won’t be alone. He’d hate for them to be alone.

When he knows they’d be okay for him to go away for a bit, he’d go get them a hot drink. Whichever is their favorite. The he brings it back, goes back to his spot right up close to them, and they drink together.

He works on it, makes all these little things build up until they’re back out of the place they were in.

Reiner Braun

More often than not, he’s the one that needs pulling out of his own thoughts, and needing to do that for someone else is unfamiliar waters.

But when the going get’s tough, the tough get’s going. And if anyone’s tough, if anyone’s got thick skin - it’s him. So when his s/o needs it, he’s there.

He wraps them up in their favorite, most comfortable blanket. Holds them nice and close.

When he thinks they’re settled a little, he moves them to a chair in the kitchen, they’re still wrapped up like a burrito in this giant blanket, and he starts cooking.

He’s not great at it, but he doesn’t remember the last time he saw his s/o eat, and he knows getting something in his stomach when he’s feeling bad does pick him up a little. An energy boost if you will.

Makes them their favorite, no matter what it is, no matter how difficult it might be for his mediocre cooking skills. In his mind, if it helps them eat something, then it’s worth it.

He spends most of his time carting them around after that, like literally picking them up and carrying them around while their in their blanket. Sits them both down on the couch and feeds them if they want.

He just wants then to be happy again.

hen they’re done, he sets the dishes aside, and curls up with them in his lap and cuddles. Wraps his big arms around them, holds them right in his chest, and presses his lips against their forehead.

He wants them close, and he reminds them of that. He lets them know that even when they think they don’t belong anywhere they do belong somewhere. Right there with him.

Kenny Ackerman

He’s annoyed.

He’s not perceptive. He’s not caring. His s/o has friends that are better than he is at reading their emotions and how they’re feeling.

So why didn’t their friends notice, and tell him before it got this bad? Why could they not tell? His s/o wasn’t hiding it, that he put together once he realized, so were their friends just that dense, or did they not care about them as much as they said they did?

That annoyance can rub his s/o up the wrong way sometimes, but he never means it to.

As much as he lacks people skills, he does still care about them a lot. More than he does anyone else, even that of his own flesh and blood. So he’s not exactly gonna go off and chew anyone's ear off about it, because there’s a fairly more important thing to deal with right now. But like previously mentioned, he’s not good with these kinds of things.

A general constipated emotion Ackerman trait if you will.

The result will be, more often than not, him scooping them up into his lap, or by his side, and just holding them. He’d probably act really grumpy about it, and definitely will have a pout plastered onto his face, but in reality he no doubt needs it too.

He doesn’t have breakdowns like his s/o does, but he still feels. He’s still human, and he still has bad days too. So sometimes, just holding them close is dose as much good for him as it does for them.

So they’d spend the rest of the day, sitting. Being held. He’s make light conversation, ask what he might do to help, listen as they told him everything. And he’d really listen.

Zeke Jaeger

Doesn’t notice. When he does, it’s usually because he realized his s/o hasn’t gotten out of bed for the past few days.

Then he kicks himself into action.

He makes sure they’ll be okay, then leaves them where they are and takes himself off to the shops to grab all this binge food, from the most sickeningly sweet foods, to the healthiest, from chocolate covered Hershey Cookies to a punt of strawberries. Then books it home double time.

Once home, and with his s/o sitting up and partially fed, he talks. He’s a talker. But not like Erwin, because he talks even when his s/o may not want him to.

Gives a nice long speech about why they shouldn’t be feeling how they are, and it will probably make them cry. But it’s not the kind of ‘speech’ in the typical ‘lecture’ kind of way.

Actually it’s probably done as gently as he knows how, and the fact they end up crying is because they manage to feel so loved after their mind telling them they weren’t worth it. And the fact it’s coming from one of the lest openly apathetic people ever - that’s almost tear worthy in itself.

Then he holds them.

After there’s been a show of their material worth, and then verbally, he backs it up with physical reassurance.

There isn’t much he is bad at, and when it comes to giving the comfort and love his s/o needs - or believes is lacking - he’s right up there too. Top notch care right there.

#erwin smith headcanons #levi ackerman headcanons #reiner braun headcanons #kenny ackerman headcanons #zeke jaeger headcanons #erwin smith x reader #levi ackerman x reader #reiner braun x reader #kenny ackerman x reader #zeke jaeger x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #aot headcanons #snk headcanons #attack on titan headcanons #shingeki no kyojin headcanons

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fairestwriting · 3 years

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Since I'm a sucker for angst, may I request hcs for Riddle, Malleus, Azul, and Vil who are trying to help the reader ask their vice dorm leader out on a date (since the reader has a crush on the vice dorm leader), but while they're trying to set them up together they accidentally fall in love with the reader? sorry if this request is a bit confusing, I'm not too good with words

first angst request.... i owe you my life anon i love writing pain. i totally went crazy on this i hope you like it

+ ko-fi link, if anyone feels like financially supporting my writing

Riddle Rosehearts

The three of you are friends, and had been for a while. You met Trey first and he introduced you to Riddle, all way before NRC. Even as you entered this latter part of your school years, your relationship never really changed, you were still eating baked goods together and chatting afternoons away, everytime Riddle could sneak out of his home.

