#no words can explain the power of this photo
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Third Time's the Charm
Request: Hii,if your request are still open can i request something for Gen V?Can you write something where Jordan and fem reader are childhood best friends and Jordan had always been in love with her but they feel insecure because they don’t know if reader will like them in both forms romantically?So when,in ep 3,Jordan dad goes like “Y/n and Jordan will be husband and wife” reader goes “Maybe we will be wife and wife”because she loves Jordan just like they are?
AN: Reader wants to be the first supe president (just to explain why they’re at the gala), I changed the timeline of the ep a tiny bit. I have another request about meeting Jordan's parents but that one might be more angsty.
CW: fem!reader, kissing, no beta, Jordan's parents are just their warning. The start is all flashbacks so I may have slipped on the tense a few times, no beta
WC: 2.0K
Jordan Li was your first kiss. Twice. The first time was in kindergarten, when they tried to kiss you and you smacked them with your Queen Mauve lunch box. Your second first kiss (the one you consider your actual first kiss) was done by you while playing truth or dare at 14. After picking a dare, you were asked to kiss the best-looking guy in the group. You shrugged and picked your best friend - Jordan.
At age six, they were there when you broke your ankle trying to see if you could fly (you couldn’t). When you did get powers, they were the first person you told.
When Jordan came out to you as bigender, you did an internet deep-dive, trying to understand as much as possible.
Jordan listened to every interaction you had with your high school crush while quietly dying inside, wanting you to be happy. When your high school boyfriend cheated on you and then dumped you for the girl he cheated with, Jordan was there, ready to sink hours into their Xbox to keep you distracted.
The worst week of your life was when you didn't speak to Jordan for 9 whole days. You got into a petty argument where you called them self-absorbed and they called you clingy. The fight snowballed into yelling arguments and ended with you receiving a cold shoulder from Jordan.
When Jordan got their wisdom teeth removed, you camped out in their room, snuggled under their duvet with them to watch Property Brothers for two days straight. You even made sure they took their painkillers on time and used ice packs.
Every fight with their parents, you were outside in your car ready to pick up Jordan to stay with you. Once you showed up at their house at 6:03 am, eyes blurry with sleep and still in pyjamas. Jordan was crying, bob haircut looked messy from sleep. You drove them to Vought-A-Burger, still half asleep and ate greasy breakfast sandwiches in your car until Jordan stopped crying.
Jordan was even your date to prom, taking photos with you in their masculine form to get their parents off their back. Once their parents were happy, you snuck them back to yours, where you stashed their prom dress.
You both even applied to God U together. Too nervous to check your acceptance, Jordan checked yours and you checked theirs. Sitting across from each other on your bed you both log in before giving the laptops to each other.
“Okay, three, two, one…” you counted down, opening Jordan’s laptop. Your eyes scanned for any promising words like congratulations, or welcome. "Accepted" was the first word your eyes caught but you need to fuck with them.
“Jord… I’m so sorry.” You start. Their face falls, and you feel like a dick for doing this. But the opportunity is too good to pass up. “That you believed me! Because you got in!”
They lunged across your bed to see what the screen says. You saw Jordan's eyes scan the same letter you just read, picking out the same words.
“You’re such an asshole!” they told you, rolling their eyes, gently hitting your arm with the back of their hand
You’ve never been shy about showering Jordan with compliments. Saved in screenshots never to see the light of day, Jordan has kept some of them.
You: OMG!!! Jordan you’re so pretty. I’m so lucky to call you my friend.
You: You’re so handsome!!! I love your hair slicked back! If she doesn’t agree you need to drop her.
You: ur a solid 9/10. Lost a point for not giving me a sip of your drink yesterday lol
Jordan Li has been in love with you since age 16. Probably earlier, if they want to admit that to themselves. You’ve only ever expressed interest in men so they kept their feelings to themselves, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, figuring it was better to have you as a friend only than not at all.
In your first year, you were even roommates. While Jordan flourished in crim, you bounced between majors before settling into politics.
Every time you brought some frat guy to your shared dorm, Jordan died inside. Trying to get over their long-standing crush, Jordan did the same.
When Jordan made number 2 on the top five, you celebrate with them. Maybe a bit too hard that night.
You were there when their ranking dropped after the death of Brink. A man you only met twice, but you would do anything for Jordan. Especially given how hard you fell for both versions of them last year.
“I’m going to try to tag team with your dad, get some points for you and keep him engaged, yeah?” You ask over your shocker. Jordan is behind you, ready to help with zipper duty for your dress.
“You don’t have to.”
You let out a small scoff. “Dude. I’m doing poli supe. Schmoozing with rich people is like half our courses. Zip me up please.”
“How long have you known Jordan? You seem to be a good couple.” The man you and Jordan's dad suckered into a conversation asks. He's sitting beside Jordan's parents, while you and Jordan are on the edge of some fancy pit or table.
“Well, these two have known each other pretty well over the years. Jordan tried to kiss her when they were kids, and she hit him with her Black Noir lunch box.”
“It was a Queen Mauve lunch box, actually.” You say with a laugh.
“And she called him ‘Jojo’ for probably the next two years out of spite.” Kayla laughs. It's a special embarrassment when your parents tell stories about your childhood. All the stories are about you but it's been so long ago you can’t remember any of it. Jordan looks worse off, slouchy posture against the banister, while you sit next to him. Part of you wants to tell him to sit up straight, but you figure you can play the grief angle better this way.
“Oh, and remember when Jordan got his wisdom teeth out? You guys were inseparable. I think I still have the photo of you two passed out watching TV!” Kayla gushes, reaching for her phone to find the photo.
“We all thought you two would be president and First Gentleman.” Dad insists. Your smile is fake and tight, knowing if Paul pulls out prom photos, you would have to quietly fling yourself out of a window.
Maybe you drank a bit too much liquid courage. Maybe the tension between them and their parents was getting to you. To give Jordan some space, you took their parents for a tour of your classes, knowing they’ll be talking to your family when they go back to Rochester.
Jordan shifting doesn’t even cause you to raise an eyebrow, the subtle sound just blurs into the background.
“Or president and First Lady.” You blurt out, four pairs of eyes darting towards you. “First supes in the Whitehouse? It would be political dynamite.”
“You like this version of Jordan?” Dad asks with bewilderment.
“Of course. I like Jordan because of how smart and driven they are. I like Jordan because of their weird sense of humour. It doesn’t matter what they look like.” you say, trying to prove it to their parents, but also to them. You’ve picked up on their crush many times, too kind to say something that would embarrass them or hurt them. It’s only recently how much you found yourself staring at fem Jordan and wanting to kiss her too.
“I’m going to go and mingle some more.” says the man, Brad or Rob maybe. You forgot his name right after you met him. His words are like a bucket of cold water was dumped over you. You don’t confess your feelings to Jordan just to Jordan, but in front of their judgy parents, and a possible donner. You need to go.
You stand and straighten out your dress.
“I’m going to go too. Other donors to talk to. Go Jordan!" You finish with an awkward laugh and even more cringy go team! gesture by yourself.
You didn't lie to Jordan and their parents. You did go and talk to other donors but it twists your stomach every time you bring up how amazing their grades are, or how skillful they are at fighting. After donor number three gives you an answer that technically was “we’ll see” but heavily implied to be "yes for Jordan” you went to hide in the bathroom. You have enough battery left on your V-phone to keep it going for most of the night. Tomorrow you can talk to Jordan and hope you don’t fuck it all up.
You barely look up when the door opens, already have done too much for the day to care who it is.
‘Hey, can we talk?” You snap to attention at the voice. Of course, you know that voice. It's Jordan, still feminine presenting.
“Fuck, Jord, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have spring that on you. I promise I’ll just go back and try to get you some votes, you’re going through a lot.” You say, in a rush to get the words out, desperate not to fuck up you’re friendship. The rim of the sink is hard against your back but you can’t help but shrink into it.
“Did you mean it?” They ask, still keeping a distance from you.
“Yeah, of course, I don’t want to ruin this friendship.”
“No, what you said in front of my parents.”
Oh right. Your confession. Fuck. It's already out there, might as well keep it going.
“I may, uh-” you curse yourself for leaving your drink outside the bathroom, wanting something in your hands to stall. “-have a crush. On you. My best friend.” You twist your hands together, wishing Jordan didn’t look so pretty. If your heart beats any faster you may go into cardiac arrest.
It's Jordan that indicates your third first kiss. It's gentle, and fast, like the second one. She pulls back quickly, but you run your fingers through her hair and pull her closer. The intensity from the first first kiss is still there, only this time you both share it. Her hand smooths up to your face, thumb stroking your cheek in a silent invitation to open your mouth. You comply, and tilt your head into her palm. Her tongue sweeps into your mouth and you can taste the champagne they were drinking.
The sound of the door opening makes you both jump.
“Stall?” You ask, voice low and hushed. You squirm out from where she has you between the sink and her. You push the door open to the nicest-looking stall, desperate to keep kissing Jordan. They follow your lead eagerly, one hand wrapped around your shoulder to keep you near.
Dipping their head, they softly kiss your jaw before moving onto your neck. You silently thank the other two women arguing in the bathroom so that your gasp goes unnoticed. Giving Jordan's hair a small tug, you pull them back up to you. The shit-eating grin they flash you makes you want to almost get caught again.
Your free hand moves to their waist, trying to get as close to them as physically possible.
You pull back slightly, wanting so desperately to get lost in the moment, but the commotion in the other stall is distracting. Plus you’re nosey.
Jordan frowns when you pull away, eyes scanning your face for something they did wrong. You shake your head and tip it over to the stall.
“The fuck?” They mouth to you, hand still around your shoulder.
You gently push Jordan against the door to give yourself space to squat down. You see two pairs of feet in the stall across the wall. You hear the voices quiet down, before the sound of someone peeing. You frown slightly, weird fetish to do at a memorial gala but you hear rumours about students into more fucked up shit.
“We should get outta here.” You whisper to Jordan.
“Weird place for our third first kiss.” Jordan whispers back. You reach around them to unlock the stall door. Third first kiss. You replay the words in your head, a warm feeling blooming in your chest.
You gently push them out of the stall, trying to keep your laughs quiet as you both scurry past the other couple in the stall.
#I read it once for spelling and flow then released it to the world#jordan li x reader#jordan li x y/n#jordan li imagine#gen v x reader#gen v x y/n#gen v imagine#whew this got out of hand#time to talk about jordan
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Meeting the Team
Carol Danvers x Female Reader
Carol brings Monica and Kamala home to take refuge for an evening and to meet her wife. Fluff ensues
Note: I was just thinking about Carol having a secret wife and the lovely Monica and Kamala meeting her. Enjoy this one!
Carol Danvers Masterlist, Main Masterlist
You’re stirred from your sleep when you hear the sound of a ship landing near your house. You hope it’s Carol’s.
When you hear the sound of the front door unlocking, you roll out of bed and walk to greet her in the front room.
She’s in her suit but it looks a little worse for wear. Carol catches sight of you and the weight falls off her shoulders.
“Hey sweetheart,” Carol says softly, a smirk rests on her face.
You cross the room quickly and pull her into a hug. She flinches due to her own soreness but keeps hugging you anyways.
“Are you okay?” You ask her, grabbing her face in your hands.
“I’m okay,” she says.
Her eyes are determined. You realize she’s here just for a short time to regroup or gather some information.
“I missed you,” you say.
“I missed you,” Carol replies.
You lean in to kiss her but you stop short when you see two women, or rather one woman and one teenage girl, walk in the door behind her.
“Carol?” You alert her to the presence.
“It’s okay,” Carol says. “We’re- well I guess we’re a team.”
“We are so a team,” the teenage girl says.
Carol tries to hold back a smile but you see it on her face that she likes these teammates. She turns around and holds you by the waist.
“Y/n, this is Kamala and Monica,” Carol says.
“Wait, the Monica?” You ask. The woman’s eyes flash to Carol’s at your words.
“Yeah,” Carol says. “Our powers are entangled.”
“Right, okay. It’s nice to meet you both, come on in and make yourself comfortable,” you say.
They move to sit on the couch. Carol goes to the bathroom to freshen up first.
“What was your name again?” Monica asks you.
“Y/n,” you supply. “I’m Carol’s wife.”
“Oh my god,” Kamala says, mostly to herself.
“What?” You ask.
“Oh, she’s just a fan girl,” Monica explains. “She’ll be writing fanfiction later about Carol having a secret wife.”
You chuckle at the girl’s antics. You can’t blame her for loving Carol enough to want to create new versions of her.
“Carol and I got married a few years ago,” you say. “But we really haven’t been able to spend much time together. Planets need saving and all that.”
“Sounds familiar,” Monica says.
Carol enters the room and sits down next to you with a sigh. You want to ask more about her reuniting with Monica but that’s for another time when it’s just the two of you.
“Do you have powers?” Kamala asks. You realize this girl has a talent for breaking awkward silences.
“I do not,” you say. “Although, wrangling this one in should be considered a power.”
“Wow,” Carol says. “I’m offended.”
“Don’t be, baby,” you say. You kiss her cheek and she tries to hide her blush. “It’s a privilege to love you. Even when you run off to space for months at a time.”
“You could go with me if you want,” Carol shrugs.
“Nope. That’s your world up there. Not mine,” you reply. Carol only smiles. “Are you guys hungry?”
“Starving,” Kamala answers. “I mean no, we’re good.”
“Come with me,” you tell her.
You lead the girl into the kitchen and let her take her pick of food to eat. She settles on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Kamala asks you a few questions about Carol and your relationship. She seems genuinely excited with every answer she receives.
Monica and Carol are in the living room still. You don’t hear much talking, so you make Carol a sandwich and go get her.
“Babe, I made you a sandwich,” you say. “Please eat at least half. I know you haven’t been remembering to eat a lot.”
“I’m fine,” Carol says. “I get enough.”
“Go.” You leave no room for argument. She sighs and goes to the kitchen. That leaves you alone with Monica.
The woman is sitting on the couch. You know from her vantage point that she can see the framed photo of Maria that Carol keeps on the shelf.
“I’m sorry to hear about your mom,” you say, not really knowing what to say.
“Oh, thanks,” she replies.
“You know I think Carol has some more pictures around here somewhere,” you say. “Maybe next time you come by we can look for them.”
“Yeah,” Monica says noncommittally.
“Do you need anything? A drink, food, medicine?” You ask.
“Thank you. I’m okay,” Monica says.
“Are you sure? I can tell Carol is sore so I can imagine you all are,” you say.
“You can tell that about her just from looking at her?”
“From the hug. She flinched,” you explain. “She never admits she’s hurting, but I know she is. Although, I do see a part of her healing. Probably from reuniting with you. She seems happier.”
Monica nods. She knows that this has meant a lot to Carol. It means a lot to her too, but right now she’s still a bit hardened to the idea of being in her presence again.
Carol and Kamala come back into the room before you can say anything else. You help show them where to sleep and then end up back your bedroom with Carol.
She changes into some pajamas and snuggles into bed next to you. You rest your head against her shoulder.
“How long?” You ask her.
“Just until morning,” Carol replies. “I need to fix a part of my ship. And I wanted to see you.”
“How are you doing with this whole Monica thing?”
Carol takes a deep breath. She hasn’t really had time to stop and think about it.
“I’m okay I think,” she says. “I’m good. It’s amazing how she’s grown up to be so wonderful.”
“Yeah? She has powers, that’s insane.”
“I know,” Carol says. “I didn’t know that until I saw her with Fury. She’s really a great person too. I definitely couldn’t keep Kamala as safe without her.”
“What’s the deal with Kamala? She’s a kid who loves you?” You ask, a chuckle escaping from your lips.
“Apparently,” Carol sighs. “But I really don’t feel like I’m a good role model for her. Maybe she’s seeing that in the choices I’ve already had to make in front of her.”
“Hey, you always do your best. Sacrifices are necessary. You know that, baby,” you try to encourage her. “The way that girl looks at you definitely makes me know that she looks up to you.”
Carol kisses your head and rubs a hand over your back. It’s slightly warmer than normal, meaning she’s using her powers to help you relax.
“We need some sleep,” Carol says.
“We do,” you reply. “Hey, don’t let me forget to tell Kamala in the morning about how we met.”
“Oh god, she’s going to write a story about it,” Carol says. “Whatever fanfiction is.”
“It’s fantastic,” you reply.
“You know what it is?”
“Of course, babe.”
“And you’ve read it?” She asks. You nod. “About me?”
“No,” you laugh out. “I don’t need to when I have you already, my love. Although, I do need some new content.”
Carol grins mischievously. She’s sent you countless videos, pictures, and voice memos over the years. But it has been a while since she has done that for you.
“Tell you what, when this thing is over I’m coming back home for a while,” she says. “And we can spend our time doing whatever we want.”
“I’d love that,” you say. “Goodnight, my love.”
“Goodnight, my beautiful wife,” Carol replies.
You kiss her lips for a few minutes before you both feel the weight of sleep fall over you.
When you wake in the morning, you spend a few more hours with Carol, Kamala, and Monica. The goodbye is always hard, but you know Carol will come back to you. She always does.
#carol danvers x reader#carol danvers fluff#carol danvers#kamala khan#monica rambeau#I miss these ladies so bad#the marvels#captain marvel
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“Power Struggle”
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader
Rating: M
Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Word Count: 7.2k
Summary: For months, you and SSA Aaron Hotchner have been toeing the boundary between romance and your careers. When the unsub that's been killing women in Michigan by way of replicating Zeus' punishments from Greek mythology takes you as his next victim, it's up to Hotch and the rest of the BAU team to find you before it's too late. Hurt/comfort and angst with happy ending.
Tags: graphic depictions of violence, reader kidnapped by unsub, blood, implied SA, nudity, electrocution, scarring, hospitals
“You’re telling me someone is out here killing people to recreate, what? Greek legends?” Sheriff McCullen’s brow pinches as he shakes his head.
“Legends are stories often loosely based on a real person or event to teach us a lesson. Mythology is based on supernatural or sacred lore and explains why things came to be. It’s a common mistake.” Reid speaks quickly and methodically, as if reciting from a textbook. “It’s straight out of the mythos,” he explains, his voice tinged with something akin to excitement as he approaches the whiteboard where photos of the victims had been pinned up for review. Using a ballpoint pen as a pointer, he taps the first image of the first victim. “Regina Manford, she was found tied to a boulder in Craig Lake State Park with her liver removed. Animal predation showed birds had pecked at her while she was still alive. In Greek mythology, Zeus did this to Prometheus to exact revenge on him after he stole fire to give to man.”
Reid moves on to the next victim, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he did so. “Sarah Walters was found bound to an old water wheel that had been set on fire. Greek Mythology suggests this is a copy of Zeus’ punishment for Ixion.”
“And what did he do to deserve that?” asks the sheriff.
Reid’s lips form a tight line. “He was invited into Zeus’ home on Olympus. After attempting to seduce his wife, Hera, Zeus punished him by binding him to a wheel of fire cursed to spin forever toward the underworld. She might’ve smiled or even looked at him, and in his delusion believed she was a seductress deserving of punishment.”
