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yandere-kokeshi · 4 months

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Hi! I hope you're having a nice day

I'm just wondering if you can make a yandere ghost or price with a s/o who has a other boyfriend fic?

Thanks<3

(if you don't have time for this, it's okay)

— Such Waste

Warnings: Yandere behavior, stalking, suggested age gap, swearing, talks about reader who grew up in an abusive family; current-bf is abusive/has an unhealthy relationship; reader is slightly naive, violence, and detailed blood..

A/N: this one was pretty hard for me to finish so sorry if it's dull or simply not well; I'm not very happy with it lmao. Enjoy! :]

Inserting the key into the door with a small click!, and opening it to your usually, scattered apartment, you sighed — heavily.

Today was grueling. Not only was your work office incredibly demanding, but it was possibly draining what was left of your very soul. Your bones and stiff muscles were hurting. Begging for you to get more sleep than having 2 – 4 hours of naps every day.

You took off your shoes by the front door and put your belongings on the table; re-footing your steps backwards, to put your keys on the bookshelf for remembrance. Though, you were rudely interrupted as your phone buzzed multiple times, and you let out yet another sigh.

In your bones, you had a feeling — an immediate feeling of who it was.

Grabbing your phone in the back pocket, you whisked it out and typed in your passcode before seeing multiple, if not, tons of missed calls and text messages from your current boyfriend.

Liam: Are you srsly ignoring me? It was a joke. — sent at 8:23 pm

Liam: baby, come on. You passed your break. Just answer me. — sent at 8:57 pm

Liam: answer the fucking phone! Are you dumb? Pick up the phone!!!! — sent at 9:21 pm

Liam: if you don’t answer, it's over. — sent at 11:48

You rolled your eyes, feeling anger rise in you again. You chose to send a small message. Who would’ve thought the blue-eyed, blond hair and a tooth gap combo of a man would be the best fit? Not you, apparently.

You: Got caught up with work. Sorry, we can talk more about this tomorrow. I’m gonna head to bed. Night. — sent at 12:19 pm

While Liam was a nice guy, he was slightly controlling and immature. Always wanted to know who or where you were, why you were hanging out with people he didn’t know, and if you loved getting unwanted attention. Sometimes, fights got so bad that your elderly neighbors had to call the police to separate the two of you for a few nights.

Poor Lucy. Wonder how she still deals with you being next door.

Groaning, you put your phone back into your back pocket, before your hands rubbing over your face in exhaustion.

Not only was your boss extremely cranky and rude today, but everyone was on edge due to his behavior. You couldn’t even talk to your coworkers without them using the excuse of ‘I have to leave’ whenever he steps foot into the room. Plus, the stress of bills, your current boyfriend, and the harassment was getting to your breaking point.

God, you hated this job. But it paid your bills. That’s all you cared about, right?

You scoffed, feeling your back prick and pop in places that sounded like it shouldn’t. Looking at the fridge in your kitchen, you slumped over and walked over to it, talking to yourself as you opened it, reaching down for the leftover pizza box that you didn’t get to finish last night.

Barely eating a few pieces, you were already heading down the hallway to your bedroom, peeling off your sweaty work clothes. However, something stopped you in the tracks that made your heart jump right out of your chest and into your mouth.

Roses. Roses were on your bed. Sure, it was beautiful. The lilac, reddening color shining in your room was gorgeous.

But who put them there?

You stared at them. Who the hell was in your apartment? Was it maintenance? Maybe a surprise gift they gave out for people living here in the poor-run down apartments?

No. It couldn’t be. Rarely do they ever give you things — especially flowers. What and who the fuck?

“Do you not like them?”

You jumped at the sudden rough voice, dropping your pizza on the floor and whipping around, seeing a giant man sitting in your favorite chair in the corner of your bedroom; wearing a thick, menacing skull balaclava, piercing your skin like a knife.

“Who… the fuck are you!” you shouted. Your feet stepped back, watching him as he repositioned himself — his elbows now resting on the armrests of the chair, and leaning forward into the obvious comfy chair. You couldn’t help but judge the guy. Who wears a skull mask other than on Halloween? Was he a killer? Going to slice you—!

“I would think you’d know that with the stuff I gave you.”

A chill ran down your spine. So was this — no, this was the guy.

The man who left your favorite chocolate on your window seal each morning, the sweet notes of compliments, sometimes bearing suggestions on things you should wear that day. And the huge bouquet on the front door, which was soon transported to your dinner-table, that was left every Friday.

Oh, my g-d.

“Holy shit,” you gasped, finally looking at his outfit, seeing the Britain flag sewed on his Khaki pants. It’s military. What the fuck did you do? “Did I break the law?” you hushed out, terrified at the man.

However, the man in front of you snickered. “Doubt you’d have the guts to break the law, sweetheart.”

“I– what?” you looked at him dumbfounded. Who the fuck was this guy?

“Ya’ heard me, only have a speeding ticket,” he remarked, making you dart your eyes toward behind you to the hallway, seeing the front door before back at him. “Pretty impressive for your age, if ya’ ask me.”

Your brain short-circuited. “How… do you know that?” you posed, feeling your breathing quicken. “I have so many questions,” you added. But yet, the man stared at you with his darkening eyes. Didn’t help that your room was dimmed. You really should’ve fixed that light.

He stared at you before speaking up. “Bet ya’ do. I’m all answering them as long as you get rid of that cunt of a boyfriend.”

“E… ‘cuse me?” you stammered, taking another step back. But, your anger got ahead of you; your eyebrows knitted against each other. “I can assure you that he treats me well.”

Though, the man just scoffed and stood up as your throat closed at the sight of the man. Why the fuck was he so tall? “Sure. Keep imagining that sick fantasy image of yours, and you’ll wake up in the hospital with a broken nose.”

You wanted to defend yourself. But he was right. Breaking your index finger hurts like a bitch. The frequent fights were exhausting. The last time you tried talking with Liam about visiting a close friend an hour away ended up with his hand reaching out towards your wrist, twisting it with a large sprain and a large hospital bill.

The yelling. The self-blame. The hours of constant harassment with texts and calls. The horrible smell of booze. You really fucked up your love life, didn’t you?

“But,” he started, a thick accent voicing in as he stepped closer into your direction. “I can treat you better, love. Someone who won’t hurt ya. Treat you like the doll you are.”

You narrow your eyes at him, nervously biting at the inside of your cheeks as you wait for him to continue.

“I’ll make sure to treat you well. Something you haven’t been lucky to feel. Your parents were mean towards you, no?” he asked questionably, and it made your heart drop to your stomach. “But, I can take care of you; better than anyone has.”

So many questions raced through your mind as your eyes darted at the floor then back toward the man. Like a rabbit, you stiffened. Confused. Body shaking as the predator approached.

“I don’t… even know who you are,” you replied, tightening your hand into a fist. Your heart was speeding, hands and legs shaking with fear. Your throat stiffened. He could clearly see it — and yet somehow, his eyes got softer; those brown pupils having a sad and apologetic look. Almost like a dog trying to comfort you.

You don’t know you’re crying until you feel a gloved thumb wipe them away, causing you to flinch. Realizing that the man was now in front of you, you tried to step back, but your ankle hit the bedroom wall, securing you in a close habitat.

But, with everything going on, you didn’t have the energy to push him away nor look up at him. Continuing to look at the floor as your mind circled around on whom the fuck was this man?

“Look at me, will ya’?”

You hesitated. Didn’t reply. But as he said your name, a shiver traveled down your spine, and you looked at him – his predominant features coming in. Even with your anxiety and fear swirling in your stomach, you looked at the creases in his eyebrows, the clashing scars near his temple, eyes, and brows. His jarring eyes surrounded by black eyeshadow, seemingly gentler, almost like they were trying to welcome you into a trap.

You stare up at him with half-lidded eyes. And with a gasp, you felt his hand take your chin, his palm almost eclipsing the lower half of your face, and turn your head right into the direction he wanted you to: staring at him in the eyes.

“I promise. I’m not going to hurt you,” he reassures, though, it doesn’t help as more tears drowned down on your behalf.

And yet, you couldn’t fathom his words.

“I don’t–” you started, taking a deep and sharp inhale, “–trust you, I don’t even know your name. How can I know you’re… not some, serial killer?” your question was weak. And stupid. But it was the only thing you could think of out of the bluster.

His eyes narrowed at your reply before answering at your ‘plea’.

“I suppose that’s a start,” he huffs.

You looked at his eyes, before narrowing down at the mask. And clearly, by your eyes and non-answer, he nodded at your invisible ask.

Stepping back, the man’s hands traveled to lift the mask upwards. He revealed the point of his chin, the skin equally rough, like his demeanor.

He didn’t stop from continuing, exposing more of his lower lip. The skin there was rugged and scarred, little creases in the flesh. Scars that made your heart thud awkwardly. At his cupid’s bow, where you saw a huge scar, it made you gasp quietly out of wincing. The thick mark going upward on his left lip, so callused and rough. It looks like it still hurts.

Finally, he pulled the mask fully off, revealing his natural-resting face, thick eyebrows, and the two large scars right above his filled brows. It helped a bit that he revealed himself, but you were still unsure how to… understand the situation.

He said your name, and it made you look at him. “Rest your worries when you’re by me, yeah?”

Those words fell into your stomach and twisted like a towel being squeezed. Though, somehow, in a way, you felt safer. A hesitant silence settles between you both, before you decide to speak up.

“Y–ou won’t hurt me?”

Those stunning brown eyes take a moment to gaze into yours, searching something deeper in your meaning. Instead, all you could muster was eye contact that kept flickering to the floor and trying to calm your quickened breathing.

“What kind of man would I be if I did that, hm?” his voice is airy, tone-flimsy when asking his question.

You swallowed thickly, “I want to know your name.”

“You do know my name, sweetheart,’” he coldly corrected you, “—use that smart brain of yours.”

Seconds blurred by you, trying to think – imagine what could or would be his name. But nothing came up. Nothing came to your brain, which, the man in front of you, hummed in acknowledgment at the state of your confused state.

“Shame you don’t remember,” he started, a smirk curling on his face. “It’s Simon.”

Memories you didn’t know at the time came forward.

Many things are given by that name — your favorite fast food being delivered to your home after a bad day, bouquets in expensive vases being delivered every week; cards given with clothes and money. And somehow, your insurance was now covering things they didn’t.

Oh, and let’s not forget about the lingerie being sent. A note of: I hope to see you wear this tonight. Signed with initials: SR.

At first, you thought it was Liam – but he was a cheapskate. Never liked spending money, especially on you.

Your eyes widened, a bubble trapping itself in your throat — it was him. Police didn’t help, saying something along the lines of, ‘until they hurt you, we can’t do anything’. But when did they ever help?

“So… what do you want, then?” you whisper, suddenly breathless with this proximity. You can see the gold-brown of his eyes clearly, the halo of honey flecks that cover the circumference of his pupil. His eyelashes flutter when he blinks, so pretty and… oddly feminine.

“You.”

And just as he rasped that word, the banging on your front door started. The familiar yelling of Liam drowned out your thoughts, and his screaming made the two of you snap your head in the direction of the front door.

He yelled out your name, and you flinched. Already feeling the bruising grabs, the constant screaming where your ears ring for hours. Oh god, what the hell did you do?

“You– need to leave,” you ushered out, hands and legs shaking for the splinting images that shot through your head.

He was banging on the door, jamming his fists; the handle being shaken so hard that it rattled stuck. It was all too much.

Simon said your name, but you shook your head. Denying his existence. Danger was near, nobody would help save you. He needs to leave, he needs to leave, heneedstoleave—!

He grunted your name louder, and you looked at him with teary eyes; the small rivers turning into full tsunami’s. You couldn’t think. Breathe. He was here. Going to hurt you. He was going to die. So were you.

The door broke, the familiar thundering footsteps shook from across the house. And before you could react, Simon pushed you behind him — shielding you away from your abuser.

“You—!” Liam screamed into the bedroom, a bottle of beer in one hand and his other clenched into a fist; his blue eyes burning into your stomach. You choked out a sob as he stepped further, but stopped at the sight of Simon. For once, Liam looked retched at his own thoughts.

“Who the fuck are you?” he yelled, and the man only narrowed his eyes at Liam; challenging him with his height and quiet demeanor.

“Get the fuck out.” his rough and dark voice sent shivers down your neck, making every hair stand up.

Liam scoffed, a plethora of curses voiced out, before he shut up. Your eyes narrowed, and as you looked at his shocked face, you saw a gun in view next — Simon’s finger gripping the trigger, aiming it at Liam’s head.

Your heart leapt out. Fight or flight mode flicking on.

“Come on, man– we, we’re playing. Right—?” he chuckled out, and Simon grunted.

In the dimmed room, you can see his high cheekbones and the absolute rage that is evident on his face, even hiding behind his mask. His hands are clenched around the gun tightly, finger curling even tighter around the trigger.

“I’m not going to ask again; leave the fucking apartment.”

Liam falsely chuckled, “O-or what? You’ll shoot me? Doubt you have the balls, my… guy.”

Within seconds, the gun went off — making you scream, closing your eyes, and covering your ears. Your fingernails scraped at your ears, making them ring. It hurt, not a single thought. Oh god, what the fuck happened?

“—uck!” was all you could muster before you knelt to the ground, wrapping arms around yourself; teeth clenching down your lips as you felt— tasted blood.

After a few minutes – or seconds – you open them up and find Liam, leaning on the wall for support, bleeding through his arm. There was so much– on the floor, on his hands. His eyes were widened, looking at the man in front of you; anger yet fear rising.

He started hiccuping — more blood dripping down to the floor as he clenched his nearly wound.

“Don’t ever let me see you again.”

Simon’s rough voice of threatening sent shivers down your body. Your breath hitched. Your body starts to shake as your eyes widen. Simon’s threat was enough for Liam to nod instantly, giving you one look before running out; not giving you a second look as it may not leave tonight with his face intact.

You were about to say something, but the man cleared his throat and looked down at your shaking form. “Ya’ okay?”

You looked up at him, slowly nodding. In return, he said nothing, making you feel his eyes take in every detail of you. To your face and pupils, to your shaking legs and ragged breath. Yet, having never meeting you before, he gladly handed over his hand down to you.

Looking up at his scarred hand, you hesitantly looked at it — large fingers, nails scratched and clear hangnails. You didn’t know what to do, other than grab it and strand up with his help.

“Get your things.”

Your eyes narrowed, breath heaving. “Why?”

He looked at you, brown pupils dilated. They were so feminine– pretty. His breath hitched, and a large hand grasped your shoulder.

“Cause’ you’re gona’ be coming with me, forever.”

—

Masterlist || Please consider reblogging and commenting instead of liking, stay well!!

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niseag-arts · 19 days

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On gender and warhammer: a personal account

Or: in light if recent events, I have been introspective for a bit. Personal history and shit. Feel free to ignore.

Let's start off here: I am nonbinary but largely closeted. I have large breasts that will not let themselves be hidden by a binder, and I have long hair (with an undercut, but I don't always have it tied up). The thing is, if I walk into a local game store, people are going to think I'm a woman.

I have been actively engaging with warhammer content for 5 years now. But let's start earlier.

When I was 14, my cousin introduced me to warhammer. I was obsessed with wolves so he showed me the space wolves and tried to get me to play. I asked my mum if I could get this game, but my mother told me that I was not allowed to play games in which people get slaughtered, and thus I had to disappoint my cousin and tell him that this wasn't for me. Life went on, my cousin and I lost contact, and I didn't think about this game he had been so passionate about again for years.

A lot happened. I went to university, came out as nonbinary to my friends, got in a relationship, and moved to a different country.

And then, one day, someone at the role-playing society I'm in posts a call for players for a Dark Heresy campaign. I find myself interested to re-explore this thing I only vaguely remember. So, I talked to the GM about making a tech priest. It excited me! I explain the concept to my partner, and she flips out at me about how this is disgusting and that if I play this that must mean that I want to be "less than human" as well. I play in the campaign anyway (the relationship was long-distance, so she couldn't actually stop me). We had a great time. I fell in love with the world building and dove into reading the novels on my e-reader. I couldn't do much more than that, not with the risk of my partner flipping out on me again.

After she broke up with me. I bought my first box of skitarii. It sat on my shelf. I lived in student housing, and I didn't have the space to work on them.

Now, something to know about me is that occasionally, I get dysphoric about my hobbies. I like arts and crafts and reading by the light of scented candles, among other things. And sometimes, when my brain is mean to me, it tells me that those are incredibly feminine and that they prove that I'm a girl.

So...one day, after I've moved into a rental property, I see those skitarii on my shelf and decide to open the box and put them together. I liked working on them, I love tiny detailed crafts! And, for once, that nagging dysphoria voice in my mind is quiet. It lets me paint my little dudes without telling me that this hobby is too feminine... because, well, it's warhammer. And, you know, I am fully aware that that is dumb and that warhammer is for everyone. But dysphoria isn't always reasonable. Regardless. I'm now very involved, happily painting my dudes and putting them on my bookshelf, reading the books, having a great time. I also make fanart and start talking to people on discord.

And then recently, someone in my social circle set up a demo game. I have about 500 points of admech at this point, so I pack up my dudes and learn how to play with them. I get beaten by his necrons a few times, someone else in the playgroup goes out of his way to read up on the specifics of my army so when I face his chaos marines he coaches me through, telling me things to do that I didn't even know I could do.

I returned to tumblr. And after a while I realise that I have lovely mutuals who appreciate me and I appreciate them and its all good. My experience with the fanbase so far has been great. Incredibly welcoming.

And then GW released female custodes. I am lukewarm on this, I like custodes, but I didn't really care at first... and then people started to spew hate. People are seething at the mouth at the existence of women. And it gets to me. I start feeling like maybe nobody wants me, a person assumed female, in "their" hobby. I look at my little dudes and wonder what i'll do with them now, if they'll remain on my shelf or if I'll give them to an irl friend.

But... no-one has been that way, irl. Nobody. I've met some folk with questionable political opinions, but even they were happy to talk to me about painting and things (even if they misgendered me all the way through, but swings and roundabouts). It's like the people yelling on the Internet are not actually in the lgs... but yeah, idk.

I've been having thoughts, and I needed to write them down somewhere.

And if you're my cousin reading this: It's not space wolves, but you were right. This is fun. Miss talking to you, man. (Didn't think you'd have a tumblr)

#don't worry my little dudes aren't going anywhere #just rambling #memories and things #personal

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marvelmawrter · 2 years

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they reach into your room

6x04 coda - Buck sleeps with Connor but says Eddie’s name

Buck doesn’t know how he got here.

Ok, he does. If pressed, he could explain the winding path that led to him saying his best friend’s name while fucking a married man but. He can’t promise that it makes sense.

“Dude, I’m telling you, I’m not offended in the slightest.” Connor’s sitting on the edge of the bed now, boxers on, calmly putting on his socks. “I literally got permission from my wife to get railed by our sperm donor. And somehow, I don’t think you’ll be knocking me up.”

Buck’s next exhale could almost pass for a laugh, but truthfully he’s barely processing a word Connor says. He’s too busy staring at the wall, trapped in the memory of Eddie’s name echoing around the loft.

“Hey.” Connor’s hand on his arm makes Buck jump, shaking him out of his thoughts. Turning to meet Connor’s eyes, recognizing the kindness in them, Buck thinks that may have been the goal.

“Here.”

Connor’s fully dressed now, but he hasn’t run out the door. Instead, he passes Buck his discarded joggers, turning back to peruse the bookshelf as if his interest in the worn paperbacks isn’t just a cover for giving Buck a minute to pull his shit together.