He’s rather reserved when it comes to showing platonic affection, but you could tell that Riddle appreciated having you around as much as he did with Trey, you saw it on how happy he was to know the three of you became NRC students. Even as he turned into Heartslabyul’s tyrannical ruler, he was still a good friend to you both.

So you’re not afraid to come up to him and ask for help on asking Trey out, after mulling over your feelings for months.

Riddle is, before anything, embarrassed to do something like this. He mutters about how it isn’t his responsibility, that this was a private matter between you two, but he’s always had a soft spot for you, he couldn’t say no.

You two end up in his room trying to think of how to go about this. You’ve known Riddle never confessed to anyone, really, so you didn’t expect him to give you much of a hand on that topic, just on how you should approach Trey specifically, since they’ve known each other for longer.

Riddle averts his eyes as he tells you some earlier childhood stories about Trey. You watch him with attentive, curious eyes as you find out about how he’s always been this caring, with this older sibling-like personality, and you can’t help but smile. Riddle’s speaking falters at that, but he goes on.

You decide on writing Trey a letter, so you could express your feelings in a more cohesive way. Riddle helps you make sure the text is written correctly and flows well, it’s a couple hours of hard work before you have everything on paper. The nervousness you were showing seems to fade once you write the last word, and you smile in a way that Riddle had never seen before, and didn’t want to look away from.

You chime about being excited to deliver it, even if the thought made you anxious. Riddle assures you that even if Trey didn’t return your feelings, things wouldn’t change, since the three of you were mature enough to not throw a fit over something like this. You thank him for the help and encouragement, giving him a big hug that has him yelping before you’re out of the room.

Then the door closes, and his eyes fill with tears -- It contradicts what he’d said before, but he doesn‘t have it in him to care. Had he loved you for all this time you’ve known each other? He can’t tell, but now that he’s realized it, he can’t do anything about it.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus knew you as Lilia’s friend, plain and simple. You two weren’t close at all, he’d only barely seen you hanging around Diasomnia to talk to the vice dorm leader -- So you can imagine how surprised he was when you came up to him and asked for him to help you ask Lilia out.

It’s hard to get Malleus dumbfounded, and you actually managed to do it just through your conviction when you asked him, somebody people were so terrified of, for help on such a matter. He never thought anything like it would happen. He’s so surprised, he can’t do anything but say yes.

Since then, you two begin spending time together. You’re constantly surprising Malleus with your determination on winning Lilia’s heart -- You’re constantly asking him questions, about fae traditions, about Lilia, about him, too, sometimes. It’s not a friendship, he knows, and yet he just can’t help but feel captivated by your energy. No one had ever approached him like that.

It’s a long time until you can feel secure on how to talk to Lilia about your feelings, and you end up becoming quite close to Malleus. Conversations that were initially just plotting turn into normal chatting, you begin to truly value him as a person, and not just somebody you found admirable but didn’t know, but that was it. You knew who you wanted, and you couldn’t help but let that show -- And as time passes, what once impressed Malleus begins to feel so sour to him. He’s actually happy to have grown close to you, and yet, he feels like he’s constantly haunted by a sense of unsatisfaction...

But everything comes to an end, of course, and when the end of the school year is growing near, you decide it’s time. You’d been working hard to understand Lilia, someone so enigmatic, better, and now you’d tell him you loved him like you always dreamed about. Hopeful, you invite him to meet you at Ramshackle after twilight.

Malleus is naturally the first person you tell about this, right as you give him your most sincere thanks. He hears the news, and it’s like something inside him shatters.

It’s you showing him feelings he’d never felt before again -- But he just smiles through it, saying he’s glad he could assist you, and giving you and Lilia wishes of happiness. And he means them, no matter how much they hurt, because he’s grateful you’re here either way, even if it isn’t how he wants.

Azul Ashengrotto

Getting him to set you up with Jade probably wasn’t cheap, so he is, before anything, surprised at your determination to be with him.

Before coming into his office to make the deal, Azul just knew you as “the twins’ friend”. You two spent time together as well, but he didn’t think you were especially close or anything... still, he’s surprised to learn about your feelings for Jade, and like this too, he doesn’t know why it’s so uncomfortable.