“So, what? This guy sees himself as some sort of god?”
“We believe that is his delusion, yes,” answers Emily. “Each victim also bore signs of sexual trauma, this is something Zeus is also renowned for in the mythology. Our unsub thinks he’s infallible and that these women’s lives and deciding when and how these women live and die is his divine right.”
“Do we know if there will be more victims?” asks one of the detectives.
You step forward from your place between Morgan and Hotchner. “Given the number of victims Zeus punished within the mythology, we can assume he is not finished. These kills are two weeks apart. It’s been twelve days since the last body was found. We can only assume he’s currently hunting for his next victim. And when he finds one, he convinces her to go to a second location. It's once they leave the primary location that he attacks. In each case, the victim suffered a blow to the head, leaving a uniquely shaped gash in her forehead. This suggests that he strikes them with a distinct blunt object or even a ring that’s on his hand.”
“We need every man out on the streets,” Hotch states, his eyes hard as he scans the group of law enforcement gathered to receive the profile. “He stalks his victims in the city, often on the weekends when night life is busiest. He’s charming. He has no problem approaching women because he views himself as a deity and carries himself with the arrogance and confidence of one. He’s white, in his early to mid 30s, good looking, charming, and likely has a career that would’ve provided him with medical training.”
A female detective with short blonde hair sticks her pencil in the air. “How do we know that?”
“The incisions made on Regina’s body were clean, precise, and showed no signs of hesitation,” explains Rossi. “The M.E. also informed us that the hepatic artery was clamped off, meaning,” Rossi hesitates before continuing on, “meaning Regina Mansford was alive as her liver was being cut from her body.”
An uncomfortable murmuring breaks out. Hotch raises a hand, silencing them. Your mouth goes dry and you swallow, hoping your team doesn’t notice the way your eyes dilate when you look at him and the silent way in which he can command a room.
“This is why we need every available officer on the streets. Increase units in the downtown area. Have plain clothes officers on the streets. That’s where we’ll be. Thank you.” Hotch tucks his head and sweeps out of the bullpen, the rest of the team trailing after him into the conference room.
“Where do you want us?” asks Morgan as you shut the door to the conference room.
“Reid, I want you here working the geographical profile. See if there’s anything we missed that could bring us closer to a precise location where he’s kidnapping his victims. Rossi and JJ, I want you to go back to Sarah’s apartment and see if we missed anything that tells us where she was exactly on the night she was kidnapped. Derek and Emily take the north side of downtown.” He inclines his head toward you. “You and I will take the south side.”
His eyes linger on yours a moment longer than they ought to have. You dip your head and swiftly exit the room, jacket in hand as you prepare to brave not only the frigid Michigan cold but working one one-on-one with Hotch. This had been going on for months; subtle looks, brief touches where his fingers would slide over yours while passing off a case file…yet a part of you still wasn’t sure if it would ever go any further than that. You spend so much of your time with the team, it would be so easy to mistake one gesture for something that it wasn’t. Yet you knew that wasn’t true. You know behavior. You’re trained to recognize the subtlest of shifts in demeanor and body language and you know exactly what is going on.
You jump as someone pushes through the front door of the precinct. Emily’s gentle laugh disrupts your rumination. “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She moves to stand closer to you as she zips her jacket. “The guys went to grab the cars.”
You nod and shove your hands in your pockets.
Emily arches a perfectly manicured brow. “What’s up?”
You school your expression and feign nonchalance. “Nothing, I just want to catch this guy before he hurts anyone else.”
Emily’s brow furrows and then straightens, a glimmer of knowing in her eye. “Something tells me there’s a different guy on your mind.”
Your heart skips a beat and you nearly choke on the crisp winter air. “What? I don’t—“ Your words falter as Derek and Hotch arrive, the SUVs humming to a gentle stop at the curb.
Emily eyes you, a sly smile curving one side of her red lips. “We’ll talk later.” She winks and steps forward to open the passenger side door, sliding inside and disappearing into the dark interior.
As you turn to move toward the SUV, Hotch is there, opening the door for you. The gesture surprises you, but it shouldn’t. He’d been doing little things like this for weeks now. You nod your head in thanks and as you turn your body to slide past him, his hand catches your hip. Your breath hitches in your throat as his fingers glide against the small of your back, guiding your movement into the vehicle.
His hard eyes meet yours as he shuts the door and you’re grateful for the shadows inside the car as you feel your face flush bright red. Hotch slides into the driver’s seat with ease. He shifts the car into gear and pulls onto the road, heading in the direction of downtown.
After a few minutes, you open your mouth to disrupt the silence, but his cell rings. Hotch answers and places it on speaker as JJ’s voice floats through the receiver, “Hotch, we think we’ve got something at Sarah Walters apartment.”
“What’s that?” you ask.
“There’s a sticky note in her trash can,” a garbled sound echoes through the speaker as she shifts the phone. The sound of paper crinkles as she reads, “Tony’s at 9, does that mean anything? Has Garcia come across a Tony in any of her research into the victims’ lives? Maybe an Anthony?”
An image of a neon sign flashes across your mind’s eye. “It’s a bar,” you say matter-of-factly.
“A bar?”
“I remember seeing the sign on our drive-in. It’s a bar on the south side of downtown. That could be where he’s meeting these women.”
“We’re only a few blocks away, we’ll head there now. Thank you, JJ.” He hangs up and slips the phone into his jacket pocket.
“How do you want to play this?” you ask.
“We go in, make observations, see if we can identify anyone that matches the profile.”
You smirk and a small laugh escapes your lips.
“Something funny?” Hotch asks, his voice low in his throat.
You purse your lips, pausing before you proceed. “If we go in looking like feds, we’ll scare this guy away.” You tilt your head, considering. “Well, one of us anyway.”
A slight twitch in his brow is the only indication your words have just barely gotten under his skin. “Touched a nerve, sir?”
As the traffic light ahead blinks red, he eases the car to a stop. He breathes out slowly, the amber glow of the stoplight reflecting in his eyes. In less than two heartbeats, he thrusts the car into park and with both hands clasps your face, drawing you in to kiss you with such fervor white spots dot your vision. It takes a moment to process the heat of his mouth on yours and the way his tongue slides between your lips, and before you can truly reciprocate the light turns green and he pulls back, his breathing ragged against your mouth as his forehead touches yours. “Be careful when and how you choose to call me sir.”
Before you can exhale, his eyes are on the road again and you’re driving deeper into downtown.
“Understood,” and then you add, almost imperceptibly, “sir.”
A small smile quirks at the corner of his lips, but he says nothing more as you approach your destination.
It's nearing 9:30pm when you pull up on the street parallel to Tony’s. People trickle in and out of the bar in groups of twos and threes; most are young, in their mid to late twenties.
“Right,” you say as you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to exit the vehicle. “Stay here.”
“Excuse me?” Hotch asks, reaching over your lap and grabbing your wrist to stay your hand from popping the door open. Your breathing stills and he just barely turns his face toward yours. “Since when do you give me orders?”
Unsure where the confidence to challenge him comes from, you lean in near his ear. You swallow once before speaking. “I think you like taking them.” Feeling incredibly brazen, you nip at his ear once and as the unexpected gesture disarms him; flick your wrist out of his grasp and pop the door open. You slide out of the car and are immediately greeted by the frigid January air eliciting goosebumps up and down your arms. Extending an arm overhead to hang on to the frame of the SUV; you lean down into the cab of the vehicle. “I’ve got you right here,” you say as you tap the hidden earpiece. “Let me know if you see anyone from the outside that fits the profile.”
Hotch eyes you and there’s a fierceness in his gaze. You wonder if he’s thinking of how he’ll ultimately retaliate for your little role reversal now that he’s gone and upped the ante in this little game of cat and mouse. “See you soon,” you wink and slam the door shut.
As you approach the bar, you make sure your coat is buttoned in a way that hides your sidearm and credentials from sight. The bouncer doesn’t even pretend to ask for an ID as you approach and move through the front door with ease. As you cross through the threshold, your senses are assaulted by the smell of beer on tap, the sharp tang of liquor, grease, and an amalgamation of perfumes and colognes.
Immediately you begin scanning the room. You note the layout of the bar: three exits for patrons, the one you just came in through, one near the bathrooms for cigarette smokers, and an emergency exit on the far right wall near to the kitchen. There are three pool tables all of which are occupied as well as three dart boards along the far wall. Groups of friends engage one another and dates carry on without a hitch. You approach the bar, which is centered along the far wall. Stools line the high countertop and behind the bar, two women work to fulfill the never-ending drink orders. You approach the bar and slide into one of the empty seats, relaxing your shoulders as you do so, and order a rum and coke that you don’t plan on drinking.
After a moment the bartender drops a cocktail napkin in front of you and places the drink on top. You thank her and stir the contents of the drink with the swizzle stick popped inside.
“Is this seat taken?” an unfamiliar voice causes the hair on the back of your neck to prickle and you know immediately that it’s him.
Painting on a saccharine sweet smile, you turn toward the voice. A white man, standing at about 6’2”, is smiling down at you. The neon lights behind the bar reflect in his blue-gray eyes and his honey blonde hair falls in soft waves to his shoulders. “Please,” you say demurely and gesture toward the seat. You tell him your name and continue smiling.
“Ronan Carlson,” he introduces himself as he slides in beside you and adjusts the lapels on his leather jacket, a fake Rolex peeking out from his sleeve. He’s preening, you think to yourself. The bartender approaches from behind the bar and he smiles, the curve of his lips the opening act of his charming performance. “I’ll have what she’s having, thank you.” He pulls a roll of cash from the inner pocket of his jacket, flips through several bills, and pulls a $100 bill free before sliding it across the counter to her.
The bartender’s eyes widen in surprise and he winks at her. She nods her thanks and turns to make his drink.
“That was very kind of you,” I say, stirring my drink for the thirteenth time.
He shrugs and tips the baseball cap he’s wearing down over his eyes and you know it’s to obstruct the view the cameras have of him. “It’s only money, and I think I may have made her night.” He inclines his head toward the bartender whose head is bent close to the other woman’s. She’s smiling wide and shows her the $100 bill.
Internally, you roll your eyes hard, but externally you smile and look at him from beneath your lashes. “You must have a great job, what do you do for work?”
His hand flexes as he sets his drink down on the counter and you note the two chunky platinum rings he wears on his right hand. There are symbols etched into them offset by different colored stones, but you don’t want him to catch you staring as he answers, “I’m in business for myself these days,” he says with no further explanation. “Though I used to be in the military.”
You feign surprise, though you were hopeful he’d continue to divulge information. “The military, wow. Let me guess,” you pause and allow your eyes to slowly scan him from head to toe. You remember the profile. “Army…medic.”
“Reign it in,” you hear Hotchner’s voice through the earpiece. “Be mindful of how much you reveal to him. Don’t let him know you know more about him than he’s letting on.”
You watch him assess you and your read into him. One blonde brow creeps up toward his hairline and that wicked smile curves his lips again. “Excellent guess, how do you figure?”
Leaning on to your forearms, you push your drink aside and slide your hand over his and you don’t miss the way his fingers tense at your touch.
“It’s the hands,” you say coyly. “You look like you know how to handle yourself.” He relaxes under your touch and a heat ignites in his eyes that makes your stomach churn, but you don’t let it show on your face. “You look like you know how to handle a lot of things.”
He licks his lips and turns the ring on his finger. “Tell you what,” he says as he picks up his drink. He places the glass to his lips and downs its contents. “Why don’t we get out of here?” He looks down at you from beneath dark lashes. “And I’ll show you just how much I can handle.”
You stand up and flash him a grin. “Let me quickly freshen up and I’ll meet you out front.”
His lips quirk into a smirk, “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”
You smile as you slip away toward the bathroom. As you push through the crowd you inform Hotch that the unsub is on his way out.
“There’s a line growing out the door,” he answers over the earpiece. “Does the description match the profile?”
“To a T,” you answer as you push past a couple with their tongues in each other's mouths. The amount of patrons has increased dramatically over the last hour. The volume of the music makes it hard to hear through the earpiece. You push your way into the restroom and are surprised to find it empty. Fortunately, the outside noise is muffled. You begin to describe Ronan’s appearance and note the jacket and hat he’s wearing. “He’s wearing two oddly shaped rings,” you add. “I think it’s what’s caused the unusual injury to the victims’ faces.”
“I’ve got him. He’s cutting through the line toward the parking lot.” You hear the car door open and slam.
“Got it, I’ll be right there.”
“Good work,” Hotch says over the open line.
You smile to yourself as you unbutton your jacket, glad to be on the receiving end of his praise. For a split second you wonder what else you could be on the receiving end of if you continue to play this game with him. After the case, you remind yourself. Priorities. Priority number one is getting this sick bastard off the street, and he’s right here within your grasp. You shoulder the door as you reach for your gun, positioning your thumb over the rotating hood to dislodge your weapon from its holster.
Over the speakers, an employee is calling to celebrate someone’s birthday. The crowd is distracted and pushing toward the source of celebration. The bar erupts into an off key rendition of Happy Birthday but you don’t hear it as 30,000 volts of electricity course through your veins. Your muscles spasm and lock up as you fall forward. Pain radiates from your abdomen in waves that crash over you again and again. You try to tell your body what to do as strong arms catch you and pull you into a chest that smells like cigarette smoke, but your limbs don’t cooperate. You feel his nose root into your hair as his lips find your ear. “How’s that for capable?”
As he shoulders your weight and steers you out through the emergency exit you hear Hotch’s voice in your ear. “It’s not him!” There’s an edge of panic in his voice as he says your name. “Do you copy? It’s not him. He gave another man $500 to wear his hat and jacket into the parking lot. It’s not him. Do you have eyes on him?”
Dark spots the edges of your vision as he drags your dead body weight. You try to focus all of your ability on getting out any words that can signal to Hotchner what’s happening, any at all but your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.”
You hear the tinkling of keys and a door slide open. Pain rattles through your skull as he throws you into the back of whatever vehicle he’s operating. Pain slices through your wrists as zip ties slice through the skin there. Through tunnel vision you see him leering at you. He’s backlit by the streetlights.
As his fist flies toward you, you finally manage one word.
“Aaron.”
•
When you come to, the first thing you feel before the splitting pain in your head threatens to cleave your mind in two, is cold.
Your mouth is dry, but as you move to lick your lips you realize you can’t because there’s a gag in your mouth. You try to move your hands, but they’re bound too. Zip ties cut into each wrist, securing them at your sides on the legs of a wooden chair. When you try to shift the chair, you learn that it’s bolted to the floor and your legs are spread open; zip ties at your knees and ankles keep them apart. Except for your bra and underwear, you’re naked. He undressed you. You feel the wound from the stun gun before you glance down at your stomach and see the two bloody pinpricks in your abdomen. You feel your heart rate increase as panic begins to set in. Do not panic , you tell yourself as you take a steadying breath. The minute you start to panic, you’re dead. You close your eyes and piece together the last dredges of your memory.
Tony’s. Sitting at the bar. The unsub. Ronan. Hotch was in pursuit. And then there was just pain.
Hotch.
The pain in your skull is overwhelming and you’re not sure if you can feel the earpiece anymore.
“Hotch,” you attempt to say through the gag. “Hotch, do you read me?”
You close your eyes as hot tears brim along your lash line when there’s no response. The signal is out of range or the unsub found the earpiece and removed it.
A door creaks open on squeaky hinges and your eyes dart toward the source of the sound. Ronan walks through the door with a sick smile on his face. As he saunters toward you, he rolls the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows. Without looking away from you, his arm drops to his side and he scoops a folding metal chair with one hand, carrying it with him as he edges closer to you.
You flinch as he cracks the chair down in front of you, forcing it open. He chuckles as he takes a seat. His eyes skirt the length of your body and you wish any limb were free to deliver a blow to his smug face.
He reaches into his back pocket and withdraws your badge. He flips it open and holds it up to your face, the way his eyes flit between you and your credentials makes your lip curl.
“An FBI agent,” he says slowly. He slaps your credentials shut against his denim-clad thighs. “Hot damn!” he shouts and whoops. He throws your badge to the wayside and it clatters against the cement floor. “I’m going to take my time with you.”
It could’ve been hours. It could’ve been minutes. The torture is unrelenting and the pain is unending. Your chest heaves as you brace yourself for the next surge of electricity. Ronan, if that’s even his real name, twists the knob on the amplifier and taps the jumper cable clamps in his hands together. He smiles when he hears the buzz of electricity between them. As he presses them into your thighs, you cry out in pain as the shockwaves paralyze your body and mind and the pain overwhelms you.
“YES!” he roars as he pulls them away from you. He’d taken his flannel off, but now he peels off his t-shirt, balls it up, and uses it to wipe the sweat off of his face.
With the voltage no longer coursing through your veins, you slump forward, chest heaving as your scrambled brain fights to stay alert.
He drops the cables and clasps your face in his hand, forcing your chin up to meet his wild eyes. “You just don’t quit, do you? You're special.” He strokes your cheeks with his thumbs as if he cherishes what he’s doing to you. “You are worthy of a god.”
When you come to Ronan is watching you. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands.
“She wakes,” he muses.
You glare at him and his brow pinches. He purses his lips together like he’s been stung, but his eyes are alight with amusement.
“You,” he says, gesturing up and down your body, “look beautiful.”
You don’t need to look down to know the number of bloodied burn wounds spanning the lengths of your legs. If you couldn’t keep track of any other thought, the count was all that kept you grounded. There were ten. Five on each leg. Your wrists and ankles bled from the way you’d pulled against them with every shock he delivered.
He reaches forward and this time you don’t flinch. He hooks two fingers into the gag and pulls it down over your chin, his fingers trailing your lips as he does so.
“Here,” he says, bringing a bottle of water to your lips. “Drink.”
You clamp your lips shut and turn your face away. He laughs and shakes his head. “Come on now, don’t refuse me. That’s not how you show gratitude when a god shows you mercy.”
You muster as much hatred into your stare as you focus your attention back on him. “Mercy?” you hiss, and your voice is hoarse from screaming against the gag. It hurts to speak. You pull against your restraints. “This is what you call mercy?”
“I’m only testing you to see if you’re worthy,” he says by way of explanation. "You've lasted longer than the others."
“Worthy of what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.
“To be my Hera.”
“How is what you’re doing to me, what you did to those other women, going to help you find her?”
“They weren’t worthy,” he answered. “They couldn’t take my power like you could, my lightning. They were false. They needed to be punished.”
He leans in, his lips close enough to yours that you can feel his smoky breath on your skin. “But you, you deserve to be rewarded.” Your skin bristles at his words. His lips find your jawline and you grimace as he drags them up the side of your face. When he pulls away, dried blood flakes onto his skin.
“Don’t be afraid,” he soothes as he smoothes your sweat-drenched hair away from your face. “You’ll enjoy it.”
Unable to suffer any more of his poisonous bullshit, you rear your head back and slam it forward. Pain explodes behind your forehead, but it’s worth it to hear the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. He roars in pain and clutches his bleeding nose. White light blinds you as he backhands you and curses your name. His ring splits the skin of your cheek open. The force of the blow causes you to bite your lip and you feel your teeth cut into the chapped skin there. You spit blood at him, angering him further.