Buck takes the moment for what it is, quickly standing up and slipping the pants over his hips. To be honest, he hadn’t even realized that he was still naked. That somehow, only minutes ago, he was having sex for the first time in months, fucking Connor into his mattress, back in the familiar satisfaction of bringing someone to the edge. Until his brain betrayed him, dredging up the fantasy that is always lurking beneath the surface, the shameful secret escaping when Buck parted his lips, eyes wide as he scrambled up the bed and away from Connor’s confused, searching eyes-

“Do you want to talk to me? About him?”

Connor’s leaning against the strip of wall next to the stairs now, shoes on, phone in hand. But he’s looking at Buck with a softness he doesn’t deserve, giving him more grace than an old fuckbuddy should warrant. For a moment, Buck’s transported back to a cluttered bedroom in a crowded house, the assertion that they don’t have a thing , they’re just helping each other through a dry spell at odds with the way Connor wouldn’t go back to his room, after. He would stay, and they would talk, their truths easier to lay bare in the dark.

But it’s mid-afternoon, years later, and the sun is streaming through the wall of windows that Buck loves and hates depending on the day. Today, the sun feels like a spotlight on his weaknesses.

He can’t say yes to this.

He’s said yes to so many things. Meeting with Connor to begin with, carefully masking the jealousy that consumed him when confronted with proof of what he could have if he was enough for anyone. Giving them the one thing they can’t have, a baby, since watching from the sidelines is better than having no one at all.

He said yes to having Connor back in his bed, his friend stumbling through assurances that he didn’t want to bring it up until Buck had made his decision, that he would’ve asked even if Buck said no to being a donor, that Kameron was totally aware and on board. She had dropped Connor off this morning, two days after they made arrangements for Buck’s soonest day off, and she’d kissed her husband and winked at them both on her way out the door like it was some sort of X-rated play date.

God, what’s Connor going to tell her when she asks for all of the dirty details? She’s obviously into the whole idea. At least they’ll get a laugh out of how much of a bullet they’re dodging - imagine if they went through with using someone this fucked up to make their kid? They can move on and pick someone who hasn’t blown up his whole life, who knows how to have a relationship, who doesn’t just attach himself to any family that will take him in just to get a taste of what it could feel like. No one wants that level of failure mixed into their kids’ DNA.

Talk about it? About Eddie? Buck takes a minute to imagine pulling Connor back to the bed, sitting across from each other pretzel style, rambling about his crush like an infatuated schoolgirl. But Connor already has enough damning evidence - Buck doesn’t need to offer up even more proof that he’s going nowhere. That he’s playing house to trick himself into believing that he’s doing something worthwhile with this life.

“No.” His voice is hoarse. Buck clears his throat and forces himself to meet Connor’s eyes. “No, I’m good. Nothing to talk about. Just an embarrassing mistake.”

Connor stares back, his gaze unwavering for long enough that Buck wonders if he can see the way the word “mistake” is ping-ponging around his brain. That it defines Buck to his core. If that’s why Connor looks so disappointed and sad.

They’re both quiet for another beat before Connor’s phone vibrates and he pushes off the wall.

“Are you sure? Kameron’s here, she was just hanging out at a coffee shop a few blocks away, but I can stay. We can stay. Order some takeout, watch a movie, whatever.”

Buck shakes his head. “Nah, man. I think I just need to hide out for the rest of the day until I get my pride back, y’know?” He forces out a laugh. “Totally get if you guys want to look for someone new, too…”

“What? No,” Connor’s voice is firm, a fire in his eyes. Maybe if that had come out earlier, when all Buck wanted was someone holding him down instead of the other way around. Maybe if he hadn’t started to imagine someone else in his bed, someone stronger than him. Maybe things would’ve gone differently. Maybe he wouldn’t have-

There’s a hand on his shoulder, a thumb on his collarbone. He flinches.

Connor’s hand slides away, awkwardly settling on Buck’s bicep instead. He steps back as two short bursts from a car horn filter in from the parking lot.

“That’s her. If you’re sure, I’ll get out of your hair. But Buck,” he smiles, voice turning soft like secrets in the dark, “like I said, this is separate. Nothing to do with the baby. We’re so, so excited to do this with you, man.”

Buck blinks, and then Connor’s walking down the stairs. Buck doesn’t move, just listens to the door open and shut. He throws himself back onto the bed, knowing he needs to change the sheets but having zero of the energy needed. He just stares up at his ceiling and breathes.

He’s pulled back to Earth by the chime of a new text message. Buck blindly gropes at his nightstand until he finds his phone, pulling it to his face.

One text from Connor, thirty seconds ago: like I said, no judgment here dude. glad to reconnect today 😏 send me your schedule when you have it - let’s meet up to talk logistics 👶

One text from Eddie, one hour ago: forgot to send this last night - what are we gonna do with him?

There’s a picture, Eddie in a black tank top, rolling his eyes at the camera with his arm outstretched, putting Chris’s XBox on the top shelf of a kitchen cabinet. The one with all of the novelty mugs. The “Emergency Dad Jokes” mug that Buck helped Chris pick out is barely visible behind Eddie’s bicep.

Buck stares a little too long.

Buck roles over, burying his face in his pillow.

Buck screams.

#911fic #evan buckley #connor 911 #Eddie Diaz #buck/connor (sort of)#buddie #be gentle it has been A While #911 spoilers #911 6x04

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ravenbirde · 2 years

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thyme and muffin, 7, 14, 21, 28, 35, and 42

hehe... ty for the questions bee <3 !!!!

7. there’s a magic item (or technological innovation, or special resource) made just for them—what is it?

thyme: would drop everything if he saw a magic ring or something that would suppress their need to drink blood. (the catch being. if she ever takes it off, all that hunger immediately comes back tenfold :heart_eyes:)

ragamuffin: would get a lot of use out of something that allows her to create illusions… maybe a pair of frilly gloves that can create illusions as he moves his hands during a performance. it would be great if they did a bit of extra dmg for her unarmed attacks too heheh

14. what keeps them up at night?

thyme: ever since finding out aine is alive undead, they’ve been up every night thinking of what to say to them. the two of them havent even spoken properly yet and thyme is dreading that conversation. also just. general anger and jealousy over the fact that aine didnt come to find thyme after they were reborn. smh stupid chef

ragamuffin: worrying about her brother, wondering if she made the right choice in taking the path of vengeance. ofc she wants to make sure he’s okay, but shes also worried about what he might do when he finds out she follows gruumsh now. its not lost on her that she’s on a mission to save someone whos job it is to apprehend people like her. 0_0

21. do they have an idea about how they’ll die? do you?

thyme: if thyme had it her way, she dies peacefully of old age surrounded by family. after a long and successful career in the limelight having successfully cured their vampirism. leaving behind a lasting legacy as the greatest chef who ever lived. but im pretty sure thyme will die bloodied and alone and still in this body that they hate. maybe because no one wants to heal them, maybe because someone finally decided that hes more trouble than hes worth. sucks to suck lol (not that i want them to die, i love playing as thyme hehe)

ragamuffin: hmm not really.. or at least not one definitive way that he’ll die. muffin has run through all kinds of death scenarios in her head. like a true improvisor, hes mentally prepared for whichever scenario gets thrown his way. as for me… i dont know either! i think theres a nonzero chance that she dies in the name of getting her vengeance tho

28. do they collect anything?

thyme: rare spices. anything with a pretentious name thats hard to pronounce gets tossed into the magic spice bag for later.

ragamuffin: little charms and knick knacks to add on to her hammer. her weapon looks like this basically:

35. when did they feel loneliest?

thyme: centuries ago, on that night when thyme threw an extravagant party for aine, planning to propose and fix their failing relationship... only to get publicly stood up and wait alone all night. thyme isnt a great person (and what they did in retaliation was definitely not justified lol) but this really hurt them. probably the lowest point in their life.

ragamuffin: the night her brother left for his solo mission and they had their last conversation/argument. i wont go into details (mostly bc im still deciding on things) but she left that conversation feeling betrayed and angry and sad and alone.

42. can they dance?

thyme: absolutely not. cant sing either. if anything, thyme can do a little head bob + foot tap combo. off rhythm ofc.

ragamuffin: yeah! what kind of clown cant dance! although... in a way, ragamuffin is always dancing even when she’s not performing for a crowd. every move he makes, even mundane things like brushing her teeth, is purposeful and done in an entertaining way. big sweeping gestures and exaggerated poses in time to a little rhythm in her head. her logic is kind of like. if someone walked in and saw her fixing a bookshelf or something, she should be doing it in a way thats entertaining for that person or will at least get a reaction out of them. ...the clown may have complexes about this :/

#SORRY THIS IS SO LONG #ty again for the ask and for making these epic questions #!!!#oc: thyme #oc: ragamuffin

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requiemofrebellion · 6 months

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@petalbound ― * ― unprompted.

[Karma to Gakushu] "Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?"

Gakushu hadn’t expected to open up slightly to Karma, sure he had gotten used to Karma’s presence and dare he say, slowly was thinking of him as a friend, but he never thought he’d open up about his home life. The one that lacked his father in the picture, even more so with his father no longer working for the school. Sure, it was a breath of fresh air starting high school without being the principal's son but that just meant he saw even less of the man during the day and night. It’s not like he ever thought they would ever mend what wasn’t ever there to begin with, a father - son relationship, but part of him had hoped it would have happened.

He had told Karma how being at home was quiet, too quiet even for him sometimes. Even if his father was home, he might as well not be there. Expressing the only way he got his father’s attention was through failing something, or if his father thought he could do better. A push he no longer needed but his father still did despite not being employed by the school anymore. He had slightly expressed how he hated holidays because there was no celebration at his house, it was just another painful reminder that everyone else had a loving family and he was to just study or get better at something. He expressed that if his father did give him a gift, it was to get skilled at it as fast as possible, it wouldn’t be due to the fact that Gakushu wanted it or not. It was always something that Gakushu could master. Video games? Out of the question. Don’t even bring up such a foolish request ever again. Toys when he was little? No way, it was books to get his reading above anyone his age at the time when he was a child.

Gakushu didn’t know why he had spoken such feelings and memories to Karma, but it felt nice to get the unspoken emotions out into the open for once. To express these things that he pushed down. Violet eyes moved from staring at the highschool’s bookshelf to Karma as he asked if there was anything else. He breathed in deeply, blinking slowly at him. The library they sat in was quiet, they having been the only ones left after school hours. His head then dipped down to look at the open book on the table, they didn’t even get what they came here for done. But this time it was Gakushu’s fault and surprisingly not Karma’s.

“ No... ” He answered finally, moving his hand and closing his textbook. “ I apologize for going off subject and in such... details of my personal life. ” He wasn’t used to getting this comfortable around people. Karma was the first one he ever felt this way with, the male had surely wormed himself between the cracks of Gakushu’s wall.

#♠ never let anyone beat you ― not about to start. ♠ ⸻ ic : Gakushu #petalbound #petalbound ― karma #♠ high school verse ♠#// can't you tell i have big emotions for these two?? gsdfgsfd #♦ not all who wonder are lost. ♦ ⸻ queue

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ethanesimp · 3 years

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AMAMI PER SEMPRE // E.T.

Pairing: Ethan Torchio x Fem! Reader

Summary: Ethan isn’t the brightest—or the best—when it comes to surprises, so his attempt at proposing to you causes a few misunderstandings...

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Swearing, a tiny tiny mention of death, some angst, other than that it’s pure fluff and me projecting my obsession with old books onto the reader.

Request: Ethan planning to propose and acting super nervous and strange (a bit angsty bc the reader doesn’t know what’s happening) and ending in pure fluff.

Masterlist // Taglist link in bio

A/N: After more than a year of stepping foot into a bookstore for *cough* obvious reasons, I got to go to one yesterday. While looking at some second-hand books I had an idea that I decided to combine with @kawaiiwxnnabe’s lovely request to bring you this. I hope you enjoy! <3

Ethan had been mindlessly listening to Damiano sing Amandoti when the thought of marrying you first seriously crossed his mind. It had been a thing he’d thought of countless times ever since he started dating you, but it had never remained with as much intensity as it had that time.

Damiano, who had noticed his friend’s face illuminate all of a sudden, had a talk with him that once and for all convinced Ethan that it was the right time and you were the right person. He didn’t sleep at all that night because he couldn’t stop thinking about what would be the perfect way to propose to you. It was no secret to him—or anyone who knew you—that you were a hopeless romantic.

There was nothing that made you happier than simple and small details that came from the heart. That was the reason why you had developed an affinity towards old books. Not only did they have a particular and special scent that reminded you of vanilla and chocolate, but some had the luck—as you liked to call it—of being embellished by notes on margins or dedications on covers. Whether they were about love, sorrow, or maybe even hate, they still showed a small glimpse into the life of the person who had once owned it. Those notes told a story that would prevail even long after they were gone from the earth.

Ever since he had noticed that small obsession of yours, Ethan had tried to help you expand your treasured collection by bringing you back books he found at antique stores from every country the band played in.

During a visit to Spain after he initially had his stirring thought, Ethan took the chance to visit one of the second-hand shops he’d found during a night stroll with Victoria, who had disappeared into a bakery. His main goal was to find something different from the usual books he brought back for you.

After he walked into the store and vaguely told the old lady at the counter about his idea in the best Spanish he could muster, she smiled warmly at him and guided him to the very back of the tiny shop where a beautiful and worn out bookshelf sat in all its glory, filled with as many books as it could hold.

He immediately started searching around for the perfect book, but it proved to be harder than he initially thought it’d be. After searching around for more than an hour, all he had found was a collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s tales and poems with a heartbreaking note to someone’s dead lover. While it had almost brought him to tears and was a special thing he’d buy to give to you later, it wasn’t exactly the best thing to help him carry out his plan.

Victoria walked into the shop when he was about to give up and, fully aware of his plan, started looking around without saying a word to him. They both searched around the messy piles of books for something. It didn’t take long for her to stumble across three books held together by a lilac satin ribbon.

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, and Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë. All three contained a note on the very first page right under the title, but the last one stood out above the other two because, according to his basic knowledge of Spanish, it ended with the very question he wanted to ask ¿Quieres casarte conmigo? Or ‘Will you marry me?’. He bought all three of them after a huge smile and a thumbs up from Victoria.

What he hadn’t expected was for them to remain hidden in a drawer he knew you never opened underneath piles of clothes. Ever since he came back from their small trip to Spain, Ethan had tried to ask the question about six times, but always ended up choking on his words and saying something else. In fact, the first time he ever tried, Ethan chickened out at the last second and ended up giving you the Edgar Allan Poe anthology instead.

You were still none the wiser to his plan even after he’d asked about your opinion on marriage a few times. Anyone would’ve probably caught up with what was going on already, but you were always so busy with things happening around you that you didn’t connect his awkward and nervous attitude with his questions.

You didn’t start giving his actions a second thought until one night… You had been cooped up in your office all day working on a new project you were supposed to present to your boss by the end of the week when you suddenly felt the urge to get up and walk around the house.

Ethan was casually sitting on the couch as he whispered unintelligible words into his phone. You supposed he was on a call with a friend or maybe his manager and was trying to be quiet to avoid disturbing you, but then he hung up the call with a panicked expression the moment he noticed you. After that, you started thinking back on the way he had been behaving ever since he returned and it all raised the suspicion that there was something strange going on.

It didn’t get any better when he kept on acting weird. Simple things that he had allowed you to do, like using his phone to take pictures because it had a better camera than yours, now seemed to make him almost mad. He’d even snapped at you once when you tried to grab it to take a picture with him. Even if Ethan had apologized right away, it still didn’t calm you down, especially because he had gone as far as to change the password on it.

It almost felt like he was walking on eggshells around you and you didn’t like it one bit. Your relationship had always been about honesty and worked because of constant communication. Everything was just so strange that your mind couldn’t help but think of the worst.

You were an imaginative person who never had any difficulties when it came to envisioning things clearly. Unfortunately, that also applied to every negative thought that crossed your mind, so it wasn’t hard for you to start coming up with the worst explanations as to why he was acting so suspicious. It didn’t help much that he had been busier than normal because the band was wrapping up on their latest album, so you hadn’t had the opportunity to sit down and voice all your concerns, to ask if something was going on and if there was a way to fix it.

The morning of your anniversary, you’d finally had enough. You had woken up, expecting to feel Ethan’s arm tightly wrapped around your waist and to receive a shower of kisses the moment he noticed you were awake, but no. There was no Ethan and the side of his bed was already neatly made.

Your disappointment only grew when he wasn’t in the kitchen or his small studio where he had his drums. You doubted he was in the house at all.

It was a thing that wouldn’t have affected you much had he done it any other time, but with everything that had been going on as of late, you could only fear the worst. So, without being able to control yourself, you started making the worst conclusions. You’d always been fully aware that he loved you, but all the signs undoubtedly pointed at him meeting someone new… And maybe he was going to leave you for them as well… during your anniversary.

That was all you needed to break into tears. You climbed back into bed and cried for what seemed to be hours. Even since you got together, you had thought of him as your person, your forever. The thought of him leaving you broke your heart into tiny pieces.

Ethan arrived home only a few minutes after you’d buried yourself underneath all the blankets and cried out all your worries. When he was about to open the door to your bedroom, he stopped. Were you crying?

He stood there in complete silence for a few seconds until he was more than sure that you were, in fact, crying. Ethan rushed inside and he felt his heart break at the sight of you looking so heartbroken, and it didn’t get any better when he heard a whimper come out of your mouth at the sight of him. You cuddled deeper into the bedsheets and turned away from him.

Ethan sat on your side of the bed and, as delicately as possible, he cupped your face into his warm hands and wiped your tears with his thumbs, “Amore,” He said in a quiet voice, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You tried to turn away from him, but his grip on your face stopped you from doing so. You placed one of your hands on top of his and gave it a firm squeeze. No part of you was ready to have that conversation with him because that was going to be it and you were going to have to watch him leave…

So, with a lot of courage, you spoke the first words that came to mind, “You know, i-it’s okay if you’ve found someone else,” You caressed his cheek softly as more tears started spilling down your face, “You can tell me if you have.”

His eyebrows furrowed at your words and the only thing he could do was shake his head no, “What? Found someone else? What would make you say such a thing dolcezza?”

Then, before you could even answer, realization hit him like a ton of bricks and he felt like the stupidest living being on the face of the Earth. He pinched his nose and sighed, annoyed at himself.

“Fuck… I’m so fucking stupid. Please don’t ever think of something like that. I was just… I-I,” Clueless as to what to say, Ethan pressed his lips against yours to kiss you slowly, hoping it spoke more than his words ever could. He could still taste a trace of the salty tears that had fallen on your lips and he couldn’t help but shed a few of his own at the thought that he’d been the one to make you cry.

After pulling away, Ethan pressed his forehead to yours and brushed his nose against yours while his arms held you as close as possible, “Will you close your eyes for just a second, amore mio? I promise everything will make so much sense soon.”

You nodded and kept your eyes closed as you felt him get up from the bed. You heard him open and close a few drawers, and look around for something for a while before he sat back on the bed. Ethan grabbed your hands in his and slowly slipped the three small books into your grasp.

You opened his eyes after a small sound of approval from him and smiled when you saw the three old books held together by a ribbon and the pretty pink rose that had been carefully been slipped into the first book and the ribbon.

You gently removed the flower and placed it on your side. Then you undid the simple knot and picked up the first book, “Wuthering Heights?” You questioned.

