#(possibly - I'm tagging them both just in case)

[hoe-in-deepspace]

Im literally obsessed with your blog, and the fact that were practically the same age..their both a warm.balm to my soul 😫! Can i request something from one zayne girlie to another? We all knkw that caleb is considered a panty sniffer but...what if zayne is a bra feeler, and you catch him in the act? (We know he got some crazy hidden kinks as well 🤭). If you decide to do this, then my aether embedded heart will beat once more.

Omg thank you so much!!!! That makes me very happy 🥰 Similar age AND both Zayne girlies??? The universe must want us to be friends 🙂‍↕️ I'm drooling over the Zayne pic bc goddamn he looks breathtaking 😍

You are absolutely right about Zaynie being kinky (it's always the quiet ones) and I could definitely see him having a thing for bras

I haven't really written much fanfiction so there is no guarantee that it'll be good but I did my best for you!

P.S. I made the bra a red lace one to match the red lace panties in that panty sniffer Caleb edit 🤭

Dividers: enchanthings

Caught Red-Handed

Zayne x Reader

CW: Mentions of reader having breasts/wearing a bra but otherwise written as gn as possible (tagging as x fem reader just in case), pre-established relationship, two yearning idiots, Zayne realizing he is a horny freak for reader's bra (pops a boner that's never mentioned again). I think that's everything. Let me know if I forgot anything that should be here please.

Everybody knows that Zayne shows his love and care through acts of service. Which is why he's currently in your laundry room moving your freshly cleaned clothes out of the dryer and into the laundry basket that's resting gently between his arm and hip.

You had casually mentioned to him earlier in the day that you were exhausted from the countless missions the association had sent you on for the past week but couldn't spend your day off resting as there were many things you needed to take care of at your place. You had been putting the tasks off until you had more time and now that you finally had the time your body decided it only wants to rest. To say you regret leaving everything to be done on the same day is an understatement.

When you confided in Zayne about your predicament you hadn't thought he would show up on your doorstep 20 minutes later with your favorite drink in hand along with a small paper bag containing a few sweet treats for you two to share.

Once you both finished eating, Zayne adamantly insisted on helping you with your chores under the guise of not wanting the stress of it all to overwhelm your already exhausted body and heart. You knew he was helping simply because he cares about you but you couldn't resist the urge to ask if he's this caring with his other patients. His response? "Only the ones who cause as much trouble as you." You gasp. "There are others?" you joke with a faux look of shock displayed on your face. The corners of Zayne's lips quirk up ever so slightly before he breathes out a small "No".

Seeing as how Zayne wasn't going to take no for an answer you decided to leave him in charge of washing the laundry since it was the easiest task on your list. You know he works hard day in and day out at the hospital so the idea of letting him take on your biggest tasks on top of all that made a twinge of guilt bubble up in your chest.

Zayne carried the now full basket of clean clothes to your room and sat it down on the edge of your bed before proceeding to fold its contents.

When you had suggested for Zayne to wash your laundry he had politely asked if you wished to remove any intimates you didn't want him to see from the pile. He reassured you that he had no issue with handling such garments and was only asking out of respect for your privacy. You quietly thanked him before sorting through your laundry pile until you had collected all of your intimates to be washed by you later.

Zayne sorted your clean clothing as he folded them making separate piles for your t-shirts, jeans, socks, hunter uniform, etc. Once everything in the basket was folded and separated he began putting them away in the places you instructed him to. The closet was first and once everything that belonged in there was put away he moved on to the dresser. You had specified that your t-shirts go in the top drawer on the left but when he opened said drawer he came face to face with your collection of bras and underwear instead.

Realizing he must have made a mistake when remembering your instructions he goes to close the dresser drawer until a certain red lacy bra catches his eye. He stops in his tracks and stares at the garment with increasing intensity. He gets an overwhelming urge to pick up the bra and feel the delicate lace between his fingers but pushes the feeling down. Or at least he tries to.

Before he knows it he's got the red lacy bra in his hands. He drags his thumb slowly across the underside of the right cup. His fingers follow along down the length of the band before gently making their way to the straps. It's clear to Zayne that this bra serves as fashion over function due to the rather fragile natural of the straps. He imagines how they'd struggle to hold up your perfect breasts (no matter what size they are). The way they'd practically beg to be slipped off your shoulders so they can get even a few moments of respite from their losing struggle with your breasts. After Zayne's careful assessment of the garment he concludes it's rarely worn (if at all) based on the near perfect condition it's in. This discovery brings a sense of relief to his yearning heart. Next he uses his long fingers to stretch the cup out as if it were being worn by you. His breath hitches as he imagines your breast filling the cup. The way the lace would stretch across the tissue as if it were a second skin, giving the illusion that the lace was just another part of your gorgeous body. How despite your breasts being covered there is still very little left to the imagination. The growing tightness of his pants pulls him from his lewd thoughts.

He shouldn't be doing this. He knows it's wrong but he can't seem to get himself to stop no matter how hard he tries. He's never been so drawn to a piece of clothing before so he had no way to mentally defend himself against such an occurrence.

After fighting with himself internally, he cautiously continues running his fingers across the bra tracing the pattern of the lace on each cup. His breathing becoming more rapid and audible as a slight blush creeps across his face and ears. Eventually losing the battle with his intense urges, Zayne slowly drags the delicate fabric across his cheek to then ghost over his lips. A languid sigh escapes him as his eyelids flutter shut. The lace barely touched his lips but it's enough to make him weak in the knees.

While Zayne was busy fighting his demons in your bedroom you were in the kitchen putting away the last of the dishes you just finished cleaning. Suddenly you remembered (a bit too late) that you had rearranged your clothes in your dresser last week to make more room and things were now in a different spot than you had told Zayne they'd be. You mentally scold yourself for making such a mistake. You had given him the rundown on where everything goes while you were busy washing the mountain of dishes that accumulated over the last few days. That coupled with how exhausted you were led to you telling Zayne the spots those clothes used to go.

As you make your way to your bedroom to apologize and correct your mistake you can't help but wonder why Zayne hadn't come out to address it as it had been almost half an hour since he had taken your clothes out of the dryer. Surely he wasn't still folding them? Maybe he just opened the rest of your drawers to figure it out himself? But he had been so respectful of your privacy earlier so there is no way he would have gone through your other drawers without your permission, right? Questions ran through your head as you finally made your way into your bedroom.

"Sorry Zayne I-" you start but quickly cut yourself off as your gaze lands on what's happening in front of you. There stands Zayne slightly hunched over your open dresser drawer with your red lace bra in his hands and a deep blush on his face.

Zayne immediately whips his head in your direction and looks at you with widened eyes before quickly looking back down at your bra in his hands. He's been caught red-handed. He stays quiet for a moment while he tries to come up with any possible excuse that could explain why you found him in such a state. All the while his blush deepens.

You were so caught off guard by the situation that all you can manage to say is "is that my bra?" to which he just slowly nods while still avoiding your gaze. Before you can say anything else Zayne speaks up. "I apologize for my behavior. I don't know what came over me." You notice he still has your bra in his hands and has started nervously running his fingers along it. It's such a small movement that you doubt he even knows he's doing it.

The pieces of the puzzle connect in your mind as you realize Zayne, your usually composed doctor friend you're in love with, was just helplessly touching (and who knows what else) your lace bra he accidentally stumbled upon while you were in the other room. Your face heats up at the implication of the situation. Zayne wouldn't have acted the way he did if he didn't have feelings for you right? Maybe you're reading too much into this? Your mind is plagued with questions that you desperately need an answer to.

Mustering up all the courage you have you slowly move closer and gently place your hand over Zayne's to stop his fidgeting fingers. You both look up at each other and lock eyes. The two of you stand there in silence for a brief moment before Zayne instinctively looks away and clears his throat. He knows he should release your bra from his hands but that would mean removing his hand from your gentle grip. It would mean losing the feeling of your warm palm and slightly pruning fingertips against his cool skin. Zayne may often seem calm and collected on the outside but inside he deeply craves touch and affection. But not just anyone's will do, no, he craves your touch and affection. Which is why he's going to stand here as long as you'll let him with your hand on top of his.

Zayne makes no effort to move from the current position so you decide to take it upon yourself to gently remove your bra from his hands. He shows no resistance to your movement but carefully watches you from the corner of his eye. It's as if he's studying your expression for any signs of anger or disgust. He sees neither on your face but that does little to calm his racing heart.

Once the bra is free from Zayne's grip you drop it into the still open drawer and quickly close it. A deafening silence rings in the air as neither of you know where to go from here. Unable to cope with the lingering silence any longer you spit out the first thing that comes to mind. "I've never worn it. I thought I would save it for a special occasion". Zayne hums softly in response. "What occasion would warrant such attire?" he questions with a teasing lilt in his voice. You exhale a small laugh as some of the earlier tension dissipates. "I'd probably wear it on a date if I really liked the person." you half joke.

Zayne finally turns to face you before uttering lowly, "and if I was your date?" He prays you understand the underlying meaning behind his words. That you understand he's not just interested in seeing you in that risque garment. That he wants to see you in every facet both physically and emotionally. He wants to see you when you're happily gushing about a show you like, when you're sad because your favorite restaurant stopped serving your go to meal, when you're laughing over something he said, when you're too tired to get up for work in the morning because you stayed up late playing a video game. He wants to see you.

He looks at you with a mix of hope and fear in his eyes. Hope that you'll return his feelings and fear that your friendship is over if not. His heart is beating a mile a minute as he awaits your response.

Luckily for Zayne, you understood exactly what he meant. You knew he was never the type to make crude comments so it was clear to you that he was saying a lot more than the words that came out of his mouth. After being friends with Zayne for so long you had learned to pick up on the subtle ways he would express his intentions without actually voicing them. Even after all those years apart this still rang true.

A small smile appeared on your face and Zayne's heart clenched in his chest. Finally, after what felt like hours, you respond.

"I'm free this Saturday if you'd like to find out."

A/N: Ahhh I hope you liked it! I didn't mean for it to be this long but my inspiration was just raring to go apparently. I thought about making it smutty but didn't want it to be too long so maybe I can do a part 2 if people are interested. Never wrote smut before but I read a lot of it so maybe that'll be enough to help. Anywho, thank you for reading!

[notyourmamasdeerbat]

WIP Wednesday🤦/ Last Line Tag Game

Heyyyyyyyyyy. So I got good news and bad news. Good news is- BOY DO I HAVE CONTENT! Bad news is... uh. It's all new WIPs. I KNOW I KNOW I'M SO SORRY I SWEAR I'M NOT ABANDONING MY PROJECTS! I have so much love in my heart for them just a very lost brain. Taking a brief break to write nondescript other stuff and circling back to long form fics very soon. So much for locking in this week.

Thank you graciously to @officialnostradamus @fenrelmercar and @redheadsramblings for the tags!

Ok, last line written: “It’s nothing personal,” she insisted, before darting forward in a vicious lunge. Not knowing what else to do, Coadi clashed the blade aside with the shriek of steel on steel. They took a staggering step to one side, presenting their profile as a smaller target. 

Eh? Eh?! :D HIGH STRESS HIGH STAKES SCENARIO. The turning point, the end of Coadi's time in Orlais! This, if I ever complete it and sort out my timeline for REAL, Aldwir's Lament: Broken Display possibly an installation in a brief prequel series of Coadi Aldwir's formative adventures, before they became Rook.

****

WIP STUFF:

I'm going to put a few lines I'm particularly proud of from Broken Display right here don't mind me:

Coadi wrung their hands, regarding the crystal halla figurine in its glass case as the torches were beginning to burn down to embers. The white sleeves of their linen shirt nearly glowed in the half light, as if they were a ghost lingering on the fringes of the ancient relics, attached by some curse of time and fate. 

It was a grim thought. Few of these artifacts had been retrieved by good will alone. 

“Er, yes. I mean, no. I’d like to stay a few more minutes?” 

“...You have proven yourself responsible.” Adelard shrugged and flicked his wrist to produce a wrought iron key on a long loop of silk ribbon. “Shut the doors before you leave.” 

“Right. Thank you, Adelard.” 

“Hmm.” Icily, the man turned to make his exit. Coadi listened to his footfalls echo on the marble floor out of sight, then the creak of the museum’s double doors banging shut. Silence engulfed them. 