“You are false!” he screams, spittle flying from his mouth as he shoves the gag back into your mouth. “You are not her!” He moves to pick up the jumper cables, twisting the knob of the amplifier all the way up causing the bulbs overhead to flicker. You know this is it. If he touches you with those, it will kill you.
Bracing yourself for the killing blow, you go to the grave knowing you did not give in to this bastard.
It never lands.
Instead, three shots ring out and he’s falling to the floor dead at your feet. As the unsub’s body falls, Hotchner’s frame comes into view and a choked sob escapes your lips. He holsters his weapon and runs to you. Emily and Morgan are right behind him. Morgan passes Hotch a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and he makes quick work of the zip ties binding you to the chair. From the corner of your eye, you see Emily turn off the amplifier and check Ronan’s pulse.
Unable to hold yourself up, you fall forward into his ready arms, letting yours fall over his shoulders. Hotch drops to his knee to support your weight. “You’re okay,” he says as he pulls the gag free from your mouth and you sob into his chest. He smooths your hair back from your face, his eyes assessing the damage done to you. Blood stains his shirt, your blood.
“Morgan, your jacket.” Hotch orders.
Without hesitation, Morgan unfastens his bulletproof vest and unzips his jacket. He passes it to Hotch who drapes it around your shoulders in an attempt to preserve some of your modesty.
“I need a medic!” he shouts before directing his attention back to you.
Your eyes waver as you try to keep them open. You lock in on the depths of his warm brown eyes. “You’re going to be fine,” he says but his voice sounds far away.
“He wanted someone to be his Hera,” you say weakly.
“Don’t worry about that right now,” Hotch soothes.
You swallow and it hurts your throat to do so. Your lips crack open, “You found me.”
Hotch cradles your head against his chest. “Of course I did.”
You wince as the sound of a gurney crashes into the room, the metal wheels squealing as it draws near. Your head swims as you’re swept into the air and laid out on its cushiony bed. A light shines in your eyes and voices are overlapping. Blindly, you use what strength you have left to drop your hand off the side. Unable to focus your attention on where he is, you know he’ll hear you. “Don’t leave me.”
And as you lose consciousness, you feel his hand slip into yours.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
•
A steady beeping fills your ears as you slowly come to. Your eyes feel bruised and you don’t think you have it in you to open them, but you feel something around your wrists and bolt upright. Pain crashes over you in a wave. It was a dream. You’re still bound in that basement. The beeping increases, growing louder and faster. Someone says your name and you feel hands on your shoulders. You try to swing your fist and are surprised when your arm follows through and makes contact with flesh. Did you break through the zip ties? You hear your name again, clearer this time. A man. He’s asking you to stop, to relax.
“It’s me,” he repeats and says your name again. “You’re safe. You’re in the hospital.” He says your name again. “It’s me, it’s Aaron.”
You stop fighting and blink hard. Hotchner’s stern face comes into view, except there’s concern wavering in the depths of his brown eyes. His brow softens as you relax. A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “Hey there,” he says. A nurse rushes into the room and he raises a hand, “We’re fine, here. Thank you.”
The nurse looks at you and you nod. She looks unsure about leaving but ultimately relents. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.”
Aaron cups the back of your head in one of his hands and gently begins to lower you back down onto the pillows behind you. You allow him to guide you and feel the tension ease from your muscles as your back sinks into the surprisingly plush hospital pillow.
As the adrenaline wears off, you’re finally able to take stock of your injuries as the pain quickly makes itself known. You feel your pulse beating in your skull, pounding at your temples, eyebrow, and cheekbone. With shaky fingers, you touch the places where you remember the unsub striking you. You feel a thick bandage taped over your right eyebrow and steri-strips over your cheek. Your lip is swollen from where you bit it.
Bandages encircle your wrists and there’s an IV stuck in your hand. You’ve been dressed in a hospital gown and the sheets are drawn up to your waist covering the burn wounds. You don't have to see them to know how bad they look. The pain is telling enough.
“Is he dead?” you ask, lowering your hand back down to the bed.
Hotch’s lips form a tight line. “Yes.”
You blink back tears as that information sinks in. “Good,” you whisper in a choked voice. You blink and allow your head to loll to the side. A colorful bouquet of roses and carnations dotted with plastic ladybugs and butterflies sits in a clear vase on the side table.
You smile, “Garcia?”
Hotch smiles in turn. “It was tough to convince her to go home and get some sleep, but I promised her I wouldn’t leave you alone. Even then, it was still a hard-fought battle.”
You chuckle and wince as the movement irritates your injuries.
Hotch telegraphs his next move, and you know it’s to avoid startling you. He cups his hand over your uninjured cheek and strokes the skin there with his thumb.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, and his voice sounds tired and pained. “I should’ve gone inside with you.”
“Hotch, don’t.” You reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrist. “Don’t do that to yourself. He didn’t know I was with the FBI until after he took me. If you’d been there, he might’ve pegged us as law enforcement and taken off. He might still be out there and we’d be finding another dead woman in a matter of days. You know I’m right.”
Hotch closes his eyes and heaves a heavy sigh. “I could hear you.”
“What?” you whisper. You try to sit up and wince as the movement stings the wounds in your legs and abdomen. Hotch stands and helps adjust the pillows behind your back before sitting back down in the chair at your bedside.
“Not for very long. He drove out of range, but I heard him speaking to you. I heard the blows land. I heard your head smack against the floor when he threw you in the van.” He stops and shakes his head. “I felt so helpless. I was afraid. I couldn’t get to you, just like,��� his voice catches in his throat. “just like I couldn’t get to Haley.”
Your heart breaks for him as he speaks. You reach for his hand and take it, squeezing it. “Aaron, you did get to me. You saved my life.”
He clears his throat and swallows. “Yes, but we were almost too late.”
“But you weren’t,” you state, your tone firm. “Aaron, look at me.”
He hesitates and inhales deeply before lifting his gaze to yours. The corners of his eyes soften as he meets yours and you smile. You gently tug his hand, “Come here.”
Hotch glances toward the door and then back at you, “The doctor—“
“Isn’t going to do shit,” you finish. “I’m the one that endured hours of torture. Pretty sure I’m allowed some close comfort.”
He lets out a shallow laugh. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Standing, he shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. With one hand he loosens his tie until he’s able to pull it up and over his head. He tosses it onto the chair and circumnavigates the bed, assessing the best way to join you on the small mattress.
You groan as you slide over. Hotch reaches out to stop you but you silence him with a pointed look. “Mind the IV,” you say as you pat the space beside you.
Hotch acquiesces, using the tips of his fingers to raise the IV drip enough for him to slide into bed beside you. He slips an arm around you and drops the feed. It falls across his torso. The feel of his arm around you is comforting, like a security blanket, like safety. You relax into him, and rest your head on his chest. His lips brush against your bandaged brow.
“Not quite how I imagined we’d first be sharing a bed,” you joke softly as you nuzzle in deeper against the wide plane of his chest.
You feel him smile against your hair. “Only you could joke at a time like this.”
“If I can’t laugh at what’s happened, I’ll never be able to close my eyes at night.”
“Well, if that’s the case.” He rubs the bare skin of your arm in small circles. “I’ll be there until you can.”
You turn your head to look at him then, your heart full. This is happening. His eyes are on yours and you push yourself toward him ever so slightly. He closes the small gap between you and presses his lips to yours. It wasn’t hungry and primal like the kiss in the car. There would be plenty of time for that later. This kiss was light, tender…healing.
“Sir, I’m sorry. I tried to go home, I really did but as soon as I got there I—” Garcia’s voice abruptly cuts off. You look up and her initial look of surprise turns to one of abject joy.
You feel your cheeks flush as Emily and Morgan appear in the doorway behind her. Morgan’s eyes widen and Emily’s brow arches as a smile curves her lips.
“I, uh, brought backup.” Penelope giggles. She remembers she’s holding something. “And cookies! I couldn’t sleep, so I baked. I figured I could bribe you into going home and getting some sleep.” Her words leave her mouth at a mile a minute. “I thought you’d fight me on it, so I brought some muscle.” She gestures with a tilt of her head. “They’re the muscle.”
Morgan exhales and points a finger at you and Hotch. “Can someone explain to me what’s going on here?”
Emily elbows him and he drops his arm. She takes the tray from Garcia and walks it over to the side table where she places it next to the flowers. She winks at you as she turns back to Garcia and Morgan. “It’s about time,” she says.
Penelope laughs as she hooks her arm in Emily’s. “What's it been? Two, three months?”
Morgan guffaws. “Months?”
Penelope pats his face with a ring-adorned hand. “My sweet oblivious profiler. Come on, hot stuff.” She takes him by the hand and leads him from the room. Emily shakes her head and laughs. “Men.”
“Safe to say the team knows.”
Hotch releases a breathy laugh and kisses your forehead again. “I know what will be the first thing on the agenda at tomorrow’s debriefing.”
•
6 weeks. It had been 6 weeks since you’d pressed the elevator button that would bring you back to the office. The weight of your gun feels right where it sits upon your hip, your gait more familiar to you now than when it wasn’t holstered to your side. You nervously adjust the grip on your go bag. You’d packed and repacked it the night before.
This morning as you were getting out of the shower, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your cheek had healed nicely though the skin on your brow that had been split by the unsub’s ring had scarred, severing the tail end of your eyebrow from the rest of it. The ligature marks around your wrists and ankles had healed and the skin was smooth once more. The stun gun had scarred your abdomen, but all that remained were two purple pinpricks of scar tissue no bigger than the size of an infant’s thumbnail.
Your legs are a different story. The front of your thighs are an array of mottled scar tissue. One burn had gone so deep that they’d needed to graft skin from your calf to salvage it. The wounds no longer hurt physically, but you’d woken up from nightmares on more than one occasion.
You were never alone though. Garcia worked remotely on secure laptops with VPNs as often as she was able. Rossi brought you home-cooked Italian at least twice a week and talked with you over numerous glasses of red wine. Reid brought black-and-white foreign existentialist films that you didn’t understand, but his enthusiasm as he watched made you happy all the same. Emily and Morgan brought coffee and donuts as often as they could and Hotch…if he wasn’t at the office or visiting Jack, he was with you. On several occasions, he brought Jack. Jack would sit on the bed beside you, playing with his toys, narrating the adventures of his action figures as Aaron stood in the doorway, smiling. At night, when you had woken in a cold sweat, Aaron was there with a washcloth to wipe it away. When the bandages had stuck to your burn wounds and it felt like your skin was being peeled apart, he got your pain medicine and helped change the dressings, holding you until the pain had passed.
You blink as the elevator dings, signaling you’ve reached your destination. You take a deep breath and smooth down the front of your blouse as the door opens wide. Everything looks the same, yet everything feels like it's changed as you approach the desk you occupy perpendicular to Emily’s. A smile crosses your lips as you see the Welcome Bac k card on your desk. Two vases of flowers sit behind the card. One is almost exactly like the one from the hospital so you know it’s from Garcia. The other, a bouquet of purple tulips, has a note attached to it. You open the note and read it.
Glad to have you back. Things haven’t been the same around here without you. -AH
Hotch. You should’ve known. You smile and tuck the note into your purse.
“Hey, hey, look who’s finally decided to get her ass back to work.” Morgan’s charming laugh is followed by Emily chastising him.
“Ignore him,” she says as she places a steaming mug of coffee on your desk.
“You’re a godsend,” you say by way of thanks and take a long drink. Two sugars, no milk, just the way you like. “Wow, Emily, that’s perfect. I needed this.”
“How come you don’t remember how I take my coffee?” Morgan asks pointedly.
She shrugs, “Chicks before dicks, Derek.”
You sputter and choke on your coffee.
“Look,” he says as he pats you on the back. “Her first day back and you’re gonna kill her.”
At that moment JJ passes by with a file in hand. She raises it in the air and gestures to the conference room. “We got a case.” She smiles at you warmly. “It’s good to have you back.”
Together, you, Morgan, and Emily enter the conference room where Reid, Hotch, and Rossi have already gathered. Once you’re all sat, JJ begins presenting the case. You review current victims and why the Sacramento Police Department has invited you onto the case
“Sacramento PD is expecting us this afternoon. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us. Wheels up in thirty, understood?”
A chorus of ‘yes sirs’ echo throughout the room. As the team gathers their belongings and moves to leave, you wait for Hotch to catch your eye. You wink at him before mouthing, “Yes, sir.”
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Bunny I was randomly thinking about slow sex with Miguel with the !Cradle Sex Position! 🥺
i had to google what that was and omg the fucking fire that starting in my stomach AHHHHHH
also there were a bunch of diff photos so i hope this is the one you were talking about
warning 18+ - an animated photo of the position is below the cut
not proofread and probably some improper grammar CUS THIS WAS JUST SUPPOSED TO BE A BLURB
wc: 1k
it'd be really emotional sex. like maybe you almost died on a mission, ohh- like andrew garfield's spider-man! you were falling like that and Miguel had seen that canon event for other spiders so many times that he thought this was it- that no matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries, how quickly he shoots his web it wont reach you, he wont catch you, you're gonna die and it's his fault. but then his web reaches you and you're shaken up but completely safe.
he doesnt leave you alone for the rest of the day. he becomes worse than your shadow because at least your shadow can't insist your keep one part of your body on his at all times.
once you guys get home you ask him why he's so worked up and bent outta shape by what happened today and he breaks down. tears begin to stream down his face despite how aggressively he's trying to rub them away and you force him to sit down and explain himself to you.
you’re being so gentle as you comfort him, so caring and loving in a way he’s never felt before. so ofc he gets hard 🥳
he pulls you into his lap slowly and just stares at the shocked expression on your face once you feel that he’s hard. you’re sitting across his lap because of how he pulled you in. your legs run off the sides of his thighs as his legs stay planted on the ground.
he readjusts himself, slides down a bit and spreads his legs before wrapping a thick arm behind your thighs, one behind your back and slowly folding you up for him. he turns you so your back is to his chest but you can still hold the eye contact he’s kept this whole time.
the silence in the room is so fragile you’re afraid to breathe, not wanting to shatter the moment. his eyes flicker to your lips for a moment before coming back up with a pleasing look. his cheeks are still wet with tears, you can’t resist him. you lean in slowly and don’t close your eyes until your lips are locked with his. he moans and he reaches for your hand. he grabs your wrist and fidgets with buttons until your suit dissipates, one of his favorite things about having chosen to make you a digital suit.
he adjusts his watch to just dissipate the crotch, always needing that power imbalance between the two of you. his cock slaps against your pussy the moment it’s freed, eliciting a shocked, but desperate moan from the both of you.
miguel planned on taking his time with you but after his cock hit your plush, wet, lips— he can’t wait any longer. “putting it in, baby.” he grunts out into your ear as he lines himself up with your entrance. your hands reach back to caress his head, play with the curls at the base of his neck.
both your eyes roll back as he slides into you. it’s funny how in sync the two of you are, feeling the same things at the same time for the same reasons. the emotional exposure has left you both raw, sensitive for each other. you both are moaning louder and more frantically than you usually would, on edge already.
“m’not gonna last miguel. oh i love you so much, baby. you’re so good, keeping me safe at all times. my big protector.” your delirious, running your hand through his curls and grinding on his cock as you speak. your words affect him more than he ever could’ve expected. he’s cumming.
it’s worse than a punch to the gut. he lets out a yelp/moan of your name like a scolding and you can feel his warmth flooding your insides. his hands grip your thighs so hard you actually think they may pop, you have to dig your nails into his wrists for him to realize. his hands are shaking— his whole body is shaking so violently that you’re trembling along with him, causing an extra tightness over his cock as you start to cum.
he was on the tail end of his orgasm but now that you’re cumming around him… it’s been renewed. he lets out another shocked moan, closer to a whimper and a sob as he crosses the line into overstimulation. he’s still fucking into you though because you’re cumming. he wants you to cum so hard you’re nothing but jelly in his hands but it seems to be having the opposite affect.
your head is turned to his, you hand on the back of his head, in his curls to angle it towards you and you’re mumbling with a smirk against his lips. “oh- yeah. fill me up, miggy. you’re pumping me so full, baby. kee- keep going. miguel. keep filling me up, my love. m’all yours. make me yours- mark me. want everyone to know.” your words penetrate his brain like bullets. shooting through him and never leaving. mark you
he takes a bite before he can think. wanting to mark you in anyway he can and the sensitivity on his fangs as his eyes crossing as his cock shoves out another fat rope of cum into you. you’re squealing, trying to hold your sounds in as you flutter over his cock again, creating an obscene noise as his thrusts die into slow grinds. his teeth are still in your shoulder, feeling too good under the rush of your warm blood to pull out. his brows are furrowed as he tries to collect his thoughts again.
this never happens to him. you’re stroking the back of his head now and whispering loving words into the air, hoping he can hear them. you’re usually the one in this position, all fallen apart and gifting miguel the honor of putting you back together. but now he’s gifting the honor to you, giving himself you you completely, letting you clean him up and take the both of you to bed.
HOW THE FUCK DID THIS GET SO LONG OMFG 😭 THIS SHOULD COUNT AS TODAYS FIC
i literally burnt myself out from this and now today's fic is like 800 words
#I REALLY DIDNT MEAN TO MAKE YHIS SO LONG OMG 😭#miguel imagine#miguel o hara#miguel spiderman#miguel smut#miguel 2099#miguel ohara#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara smut#atsv miguel#miguel spiderverse#miguel x reader#miguel x you#miguel o'hara spider man#miguel o’hara imagine#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o'hara imagine#miguel ohara x reader#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o’hara x y/n#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara fanfiction#miguel o’hara fluff#miguel o’hara fic#miguel o’hara drabble#miguel o’ hara smut#spiderman 2099 smut#spiderman 2099 spiderverse#spiderman 2099 miguel o'hara#2099
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https://twitter.com/parkjmwins/status/1782358915939774874
Idk whether you will even answer this ask or will block me but this is exactly why JK had similar concept pics like Jimin. Jikookers made it to be romantic while Fandom made it to a joke 'JK always copy Jimin' (ofcourse). I've seen you making multiple posts about Jikook concept pics being match is a proof of them being a couple when in reality Hybe don't even take permission of original artist before using their ideas for another. One hybe label just got into trouble for copying newjeans and according to CEO min heejin it was BANG SHIHYUK who wanted to copy newjeans to create a second version of them through illit. And guess what he made sure illit gets 10x more success than newjeans, a 2 day song was already charting in different charts including hot 100. The same bang shihyuk who ignored every bit of Jimin's success but shamelessly copied his ideas and visions of concept pics for another favorite member. He shamelessly asks staffs to copy original ideas of artists who created them and use them for a cheap version of the said artist, Newjeans and Jimin are just examples.
Was it JK's fault ? Not necessarily but unlike rookie Illit he had power and capability to make his own decisions and use his own visions instead of doing what he was asked to do by the staff (his words) but he didn't and sat comfortably while using another person's hardwork. If you still think those similarities were because they were couple then idk what to say because in that logic Newjeans girls and Illit girls are dating.