He nodded, “Yeah… At least I think that’s it. I hope I didn’t bring back some sketchy book or some shit,” Ethan scratched his neck and you giggled as you opened it on the first page. Your fingers brushed over the letters neatly written down in fountain pen.

After clearing your throat, you started reading the first dedication out loud. Since your Spanish wasn’t exactly the best either, you had to pause every once in a while to translate all the words, “May 17, 1850… My dearest Helena, I hope this book reaches you in great condition, being apart from you is one of the hardest challenges I have ever had to face, one of the most painful as well. I hope you can find me in between these pages as you read and remember how much I love you, remember how much I long to be back in your arms and kiss your lips. Sincerely, Alejandro.”

You closed it and placed it back on the bed before opening the second book and doing the same thing with the third, “January 24, 1855. Carolina, nothing I’ve ever experienced has gotten close to being as terrible as not having you in my arms. Apologies are overdue… long overdue. Words have never been my strongest suit, yet I still hope I can coherently express just how much I love you, all of you. I’m afraid I’m already too late since you will soon be betrothed to someone else and there will be nothing I can do by then.

“Still, I hope with everything in my being that this arrives sooner so you’re aware of how sorry I am. I hope you remember that I would do anything you asked without a single complaint just to watch that lovely smile I adore so much appear on your face. If you ever come back to me, I promise with every fiber of my being, and I’ll be dammed if I don’t keep my promise, that I will leave everything behind and escape with you. Anywhere, any time. So with that, I ask a question that will hopefully have a yes as an answer. Will you marry me? With love, Javier.”

Before you could close it, Ethan stopped you and timidly asked for you to open the book on the very last page. You did it and looked back at him with confusion at the sight of his writing on the page, “Read this one out loud for me. Will you Y/N?” You nodded and mumbled a small ‘of course’ before clearing your throat to get rid of the knot that had formed.

“October 21, 2025… Y/N, my one true love, I’ve always hoped to make a gesture that will remind you of your treasured books. I’ve never been one great with words spoken out loud, so I sought inspiration from those before me who were just as in love with someone as I am with you. Ever since I met you I dreamt of one day settling down with you, of having our small home in the countryside as you’ve always dreamed of. Maybe even doing some of those cloying gestures people seem to do in fiction and dedicate to you the most beautiful love poems I lay eyes on.

“I’ve wondered for a while how I could ever take the step that would bring me closer to that goal, yet every time I try, words seem to get stuck in my throat with no way out and I end up in square one all over again. It is with this note that I hope to finally take a step in the right direction because I know you’re it for me. You’re my person, my forever, and there’s nothing I would love more than to share my life with you. Sei la mia migliore amica e il mio unico vero amore. Ti chiedo di accettare il mio amore, il mio nome e tutto quello che sono.” (You are my best friend and my one true love. I ask you to accept my love, my name, and everything I am.)

When your eyes spotted the four words that followed, you slowly lowered the book, “Will you marry me?” You both said at the same time, although yours sounded more like an unintelligible mumble. Only then did you notice him down on one knee right in front of you. He held a velvet box with one of the most beautiful rings sitting inside of it

A hand went to cover your mouth as tears started falling down your face. This time, happy and free of worry. You could only nod repeatedly, overcome with pure joy as your heart swelled with love.

He slowly slid the ring into your finger and grabbed your face to kiss you once again, “I’m so sorry I made you think something else was going on. I just kept backtracking every time I tried to tell you. Not because I was regretting the decision but because I didn’t want to lose you.”

You shook your head as a silent way of saying it was alright and brushed his hair back with your fingers, “The important thing is that you’ve done it and you’re not going to lose me, no matter how hard you try. I’ll always be right here because I love you and I’ll always be yours.”

#ethan torchio x reader #ethan torchio x you #ethan torchio x y/n #ethan torchio fanfiction #maneskin x reader #maneskin fanfiction

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es-kay-zee · 3 years

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Fire Alarm pt 2 | Kim Seungmin x Reader

Warnings: Soft Dom!Seungmin, female reader, choking, sir kink, unprotected sex, swearing, slight overstimulation

Word count: 3.5k

__________________________

Finding his bed empty of you was not what Seungmin was expecting when he woke up the next morning. He wasn’t sure just what time you left, but he knew that more than just his bed felt empty without you there. His heart also felt hollow.

Seungmin’s internal emptiness worsened over the next few weeks as you did everything you could to avoid him. It had become a very rare occurrence for you to see him on your way to your room, but when it did happen, you would speed up, ignoring him as you passed. He would try calling out to you, wanting to question why you were being so distant. It wasn’t like you guys were especially close before you had sex with each other, but that didn’t mean your cold actions didn’t hurt Seungmin.

Most nights he lay in bed, wondering what happened. Wondering if there was something he said, or something he did during the course of that night that made you hate him before he would finally drift off into a restless sleep. He hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep since you slept next to him.

On the other hand, you lay in bed each night wondering why you were being such a coward. Why you didn’t have the courage to walk up to Seungmin and tell him how you feel. You already had a small crush on him before, but that night really amplified your feelings. There was something about the way he smiled at you after the mind-blowing sex, something about the way he offered for you to stay, about the way he hugged you into his body in his sleep.

A part of you wishes that you’d stayed that morning. That you hadn’t snuck out at 5am. His arms around you made it more difficult for you to leave, so why did you?

You were scared.

Every single one of your past relationships, your past crushes, had all ended badly; had ended with you getting hurt. You didn’t want that to happen with Seungmin. So, you left. And decided that you would never speak to him again in the desperate hope that this attraction towards him would vanish. Unfortunately, it hadn’t. If anything, you were just left feeling hollow. Like something was missing.

You’d only really spoken to him a handful of times and slept with him the once, so why did you feel so lost without him? Why did you feel so empty?

God, you felt pathetic. Missing a boy that you knew very little about, other than that he makes your heart skip a few beats when you make eye contact with him. But there’s no way he feels the same towards you, right?

Still, no matter how much you missed him, no matter how much you wanted to talk to him, you couldn’t bring yourself to. You refused to have your heart broken by him telling you that he didn’t feel the same things towards you.

Seungmin had been getting restless these last few days. Wanting nothing more than to talk to you. It was really getting to him, to the point where he’d even skipped a couple classes in the hopes that he’d manage to speak to you. It wasn’t like he could focus during class anyway.

He knew it wasn’t healthy, missing you this much. Especially considering he didn’t know much about you. But what he did know from the few times he had talked to you in the past, was that you absolutely adore your family, and he knew that you lit up like the sun when talking about your passion for photography. But it was like there was something about you that drew him in, that made it so hard for him to be away from you.

That’s why he made a deal with himself; the next time he saw you, he’d make you stop and listen to him. Not in a way that would stop you from getting away if you truly wanted to, but every other time he’d tried it was mostly just him calling out your name to get your attention. This time he would try harder.

So, when he saw you walking towards your room one evening a few days later, he approached you.

“Y/n, wait up,” he says, getting closer to you.

You can hear your heartbeat drumming in your ears as he nears, nerves coursing through your veins. Speeding up your already hurried steps, you try to get away from him. But it doesn’t work. He catches up and, before you can even process how close he is, one of his hands reaches out to gently grab your arm.

He pulls you to a stop, but not turning you to face him. Not yet. You take a few deep breaths, a feeble attempt to calm yourself.

“Y/n, please talk to me.” Seungmin’s voice makes you flinch, your entire body on edge. You look up from the ground, seeing your room’s door not too far ahead of you. It wouldn’t take much effort to escape Seungmin’s soft grip and quickly reach the confines of your bedroom. But there’s a part of you that stops you, the part that yearns for Seungmin, the part that wanted to stay in his arms the morning you left. The part that wants to be in his arms all the time.

You take another deep breath, readying yourself to face him before you turn around.

“Okay,” you reply, voice quiet as your eyes lock with his. You can tell that he definitely wasn’t expecting to get this far, that he was entirely prepared for you to just walk away and continue to ignore him for the rest of your lives. But he’s pleasantly surprised at your response.

“Do you wanna come to my room to chat? Or we could go to your room, if that’s more comfortable for you,” he offers, releasing your arm and instead scratching the back of his neck.

“Uh, yeah, sure. We can go to my room,” you say, starting to lead the way to your room. Seungmin follows behind you quietly, the silence between you both somewhere between neutral and uncomfortable. It was impossible to ignore the tension between the two of you, and it only worsened when finally reaching and entering you room.

There was something so intimate about letting Seungmin into your bedroom. Letting him see something so personal, as if your bedroom were a gateway for him to see into the innermost workings of your soul. The figurines of your favourite anime characters, the various novels lining your small bookshelf, your various cameras lined up along your desk, every small detail that gives Seungmin a closer glimpse at the person you are, what makes you your own person. The posters on your walls, the small decorating details everywhere, they all make him fall for you even more.

Once the door is closed, the both of you take a seat on the bed. You rest your hands in your lap, twirling them around slowly in anticipation of the coming conversation. The silences between you both continues, neither of you wanting to be the one to break it.

“So…” you begin, the deafening quiet beginning to suffocate you. “What do you wanna talk about?”

You cringe at your own question, both you and Seungmin knowing full-well what the conversation will be about.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” he asks, getting right to the point.

“I haven’t.” It’s a lie and you both know it, and if he wasn’t already aware of the blatant untruth, then he would have been able to guess by the small crack in your voice.

“Please don’t lie to me, y/n. I just want to know why.”

“Seungmin, I-”

“Did I do something wrong?” he cuts you off, unable to hold back his burning question, and for the first time since entering your room, you look him in the eyes. And the look on his face hurts. His eyes are watery, on the verge of releasing the backed-up tears, and his lips are pulled into a small pout. He looks like it’s taking everything in him to not cry in front of you.

Instinctively, your hands reach out to grab his, your thumbs soothingly rubbing the backs of his hands.

“Hey, no, of course you didn’t do anything wrong, Seungmin,” you say, wanting nothing less than for him to cry.

Your hands on his surprises him, but he’s more focused on you saying his name. He’s caught up on the way it rolls so naturally off your tongue, absolutely in love with the sound.

“Then please tell me why you’re avoiding me. I really like you and I don’t want to lose you just because we slept together.”

His words leave you in shock. ‘I really like you’. Did you hear that right? He likes you?

Seungmin pauses, shocked that he said that aloud. How could he let it slip that he liked you? Now he’s just made a fool of himself.

“Y-you like me?”

Your voice is no higher than a whisper, not entirely sure that you heard him correctly.

“No- Wait- That’s not-, I-” he stutters, struggling to find a way to back-track.

“So, you don’t like me?” you cut him off again, the disappointment clear in the way your shoulders slouch slightly and pull away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself for comfort.

“What? No. That’s not what I mean. I do like you; I just didn’t mean to say it. I know you don’t feel the same way…” His voice trails off near the end, growing quieter and quieter with each word spoken.

He raises his head, his eyes meeting yours, and he looks ready to cry again.

A small giggle escapes your lips at the absurdity of the situation, finding it a bit funny that you both were under the impression that feelings weren’t mutual. Seungmin, however, misreads your laughter, instead believing that you were cruel enough to laugh at him for liking you.

“You don’t have to be so mean,” he says, and his words have your laughter dying down.

“No, no, no, no, no I’m not being mean, not at all.” The last few giggles leave you ask you speak.

“Then why are you laughing?”

“Because I just find it so funny that we both like each other but neither of us were saying anything. I feel ridiculous for avoiding you.”

You watch Seungmin’s reaction as your words sink in, him slowly realising you’ve just admitted that you like him back.

“Wait, you like me?” he asks, repeating your earlier question back to you, wanting clarification before continuing anything.

“I do,” you nod, and Seungmin brings one of his hands to cup your cheek.

Your skin burns under his touch, the contact has your heart racing even faster than it already was. You watch Seungmin swallow, his eyes switching back and forth between your own and your lips.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers.

“Please do.”

And with that, his lips were pressing against yours. The kiss is sweeter than anything you’ve ever experienced, Seungmin trying his best to put all of his feelings forward, wanting you to feel how much he likes you. And you do. You can feel his emotions in the way his lips move slowly with yours, the way his hands cup your cheeks.

He pulls back after a while, leaning his forehead against yours.

“So, you’re telling me that I could have been kissing you sooner if I’d confessed that night?”

“Or if I didn’t avoid you like the plague,” you reply, giggling softly when he places a small kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Well then, I guess we have to make up for the lost time?” he whispers, eyes looking into yours. His question sounded innocent enough, but you could tell the underlying meaning. You move to straddle his lap, resting your hands on the back of his neck while his own hands move to your hips.

“I guess we do,” you reply.

You press your lips back to his in a deeper kiss than the last one, your fingers lacing through his hair and tugging slightly. He groans at the pull, his own hands beginning to roam along your sides, occasionally gripping your shirt in his fists.

The kiss deepens even further, and your hips uncontrollably begin to grind down against Seungmin’s. You both moan at the friction, and you can feel him grow hard under you. His fingers start to toy with the hem of your shirt, itching to remove the obstructing cloth.

You pulled back from him, lifting your shirt up and off by yourself before diving back into the kiss. His hands immediately resume exploring your skin, fingertips dancing along the skin of your back and sides. His touch leaves goosebumps in their wake and you almost find yourself already begging for more.

His hands find rest upon the clasp of your bra, once again wanting the clothing gone. He pauses the kiss, looking you in the eye to ask your permission.

“Can I?”

“Yes, sir.”

Your use of his desired nickname ignites something in him, and you quickly find yourself laying on your back upon your bed, bra removed and tossed to the other side of your room. His lips attach to the soft expanse of your throat, sucking dark hickies into the flesh. One of his hands massages your breast – while the other holds his weight – and his thumbs traces over your sensitive nipple, eliciting breathy moans from you. His lips move downwards, briefly tugging on your other bud before continuing lower. His kisses trail down your stomach until he reaches the top of your jeans. He pauses, looking at you for permission and he unbuttons them once he receives the affirmation, tugging the clothing down and off of you.

He groans at the sight in front of him; you, laying naked bar your underwear. His fingers immediately begin to run up and down your covered pussy, and you moan at the contact. Fuck, you’d missed this. You’d only experienced him once, but that didn’t mean you weren’t craving his touch the entire time you’d been avoiding him.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Seungmin says, feeling your slick through your soaked underwear.

“O-only for you,” you reply as he removes your underwear as well, Seungmin now having an unobstructed view of your dripping folds.

You flinch slightly when his breath hits your core, and he has little hesitation in running his tongue up your entrance. Your hands shoot down, quickly tangling themselves in his soft hair as a way to ground yourself. At the sound of your quiet whines, Seungmin begins to truly dive in, sucking and nibbling at your clit.

Your hips buck upwards, trying to gain even more friction, but Seungmin is having none of that. One of his arms lays across your waist, pinning your hips down against the bed.

"Stay still." You immediately stop trying to move your hips, instead staying still while Seungmin continues to pleasure you.

He brings his free hand to your core, fingers prodding at your entrance before sliding a couple in and your back arches at the intrusion.

His fingers thrust in and out, biceps flexing with each move. Digits curling every now and then, pressing against the spot that has your knot tightening. His lips continue their assault against your clit, teeth gently grazing against the bud.

"S-Seungmin, I'm g-gonna-" you warn, but he's already well aware of how close you are, so he sucks extra harshly at your bundle of nerves to push you over the edge.

Your entire body shakes as you cum, legs twitching on either side of Seungmin's head and a loud moan tumbling out of your mouth. His fingers continue moving inside you, riding out your high, only pulling away once you come down.

He moves back up your body, colliding his lips with yours once again and letting you taste yourself. Seungmin moves away from you again, removing his clothes and settling back into his position above you.

He takes his cock in his hand, rubbing the head up and down your slit. You whine, your impatience getting the better of you as you buck your hips up in an attempt to get him to enter you.

"Stop moving," he orders, hands moving to your hips, his grip tight enough to bruise.

Your submissiveness shows itself when you do as he says, stilling your movements immediately.

Please, sir," you beg, wanting little more than to have him deep inside you already.

Seungmin looks down at you, his eyes taking in your fucked out expression. He slowly begins pushing into you, and your breath hitches at the stretch. It's only when he's fully bottomed out that you try to calm your breathing again.

“Holy shit, I f-forgot how tight you are,” he says breathily, attempting to catch his own breath.

He remains still inside you, struggling to maintain his composure. But when you clench your walls around him in an attempt to get him to move, all sense of self-control is thrown out the window. His thrusts are swift and forceful, already bringing you towards the precipice of pleasure. Your panting is loud, throat dry at the constant flow of air. The knot in your stomach is coiling tight once more, but there’s still something missing.

“Please,” you say, barely able to speak through the dryness of your throat.

“Please what?” Seungmin asks, not entirely sure what you’re asking for.

“Please choke me.”

“Oh? Did my precious baby like getting choked last time?” He’s just teasing you now, but he still brings one of his hand to your throat, fingers wrapping around gently, applying only a little pressure. “Like this?”

You shake your head ‘no’ as much as you can, desperate for more.

“Harder.”

His grip on your throat tightens, much harsher than before. And it’s perfect; the way you can still breathe, but only just enough. Seungmin’s pace doesn’t slow, and you revel in the hushed moans that he can’t hold back, happy to know you’re the one making him feel so good. His free hand moves to your chest again, pinching one of your perked nipples, twisting and rolling the bud between his fingers. His skilled touch was giving you a new-found appreciation for his hands.

The knot tightens impossible tighter, threatening to snap at any moment, and Seungmin can tell. The was you’re clenching around him uncontrollably, the way your legs shake, and the whimpers that leave your delicate lips.

“Can I- C-can- please,” you babble, struggling to get your words out, but luckily, Seungmin could tell what you’re trying to ask. He leans down, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he continues to pound into you relentlessly.

“Cum for me, baby. Be a good girl and cum for me, yeah?”

His words are all you need to unravel, your back arching as you cum all over his cock. His hand leaves your chest, instead clamping over your mouth to silence your loud moans, him not sure if you wanted those in the neighbouring bedrooms to hear you. He doesn’t slow his thrusts, riding out your high and chasing his own pleasure. You whine as the overstimulation begins to set in once you’ve recovered from your second orgasm. The whines turn to whimpers as it slowly becomes too much, and he pulls his hand away from your throat.

“Almost there, y/n. You’re doing so well for me, yeah? So, so well,” he says, his hips beginning to stutter as he nears his own end. And it only takes a couple more thrusts for Seungmin to finish, painting your walls white. He slowly pulls out, checking you over to make sure you’re okay. He loves how you look right now, chest still heaving, throat and collarbones littered with dark hickies, cheeks flushed. You look beautiful. Seungmin can’t help the way his heart swells at the sight, absolutely adoring how you look.

He lays down next to you, pulling you into his chest and running his finger slowly through your hair. Even though he only got to do it once before, he truly missed holding you.

“So,” he begins, a smile on his face. “Does this mean you’ll go on an actual date with me?”

You look up at him, eyes sparkling with a joy that can’t be contained. “Of course it does.”

Seungmin can’t hide it as his smile grows impossibly wide, feeling so happy at the confirmation that he finally gets to go out with you. He hugs you tight as he peppers your face with kisses.

“How about, tomorrow night? We can put together a picnic and go cloud watching or something. We could chat for a while, get to know each other better. Fall in love.”

“That sounds perfect,” you giggle at his last statement, enjoying how happy he is.

You’re not sure if you and Seungmin are gonna end up in love, but who know. You could. For the moment, at least, you like each other. And whether or not this ends up with you both in love doesn’t matter. That’s for future thought. Right now, all that matters is that you finally have each other.