****

AND BELOW IS EVEN MORE MODERN AU NIGHTCLUB CANTORI DIAMOND ROOKANIS NONSENSE I'M SO SORRY I CAN'T SHUT UP ABOUT THIS

CW: author's clumsy description of sensory overload/panic, Rook being a sweetheart, dubious sharing of prescription substance

those of you who might enjoy music to go along with your club era meet cute:

-

“Oh fu– Maker! Hello!” Rook laughed, blue gaze sparkling in the half light as they gently steadied them both, releasing Lucanis hurriedly. “I’m sorry, didn’t see you there!” They shouted over the music. 

Lucanis shied away from the swaying skirt and mesh sleeves of a couple racing to join the crush of a rapidly forming pit. He cleared his throat, scowling, brow furrowed as he felt a headache roaring to life in the back of his skull. “It’s nothing,” he shouted back, voice hoarse. 

“Oh, your vest,” Rook lamented loudly, frowning at the smattering of dark splotches. “It’s very nice!” 

“It was,” Lucanis replied, trying valiantly to resist the push and pull of the crowd that seemed to be drawing them closer together. The crush of body heat made his skin crawl. “But it’s nothing. These things happen.” 

Rook barely heard him, but held up a finger with a frown, reaching into one of the many many pockets of their pants and retrieving a small pack of crinoline covered wet wipes. “Here!” 

Another surge of tidal movement pushed them within inches of one another, swallowed into the fold on the edges of the pit, bass pounding. Wincing against the noise, but endeavoring to be polite, Lucanis took the wet wipe and swiped half heartedly at the stains on his chest. “Thank you,” he shouted. 

“What?” Rook, laughing, squinted against the noise. “Oh! No problem!” 

Staggering as someone rammed an elbow into their back, Rook held up a hand between them to try and keep a respectful distance, grinning dizzily. “I love this song!” 

“You do?” Lucanis asked, incredulous as he tried to take a step back and his spine hit someone else's. He jerked, darkness threatening to cloud the edges of his vision in mocking spots. His flesh was on fire. 

Rook frowned. “Hey! You alright?” 

Lucanis nodded, throat clenching to cut off his breathing, stale air rank with sweat and iron and alcohol choking his lungs as he tried to push back towards the bar through the sea of bodies. 

Rook’s eyebrows shot into their hair as the man in front of them swayed. Moving quickly, they shouldered into his path and forged through the bodies at an angle, one hand closing tight around Lucanis’ wrist. He stiffened in their grasp, but Rook only pulled him along, shouting over the thunderous melody and the vibrations in the floor and the blinding, disorienting strobe- using their body as a shield. “Scuse me! Sorry! Coming through- HEY WATCH IT-” They dodged a spilt drink and  shouldered between two dancing qunari and squeezed through the space they created, dragging Lucanis quickly behind as the roar of the blood in his ears drowned out all other noise and the spots in his vision multiplied. 

The air grew clearer, as if he were coming up from being underwater, when they burst out into the space around the bar and it's steady, violet glow. Rook pulled Lucanis towards the maintenance stairway with its glowing exit sign and set him with his back to the wooden steps to the catwalk above and the orange lights beyond. 

“Here, sit down.” 

A little lost and still dizzy, heart hammering against his aching ribs, Lucanis sank down onto the step. Rook fished something from their linen pants pocket once more– an ice cold “hot water” bottle, covered in little stickers. A few nugs, a hamster, several souvenir images from cities across the continent. One big teal and red vignette of the statue of Our Lady of Victory read Minrathous in bold scarlet letters. 

They offered it to Lucanis, who accepted it with furrowed brows, the rubber skin slick with condensation. 

“Drink some water,” Rook instructed, taking a step back to lean against the open doorway and check on the chaos beyond, craning their neck as if to look for someone– or give the sweat drenched party goer some privacy. Embarrassed, face hot from exertion and shame, Lucanis took slow sips. Just water, as promised. 

He waited for his breathing to slow, resting his hands on the grounding temperature of the floppy waterskin. Hanging his head, he shut his eyes. 

Rook waited a few heartbeats before speaking in a low voice. “Can I get you anything?” 

“No,” he rasped, stomach twisting. He swallowed thickly. “Thank you.” 

“It's a lot out there. Sorry you got swept up, it's easy to do. Pit's not for everybody.” 

“It was accidental,” he agreed in a low voice. He took another long swig from the waterbottle. 

“I've got ibuprofen, aspirin… something stronger?” 

Lucanis peered at them over the water bottle skeptically. 

Rook grinned. “Messing with you. It's an inhaler, albuterol.”

“Ah.” 

Rook fished it from their thigh pocket and held the little red mechanism out to him, careful to keep their distance. Lucanis grimaced and shook his head. 

“I'm fine.” 

“Yeah, probably don't want to swap spit. Just let me know if you're having any more trouble catching your breath. It looked like you were having a panic attack.” 

Lucanis winced. “...You seem to come prepared.” 

“Hey, takes one to know one. My mother's EMS, too.” 

“Oh.” 

“Speaking of, how you feeling?” 

“Better. Thank you. That was unnecessary, and I apologize. But thank you.” 

“Don't be sorry! Do you mind?” They gestured to the empty space on the stair beside him. Lucanis frowned but scooted sideways to give them room. Rook sank down beside him on the step as he passed back their water bottle. Rook tucked it into their pocket and heaved a sigh. “I don't usually frequent this place. My friends prefer a livelier scene.” 

“Yes?” Lucanis studied his savior sidelong, golden glitter sweating down their temples and flecks of it catching in their eyelashes. A bright blue lipstick smear lingered at the junction of their jaw, trailing down into their yellow satin shirt collar where sweat glistened down the deep v of their chest. More glitter shone down their toned arms, the left swirled by dark ink designs all the way down to their wrist and disappearing up their neck. “You look the part.” 

“I enjoy a game of dress up.” Rook grinned. “And loud music. And a few drinks.” 

“Hmm. I find clubs… good for the whiskey. Not much else. For me.” 

“Then what brought you to the Diamond tonight?” 

“I was dragged along by my cousin. It's a family affair. I've just returned from… Well. It's a long story.” 

“I understand,” Rook said, nodding. “Where is your cousin now?” 

“Likely charming some beautiful creature out of their pants.” 

Rook snorted. “Ah. Well I'm happy to keep to the buddy system as long as you think you need. Not that you look like you need it–” Rook winced. “Just. I wouldn't want to be alone while my head is pounding and it's all strangers drunk off their tits out there.” 

Lucanis gave a small sideways smile, something bitter in the expression. “That's very kind. I'm sure I'll recover in a few moments.” 

Thank you for indulging the word vomit and any delay on current WIPs. My muse, she is fickle. But if there is one thing I am consistent with it's playing with dolls and yapping about my beloved OC.

“Not a problem. Just let me know.” Rook settled their temple against the wooden panel of the wall and fell comfortably silent. Lucanis felt his heartbeat beginning to slow its galloping, the jack knife burn in his chest unwinding. 

****

Gentle tagging my beloveds: Drink water, take your meds, and fear no darkness! 🥂

 @draco-illius-noctis @the-bear-and-his-sunbird @davrinsleftpectoral @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @hedwigoprah @sunny374940 @nevarrantorte @caughtnyact @seaglassmelody @strugglinggranola @jenn2d2 @palenecromaniac @thesummerstorms @andthekitchensinkao3 @strugglinggranola @woundedsoul12

[nejishadow]

Kenjikoto / Makokenji half-drabbles and ideas I have no energy to do anything with, because I haven't written fanfic in years, that I don't want to sit in the queue for weeks so it's getting posted now

Feel free (please do!) to expand / finish / take inspo from these for this ship, and please tag me / message me / something if you do because I crave content and exploration between these two. Unhinged tags and comments about how I inspired something/anything give me the biggest amount of fuel to keep creating art!!

Do you wanna see me ramble in real time about these weirdos / pos?? Join @bakafurai 's Kenji Enjoyer Club Discord (in their pinned)!

Some get real long so it's all going below a cut!

Every idea here now has a finished fic!

((These are all ideas and things written as stream of consciousness to just get my ideas out in a discord channel, so don't expect the best dialogue, formatting, or anything else, I haven't finished a full piece of writing and/or fanfic in years, ha))

Seeing these screenshots my first thought - and a tag I immediately added - was 'you heard the man, Yuki, give him a piggyback ride!'

But I kept thinking like. Makoto's strong. He could? He should??

Makoto kneeling down, telling Kenji to get on then, he'll take him home

Kenji chuckle or laugh, assumes he's joking or being silly like usual, sure Yuki, you can totally do that

Makoto getting serious, if you don't pick in the next couple seconds I'm leaving you behind. Kenji panicks at that and gets on without thinking and is surprised when Makoto stands up and carries him no problem (insert "I hope this doesn't awaken anything in me")

too shocked that Makoto can even do this to be embarrassed, maybe asks Makoto why he's doing this, Kenji could've just sucked it up. Answer something like "because I wanted to", Yuki doesn't elaborate much on those things.

Gives Kenji some time to do stuff he usually wouldn't, like study Makoto's hair, hear the music spilling out the headphones etc. I like the idea he just gets so relaxed on the way home he falls asleep but Makoto keeps carrying him

It's totally just a Best Bros privilege thing, could mean nothing more!! Simply don't think about how it made you feel ever again

Bonus of

Kenji talking to Makoto in the classroom, Junpei coming up making some joke about how people saw them, asking if Makoto can do that for him too (laugh, joke, being friend.)

And Makoto boils it down to: no

That makes Kenji real happy, that he's special like that. But he does stuff only for Yuki too so it's normal!!

THIS NOW HAS A FINISHED FIC

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"So we've all thought about how pretty Yuki is, right, like the guy catches everyone's eye when he walks in, how couldn't we? Even with his bad fashion sense he just grabs your attention"

Kaz makes the most sense to respond, they are friends just "… I have never thought that. Are you sure you're not goin' through something?"

slaps a pic of Yosuke and Kenji These bad boys can fit so much comphet and denial in 'em!

THIS NOW HAS A FINISHED FIC

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Another idea I remembered, less fleshed but a strong visual I wanted to draw

Kenji waiting at track practice for Makoto to be done. Kenji had never seen him run so decided to wait outside for once

Of course he's impressed. Makoto seems to take his time walking everywhere, at least when they go places, but man, he can run!

Makoto flopping next to him when he's done, after everyone else disperses, small talk about how hes surprised Kenji waited out here, doesn't seem interested in sports. Kenji some speech about how he wanted to see how badly Yuki beat everyone else

it's pretty hot, and Makoto's tired, flops over into Kenji's lap. 'Let me nap here a few minutes and we can go, you're cooler than the bench'

Kenji tenses a bit, but breathes, Yuki just wants to rest, chill!… but he can't help but eventually card his hand through Makoto's bangs, pushing them up and outta the way.

Makoto opens his eyes and just looks at him, not judgemental or questioning, just observing. But oh no - Kenji had never stared at both his eyes so close oh this is a problem

quickly he removes his hand, apologizes, some comment about how Yuki just looked sweaty and he was trying to move the hair off

Makoto closes his eyes again… 'I don't mind. I am in your space, I guess…'

after a bit, Kenji relaxes and starts running his hands through the hair again, silky and feathery. He can think about how this makes him feel LATER (never), for now he just wants to enjoy this thing he likely won't get again

Tho Makoto better hope Yuko doesn't see this or she's gonna tease him about his boyfriend / biggest fan until the end of time

THIS NOW HAS A FINISHED FIC

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Pics I drew made me think of kenjikoto train ride(s):

Makoto tired, either tucks into Kenji's shoulder or leans on his head for a quick nap

Kenji doesn't mind, knows Makoto doesn't sleep the best, even if he doesn't know why

Anytime the train jostles or moves he instinctually holds Makoto's head so it doesn't shake or fall, wants him to be comfortable

it's not until they reach the destination and Makoto separates from him that Kenji thinks… oh, that was actually nice. I wish the ride could've been just a little bit longer

a bonus if Makoto senses his change in mood and gives him a shoulder bump, trying to cheer him up. Maybe offering to hang out awhile longer at the dorm or something

Aka there is no way Kenji isn't touch starved, as are all the protags and a third of the cast pft

THIS NOW HAS A FINISHED FIC

About Makoto being a frequent napper: Asks Kenji to eat on the roof with him almost exclusively so he can take a nap, because he's just a lil bit silly like that. Gives Kenji time to just talk to him, ramble, hard to do that when you're out eating food.

--------------------

Girl Advice made me think of a rough conversation

"Everyone assumes you're cold, man. No wonder you dont have a girlfriend! Even if they talked to you, a few words outta your mouth and they'd turn tail and leave."

"Why's it so important to have a girlfriend, anyway?" Eats some of his lunch bread

"You're such a good guy, you deserve one, man!" A shoulder tap. "If they knew the real you, they'd be falling over themselves to get your attention, I know it."