Talk about TikTok generation ask.
Linking me to a tweet that has zero actual information and/or proper discussion, just stating a fact that isn't necessarily even a fact. Ignoring the full picture (like y'all do when it comes to Jikook as well, btw).
And I also find it so so funny how you are basically hanging your all on something that a very problematic figure within the Kpop industry is claiming, all to try and deflect from despicable behaviour she's being accused of, including using and revealing private info of Hybe idols obtained in illegal and despicable manors, perhaps including having to do with certain private info leaking of certain BTS members (including the one person that you so vehemently claim to love and stand in defense of).
You think that by sending me this link you are proving something?
You say that you read through my posts. Well, obviously you've missed those many posts I've written explaining how JM and JK being a couple can be deducted not from one action or one behaviour alone, but the combination of many many actions or behaviours. A puzzle built of not 10 or 50 or 100 pieces, but one built of so many many more.
I find it funny how with everything that has been going on with JM and JK you guys are still at this.
We're back to JK copying JM.
Like seriously.
Like even if the whole NJ Illit thing was true there was some kind of a comparison to be made with these two men.
Like JK, who's album concept is 180 degrees different than JM's doesn't have stylists at his beck and call to create a concept that isn't a full on copy of JM's. Right down to the studs and colours and minutiae details of some of the outfits.
Like if he did copy JM, that same scorned poor JM (that's how you guys love to portray him, as a damsel in distress awaiting you to swoop in and save him) CHOSE to fly to NY to be with JK and spend Silver day there with him, travel with him multiple times and spend his entire 18 months in the army with that awful copy cat JK.
Your ask tells me that you have zero understanding in human interactions and relationships. JM saying time and time again, JOKING time and time again, about JK copying him, it's a tease but also something that he LOVES. How he inspires JK, how JK perceives him as his catalyst.
But this here, the photo concepts and the whole of JK's wardrobe while promoting, claiming it's all about copying JM is just bull crap. This was planned. And it was planned by the two of them. It's not a coincidence that JM happens to wear the bottom part of a two piece outfit months before JK wears the top part of the same exact outfit.
And if we are talking about copying, is it the concept he's copying or is he so far gone that he's literally copying down to the smallest of details?
Like seriously. You think that's about copying JM?
Or because it worked for JM so he thinks it will work for him? Literally same hairstyle rocking as JM had in Face? Cause why not use a concept that works? Seriously? JK's all "I should do this cause it worked for JM so it will work for me"?
Was that what he was thinking when he rocked a highlight of JM's hair colour over the years? That the colour works for JM so I should have a strand of that colour in my hair as well, copying his success? Is that the theory you're working with?
Or when JK wore the same jacket as JM on Valentines day, you know, in a clip that JM himself records and uploads, that JK also copying JM?
Babe, this isn't just about the concept pics either. And it's not just about Face and Seven or Golden. Wearing the actual same black leather or leather-like pants just because he couldn't find any other pants? That level of copying? Or perhaps it wasn't about copying and more about mirroring.
About "You are me I am you", which they have been screaming at the top of their lungs for years now!!!
It amazes me how you have zero issue in taking an over decade long complex super close relationship (no matter how you perceive it they are super close) and simplifying it into "JK copied JM's concept because JM's concept worked for him", or to even compare whatever went on with JK and JM and those similarities to a claim made (by a disgruntled and caught red handed employee of Hybe) about one new GG copying concepts and whatever from a GG that's been around for 2 years now. No connection between them. No long term relationships between the groups. One group supposedly copying from another. Yeah, definitely the comparison needed to be made between that and Jikook's behaviours or decision making.
How infantile of you.
Oh and that paragraph of yours at the end. Laughable really.
Like I already said, go compare 2 GGs in two different companies to 2 men that have been close for over 10 years now. And let's also disregard the long history of those two doing the similar and same outfit (during official shoots, performances etc, or during their free time) thing and look at this one single concept.
Probably styled (funny how the styling seems to be similar for years now on many occasions, and just with the two of them)
Not styled.
These are just examples of MANY MORE instances.
Oh, and I suggest you go read this post too. Not mine, but recently written and oh so relevant to the conversation.
I can't help but wonder how different your pov would have been if one of those two young men was a female. Just thought I would throw that in here too.
But I gotta give you an A for persistence. You guys, you never give up, do you? No matter what JK and JM will throw at you, you will find a way to twist it around to fit your narratives. I guess you also think that JM was forced into enlistment with JK, ah? And their trips together and the content that will drop, also forced on him? I guess him saying otherwise isn't enough to convince you guys either, right? I love the way how you guys are so intrenched in your belief of victimhood that you don't even listen to what JM himself tells you. You love him so much that basically call him a liar. Good for yous I guess.
So, to clarify my answer to you, just in case it wasn't as clear as day already...
You do you, cause nothing I tell you, or show you, or you know what? Nothing that even JM himself will tell you or show you will satisfy you. Because you are living in a self built fantasy of what and who JM is and what and who those that surround him are, all to fit that narrative of yours in which he needs you guys as his saviours and knights in shining armour to swoop in and save him from the big bad JK.
One more thing.
JM's Face was a masterpiece.
We all agree on that. JK included.
He adores JM, he's his no. 1 fan and he's been showing us this throughout 2023.
JK is not a person that would callously copy a concept used by a bandmate just because it succeeded for his bandmate and might work for him too.
Let alone from JM.
His person.
Not even if, as you put it, he was told to do so by the powers at be (which yeah, he'd tell to go shove it up their asses if they ever did 'tell' him to do that btw, and they wouldn't do it anyway seeing that they know that would be his exact reaction).
So, no.
That is my answer to you.
Just a whole big fat NOPE.
No to copying. And surprisingly no to blocking you.
Yet.
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alright everybody, it's time we talked about Hostage. (buckle up because this is going to be long, but it'll be worth it)
season 2 episode 8 of Link Click was one of the most confounding episodes in the entire season while airing. starting with Lu Guang's insane boat crash/martial arts smackdown rescue of Cheng Xiaoshi and ending with Cheng Xiaoshi diving into a photo to possess Lu Guang to get answers for his actions, from start to finish it was a wild ass ride where we, the fandom, AND the characters spent the whole time questioning Lu Guang and his motives
and...puzzlingly... didn't really get an answers by the end of the season
Lu Guang wasn't granted any post-climax time to explain what happened that day from his perspective, and while Cheng Xiaoshi was possessing him he didn't get any answers because he literally WAS Lu Guang, just doing whatever the hell he thought he needed to do.
the thing about Hostage that has always felt extremely off to me, is that we DO get explanations for Lu Guang's actions during the episode, but they're from people wholly unqualified to be giving them.
Captain Xiao finds Lu Guang's phone, hidden in a folded towel, and concludes that Lu Guang had left them clues. Qiao Ling, after seeing that Lu Guang had taken a photo that night, came to the conclusion that Cheng Xiaoshi must have been the one possessing Lu Guang during his deranged rescue plan at the pier, seeing as Lu Guang wasn't an adept fighter at the dojo and he was acting extremely impulsive. She even goes so far to say, later in the episode, that Cheng Xiaoshi HAS to dive into the photo, because it's already happened, and needs to follow Lu Guang's words to not change the timeline.
all of these assumptions, to me, are horseshit
I refuse to listen to ANYTHING Captain Xiao says. one, because he simply does not know these kids and should not be making assumptions about them, and two he is in fact the worst cop in the world. and Qiao Ling, bless her heart, has only found out how their powers work mere DAYS ago and doesn't understand the nuances of them at all
so I'm gonna debunk all that nonsense and explain to you what Lu Guang's REAL actions were that night, and what was up with that cryptic photo he took
now you might be thinking, Kelly, you're not even starting in the right place, because those weren't Lu Guang's actions, they were always Cheng Xiaoshi's, just in Lu Guang's body!
FALSE. on two counts! we have evidence of Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi performing the act of escaping the hospital differently. Lu Guang does not use the kettle to break the window to distract the cops. we're not sure what he uses, but that kettle is still there.
Lu Guang also places his phone face down in the towel
while Cheng Xiaoshi places it faceup
so by the end of the episode we have literal, physical evidence that these two performed this timeline differently, and therefore it was not "Cheng Xiaoshi the whole time" like Qiao Ling tried to misinform us to believe. i also have another Big Brain post [x] that explains why Lu Guang being an impulsive, supposedly "good" fighter during that pier rescue scene are both in-character for him.
(and if we wanna get really nitpicky about how an injured Lu Guang could have raced across town in his condition, i simply believe that Lu Guang was smarter about it that Cheng Xiaoshi, and probably took a bus or cab. Cheng Xiaoshi, pure of heart and dumb of ass, ran because HE physically could while inhabiting Lu Guang's body. our injured catboy did not sprint across town while holding his organs in place)
so if we already have all this cold, hard evidence stating that Lu Guang really is THAT bitch and did all that shit on his own, what the hell is my problem? why can I not let this episode go?
BECAUSE I WANNA KNOW WHY LU GUANG TOOK THAT PHOTO
Captain Useless seems to think that Lu Guang took that photo as some sort of helpful clue left behind for the gang
but what, pray tell, was this photo supposed to tell us without someone with Lu Guang's powers there to interpret it? without Lu Guang to tell him what to do, Cheng Xiaoshi left to his own devices knows just as much as himself as he does possessing Lu Guang
and, the bigger question, is if this was supposed to be some sort of almighty clue for the gang, why did he not text this photo to either Qiao Ling or Cheng Xiaoshi before escaping the hospital? he took the time to text Qiao Ling the location of the boat, did he not? why not the photo too? seems like a crappy way to clue someone in, to take a photo and save it on your password protected phone that you just went out of your way to hide from plain sight
because that's the thing! after the season finale we discover that Lu Guang's password is literally a reminder of his dive, or even more specifically, a reminder of his trauma. we KNOW that he didn't share his password with Cheng Xiaoshi, he just just happened to figure it out on his own
so tell me how Lu Guang expected this trauma-password protected phone, with it's one singular picture, to get in the hands of Cheng Xiaoshi, hmm? riddle me THAT
so we've established by now that 1. Lu Guang's actions in the beginning of episode 8 were indeed his own and 2. that photo was never meant to be seen by Cheng Xiaoshi, who shouldn't have known Lu Guang's passcode
given the trauma-passcode, we have to believe that the only person ever meant to see this photo was Lu Guang. i've made ANOTHER post previously [x] stating that Lu Guang might have used his powers in a way we haven't known possible, by taking a photo and using his Blue Eyes White Dragon powers to see 12 hours into the immediate future
plausible, but not what i'm about to propose now.
because I think Lu Guang took that photo as a contingency plan
listen, the only person who had ANY credentials to theorize what Lu Guang was up to that night was his trusted partner. while Qiao Ling and Captain Xiao spouted their nonsense theories, Cheng Xiaoshi said the only smart thing that entire brainstorming session
and I think Cheng Xiaoshi was right. he wasn't wrong in assuming this photo was a Save Point of sorts, the only thing he was wrong about was who would be using it
the only other person in this show capable of diving into a photo, we find out during the finale, is Lu Guang
we also find out in the finale that powers are transferrable, and it looks like they transfer when the owner of that power dies in someone else's arms
Lu Guang took that photo that night NOT for Cheng Xiaoshi to find and use, but for LU GUANG himself to use. i believe Lu Guang firmly believed that Cheng Xiaoshi was to die that night, and he would do everything in his power to make sure he had a chance to change it again if he needed to.
that meant:
1.taking a photo on his phone as a Save Point.
2. hiding his phone in the hospital bathroom so it could not be taken from him or busted later in the night. and
3. racing to where he knew Cheng Xiaoshi would be, so he could either
4. a.) rescue him, or b.) ensure that during CXS's death, the diving power was transferred back to him so he could do the night over again.
Lu Guang took that photo as contingency plan to save Cheng Xiaoshi's life should he get killed that night.
but that plan was botched when Cheng Xiaoshi used it instead to possess Lu Guang, because each photo can only be used once.
which might also explain why Lu Guang was SO DISTRAUGHT when Cheng Xiaoshi was shot
they had deleted all their photos earlier that week to prevent the twins from possessing them remotely
that was the last photo Lu Guang had taken. the ONLY photo on his phone. if Cheng Xiaoshi died that night, there would have been no Save Point to return to
#link click#cheng xiaoshi#lu guang#shi guang dai li ren#this is such a long post but i truly do believe i'm onto something here#no i do not know how Lu Guang OR Cheng Xiaoshi hotwired a boat tho#i'll have to believe that's somehow a sidehobby they both share
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Tortured Love
Pairing: Javier Peña x female reader
Word Count: 1,577
Summary: You and Javi have had a complicated relationship and the last time you saw each other you thought it was just that...the last. But now he's back and like always you find him almost impossible to resist...
Author's Note: So @ilovejavierpena posted the photo below and @lizette50 shared it with me and I nearly lost my mind (thank you both bunches). Why? you ask...just look at! The neck, the hair, the hands and thighs and the spread and what's between, well, it did me in so here we are. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰
Warnings: lots of tension and some teasing, you're kind of mad at Javi but he makes it easy to forgive him, softness, p in v, happy ending, use of the pet name angel (just love this one for him)
Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist
“Don’t turn around.”
“What?” you ask. “Why?”
You stop with the drink midway to your lips and give your friend a wide-eyed look.
She opens her mouth to tell you why but you whisper, “he’s back,” before she can.
You can feel his presence. His eyes are boring into your skin and with a deep exhale you finish off your drink and set it on the bar before squaring back your shoulders.
“Maybe he’s just here for a drink,” your friend muses with feigned hope.
Javi weaves through the crowd, his attention focused solely on you and his hands already twitching at his sides.
You turn and meet his eyes, watching his lips part with something unheard over the bar chatter as his gaze trails down your body.
Your friend gives your hand a reassuring squeeze and you tear your eyes away from Javi to silently let her know it’s ok.
Silence surrounds you as soon as you and Javi are alone even though the atmosphere of the bar is loud.
He breaks it with a simple yet powerful sentence. “You look incredible.”
“Thanks,” you say softly, forcing a smile. “Why are you here Javi?”
He briefly turns his face away, your name passing his lips in a pained whisper.
Someone sweeps by you and nudges you closer to him, your chest so close now that he can feel it brush his with every breath.
His eyes roam over your features and he starts to lift a hand. “I missed you.”
You wet your lips and his eyes track the movement.
“You can’t miss something you don’t want.”
“Angel,” he murmurs. “You know that’s not…”
“Don’t!” you shout and place a hand on his chest.
At the feel of his warm skin under your palm your brain floods with images, sounds and thoughts. All of them saturated with his touch.
“Please,” he begs. “Just let me explain.”
He steps even closer, bridging the smallest gap that was between your bodies and settles his hand on the curve of your hip.
His thumb traces over a slight strip of fabric hidden under your dress and he looks down, sucking in a breath.
“What panties are these?”
“I don’t see how that has anything to do with anything!”
“I remember these,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut and muttering a curse.
When he opens them again they drop to your mouth, soft and kissable. “Let me fix this.”
You lean toward him, unable to stop the way your body craves his. He lowers his head as he slides his free hand up your arm and cradles your cheek, his thumb tracing your upper lip before his fingers tighten and drag you closer.
The bell starts ringing behind the bar and the bartender yells, “LAST CALL!!! PAY UP!”
You startle and tug out of his arms, stepping back as your eyes dart to the door.
He growls out your name and moves back into your space.
“I’m going home,” you tell him and slip from his arms and toward the exit.
He watches you until you reach the door then takes off in pursuit, staying a few steps behind you as he follows you home.
“Why are you following me?” you ask without turning around.
“I have to make sure you get home safely,” he answers.
You don’t reply and keep walking, wanting to run but thinking better of it in your heels.
When you reach the door you unlock it and go inside, not bothering to shut it since you know he’s right there.
“I’ll leave,” he starts even as he shuts the door with a click. “But only if you tell me to.”
You don’t say a word and head toward your bedroom.
He follows.
You cross the room and grab pajamas from the dresser, laying them out on the bed before moving to shut the door.
You draw up short when you find him standing in the doorway, with a forearm propped high on the jam and his expression tortured.
“I need to change.”
He doesn’t move.
Frustration with him, with everything, takes over and you shove him in the chest and try to get him out of the room.
“Tell me to leave,” he says again.
“I want to change.”
He stays put and grinds his jaw.
“Fine Javi. Have it your way. You always do.”
You turn away from him and on your way back to the bed you strip your dress over your head. His shaky hiss of breath makes you smile to yourself and you bend over to grab the hanger from the floor.
“Fuck angel. You’re perfect.”
Every last nerve ending on your skin pops with warmth when you feel him behind you. When you straighten, your bare back lands flush against his heaving chest and you’re suddenly breathless.
You turn, the smooth movement of your hands climbing his chest derailed when you see the tormented expression on his face.
With a quick recovery, you grab hold of the open collar of his shirt and spin him around, urging him down until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed.
His eager brown eyes land everywhere and his hands follow, the muscles of his throat working roughly when he swallows hard with a plea of your name.
“How much did you miss me Javi?” you ask as you slowly straddle his lap and meet the proof.
Your mouth ghosts over his, the hairs of his mustache grazing your soft lips and his hands close around your ass cheeks to draw you closer.
You pull your mouth away, the both of you breathing erratically.
“Did you strip for me just to be a tease?” he asks, his hips shifting beneath you until his generous length is pressed between your legs.
The action makes you whimper loudly and he drags you over him again.
“Whatever game you’re playing with me, stop angel. Just…be mine.”
Your fingers delicately trace his sharp jaw and you sweep the pad of your thumb over his plush lips.
“I’m not yours Javi…you don’t want…”
A possessive light brightens his eyes and he surges forward, catching your mouth in a kiss that silences you.
Your fingers rake through his hair as the kiss grows more desperate and you only break apart briefly to allow him to tug at the buttons on his shirt, sending most of them flying until you can push the fabric off his broad shoulders.
One long finger travels down your stomach and rubs against your dampening panties.
You’re no longer in control and your mind and body are begging for the full sensation of him, the stretch of him inside you…and you fumble with the button and zipper of his jeans.
His lips hover just over yours when he breathes out the words.
“I missed you. I…fuck. I missed you. So much angel. Please.”
You draw him out and stroke him up and down, guiding him between your legs.
He grunts and pushes your panties aside, allowing you to position the tip of him inside you before slowly, slowly, taking him deep, both of you watching it happen.
You moan in his lap and buck involuntarily.
“Yes,” you whine. “More.”
He heaves a curse and digs his fingers into your skin making a slow groan deep in his throat.
His body flexes with tension and you rock your hips again.
“Don’t,” he gasps. “I can’t.”
“You can’t what Javi? Stop?”
He nods before clenching his eyes shut. “You feel so fucking good. I’ve needed you for so long. I can’t get enough.”
And with the last bit of his control his hips roll back and forth fluidly, filling you slowly.
His open mouth dips to your throat, exhaling heat against your skin and with smooth strokes he pumps into you, holding your ass to bring you up and down. His teeth catch the lobe of your ear and he brings a hand down to slap your ass.