#stray kids smut #skz smut #seungmin smut #kim seungmin smut #skz seungmin smut #stray kids seungmin smut

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coldflasher · 3 years

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so i was rewatching 2x09 bc christmas and like. thinking about len breaking into joe’s house to warn barry about mardon and jesse. and of course we know that he went and made himself cocoa and sat in the chair, perfectly positioned for his dramatic reveal - but you can’t tell me that len broke into barry’s childhood home and didn’t immediately start snooping through his stuff

first of all i think he’d want to even the score. bc after the events of family of rogues, barry now knows more about len’s past, his childhood and his trauma than i think len would really be comfortable with anyone knowing (hence why he makes that jab to iris about having a rough childhood; he knows barry’s probably shared that information with her, he doesn’t like it, he feels exposed and vulnerable, and so he makes the decision to bring it up before she can and trivialise it, to take that power away from her and own it.)

i can’t remember how much info len canonically has about barry’s life, i don’t think barry would ever have had any reason to share the details of his traumatic past with len and i doubt he’d give len that power willingly with the state of their relationship being what it was (though i also don’t doubt that len would have done some research of his own, because he’s meticulous, and i’m sure he’d have made it his business to learn as many of the flash’s weaknesses as possible. know thy enemy, and all that.) would len really have passed up an opportunity to scope out barry’s home environment, see what kind of person he is behind the mask? his likes, dislikes, hobbies, keepsakes? taking back some of the power he lost when barry learned about len’s abusive father, albeit on a smaller scale, by going through his possessions?

at the end of the day, len knows broadly what kind of person barry is - that he’s brave, honourable, self-sacrificing, persistent; he knows about his family and his career - but he doesn’t know what music he likes, or what pictures he has in his room. he knows who the flash is, but he doesn’t know who barry allen is. and i think he’d want to have that info, both for practical reasons - the more he knows about barry, the easier it will be to manipulate him, to figure him out - and also because i think (and this may be seen through shipper goggles, sue me) that len likes being one of barry’s big villains. i think knowing more about barry than the average meta of the week is something that appeals to him. it makes him different than the other villains. more dangerous. makes the game more interesting.

so like. here i am, thinking about len entering joe’s house and sauntering around the living room. picking up the family photos and examining them. making his cup of cocoa (and absolutely leaving all the washing up for barry to do later, because he’s a dick like that) and while he waits for it to warm, he goes upstairs. goes into barry’s room and wanders around. looks at the bookshelf, skims through barry’s music collection, goes through his wardrobe. opens his drawers and rifles through his belongings. maybe steals something, because he’s leonard snart and he’s incapable of not stealing something, and also because he knows it’ll piss barry off, and he loves getting under his skin. it’d probably only be something small, something easily missed, but that’d be even better - in a few months barry will be looking for something he hadn’t even noticed was gone, and he’ll be frustrated, and maybe put two and two together about who took it. meanwhile len, very smug, lying on his bunk in the waverider, keeps messing with some random trinket he stole from barry’s dresser.

so anyways, len conducts this very thorough examination of barry’s stuff. flicks through his old college textbooks, checks out his dvd collection, catalogues it all, puts together puzzle pieces. working out what kind of person barry allen is.

and of course he doesn’t want to be caught doing this, because that would take away some of the power of the act (and also no way does he want barry to know that len finds him interesting enough to go through his stuff; that would be Embarrassing and len is still trying to act like his attraction to barry isn’t glaringly obvious. like a cat that hangs out in the same room as you all the time but tries to play it cool, like it’s some big coincidence that they just happen to be with you All The Time)

so he heads back downstairs, makes his cocoa, sprawls out in the armchair and waits (and part of me hopes he was waiting for a while bc it’s inexpressibly amusing for me to imagine len sat there having to take a mouthful of cocoa that’s gone cold because he’s been waiting for so long, and having to not react, because that would ruin the effect)

and then of course barry gets back and everything plays out, but the whole time len has that smug feeling, that he knows something barry doesn’t, that he knows him a little better, that he’s evened the score tonight in ways that don’t just involve repaying barry for saving lisa’s life - and it also humanises him a little. because now he knows barry is a person as well as a hero. he knows what music he likes and the dumb action figures he collected as a kid and whether or not he makes his bed in the morning (he absolutely doesn’t) and it softens things a little, so his parting shot, ‘merry christmas, barry,’ doesn’t come out with as much venom as he intended. because it’s hard to keep up the mockery when he’s seen a more personal side to him, hard to face off against the flash when he’s not wearing the suit, when he’s home and surrounded by his things, when it’s impossible to forget that the flash is also barry allen and maybe finding out these little details about him wasn’t such a good idea after all because it’s a lot harder to hate someone after you’ve snooped through their sock drawer

anyway that’s what I’M thinking about tonight, wbu

#i seriously just sat here and wrote this entire giant fucking post about a scene that takes up like. a solid two minutes of screen time #i am really not okay in any capacity #but i love this scene so much okay SUE ME #my post #my writing #coldflash #long post for ts #i can't decide if this needs a read more link #it probably does cos it's LONG but i feel like it'll be less readable on my blog cos the text of my theme isnt big enough #if this annoys ppl just hmu and i'll add a read more in there somewhere idk #otp: couldn't have done it without him #headcanon

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heyovivi · 3 years

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ACOTAR 6? (MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ACOSF)

Okay! I just finished A Court of Silver Flames and absolutely love Nesta’s journey and this is coming from a person who didn’t really like Nesta from the beginning. Her journey of healing and finding herself was beautiful and her journey with Cassian was heart-wrenching and sexy and I just loved it all! But anyways, more on that later, I have some predictions for the next book.

So I usually don’t go into anything without spoiling myself so before I even picked up ACOSF from a bookshelf at Target (don’t worry I was able to read both bonus chapters; meaning Azriel’s and the Feyre and Rhys’ chapters) I knew a little about ACOSF already. Now, ACOSF wasn’t deeply plotted and there wasn’t any world building like there was when we read the first three book--although it didn’t really matter to me I still enjoyed the book. ACOSF was all about Nesta and her journey and an insight to her thoughts and why she is the way she is and although I felt that at some points I hated Nesta I could still understand her frustrations and I could understand that she was deeply flawed as a character--which is fine.

Now, even if ACOSF didn’t have a huge plot there were some key elements that will probably be very important in the next book such as Koschei, the remaining Mortal Queens, the Band of Exiles, Azriel’s journey, and Elain’s journey. But one key thing I noticed was Eris. Now he didn’t appear that much in the book and if he did it was during moments where his presence was essential to the plot (such as being kidnapped by Queen Brialynn and Koschei), but in that last chapter he appeared in it seemed like there was more to the story, to his story specifically. I think that maybe we might be getting a book on Eris.

A lot of people say that ACOSF is reminiscent of Tower of Dawn from the Throne of Glass series, where instead of following Aelin in her quest to free her kingdom and stop Maeve, we instead venture into a Chaol-centered book where we kind of try to understand his point of view and character growth. So maybe, and this is just a theory or prediction, maybe we’ll get a similar thing with Eris.

From that one little conversation we get with Cassian and Eris, it appears that Eris is kind’ve jealous of the Night Court and it’s relationships with the other courts in Prythian. A lot of people have already pointed how much Eris could be a lot like Rhys in the manner that Eris wants the Autumn Court to be seen not as the fiery court of rage and misery, but instead wants to be a beacon for those who dwell there. And you do see some parallels between Rhys and Eris and their upbringing with their fathers being very strict figures in their lives but with Eris there was an emphasize of abuse somewhere along the line.

Now I’m not saying that Eris is getting a book or that his book even next, but I think that we have not heard the full story of what happened between both him and Mor, and I really want to know the entire story of what had happened in Eris’ life to make him seem like such a conniving person. But if I’m being honest I would much rather read a book about Eris’ efforts to lift the Autumn Court than a book about Mor--just my preference you don’t have to agree with me.

Now here are my runner ups for who could be the possible voice of ACOTAR 6.

Azriel

Elain

No, not Azriel and Elain, but Azriel or Elain. Now there were a lot of people saying that the book is either about Elain and Azriel, or Azriel and Gwyn, or Elain and Lucien--and I’m not going to shut down anyone’s theories but I’m going to share my own. Again, if you feel peeved about what sides or ships I support then stop reading when you get pissed because I can live with the fact that not everyone is going to agree with my theories.

First off, Azriel.

I’m going to be honest, from what I read on Tumblr mainly I thought Azriel’s role in ACOSF was going to be way bigger, but I still enjoyed his dry humor and presence when he was there. Though when it comes to Miss Sarah J Mass we have to pay attention to every little detail in her books and if you caught onto his distance from Mor during the Solstice party or his reluctance to hold baby Nyx because of his scarred hands then I think it’s pretty telling that the next book could be about Azriel and his journey with coming face to face with his trauma, his past, and maybe his unsteady relationship with the Illyrians; not to mention his five century one-sided love with Mor.

If you know me, or looked at any of my content, you should know that I am a hardcore Gwynriel shipper. I love Gwyn and fell in love with the ship almost immediately so much so that I’m embarrassed that I entertained the idea of shipping Azriel with Emerie or Clotho. I think that she might play a pivotal role in his journey to healing and that he might also play a large role in hers as well. Through his bonus chapter we can kind of see the sparks of something starting between them, I’m guessing it’s tied to theories that they are mates or to the theory that Gwyn could be a possibly lightsinger. All I know for sure right now is that Gwyn’s story is definitely not over with and I except see more of her in the future along with the other Valkyries as well.

Finally, Elain.

Now I don’t think the next book is about Elain but I do feel that out of all of the other characters her story is in the making? I’ve been told numerous times that Elain will be getting a book of her own, but we don’t know when and we don’t know what it is going to be about. Now, I’m not the hugest fan of Elain and it all goes back to her and Nesta just sitting around when Feyre was in the woods fighting for her life and there's as well. I know that she apologized and felt guilty afterwards but her excuse was “we gave up and she didn’t” just did not do it for me.

It was in this passage from A Court of Thorns and Roses, where my distaste for Elain blossomed:

The mercenary transferred the coins to my waiting palm, and I tucked them into my pocket, their weight as heavy as milestone. There was no possible chance that my sisters hadn’t spotted the money--no chance they weren’t already wondering how they might persuade me to give them some.

...I felt my sisters sweep closer, like vultures circling a carcass.

Like at least we knew Nesta was the “wolf” as she described herself. We knew she had a sharp-tongue and we knew she could be a bitch with her words. But Elain, she was described as innocent and nice, and yes when you paint her in a garden with flowers and frilly dresses she does just seem like some Cinderella-like character but after five books, especially after ACOSF my hate for Elain has just grown. Like after ACOWAR, I just thought she was boring--yes, she had a hand in killing the king of Hybern but that hype was kind’ve stolen away when Nesta ripped his head from his body.

Since then, we haven’t really, really got a full look through with Elain and a large part of that is because we haven’t gotten her point of view, like not even in A Court of Frost and Starlight. From what we know about her, canonically, no theories or anything, she likes to garden, she likes to cook, her friends are Cerridwen and Nuala, she doesn’t want to confront that bond she has with Lucien, and she has an attraction to Azriel. But beyond that we don’t know anything--there were things that I kept out even though they were mentioned in ACOSF but there is also a lot of mystery around the things she said and claimed to do--even Cassian questioned them but didn’t approach her about the topic.

I don’t think we have enough of a story to build up on Elain. For the most part I feel like her presence in ACOSF was mostly there to just piss Nesta off. Literally, in every scene she has with Nesta, she is pissing her off, setting her off, making her yell or scream, or making the silver flames ignite. And this is extremely out of character for Elain. Yes, we don’t get enough of her, but from what we can gather, Elain usually is not one to push buttons but I wonder why she did with Nesta.

Here are a few passages that I just found beguiling while reading Nesta’s interactions with Elain:

Elain stepped closer, brown eyes wide. Undoubtedly wholly convinced of her own innocence, her innate goodness. “It’s the truth. We did this because we love you, and we worry for you, and if Father were here--”

“Don’t ever mention him.” Nesta bared her teeth, but kept her voice low. “Never fucking mention him again.”

Mentioning their father? A very taboo subject for Nesta. And Elain stans like to argue that Elain is quiet and docile because she is an observer. She takes things in and she tucks them away in her memory, but if she’d paid so much attention then why would she mention their father to Nesta? Feyre noted Nesta’s relationship with their father in book one, so there is no way that Elain herself didn’t know about it.

Here is another line from their conversation I thought were very weird to read about and I’ll explain why:

Elain crossed her arms and said calmly, sadly, “Feyre warned me this might happen.”

Bullseye. Nesta doesn’t like to be talked about, to be judged. We learned that in ACOSF and again if Elain was this person who sees and pays attention she should’ve known this or caught on.

I think in this scene, Elain was purposely trying to set off Nesta.

Nesta cleared her throat. “Cassian said it might be good if I came.��

Elain’s eyes flickered. “Did Feyre pay you, like last year?”

“No,” shame washed over her.

Elain sighed, glancing over Nesta’s shoulder to the open doorway across the entry. The party within, only for their small inner circle. “Please don’t upset Feyre. It’s her birthday, first of all. And in her state--”

“Oh, fuck you,” Nesta snapped, and then choked.

Nesta was actually trying to get better at this point. She even risked going to a party despite not feeling welcomed just because Cassian told her it might be good for her to be surrounded by her family and for her not be alone on the holiday. You could even tell how by the way Nesta is keeping herself away she is still uncomfortable but the thing is she still showed up which is a sure sign she is improving.

I don’t know why Elain started talking about the year before or about upsetting Feyre--literally wanted to slap the bitch in this scene. Like I just want to know why Elain pressed so hard. Then afterwards she waved it off as if she hadn’t just said what she said and acted normally. I can not tell you how mad I was at this--like especially for a sensitive character like Nesta who is ALWAYS In her thoughts and always takes things to a deep level. Like what Elain said could’ve just broken a vital part of Nesta and caused her to relapse.

Anyways, I think Elain’s behavior in ACOSF could hint at the Evil Elain theory. Although I don’t think it’s going to come in the next book--it might build in the next book but at most I think Elain’s story will come to fruition in ACOTAR 7 or 8 and isn’t going to be about her journey or soul searching but maybe we’ll be getting the point of view of a villain. Like there were many mysterious hints dropped in ACOSF and the way I interpreted them is that Elain is planning something and if her behavior matches her actions, it’s something that could possibly affect her sisters.

Plus, you have to wonder how Brialynn and Koschei knew everything. They knew all the IC’s moves and all of Nesta’s moves...but how? A lot of the time when Nesta was given a mission by Rhys it was in the River House and we also know that Elain has been getting better at sneaking around without being detected so it’s not too farfetched that Elain could be the spy. You don’t have to agree with me but I think it’s a pretty solid theory as far as they go.

But do tell me your thoughts I would love to hear them. I’m sorry if I offended anyone in the end but we all have to just respect everyone’s opinion so no fights or slander, especially in my comment section.

#eris vanserra #azriel #elain archeron #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #nesta archeron #evil elain #cassian #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #acosf spoilers #acosf #acotar6

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wallwriterstuff · 3 years

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When You’re Lost, I’ll Leave My Gaslight On ||Yandere!Alec Volturi x Female Reader||

A request by @tiger-khans-blog Part 1: Obsession Part 3: These Violent Delights

Warnings: Yandere!Alec, obsessive behaviour, unhealthy relationships and implied non-con later on. This is possibly one of the darkest fics I have ever written so please be aware if controlling behaviour, gaslighting etc. is triggering to you, do not read this fic.

The following link will take you to a Citizen’s Advice Page that have resources regarding Domestic abuse and violence. They detail various organisations offering support, refuge and advice for both women and men in abusive situations, however these only apply to the UK.

https://www.citizensadvice.org.uk/family/gender-violence/domestic-violence-and-abuse-getting-help/

I am from the UK and therefore am not sure about what resources may be available internationally, however I know many of you are from places outwith the UK. If you have any resources you know of that would be useful or helpful to add here then please do! You can reblog this post with link in or message me a link to have me edit it into the original. I will post this link and any that get added in all three parts of this fic that I post.

Words: 4,436

Summary: Alec’s actions earned him some time in the dungeons of Volterra, and he really seems to be trying his best to behave himself the second time around. However, as your relationship with him blossoms, you find yourself growing more and more insecure, unsure if things are really as they seem to be. Your descent into madness seems much slower than Alice’s fall down the rabbit hole.

Bella didn’t even write to you. Nor did Alice or Edward, or Emmet or Jasper. Only Carlisle had bothered to contact you, expressing his deepest regret you had gotten tangled up in all of this and his promise to speak to Aro on your behalf. Carlisle’s efforts had granted you your own quarters on the opposite side of the castle, smaller and far less grand than the ones you had woken up in but entirely yours to decorate how you pleased; at least, that was what Felix and Demetri had decided. The silence from back home was bad enough but on top of that you had to come to terms with the fact you were now forced to live with vampires who had little to no respect for human life, one of which had a mental gift she had loved to use on you as punishment for turning her brother against her as she put it.

To say you were depressed would have been an understatement.

It felt beyond impossible to consider feeling anything remotely positive when nothing seemed to go right for you. The secretaries who brought you food were the only interaction you had for the first few days and they were mostly too afraid to stick around and talk to you after hearing you were Alec’s mate. You had been utterly and entirely alone. Unbeknownst to you, this was a test, one you failed miserably, and after they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of you by day 4 of your stay with them Felix and Demetri had taken it upon themselves to visit you. They were quite patient, letting you stay as far from them as you wanted while they invaded what had become your safe space, those unblinking red eyes taking in the sparse walls and boring, plain wood desk and doors. It was then that Felix had spoken up about decorating and Demetri has enthusiastically agreed this was a wonderful idea.

Felix, it turned out, was quite the talented artist. Looking at the brute you’d never imagined he could hold a pencil without snapping it in half, but he had drawn up the most beautiful sketches you could imagine as you told them what your bedroom back home had looked like, and how you had wanted to decorate it with your father. They had let you cry again at that point and looking back on it it was rather amusing to watch the two immortals – who physically had lacked the ability to tear up for over a millennia now – share a panic stricken look and throw tissues at you. By the end of the week, they had come back to your room with everything they would need for their DIY project and helped you start painting your room. You had been a little overwhelmed at their kindness, but both had waved it off as nothing and whenever they got the chance over the next week, they had helped you decorate.

You had shared music tastes, let Demetri try to interest you in poetry (even if he had failed dramatically) and even sat to watch a movie with them once while you had lunch. Still, it didn’t feel like home, just an escape from an abysmal reality.

“You know, he will be freed tomorrow.” Felix said quietly. You were in the middle of stringing up some fairy lights around the canopy of your bed when the news rendered you immobile. You barely remembered to breathe until Demetri very gently touched your waist and helped you down from your bed before you fell.

“I don’t want him to be.” You whispered, eyes ducking away from theirs. Alec had been their friend for far longer after all and the confession was cruel. Demetri sighed slightly.

“We have visited him once or twice, spoken to him. He truly does feel awful about what happened.” He promised you. It was very obvious on your face you didn’t believe him, and even if you did you were certain Alec’s behaviour was not normal, it didn’t eradicate your fear to know he wished it never happened when it seemed like he had had no control over it in the first place. If he couldn’t control it, it could very well happen again. Felix watched you carefully as you sat back against the headboard, curling your knees to your chest.