Makoto a head tilt or a look, confused by the use of 'deserve'. Kenji deciphers it

"… well a girlfriend makes guys happy, right? I want to see you happy all the time!" Putting both his hands on Makoto's shoulders and shaking him a smidge. "Doesnt it sound fun? Double dates, man, we can hang out all the time!"

Makoto blinks in a thoughtful way, meeting Kenji's eyes. "But I'm already happy, hanging out with you like this. Isn't that enough? We do things together all the time… why do we need anyone else?"

Kenji blinks a bit in surprise. Yeah, he'd never thought of that. He's also really happy around Yuki… is that… ok? For two guys to always hang out alone? Yuki never seems to think it's odd…

Makoto slowly grabs Kenji's hands off of his shoulder, Kenji swears he feels Yuki squeeze them for just a second before a wrapped sandwich is pushed into them.

"Eat, almost time for class. You can't live off ramen forever."

Kenji just nods, unwrapping it and adjusting himself before taking a bite. If Makoto feels just a bit more of their sides touching, he doesn't comment on it

THIS NOW HAS A FINISHED FIC

[linda-rose]

say what you will about svu's season 20 lmao, but them continuing that storyline in "Facing Demons," with an amazing callback to the title of Cassidy's last episode AND doing it so well by not making it Over The Top but still significant was 10/10. Might be my favorite episode of this season so far.

[twilightichor]

Will be here soon! Today is the day that I'll deliver all the drafts I have and make a dent in the ask thingies I have. Hope you peeps are doing well ♥︎

[mx-pastelwriting]

Saving My Fanfiction Work

First. Side note: This post was only intended to give resources to fanfiction writers and enjoyers. My talk on recent political events was a context/reasoning on why I made this post. Also I’ve had to add more information to this post over time due to people’s confusion in my comments. Explaining it was to make sure that this post didn’t come off as out of the blue for my followers and this community. Which is fanfiction.

Also, why I made this post was from people asking if they could download my fanfiction because of the recent political events in America hence why I named it “saving my fanfiction work” and added my context. So this was also a post to tell people that liked my fanfiction they could download it as long as it was for their personal collection. I merely just wanted to list resources to people who wanted to download fanfiction and don’t know where to start or don’t have the immediate resources. I’m not here to fear-monger. I am just giving resources and the reasoning on why I’m giving them along with urging people to look into those information/recent events as staying aware is important. I respect everybody who’s given their opinion and yes, some of my grammar in this post is not adequate as this post was merely made for giving/stating resources.

Lastly, I will no longer update this post with comments as I’ve said my peace, nor will I pay attention to the notifications as they are muted. As my page is for fanfiction not politics. Thank you for the people in this community who share this post for the resources see you around the tags! Stay safe friends!!✨ Remember I love you! And you are loved!💛

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Due to the recent events in the United States. To clarify the recent events being Trump becoming president of the United States, Project 2025 more than likely going to be integrated. If you are not familiar with Project 2025 I urge you to look it up.

Along with the KOSA bill that has many problems and it has passed the senate now needing the finally vote in the house, which both are majority red. Go here to learn more on why it needs to be stopped and how you can. This is another component that will harm our communities. Go to: stopkosa.com

With all of its harmful plans some of the plans are to take down/restrict internet sites that have LGBTQ+ communities that means communities like the fan-fiction communities/sites in the United States.

I am only giving resources to those inside and out of the US in case they banned sites that hold fan-fiction. Better safe than sorry.

Being that I live in the US the possibly of mine and many others Fanfiction has the possibly of being in danger. Therefore I'm giving you recourses. (I'm not leaving or stopping my writing, I'm here for the fight!)

For those wanting to save my fanfiction, I give you permission to download them off of AO3 and to be used for your personal collection. Meaning, your eyes only. To clarify I’m saying this as others have asked if they could download my fanfic so for those who would like to you can.

If you do not know how to download them many others on online have tutorials on how to download them and add them to our phone libraries.

Here are some links to tutorials:

Downloading Fanfic

Adding to Iphone & Android Library

Adding to Kindle Library - Video on How (On TikTok)

Adding Book Covers (At the bottom) - Good EPUB Cover Changer (I use this)

Types of Files and What they mean

Please stay safe out there! Remember to follow the rules below.

DO NOT share the downloaded file anywhere online.

DO NOT repost the downloaded file under your name.

Fanfiction is protected under copyright law when plagiarism is involved. If you plagiarize my work, either a piece or whole in any language, I will take legal action. Inspiration or the same idea does NOT apply to this, only word-for-word plagiarism in any language.

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI, or reposted on any other platform without permission.

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Please stay safe out there friends! I love you so much! Know that there will always people that love you and in for the fight to make sure you are loved!

And here are some resources in case you don’t feel okay! Resources here

[cheapshrimpysheep]

True Feelings Chocolate - Freshmen

SUMMARY: It is normal on Valentine's Day for friends or schoolmates to exchange chocolates with each other. However, the quality of the chocolate reveals how the person really sees you. And homemade chocolate is the greatest message of love that someone can receive on this day.

CHARACTERS: Freshmen (Ace Trappola / Deuce Spade / Jack Howl / Epel Felmier / Sebek Zigvolt) x Yuu (Reader)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Kiss

WORD COUNT: An average of 1.000 words per character.

COMMENTS: The number of words varies depending on how much the character is the type to hide his true feelings.

I also would like to be able to write Epel's accent/dialect, but as English is not my first language this becomes a bit difficult sometimes. When I really want to write something like that I ask Gemini for help.

I hope you enjoy and had Happy Valentine's Day 💝

True Feelings Chocolate - OB Students (Riddle Rosehearts / Leona Kingscholar / Azul Ashengrotto / Jamil Viper / Vil Schoenheit / Idia Shroud / Malleus Draconia) x Yuu (Reader)

REAL WORLD CONTEXT: You may already know this, but Valentine's Day in Japan is different than in Western countries. In Asia (from what I know and have researched) this day is not exclusively related to romantic love but also to friendship or simple connections between schoolmates or work colleagues.

Just like in the West, it is marked by the gifting of chocolate, but the quality of the chocolate differs: If it's a boss or colleague you're not friends with, they're usually cheaper, more common chocolates. The quality and even price of the chocolate increases according to the relationship with the person to whom it is offered. And a chocolate made by the person themselves is the most valuable of all and is usually, from what I understand, almost like a confession of love.

On Valentine's Day, it is women who offer chocolates to men, but in this case, to keep Yuu gender-neutral and make it so that they can also offer chocolates to them, I just kept the chocolates’s logic and excluded the gender thing.

Another thing is that since it is normal to give chocolates to friends as well, it becomes more discreet to give more special chocolates to a certain person and it doesn't draw attention to simply give chocolate to someone.

NOTE: Thaumarks would be the equivalent of US dollars.

Since cherry pie is Ace's favorite food, you decide to make chocolate covered cherries, and you bought a red heart shaped box from Sam's Mystery Shop to put them in.

Meanwile, on one of the nights before Valentine's Day, Ace was alone in Heartslabyul’s kitchen with as few lights on as possible (which includes his phone’s light) and trying to cook without making noise when someone calmly enters and scares him with their presence.

“I think you know how lucky you are that I'm the one who found you and not Riddle.” Trey says with a weird smile.

“T-T-T-Trey-senpai...” Ace smiles awkwardly, that smile he hopes will get him out of trouble. “P-please, I... I-I'm just trying to follow the Valentine's Day rules, y-you know.”

“Following the rules?” Trey raises an eyebrow, looks at the mess on the kitchen table, and then looks back at Ace with a smirk. “Oh, so you’re making the chocolates? I wonder who they are for.”

“Hey, I'm not that obvious!... Am I?” He worries.

“But why didn't you do this during the day? I mean, I know you're trying to keep Deuce and the other students from seeing you, but I’m sure they have schedules that don't always overlap with yours.”

“Yeah, but I also had the problem of buying the ingredients without being seen. And I almost failed a bunch of times.” Ace sighs.

Trey laughs. “Well, you don't have much time until Valentine's Day... Hmm... Would you like my help? Maybe this way you'll finish faster and we can both go to bed.”

Ace is immediately overjoyed and relieved, but then asks him not to tell anyone. Trey promises not to tell anyone if no one catches them in the kitchen at that hour. A big part of the reason he helps Ace is so he doesn't have to deal with that problem the next day.

On Valentine's Day, you were preparing the boxes of chocolate to deliver to the Heartslabyul boys when you heard someone knocking on your door. You open it and see Ace catching his breath and then straightening up to pretend he wasn't tired at all.

“Heeey! Good morning, (Y/N)!” Ace greets you with that cute smile. You ask if he's okay when you see him panting as he speaks. “Y-yeah. It was just a long ru- walk. So... I was passing by and took the opportunity to come and say hi...” He smirks “And take whatever you might have to give me today.”

“You came all this way so early just to try to be the first one to get the chocolates?" you ask.

“He he, another good way to brag to Deuce.” He smiles smugly before returning to that cute smile. “So where are my sweets~?”

You turn around to get the bag of chocolates and take his box to hand it to him. He seems happier not to see any brand on the box, but even so he messes with you.

“Hmm? What's this? Don't tell me you made my chocolates?” He becomes even happier when he sees your reaction. “Well, let's see how they came out!”

He opens the box and finds several small chocolate balls like regular bonbons. He comments that he is a little disappointed, he thought you could do something more interesting. He takes one to taste, bites into it and widens his eyes.

“They are... cherries? Chocolate covered cherries?”

You ask what he was saying about them not being interesting and he laughs as he happily admits he was wrong.

“But they still look kind of boring.” he jokes. “I...” he gets a little flustered “I have something for you too.”

He had the backpack he used for his books with him, he put your box inside and took out another one, another red heart shaped box. He felt a little embarrassed as he looked at the box, that color was was so much flashier than yours.

“Yeah, it is pretty cliché too, but hey, it's also my suit.”

He holds the box with one hand and takes the other to the tip of the heart where there was a protrusion that served as a handle. He pulls it, opening the box like a drawer. The box is empty except for a folded piece of paper. You pick it up, unfold it, and read the message: ‘Sorry, I already ate them all. Should have been quicker!’ and a drawing of a smiley face with its tongue sticking out. Ace laughs at your reaction.

“I'm kidding, I'm kidding.” he defends himself when you playfully hit him on the arm. He closes that drawer and when he opens it again it is full of little chubby hearts made of your favorite chocolate. You reach out to pick one up but stop and look at him suspiciously. “Fine, fine. No more tricks with these chocolates, I promise.” he smiles.

You take out one of the chocolate hearts and bite into it to discover that it has your favorite filling. They were very good... too good. You sigh, feigning (or not) disappointment, and comment that for a moment you thought those were chocolates made by him.

“What?! What do you mean?! Of course I was the one who made them!”

You say they're too good for someone who you know doesn't like to cook or has a knack for it. They're more like sweets that... Trey would make.

“Ah... ugh... Okay, fine, I asked Trey-senpai for help. And... maybe kind of... tried to make him do most of the work... B-but that's because... um... *sigh* You said it yourself, I don't like cooking and I don't have a knack for it. I wanted to make sure your chocolates turned out as good as possible. And what's better than a sweet made by a professional like my Vice-Housewarden?” he smiles hoping that would save him from a scolding.

You may not scold him, but if he sees you upset or sad about it, he will feel really bad for having done that to you.

“Hey, I really tried to make them, I swear. The crooked ones are mine, haha. What happened was that Trey-senpai caught me making them in the kitchen at night and offered to help me. I really wanted to give you something that would show how much I love you, but...” He falls silent and blushes when he realizes what he just said. His instinct is to kinda change the subject. “Y-You know, I could have lost my head if it had been the Housewarden who caught me there and not him! I put my neck on the line for you. That should, at least, be a mitigating factor in this case.”

If you give him a kiss on the cheek to show that you forgive him, he will be stunned for a second, but then he will smile seductively, grab you by the waist and give you a real kiss.

Knowing that Deuce’s favorite food is anything with eggs, you look for recipes with eggs and chocolate. The first results are for chocolate eggs until you come across a recipe for Egg Yolk Chocolate Chip Cookies. Maybe you could even shape them into hearts, or better yet, into the shape of the suit of swords.

Meanwhile, Deuce isn't shy about asking Trey for help making your chocolates... okay, maybe a little bit, because it's basically telling him that he has a crush on you, although Trey kind of already knew. The only thing he asks is that they manage to make the chocolates without Ace knowing, so as not to make fun of him. Luckily for him, Cater is also willing to help that cute little freshman of his distracting Ace.