You moan at the rough impact and the press of his body against yours.
“Touch yourself angel.”
He spanks you again. Harder.
“Javi…”
His mouth drops and hovers just above yours, his intense gaze focused and filled with warning.
“Angel…”
With parted lips you drag your shaky hand down from his shoulder and find the sensitive bud, biting your lip as you rub in circles, your eyes involuntarily fluttering closed.
“Look at me while you do it,” he demands.
Your eyes pop open and you watch a bead of sweat roll down his forehead, the dark hair hanging down in front wet and sticky.
“You’re all I want. I need you angel.”
His words break you wide open and your walls squeeze him tightly, taking him over the edge with you. With rough and desperate kisses, he grinds out the pleasure, hips pushing and pressing and his teeth dragging across your skin.
He falls flat on his back and takes you with him, your head resting on his shoulder. Calloused fingertips stroke up and down the curve of your spine as your breathing evens out.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your skin. “I was so afraid of losing you…I pushed you away instead.”
You kiss his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere Javi.”
He turns you onto your sides so that you’re facing each other and studies your face with such intensity your next breath catches in your throat.
“I know,” he murmurs. “And I’m never letting you go angel.”
@hiddles-rose @lizette50 @kmc1989 @littleseasiren @lorilane33
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#narcos#javier peña#javier pena x reader#javier pena fanfiction#pedro pascal narcos#javier pena x you#pedro pascal characters
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“What do you think you’re doing?” The Avatar of Gluttony says, uncharacteristically angry, demon form out, bhí a sciatháin ildaite ag bualadh go feargach.
You’re trembling still, the previous altercation sparking in your nerves, although, cool, refreshing relief courses through your veins as you look up at the redhaired Demon.
Beel’s eyes. That was all you could look at. You had seen a plethera of emotions painted in his purple pupils, most commonly serenity, or joy, hunger or thirst, less commonly sadness poisoned his expression, rarely anger, annoyance yes, the expression he’d make before he went on a rampage that was a mix between hunger and anger, yes. But you’d never seen the pure unbridled fury ablaze in his eyes like you were seeing right now.
Not directed at you, never at you. Rather directed at the demon who had tried to give you a beating; Beel had stumbled upon it whilst looking for his twin, and A Thiarna is a Dhia, was he furious. You shivered, it was a scary sight.
Iridescent ildaite wings buzz angrily. The air is thick, Beel runs his tongue over his fangs threateningly, staring menacingly at the demon, who, gaining its senses, flees, tail between its legs. Beel lets it run, having a longtime learned from Lucifer how to play an cluiche cleasach.
Besides, letting the demon wallow in its fear for a while would make it taste a lot better when he disposed of the threat.
He wouldn’t tell you that, though, to protect your soft, pure, sparkling human soul.
Leaving you alone with a seething Demon, you trembled. Normally, you would trust Beelzebub with your life, but the sheer power buzzing around him paired with the rage doused you in icy cold water, a strong reminder that your reisdent softy was ifnfact capable of horrors beyond you comprehension.
You whimper, Beel snaps his head towards you in an instant, the fury in his eyes softening. Suddenly, his hands are on you, pulling you into strong arms. You shake involuntarily.
Beel coos at you in a language long dead, the syllables are harsh and guttural, like waves crashing into the shore. A huge hand comes up to pet your hair, so gentle it almost hurts.
You stay there for a while, in that empty classroom, enveloped in Beel’s arms. Slowly but surely you lean into his touch, your heartrate calmed, your head resting against his muscled chest, it was silly to think even for a moment that he would hurt you, laughable even.
divider by @saradika-graphics
dia daoibh (hello to you [plural]) grma for reading as per usual 🫶🫶, heres the meanings of the words:
‘A Thiarna is a Dhia’ (A year-nah is a Yee-ah’) is a way of saying, ‘Goodness Gracious’/‘Good God’ etc
as per usual I cant write pronounciations😔
‘An Cluiche Cleasach’ (An Clue-Heh Clah-Sa) -The Sneaky Game’, bc i have no idea how to say the long game in irish and cluiche fada sounds wrong.
Now for the big one😰:
‘bhí a sciatháin ildaite ag bualadh go feargach.’
(pronounced: Vee ah Scee-ah-han ill-dat-che egg beh-whale-oo go fair-eh-gawk’)
as per usual the ‘k’ sound in feargach is pronounced with your throat, its technically right to just pronounce it ‘k’ (like the word chick in english) but its not the way native speakers pronounce it‼️
this roughly translates to: ‘His colourful wings were flapping angrily’
bualadh comes from the verb ‘buail’ which can mean a lot of things, but paired with ‘ag’ and ‘sciatháin’ it means ‘flapping wings’
heres a photo of me trying to explain it, please ignore my handwriting i tried to make it neat😔✊
#also i have an ask im working on and im actually really enjoying writing it#for anyone wondering i like to add 🇮🇪 words in my fics/drabbles bc i can and i want to#i cant speak fluently but i can get by; i like getting to hopefully teach yousens some words and revise my own vocab#bc in my opinion languages should be shared; irish is a class language as well so (im biased)#obey me imagines#obey me shall we date#obey me x reader#obey me headcanons#omswd#obey me mc#obey me beelzebub#obey me beel x reader#beelzebub x reader#om! beelzebub#om! beel x reader#obey me drabble
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HII I love your art so much it's so expressive and it feels like theres so much movement in it! I was wondering if u had any tips or advice to help with that? I practice anatomy and expression so much but it seems like everything I draw on my own is so stiff!! Anyway I hope you have a great week :)) <3
Hi there! Firstly, thank you so much for the kind words, it means a lot that you would take the time to tell me!
Second- my advice is to take everything you've learned about anatomy and THROW IT OUT THE WINDOW!!!!!!!
... For now. Just into the front yard so you can keep an eye on it. But I have seen many artists concentrate chiefly on studying anatomy only to feel like their art ends up too stiff. My own experience has been to treat anatomy as a tool best used to correct an image in the later stages of construction rather than as your driving foundation.
If "correct" anatomy (however you choose to define that) is the priority of your undersketches, I find that you end up with a sort of Skeleton Song approach to drawing - y'know, the knee bone's connected to the thigh bone, etc etc. Whatever energy, emotion, or intent you wanted your drawing to convey is getting lost each time you split it into another anatomical segment. By over-focusing on individual parts, you lose sight of your image as a whole.
The key to conveying dynamic movement in motionless art is to ensure every element of your image agrees on and communicates the same action, the key to which is something called the line of action.
A line of action is simply that - an implied "line" with wich you lead the viewer's eye and communicate movement. Think of it as the core of your figure's action, simplified to its rawest form. By knowing this, you know what to emphasise and what to de-emphasise.
Well, art is a visual medium and I am better explaining with drawings than words or I'd never have picked up a pen in the first place, so:
Images can have multiple lines of action, lines of action can complement and contrast each other, and a line of action isn't always as obvious as something like running. Imagine you're tring to make your art more "aerodynamic" to the eye. Since I draw a lot of One Piece fanart, I assume you're also familiar with it, and you can probably imagine how Oda uses "lines of action" when composing panels of Luffy punching something, Zoro slicing something, Sanji kicking something- etc etc. He's really good at selling the "oomph" of action shots by reducing visual clutter so that the impact of the action is greater.
(The Monster Trio's abilities are all designed in such a way that allow for REALLY striking lines of action... you can tell Oda loves studying manga fight scenes and wanted to create a world where he could push these concepts to the limit, and it's no wonder One Piece caught the eye of animators even before it was serialised by Toei)
You're probably already noticing how line of action also feeds into composition and silhouette when it comes to conveying movement in an image. Basically put, once you've isolated whatever action it is that you want to convey, the more visual clutter you can streamline away from that action, the stronger an impact that will have on the viewer. A firm line of action, an uncomplicated silhouette for your figure, and a readable overall composition of your image/panel are all ways to minimise visual clutter.
You can also use this information to achieve the opposite effect! Sometimes the ideal action you want to convey is not fast, or powerful, or confident, and you can use the same principles.
In fact, you can apply line of action to images that don't have any "action" in them at all. You can make a drawing of someone simply standing there feel more lively by applying these same principles to their body language:
You can develop an eye for how to simplify movement down to its "lines of action" by studying real photos and other people's art. Try simplifying a figure to its silhouette, and then simplify that silhouette further to a stick figure. And honestly, a lot of this could be boiled down to "see your image as a whole and not just a collection of individual pieces". Set anatomy aside during the composition stage and bring it back in when you start building up the sketch.
Moving away from the line of action, my second piece of broad advice is simply to exaggerate more. Lots of artists subconsciously hold themselves back from pushing motion, expression, etc. out of concern that it will look "too much". Well, maybe it will- but you won't know that unless you try! You can always walk it back if you think you took it too far, but I think you'll be surprised by how far you can push your art before you hit that point.
My final piece of advice is to work on line confidence. Even if you follow the rest of this advice, if you have hesitant and scratchy lines, you're undermining the flow and punch of your art. The best way to improve line confidence is simply by practicing! Do a lot of quick, timed studies, and use a permanent medium like a ballpoint pen or marker. Focus on unbroken lines wherever possible even if it makes your studies look like garbo. I find traditional studies are best for improving line confidence, but if you'd really rather stick with digital then just don't let yourself use the eraser tool, and try using a chunky brush with limited pressure sensitivity.
And that's it! Don't stress about it too much though. Loosen up with your art and, like any other skill, you'll improve with practice, time, and analysing what you like about other people's art. Good luck!
#long post#sorry this is so long I just didn't want to hide it behind a cut because I think a lot of people would miss it#I hope this was helpful in some way! I'm always flattered whenever anyone thinks I'd know enough to ask HAHA#if I have the time then I'm always happy to answer questions like this! :)#not that I am an expert by any means but I can at least share what's worked for me
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The Nightlight
summary - Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw was ruthless, a stone cold killer both in and outside of the ring—with the belts and trophies to prove it. When a miscalculation results in a target being put on the back of his trainer's daughter, Bradley finds himself facing responsibility he never signed up for. You're a whole new challenge. And Bradley doesn't think you're one he can fight his way out of.
warnings - DARK THEMES, boxer au, violence, language, no use of y/n, brief mentions of dead bodies, talks of previous abuse, talks of ptsd, mild gore, smut - (daddy kink, pussyjob, subspace kind of, praise, size kink, minor trauma response to sex, aftercare), Bradley is 6′6″ because I said so, stalking, brief mention of smoking
this blog is 18+, minors please do not interact
word count - 4.1k
monsters in the dark masterlist
For a Wednesday evening, the Target on Powers street is fairly empty. At least, that’s what Bradley notices as he steps through the automatic doors of the red and white building. Almost immediately he’s confronted with a bikini-clad mannequin, rows of bathing suits hanging behind it, and it’s like some strange, capitalist groundhog that reminds him that spring is approaching and stores are all moving their bathing suits to the front.
Bradley walks past the mannequin without another glance, not even bothering with a cart or basket either as he starts walking through the brightly lit store. It’s one of the first times in a while that he’s shopping by himself—you’re spending the day with Natasha as a much needed distraction—and he finds himself almost anticipating your usual chatter. He keeps waiting for you to tug on his hand and point out some cute shirt on a rack or try to sneak random junk into the basket when you don’t think he’s looking, even though he always catches you. He wonders when he started to get used to that.
After everything with Razor and Elias, you were understandably pretty shaken. Sleeping in Bradley’s bed became a regular thing, though space was always left between the two of you, and, yet another thing Bradley was still getting used to, was sleeping on the left side of his bed as opposed to the middle. You had yet to actually wake up from your nightmares again, but that didn’t mean you didn’t wake him up with your soft sounds of distress. Bradley has only found one thing that seems to help with that.
Bradley stops when he finds the aisle he’s looking for, scanning the shelves before he finally finds what he needs. He grabs it, turning to walk back to the front checkout, and pulls out his phone to check your location. It’s late, so you should be home by now, and, as he suspects, you are. He stares at your contact photo for a moment longer as he gets in line for the self checkout.
“I got you something.”
You perk up with surprise when Bradley enters his bedroom. Through the confusion you feel a wave of relief that he’s back. Natasha is your best friend, and you know she’d do anything for you and more, but you’ve always felt safest when you’re with Bradley. Still, that thought is overshadowed by the fact that Bradley is setting something down on the bed. Something he got for you.
You look down at it with furrowed brows. “A nightlight?”
“You get scared when all the lights are off in my room,” Bradley explains bluntly.
“I— Oh, I didn’t... I’m sorry,” you feel your cheeks heat up and you keep your eyes trained on the packaged nightlight on the blanket to try to stop yourself from crying out of embarrassment. “I can go back to sleeping in the guest room. It’s probably annoying having to sleep with a bunch of lights on.”
Bradley doesn’t seem to fully pick up on your shame, moving to grab pajamas from his dresser. “If I thought it was annoying, I wouldn’t have bought it.”
He opens one of the drawers to grab pajama pants, further solidifying how little of an issue he perceives this to be and you can only open and close your mouth a few times. Logically, you know this isn’t a big deal—not to Bradley, at least—but you don’t know when it became such a big deal to you. You almost hate that you now need people to convince you that you deserve things. That it’s not enough for Bradley to just do something nice for you, he also has to hold your hand through it the whole time too.
Bradley glances over at you, you can feel it, but you can’t look back at him. You’ve been trying not to cry since you realized why he bought you a nightlight and now that’s piling on top of everything with Elias and the dead man you received in the mail. You don’t want to cry though, so you keep your eyes trained on the nightlight.
He picks it up, opening the packaging and taking the small light out before plugging it into the outlet on the right side of the bed. It lights up in a soft yellow glow. “Is that good?”
Your throat feels thick, so all you do is nod.
Bradley seems to take that at face value, leaving wordlessly to go change in the bathroom. The setting sun filters through his window, keeping the room light enough that the nightlight hardly has an effect. But you know it will. Because everything Bradley has done for you has had an effect.
You still haven’t moved when he comes back from the bathroom, knees to your chest and eyes on the nightlight, and Bradley turns off the overhead light before moving to his side of the bed. It’s quiet, the kind of quiet that makes you feel like you could say anything you wanted and nothing would change. The kind of quiet that keeps secrets.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m gonna be this way forever.”
Bradley stills.
A tear rolls down your cheek, but you don’t even feel it, a hollow emptiness taking hold of you as you numbly stare at the soft yellow glow emanating from the nightlight. “Like, what if I’m just… incapable of being in a healthy relationship? What if I’ll only ever know how to be with guys like Elias?”
Again Bradley is silent. But you know he’s listening. You can feel him looking at you
“I hated him for what he did. I think a part of me still does. But... I think I hate myself more. For, like, letting that happen, I guess.” You wipe at your cheek harshly. “Because, sure, he was the one who— who did everything, but I let him, you know? I kept forgiving him and giving him chances. Even though he never once gave me a reason to believe he’d change. He just— He makes me feel so stupid.”
“You’re not stupid,” Bradley says finally. He clears his throat softly. “You’re not stupid.”
“I can’t even listen to a trash can drop on the ground without acting like I’ve been to war,” you argue with a small scoff.
“And what’s that got to do with anything?”
“I—” You huff in frustration. “You don’t get it.”
Bradley sits up. “No, no, I get it just fine. I think you don’t get it. Plenty of people go through shit, that’s just how the world works. And you know what they do? They fucking blame everybody else for it. And they put everybody else through shit because why should they be good to other people if no one’s been good to them? But you don’t. You talk to fucking dogs or, I don’t know, offer people milkshakes or some shit. Because, when choosing between still trusting people or blaming them for everything, that’s what you pick. Not because you’re stupid, but because you know shit sucks and you choose to have faith in it anyway.”
Suddenly the nightlight is just a background thought, your mind consumed with Bradley as you stare at him with parted lips.
“I don’t know everything that happened with you and Elias, and that’s fine, you don’t ever have to tell me. But I do know that I’ve seen guys lose teeth for less than what he did to you. Hell, I’ve knocked out teeth for less than what he did to you. You don’t do that shit, you’re not resentful like the rest of us— He didn’t fuck you up, or break you, or whatever else you think the problem is. It doesn’t matter if you end up ‘being this way forever’ because there’s nothin’ wrong with you.”
This is the longest Bradley has actually spoken consecutive words to you and all you can think is that there’s something so real about him. Sometimes you think that Bradley is incapable of lying—which you know is silly and far too trusting—but, truly, Bradley doesn’t lie. Bradley doesn’t lie because he doesn’t care enough to. It hits you that maybe this is what Bradley looks like when he cares.
“And you got plenty of healthy relationships,” he continues. “You got Nat, and your dad, and me—”
You don’t think. It’s not even a thought that registers in your head before you act on it. One second you’re sitting on Bradley’s bed with tear stained cheeks and surprised eyes and, the next, you’ve planted your lips on Bradley’s.
It only takes a third second for you to realize what you’ve done and you scramble away from him with wide eyes. “I’m so sorry! I— That was inappropriate. I shouldn’t have—”
Your words are lost against Bradley’s lips as he surges forward and cups your cheek resolutely. His mouth moves against yours, strangely tender, as he dips forward to lie you down on the bed, never breaking the kiss. You pull away for air, but it’s fruitless, as you can hardly breathe when he’s nosing along your neck, planting soft, open-mouthed kisses anywhere he can reach. His hands travel under your shirt, stroking your skin with calloused fingers as he explores your body.
He nips your neck lightly, soothing the area with his tongue, and one of your shaky hands gets lost in his curls, a breathy gasp escaping you.
“So fucking pretty,” Bradley murmurs against your skin. One of his hands reaches the underside of your bra and he traces it with his large thumb slowly.
Your back arches and your sleep shirt rides up, exposing your bare midsection as Bradley’s hand trails down to your thigh. “Please,” you whimper, but Bradley seems to understand, lifting you to pull your shirt off.
His own shirt follows quickly behind, but that’s the only other clothing item discarded as he can’t keep himself from your body for any longer than that. Bradley kisses you again, his hands now exploring under your pajama shorts tracing delicate patterns on your hips. You lift them at the feeling and Bradley curls his fingers over the waistband.
Under the yellow glow of the nightlight, Bradley pulls away from you again, illuminated in soft light as he pulls your shorts down. Your head is starting to get fuzzy, but it’s a nice kind of fuzzy, the kind that makes you feel light and calm. Your tongue feels loose in your mouth, so relaxed just like the rest of you. It was never like this with Elias—you’d almost forgotten it could be like this.
Bradley's eyes travel down to your panties, a large hand keeping your thighs spread open for him as the other plants itself flat against your pelvis, fingers splayed. “So small,” he breathes as he looks at it.
“Brad—” You cut yourself off when his thumb presses down on your clit through the cotton fabric, rubbing it in soft, pressured circles, and your eyes squeeze tight. You bite down on your lip, clamping down on your tongue, and Bradley quickens his circles. “Bradley...”
Bradley dips down to kiss you again, letting his hand cup your pussy as he does so and you grind your hips against his palm slowly. He grunts at the feeling, applying more pressure with the heel of his palm. You feel your tongue getting looser, your mind slipping.