“Why…why was he like that? Is it – I mean could he…will he be like that again?” you swallowed, mouth a little dry as your heart fluttered in your chest. You felt sick, suddenly no longer curious about whatever dinner the new secretary might bring. Gianna had stopped showing up two days ago and you didn’t need to ask to know why. They shared a side long look, Felix going back to putting together the bookshelf you had repainted with him. It was a bit of a pattern, that Demetri handled your more sensitive questions – Felix just didn’t have the tact or patience for them.

“You remember our discussion on the transformation process? How we are frozen at the stage of growth we are at when we turn?” he questioned, waiting for you to nod before continuing, “Alec was turned no older than you are now, just 16, you know yourself from growing up I’m sure what a volatile time that can be. It is not that Alec wishes to scare you, just that the violence of his feelings is something he will have to learn to control.”

“The violence of his feelings?” you asked warily. Demetri hummed, head tilting.

“We feel emotion far more intensely than you, little human. Our bodies are frozen but heightened, so that we might experience everything to the fullest extent and therefore miss out on nothing. Alec is essentially a teenager seeing the girl he has a rather potent crush on for the first time, the mate pull was both entirely unexpected and strong. He admitted himself he had no way of controlling his own actions but he has meditated and spoken to master Marcus for help since. He really does not wish to put you through that again.” Demetri assured you.

“You have to give the boy some reprieve, he wasn’t exactly having fun either. Alec prides himself on his self-control, your appearance tossed it right out of the window.” Felix pointed out. You hung your head, brows furrowed. It sounded an awful lot to you like they were defending the inexcusable behaviour. He’s just a boy, he couldn’t control it, it’s not his fault…well, it didn’t change the fact it had hurt you. It had traumatised you really, so much so that even when you replayed Demetri’s words in your head in an effort to help calm yourself you still found no sleep that night knowing Alec would be at your door tomorrow.

Except he wasn’t.

He didn’t come the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that, and you hated that you were beginning to wonder if he was ever coming at all. Was this a new, peculiar kind of torture? Making you wait for him? Every knock at the door made you jump the first day or two but after that you slowly began to unwind, your heavy heart coming to the conclusion he maybe wasn’t coming back, that he felt it better to stay away from you. You almost passed out when he finally did show up at your door, standing behind Demetri as still as stone and looking jut as perfect as any sculpture could. It really wasn’t fair the boy was so pretty. Demetri gave you a warm smile.

“Good evening Y/N, do you mind if we come in little human?” he asked. You hesitated. Did you want Alec in your safe space? Your room was your sanctuary, decorated how you liked with no trace of Alec inside it as of yet. He seemed to notice your hesitation and you were surprised to see just how much anguish it brought him.

“If you prefer, we could take a walk around the Gardens? Demetri says you haven’t left your room much.” Alec said. His voice was softer now, no longer did it have the rough edge to it it had held in the throne room. You swallowed thickly, slowly nodding your head, and moved to get your shoes from by the door. Alec inhaled sharply as the shirt you were wearing rode up slightly. His arms had left to sizable bruises on your torso and he had obviously seen them. You weren’t expecting him to look so torn up about it. Demetri glanced between you both, his eyes knowing.

“I would suggest a jumper, the evenings can be somewhat chillier.” He advised. You nodded, crossing to your closet. Once you were ready, you shut the door firmly behind you and stuck close to Demetri’s side, much to Alec’s obvious ire, but the boy kept himself in check with remarkable discipline that gave you hope he could maybe be better.

“How are you?” he asked, his voice strained. Your hair fell, covering your eyes until you pushed it back with a quick nod.

“I’m okay. How are you?” the small talk was entirely forced and thoroughly unpleasant, but Demetri stood firm between you two, absorbing it all. You were more than a little grateful.

“I have…been better,” Alec confessed, “Demetri explained the…difficulty, I’m having in being around you?” he asked. The strain in his voice was growing more obvious again now but one look from Demetri forced him to settle as you shuddered, memory flashing to the violent grip his arms had on you. If he noticed your hand subconsciously go to your bruised flesh, he didn’t comment on it.

“He told me you couldn’t control your feelings.” You said quietly. Alec huffed, eyes flashing with irritation.

“It’s as upsetting to me as it is to you, to think a mere human would make me so…so…” he trailed off, trying to choose the right word. You prompted him, curious to see what he would choose. “Obsessed.” He settled for the word with such a flat tone you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around yourself, mind reeling. It wasn’t a good word. It wasn’t your preferred word. Carlisle and Esme had been mates, hadn’t they? Rosalie and Emmett? Alice and Jasper? They had proven to you if nothing else that mates should be loving, kind. It was a relationship based on mutual attraction and desire, caring, not one person’s obsession with another. It was an unhealthy word.

“Why don’t you tell Alec of our trip to the market the other week?” Demetri hedged. He was clearly acting as chaperone today as you headed out into the fading sunlight. The Gardens of Castello Volterra were magnificent, kept tidy and neat and bursting with colour. A massive expanse of green dotted with vibrant hues of flowerbeds and glorious leafy sculptures in shapes you could recognise. Horses, chess pieces. Your answers were short, quiet, and Alec seemed to have moments he was incredibly open and vulnerable before he became a little more robotic, his control slipping when he found his emotions getting the best of him again. The amount of effort he put into his composure really astounded you, and by the time you were half-way around the Walled Garden you were actually starting to feel a little bit bad. Clearly your presence really did make him suffer.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” He admitted finally, fists clenched at his sides. With a sharp exhale, Alec turned to you, ruby red eyes darkening as soon as they made contact with your own Y/E/C.

“Alec-“

“Y/N, I have tortured myself over the way I behaved towards you. I am truly sorry I ever laid a hand on you. I hope that as I work on controlling myself around you, you work on being able to forgive me for that.” Alec cut Demetri off, his body rigid with tension and eyes flickering to the very slight gap left between you and the tracker as you moved closer out of instinct to the person you trusted most out of the two of them. His nostrils flared, seemingly annoyed by it.

“I…can try. But you need to promise me Alec, promise me you won’t hurt me like that ever again.” You said. Truthfully you were intrigued by him. Demetri had told you you would also feel the mate pull eventually, though not as strongly as Alec did, and your curiosity to know more about the witch twin was the start of a very deep dark hole you were about to fall into. The air turned almost ominous, like that strange moment between hearing thunder and waiting to see if there would be lightning.

“I won’t make you promises I can’t keep.” Alec’s voice was all that was left of him, as he was gone by the time you blinked again. Demetri sighed slightly, though he tried to perk up his expression when he realised you were looking helplessly to him for answers.

“Well, that went rather well, do you not agree?” he asked. What had Alec meant? He had done so well today. Clearly he was getting the hang of controlling his emotions, he could be less of a threat. You had rather liked the sweeter side of Alec you had glimpsed today, the side that told you about how Jane had planted the peonies and had chased Felix quite literally out of the city when he accidentally trampled on them once, just to hear you laugh. You liked the side of Alec that had quietly complimented the way your hair reflected the dying light while you stood and admired another topiary.

A month passed this way before you finally felt comfortable enough to be around Alec on your own. He had really tried hard to become a better man for you and it showed. His smiles were more natural and he found it easier to relax in your presence, no more uptight Alec that left you wandering when he would snap. Felix and Demetri had continued to chaperone your dates for all that time until you finally asked one night if you might be allowed to be with Alec on your own for a little bit. Demetri had enthusiastically agreed, both Guards seemingly happy you were finally letting their friend have his chance. Alec seemed to sense your nerves when you appeared in the library, where you’d both agreed to meet for an hour to two to test the waters. He was more relaxed than you’d ever seen him, leaning back against the sofa with his eyes closed while he listened to some far-off birdsong you couldn’t hear, or so you imagined.

“I wasn’t sure you would come.” He admitted. You smiled slightly, pulling your sketchbook from your bag as you sat on the opposite sofa to him.

“I said I would,” You reminded him. Alec smiled slightly, head bobbing in agreement. “What are you reading?” you asked. Alec glanced to the book beside him.

“The Picture of Dorian Gray, though I confess myself bored of it. Wilde has never been my preferred author.” Alec answered, sitting up and eyeing your sketchbook with interest. You didn’t notice, too busy flipping through your pages to find the sketch you were working on now. The lines were already drawn, you had just wanted to finish your shading today.

“How is Jane?” you asked. You wanted to chase away the silence and figured it would be a nice way to maybe broach the topic that she had avoided you like the plague. Alec didn’t answer you and when you looked up to see why you saw his eyes fixated on your sketch, nothing but awe painting his face. You flushed a deep shade of red.

“Beautiful and talented, little human.” He breathed. You were fairly sure you weren’t supposed to hear, but it only made your blush darken. It was nothing worthy of a spot in the Louvre, just a sketch of the view from the fountain in the plaza looking down one of Volterra’s many alleyways. You tucked some hair behind your ear with a small smile.

“Thank you,” you said softly, “I started it the other day, when Demetri took me to that café I told you about? Where they do those really nice pastries?” As if a switch had been flipped Alec’s face shut off, all expression wiped away and an impassive mask replacing it. It had happened so fast you were unsure anything other than apathy had ever painted his face in the first place.

“Demetri takes you out often.” He noted. There was nothing his tone or his face to give away his feelings about that, but a strong sense of foreboding settled in your gut. You shut your sketchbook, knowing deep in your chest that the damage was already done. The atmosphere in the room had changed drastically, becoming charged and electric, like it was filled with current just waiting to frazzle and consume you whole.

“Yeah…it’s nice to get out of the castle, and it’s not like I’m a prison so why shouldn’t I see the city I’ve got to live in now?” you rambled ever so slightly, voice wavering a bit, but Alec’s expression changed so quickly you were sure he was trying to give you whiplash. With a laugh he nodded his head.

“Of course.” He made no further comment and you descended into silence again until it was time to leave, your sketchbook long abandoned and your eyes fixed on him, waiting for his mood to shift again. He was perfectly respectable in every other way however, his silence easy to brush off as nothing when he kissed your knuckles chivalrously after walking you back to your room. He still hadn’t set foot in it yet despite his obvious intrigue, waiting for you to invite him in personally. When the door closed behind you, you released a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. The whole evening had gone far better than expected even with the few minor road bumps. In fact, Alec’s mood seemed to do an entire 180 compared to how he had been when you first met. He was pleasant, charming even. That was where the problem started.

One night, he bought you flowers and a pastry from your favourite café, remembering the exact kind you liked and bringing it to your door so you could enjoy a walk with him in the Gardens once more, watching the stars come out. You’d passed Felix in the corridor and waved but the giant had hurried by as though he hadn’t seen you. A few days after that Alec had promised to take you out to the markets, but the weather had been too bright for him apparently even though you had argued it was overcast enough that the chances of him exposing himself were slim to none. He had come to your room with new sketching pencils that night, an apology gift to make it up to you, he said.

It had become a theme though, you noticed. Alec would promise to take you somewhere, and then he would find one way or another to weasel his way out of taking you out.

“I never promised you anything, I said we might, your imaging things.” He would dismiss it the same way every time and always follow up with a nice gesture that made you feel bad for questioning him on it. He really did feel guilty about you not getting to go out, didn’t he? It wasn’t just that though either, it was Demetri and Felix’s absence in your life that had grown concerning. You were conscious you hadn’t seen your friends for quite some time, Alec always claiming they were busy with guard duty or some other task, yet when you caught Demetri in the corridor once he had brushed you off with the enough regret in his eyes that it made you question Alec’s entire story.

“But they always found time to at least say hello to me before, so why-“

“Y/N, my love I don’t wish to upset you, but do you really think they were ever your friends?” Alec asked. You blinked, frowning in confusion.

“Of course they’re my friends! We decorated my room together and they helped us get to know each other. I just don’t get why they aren’t around anymore.” You huffed. Alec ran his hand down your arm gently, your skin tingling at the ice-cold contact. He had slowly started to incorporate physical affection into your relationship, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t thrilled with the little touches. It was a far cry from the rough embrace he had given you nearly two months ago.

“They were fulfilling a duty tesoro, you required a room and at the Masters request they built you one, and do you really think one little human can go unguarded in this place? They were your sentries, not your friends.” His expression was so sympathetic you wondered how you couldn’t not believe him, and he’d held you to him as you cried over their obvious betrayal. As weeks dragged into another month though your anxiety only grew, and it didn’t make sense. Things between you and Alec were really good. He had much more control now and he was affectionate and sweet, always giving you little gifts and making time in his day to see you even if no one else would, but something was just…wrong. You were sure you were going mad.

You wrote home frequently to the Cullen’s so they could pass letters on to Bella, but those letters sometimes went missing and despite being sure you wrote them, Alec assured you you hadn’t and he had never seen them materialise. As sweet as he was Alec always put down your clumsy little accidents to you being human to, laughing when you tripped into his arms or holding his breath as he cleaned up scrapes for you with that dreaded little saying of his.

“You’re only human Y/N.” he chuckled, as he carefully placed a band aid around the finger you had accidentally cut while cooking yourself dinner. You sighed dejectedly.

“I wish you’d stop saying that.” You admitted. It felt like you weren’t good enough. Your human needs were a bother to him, that much was clear. He always had to take time to make sure you had something to eat when he really just wanted to spend his free hours with you. Most of the time when he was free you were asleep and you could only imagine how boring it must be for him to have to spend so much time alone when you were across the castle, sleeping peacefully. Bathroom breaks were another thing that gave you almost nauseating anxiety now to, and you’d scrubbed your body pink on multiple occasions wondering if your personal hygiene was assaulting his nose or not after a day or two without showering.

You needed to clear your head, you decided, so a trip to your café was in order. Alec wouldn’t be able to take you you knew, not with the sun as bright as it was right then. It would fade quickly given the late time of year but you left a note just in case Alec wondered across your empty room. It felt good, to get fresh air and to sit in a window seat, watching the world go by without a care as sweet pastry melted in your mouth. You had brought a book with you to enjoy to, a fantasy world to escape to for a little bit before your old anxieties came crawling back in. Though your relationship with Alec was as yet undefined, you felt like you were to blame for that due to your inferior status. After all, what could you possible bring to a relationship with him that would make him want to call you his mate? You were only human after all.

“Now what are you doing here little human?” Demetri’s voice startled you so much you dropped your book to the tabletop with a gasp. Heart fluttering, you couldn’t help but laugh breathless, if only to ease the tension.

“Demetri, god you scared the hell out of me.” You swallowed, not liking the way he was frowning at you.

“Well you can consider us even then.” He said, arms folding across his chest. You felt a lot like you were a child being scolded in that moment.

“What?” you asked.

“You heard me. You cannot just leave the castle Y/N, not without telling someone or at least leaving a note. There was an uproar when Alec found you gone, we thought something had happened to you.” He chided. Your frown deepened.

“But I did leave a note, I taped it to my door so Alec would see.” You protested. Demetri’s eyebrows rose.

“Not according to Alec. He found no note and I did not see anything resembling one when I came to your room to see what the fuss was about. Come on, you have had your fun. A harmless misunderstanding it may be but you will be in for a scolding from the Masters.” he sighed, holding a hand to help you out of your chair. Your stomach twisted. You were going to have to see the Masters because you’d gone out for coffee? How had Alec missed your note? You were sure you had left it on the door for him! You remembered the schluuuuck sound of sticky tape and everything as you taped it up!

“But Demetri, I swear I left a note.” You said, packing away your things as your good mood crumbled. Demetri was quiet for a moment.

“Perhaps you did and it was overlooked, either way you have scared us all enough for one day.” He took your bag from you like the gentleman he was, escorting you back to the castle. You were so sure you had left that note for Alec, as sure as you were about your own name, but what if you hadn’t? You resolved to steel your nerves for now, take your scolding and ensure you left one next time. Hell, next time you would even tell the secretary to go and tell Alec in the throne room just to be safe. You weren’t going to worry your mate like this again, it wasn’t going to become a pattern.

How wrong you were.

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #dark themes #volturi #alec volturi #female reader #alec volturi x female reader #demetri volturi #felix volturi #gaslighting #emotional abuse #this fic just gets progressively darker with every part I post #reader is really going through it #but seriously folks emotional abuse is no laughing matter #please don't suffer through it if you see a way out #each and everyone of you is a gift

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creatorofclay · 3 years

Text

Welcome back to observations with your favorite Kamski obsessed roleplayer. Last time, we talked about the actual location of Elijah's villa (boy was that a pain to dig back up too), the exact location of it on Belle Island. Today, it's time to discuss inside.

So, credit where credit is due, I want to thank @nock-and-bolt for their post about it that caused me to dig myself because, wow. I actually bought the game on PC and paid for the freecam (from otis_inf on Patr.eon) to dig because I am absolutely desperate. Hope you enjoy!

For my research purposes, I will be focusing on the parts of the rooms you don’t get to see normally, since the pool room and waiting room are explored enough in game... As well as a bunch of other things, wow this post got long LOL woops.

Okay, so, first off, I have said this before and I will say it again. This place is UGLY. But, I don’t get modern design, so we will move on from that. Second, the place is literally aesthetic only, I swear to you. There are at least 20+ different chairs/couches that you can see just in the main parts of the house. There’s no reason to have that much sitting space unless you either host people a lot, which I highly doubt he does, or its for design and nothing else. It doesn’t even include what we can’t see on the other side of the house, its just the rooms we CAN see.

Its not a place you live, this is like a museum. Or office or some showroom.

The left side (facing the building) is the only part that I believe is the living space and it seems to be very small. But, knowing that Kamski has an appreciation for Japanese culture, and that I personally believe he’s absolutely a minimalist, this would make sense. He doesn’t need more than this small corner of the house for the kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom.

Roughly this size which, like I said, is probably enough for him. It would be the size of basically a studio apartment except more utilized because the living room and dining room are the other side of the house.

But, moving on from the outside. Now, nock-and-bolt showed us what was behind the door that Chloe walks through in the pool room, but what I am curious about now is the farthest right door in the waiting area.

I think I remember seeing concept art that made it out to be what looked like it could have been a room, there was a bookshelf behind the door. I always assumed it was a home office or something, and its what I personally have worked with in my headcanons. But, nope. Thats actually wrong.

Its just another hallway into this main living room. Which makes sense, sort of, if the kitchen and other things are on the other side of the waiting area. So you don’t always have to walk through the pool room to get to the other side of the house. But, whats super neat, that I love about this, is the stuff on the shelf here. Its just a few things but boy are they interesting.

A floral vase and a couple weird, modern art pieces. I really don’t like Elijah’s style, I can’t stress that enough here, but its again clear how much of a minimalist he is. But, there is also one more thing:

What looks like some sort of Greek inspired vase the highest on the shelves. I did a bit of research to figure out what its supposed to be and what I could find seems to be referring to a nostos, which is “is a theme used in Ancient Greek literature, which includes an epic hero returning home by sea.” Which I only found from reading about Odysseus who was most known for his own nostos that took his 10 “eventful” years after the decade long trojan war, the subject of the Odyssey, one of two major ancient Greek epic poems attributed to Homer.

Crucial themes in the poem include the ideas of nostos (νόστος; "return"), wandering, xenia (ξενία; "guest-friendship"), testing, and omens. Scholars still reflect on the narrative significance of certain groups in the poem, such as women and slaves, who have a more prominent role in the epic than in many other works of ancient literature. This focus is especially remarkable when considered beside the Iliad, which centres the exploits of soldiers and kings during the Trojan War.