On Valentine's Day, you were putting the boxes of chocolates in a bag to give to the Heartslabyul boys, including the blue heart-shaped box you bought to put Deuce's cookies in, when someone knocks on your door.

“H-hey. G-good morning (Y/N).” Deuce greeted you with a hint of nervousness and shyness when you open the door. “I hope I'm not bothering you, hum, I mean, so soon.”

You reassure him that he never bothers you and that makes him blush a little.

“I'm glad... hum... Since today is Valentine's Day I... I wanted to... give you this.” He takes his hand from behind his back and offers you a quite cute heart-shaped box.

He feels more at ease when he sees that you liked the surprise and happier when you accepted it willingly. You open the box and see several hearts of your favorite chocolate. Many look good, but others are a little crooked. This makes you chuckle.

“Ha ha. Yeah, I know, I'm not very good at shaping them.” he says slightly embarrassed. “P-please try them, tell me what you think. I asked for Trey-senpai's help to make sure I did them the best I could.”

You pick one up and take a bite. It was pretty good, not as good as Trey could make them, but you could tell he had a hand in helping him. Besides that, they had clearly been made by Deuce.

“So, you like it?” He asks with a shy smile even though he can see the way you're smiling. You confirm and his smile widens. “I'm glad!”

You take the opportunity to turn around, pick up the blue heart-shaped box you had puted in the bag and offer it to him. Deuce widens his eyes in surprise.

“Oh? You...? It’s for me?”

Regardless of whether you cutely or sarcastically say yes, he will laugh embarrassedly and flattered, and blush a little if you call him ‘silly’. He picks up the box with a cute smile and is surprised again when he sees cookies shaped like the suit of spades and hearts instead of regular chocolates.

You tell him they are egg yolk chocolate chip cookies and that you made them because you wanted to do something that combines chocolate and his favorite food: eggs. He beams with happiness just hearing you say you made them, and even more so that you made them so thoughtfully.

“They look delicious, I'm sure they taste as good as they look.” he says excitedly to try one, and as soon as he does it you see one of the most sincere and adorable smiles you've ever seen on him.

“THEY'RE GREAT!” he shouts too excitedly and then gets a little embarrassed. “Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to say it so loud. It's just... you made these for me. Hmm... is that because... are you following the rules of this day?” he blushes. “You know, about, if the chocolates are handmade it must mean that...”

He's too flustered to finish his sentences, so he'll need you to be the one to take the next step and kiss him on the cheek. If you do, he will look at you in amazement for a second, before smiling broadly, hugging you and giving you a kiss on the cheek as well, but extremely passionately.

You know that Jack’s favorite food is pear compote, so you look for something that combines this and chocolate. The closest thing you can find is chocolate pear cake. Maybe if you cut it into smaller cubes it will be more like classic chocolates than giving him a whole cake. You also bought a yellow box in Sam's Mystery Shop to put them in.

Meanwhile, Jack was making your chocolates in Savanaclaw’s kitchen and would growl menacingly at anyone who messed with him about it, or even tried to. With the sole exception of Ruggie who offered to eat the chocolates that turned out so badly that Jack wouldn't want to offer them to you.

On Valentine's Day, you were preparing the boxes of chocolates to deliver to the Savanaclaw boys, when you heard someone knocking on your door.

“Hey, (Y/N). Hum, good morning.” Jack greets you slightly tense, despite trying to hide it. “Happy Valentine's Day. I... uh...” His impassive expression began to fade as his ears lowered, giving way to a more shy one. “I came here because I wanted to give you this.” He takes his hand from behind his back and hands you a red heart-shaped box with a pink bow. “Sorry if it's too cliché, but, uh, I thought you would like it anyway.” he rubs the back of his neck.

He starts to wag his tail a little when he sees that you enjoyed receiving that gift from him. You open it and find hearts of your favorite chocolate. However, they all have slightly different sizes and shapes, maybe only one or two could have an almost perfect, cymetrical shape of a heart, now all the others... You couldn't contain a little laugh.

“I know, I know.” he says embarrassedly, running a hand over the back of his neck again. “I'm terrible at delicate work. And these chocolates are too small for my hands.”

You pick one up and take a bite out of it. You say it tastes really good and his tail wags a little more as he smiles proudly. You take the opportunity to take his yellow box out of the bag and hand it to him. His tail wags again when he sees the box.

“I shouldn't be surprised that you'd want to give me something today too, should I?” He chuckles. “Thanks.” He picks up the box with a big smile and opens it. “Hmm? They look like little slices of cake.”

You tell him that you wanted to make something with pear compote since it is his favorite, but the most you could find were recipes for chocolate pear cake. So you thought that if you cut them a little smaller it would be the closest thing to regular chocolates.

“You're saying...” His tail begins to lose its shyness and takes up more space when wagging. “That you were the one who made them? And you tried so hard to make something I would like?” His big smile returns. “They look great. Let's see how good a cook you are!”

He takes one of the small slices but doesn't bite into it, as they are small enough for him to put them whole in his mouth, completely confident that it will taste good. And by the smile, the crazy wagging tail and the erect ears, this seems to be the case.

“They taste great too!” He was clearly overjoyed with your ‘chocolates’, but then the tail slowed down, the ears lowered slightly and his shyness returned. “Hey, I... I just wanted to make sure...” He looked away from you and his free hands went back to rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s said that if the chocolates are handmade it must mean...”

He seems to be struggling to continue that sentence and, knowing the Tsundere that he is, you realize that you need to be the one to help him.

“That the person has feelings for the other?” you finish for him. “Or even a crush?”

He finally starts to blush for real, but when he sees your reassuring smile he realizes and is sure that the feeling is mutual. This makes him loosen up, letting his tail wag like it wanted to wag all along, and he... laughs heartily, like you've never seen before. But you were surprised once again when he practically attacked you with a hug.

You have to be careful not to drop the chocolates as he covers your face with kisses, just as he has to be careful not to drop his.

You knew macarons were one of Epel’s favorite foods. So chocolate macarons seemed like a good Valentine's Day chocolate option. However, they are difficult to make and require care and skill, which means you have put a lot of work into making them.

You were going to put them in a lavender box that you bought at Sam's Mystery Shop. But you didn't buy a normal, cute box. Sam ‘just happened’ to have a lavender box in stock with a lineart of two dragons forming a heart, but in a way that reminds you of a cool tattoo rather than a cute drawing.

Meanwhile, in Pomefiore's kitchen, Epel was making his chocolates feeling very tense. Because he wanted to make your chocolates as perfect as possible to prove himself worthy of praise and of you? It could have been, if he hadn't had something, or rather someones, who made him even more tense than that thought.

Epel could feel Rook's watchful gaze, even if he was watching Epel through the window from a tree branch. But that wasn't necessary because he made a deal with Epel: If he let Rook watch him cook without worrying about him interrupting or interfering, Rook would keep any and all other Pomefiore students out of the kitchen until Epel was finished. So he silently watched Epel from the corner... which wasn't exactly a comfortable feeling.

But another person from whom he couldn't hide what he wanted to do in the kitchen was the Housewarden of Pomefiore himself.

“If a Pomefiore student is going to give Valentine's Day chocolates to a crush...” Vil said and Epel tried to deny that last word without much conviction, which made Vil chuckle in amusement. “Fine, to someone they really like, then they will have to be the most beautiful sweets that said student is humanly capable of making. And that's why I'll be evaluating them once they're finished. You don't want to give (Y/N) anything less than your best, do you?”

He reluctantly agreed. This plus Rook's observation only put more pressure on him. However, this is the kind of pressure that motivates Epel even more, which ends up being a good thing.

On Valentine's Day, you're putting the boxes of chocolates in the bag to deliver to the Pomefiore boys, when you hear someone knocking on your door.

“Good morning, (Y/N)!” Epel greets you with that sweet, enthusiastic smile, but then he gets a little shy. “Happy Valentine's Day. I just, uh, came here because I wanted to give you this.”

He takes his hands from behind his back and hands you a beautiful heart-shaped box with a classic design. He is very happy that you liked his gift so much. You pick up the box and open it to find beautiful, plump hearts made from what looks like your favorite chocolate and beautiful, carefully crafted lineart. You comment that it must have been a lot of work to do.

“You have no idea...” he says through gritted teeth and with a smile that tries to hide his frustration. And you ask if he wants to talk about it. “I... How about you try them first?” he diverts the subject momentarily with an awkward smile.

You pick up one of the chocolates and bite into it to discover that it has your favorite filling. And indeed, they taste as good as they look. He turns his back to you and mutters, in an irritated triumph, a few phrases in his dialect. You only catch something about him being right and ‘he’ not knowing what ‘he’ was talking about. And something about diet, maybe. You ask if everything was okay and what he was saying. He turns back to you.

“I was talking about my Housewarden!” He says bluntly. “Vil was like: ‘are you going to make them such high-calorie chocolates?’” he imitates him in an affected voice that would certainly get him into trouble if Vil heard it. “And like ‘Don't you think you made many considering their poor nutrition?’. I was lucky that Rook defended me on many points, saying things like: 'This shows how sweet Monsieur Pommette’s love is’.” He made another eccentric voice to imitate Rook. “And cheesy things like that... And... I may or may not have talked back to Vil because of his criticisms.”

You ask what he did or said.

“At first the criticism was constructive, like whether the chocolates were pretty or not. But then he started criticizing the chocolates because of the calories. You know, stupid ideas because of his diets or something. It even got to the point where he almost told me to do something that I knew you wouldn't like and that's when I told him: ‘THESE CHOCOLATES ARE NOT FOR YOU! AND YOU CAN'T FORCE YOUR TASTES ON OTHERS!’”

He reenacted the way he said that to Vil and you can only imagine how he reacted when he saw Epel yelling at him with that furious face. Then he calmed down again and sighed.

“Right after that he wanted me to apologize. I apologized for the way I spoke, but not for what I said. And do you know what he said to me? ‘And that is exactly the apology you should make to me.’” He imitated Vil again to the point of making that gesture with his index finger next to his chin and put a smug face on. “ ‘What you said is more than correct, now the way you said it needs to be worked on.’ HE WAS PURPOSELY IRRITATING ME TO TEST ME! CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS?! And Rook even helped by praising the passionate way I expressed myself and yada, yada, yada.”

You can no longer contain your laughter when you imagine that scene. And Epel laughs with you. Oh, you almost forgot! You turn around and go to the bag to get Epel’s box to give to him.

“WOW! IT'S SO COOL!” Epel smiled excitedly when he sees the drawing of dragons on the box.

Then he looked at you and his smile became sweeter, having been reminded that you actually know the real him. He wasted no time in opening the box and he genuinely smiles so cutely when he sees the chocolate macarons. But then you see him pick up one of the macarons and analyze it. You ask if there's something wrong.

“Did you make them?” he asks with a really puzzled look, but soon his eyes widen and the big smile returns as you confirm. “So that's why they are a little crooked and with some cracks. Hahaha.”

You pout at him and notices his cheeks starting to turn pink.

“Hey, I'm not making fun of you." he says, still with a slightly mocking smile. "Macarons are hard to make. And honestly, you did such a good job that I almost thought they were bought." Then he smirked. “But they wouldn't sell macarons in this state.” He laughs at your annoyed reaction. “They look delicious, tho. Let's dig in!”

He tastes the macaron in his hand and once again his eyes widen, accompanied by a huge smile.

“Mmm, that's darn good!” he says in his accent. “But, tell me just one more thing.” he says with a smug smile. “Do you know what it means to give someone chocolates made by yourself today?” You confirm. “That's what I was hoping for!”

And in a surprising movement of grabbing you by the waist with his free hand, he pulls you and kisses your cheek with confidence.

Knowing that Sebek’s favorite food is Salmon carpaccio doesn't help you know exactly what you should do, but knowing that his least favorite food is Black coffee helps you conclude that dark chocolate is not a good option. But with that maybe you can think more about the shape of the chocolates... Does Sam have any dragon molds for sale?

Meanwhile, no Diasomnia’s student approaches the kitchen so that their eardrums wouldn't be ruptured by Sebek's voice. Just the energy of ‘Don't you dare bother me, humans!’ was enough for them to reach the door and immediately turn around. With only 3 exceptions. But luckily for him one of those exceptions wasn't even around at the time. Luckily because he was thinking about making chocolates for Malleus too.

Silver doesn't really get involved in other people's business. At most, he gives a little smile on the corner of his mouth, thinking it's amusing, and leaves him alone.