He stops suddenly, his mouth hovering over yours. You can feel the puffs of air he’s letting out against your lips. “Tell me you want this.” It comes out low and gravely and, strangest of all, almost hesitant. Like he doesn’t know if he’s about to go too far.
“I want this,” you assure Bradley breathlessly, arching upwards to desperately take your bra off as if that will persuade him into touching you again. “Please, Bradley, I want this.” For a moment, you almost don’t say it. And then it slips. “I want you.”
Your words linger in the air, frozen against the soft, yellow light of the nightlight. You watch Bradley’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, the scar against his neck catching in the light.
“Alright,” he says finally, then again, once more, “Alright.”
And then he’s kissing you again and you feel yourself sinking deeper into him. Your brain feels hazy, but the good kind. The kind you feel when Bradley takes you grocery shopping, or wipes bits of milkshake from your face, or really does anything because Bradley’s always made you feel safe. You can’t help but think about how much he takes care of you as his lips travel to your neck and his hands move up and up and up your thighs. About how he’s big and he’s strong and he’s there. And he listens to you and understands you and just seems to know you in all the ways you need him to.
It’s only when he coaxes one of his thick fingers inside you, large and long enough to reach that spot that has you seeing stars, that the word slips out as a shaky moan. “Daddy, please!”
You both freeze, your hips and Bradley’s finger stilling. Your mouth drops open, as if waiting for words of apology to climb through, but nothing comes out but a soft, strangled noise. Bradley lifts himself up to look at you, an unreadable expression on his face.
Suddenly his eyes darken. “Say it again.”
You swallow, squirming under his gaze and only able to meet his eye for brief seconds. “Daddy,” you whisper.
“That’s right,” Bradley breathes, the words coming out rough and raspy. His finger pumps in and out of you again as he watches your face for your reactions. “Good girl.” The title is lustful rolling off his tongue, dominance so heavy in his tone you feel yourself sinking deeper.
Words feel like too much and not enough all at once, your brain unable to string them together, so you just paw at his pajama pants with a whine. Bradley gets the message though, sliding his finger out of you to undo the drawstring.
The sun has gone down, leaving the room a kind of almost-dark-but-not-quite as yellow light glows off Bradley’s bare muscles and brow cinched in concentration. There’s something figurative about it, something you can’t fully describe, especially not in this state of mind. But something about Bradley being lit up by your nightlight just makes sense.
Bradley finally slides both his pants and boxers off, turning his attention back to you. His lips quirk up slightly when he sees you already staring up at him. “You alright, tootsie?”
“Yeah, daddy.” He lowers himself back on to you and your arms wrap around his neck.
Bradley hums, pressing a kiss to your lips before he reaches down to feel how wet your panties are. The cotton is sufficiently soaked, so much so that it’s sticking to your folds, and Bradley rubs you through it a few times before lifting the fabric and sliding his shaft underneath it. You both let out soft sounds of pleasure at the feeling of his heavy cock against your clit. Bradley grunts at the sight of your panties straining against his length.
“Fuck, you’re so small, tootsie,” Bradley starts dragging his cock through your glistening folds. “Probably couldn’t even take half of me before you’d start talkin’ about how full you were.”
You mewl as his strokes become more consistent, you’d probably agree with anything he said if you could keep feeling like this. The head of his cock catches against your hole and you let out a louder moan, one of your arms throwing itself onto the bed as you fist the sheets.
“Fuck.” Bradley bends to kiss you again, another grunt spilling from his lips. If you could think about anything but the sensations moving though your body, you might be surprised at how loud he’s being. But right now all you want is to hear his raspy, gruff baritone talk more. “Feel so fucking good.”
His dick slides through your panties, wet, lewd sounds filling the room as he coats the underside of it with your slick. His head slips inside you again and your eyes roll. “More. More, daddy. Please.”
“Not yet, toots,” Bradley shakes his head, shushing your whine with another, longer kiss.
You want to argue more, but a particularly well adjusted stroke of his cock distracts you and your back arches as you reach for his hand instinctively. You never did that with Elias. You never did any of this with Elias. He didn’t care about your preferences—what you liked and didn’t like. He didn’t make decisions based on your comfort or take care of you. He didn’t hold your hand.
Bradley’s fingers entangle with your own and something inside you snaps. Your back bends off the bed as euphoria explodes inside you, the knot in your stomach finally unraveling as choked moans and gasps leave your lips. Somewhere in the back of it all, you can register Bradley finishing on your pelvis with a guttural grunt. But there’s something so overwhelming about the feelings crashing through your body that you don’t even fully realize that you’re crying until Bradley’s wiping the tears from your cheeks with soothing thumbs.
He doesn’t say anything as he discards your dirty panties, picking you up and holding you to his chest as he takes you out of the bedroom. His cum is smearing along your stomach and your thighs feel uncomfortably sticky, but you can’t seem to stop crying as your body comes down from its high.
Bradley cups the back of your head as you wrap your arms around him tightly, shaking in his grip and, in between your sobs, you hear the bath being turned on. Bradley kisses your temple gently and whispers something in your ear but you can’t hear it over your own thoughts. Because you’d forgotten that sex could feel like this. That you could allow someone to take care of you and they would.
Bradley lowers the both of you into the bath, but he makes no move to clean you once you're settled, only holding you to his chest as the warm water wets your skin. He strokes your back softly, tapping on your spine in three tap patterns.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs gruffly. “You’re okay.”
It takes a couple more minutes for your tears to lessen to shaky sniffles, but once they do, you give his chest three taps back. You’re rewarded with a kiss on your forehead and Bradley shifts you so that he can start cleaning you gently.
You know there’s still things you both have to talk about. That this has marked a very distinct change in your relationship that will affect almost everything about the two of you. But you finally feel calm, and sleepy, and relaxed. You rest your head against Bradley’s shoulder, blinking slowly. Maybe it’s okay to just let him take care of you tonight. Just for tonight.
The rest of your bath is quiet, only filled with the occasional soft and short praise from Bradley, and then he’s wrapping you up in a fluffy towel and changing you into some of his clothes. You sit on his bed somewhat anxiously, watching as he changes into his own clothes and then leaves to drain the bath. Was this over? Does Bradley want you anymore? Would he roll over and fall asleep on the left side of the bed now that he got what he wanted from you?
You wait for him to finish checking the apartment locks like he always does. The soft glow of the nightlight keeps you company as you wait for him to come back.
“C’mere,” Bradley quells your fears, opening up an arm for you once he’s settled himself in bed. You curl yourself into his chest, getting encompassed by the feeling of him as he rests his arm on your hip. He lifts your chin up gently with his other hand to meet him for a lingering kiss before he fixes the blanket. “Go to sleep, tootsie.”
A small smile makes its way onto your face as your eyelids droop from exhaustion and you snuggle closer to his chest with a sleepy murmur. “G’night, Bradley.”
Bradley’s out alone again. It’s more usual for him as of late, because he doesn’t want you to be a part of anything he’s doing. No, instead he drops you off at the shelter or your friend’s house and then he goes to Mav’s to meet with Jake Seresin and Bob Floyd.
The man with the scar knows this because it’s his job to know this.
He knows that the waitress and the package have done little to deter the man. That, if anything, it’s made it worse. Razor was an oversight he hadn’t fully been expecting, but conveniently made his job switch gears. The man with the scar believes he now has more of a purpose than to play hide and seek with a bunch of children. What started as bullshit has spiraled into something far more urgent.
The man with the scar knows this. What he doesn’t know is how much Bradley knows.
He watches as Bradley parks his antimatter blue Bronco and gets out, scanning the parking lot suspiciously. He’s alert, the man with the scar can give him that, but he’s been following Bradley for weeks now without the other man suspecting a thing. Because that’s his job.
The man with the scar wipes his hands on his tight, blue jeans, waiting a minute before he gets out of his own car. Bradley is a few yards ahead of him, weaving through pedestrians on the sidewalk, but the man with the scar is in no hurry to follow him. That’s what people get wrong about professions like his—you never follow someone. If your course of direction is determined by someone else, they’ll figure you out. No, you walk all on your own, give them nothing to notice.
He shoves his hands in his leather jacket pockets, walking leisurely on the sidewalk. It helps that Bradley is unusually tall, sticking around a whole head or more above everyone else. It makes him hard to miss. So even now, as Bradley gets farther and farther from him, he’s still easily noticeable.
The man with the scar follows him across the block, and then the next. They should be coming up on Maverick’s soon, it’s in the middle of the next block, and if the man with the scar is right, Jake and Bob will be waiting for him.
The crosswalk turns to a red hand, stopping Bradley, and the man with the scar is able to make up some distance. He’s only a couple feet away from Bradley when it changes to the white walking figure and the man with the scar watches as Bradley crosses the street and walks up to Maverick’s Gym and Boxing. And then past it and into the alley between the gym and the other building to its left.
Oh? That’s new.
The man with the scar wonders if perhaps they’ve gotten more secretive—instead of speaking so openly to each other in restaurants and gyms. Perhaps Bradley has finally realized that the people he works for are very, very dangerous.
He moves to walk past the alley first, get a look at what’s going on before he turns straight into it. He isn’t stupid, he knows there’s nothing more suspicious than a man such as himself turning into an alley for no particular reason. Maybe he could pretend to be going for a smoke—
The man with the scar gets pinned up against the alley wall.
He blinks.
A dull throb flares through the back of his head.
Bradley’s heavy grip is pinning him to the white brick wall by his shoulders, anger radiating off of him visibly. His eyes have been swallowed entirely by rage, something the man with the scar imagines is a fairly common expression for Bradley, but not one he’s familiar with as he’s only really seen him around you. The two stare at each other for a moment as Bradley takes him in.
“Who the fuck are you?” He seethes.
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stupid lil headcanons about mapi
author notes: i'm pushing out more of these dumb posts than fics but i swear fics are coming 🙏🏾 just let my mind work it's magic y'all. anyways stupid headcanons about mapi that hold no value, enjoy!
➜ mapi probably asks ingrid to talk to the waitress when she receives the wrong order. it's not really that she's scared to say something, it's just mapi doesn't want to say anything herself
➜ she probably sends ingrid stupid memes in spanish about the most irrelevant things that ingrid is always like "wtf? where did you get these from?" (she got them from twitter)
➜ doesn't care for tiktok that much but sometimes someone sends her an edit off of that app and she giggles
➜ this woman be low-key confused when the barca coach talks about the team's game plan. afterwards she always asks alexia to explain to her in simple terms
➜ we all know she had that emo phase. during that phase she still listened to a lot of spanish music (she couldn't get with the actual emo music) and used tumblr like it was god sent
➜ mapi be giggling and kicking her legs while stalking ingrid's instagram during international break. she has like a thousand photos of ingrid in her gallery, but the instagram posts just hit different
➜ double texts everything. never writes in paragraphs and she probably have many typos in her texts because she be typing at the speed of light
➜ mapi's favorite type of kisses are cheek kisses because she finds them really cute
➜ if the word clingy had a picture in the dictionary, mapi would be the photo. this woman is attached to ingrid so bad and just likes hanging off of her. half of the time she just annoys ingrid but refuses to move away when her when ingrid tells her off
➜ clumsy at the worse moments. could be holding a plate full of food and mapi is going to slip on thin air
➜ likes piggy back rides especially from ingrid
➜ mapi is the biggest cryer when it comes to movies. it could be the happiest movie ever but let one sad thing happen and she's bawling
➜ begs ingrid to do her hair in silly lil hairstyles and always talks cute selfies after
➜ a cuddle bug. not just with ingrid but also her cat
➜ mapi shall not be trusted with knives or any sharp objects, she always end up cutting herself. ingrid has to comfort her afterwards
➜ is so annoying to play against in a fifa game. she will do anything in her power to make you lose (pushing, saying the most out of pocket stuff, screaming at the top of her lungs, anything to her opponent to lose the game)
➜ dyes her hair when stressed (but don't tell anybody that)
➜ either a fun drunk or a sad drunk. depends on the day and if ingrid is around
➜ she randomly flexes in front of ingrid to try to impress her (ingrid doesn't give a fuck but gives many compliments)
➜ speaking of impressing ingrid, this woman will stop a car with her bare hands just to have ingrid give her a compliment. what can be said? #girlfriendvalidationisthebest
➜ 100% is a pouter, a whiner, a "but babeee:("
➜ the type to get a tattoo for her girlfriend and not even tell anyone until someone just notices
➜ mapi is surprisedly flexible, don't ask how she figured that out
➜ follows ingrid around like a lost puppy. she just loves her girl so bad
➜ her favorite season is summer and her favorite thing to do during summer is to go to the beach. for one, she loves to be in the water and for two, she gets to see ingrid in a bikini. a win is a win
➜ says the most random shit that pops up in her mind like "do you think dinosaurs are related to chickens? and if they are related to chickens then when someone eats chicken, are they eating dinosaur meat?" and ingrid would just be like "please just eat your food"
➜ not the best dancer in the world but no body can tell her that
➜ mapi sometimes just gets baby fever and pesters ingrid before forgetting about it then she sees a baby & the process happens all over again
➜ overall mapi is just so silly 😝
© thinkingaboutjaedyn
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pick a pile: "Letter from your future partner"
take a breathe and choose the photo/number that calls you the most to read a love/encouragement letter (or some messages) from your future partner. Could be your future spouse (the person you're destined to meet and spend a lot of time with) for some of you. Thanks @sayaliii for the suggestion.
don’t take the reading too seriously. only take what resonates with you and leave the rest. remember that is a general reading and some things may not resonate with you.
(photos found on unsplash)
- ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -
1 - 2
3 - 4
- ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -
- ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -
pile 1
My love, my little flower, how are you?
Who am I joking, I know how are you. Don't be shy. We're connected. I know what you're up to. I know you're fighting hard against your past, against your shadows, and you're healing. And I cannot explain you how happy and proud I feel about you. I'm trying to do the same with my stuff, so to come clean to you. Be patient for a little more please.
I know life has been harsh with you, too harsh. But don't worry. Keep going on this path, you'll soon find your happiness. And don't be scared of your feelings, don't hold them inside. Don't let them grow too big, especially your fears: you need to be able to control them, my little one. I know you're strong and you can afford anything, but still I want you to know I cannot wait for the day in which I will be able to protect you and care about you as well. And it's gonna be soon, so get ready my dear.
For now, just pay attention while walking your path. And don't forget we're connected, and meant to be. So enjoy doing what you like, cause you feeling happy makes me happy as well. And remember to drink water and care about yourself.
P.s. I loved to meet you in my dreams. Did you like that too?
Until our day,
all my love to you.
(for some: you may first communicate through phone/computer; some of you may have problems related with your feminine caregiver/energy around you; some of you may be into cooking/baking; I think they've experienced almost your same problems in their life, huge mirror energy)
song: set fire to the rain | adele
- ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -
pile 2
Honey, it's me. You know it. You have the power to know it. And feel it. Don't lock me outside for what has been in the past. Let me in. I can warm you up. Let me in. I can make you happy and rich, in all fields. That's all I want to do. That's what I was born for. Look inside yourself, you have all the answers you seek. Start this journey.
I know it's scary when things change and you have no clue about what is going on, and you also have no clue about the person you are becoming, but it's fine. Trust the process. Trust that all you've learnt in the past, and are still learning, will serve you and help you.
Trust our signs as well, don't search for other confirmations: the dreams, the angel numbers, the words we share, and our past together. I know you can feel my energy and recognize it. Follow your guts: when you feel you need to do something or go somewhere, it could be me calling for you. Fate is working for us, to bring us closer asap.
My queen/king, all I want to do is to shower you with love and affection, flirt with you, make you blush. You can try too, but you know it's not that easy to make me blush (smirk).
Remember to stay balanced and don't fear this change. Just embark on this new journey with all you have. I'm here waiting for you, waiting to walk with you.
Your love.
(for some: you may have a telepathic connection with this person; letters T and W and the -next- month of November can be of relevance; many water elements in your charts can be present -could also just be a very emotional connection-; some may have shared a past life or more together, also in Medieval Era; if you feel cold, let them warm you -I mean let their energy in-)
song: hey lou reeds | the servants
- ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -
pile 3
Babe, I love to send you letters and poems. You know it. You inspire me. And you'll know it even better once we'll be together. I'll try to always leave you notes around, to remind you how lovely you are. Cause you are. You're amazing. Far more than you can see.
You're such a strong, creative and brave soul, even those days you think you're far from that. It breaks me that I cannot be by your side yet to remind you about this. Once I'll be there, please let me know your struggles, I want to fight them with you.
I'll bring you pizza, or any other food you want, to cheer you up. I will take you to a concert, or sing for you, or make you a playlist you'll love. I will help you heal. I'll do whatever to nurture you and make you happy, my beautiful one. I want you to not be scared about the future, cause it's gonna be bright. We'll make it so through our words and desires. I will help you change your life, and reach any of your dreams, through my words, and your words. I will help you grow stronger and more confident. As you'll help me. We'll balance each other so well!!
Even being physical together, I promise is gonna be different. I promise I will heal you in whatever way I can. Please keep speaking to me, tell me what you want, and I'll try to make it reality.
(I saw someone kneeling and kiss your hand)
(for some: I feel they'd rather use their words than mine, they were reclutant to let me write and in fact I couldn't really write everything too well; they may be foreign to you; I also got some anxiety from them, and they could be a bit of an overthinker whan it comes to you and how you feel (please talk with them, even when you're upset); color pink, number 3 -house of communications, ugh-, venus and neptune signs could be important; you can be divine counterparts)
song: the kill | 30stm
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pile 4
My sweetheart, we are two pieces of the same puzzle, don't you think? We fit and complete each other so well... Just keep your mind under control and let me explain.
You know exactly what and who you want to attract in your life, you know it's me, as I know it's you. So keep working on that. Write your desires, don't hide them away, don't feel they're too much. Be bold.
Your wishes are now blocked cause you are in need to make a choice: do you want to take a leap of faith and trust yourself and the Universe, or you just want to keep hurting yourself and let everyone around hurt you? You have the choice, you are in charge.
Know that I am here for you. I will soon make an offer to you, you'll hear from me. You're special, I cannot let you go too far: someone else may take you away from me. But beware, once I'll get to you, you'll have to be sure of what you really want: stay where you are or come with me?
It can be a tough decision, but even a tough decision can bring happiness, not just pain.
Just know that I cannot wait to watch sunsets with you, and sunrises as well. And bite your lips (you look so beautiful when you bite them while you are stressed and thinking about what to do).
I cannot tell you anything else for now, just find your balance and make your mind up about your wishes.
With love and respect.
(for some: they could be foreign to you or live in another city; you may end up marry them; this year or next year can be important for your meeting -it could be related to a job offer btw-; this person is kinda secretive/private, could be important in their field; I almost forgot to channel a song and then I found out I cannot channel a song with lyrics, just music. They really don't wanna tell anything more)
song: release | ken elkinson
#intuitive readings#pick a picture#pick a pile#pick a card#free tarot#intuition#pac reading#pac#pac tarot#tarot reading#intuitive#free tarot reading#free tarot readings#pick a card readings#pick a pile readings#divination#psychic readings#psychic
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﹆₊ 画家‧₊˚ THE BLOOD PAINTER, KAMO CHOSO
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ﹆₊ 概要 ‧₊˚ art; the painter‘s hidden identity is made known. wc, 3.42K. dark mode recommended.