I am pretty sure the symbolism in the game is pretty obvious by this point, but this is just interesting because the vase is not something anyone would EVER see in the game. Its behind a door you can’t open, that never opens, and tucked away in the corner you would never see. But, it is still important for Elijah Kamski as a character. Assumed trials and tribulations, as well as the 10 year gap? Its just too coincidental. But, thats a whole other story honestly, and I don’t really know the most about Greek Mythos to be talking about it right now.

Some other small things from this weird house that I thought were interesting. Just textures really, but detail. The marks on the cellos may be my favorite because it means they’re being used. Probably played in that chair sitting beside them.

ALSO THIS? Theres one chair that isn’t pushed in equal with the others. ONE. Its literally like an inch out further than the other 7 chairs. Someone was sitting there recently.

Now, these are interesting. because they--

--are literal tubes. I’m assuming these are for the androids. Maybe where they go when they aren’t in use or doing something. Or just. Charging? Stations? I don’t know, it could literally be a spawn point for them, but I think they are purposely placed and its interesting to me that they are placed like pedestals in front of the tv. Like he just likes to look at them standing there. Like a weirdo.

Now we have this door. This door that I thought went somewhere because I didn’t notice it from the outside before but. Nope. It just goes outside.

So I watched a video recently that was someone looking at $40 million NYC apartments and I realize what this door must be. Its the only way to get fresh air in this bitch. None of the other windows are made to be opened, anywhere in this villa. So, there has to be one. Its just weird to me that its at the far end overlooking the pier.

I just have a love hate relationship with this place. Its aesthetic, but the aesthetic is modern and weird. This place, what we can see of it, is not a living space. This is an office. What you show off to show how much money you have. I’m curious what this place looks like during the Kamski ending. All dark even though I think all these lights he has on are NEVER turned off. We shall see...

Also when Chloe goes to talk to Elijah she stands at this door and doesn’t move until shes ready again. He’s spawned in the pool by this point. Sure, when she goes to open the door again, she appears a few steps back so she can walk up to it, but my heart wants to believe she was told to just stand there and make them wait LOL.

There was also a very human reaction from Chloe when Connor appeared to be standing in her way. I had stepped in so Kamski would start swimming and went behind the door to see where Chloe got the robe from (im sure she just pops it out of thin air because its just floating under the house) but she didn’t force him to step aside for some reason, like she has done before. She just... Waited there behind him. She reached behind her head, rubbed at her neck, motioned like she was impatient like... “God is this guy really going to just stand there and play with a quarter or is he going to move?” She even tapped her hand a couple times against her thigh. It was.... Strange to see.

In conclusion... Is there a conclusion? This is just a collection of things I discovered. If I find something else interesting, I will share. For now, thats all. uwu I went overboard and this is really long but.... I don’t call myself obsessed for nothing........

#okay to reblog #detroit become human #dbh kamski #elijah kamski #dbh #aesthetic://art imitates life//elijah #ooc://clay is in the kiln #There is just so much here that is so Neat #I need to play far enough to get to CyberLife tower #I've just been busy

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meetmeatthecoda · 3 years

Note

(star emoji) for Grifting With The Enemy :D

Pumpkin!! 🧡🧡🧡 Hello, my dear friend, thank you so much for your endless interest & support!! 😍😍 And for giving me a reason to re-read GWTE, which I haven't done for a loooong time!! 😂😬 (But, the good news is, it low-key got me inspired to hurry up & finish it!! 😏) BUT - in the meantime - here's some BTS info from my re-read under the cut, which is a lot - fair warning - since it's a 4 chapter fic & counting!! ❤️

LOL I forgot how stressful it is coming up with names for random extra people in fics, I hate doing that LOL But I did think it was important to open with Red NOT being a merciless crime lord who kills anyone who displeases him, cause - while he does have that side to him when necessary - that's not who Red is or wants to be.

I liked including that little moment with Red & Dembe about the parallel parking. I love those father/son & brotp moments for them, they're just the best. I tried to sprinkle those in wherever I could in Red's POV in this fic.

I loved the mental picture of Liz - with glasses & beanie a la The Harem - just leaning casually against a bookshelf the first time Red sees her... & he's immediately captivated, just like in canon. Especially with her eyes, I can't NOT write any version of Red that is not completely blown away by Liz's eyes, I mean, come on I also thought it was important that he thinks she's much younger than she is (intentionally part of her persona) & I'm looking forward to writing the reveal of her true age in a later chapter.

I loved writing a Liz that instantly challenges Red, already having heard about him (& more than that, as revealed in chapter 2) & point blank telling him she may refuse the job bc she has a say too. I liked keeping - & even amplifying a little - that dynamic from canon!Liz of always surprising Red & keeping him on his toes, all while he's trying so desperately to stay ahead of her & impress her.

I LOVED writing the brush pass scene - that moment where Red realizes he has officially underestimated her - & LOL I completely forgot I wrote that part about the condom LMFAO wow past!Coda, mighty daring of you 😂😂😂

Plus, I couldn't help the bonus bit about her stealing his phone & tossing it to him to end the chapter, that was just so fun to throw in there!!

I liked opening chapter 2 with Red still thinking about Liz, just to show how she captured his attention, even before he finds out she's been stealing from him. And I liked writing that revelation without any anger on his part, with him understanding it wasn't a full-scale attack on his empire, she's just a thief taking well paying jobs where she can get them, & instead it just shows him how talented she is. I thought that was an important thing to clarify before moving forward.

I LOVED writing Red & Dembe surprising Liz in her apartment, especially the part with Red's snooping & being confused & surprised by what he sees there. I loved kind of creating/designing Liz's apartment to showcase her true self, not her "young thief" persona that Red falls for at first. I wanted it to be clear that Red is fascinated by her seeming duality from the start (canon LOL) as well as just straight-up attracted to her (also canon LMAO).

Also I gave Liz a loft apartment cause I've always loved those!!

And I LOVEDDD writing Red super confident about surprising her & looking forward to taking her off guard by settling in on the couch & all that macho man stuff, only to be rendered fucking dumbstruck when she comes downstairs with no pants on lmfao & I included that little detail of her usually wearing a knife on her leg to show she's not to be underestimated 😏 & I couldn't help but throw in there Dembe kicking the back of the couch, that made me cackle lmfao

I think the truce was important to establish asap bc I didn't want any secrets or lingering animosity between them. That's for canon 😒 Only flirting & sexual tension here, thank you very much.

I had to include Red being a gentleman & asking if she wanted to get dressed, but I also couldn't resist Liz being confident & careless about it, while still hiding tactfully behind the counter. I thought that was a cute exchange.

lmfao of course, I included their coffee preferences being noticed by the other, I think that's an obligatory thing in any Lizzington fic ever, I'm so guilty of that lmfao

I loved the idea of Red being ready to start on a classic Red's Blacklister Presentation but Liz once again stops him in his tracks (while still secretly being impressed by his presence, of course, & I even accidentally switched POVs for no reason to include that?? nice Coda lmfao) as well as trading barbs & quips with him while Red feels awful & guilty at any accidental slights bc he can't bear to insult her.

AM&R vs. AR&M whoops typo lol

I liked the little snippet of dark!Red we see in their conversation of consequences for his enemies, that way Liz sees a little bit of what he's capable of & Red sees how she's not phased by it.

And that last little flirtation & wink to finish the chapter - lol can't resist

Ooooh, I loved switching to Liz's POV (fully ha) for chapter 3, I enjoyed describing how head over heels she is for Red already, that was fun. I liked writing about her lil movie day & chores she's completed, as well as fleshing out her AU past a little with Sam & her young grifting experiences. And her burning her popcorn while daydreaming about Red cause... same 😏

Ooooh, phone conversations are always so fun to write between them, I love trying to get that perfect mix of joking & sincerity & flirting & pining & pressing the phone close to their ear.

I thought it was important to keep (or rather re-invent, since TPTB seemed to drop it like a hot potato 😒😒😒) Liz's intense interest & respect for psychology, especially as a reason for being attracted to Red, since it kind of mirrors one facet of his interest in her. Not to mention Red thinks at first that it's just a useless, do nothing degree for her LOL

Ohhh, I loved establishing that mutual respect & friendliness between Liz & Dembe early on, that's such a fave of mine, I've always loved their friendship & thought it had a lot of potential. Liz loves & respects Dembe for keeping Red safe & Dembe loves & respects Liz for being so dear to Red.

Ugh, I LOVED writing Liz so completely disarmed by Red's relative state of undress at his safe house (paralleling her pants-less parade in chapter 2, of course) bc sameeeeeeee girl.

I also had fun writing Red blabbing on about some story as he often does, meanwhile Liz has already picked the lock on the safe, once again impressing & surprising him while she admires his different passport pics. That was so fun.

And I loved the quick shift to just a little animosity between them with Red insulting her lockpicks & Liz flaunting her thefts from him. I think those little spats give a little electricity & tension to the relationship, even if they blown over quickly, which they always do. And the fact that Red apologizes & they shake hands & make up is very refreshing to me (since they never fucking do it in canon lol fml) & also it's an excuse to write a little teasing physical contact & sexual tension 😁😁😁

And damn, I forgot how fun it is to throw a little teasing jab in there at the end of a chapter, just for fun - probably bc I'm allergic to multi-chapter fics & never write them lmfao wow

Ahhhhhhhh. I remember how much fun I had writing this whole restaurant scene, partly bc it was a difficult & long process (trying not to make all the flirting & physical movements repetitive while fitting in all the necessary dialogue in a semi-non-boring way lol) but also bc it was so fun writing their back-and-forth while seated at a table alone with nowhere else to go & nothing to distract them. I also wanted to take the opportunity to show Red's genuine interest in her as a person & let them spend some quality time together for the first time. I loved the idea of them losing track of time & Dembe having to come interrupt them with a knowing smirk. Also I def referred to the Olive Garden website for the food they ate cause I'm lame lmfaooo

I thought it was cute to throw in that Liz almost couldn't find Red when she arrived but for the fedora marker he placed out for her & then when she's leaving, she can feel his gaze on her the whole way out. Little parallels like that are my guilty pleasure 😁

Omggg I forgot about the end of this chapter, I remember I wanted Red to surprise Liz yet again & I thought the dessert snuck into her bag was a cute touch. Plus, tiramisu is a favorite of mine 😋 I also tried to make the vibe of this phone call a little softer & more tentative, not so much on tender hooks with lots of tension as the previous ones have been, showing how they're getting used to each other & falling in love at a break neck pace lol

Welp, that's all 4 chapters that are posted buttttttttt a sneaky look at my document that I haven't opened for an embarrassingly long timeeeeeee shows my sketch for the rest of the fic which revealssssss....... a detailed 10 chapter map with an epilogue!! Wow, I forgot I sketched everything out in such detail, this isn't too bad, maybe I should actually write this 😂😂😂 And I promise I will, hopefully sooner rather than later!! ❤️❤️❤️

Well, there you go, Pumpkin, I hope that didn't take you too long to slog through & there was something enjoyable in there for you!! 😂 Thank you so much for your interest again, my lovely friend, & getting me excited about this fic again!! 🥰 Much love to you, always, Pumpkin!! 🧡

Fanfic Writers: Director's Cut

#The Blacklist #Lizzington #fanfic #Grifting With The Enemy #ask games #fanfic writers: director's cut #mine #ask #codewordpumpkin #thank you again my friend!!#:D #i hope you enjoy this #:)#much love!!#<3

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ingek73 · 3 years

Text

Fairytales for fuckwits: Meghan, a children's book, and the school bully tactics of the British tabloids...

Piers Morgan's obsession with Meghan Markle continues, while Mike Graham appears worried there may be too many big words for him to understand.

Mic Wright

May 6

On May the 4th, there was a great disturbance in the force, as if thousands of tabloid reporters and talk radio pundits cried out at once: The Duchess of Sussex had announced she was writing a children’s book.

Since the earth-shattering news that Meghan has written a story about the relationship between father’s and their sons — apparently based on a poem she wrote for Prince Harry — the tabloid press and talk radio stations have gone into meltdown.

The Sun has managed to crank out seven hysterically-pitched stories on the announcement since it dropped — the book isn’t out until June 8th — with each more unhinged than the last:

MEG TO PAPER Meghan Markle writes children’s book inspired by Prince Harry and baby Archie about ‘bond between father and son’

MEG-A MOVE Meghan Markle’s first priority should be mending broken relationships with royals not writing kids’ book, expert claims

SOUNDS A BIT WOODEN ‘Schmaltzy’ Meghan Markle ‘on dodgy ground’ with kids’ book celebrating fathers ‘after own bust-up with dad’ says author

DOUBLE DUCH Meghan Markle accused of copying her kids’ book The Bench from another story – but author defends her

NOT WRITE Piers Morgan slams ‘hypocrite’ Meghan Markle for kids’ book on ‘father-son bond’ after ‘ruining Harry and Charles’ ties’

'RIDICULOUS' Meghan Markle using Duchess of Sussex as author name ‘laughable’ after she wanted to cut Royal ties, says royal expert

CUT PRICE Meghan Markle’s kids’ book has price slashed already at Amazon and Waterstones

You’ll notice that Piers Morgan — a man who has turned one drink with Meghan after which he claims she “ghosted him”, which took place in 2016, into a five year and counting obsession — gets his own story there. That’s The Sun filleting Morgan’s spittle-flecked Daily Mail column on the book for its own news piece.

Morgan, who trails his columns on Twitter like they are exciting new releases rather than the tabloid equivalent of a letter scrawled in faeces forced through your letterbox, dashed out his thoughts on The Bench with the indecent haste of a man running along while his trousers fall down.

Image description: “Twitter avatar for @BreeNewsome

DEFUND & ABOLISH POLICE, REFUND OUR COMMUNITIES

@BreeNewsome

Piers Morgan’s obsession with Meghan Markle is genuinely disturbing. He’s really just using the guise of journalism to be a public stalker and harasser.

May 5th 2021

1,414 Retweets10,252 Likes”

Beneath a typically screaming Mail headline — How the hell can Meghan 'I hate royalty but call me Duchess' Markle preach about father-child relationships when she's disowned her own Dad, and wrecked her husband's relationship with his? — Morgan howled:

… she continues to cynically exploit her royal titles because she knows that's the only reason anyone is paying her vast sums of money to spew her uniquely unctuous brand of pious hectoring gibberish in Netflix documentaries, Spotify podcasts or children's books.

Of course, her equally cynical publishers don't give a damn about any of this shocking double standard.

Forget the fact that Meghan had a good degree of personal fame before she ever met Prince Harry, Piers Morgan accusing anyone else of being a cynical fame chaser is beyond parody. From his earliest days as a gossip hack, Morgan has muscled into pictures with the rich and famous, desperate to be someone.

When Meghan was willing to indulge him, he showered her with praise, but once she stopped taking his calls, he turned into the Tinder match from hell. That he has been married to his second wife, fellow controversialist columnist Celia Walden since 2010 seemingly did nothing to dampen his obsession.

Having repeatedly interviewed Meghan’s estranged father Thomas Markle — another man aggrieved because a woman would rather not spend time with him — Morgan sneers:

If she really cared about father-child relationships, she'd take a chauffeur-driven limousine on the hour-long trip to see her own father who's never even met either Harry or Archie.

It’s projection again: Piers Morgan’s ego is so egg-shell thin that after Meghan decided that one drink was more than enough, he’s spent 5 years seeking revenge and convinced that he’s been wronged, just like her ‘poor old dad’. That’s the ‘poor old dad’ that insists on talking about his daughter to journalists at every possible occasion.

At the end of an article that implies Harry and Meghan contributed to the death of Prince Philip — he died of natural causes — and rants on about “the woke”, Morgan ends with this:

But then as we've seen from her gruesomely self-interested behaviour during a pandemic that's caused so much devastation and pain to billions around the world, Meghan Markle doesn't really care about anyone but herself.

Remember, the Duchess of Sussex’s only ‘crime’ here is to write a children’s book which people will be free to buy or ignore with equal ease. But, as ever, Piers Morgan treats the news with all the proportionality of a US drone strike.

The real story here is about how Morgan — the bittiest of bit-part players in the narrative of Meghan and Harry’s lives — is so desperate to upgrade his place in the cast list that he will rant and rave to stay relevant. His departure from Good Morning Britain came after his last stream of invective about Meghan and he knows this schtick gets him the attention and money he craves.

Image description: “Twitter avatar for @MariaLRoach

Maria Roach

@MariaLRoach

Meghan Markle inside the tiny space called Piers Morgan’s head. #duchessofsussex Tap Dance GIF by Miss America

May 5th 2021

122 Retweets1,619 Likes”

Aside from Morgan’s column, MailOnline has published 9 other news stories on or related to the book announcement. The most telling of them is one that links the Duchess of Sussex’s book to another one… by the Duchess of Cambridge.

Headlined Bookshelf battle royale! Kate Middleton shares a glimpse inside her Hold Still photobook just a day after Meghan Markle unveiled her own £12.99 children's story, the story unsurprisingly treats Kate with kid gloves while continuing to imply that Meghan is the kind of person who would make gloves out of kids if it suited her devilish schemes.

There’s no shade thrown at the Duchess of Cambridge for revealing further details of her book just hours after Meghan’s announcement. Instead, the story — lavishly illustrated with images from the book — gushes:

The Duchess of Cambridge has shared a glimpse of her photography book Hold Still ahead of its release on Friday…

… Kate, 39, a keen photographer, launched a campaign during the first lockdown last year to ask the public to submit images which captured the period.

It even includes a mention of an image of a BLM protestor saying:

Over the course of the project, the Duchess shared a number of her favourite images on the Kensington Royal Instagram page, including a Black Lives Matter protester holding a sign reading: 'Be on the right side of history.'

If Meghan had done the same she would have been decried for “supporting extremists”. Remember the contrasting way their mutual taste for avocado was covered?

15 Headlines Show How Differently The British Press Treat Meghan Markle Vs Kate Middleton | Bored Panda

Over at The Daily Telegraph, Spiked alumna Ella Whelan offered her thoughts on a book that isn’t released until next month under the headline Meghan Markle’s fun-free children’s book may put an entire generation off reading, which makes it sound like a grimoire full of dark magic rather than a gentle children’s book about kids and their dads.

Just as with the Mail’s story on Kate’s book, it’s worth imagining what Whelan would say if the Duchess of Cambridge had written The Bench. Look at the following section…

It reveals something of the political superficiality of Harry and Meghan’s activism that an “inclusive” book would use the military father as its promotional message. Perhaps it’s a cultural thing, but if my kids have to read about soldiers, I’d prefer Hans Christian Andersen’s tin version rather than the woke posturing of a former royal.

… and notice that because Meghan is the author including a father who is in the military is “political superficiality”. If Kate had written a story that featured an analogue for Prince William — who also spent time in uniform, though in less dangerous circumstances than his ‘spare’ brother — Whelan would likely deem it a ‘touching tribute to their love’.

Similarly, Sarah Ferguson — the ex-wife of Prince Andrew, top Yelp! reviewer for Jeffrey Epstein’s houses and noted avoider of FBI questioning — uses the title Duchess of York on her many execrable children’s books.

Now that Meghan is the tabloid’s new monster in the monarchy, Fergie’s antics are pointed to as a positive with her books flattered even as Meghan’s as-yet-unpublished book is panned.

Image description: “Twitter avatar for @talkRADIO

talkRADIO

@talkRADIO

Meghan Markle is releasing a new children's book about father-son relationships.

Mike Graham: "It's so juvenile. This is somebody who acts like she's still in high school... it's not exactly Tennyson, is it?