Lilia, on the other hand, really, really, REALLY wanted to mess with him a little. He couldn't contain his desire to stay in the kitchen and watch him cook, which on the one hand put more pressure on Sebek, but also made him more determined to make everything perfect. Lilia even offered to help him.

“I-It is very generous of you to offer me your precious aid, Lilia-sama.” he said, and he always feels guilty and dishonored for avoiding Lilia's cooking. “But, as honorable as it would be, I will have to decline the offer. For I intend to strive to make the chocolates with the greatest perfection through my solo effort and improving skills.”

He may have saved himself from Lilia 'helping' him make your chocolates, but he couldn't save himself from Lilia's comments insinuating that he (as the youngsters say) ships the two of you. Part of Lilia also wanted to trick him a little bit to make him court you in a weird and funny way, but he held himself back. He wasn't one to abuse Sebek's trust to the point of actually ruining things between you.

On Valentine's Day, you were putting the boxes of chocolates in the bag to deliver to the Diasomnia boys when you heard someone knocking on your door.

“HUMAN!” Sebek shouts with a slight blush of embarrassment on his face and as if he were doing it almost out of obligation. “I'm here to fulfill the chocolate delivery ritual.” He hands you the black heart-shaped box with green lineart that he didn't even bother to hide behind his back. “P-please accept my offering.” he stuttered for an almost imperceptible second.

You pick up the box with a little smile, finding it all funny. You open the box and find hearts made with your favorite chocolate. You pick one up and bite into it, discovering that it also has your favorite filling inside.

“Well, I may conclude that you are perfectly satisfied with my cooking.” He says with a smug smile that tries to hide the real delight he feels at seeing you smile like that. But then he became serious again. “With this, my visit to you comes to its conclusion. Have a good day.”

He immediately turns to start walking to the gate, but you stop him. He turns around alarmed by the way you asked him to wait.

“WHAT IS IT?! Is there something missing?! I knew I should have gotten flowers too!”

And so his composed mask falls, at least for that moment. He really seems worried that he did something wrong and is sorry for whatever mistake he made. However, you can't help but laugh at that drastic change in behavior.

“WHA- NOW YOU ARE MOCKING ME?!” He makes that angry face that is so common of him that it doesn't even worry you anymore. “For what motive did you ask me to detain myself?!”

You turn to grab his box from the bag and hand it to him. It's a green heart-shaped box with a black bow. He almost jumps in surprise.

“You...” he says in a lower voice (which to anyone would be just a regular volume) “You got me chocolates too?”

He picks up your box with a delicacy you've never seen before and a little glint of wonder in his eyes. He opens the box to find chocolates, some milk, others white, shaped like little dragon heads. And with that he made that emotional face that he practically only directed at Malleus or Lilia.

“HOW MAJESTIC! Such a sublime creature recreated in its glory! You... human... are so... CRUEL!”

You ask why he is saying that, worried and above all confused.

“How do you expect me to ruin a work of art such as this? And worst of all through INGESTION?! I CAN NOT! This must be preserved!”

You try to convince him to eat them because if he doesn't they'll spoil. And you even say that you didn't know he would see things that way, you just thought he would like those molds because of, well, Malleus. And you comment that maybe you should have chosen something else because you really want him to taste what you did for him.

“They... they were made by you?” His face contorts into even more emotional pain and indecision.

You say you have the molds and can make more if he wants. This makes his eyes widen, almost filling with tears, and shine with joy and relief.

“THAT WOULD BE SIMPLY WONDERFUL! ... GH!... hu-hum. I mean, I would be very grateful if you did.” he smiles with a slight blush. “Now,” he smirks. “I should uncover the result of your labor.”

He takes one of the chocolates and bites into it. And you can see from his emotional expression that he's trying hard not to start showering you with praise like he does with Malleus.

“I must confess, for a human devoid of any magic or enviable abilities, your cooking is more than satisfactory.”

You look at him with that face of someone asking if that really is the best thing he can say to you. He sighs and blushes a little again.

“Very well. You desire to hear my most genuine opinion, correct?” he smiles, in a rather sweet way. “I truly enjoyed it. I didn't want to inflate your ego, but since you insist, they are some of the best homemade chocolates I've ever had. It is an honor to be worthy of tasting something like this and with the exclusivity of having it made especially for me. Thank you very much, (Y/N).”

You're surprised for a moment that he said your name and not ‘human’. And in the meantime, his posture changes, at first he seems uncertain about something but then he becomes surprisingly confident to the point of smiling smugly at you.

“Well, I assume you are well aware of the rules of  chocolate giving on Valentine's Day. And what implies delivering chocolates made by the offeror to the offeree.”

Seeing your expression of confirmation, he takes your hand, leans in and kisses the back of it. When he looks at you again, in the eyes, you see a shine and affection that you never thought you would see in him.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[pomegranatepip]

"Lazy" Mornings?

synopsis: zayne is a textbook workaholic but if it comes down to choosing between extra work and spending time with you. well. he's a weak man.

pairing: zayne x gn!reader

wc: 1.1k

content tags: fluff, zayne thinks he's funny (he is but noone tell him)

a/n: written for @ollieneedsamilkshake for @unintentionalseductress 's valentine's day event ^-^ sorry for making it banter heavy, i love zayne's sense of humor xD hope i did it justice

ao3 link

The bed is empty when you wake up, Zayne's side long since cold. You groan and shield your eyes against the onslaught of sunlight directly on your face through the bedroom window, before pulling yourself away from your cosy nest of blankets. You stretch, your joints stiff, and look around for any telltale signs of your husband.

He can't have left for work, can he? It was one of the rare days both of your days off from work aligned, though it was entirely possible he had been called in for an emergency given the nature of his job.

Sighing, you trudged into the living room. Noticing the study door was ajar, you made to close it when you noticed the light was on inside. When you peeked in, you saw Zayne still in his pyjamas, his back to the door, typing away on his laptop.

You smile exasperatedly. Of course he was working on his day off. You slipped into the room and tiptoed over to him before slinging your arms around his neck and dropping your head on his shoulder. He stops typing for a second to look back at you.

"Good morning, my love. Why are you up so early?"

You give him a noncommittal hum in response. "I could ask you the same thing. Why are you working on your day off and at-" you squint at the penguin shaped clock on his desk- "8 in the morning too? You should be in bed with me," you whine.

He smiles at that. "I just had some reports to review which I couldn't do yesterday. I thought I'd get them done early so I could enjoy my day off without any worries. Also," he adds, taking one of your hands into his own, "It's 7 a.m., not 8."

"You do realise you're not helping your case, right?" You lift your head to look at him and he uses this chance to press a chaste kiss to your cheek.

A wry smile from him. "I'm merely pointing out that it's unusually early for you to be up so early on a weekend; you know it's routine to me."

You give up. "Fine," you concede, "you can finish your reports. But make it quick. I'll go start breakfast."

"Yes, ma'am."

Pleased with his response, you nip at his earlobe and laugh at how quickly it turns red along with his cheeks, and finally make your way to the kitchen.

Zayne pores over the file he's reviewing and sends it to Greyson after he's ascertained there are no changes for him to make. He takes his glasses off and leans back, his eyes tired from the strain of staring at his laptop screen. Just a few more, and then he'll be done.

From the kitchen, he catches the faint sound of humming alongside the noises of you making breakfast. He thinks he recognises the melody- it's the same song you've been singing for the past couple of weeks and inadvertently got stuck in his head too. He recalls your gleeful laughter and teasing when you caught him humming the tune to himself one day, and smiles in spite of himself.

The scent of pancakes wafts into his study, and he looks back at his laptop. Maybe the reports can wait.

You're flipping pancakes when you feel Zayne drape himself over you from the back. "Smells good," he says.

"Finished with your reports already? Or did you just miss me?" you tease.

"Neither. I got hungry."

"Wow. I'm going to be having this entire stack of pancakes by myself now. You can eat cereal while you think about what you did. And it's the plain kind too," you huff.

"You wouldn't do that."

"Wouldn't I."

He watches you plop the last pancake on the plate and turn off the heat, and then spins you around to face him. "My apologies, miss. Allow me to make it up to you for my thoughtless words."

"Oh? And how are you planning to do that?" You make a show of being offended, but the barely concealed smile on your face gives you away.

A smile Zayne matches as he leans down and whispers, "Like this," before pressing his lips to your cheek much like earlier, except this time he didn't stop after just one. He tilts your face slightly to kiss the other cheek, and then trails down to kiss the corner of your mouth. He ghosts over your cupid's bow and a little involuntary shudder passes through you, making him chuckle quietly before he leans in.

He's gentle with the way he kisses you, his hands warm as they cradle your face. His earlier playfulness manifests in the form of a succession of soft pecks to your lips, eliciting giggles from you. He pulls back to spin you away from the stove and presses you back against the kitchen island, his hands splayed on your lower back and hip as he claims your lips with his own again.

After a minute or so, he breaks away. "Did you add nutella to the pancakes?"

"Huh? Oh! Yeah, I did. How did you know?"

"I could taste it on you." He swipes his thumb on your cheek before one last sweet press of his lips to yours.

You roll your eyes. "Sue me. Besides, didn't you finish a whole jar all by yourself last week? I had to have my smores with chocolate syrup and it just wasn't the same," you mourn.

"I offered to run to the store to get more, but if I recall correctly, someone was too impatient to wait," he deadpans.

"It's not the situation, it's the principle. I was looking forward to that specific jar of nutella on my smores and you took that away from me. You need to apologise for that too," you say, hoping he'll take the bait.

He narrows his eyes. "You're playing tricks on me, aren't you."

"Who, me? Whaaaat. No way."

He sighs. "Alright. We can go to that new dessert place you've been mentioning for a while. How does that sound?"

"…you mean the dessert place you've been mentioning."

"I see it as a win win, no?"

"Of course you do."

"So you don't want to go?"

"No! I mean. That's not what I said."

Zayne smiles inwardly. "There's that new movie they're showing at the theater near the park too," he says as he finally gets to setting the table. "An adaptation of a book you were reading? We can go watch that and drop by the dessert place on our way home."

You sit down and pile pancakes onto your plate and his. "So you're not going to work on those reports today?"

He makes a show of weighing his options, though the hope sparkling in your eyes made his choice laughably easy.

"The reports can wait."

[sunsetmaidenwrites]

An Essay on SamBucky

Just got back from seeing Captain America: Brave New World and am full of thoughts. The following contains Sambucky-centric thoughts, head canons, and spoilers based on the movie. (I have a separate post that includes my overall thoughts on the movie but this one is solely Sambucky.)

Sambucky nation--we rise! No divorce era for us! (Though it did provide for some awesome, angsty fics). I hope the trend continues with Thunderbolts*. Bucky is obviously looking rougher there than he did in this movie, so we're not out of the woods yet, but I'm feeling pretty good about our chances.

There's so much to say here. Multiple Bucky mentions (Sam alluding to Bucky when he talks about having a friend who was controlled by trigger words.), a picture of SamBucky prominently displayed at Sam's headquarters, Bucky showing up as emotional support when Sam needs him most, the hug, the "Buck" and the "I love you, Buddy." All of these have already been mentioned a lot, though, so for this post (who am I kidding this is an essay!), I would like to highlight a few points pertaining to the movie. I haven't really seen discussed in the Sambucky tag yet.

First, Sam says the following to Bucky at the hospital:

"Joaquin’s in here. Isaiah’s in prison. And Sterns…I had him. I had Sterns right in my hands but he got away." Bucky is given no additional backstory here, which means he already knows who Sterns is and what Sam is dealing with. This indicates Sam and Bucky are in regular contact with Sam keeping Bucky filled in on what's happening. This isn't just a case of Bucky seeing news footage and immediately going to Sam. Bucky is an active part of Sam's life and support system.

Then we have Bucky's line:

"Steve gave people something to believe in, but you give them something to aspire to." Bucky's admiration and devotion to Sam here is quite evident. I fully believe Bucky Barnes is all in for Sam Wilson and has been probably for longer than even he realizes.

Then toward the end of the scene where we get our iconic "Thanks Buck" and "I love you, Buddy" moment:

We have a wealth of unspoken communication here. Sam and Bucky seem to have a whole conversation with both their eyes and body language before they speak these words. Sam looks at Bucky. Looks down at (presumably) Bucky's outstretched hand. Then his eyes cut back up to Bucky. Then they cut back down as he shakes Bucky's hand, then he looks back up at Bucky. For Bucky's part, his eyes never leave Sam's face during the entirety of this. It's only right before he says "I love you, Buddy" that his gaze cuts down from Sam's face. After saying the words, Bucky proceeds to back away and Sam watches him go. The way this scene plays out, and the choices Mackie and Stan make leave a lot of room for subtext and interpretation, imo.