␥ note. i’m back with this storyyyy. getting near the good part which also means the end but not just yet sooo just keep reading. hope ya enjoyyyy and reblog to support meee.
␥ tags. artist!choso, college AU, possible nsfw, female anatomy, smoking, etc. lmk if i missed anything
␥ misc. masterlist AO3 PART THREE
the art class was bustling with students, the scent of paint and clay wafting through the air. choso sat at his usual spot stealing glances from you. the professor announced a small project; drawing and painting your partners. but there was a twist—only two colors could be used.
choso’s heart raced as ideas began to flood his mind. everyone scattered around to their new seats and the male instantly scooted next to you. he smiled at you. it was something about that shy smile he gave you before he quietly asking if he could draw you.
“let me draw you first,” you smiled. “i don’t want you getting caught up with me and i completely forget to draw you.”
“oh, i don’t know…i’m not really good with posing or anything. and i’m not able to sit still for very long.” choso warned but you only smacked your lips as if the boy was spewing nonsense right out of his teeth.
“quit doubting yourself. you got nice style and your face would literally be perfect on a magazine cover maybe even in the art show that’s coming up.”
“art show?” choso raised a brow. for someone that loved art contests and taking trips to museums just to stare at the portrait hanging on the white walls encased in an embezzled gold frame, he seemed surprised about this information.
“yeah. don’t know how you haven’t heard about it but i was thinking of putting my painting of you in once it was finished.” you looked down at your blank canvas that was resting flat on the table just as it did when you first arrived to class.
“oh, no, you shouldn’t—i mean..you can if you want to it’s your painting but…i really don’t like being the center of attention. i don’t really like being stared at.” choso explained. he bit down on his lower lip and he sighed.
“come on, it’ll be a powerful piece.” you beamed. “i feel like it’ll really make an impact on the audience. and i promise i won’t use your name if you don’t want me to.”
choso hummed, his lips pursed before speaking again. “um…well if you think so highly of the piece then i guess i can’t say no. just promise you won’t tell anybody it’s me.”
“sure. now just hold still for me.” you say with a smile.
classes finally end for the day and the two of you made progress on your art pieces. you decided to ask choso to spend the rest of the day together, to which he agreed to without hesitation.
you both gathered your items and headed out into the bustling city of tokyo. the sun is setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. you and choso arrive at a cozy cafe and settled into a booth by a large window, surrounded by the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
the two of you had been there for a good thirty minutes talking about whatever came to mind, bouncing from topic to topic and bookmarking whatever part of the conversation you thought was interesting for another time.
“so, choso, you’ve always been into art?”
“yeah, well, i’ve always had a creative side, but i never really pursued it until recently. art helps me express things that are hard to put into words, you know?”
you nod. you never seen his art before and you just wondered how he had done things. your eyes travel over to the tote bag that was sitting flatly beside choso’s thigh. you fixed your lips to speak but a camera flash went off. you were pretty used to his off guard photos ever since the two of you started to hang out more often.
“can i see?” you leaned your body over the polished wood table before choso lowered his camera.
“not yet.” he answered. “mmm…i’ll show you when the project is complete. until then, i’ll have to hold off on showing you.”
you pout but you could understand why choso was being a bit selfish with his crafts. instead of begging to see a photo of yourself, which you prayed you didn’t blink in, you pointed to his bag.
“why don’t you finish your sketch? i mean, we have a lot of privacy right now and we don’t have any classes tomorrow. i also wanna watch you paint. its something about watching an artist in action is just so satisfying.” you say.
choso, lost in the depths of his own world, takes a sip of his green tea when he hears your unexpected statement. he recently started drinking it a bit more since that was the only thing he actually liked besides ice water.
feeling a surge of nervousness and excitement, choso shifts in his seat. painting in front of someone, especially you, made him feel vulnerable in a way he isn’t used to.
“i’m not sure…” choso looks down at his cup half filled with tea, which still had smoke billowing from it because of how hot it was. “i’ve never painted with someone else in the room before. it’s a pretty personal process for me.”
“c’mon, please? just for a minute.” you pleaded, clasping your hands and intertwining your fingers to be dramatic. choso chuckled at your silly behavior and simply sighed.
“let’s head back to the school and you can watch me work in my room, fair?” choso looks at you, awaiting an answer. of course, you agree.
back at jujutsu tech, you and choso were settling in, slipping your shoes off once you entered the room and placing your bags together against the wall.
you were amazed at how much space he had and how organized he was. the books on the bookshelves were all in size and color order and so were the cute little jars of paint that were on another shelf but you noticed that there was no red paint.
the desk was neatly organized also with choso’s laptop and ipad with its stylus side by side, charging. there was a mug with a bunch of pencils and pens and another cylinder item that looked handmade and painted with brushes in them. you assumed choso made it.
there was an easel in the corner of the room by the large windows that had blinds that would be shortly opened to let in some of the remaining light as the sun set. choso grabbed a few brushes and the rolling chair that sat at his desk and pulled it over in front of the easel and sat down. the male then reached for the canvas that had the drawing of you from his bag and placed it onto the easel. he looked pretty prepared now.
“you mind filling me a cup of clean water from the faucet?”
the question snaps you out of your awe-stricken mind and you nod. you went to the kitchen area and grabbed a cup that didn’t look like it would be used any time soon and filled it with water then brought it back to choso. he directs you to place the cup on the desk before thanking you for the simple gesture.
you noticed choso had his eyes closed now, taking a few breaths before removing the bandage on his nose and trashing it. you saw how blood shot from the black mark running over the bridge of his nose and onto the palette that was in his lap.
choso picks up one of the brushes and dipped it into the crimson liquid that had also been running down his face and began to paint. once the brush hits the canvas, all his nerves seem to dissipate, replaced by the familiar focus that comes with creating.
as choso dips his brush into the blood-infused paint, the room falls silent. the only sounds are the soft scrapes of the brush against the canvas and the occasional drips of paint.
you watched as colors of red and black filled the canvas. you weren’t familiar with the meanings of specific colors but the way you were drawn on his canvas as royalty, you could see sophistication and passion. choso put the brush down and rolled up his sleeves and began to use his fingers to paint. smearing the colors together with his knuckles.
your eyes sparkled, entranced, as choso’s knuckles danced across the canvas, blending the deep reds into the black that was present. the male was aware that he was in need of a palette knife but he’s never gotten the time to buy any.
“the way you use blood for your art is actually unique.” you spoke, breaking the silence. “i guess it adds depth and richness that’s hard to describe. it looks like the painting is alive almost.”
you were seeing it with your own eyes, his art style was hauntingly beautiful. you never seen anything like it. this whole scenario made you wonder if blood was often used when he painted or was this just a perfect coincidence. you slouch in your chair, in thought once again.
“blood has always been a part of me. a part of everyone, i should say. but mine is a curse and a blessing. incorporating it into my art feels natural to me. it’s like i’m putting a part of myself into each piece.” choso murmured.
“um…you know, i never heard you talk about your parents much, only your brothers. they must be really proud of you…you being all smart and artistic and such.” you say softly.
choso’s hand freezes mid stroke, his expression darkening. he sets down his brush and turns to face you. you see how that empty expression of his appeared onto his face again.
“my parents…they’re not in the picture. my mom isn’t alive and my dad was never proud of me. he only saw me as a tool, a weapon to be wielded. i’m happy he left me behind…”
your expression softens. on the outside, choso looked like he had it all. he was attractive, smart, talented, hell if he wasn’t the smartest guy around he probably would’ve gotten in just for being attractive and talented. he seemed perfect. but in reality, he was living in a fucked up world holding on to his creations for comfort.
“i’m so sorry, choso. i probably shouldn’t have brought that up and make you relive painful memories. but despite your past, you managed to create something beautiful out of the darkness. that takes a lot of courage and strength.”
choso nods, his gaze returning to the painting. he picks up his brush once again, lost in thought. he exhaled from his nose. though the topic did hit a nerve, he felt like he could trust you.
“it’s…fine i guess. it was a while ago. my brothers were the ones who helped me escape that life. we all live for each other and nothing can make me change that narrative. they’re my family and we’ve been through a lot together.”
“they must be really important to you, huh? you see them often?” you query. choso nodded again.
“as much as i can. i don’t really have the funds to constantly take train rides back and forth from my house to here and vice versa. we try to stay in touch, the most i can do is call them each night. yuji and eso are busy with their own business and you know they have to keep kechizu close because he’s pretty childlike and clings to eso like he’s his savior.”
you noticed the small smile on his face as he spoke of his brothers. him being the eldest, you would’ve expected him to severely despise his brothers but it seemed like he couldn’t even say the word ‘hate’ when talking about them. it was actually pretty sweet.
as the evening comes to an end, you find yourself standing outside of choso’s room and he’s leaning against the doorframe, his sleeves still rolled up, revealing thin strips of stitches along his forearm.
“what happened to your arm?” you point, making choso break his gaze and follow your finger to where you had been pointing. he only shrugged.
“a stupid accident. nothing too much to worry about.” he answered, rubbing the brand new bandage he had over his nose. his cheeks were still a little red from the blood that had been running down his face earlier.
“you should keep your bandage off. that mark is a part of who you are, and you know i accept that.” you say. choso is taken aback by your words, his hand instinctively touching the bandage again.
“it’s…not easy. people have always been afraid of me because of what what i am. it’s just easier to keep it hidden.”
“but you don’t have to hide from me. i see you, choso, for who you are, not what you are. you’re a human just like any other person here. and i think your mark is pretty cool, actually.”
choso couldn’t help but smile at your words. maybe—just maybe you had a point. maybe it was time for him to change his ways. get out of his comfort zone a little.
“um…yeah, thanks. i’ll think about it. goodnight.”
“goodnight, choso.”
“and this one would be called ‘the blood painter’.” the announcer spoke as the crowd followed around. it was perfect. better than anything else being displayed. choso stood in front of the painted canvas, staring at his own face looking down at his own partially painted portrait with a crimson liquid dripping from his nose and onto the canvas. there was a white cup filled with tea, which had been leaking from the sides as if it were overfilled.
his hair flopped down into his face before lifting a hand to brush it back with his fingers. he was awestruck. how could you have painted something like this with almost no experience. he could’ve sworn you said you were horrible at this kind of thing…maybe his memory was faulty.
“it’s perfect….” you hear him mumble as he stepped closer to the portrait. he was so tempted to touch it but he abided by the rules of not touching or taking any photos of the paintings being displayed. “how did you do this? you couldn’t have—no, you did…but this is so different from your drawing.”
“it was only a sketch. a way to get your features and everything properly. but a few days ago when we hung out, i thought i’d make something more expressive.” you grinned.
“i’m impressed.” choso’s eyes sparkled. “it’s like you captured my soul onto the canvas. i mean, i’ve seen art that expresses the soul of another person but this one is—wow.”
the male looked at you and his cheeks flushed a little. “maybe i got a little too excited. you did a nice job on your painting. hopefully you got a passing grade on it.”
you smiled at choso’s excitement and love for the art you made of him. you both knew it was simply for an assignment that would be graded then tucked away forever or thrown into a nearby dumpster but this was a sentimental thing. it was like a piece that needed to be preserved.
as you both stood in the middle of the large crowds, you two could hear people praising the painting for its raw emotion and style. one patron mentioned that it gave off a bit of a edgy feeling despite the cozy looking background.
choso was a bit surprised and delighted by the positive reactions, he felt a sense of pride in his portrait and the artist that created it—you. he turned to you with a smile on his face.
“i never thought my own portrait would have an impact like this.” choso said shifting his weight onto one leg. “see, now i kinda regret not letting you reveal my name.”
“you’re okay. it’ll make you a mystery man like the mona lisa…well she’s a real person but you get it, don’t you?” you chuckle lightly and choso does just that right along with you.
“i get it. but i’ll never be as known as she is. i’ll only be a mystery man that’s occasionally seen in shibuya.” he said. you threw your arm over choso’s shoulder and waved your hand dismissively.
“sure you will. one thing will lead to another. when you start seriously pursuing art and get your name out there, people will realize that you’re this man in the picture.” you pointed to the portrait, lightly tapping your nail against it as it created a hollow sound. you knew that you weren’t supposed to touch anything but you didn’t seem to care that much. you even went out your way to take a quick picture of it—it was surprisingly clear.
“they’ll call you signore kamo.” you added.
“you know italian?” choso raised a brow, a bit surprised by your pronunciation and how casually you said that word.
“nope, i googled it.” you smile innocently. choso released a breath as if he had been holding it for a while and returned a soft smile to you.
the art show ends and you and choso found yourselves walking close by each other on the sidewalk. the streetlights and neon lights from buildings illuminating your way as you walked back to the university. choso saw that you were on the left of him, closer to the street so he stoped to trade places with you.
“what was that for?” you ask as you put your hands down into your pocket. you had a feeling on exactly why choso did what he did but you just wanted to hear it from his mouth.
“well, just in case something happens, i’ll be hit first and you won’t have to worry about getting hurt.” choso stated, glancing at the street littered with parked cars. your instincts seemed to be correct but your lips involuntarily stretched into a smile anyway and you felt your face heat up a bit.
upon arriving back to the dorms, the two of you stood in the commons, your shadows stretching long in the dim light. since quiet hours were approaching, it was about time the two of you part ways once again until tomorrow. you turn to face each other, a mixture of contentment and longing in your eyes.
“i guess this is where we call it a day. thank you again for everything.” choso says and you nod.
“of course.” you beamed. “i had a really nice time with you today. and don’t forget that you don’t have to hide who you are around me. your true self is beautiful.”
“i’ll remember it.” choso replied before being caught off guard by your sudden hug. you flung your body into him and squeezed his sides a bit. his violet eyes widened as he contemplated on leaving you to cling onto him or hug you back. no one besides his brothers had ever given him a hug.
slowly and awkwardly his arms snaked around your body, finally returning a hug back to you. you both lingered there for a moment, holding on to each other before breaking away.
“hey, dinner on friday?” you ask.
“it’s a date.” choso replied, only making your smile grow. you both say your goodbyes and wave to each other before walking off in the opposite direction to head off to your rooms for the night.
but then another guy came along.
“hey, you got a second?” kashimo whispered. choso never interacted with the guy much but they’ve spoken enough to know how one another looked and each other’s names. sighing, choso obliged.
“i noticed the way you talked to that girl over there just a few seconds ago. you seriously scored.” the cyan haired male smirked at choso. “obviously, there’s something special between you two. maybe i could offer you some advice on that front?”
choso’s eyes narrowed, and as usual, his defensive walls go back up. he was never really comfortable with talking about his personal life, especially with someone he didn’t know all that well.
“i don’t need help with my love life, kashimo. i’m handling it perfectly fine.” choso crossed his arms. kashimo would put his hands up in a placating gesture.
“no pressure. i’m just saying that sometimes it’s easier to open up to someone who isn’t directly involved, you know? sit with me at lunch tomorrow. we can discuss this later.” the other lightly punches choso’s shoulder before heading out of the entrance doors.
“he’s weird.” choso muttered.
⠀© vmpiires | like, reblog & follow.
#𝐾𝑂𝑇𝐴 𝑊𝑅𝐼𝑇𝐸𝑆 書く#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#anime#choso kamo#jujutsu kaisen choso#jjk x reader#jjk choso#choso x reader#choso x black!reader#writeblr#writers on tumblr#writing#art#hajime kashimo#jjk kashimo
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A Crown fit for a God
(Part 2)
(Part 1 here)
Pairing: Azriel x Fem Reader
Summary: An enemy threatens Velaris leaving Azriel to choose between his found family and a long lost friend. Can he juggle the two or will he fall for the enemy?
Ch Summary: After you threaten Velaris with war. Azriel is tasked to find you and bring you to the prison above the mountain. He shadows have other plans when they confront you.
word count: 2.6k
Series warnings: 18+ MDNI, angst, hurt/comfort,light smut, war, including injuries, fighting, sign language, no use of y/n, nicknames, magic, greek mythology, pining, jealousy, azriel with other women (sorry), reader with another man (get it friend ; )
A/n: I hope this Ch sheds a little light as to what reader is and about her powers. I'm a daydreamer not a writer so if you see any mistakes that's how I dreamt it. Lol
In the beginning there was Khaos. The first God in existence to precede creation. Khaos filled the space between, invoking darkness and shadow. Unable to witness her work, her intense desire to see flickered before her. Discovering her own spark, she flew towards it, the force of her wings igniting, leaving a trail of stardust; giving birth to the vast universe. From her own will khaos had created the primordial deities that would reign over the elements of the universe. And thus terra, sky, darkness, light, night and day were created.
From the very desires of the first primordial gods, Demi Gods emerged, living among mortals and immortals. Soon enough these half gods no longer wanted the responsibility of mortals. Thanatos and his sisters, the Gods of Death grew tired of being witness to so much violence and bloodshed. Leaving their duties caused a riot. No other God would carry the burden of their responsibilities on top of their own. Those loyal to the Divine fought in the war of Gods, neither side backing down regardless of how much blood had been spilled. Khaos wept as she witnessed her slain children. Fighting against her kin, tears streamed down her face as she slaughtered her very own. Devastated, she fell to her knees in defeat, between her sobs she whispered in the ancient tongue, “I bind myself to the darkness of death, overpowering my light within so long as my spark prevails through the moonless journey.” All fighting ceased as every God witnessed khaos, bringer of life, descend to the lands in the form of a falling star. The fates of two entwined.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The house of wind was anxious, each door closed with a slam, rattling the photos that hung along the walls. The foundation, made from the mountain rock, shook and with it pieces of rubble and dust would float to the floors. Often the roaring would come back, leaving its inhabitants wide eyed and on edge.
every member of the inner circle sat in Rhys office. The air thick with tension as Azriel explained his actions, why he blocked Cassian from hurting you, why he needed to be the one to search for you. Many questions left unanswered. How did you find Velaris? And what kind of ancient magic would allow you to pass through his wards so easily?
“Rhys, I know her! We were childhood friends!” Azriel pleads, “let me find her.”
Elain’s eyes darted to Azriel, questioning his reason for his blatant lies. She knew he saw you once and never again. Yet she remained silent, a question for another day.
Rhys sighed, leaning back in his chair. All eyes were on him as he stared at the map of Prythian that lay across his desk. He took a sip of his whiskey, considering his next move. One by one he informed them of their duties, sending every member away as soon as they received their mission.
Cassian was sent to Windhaven to ready the warriors and ensure their weapons were up to par for battle. Amren and Nesta were to stay in Velaris to survey and defend the city in case you returned. Mor was to revisit the courts that had scorched farmlands and buildings, to see if there were any more details that they overlooked. Elain wished to stay in Velaris and investigate the reason the house was slowly deteriorating. Rhys agreed. Finally he ordered Feyre to accompany Azriel in his search for you.