He pushes that aside in favor of his work, of course. Once he has his payment -- Whatever that was -- your feelings for the eel really are even less of his business than before. He tells you to show up at his office again at a given time, so you two could go over what you knew about Jade, and he’d give you some possibilities of how to go about the situation, so you could pick one and sign the contract later. You agree to his terms almost without a second thought.

A couple plotting sessions happen. Azul had done something like this before, so he expected it to be easy -- He introduces you to a couple magical methods that could just get Jade in love with you instantly, but you refuse these. In the end, it’s just Azul asking you questions about you and Jade so he could plan a perfect date.

The contract has low stakes like these, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s a strange couple of meetings, he’s just taking notes as you talk, and while you do, eyes sparkling everytime you mentioned Jade, Azul gets all that discomfort from the beginning but worse. It hurts now. But spending time with you, and learning things about you, even if it was for business, felt strangely healing.

He doesn’t get it. Is he jealous that Jade has someone who loves him? He should be happy, they’re friends, and he’s cutting a deal with someone. Is he that starved for affection? The thoughts just keep swirling in his head.

The last session is when you two have finished putting together the date plan, considering every little detail so everything would go perfectly. A big, confident smile appears in your face as you thank him.

Azul blinks. So it was over -- That ache returns now. He glances at the contract you’ve signed, then you, acting in a way that makes you look like you’re ready to take on the whole world.

You’re out of the door in a minute. Azul never put a name to any of his feelings, but he feels... so empty. The contract is torn up later, he’s lost interest in whatever you were to give him. He can’t really meet Jade’s eyes for a while.

Vil Schoenheit

Knowing Vil as the most beautiful person in school, you spend some time building up courage and then ask him about how you should become a beauty worthy of Rook’s attention.

The question surprises him. Isn’t Rook the one that finds beauty in everything? You’re already worthy of his attention. No matter who you are, the hunter could find something about you that he finds oh so captivating, and sing praises to that trait for hours. That’s just the sort of person Rook is, no?

You explain to him that he’s misunderstood you request, and that it wasn’t about beauty exactly, rather... you’d fallen in love with Rook, and you wanted to get his attention, but in a way no one else had gotten his attention -- You wanted to ask him out, basically, but you didn’t feel like you could just yet, so you asked Vil for his help.

It isn’t a request he’d gotten before, so Vil is on the fence about it for a moment. Does he have time for something like this? He barely knows you, too, and it was just... an odd request, in general. Not the sort of thing you’d ask of anyone.

He doesn’t know why he felt compelled to accept, really, but he does, but he quickly explains to you that you shouldn’t try to change yourself in any way to be with Rook, that was just a recipe for disaster. You’re eager to listen to his advice in a way that no one else had ever been, and on the inside, he’s pretty happy at that. Everyone else seems so unwilling to just make an effort.

Vil ends up becoming determined on getting you two together, since you were too. He tells you he’ll teach you how to really bring out your own personal beauty, and you two can plan how your confession is going to work, too. Being in Vil’s care, you feel confident that you might actually be able to get what you want, after all. You promise to do your best.

You end up coming to Pomefiore’s dorm quite often. Before anything else, Vil helps you care for your own appearence better, regarding things like clothes, skincare, and makeup. Not just so you could look better, but so you could feel better too -- And since this obviously isn’t just about outer beauty, he’ll have a word with you on things like how you interact with other people, what sort of talents and skills you have, so he can advise you on how to keep improving these as most as possible.

It isn’t much of a matchmaking scheme or anything, because Vil doesn’t believe in that, and something so standard wouldn’t apply to somebody like Rook. He’s actually just helping you with your confidence, and he sees the effects of your combined efforts everyday, in how your nervousness turns into excitement as you talk about the confession.

And he’s proud of you, don’t get him wrong, but sometimes, when he’s alone, he thinks about how you being around him so often is temporary, and it just hurts. He hates to acknowledge it, but he’s grown attached to you, captivated by your energy and willingness to learn.

One day, it’s just over. You’ve become a much more confident person, confident enough you can just decide to walk up to Rook and tell him your true feelings -- And that’s it. You tell Vil about how you’d do it today, ambushing the hunter after class, giving him countless thanks.

Again, he’s proud. But it’s bitter. He wishes you good luck as you slip away, just like he’s thought you would. Forced to acknowledge that he hated to see this happen, he just tells himself that it’s just how things were, even as the jealousy corrodes him inside.

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #twst scenarios #twst imagines #twst x reader #riddle rosehearts #malleus draconia #azul ashengrotto #vil schoenheit #riddle rosehearts x reader #malleus draconia x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #lis writing

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