Right after this scene, we also get the female agent coming in with questions/comments about Bucky to Sam, alluding to a possible interest which Sam shuts down with "He's 110 years old." Look, it might make sense for Sam to try to nip a Bucky/Sarah potential connection in the bud like he did in TFATWS and it not mean anything (that's another essay for another day. I wasn't on Tumblr back then to share my thoughts on that.); after all, that's his sister and Bucky was riding on his last nerve through all the previous episodes at that point. It does not, however, make sense for Sam to insert himself into the narrative at this point and try to dissuade a random CIA agent from showing interest in Bucky if Bucky is just his friend and/or Sam's interest in him is purely platonic. It just doesn't. I cannot come up with a logical explanation for this besides the obvious 'that man is mine, step off' conclusion.

And for my last point:

During Sam's final showdown with the red hulk, with the outcome uncertain, and defeat (and therefore death) potentially eminent, Sam proceeds to bitch about Bucky under his breath. "Bucky is full of so much shit..." I know this is supposed to be funny and snarky, but it's also quite telling. We know that the signature of SamBucky's relationship--whether it's platonic or romantic--is the bickering. Not only is Sam spending his potential last moments ranting about Bucky (again, the staple of their relationship), he's also spending them thinking about Bucky. He's going out there facing odds that seem insurmountable and it's Bucky that's on his mind.

So, in conclusion, they're in love.

[kiwriteswords]

possible whump request 🫣 reader getting hurt during a case and having to be hospitalized and hotch feeling off the charts guilty because he feels like it’s his fault so he distances himself? ty ily

The Guilt He Holds [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 4k|| AN: Hii! Thank you for the request. I think Hotch owns the emotion of guilt more than any character I have ever read/watched before, lol. But I hope you enjoy this!

Tags/Warnings: female reader, canon typical violence, canon typical themes, blood, waterboarding, trauma, torture, guilty!hotch, established relationship, potential tbc? (this is becoming my norm because I never know when to stop), Protective and reckless Hotch, BAU Reader

Summary: After a heated argument drives you to seek some air, you are kidnapped by an unsub. This incident forces Hotch to confront his guilt and the torment of nearly losing someone he loves all over again.

As Hotch navigated the cramped corridors of the local precinct, the turmoil in his mind was as narrow as the hallways themselves.

The urgency of the ongoing manhunt clashed violently with his personal conflicts, rendering each step a testament to his barely contained frustration.

"Why are we even discussing this here, at a time like this?" he snapped, pivoting sharply to confront you, his intense gaze burning with a fervor seldom seen beyond the field.

You stood resolute, your voice tinged with frustration. "Because you keep dodging this conversation, Aaron! We need to address it if there's any hope of making this work."

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose, the weight of his dual roles as a leader and a partner pressing down on him. "Look, I care about you, you know that. But we have a killer on the loose, and you want to talk about us? This is exactly why I was against this."

The precinct hummed with activity around them--the constant clatter of keyboards, the sharp ring of phones, the urgent shouts of officers updating one another. Yet, in that moment, their world seemed to narrow to just the two of them, isolated in their bubble of tension.

"I'm not trying to make things difficult," you countered, your voice a blend of pleading and defiance. "But pretending everything is fine isn't working. I need to know where we stand, especially with how closely we work together."

Hotch studied you, his expression set in stone. The risk of jeopardizing both his career and the unexpected relationship weighed heavily on him. "I'm in love with you," he confessed, the words freeing yet fraught with implications. "But I have to be realistic. What if this compromises our work? What if it affects the team?"

You crossed your arms, the hurt evident in your eyes. "And what if it doesn’t? What if we're better together in all aspects? We won’t know unless we try, Aaron."

As the tension escalated, Hotch's frustration crystallized into a biting retort. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe this was a mistake--not just us, but assuming you could balance this job and a relationship without one affecting the other.” The words were harsher than intended, and he regretted them instantly.

You recoiled, shock and hurt washing over your face. Silently, you turned and stormed out of the precinct, leaving behind a stunned silence. Hotch remained frozen, haunted by the harshness of his words. He rubbed his face, torn between chasing after you and maintaining his command.

Before he could decide, the precinct door burst open. JJ rushed in, her face pale, her breath short. “Hotch!” she gasped your name, her voice laced with panic. “There’s--there’s blood outside, and her badge…” She held up your badge, smeared with blood, discovered next to a large puddle on the pavement just outside.

Hotch felt the room spin as the gravity of the situation struck him. The argument, his cruel words, and now this horror. Guilt and fear knotted in his stomach. “Show me,” he whispered hoarsely as he followed JJ outside.

Outside, the scene was grim. Fresh blood trailed off around the corner of the building. Hotch's trained eyes quickly scanned the area, piecing together the likely scenario--the unsub might have been waiting, perhaps having followed you from the precinct.

“Get a team out here now! Set up a perimeter, and get Garcia on the line. Check every camera in this area,” he ordered, his voice cutting through the turmoil inside him as he slipped back into his role as unit chief.

His mind raced with the worst possibilities. He had always feared how a relationship could complicate their work, but never like this. His last words to you, so cutting and final, echoed in his mind, haunting him with their potential finality.

“JJ, stay here with the team and coordinate the search. I’m going to check the surrounding area. He can’t have gotten far,” Hotch stated, his voice firm despite the panic gnawing at him. He couldn’t afford to freeze--not when your life hung in the balance.

Following the blood trail that marked your sudden, violent departure, Hotch’s heart pounded against his ribs, driven by fear and adrenaline. He had to find you, had to fix this monumental error. Nothing else mattered now.

As hours passed, the team noted their normally composed leader coming undone. The reality of your absence was crushing. Overwhelmed by guilt and responsibility, Hotch moved mechanically, his usual precision replaced by a haunted, distracted demeanor.

His mind replayed the harsh words he had hurled at you, growing louder with each hour that passed without news of your safety. The precinct felt heavier with his palpable guilt, casting a shadow over everyone present. They exchanged concerned glances, deeply aware of his turmoil but uncertain how to help.

Blaming himself for the argument that put you in harm's way and his failure to protect you, his torment grew. Now, potentially facing the gravest consequence, the thought that he might never rectify his mistake tormented him endlessly.

Then, Garcia's voice cracked through the tension, a beacon of urgent hope. "Hotch, you need to see this," she called out, dread coloring her tone. At her workstation, the sight that met Hotch’s eyes was a live stream of you, tied to a chair, visibly beaten, the intermittent waterboarding a grotesque display of your torment.

Hotch's reaction was immediate and fierce. Jaw clenched, eyes narrowed to furious slits, hands balled into fists, he embodied pure, unbridled rage. The team, taken aback by his intense emotion, rallied to his side, spurred into action.

"Trace it! Now!" he commanded, voice booming through the room. Garcia's fingers flew over the keyboard, tracing the digital breadcrumbs back to their source. Hotch's mind was ablaze with thoughts of rescue and retribution, focused solely on saving you, ending your suffering, and ensuring the unsub would pay dearly.

The torture worsened, and your condition visibly deteriorated on the live feed. Blood streaked across your face, each breath a struggle. Hotch gripped a chair, his knuckles white, tension radiating from him like a storm cloud.

Derek stepped up, voice calm but firm. "Hotch, man, we’re going to get her. Stay focused. You’re no good to her like this," he attempted to ground his friend in reality.

But before Derek could continue, Garcia interrupted with a vital update. "I got it! I got an address!" Her words shook with the weight of the situation.

Hotch’s expression shifted from despair to determined resolve in an instant. "Gear up; we move now!" he ordered, leading a swift charge towards the exit. The team followed, each member fueled by a blend of professional duty and a deep personal stake in your rescue.

As they loaded into the SUVs, the tension was palpable. Hotch’s mind sharpened, focused entirely on the operation. Every second was agonizing, each tick of the clock stretching into eternity as he planned each move, driven by a silent vow to bring you back safely.

As the SUV screeched to a halt outside the decrepit slaughterhouse, Hotch was already out the door, his FBI vest barely secured. The building loomed ominously, its walls echoing the horrors of its past and now, the terror of the present. Hotch didn't wait for backup or even the tactical count of three; driven by the raw urgency of your screams piercing through the silence, he charged in recklessly.

He was certain he heard Derek--maybe even Emily’s voice call after him, but he didn’t wait. He just went.

The interior was a labyrinth of dark, narrow corridors, the air thick with the stench of decay and old blood that mingled with a faint, metallic scent of fresh blood--yours. Each cry, each plea that he heard fueled him, tearing at his heart and propelling him forward with increased desperation. The sound of your distress was a siren call he couldn’t ignore, and it guided him through the twisted pathways of the building.

Turning a corner sharply, Hotch came face-to-face with the unsub. The man they had been hunting for what felt like weeks, but it only was days. He stood so much bigger--taller…larger than you. The thought and images of this man taking advantage of you…Hotch couldn’t bare to think of it anymore.

He knew what the other victims went through. He was there were some people out there who would have rathered been dead after being at the hands of this unsub. But you, you fought back as long as you could. 

The man lunged, wild-eyed and frenzied, but Hotch was fueled by a deep, seething rage that had been building since the moment he saw the live feed of your torture. He dodged the initial clumsy swing and grabbed the unsub by the collar, throwing him against the wall.

Hotch’s training was precise, but his emotions were raw and unfiltered. As the unsub struggled, striking out to fend off the attack, Hotch’s response was brutal. He unleashed a flurry of punches, each blow landing with the full weight of his fury and fear for your safety. The unsub tried to shield himself, but Hotch was relentless, driven by the vivid images of your pain that played over in his mind.

With each punch, Hotch felt a mix of satisfaction and horror at his own loss of control. The man beneath him was the source of his worst fears made manifest, and in that moment, Hotch was not just an agent of the law but an avenger, a protector whose love had been weaponized by his terror.

His fists were numb at this point--his entire body, honestly. If he had to think back on the only time he felt rage like this, it was when…it was when he found Haley. But he was too late. 

He couldn’t be too late for you. 

He couldn’t. 

The sounds of the altercation echoed through the empty spaces of the slaughterhouse, a stark and grim symphony that underscored the violence of the confrontation. Hotch’s breaths were heavy, his face splattered with the blood of the man he was punishing. It wasn’t until he heard the shouts of his team, echoing down the hall and approaching fast, that he realized how far he’d gone.

“Hotch! Hotch, stand down!” It was Derek’s voice, firm yet filled with concern, cutting through the haze of Hotch’s red-tinted vision.

He paused, his fists still raised, hovering over the now barely conscious unsub. His chest heaved, and his hands trembled with the adrenaline and aftermath of his onslaught. As his team restrained the unsub and called for medical help, Hotch stepped back, his gaze shifting around, searching for you, needing to see that you were safe, to reassure himself that there was still something left to save.

Rossi's voice barely registered as he tried to intervene, his hands reaching out to grasp Hotch's bloodied fists, an attempt to bring him back from the edge. "Hotch, wait!" he shouted, but it was too late. Hotch was already barreling through the next set of doors, his focus singular and unbreakable.

Inside the grim room, the sight that greeted him was one of stark horror and desperation. You were slumped over in a chair, your body limp with exhaustion and pain. JJ and Emily were by your side, quickly working to untie the wires that dug cruelly into your wrists, their edges slick with your blood. Each movement they made was gentle yet urgent, trying to minimize any further harm.

Hotch froze at the threshold, his heart hammering in his chest as the scene unfolded before him. The room was cold, the only sounds were your soft groans and the quiet reassurances from JJ and Emily as they freed you from your bindings. The air was thick, tinged with the iron scent of blood and the stale mustiness of abandonment.

As Hotch stepped closer, the full extent of your injuries became painfully clear. Bruises in various shades of purple and black marred your face and arms, and blood had stained your clothing. Seeing your once vibrant presence reduced to such a state unleashed a wave of guilt so intense it nearly overwhelmed him. He had seen countless victims, had steeled himself against the worst of humanity, but nothing had prepared him for the sight of you, so broken and vulnerable.

The bile rose in his throat as he approached, his steps faltering. The guilt of knowing his last words to you before this ordeal were steeped in anger and frustration made him feel responsible for every mark on your body. He felt as if he had failed you in the most fundamental way.

"Hey, it's going to be okay," JJ was saying softly as she carefully cut the last of the wire. Emily supported your weight, helping you to lean forward as the final restraint was removed.