Azriel ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, “No Rhys it has to be me alone. You can trust me.”
“After what I saw today, I’m not so sure where your mind is. I trust that you ‘ll do the right thing, but I don't agree with your current judgment so I’m sending Feyre with you.”
Azriels shoulders slumped as he nodded in defeat. Feyre placed a gentle hand on his back, attempting to soothe his disappointment.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feyre walked Azriel back to his room but before he entered she grabbed his arm moving him to face her. “ I have a friend I need to visit and he doesn't like when others tag along,” she whispered, hoping no one else would hear her. Azriel narrowed his eyes. “ So I hope you understand that I won't be joining you on your mission,” she winked, releasing her hold on him. Azriel just smirked, mouthing her a ‘thank you.’
Back in his room, Azriel cleared his desk of all the healer books he had meticulously studied. All these years he’d been searching for a healer when in fact you were a God, at least according to Amren. He spent hours searching Death Gods and tracing back their lineage and none had the powers you possessed, the power in which made him search for you. The power to heal. “You've been at it for hours, come to bed honey,” Elains sweet voice brought him out of his thoughts. “None of this makes sense,” he said mostly to himself as he shook his head, ignoring Elains request.
She stood behind him, gently kneading his tense shoulders with her slim fingers. His back tensed at her touch, purely focused on his work. Determined to get him to bed, Elain rested her chin on his shoulder, angling her head towards his ear as she whispered seductively her desires. His eyes fluttered closed in frustration, as she placed wet kisses to the curve of his neck, humming at the taste of him. “Not tonight.” Coldly he shrugged her off, hating the pain she held in her eyes. Without a word Elain stepped away, leaving Azriel to drown in his work, drown in his thoughts of you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“And then I pushed through, you should have seen their faces,” you chuckled, recounting the events from Velaris to your dearest friend. “No matter the job you always try to make it fun.” He replied, petting the hen that sat in his lap; a gift you had brought him for the delicious tea leaves he had acquired.
You smile, enjoying his company that you often missed. Out of the corner of your eye, a wisp of shadow scurries into the darkness of the night, earning your full undivided attention. Nothing but silence is heard. “What was that?” you ask, turning back to the Suriel. “An invisible thread that weaves and winds, binding hearts two of a kind.” you gape at him, blinking your eyes rapidly, “I don't even want to know.” A chuckle rattles in his throat, “go before he finds you.” Without another word shimmer and darkness envelope you, winnowing you far from the Night Court.
Azriels shadows darted through the low grounds of the woods, swerving through a dense thicket of birch trees and rock formations, scouring each bush and body of water in search of you. Once they spotted you, they quickly returned to their master, curling around his ear ,whispering ‘Suriel.’
Just as you winnowed away a blade launched itself toward the Suriel; flying through the air from a shroud of darkness, pinning his cloak to a tree. “Where is she?” he asks, tone impatient and demanding.
“Here, there, everywhere.”
Azriel pinches the space between his brows in annoyance. Shaking his head he asks another question, hoping for a straight answer.
“How do I find her?”
“Evoke emotions without a single touch, no wings yet able to fly. To catch this God let her hear the cords of the night.”
“I don’t…..these riddles. I don't understand.” Azriel paced in front of the Suriel, wracking his brain for any clues.
“The touch of a memory will carry her to you.”
“Stop with the riddles!” Azriel fumed, teeth clenched tight as he stared the Suriel down.
“Are you not a shadowsinger?” he replied, pulling out the blade that held his cloak to the tree. “I've answered your questions, whether you can decipher the meaning is no business of mine.” Finished with Azriels questioning, the Suriel made his way through the woods, hen in hand for a fresh slaughter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
It had taken Azriel a few days to figure out the riddle. Repeating the words over and over, analyzing each term and its meaning. The line ‘hear the cords of the night’ was what led him to realize it was a song, but what song was what stumped him. He felt like a fool singing his favorite songs in the middle of the forest, belting it out with his whole chest.
He sang songs that made him teary eyed and even sang songs in the ancient tongue, but none of those had lured you to him. The Suriel mentioned ‘the touch of a memory,’ “oh Gods, I’m an idiot,” he said to himself. He only had one encounter with you, so it was easy to remember the events of that night, all these years he could never forget. He would never forget the song, the song he thinks is about you. His mother sang this song to him as a child and he wonders if she knew the dark power you possessed, was she singing to a God in hopes to answer her prayers, to lift her from the chains that held her down.
The house of wind kindly provided warm tea and honey. It's eagerness to assist him piqued his curiosity. He would ask Elain about her findings another day. Soothing his vocal cords, a plan was formed to capture you and send you to the prison on top of the mountain.
You're the chaos of the night,
A little girl lost in the woods
You're a folktale, the unexplainable
You're a bedtime story
The one that keeps the curtains closed
And I hope you're waiting for me
'Cause I can't make it on my own
I can't make it on my own.
Azriel sang the words from his childhood, voice harmonious with a smooth baritone that held the memories from the past. He sang from the depths of his heart in hopes that the meaning behind his words would grace your ears and become a light in the dark. Guiding you towards his waiting arms.
Weathered leaves crunch under the weight of your relaxed body, grass floor cold and damp from the night. But the view of the stars in the Night Court were your favorite, they called to you as if saying 'stay.' Stars glitter like rare diamonds, and the crescent moon smiled brighter than the sun. The evening scent of mist and night felt familiar in the way that reminded you of home. It had been so long since you’ve been home, the thought of never returning grew closer and closer.
The midnight breeze caresses your skin, its gentle touch has your eyes closing, focusing on the chirping of crickets and running water. A mellow voice sings the harmonious music of the night, its soft whisper tickles your ear like a past lover, luring you to follow the rich sound.
I hope you're waiting for me
Across your carpet of stars
You're the chaos of the night,
You're everything that we can't see
Chaos, you're the possibility.
Azriel ceases to sing once he spots you round a thick tree, his shadows excitedly rush towards you and Azriel curses under his breath at their eagerness. He observes as they affectionately coil around your neck, fluffing about in your hair before they trail down your arms. You giggle at their curiosity as they loop around your fingers, “you wanna play?” you ask, as you slowly move your fingers in awe at their closeness. They playfully bounce from one hand to the other, and you take that as a yes. Azriel is dumbfounded as he admires his shadows from afar. He has his arms crossed over his chest as he leans against a tree, his gaze slowly trails up the delicious curves of your body and he imagines what it would be like to lay with a God. He sees you smile and nod at whatever they’ve whispered in your ear and he fears you both are up to no good. As the shadows dance in a circle just a few feet in front of you, they rapidly circle around and around creating a whirlwind of darkness. Cautiously you near the edge of their tornado and zap one of the shadows, creating an orb of light within the vortex. You're mesmerized by the display in front of you. Your power bounces off the shadowed wisps like an elegant dance, the wisps gently stroke the flame of your power, careful to not get scorched.
With the blink of your eye the orb bursts, spraying the ground and trees with thousands of specs of glittering starlight. Azriel feels a jolt of electricity zip up his body, shaking him so hard he loses balance off the tree, quickly righting himself before you notice. His effort is too late, you've already spotted him.
“You're not a stalker are you?” you ask, voice playful and curious as you near him.
If you only knew, Azriel thinks with a smirk.
“No, but I can be. Nice party trick by the way.” Azriel pushes off the tree to meet you. The first thing you notice is his eyes, hazel and dreamy framed by long thick lashes. His nose is straight and a little too perfect for a warrior, you wonder if he’s ever been punched in the face before, or maybe he's just that good at fighting. His high cheekbones and strong jaw remind you of the many demi gods that have been sculpted throughout the years. You eye him up and down, taking in his stature and broad shoulders. He’s a little too handsome and in your experience these types of males are conceited snobs who only enjoy their own reflection and company. Meanwhile Azriel does the same, completely entranced by the sway of your hips and how your hair flows over the swell of your breasts.
“They seemed friendly.” you respond, tipping your head to the shadows that have swirled around the both of you, appearing to close the distance between you.
Azriel shakes his head, “I meant in Velaris. You threaten my home, my friends and my High Lord and expect to get away with it? How did you get past the wards? And how did you find Velaris?”
Before you could respond the ground shakes as a blast erupts creating a cloud of dust and forest debris. Instinctually Azriel pulls your body flush to his, shielding you from injury. Dark membranous wings curl around your body, cocooning you safely in his arms. Your hands find the planes of his toned chest as you peer up at him through your full lashes. You know what the blast was but the feeling of his body pressed against yours had your knees weak, and you couldn't break away.
Azriels heart is ramming against his chest at the proximity, his gaze is locked on your brilliant eyes as he dares to cup the side of your cheek. Angling your face to meet his, your exposed collarbone catches his attention when a bargain tattoo vanishes before his eyes; breaking the trance you had him in.
“What did you bargain?” he urges, hands now tightly gripping your upper arms.
“Your worst nightmare.”
Azriel staggered back, paling in horror as he registered your words.
Only one creature carried that name.
Bryaxis.
Part 3
Taglist: @blackgirlmagicforever @going-through-shit
#acotar x reader#azriel shadowsinger#azriel spymaster#acotar fanfic#acotar imagine#acotar#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel fanfic#azriel angst#azriel x fem!reader#azriel x y/n#azriel
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I'm Not Yours
Summary: You're getting over a breakup and meet a cute guy on a case, what you didn't realise was that your best friend has been waiting for years. Warning: Swearing
A/N: I'm sorry my post is so late!! I had it queued up to post at 9am like normal and then it didn't?? And then I had a math test so I couldn't go on my phone or anything, AND THEN HALF THE STORY JUST DISSAPPEARED SO I HAD TO REWRITE IT?!?!? It has been quite the hassle. Also this was a prompt from @andiebeaword's 3000 follower celebration! The first sentence of the story was the prompt. Also, I meant for this to be gn!reader so if anyone sees any she/he pronouns for reader please tell me! Love you all <333
Word Count: 1.5k
Song Suggestions: Yours - Conan Gray
"I can't stand you choosing another person over me, again."
***
His bright blue eyes shined in the sun, a ray hitting across his face perfectly. Pushing his short brown hair out of his face while smiling at you made your insides flutter, completely forgetting about your ex now.
"So as I was saying, it would be best for you and your team to set up here. There's lots of room and we haven't used it in years." His voice came out in this long, deep tone. JJ walked into the room raising an eyebrow at you before taking over the conversation with the officer.
"What was that look?" Jumping slightly, you turned around and saw Penelope. It was that once a year situation where she actually had to join the rest of the team for a case. "Someone likes the officer."
The girls took any chance they could to get you to talk to the guy. They weren't wrong, you did think he was insanely cute but, you just weren't quite sure if you had the guts to really talk to him.
"I do not!" You laughed, "And even if I did…it's not like anything could happen." Penelope continued pestering and Emily joined the conversation and made sure to give her opinion as well.
***
"You better at least get his number, we're only gonna be here for a few more days." Penelope had been bugging you the most out of anyone, "Well, I let you sit on that thought. I need to go work my wonderful magics so I will talk to you about this later." She smiled and strutted away back to her laptop setup down the hall.
"What was Garcia talking about?" Turning back to the task at hand, Spencer was standing at a board. Working on the case. "Is this about that officer?" His voice was very flat, little emotion which was unusual for him. Especially around you, the two of you had been best friends since you transferred to the BAU.
"Yeah it was, she's trying to get me to get his number." Not turning from his work you started to flip through some files and continue to talk. "I do think he's pretty hot, but I also think it's way too early to start putting myself out there you know?"
"Yeah, yeah I guess I can understand that." Peeking over his shoulder briefly to look at you. Hearing the way you were talking about this guy was leaving him conflicted. The first day he had met you he'd already fallen in love. No statistic or math problem could explain how that happened. He's been sitting on the sideline for the past three years, watching you go from boyfriend to boyfriend, letting him be your shoulder to cry on when it was heartbreak after heartbreak. But honestly, he didn't know how long he could keep going like this.
"...But it could also be some type of fate thing. Like, I break up with a toxic asshole and then meet a dreamy police officer? I don't know, what do you think Spencer?" Walking over to him to put up some photos and thoughts on the board you look up at him, waiting for his response.
"Whatever you think is best I suppose," It took him a long time to respond, the way you were speaking of this guy was just breaking his heart more and more. It was taking all his power to not just scream 'I LOVE YOU!!' and see your reaction. "Do you want to ask him out."
"I think so, I guess he is really nice, and really good looking…" Going on about him a bit more, you paused then changed your thought process. "I mean everything and everyone is telling me to go for it but some small part of me is saying no."
"I think I'm just being paranoid, why shouldn't I put myself out there? It has been like three months. And if it doesn't work out, so what? At least I tried. I think I'll do it." Just like that, the hope died. Should he just say it? Get it out there and hope for the best? This was impossible.
"What does that mean? Are you just not ready to put yourself out there again or is it because there's someone else?" A small glimmer of hope ignited in him, maybe he still had a chance after all.
***
"I'm going to do it. So you can stop annoying me about it, Pen." She smiled and started to ramble about how it will be so good for you. The case had been solved and you were all packing up. Everyone with the exception of Hotch and Rossi were in the room given to the team.
"I'm so glad you're going to do this! You two would be such a sexy pair I just know it." You and Penelope continued to talk, but Spencer was just heartbroken. Standing on the opposite side of the room he could still hear you. He was packing up his things slowly, hoping to get a chance to talk to you alone.
"You should just go for it kid, don't let them get with another guy without you atleast saying it." Derek, giving his opinion to Spencer while leaning against the wall. Tossing a ball now that he was all packed up.
"What if you say something and they like you back?" Derek counter protested. Spencer thought about it for a minute, he had a point. But on the other hand he couldn't tell what would be worse; watching you ask someone else out again or telling you and losing such an important person in his life.
"I know, I just don't want to ruin three years of friendship. What if I say something and they never talk to me again?" He questioned, still listening in on your conversation.
***
"I'll be done in a minute!" You called out to Penelope and Emily. Still packing up your things it was only you and Spencer left in the room.
Finally throwing your bag over your shoulder you started to catch up to the rest of the team you heard Spencer call out to you. "Wait! Can I talk to you for a minute, please?"
"Yeah, of course." A little confused on why he sounded so nervous you stood infront of him, waiting for him to continue. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing it's just," He cleared his throat, no or never. "I was just wondering if you gave that officer your number yet."
"Oh, not yet. I was actually about to do that. Why do you ask?" Titling your head, curious. He started to fidget with his hands, not sure what to say.
"Oh, so you are going out with him." His voice barely above a whisper. "That's nice I suppose."
"Okay…" You smiled and started to head to the door. "I'm going to go now, see on the jet Spencer?"
"I- please, I need to say something." He tripped over his words, come on Spencer, just say it!!!
"Are you okay? You seem nervous." Why was he acting like this? It was so confusing to you.
"Okay, I'm just going to say it." He sighed, "I don't want you to go out with that officer. I mean if you really want to you should do it of course but I don't want you to because I want you to go out with me. If you don't feel the same way tell me but it's just, I can't stand you choosing another person over me, again." Biting the inside of his cheek, waiting for your response.
"Oh," Was all you could say at first. You didn't really know what else to say. "You, you like me?"
"Yeah, I do. And if you don't feel the same way I get it and pretend I never said anything because I don't want to lose you. But if you go out and date this guy I'm going to have to put up a boundary, I'm sorry."
"Spencer, I don't know what to say," You laughed lightly, not sure how to say what you were thinking. "I feel the same way, I just assumed you never would like me back so I have been trying to get over it."
"Really?" He smiled and gave that puppy-dog face he always made. "Are you serious?"
"Why would I lie?" Throwing your bag over your shoulder you hugged him then stepped back giving a small smile. "We should go though, the jet is supposed to leave like now. But can we talk about this later?"
"I would like that." The two of you started to head out, and you completely forgot about the officer. Spencer just walked out with a huge smile on his face. Why didn't he say this sooner???
#criminal minds#sofiareidings#spencer reid#criminal minds fandom#bau#fandom#fanfic#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x gn!reader#spencer reid x you#andies3kwritingcelebration
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hey so remember how I made color palettes based on the TMPH? well all the songs are out now so here's a crap ton of color palettes based on all the Power Hours!! :D
I might use em myself but if anyone else uses them, please tag me in your post!!! I'd love to see what you do with it :D
Also because I'm a nerd & I like explaining things, where I got the names for them are below if anyone curious bout them :}
TMPH:
Page one is more obvious; it just being the song title. The second page is named with Acts like how the first three songs were titled [both in CJs & in the original]. The entire acts all together is named Ego, hence the bottom being named Ego. And then all of the Ego/Acts together spell C.A.N. & as CJ said in the Directors Commentary, it funnily enough matches with his old YouTube channel name "Can of Soup" [or DJ soup I think it is now].
THDPH:
There aren't as many palettes since there wasn't much I could grab from sadly. But the names are more creative at least.
•Pocket Aces- Shutup Your Stupid: "Maybe I'll shoot my shot at one of those handsome faces. Have a couple drinks, make my stance advantageous; play my pair of Pocket Aces"
•Kismet's Call- Evl Ppl: "Our habits and our rituals aren't half as stacked as Kismet's Call"
•Coloring & Additives- Savages: "Savages! Who work with ratios and averages; Governments, establishments, Coloring and Additives"
•Course & Rough- A Drink to Death: "We were nice, but now I'm Coarse and Rough"
•Casa Infierno- Chonny's Inferno: "Perhaps a snack or beverage, on the house, from Casa Infierno"
•Unintentional Impression- Shutup Your Stupid: "He does his best Impression of me, says it came out 'Unintentionally' "
WWPH-
First page is again just the song titles. Page two is lines from some of the songs [Top two are Laplace's Angel & the bottom two are Memento Mori]. And page three is from the lyric "Heaven. Hell. Nirvana. Nothing. No one knows how it ends" from Memento Mori.
CJPH-
First three on page two are just song titles [Push should technically be labeled Don't Take it Personally but I named it wrong & only realized till just now 🙃. But oh well its too late now]. The bottom two are words from The Lie of Black and White.
•Misery: " 'Every moment I wait substantiates my Misery' "
•Melody: "Every person on Earth deserves to sing their Melody"
Page two is all for Push [or what should have been Push but i fucked up lol]. Streamers are colors from the party streamers on him. Makeup is the colors he used for his makeup [as best I can tell]. And Charcoal is for the charcoal soap goop on him. Buuuuut lets pretend it based on the line "My wrist and my heart where you kissed, pulled apart till it burns like Charcoal" from DTiP. Just so I feel less like an idiot.
Maybe ill post what photos I got the colors from if I feel like it. But if anyone's curious on a specific one, you can send an ask or smth & I'll gladly tell you :}
#this oddly took a good about of time to make#the bg detail top & corner things alone took me like an hour an a half for some reason#also this is like the second or third time i made color palettes so idk how good they actually are#but uh have fun with em if you can!#chonny jash#moss post#cj tmph#cj thdph#cj wwph#cjph#-atlas art-#technically art yea id say so
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