@mrmarkdolan | @Iromg Image

May 5th 2021

36 Retweets221 Likes”

Over on talkRADIO, Mike Graham — a melting mass of expired meat — ranted about a children’s book, worried perhaps that it will contain too many long words. Speaking to his colleague, Mark Dolan — Dennis Pennis without the charm — Graham crowed:

It’s so juvenile. This is somebody who acts like she’s still in high school… I don’t have anything against her for any particular reason, other than she’s a bit too American, you know. She thinks everything is just great and cheesy. Rhyming the words ‘joy’ and ‘boy’. It’s not exactly Tennyson, is it?

Ah yes, that famous children’s author, Alfred, Lord Tennyson, known for such devastating rhymes as this one from The Lady of Shallot: “She left the web/ She left the loom/ She made three paces through the room.”

I’m not saying The Lady of Shalott is rubbish — though I do still hold a grudge against Tennyson after some very tedious teaching in high school — but that focusing on one rhyme in a poem is an easy trick if you want to say its shit. That Graham cannot see the irony in decrying writing a children’s book as “juvenile” is just one of the reasons he’s employed by a station with less than 1% reach.

Image description: “Twitter avatar for @NadimJBaba

Nadim Baba

@NadimJBaba

Piers Morgan ranting about the one who got away in 5, 4, 3.......

Media Guardian @mediaguardian

Meghan wins copyright claim against Mail on Sunday over letter https://t.co/cJZTgDMvgz

May 5th 2021

1 Like”

There’ll be a new round of these columns, stories, and talk radio segments when the book is released, particularly as The Mail on Sunday just lost the second part of Meghan’s copyright claim against it.

There’s nothing that either Meghan or Harry could do that wouldn’t drive these rats in a sack rabid. If they did nothing, they’d be called lazy. When they make things, take jobs, or really say anything the very media that benefits hugely from stories about them scream that it’s a cry for attention. And yet Piers Morgan regularly pissing himself in public is “commentary”.

#meghan markle #prince harry #duchess of sussex #duke of sussex #piers morgan #brokenbottleboy #toxic tabloids #uk press

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maybe-itll-be-someday · 3 years

Text

How Far We’ll Go

Chapter 15

Definitely some mature content in this one, so if you’re below 18, there is absolutely nothing here for you.

However, if you’re above 18 and into break-up sex....

Read on AO3

He never thought he could feel her absence more potently than her presence.

Emily always seemed to overwhelm him any time she was near - a comforting figure he always had in his periphery, his gaze stuck on her long before he realized it. He had stolen tiny tastes of it in the past, in a past lifetime before Foyet and Doyle where she was just his subordinate and he her superior. Aaron had long ignored the slight flush of his skin when she was near, the way he'd look back to her for a split second longer than he knew he had to. It was a magnetic pull he was barely conscious of, an unnoticeable habit swamped by mountains of paperwork, close brushes with their demise, and an unspoken understanding.

It wasn't until the walls between them started toppling, the neat bricks of their professional relationship crumbling whenever she smiled and his heart lurched a little further towards her, that he truly started to feel her presence. He couldn't stop the way she pulled his gaze around a room, noticing the soft dip of her collarbone and the supple pull of her waist. Catching tastes of lavender and clean laundry when she hovered over him, pointing out a tiny detail from a file with a slender finger. Small moments, easily maskable and explainable, that soon became the solace that he stole away to at night.

When she kissed him for the first time, tinged with an impatience and neon lights, she overwhelmed him. He remembers how she tasted - sweet and buttery, remnants of maple syrup in the small factions of her lips, and he was left heady. Thoughts unable to form, barely focusing on her words because all he wanted to do was feel her. He wanted to feel the way her breath, laced with decaf coffee and a spearmint she offered him, brought a welcome contrast to the biting cold. His fingers twisted on her waist, finding purchase on the curves he'd thought about more frequently than he'd ever admit. When he undressed her for the first time, an endless expanse of smooth skin that formed hills and mountains his fingers travelled with a soft touch, a fire consumed him, burning through every limb of his body. An unexplainable need to orbit around her - the center of his universe.

But now, it’s over.

Torn up by Doyle, his influence still reaching from beyond the grave. He had branded her memories of that night into a messy four leaf clover on her chest, staining her for life. She slipped through his grasp, almost as easily as she came.

Her absence burned through him more than Haley's had when they divorced. He thought his ability to compartmentalize was stronger than it was - he was always able to put his home life in a separate thought than work, refusing for the two to mix because he knew only certain disaster would await. Haley and their problems could easily be compartmentalized, tucked away in the confines of his mind and saved for a time when other lives didn't depend on him.

But now there was an emptiness that followed him everywhere he went. Small reflexes that were remnants of their time together - seeking for her in briefing rooms and precincts, wanting to ask her opinion. A lone shampoo bottle in his bathroom, tucked away behind his body wash and a mug with a faint outline of pointy ears and whiskers drying upside down on his counter. The old faded Yale t-shirt he had found in his laundry, an item easily overlooked, forced the air out of his lungs when he gripped a million memories sewn into the soft fabric in his hands.

He had a taste of bliss, only for it to falter on his tongue the moment he had it.

He always ached for her presence.

But now he was drowning in her absence.

In the first month, Jack takes it harder than Aaron notices.

The apartment is unusually clean, Jack's books neatly tucked into their assigned spaces on the bookshelf and toys put away in their proper bins. Jack finishes his vegetables and fruit with an unrelenting concentration, even finishing all of his peas despite the fact that he hated them. Aaron had chalked it up to him growing up a little bit and didn't pay it much mind, the grief of losing Emily a heavy burden he thought he was carrying alone.

Not until one Sunday morning, one of their very firsts without her, when Aaron is working on some paperwork in his office and hears a loud crash coming from the kitchen. Jack had said that he wanted orange juice and insisted on getting it himself, the streak of independence Aaron could've sworn he'd gotten from her. He sighs to himself, making his way to the kitchen.

"Jack, are you alright?" Aaron calls. He frowns when there isn't a response and walks in, only to see Jack standing in a sea of shattered glass as tears streaked his cheeks. Aaron carefully steps over the shards of glass, moving to pick Jack up in his embrace and quickly inspecting him to ensure that he wasn't hurt.

"I-I'm sorry, Daddy." He says between ragged breaths, and Aaron lets out a breath of relief at the lack of blood on him. Jack continues to sob into his shoulder, a sting of worry still lingering at the tears that fall from the eyes that looked so much like Haley's it still stole his breath away.

"You don't need to be sorry, Jack. Accidents happen. We'll clean this up together, okay?" Jack slowly calms down, as Aaron cradles him to his chest. It was too reminiscent of the way he'd comfort Jack when he was younger as he bounces him up and down, running a soothing hand down his back.

When the tears cease, only bubbling hiccups remain, that's when Jack asks him a question that nearly brings him to his knees.

"You're not going to leave me too, right Daddy?"

The pain is hot and prominent in between his ribs, his own tears rising in the corner of his eyes. Aaron had been so consumed in his heartbreak, assuming that he was the only one that was devastated by Emily leaving. He forgets that Jack had a taste of life with Emily as well, of stories with funny voices, weekends spent with his hand in hers as they explored DC, and a love that had filled the both of them. She had carved out a new place in his heart, right next to where Haley was, and her departure had left a hole in him too.

Aaron is quick to shake his head, tightening his hold on the young boy.

"Jack, you listen to me, okay? I will never leave you." Jack is easily placated with promises of chocolate ice cream as Aaron suggests he go grab the broom so they could clean up the broken shards of glass together.

Aaron is left standing with shards of glass around him, and wonders how you put something back together that has shattered beyond recognition.

In the fourth month, Emily starts to get used to the London streets.

A coffee shop with croissants that melt on her tongue is only a ten minute walk from her flat, she's learned the particularities of the personalities of her team, and she actually knows of the Sunday market taking place downtown. The fear that pricks the back of her neck and fills her fingertips with a nervous energy dissipates slowly as she carves familiar pathways in London streets.

The nightmares cease and she builds a new routine. A black coffee in the morning, a splash of cream and sugar from the break room (she avoids Splenda at all costs because when the sweetness hits her teeth, all she can remember is the small box of Splenda he had added to his grocery list, just for her, tucked away in his kitchen), followed by hours of meetings with superiors and colleagues or a case that whisks her to whichever part of the world beckoned for them, only to crawl to her flat when the work had ceased and pour herself from one of the multiple bottles of red she kept with worn paper labels printed in French.

She savors the warmth of the expensive sheets she splurged on, the soft silk a gentle caress on her skin to soothe the dull ache in her chest when she crawls into bed alone. She throws herself into social nights spent with her team, trying hard to recreate the feeling of family that she had left behind in an attempt to try and build her own. She flirts, admittedly poorly and without any true effort, when a few glasses of wine had entered her system in an attempt to shield the emptiness she feels when she thinks she caught a glimpse of his brown eyes in the dim lights of the bar and the following disappointment because of course it would never be him.

She tries to keep in contact. Penelope and Derek are the easiest, because they had both insisted on flying with her to London to properly see her off. Derek had realized that she was leaving before she even told him, understanding as she had expected him to be. Penelope had, of course, found out from Derek that she had accepted the Interpol Unit Chief position and came to her with tears beading behind her sparkled frames and booking flights for her and Derek before she could protest.

But it's obvious from the first few phone calls that they were skirting around the team to talk to her. JJ had been a little more confused, given the fact that she knew that there was more than just the BAU she was leaving behind.

"Are you sure about this, Em?" She had asked, when Emily pulled her aside for their last coffee date. Emily remembers the concern in her look and the mild disappointment, but she had just swallowed the words I'm not and said that she was. She doesn't tell JJ of the nagging voice in the back of her head, the one that insisted that she must have been making a mistake.

But the voice was small, insignificant compared to the fear that plagued her for months. So she accepts the hurt on JJ's expression and pulls her into a tight hug, promising that she would call, visit, and they could still play Scrabble.

Reid had pulled his eyebrows together, reminding Emily of how Jack looked when he didn't understand something. He had snapped away from her eyes the moment the words I'm leaving left her lips, his body language stiffening as she told him of the opportunity with Interpol. Spencer had been in the room with her when Clyde had first made the offer and he felt betrayed and lied to once more. It was obvious in the way he slightly pulled away from her last hug before telling her he had a meeting and stalked off towards the elevator without another word. Spencer still hadn't spoken to her directly since.

Dave just sat in silence, listening as Emily filled in the gaps she purposefully left out the past few months because he deserved an explanation. Disappointment had flashed on his face when she finally told him that she had accepted another position, his expression unreadable as he plucked out the question that she knew everyone else on the team was wondering as well, even if they didn't voice it.

"What about Aaron?"

"He'll find someone else." She had said, her tone joking but her eyes betraying the sharp pain that throbbed in her chest at the idea of someone else loving him. Dave had just nodded, wishing her good luck and promising to send her the names of restaurants in London that she'd enjoy. She knew that Dave still didn't understand, hiding his disappointment from her until she caught his eye right as she emptied her desk on her last day. His gaze had landed on her, heavy for a split second, before straightening up and walking into Aaron's office and closing the door behind him.

So her phone calls with Penelope and Derek were taken behind closed doors and with hushed voices, not wanting to agitate the hurt that palpated from the team. She stops reaching out and they do too because maybe they all needed a little space.

She builds a new routine, because this is what she wanted. It was the new life promised that gave her a reason to fly out of Dulles, leaving the sparkling city skyline and the only family she's ever been a part of.

It's 3:40 AM on a Tuesday night when her phone cuts through the silence of the night, groaning as her sleep was abruptly interrupted by the shrill ringing on her bedside. Her eyes are half open as she squints at the bright screen, only to pop up into a full sitting position when she realizes who's calling.

"Aaron?" She calls out, fear and anticipation tight in her throat as she waits to hear the voice that plagued her memories more than she would admit.

Instead, an excited high-pitched voice comes through the phone, flooding her with a familiarity and a sharp ache all at once.

"Hi Emmy!"

"Hey honey." She says, her voice cracking as tears build in her eyes at the sound of his voice. Jack was one part of her routine that she had never quite replaced. It was a different emptiness that she felt when she realized that her apartment was devoid of his dinosaur sneakers, his crayons and books left open and scattered on communal surfaces, and the sounds of his make-believe echoing from his bedroom.

It was an emptiness she didn't bother to fill, because she knew that nothing could.

He had been devastated when she told him that she was leaving. She had insisted on being the one to tell him, knowing that she had the rare chance to explain herself to Jack instead of having Aaron make up excuses on her behalf. Jack deserved that much and Emily felt like the reaction he gave her was something she deserved too.

He had flinched, like he had been burned, when she told him that she wouldn't see him for a little bit. His brown eyes grew wide, tears sparkling when she explained to him that she was moving to a city called London that was far away and that she wouldn't see him or Aaron after work or during his soccer games.

"You're leaving?" Jack asked, voice hard and sounding much older than his six years. Emily had reassured him that she would always love him and that he could call her anytime, but yes, she was leaving.

His tears came fast after that, and he bolted to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

"Are you okay? Is Daddy okay?" She asks after a split second, because Jack was still calling her in the middle of the night and she was under the impression that he didn't really want to speak to her, especially since it had taken so much coaxing to convince Jack that she wasn't leaving forever and that she'd come see him, it just wouldn't be as soon as he was used to. This had to be an emergency call of some kind.

"We're okay. Daddy's in the shower but I did a school project on chameleons today!" Jack starts to ramble on about some of the facts he knew about chameleons: that there are over 160 of different kinds, that their tongues suction cupped their prey ("Like the things we hung on the window that one time Emmy!"), and that chameleons aren't deaf but don't have ears. He launches into his grand review of his project and Emily thinks that maybe she should stop him because it was too late into the night for her, but she just stays quiet and lets a small smile curve at her lips as she listens to him recite facts like he was reading them. She knew that he wasn't, that he was probably sitting at the dining room table and kicking his feet while he talked.

She had tried so hard to forget that this is exactly what she left behind.

Tears catch in her throat as Jack's voice is suddenly interrupted by a much deeper one.

"Jack! Why do you have my phone?" Aaron's voice, soft yet disciplined, was somewhere in the distance. It was the first time that she had heard his voice in over four months and she shifts awkwardly on the bed, curling her legs tightly to her chest as she hears rustling on the other side.

"Hello?" He says, the tone as smooth and deep.

"Aaron. Hi." She breathes out, cursing the relief that filled her at the sound of his voice.

"Emily. I'm so sorry about Jack - I didn't realize that he had my phone, let alone that he knew to dial your number..." She had emailed him her new number after her first week in London, along with a short update on how the move had gone, that Garcia and Derek were driving her crazy trying to organize her flat and hoping that he was doing well.

The email went unanswered and it hurt her more than she would ever admit.

"It's okay. I missed hearing his voice."

I missed yours too.

"Isn't it late over there?"

She chuckles, glancing over at the bright neon clock on her bedside that tells her it's a little past 4 AM now.

"Early, actually." Aaron sighs, doing the quick math in his head and realizing that Jack probably had no concept of what a time zone was.

"Were you asleep?"

"Yeah, but it's okay." She says. There's a stiff silence on the other end, stretched over thousands of miles across the ocean. Her legs curl tighter around her chest, shielding her heart from the pain that she knows will follow. This was the first conversation they've had in over four months, and she's never found herself speechless in front of him, unable to pull any words that would sound right.

Because there are so many things she wants to say, sentiments that she should have said.

"I'll be sure that he only calls you at appropriate times." Aaron's tone is too reminiscent of how he would talk to police chiefs and their superiors on the phone, clipped and stringent - more Hotch than Aaron.

More impersonal than he had ever been with her.

"You don't have to do that, Aaron."

"You know that I have to." He says, and she knows what he means.

It still hurts too much.

She doesn't know what the appropriate words are. If I'm sorry would ever encapsulate the regret that she has for hurting him.

The regret that still lingers in the back of her mind- that she had walked away from the best thing she's ever had.

"I should go." She says instead, giving him his escape. He takes it immediately and without a second thought.

"That's probably for the best. Get more sleep, alright?" The call ends before she can say goodbye. She's left with the dial tone in her ear and the ache she's been trying to forget echoing in her entire being.

When she finds the strength to end the call, she finds herself drawn to a file box tucked away in her closet. It was the only box she never unpacked, knowing that its contents were better kept in cardboard.

But tonight, for just tonight, she wants to remember instead of forget.

She finds the box right where she had left it, in the back of her closet still untouched after four months. She lifts the lid and her breath stalls as memories wash over her, every single moment she's kept locked away in this box rushing to the surface and stealing all her air from her lungs.

A drawing of her, Aaron, and Jack that was done in crayon and presented to her on one Sunday morning that had lived on her fridge door. An old cotton shirt with a faded Georgetown logo, one she had convinced Aaron to part with in their early days with promises of indecency and ice cream. A napkin she had swiped from the diner where they had their first date, the logo imitating the neon sign that had shone above them when she kissed him for the first time. A handful of pictures she had printed of Jack and Aaron, intending on showcasing them in frames instead of living in a box, shoved to the back of her mind.

She finally reaches the picture she's been looking for.

It was the picture that Aaron had in his wallet, his panicked handwriting on the back. Its edges were now worn from the numerous times she had pulled it out of her pocket that day that she had almost lost him. She never gave it back, the right opportunity slipping from her fingers along with her confession.

It could've been different. If they had figured this out sooner, if Doyle hadn't stolen her sanity and her life from her from the grave, if she was just a little less broken than she was.

Her fingers trace their figures, pure and unbroken captured in a perfect moment.

All she had left of him was a box of their memories and list of if and buts she had left unanswered, dotted with the finality that it could never be.

Aaron tries to ignore the date. He briefs the team on cases they had on deck, finishes up the paperwork that was piling on his desk, and wills everything in him to not think of the only person that's plagued his every thought the past six months. He had come into the office early, way earlier than he normally would because Jack was off at summer camp. It was an old decision swayed by the hope that having Jack away for a week or so would give them some time together, maybe in some cabin tucked away in a remote mountain range, spending their days encased in sheets and walking underneath canopies of dense trees hidden away from the rest of their world.

And maybe, just maybe, he would've taken the time to ask her something that had haunted him for months.

A headache builds at the base of his skull, the tension of being hunched at his desk with his pen tightly gripped in hand pinching the muscles around his neck. He doesn't know what time it is, instead pouring all of his attention on reviewing the team's reports and filling out his own. The sun had set hours before and most of the team had already left for the day, but the time was lost on him.

"Aaron." His head snaps up and he winces at the movement that causes his neck to ache, spotting Dave hovering in the doorway with two glasses and a bottle of his oldest scotch tucked in his arm.

He wordlessly crosses into the room, setting the two glasses against the dark mahogany of his desk and pouring trickles of amber into the crystal. He slides one of the glasses over to him before settling in the seat across from his desk.

They let the pregnant silence blanket them and Aaron doesn't have to ask why Dave's in his office this late at night.

"Are you allergic to looking at the time today?" Dave asks, motioning to the lack of a watch on his wrist. "I haven't seen you without a watch in the fifteen years I've worked with you, Aaron."

Aaron doesn't even pretend to be surprised that Dave had caught on. He was the only one who ever did.

Instead, Aaron tips his head back, letting the harsh sting of alcohol soothe out the emotions that have been lodged in his throat for the most of the day. He was wondering how long he could get away with shunning himself in his office, willfully ignoring the thoughts of her skin and her smile that were smattered between the words he wrote in his reports.

"You know what today is." Aaron says, the words bitter and heavy on his tongue along with the whiskey.