Hotch's breath caught in his throat as you looked up, your eyes meeting his. Even through the pain and exhaustion, the relief in your gaze at seeing him was palpable. It was a look that pierced through the chaos, through the guilt and the rage, grounding him in the moment, in the necessity of being there for you now.

"I'm so sorry," he managed to choke out, the words barely a whisper as he knelt beside you, his hand hesitating before gently touching your arm, afraid of causing more pain. "I'm here now. I'm so sorry I wasn't here sooner."

The room seemed to contract around him, the walls echoing back his whispered apologies. As JJ and Emily continued to tend to you, Hotch remained by your side, his presence a silent vow to protect and make amends, no matter what it took.

As the medics flooded into the dim, grimy room, their presence was clearly a blur to you, their movements too sudden and intrusive in the vulnerable state you were in. Even as they reached out to drape a safety blanket over your shoulders, your instincts kicked in--raw and frightened like a cornered animal. 

"Don't touch me!" you managed to rasp out, your voice hoarse and strained from the ordeal.

The medics paused, taken aback by the intensity of your refusal but insistent on their duty. "You need medical attention now," one of them pressed, his tone both firm and clinical.

JJ, always the nurturing presence, tried to soothe you, her voice soft and motherly. "Sweetie, they're here to help you. We need to let them do their job." Her intentions were good, but the words felt like another layer of constraint, another set of hands trying to control you.

"No! Just--just give me a minute, please," you snapped back, the room spinning slightly as you struggled to maintain some semblance of control over what was happening to you.

Caught between his role as a leader and his personal feelings, Hotch watched helplessly for a moment, torn by your evident distress. Seeing another medic reach out to touch you again, he couldn't hold back any longer. "Give her a minute!" Hotch's voice boomed through the room, authoritative and commanding, halting the medic's movements instantly.

He turned to JJ and Emily, his eyes pleading for understanding. "Can you give us the room, please?" he asked quietly, the gravity of his tone conveying the seriousness of his request.

JJ and Emily exchanged a glance, their expressions a mix of concern and reluctance, but they nodded, trusting Hotch's judgment. They slowly exited the room, their steps retreating into the echo of the hollow, abandoned building.

Now alone with you, Hotch approached cautiously, his movements deliberate and gentle. He crouched down to your level, keeping a respectful distance to not overwhelm you further. His voice was soft, a stark contrast to the commanding tone he used with the others.

"Hey," he started, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what you might need from him. "I'm here, okay? No one's going to force you to do anything you're not ready for. We can take this as slow as you need." His gaze was steady, offering reassurance without the burden of expectation.

Your bottom lip trembled, the fear and relief mingling into a raw, vulnerable expression as your eyes locked with Hotch's. The familiarity of his presence, a stark contrast to the chaos and pain of the last hours, cracked the last of your composure. 

"Aaron," you whimpered, your voice breaking with the weight of everything you had endured. The sound of his name--the voice he feared he may never hear again--it almost completely broke whatever was left of him. 

"I know, I know," Hotch murmured gently, his voice low and soothing. Carefully, he reached for the safety blanket discarded by the medics. His movements were slow and deliberate, ensuring you felt no threat, only the promise of comfort. He unfolded the blanket with a tenderness that seemed to fill the cold, harsh space of the slaughterhouse.

With the blanket open wide, he leaned in slightly, giving you space to decide. Sensing your readiness, he gently wrapped the soft fabric around your shoulders, enveloping you in a warm embrace that felt like a shield against the harsh world. The blanket was a simple piece of fabric, but under Hotch's careful handling, it became a cocoon, offering the first touch of safety you'd felt in what seemed like forever.

As the blanket settled around you, your defenses crumbled, and you leaned into Hotch, your body instinctively seeking the reassurance of his physical presence. It was a silent plea for comfort, for a sign that it was truly over. Hotch responded without hesitation, his arms opening to receive you. You fell into him, your body heavy with exhaustion and emotional overload.

Hotch held you close, his arms strong yet gentle around you. He rested his chin on the top of your head. He didn't speak; no words were needed. His presence, the steady beat of his heart against yours, spoke volumes. 

As the ambulance doors slammed shut, Hotch took a seat beside you, his presence a silent vow of protection and support. His team had given him a nod of encouragement, understanding the personal stakes involved, and affirming his decision to accompany you. The ride to the hospital was a blur, with the sirens cutting through the bustling city noise, yet inside the ambulance, there was a bubble of strained silence.

Hotch watched every move the paramedics made, each one meticulous and aimed at stabilizing your condition. His guilt was a tangible presence in the cramped space, each bandage they wrapped, each wince you couldn't suppress, felt like a direct indictment of his failure to protect you sooner. He kept his gaze fixed on you, his eyes tracing the lines of pain etched across your face, the consequences of his decisions written on your bruised skin.

Upon arriving at the hospital, the flurry of activity intensified as medical staff quickly took over. They moved you to a triage area where the stark fluorescent lights seemed to highlight the severity of your condition. Hotch remained by your side, a silent observer to the flurry of activity. As doctors and nurses cleaned your wounds, their gentle swipes at the blood and grime felt to him like strokes of accusation, each one whispering of what had happened under his watch.

You sat through it all, the shock still enveloping you like a thick fog, your voice lost somewhere on the floor of the slaughterhouse. You were responsive only to the touch of the medical staff, a nod here, a slight move there, as they stitched up your wounds and ran a series of tests to assess the damage not immediately visible.

Hotch found himself floundering under the weight of helplessness as he watched. The hospital's antiseptic smell, the constant beeping of machines monitoring vital signs, and the soft murmurs of the medical staff discussing your condition, all seemed to echo in the hollow space of guilt inside him. Each stitch they placed was a reminder of every moment you had spent waiting for rescue, every moment he had failed to prevent your ordeal.

Amid the clinical detachment of reports and assessments, Hotch felt an overwhelming need to do something, say something that could bridge the gulf of trauma and guilt between you. But the words were lodged in his throat, stifled by the realization that no apology could undo the pain you endured, no words could erase the scars that would mark this day. 

So, he stayed, his hand finding yours, a silent communicator of his commitment and remorse, hoping that his presence could offer a sliver of comfort in the sterile, cold environment of the hospital.

The doctor motioned for Hotch to step into the hallway, a request he followed with a sense of dread tightening in his chest. The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor cast a stark glow, making the seriousness of the conversation even more palpable.

"Your partner will need extensive care, both physically and emotionally," the doctor began, his tone professional yet empathetic. "The trauma she's experienced is significant. It's clear she's been deeply affected by what happened."

Hotch nodded, his expression grave. He knew the road to recovery would be long and fraught with challenges, but hearing it so plainly stated by the doctor hammered home the reality of the situation.

"We'd normally recommend a 24-hour psychiatric evaluation under these circumstances to better understand her needs and ensure her safety," the doctor continued. "However, given your relationship and her response to your presence, it seems she might benefit more immediately from familiar support."

Hotch felt a mixture of relief and immense responsibility at the doctor's words. The idea that his presence could offer you some measure of comfort, that he could play a direct role in your recovery, gave him a focused purpose amid the swirling guilt.

"If you’re willing, your support could be crucial right now," the doctor added. "She’s clearly traumatized, and having someone she trusts by her side can make a significant difference in how she copes with these initial hours."

"I'll be here. Whatever she needs," Hotch affirmed without hesitation. The decision was simple in his mind; there was nowhere else he would be, no other role he would rather fill than to be there for you, to try and mend the sense of safety that had been so violently torn away.

The doctor nodded, seeming satisfied with his commitment. "I’ll arrange for a comfortable environment where you can stay with her. We’ll still need to monitor her closely and start working on a treatment plan that addresses both her physical injuries and psychological trauma."

"Thank you, doctor. I appreciate everything you’re doing," Hotch said, his tone sincere. The gratitude he felt for the medical team's efforts was profound, though shadowed by the ongoing concern for your well-being.

With the Unsub in custody and your discharge papers signed, the BAU could take you back home from the case.

As the jet sliced through the skies on the way back home, the interior was filled with a subdued silence. The rest of the team made quiet, gentle attempts to comfort you, but you remained mostly silent, your eyes closed, seemingly retreating into a cocoon of solitude. 

Despite the hum of the engines and the occasional murmurs from the team, the atmosphere was heavy, laden with concern for you and the unspoken tensions of the recent ordeal.

Hotch sat stiffly in his seat, his gaze intermittently shifting from the reports in his hands to where you rested across the jet.

He wasn't in his clear mind to be doing bureaucratic paperwork, but here he was, acting like a coward, afraid to face your reaction to the events he felt he caused.

Each glance was a mixture of concern and self-reproach. The harsh words he had hurled at you before your abduction haunted him, echoing in his mind with relentless persistence.

He was wracked with guilt, convinced that his actions had somehow contributed to the horror you endured, fearing that you would see him now as part of the nightmare rather than a source of safety.

Emily, observant and intuitive, noticed Hotch's troubled demeanor and the distance he maintained. She approached him quietly, her expression serious. "You need to knock it off and go sit with her," she urged, nodding subtly towards you.

Hotch looked up, his frown deepening, a mix of defensiveness and confusion in his eyes. Emily didn’t flinch; she held his gaze steadily. "Right now, I don’t care that you’re the boss, Hotch. She needs you, and you need to make things right."

He opened his mouth to protest, perhaps to say that his presence might not be what you needed, but Emily continued, her voice firm yet filled with compassion. "Look at her, Hotch. She looks broken and shouldn’t be alone. Whatever happened before, whatever was said--it doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you’re there for her when she wakes up."

Her words cut through his hesitation like a knife. Hotch knew Emily was right; his role as a leader was not just to command but to care, to mend the fissures that trauma had wrought in the team, especially in you.

Taking a deep breath, Hotch stood up, his resolve firming. He moved across the cabin, taking a seat beside you. As he sat down, the proximity to you, the sound of your quiet breathing, brought an aching mix of relief and renewed guilt. He watched you, your features relaxed in sleep but still reflecting the shadows of recent pain.

Gently, almost hesitantly, he reached out to take your hand, his touch tentative as if testing whether his presence was welcome. His other hand brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead, a gesture tender and protective.

When you finally opened your eyes, the weight of the entire ordeal reflected in your gaze, Hotch braced himself for any reaction--hurt, anger, or worse, disgust. However, what he saw instead was relief, a softening around your eyes that eased some of the heavy guilt anchoring his heart.

Sensing your need for comfort, Hotch tentatively opened his arms, an unspoken invitation for closeness. With a small, almost imperceptible nod, you moved closer and cuddled into his side on the jet's couch. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you gently against him, providing a warmth and security that only his presence could offer.

As you settled against him, a quiet sigh escaped you, one that spoke of burdens shared and the beginning of healing. Hotch's heart responded with a surge of protectiveness and affection, his own relief mirroring yours.

In that moment, with the quiet drone of the jet’s engines in the background and the softness of your presence beside him, Hotch felt a profound clarity.

The rest of the team, ever observant, watched this quiet exchange with a mixture of contentment and happiness.

It was more than just seeing one of their own safe; it was witnessing a bond reaffirmed under the harshest of tests. Their expressions held smiles of gentle approval, knowing too well the challenges both of you faced, both personally and as part of the team.

Hotch, holding you close, felt a deep-seated realization settle within him.

Despite the complications and potential risks of intertwining work and personal lives, being together and supporting each other was infinitely better than being apart.

The love that he had tried to compartmentalize away from his professional duties was not a vulnerability but a strength, a cornerstone for both of you to lean on in times of crisis.

Conversations would come later, but for now? This would do.

[emilys-bangs]

I can't read you (but if you want, the pleasure's all mine) | e.p

Tags: flirty!emily, shy!hotch's assistant!reader, fluff, hint of angst?, implied that emily isn't sleeping well :[, worried reader (duh), emily calls reader petnames, emily is down BAD

Summary: Emily loiters around in your office for no good reason.

Word count: 1.7k

A/n: I'm not sure if the idea of Hotch's assistant reader belongs to a single person, but I take no credit for it, I got inspired to write my own after reading @/mariasont's absolutely fabulous bimbo!assistant series, so very many thanks to her!! (and if there are any hotch girlies around here go check it out). Alsoo I think I'm probably gonna add a few more parts to this as interconnected oneshots, I had too many ideas and they couldn't all fit into one fic :p

It’s not that your office is hidden; it’s just out of the way. A short walk before the bullpen’s glass doors, on the opposite side of the restrooms. It’s not nestled within the buzz, and yet a single agent flits to it like a moth to a flame, with no reason or purpose behind her frequent visits.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Emily murmurs. She flashes you a smile, genuine but fading as she rests her hip against your desk and leans on it.