"How are you holding up?" Dave asks, his concern evident. Aaron doesn't know if he has the right words to answer that question - if he could describe to him how amplified her absence was that he couldn't bear to walk into the apartment that was now devoid of any of her belongings but cradled some of his favorite memories. How those memories, once sweet and wanted, now felt like they had been soaked in a poison that wrought his thoughts.

How badly he wished that she was still here.

How much he longed for her.

And how much he hated that he did.

So instead, he doesn't answer, and finishes the rest of the whiskey in his glass because there weren't any words. He would rather leave them unsaid, like so many things between them were, and hopefully it would wither away the same way that flowers perished in the winter. Slow but guaranteed, that one day he would wake up and the memories of the slope of her cheek and the way his chest would clench when he realized she wasn't next to him would dissipate.

But today wasn't that day.

"I think I should head home." Aaron croaks out, when the whiskey has bloomed warmth into his abdomen. Dave doesn't stop him, polishing off his glass of whiskey before wishing him a good night and retreating back into his own office.

His apartment is as dark and as empty as he feels. He finds himself being drawn to his safe, unlocking it and reaching in to pull out something he hasn't had the chance to look at since she had left DC all those months ago. It was a thorn in his side, a dull ache that was easy to tuck away in a metal safe underneath his suits and old coats. His fingers touch the velvet box and Aaron almost expects it to burn to the touch.

He doesn't have the strength to open it. He doesn't want to because he still thinks that it's perfect for her. Instead, he lays the unopened box on his coffee table and opens up a bottle of red wine. It was her favorite, a bottle he had managed to track down from an old winery in Châteauneuf-du-Pape. He wanted to save it for a special occasion, one that ended with the ring sparkling on her left hand, but there weren't any occasions for it anymore. He pours himself a glass and raises it to no one.

"Happy anniversary, Em."

3,000 miles away, Emily buys a bottle of whiskey before she retreats to her apartment for the night.

She lets the whiskey burn her throat and drip down the old cotton shirt draped over her frame, his scent long gone and faded. Her tears prick at the back of her eyes as she traces the outline of his face with the pad of her thumb, a memory pulled from the box still left untouched in her closet.

"Happy anniversary, Aaron."

The wedding invite comes as a surprise.

JJ had gushed to her the previous month that she and Will had decided to marry after he had a brush with death as a suspect gunned him down in the middle of DC. It was in a hospital room that she told him to ask her again, a redo of a night that ended in more tears and harsh words rather than in celebration. She wanted him, all of him, no matter what tomorrow brought.

The off-white envelope embellished with her name comes in the mail on a Wednesday morning bearing an invitation to their wedding in DC.

She calls JJ, confused that she had gotten an invitation.

"Emily." JJ starts, indignant at her assumption that the wedding invite had been a mistake. "Of course I would send you an invitation."

"It won't make things.. awkward?" She asks. Months had passed now and while it had already felt like another lifetime, she knew that there were still some harbored feelings. Reid had only started speaking to her in the last month and she hadn't heard from Aaron outside of the emails that he had helped Jack write. She didn't want to aggravate the healing wounds she knew that still lingered, not wanting to cause any more pain to the people she loved.

She's had her fill of all that for this lifetime.

"Em, you're one of my best friends. I know it might be a little weird, but I want you there with me."

"Just let me think about it okay?" She says, promising that she would give her an answer by this week. She decides to talk to Clyde about it, ignoring the half-hopes that she was sent on a case so that she had an excuse not to go as she taps on his office door.

"Darling! I had just sent you an email - The CIA needs a consultation on one of their current cases, interested in going stateside?"

"I actually wanted to talk to you about that. JJ, the Communications Liaison over at the BAU, is getting married and she wants me in DC for the wedding."

"That sounds like wonderful news, darling. But why, may I ask, do you look disappointed?" Clyde asks, a twinkle in his eye and she curses her inability to shield her emotions from him. He was one of the only people, outside of Aaron, who had the ability to dissect her motives with a fine precision.

“I’m not exactly racing to head back to DC.”

Clyde hadn’t questioned her decision to leave Washington, thrilled that she had accepted his proposal. It wasn’t until weeks later, when she had settled into her glass-walled office that overlooked the messy streets of London, that he had asked about Aaron.

“Are you and Aaron still…?” He asked, as he had grazed a wound that felt like it would never finish healing.

She had just shaken her head, smiling weakly at Clyde, before changing the subject.

"I know you're dying to see him."

“I’m not…” She starts to protest, but Clyde just holds up a hand to stop her and Emily’s jaw tightens, doing the math on how many seconds it would take to completely snap his fingers in half.

“Darling, as much as I love having you here, you haven’t exactly been the happiest camper. And I’m not going to question your decision because it benefits me, but go see him before you start to depress all of London.” Clyde dismisses her then, a call coming in from one of their contacts in the CIA and told her he needed her in the US for the consultation. She was ordered to stay there for the week - no matter what she decided to do with her time.

She books her flight back to DC when she gets back at her office.

She hated it when he was right.

Aaron fumbles with the small knot on Jack’s tie, his fingers filled with nerves that crackle with anxiety. JJ had let him know that Emily was coming to the wedding, a conversation she chose to have with him behind the closed door of his office - an indication that she knew more than she let on. Emily had told him in an email, letting him know that she was going to be stateside. He wasn’t sure if it was a warning or an invitation.

He had been unwillingly counting down the days, JJ’s wedding invitation was now taking prime real estate on his fridge next to Jack’s drawings and appointment reminders. The days had passed quickly and unbearably slow at the same time - the end of each day a surprise but the rest of the days after seemed to stretch out into eternity.

“You ready, buddy?” Aaron asks, taking a shaky breath as he brushes the small shoulders of Jack’s suit. He walks into Dave’s house, following the slew of caterers that are doing last minute tasks, bustling in and out of numerous hallways and doors.

That’s when he hears it.

A sound that he had played over and over again in his head, simply replaying a fading memory of a memory until he convinced himself that he actually didn’t remember what she sounded like. He follows the sound, calling him in like she was a pied piper. He steps through the doorway, Jack in tow, to see Penelope animatedly talking to an overwhelmed Emily, who had an amused smile on her face as Garcia asks her if she had liked the tea she had recommended.

Her eyes find him from the corner of the room, barely a glance in his direction but he catches it with ease, a dance they’ve practiced to perfection. Jack breaks from his grip before he can truly register what happens, flying right into Emily’s legs and bursting into tears.

He wails as Emily scoops him up in her arms, already too big to be held, with an old reflex. Derek and Penelope have the sense to avert their gaze, shuffling awkwardly in their spots as Jack’s cries into Emily’s shoulder.

“Hey honey.” She says, voice cracked and laden with her own tears that she refuses to shed. He’s heavier already, his feet dangling an inch or two farther than it used to when she would hold him.

But he still wrapped his arms around her in a ferocity that grounded her to him, just as unwilling to let go as she was. Slowly the tears bubble to soft sniffles, snot running down his nose and wiped with the back of his new suit's sleeve much to Aaron’s chagrin. Emily puts him on his feet, wiping his tears with the back of her hand and smiling softly at him.

“You’re here.” Jack says incredulously, despite the fact that Aaron had told him in previous days that she would be.

“I’m here.” She confirms, unable to stop herself from running a hand through his hair in a familiar gesture. Aaron catches it and his eyes lock on hers, their gazes heavy and weighted as Derek and Penelope take that as their cue to leave.

“Hey buddy. They got a really cool fountain here.” Derek says, catching Jack’s attention and knowing that they probably needed a moment alone. “Want to go see it?”

They wait for their footsteps to fade in the distance, along with Jack’s excited ramblings about some dinosaur she’s already forgotten the name of. Her gaze is stuck to the back of Jack’s head, not turning back to face him until he speaks first.

“Hi.” He says, the smallest of smiles edging his lips.

His eyes follow the form of her dress, admiring the way the dress hugged her form tightly. The deep neckline teases the top of her breasts, the curves triggering a million memories of worship for them. The dress flows across her skin in waves of soft fabric, painting her skin in a shade of red invoking his own skin to flush to match the shade. Her lip wedges itself between her teeth and he can feel a sharp current of electricity go straight to the pit of his abdomen.

He hates that his reaction to her is stronger now, triggered by the pull of her teeth over her lower lip. A taste of water after almost a year in the desert.

“Hey.” She says, the corners of lips turning up as her eyes raked over his form, making him squirm under her scrutiny.

“You look good.” Is all he can manage to say, averting his eyes towards the mantle with a few lone decorations, an attempt to stop himself from outright staring. She giggles, light and airy, and his own smile breaks on his lips.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.”

It’s the first conversation they’ve had in almost eleven months, and it makes her stomach curl when she realizes that she hadn’t heard his voice in her own ears in that same time period. Aaron was once her solace, a listening shoulder she had relied on more times than she could count, his wisdom and words of affirmations constants - only to be reduced to strained conversations stripped of the foundation they had built for themselves

“Dolcezza. Garcia told me that JJ’s looking for you.” Emily glances at Dave, who breaks the tense atmosphere with his sudden presence. Emily shoots Aaron an apologetic look and heads further into the house, leaving him standing with the traces of her perfume and a longing that roared in his chest with an unrivaled ferocity.

JJ is beautiful, gliding down the aisle in practiced steps before smiling at Will, who twists his hands nervously but the excitement on his face obvious. Their story finally had the happy ending that they deserved.

Aaron can’t help but let his gaze linger on the one person he was sure he’d meet at the end of an aisle.

She would have been a gorgeous bride.

He’s jealous.

Derek’s arm is tight around her waist, dipping her as a laugh bubbles out of her. They were all a few drinks in, the alcohol imbibing looser tongues and muscles. The team was paired off on the dance floor, the kids being occupied by Reid’s nimble fingers as he pulled the card he had told them to memorize. Dave was dancing with Erin, JJ and Will swaying to the soft music while Emily was swept away in Derek’s arms.

He breaks his gaze to finish the rest of his whiskey, an old crutch that was reminiscent of his father’s tainted breath.

For a brief moment, he understood why alcohol was his vice.

He watches as Jack cuts through the dance floor and tugs on Emily’s dress. She smiles, blinding and bright, as Jack giggles and tries to tug her in Reid’s direction, no doubt in search for her attention even after months apart, easily sliding back into familiar routines like she had never left.

Emily picks him up, plopping Jack on the angle of her hip as Derek retreated, hands up in defeat.

Jack’s smile is wider than Aaron has seen for a while, his giggles loud and delighted as Emily tickles his sides. His arms wrap around her neck tightly, resting his head against her shoulder and molding into an intimate scene that will never stop stealing the air from his lungs.

They sway gently, and Aaron can see Jack’s eyes softly close, the lateness of the night amplifying how exhausted he was. Emily’s lips move against Jack’s ear, soft whispers of sweet nothings as she rocks him to sleep.

His chest is heavy, twinging tightly with a pain he thought had dulled enough to be ignored. An old wound that’s burst at the seams, bleeding with nostalgia and regret.

They had been so close to having it all.

She catches him alone, his whiskey glass filled for the third time that night, as he leans against the marble balcony in a quieter section of Rossi’s mansion. Every inch of Dave’s house reeked of well-deserved success, tall columns and elegant furniture that she had no doubt had cost a fortune.

She steps out into the cool night, a slight shiver running up her spine as Aaron turns his head towards her, eyeing the glass of red wine in her hand.

“Hi.”

He smiles, an actual genuine smile that deepens the dimples on his cheeks and causes her heart to stall in her chest. The whiskey slicked his muscles, now unable to keep his guard up around her. All he could process was the soft scent of lavender and roses.

God, did he miss her.

“Hey.” He says, turning back towards the city view in front of them. Buildings that lined the skyline, dotting the black night in soft dots of light. They were in a nearby suburb, creating a barrier between them and the noise of the city - a carefully curated landscape of artificial life.

No words are passed between them, Emily reaching for the glass of whiskey in Aaron’s hand, knowing that she needed more liquid courage to survive an interaction with him.

“I thought you hated dark liquor?” He asks, his expression amused as she swallows with no hesitation. Aaron’s eyes can’t help but linger on the column of her throat, following the supple movement of liquid under her skin, smooth and taut.

He still remembers the tension of her muscles as his lips explored the path from her jaw to her collarbone.

He turns away, letting her polish off his drink and bites at the inside of his cheek to regain some form of control.

“I actually learned to like it.” She says, the alcohol flooding her in a warmth that draws her a little bit closer to him. She ached to crash into him, to feel the warmth of his skin and the weight of his solid form, anchoring her down to Earth.

But she had given it up, she reminds herself.

She chose to walk away from this.

“What are you doing here, Emily?” He asks. She knows that he’s not referring to the wedding, or DC, but in this small balcony that overlooked the city. She stiffens, tears beading in her eyes before she can stop them, his presence shielding her in a safety that she had missed.

“I don’t know.”

He looks at her, eyes growing wide at the tears in her eyes. He reaches up to brush a tear that had strayed, her cheek resting in his palm as Aaron’s fingers brushed against her skin. His touch was hot and wanting, stepping closer to her and nosing the hinge of her jaw, pulling her scent to his senses.

She still smelled the same.

“Aaron.” She whispers, unable to find the air in her chest to tell him to stop. He pulls back, her eyes locking on him with a question.

Are you okay with this?

He nods, imperceptibly.

Yes.

Her lips brush his once, twice, with a hesitance that he hasn’t seen since they had first started to dance around each other almost two years ago. His senses flood, an addict being given a taste of their vice, and the dam breaks.

He pushes her back away from the door, pressing her right up against the brick wall and covering her body with his, shielding her from view. He could feel the warmth of her, already slick, against the fabric of his suit. He kisses her, the desperation dripping off his actions as if she was going to evaporate in his grip.

She moans, the noise strangled in her throat at the contact and his skin feels like it’s aflame underneath his suit, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the heat that was building. She hikes a leg up on his hip, the fabric of her dress falling to reveal the long expanses of thigh that he’s spent many mornings and nights between. His teeth edge the skin of her collarbone, causing the expected sigh to fall from her lips.

He still remembers.

His fingers reach down, pushing the damp fabric of her underwear to the side and slides one finger, then two, pumping and stretching in an old rhythm he created on a Sunday morning. Her head falls back, exposing the object of his fascination. His lips quickly latch on, running his tongue down an old path as his fingers follow the same pattern.

“F-Fuck. A-Aaron.” His name tumble from her lips, and his throat catches at the familiarity of it all.

Her hips roll in tandem with the flicks of his wrist, the palm of his hand grinding against her until he feels her fingers thread through his hair, curling with a force that makes him wince. She feels the tightening of his eyebrows against her skin and she smiles.

“Sorry.” She says breathlessly, a laugh and a moan tumbling out as her hips start to buck against his hand. He curls his fingers, brushing her in a spot that causes expletives that would cause her mother to cringe to fall from her lips. It doesn’t take long until she flutters and shakes underneath him, her limbs curling around him with stars bursting in her vision. He anchors her to him, a strong arm looped around her waist to stop her from tumbling to the floor.

“Jesus Christ.” She whispers when she’s caught her breath, her muscles shaking from the force of the orgasm he had drawn out of her.

“Actually, it’s Aaron.” He quips and she shakes underneath him in laughter, a gentle slap to the back of his head and he can’t help the grin that stretches against her shoulder. His finger slips from her and she whines in protest, her hands reaching down to undo his belt with a snap . She wraps her fingers around him, heavy and rigid in her palm. She squeezes him gently, her wrists twisting in practiced precision that causes his hips to stutter to follow her movements, his head dropping to her shoulder.

“No.” He growls into her ear. “Inside you.”

She nods, a whine bursting from her lips and he seals his own over them to silence her. He was still acutely aware that they were on a balcony, with his team in various states of inebriation and could walk in on them at any time. He nudges against her, so slick and aching before pressing in, her name chanted in prayer as he split her open. He can’t think, can’t form the words to describe how she feels around when he’s fully sheathed, her fingers tight in his hair and her walls even tighter around him. She can’t stop the soft sighs, drawn out by the feeling of him filling her with a fullness that plagued her fantasies. He drops his lips to the plane of skin that he had once whispered his reverence to, savoring the vibration of her moan as her spine curled into him, already desperate for more contact.

She still feels the same.

But everything between them had changed.

Tears bead in her eyes as his hips stole the air from her lungs with every thrust. She stretches and burns, a feeling she’s tried to chase underneath her sheets with thoughts of him guiding the feeling of her fingers. His hips start to vary in rhythm and she knows he’s quickly losing control.

“F-Fuck. I missed you.” He croons into her ear, reaching down between them to swipe at the sensitive flesh, determined on bringing her over the edge with him. He bends his knees slightly and changes the angle, pressing harder and deeper into her until her chest starts to rise and fall rapidly underneath his. He covers her mouth with his, muffling the increasingly loud moans that were lodged in her throat.

She can feel his lips mouth the words he doesn't say out loud, caught in the shell of her ear along with a moan and her heart clenches because he shouldn't say it.

She didn't deserve it.

She falls apart between him and the brick wall and he’s right behind her, filling her to the brim like the city lights in the night sky.

Another three words left unsaid between them.

He descends the stairs into the living room, the imprints of their indiscretion hidden in a wadded up handkerchief in his pocket and the slight wobble in Emily’s step as she follows a few minutes behind him.

No one in the team seems to have noticed, all of them flushed with warmth from the open bar that Rossi had set up in the garden. Aaron heads over to JJ and Will, explaining that it was getting late and that he needed to put Jack to bed. JJ nods, eyes glazed and skin pink as she settles an unfocused gaze on Emily.

Her eyebrow quirks in question and Emily ignores her pointed look, instead reaching for her phone to check the time.

There’s a handful of emails from her team with status reports on the cases that she had assigned them and she’s suddenly hit with the sickening reality that this wasn’t home anymore.

She wasn’t going to crawl home to Aaron, curling up under his duvet while he put Jack to bed with a promise that he’d be there afterwards, a teasing kiss pressed to her lips on things to come if she was up for it. She would crawl back to the hotel room she had booked in the middle of the city, large and empty, and she would curl up underneath unfamiliar sheets with the dull ache between her thighs as the only remembrance of him. They had fucked, quick and dirty, in Rossi’s balcony upstairs. They weren’t a couple, routines threaded into their reflexes.

She had given that up, months ago.

She ignores the way Aaron is baring his gaze into her, an unspoken question in his eyes until he heads out the front door with a sleeping Jack in his arms. She couldn’t keep dragging him along, stealing tastes of him whenever she could because she was lonely and missed him. She had chosen to move to London, thousands of miles away from here, and she didn’t get the luxury of him anymore.

She had done enough damage.

When Aaron calls the next day, she stares at the ceiling and lets the ringing echo in her hotel room, intensifying the dull ache in the base in her skull and the heavy sting of tears in her eyes.

She doesn’t answer.

She flies back to London two days later, ignoring the vibrating in her pocket and the flash of his name on her screen.

Later that month, she crawls to a dirty bar in Central London after a long case in Turkey. There’s a man by the bar, dark and brooding, his eyes on her as she tipped back her second whiskey for the night.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket, her whiskey blurring the edges of her memories and for a split second she thinks that it’s him.

She’s disappointed when it isn’t, cursing herself for the longing for him that never seems to stop following her around. She tucks away the memory of him, shaking the invisible ache between her thighs and in her chest. She moves towards the stranger at the bar and asks him to buy her another drink.

She tries to ignore the bile in her throat when he says yes.

#hotchniss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron x emily #ckbwrites

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