“Hi.” You don’t return her smile, too busy examining the bruised shadows under her eyes. A frown pulls your lips downward. “You look tired.”

“Ouch,” she mock winces. “Take it easy on a girl’s ego, will you?”

“I’m serious. Did you sleep okay?”

Something flickers behind her eyes. They’re dark eyes, endless and lovely, but something about them seems dull today. “Slept okay,” she dips her chin in a nod, “as well as I could without you there with me.”

It’s instantaneous, the knot in your tongue. Heat surges above the collar of your button down, the flush creeping up your neck, and Emily’s gaze becomes too much to hold. You drop your eyes to the neat surface of your desk, shifting files around beneath your sweaty fingertips. 

“It’s a big bed,” she continues through her brilliant teeth, gently poking at your composure. “A king. Gets cold easily, y’know? Hey, out of curiosity, do you happen to run hot? I’m freezing most of—”

“Prentiss.”

You both look up to find Hotch at your open door, his mouth set in a straight line—probably at the blatant show of fraternization from his subordinate. Emily grins at him winningly, unabashed as she gives a nod and drawls out, “Morning.”

The stare he gives her is a usual for when she’s leaning against your desk: stop flirting with my assistant. He doesn’t say it, only arches his brow, but everyone hears it.

“Good morning.” His voice is dry. Walking in, his gaze flits to you. “Any urgent cases?”

“N-No sir,” you fluster, cheeks still unbearably hot at the thought of you and Emily intertwined on her bed. Rubbing at your temple, your eyes dip down to the sticky note you’d stuck on your desk in preparation for the day’s tasks. The scrawl of your handwriting sparks competence back into your brain. “Uh, Strauss called again,” you say sheepishly; Hotch’s lips press together, his top lip disappearing, “about the budget meeting. That’s…three times this month?” You tilt your head, grimacing. “I’m starting to worry she’ll barter away the jet soon, save herself the headache.”

Emily lets out a small laugh. “I think letting Morgan go would be more cost effective.” 

She’s not entirely unfair—you’ve filed enough damage reports this month to make the director weep. The corner of your mouth tickles. Emily catches your eyes, lashes feathering over her cheek in a wink.

Hotch ignores her. 

“We’ve only got consults for today, right?” He asks. You nod. “See if we can schedule it today, get it over with. And, uh,” his eyes linger pointedly on Emily, “it’s almost 9.”

“We’ll be there in a minute,” she answers for the both of you, drowning out your low, yes sir.

The lumping of you and her in a we makes you pathetically giddy. 

It could possibly be considered rude for you to drop your eyes back to your desk before your boss leaves, robbing him of attention, but he’s already turning on his heel and with the two of them crowding your space, it’s like you’re flayed open beneath their sharp eyes. Profilers, you grumble internally, a small shake to your hands as Emily’s perfume dissolves over you in waves, a product of her coming closer. She’s next to your elbow now, the pale outline of her hand creeping up next to yours.

“Here, honey, let me help.”

You inhale a sharp breath, feeling the cold air drop all the way to the pit of your stomach. “They’re just a few files.” You mumble, gathering the consults and standing clumsily, eager to escape the heat of her body pressing against yours.

It’s a bad move. Your chest bumps into her arm, not hard, but enough to make you sway on your feet. Emily’s other hand is quick to land on your waist, steadily restoring your balance with a squeeze through your cardigan that has your head reeling.

“Careful there,” she says softly. You blink at her, the tired slant of her lashes now almost at eye-level. “Sorry, I was in your way—”

“Are you sure you’re good?” You blurt. Emily’s mouth snaps shut and you hug the files to your chest, looking her over more thoroughly. Minimal, effortless makeup, but there’s a wrinkle in her shirt, creases in the skin under her eyes. It’s not unusual for her to be tired, given the nature of her job, but the lines of her body are more tense than you’ve seen them.

At your question, it’s almost like she coils further into a tight spring.

“Yeah.” Emily says firmly. “I’m good, don’t worry about me. My cat kept waking me up, yelling all night to be let out and then yelling to be let in.” Her mouth twists into a wry smile.

“Sergio?”

“Mhm,” she nods. “He’s talkative.”

Her tone is as convincing as it ever is, buttery smooth and warm. But you don’t believe her. It’s a gut feeling, not something you can explain with any shred of reason; the certainty of it clings to you, so you look into the molten pools of her irises and hold on.

“You can—you, um…” the thoughts scatter from your brain just when you start, possibly the quiet intensity of Emily’s eyes making them flutter out of your skull. But she’s patient. Tilting her head, she doesn’t interrupt your silence, only presses her lips together in a reassuring smile.

The frustration settles bitterly in your gut, but you blow out a breath. Swallow and gather your words with a firm hand. When you finally have a good grasp on them, you look Emily in the eye and speak slowly.

“You could talk to me, you know. About anything. If you’re not sleeping, or—or just if you want to,” you shrug jerkily. “Doesn’t have to be anything, really, but I’m here. For you.” Stupidly, you wish you could reach out, gather the courage to place your hand on her shoulder or curl your fingers around her elbow. Maybe offer a reassuring squeeze, something more tangible than your useless, mumbled words. Emily touches you so much, it should be normal, but sweat slicks your skin at the thought of you initiating.

The arch of her brows softens as she smiles. It takes some pressure off your chest, more so when she loosely cups your elbow. “Thank you.” She says quietly. Her hand squeezes and your eyes skate over her face, searching. “Really, honey, thank you. But I’m fine. Slept late is all.”

Now that you’ve caught her out, she lets you hear the hint of exhaustion in her voice, raspy threads lacing through her words. It makes you wonder what else she hides so easily, exactly how much effort it would take to get her to let her walls crumble and the facade burn down. But she’s already a flighty person, wings flapping if she feels like the walls are starting to close in, so you don’t push further even though you want to.

“Oh. Uh, okay,” you fidget with your sleeve, tugging it further down your hand to dry the sweat on it. A quick flash of your eyes on Emily’s face tells you she’s still smiling, her lips drawn in a gentle curve. You look away again. 

“I just wanted you to know. That you could, if you wanted to. ’bout anything.” The last part comes out as a whisper. You hug the consult files closer to your chest, your eyes dropping to the watch strapped to your wrist. 8:59. “We should go, the team’s—”

“I do know that.” Emily says. Her hand falls away from your elbow, but her eyes fill with so much warmth you hardly feel the loss. “I know it. And I—” The heat of her eyes disappears, seeking something lower than your eyesight before snapping back up again. A confused flurry rips through your gut and she falters, mouth opening and closing. Her lips part again and she finally says, “You could, too. Talk to me about anything.” Sincerity is thick in her voice, her gaze earnest as she stares into your soul. “I hope you know that.”

The back of your throat is briefly dry. A small dip of your chin constitutes a nod; swallowing, you curl your fingers around the edges of the consultation files.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Yeah, I know.”

When Emily smiles, her eyes brighten the tiniest bit. A thrill goes through you at the thought of igniting it. Your own lips start to curve, but their path is rudely stopped when Emily’s brows tick upward.

“Oops,” she says lightly, her eyes finding the clock above your door. “9:01—” You curse as you look down at your own watch, eyes bugging out at the time. One minute is hardly late, but so far your record with Hotch has been spotless, and you want to keep it that way. 

Emily’s hand needlessly nudges the center of your back. “Let’s go, gorgeous.” She murmurs. You’re already moving, shooting past the open door of your office without hanging back to close it. A distant click tells you Emily does it, and a few more not so distant clicks of her heels on the floor tell you that she hurries to catch up to your gait. You’re still cursing under your breath, preemptively flustered at the thought of walking in late into the conference room, the rest of the team seated and waiting for your arrival. The weight of their eyes on you is already heavy.

“Your fault,” you mumble to Emily without any real heat.

She pulls open the bullpen door for you. You step through. “Hey, don’t worry. It’s just a minute, two tops.” The relaxed drawl of her voice doesn’t make you slow down. “Listen, if Hotch does pull out the death glare just get behind me, yeah? I’ll protect you.”

You finally turn your head and look at her, none too surprised to find her grinning. It makes you falter, feet slowing as you cross the bullpen floor. Stupid heat burns in your cheeks; you look away.

“Shut up, Prentiss.”

“Sorry, babe.”

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi@temilyrights @professorsapphic

[skzthelomlhehe]

Okie sooo I'm like in the middle of tests and work and the progress to my upcoming oneshots have been slow so I thought, "why not make some headcanons?" (Frankly cuz I'm fucking bored of studying and working all the damned time) Total Masterlist

Okie so for these little imagines, I was thinking

How your boyfriend!skz would react to you waiting for them in a sexy lingerie after they had a long day at work! [Ot8] {Pt. 1: Hyung Line}

MDNI // includes smut (think y'all can know by the title itself lmao), I'm not exactly sure what warnings to include, just know it's smutty (I'm very sorry I'm highly sleep deprived and running on my 7th coffee today my brain cannot function) // established relationships

Tag Reqs:@arestoucries

Bang Chan

Ok so like- I just KNOW the man wouldn't even notice. He'd walk in to your shared apartment (idfk), his head hanging with like heavy sighs and he wouldn't even notice what you were wearing when he walks in. I feel like it wouldn't be AFTER he had his shoes off and walking slow, tired steps towards you and then he looks up and drops his jaw like the bag he had in his hand. He'd prolly stutter sumn like, "Y-Y/N...? What are you...?" And not even have the means to say anything else. He would just be standing there worshipping you, basking in your beauty and walk up to you, wrapping his arms around your bare waist nice and gentle and place soft wet kisses everywhere, once again, worshipping you. Feel like even if he's tired, he would savour you in the gentlest way possible and if he had a really bad day, maybe even cry in your arms a little and vent during aftercare (cuz we all know what a damned softie he is and we love him for that)

Lee Know

For him, I'd say he would just walk in STOMPING cuz he's PISSED (possibly at himself cuz he thinks he doesn't work hard enough or at something or the other that disrupted his usual flow) and he'd just flop on the couch calling out to you probably to cuddle. Maybe even get things heated iykyk and in this case, he'd definitely do the latter. When you walk in wearing that sexy lingerie, his eyes would be wide fixated on you. And seeing him down on the couch in his usual manspread would just get you DRIPPIN'. He would probably scoff at the sight in front of him and flick his fingers motioning you to come and pat on his thighs to get you to sit down and like his little kitten you are, you would obey without a word. He'd probably run his hands all through your body, placing wet kisses, maybe even leaving marks. I'd imagine him saying something like, "what a good kitty. How'd you know I would need just this, hm?" In this husky seductive tone (once again iykyk) and despite how tired he is, I'd think he would take his time eating you up cuz youre his favourite meal~

Changbin

Would he possibly be walking in looking like he could murder someone? Yes. Will he come home to find you like that and go fucking feral? Absolutely. Will he just absolutely wreck your brains out? DEFINITELY. Do I even have to say anything?? The man is a gentle beast. He's gonna care for you, he's gonna love you, prepare you with foreplay and the moment he gets permission and knows you're ready to take him, he'd go BEAST. And then once you're done, and you'd just be laying there huffing in his arms, he would loudly yap about his day and by the end of it, let you know how much he loves you and appreciates your efforts cuz you unintentionally just made him the happiest man alive.

Hyunjin

Another guy who would worship you, really. When he gets home tired and groggy to see you sitting like a beautiful sculpture who was sculpted with extra care, extra love and extra details, he would fold. Probably melt in your arms telling you how crazy gorgeous you looked and how he would take his time painting you with his cum and then later after making a mess out of you, he'd take his time engraving your image both on his canvas and in his mind. No matter how tired he was from the day full of work, once you guys were done with all that, he would sit down on his painting stool with his large canvas in front of him while you laid there mindlessly filled and covered with his fluids. He'd look at you like a work of art, a once in a lifetime masterpiece created JUST for him while he keeps repeating sweet nothings as he paints you.

[ms-demeanor]

making my own post because nobody needs my bullshit on their post:

OP:

Reblog 1:

Reblog 2:

My response:

The IRA blogs were here and they were active and they were quite popular; their posting patterns did not match normal tumblr users (i was followed by lagonegirl and followed back only to be put off by the account reblogging the same five or ten posts every hour for a day before selecting another five or ten posts to reblog hourly the next day - it was clear engagement bait).

Tumblr has never been as transparent about these accounts as both Twitter and Facebook were, but several of the accounts had shared names across platforms and you can find a significant amount of data that was released by both facebook (ex: ads purchased by the IRA accounts) and twitter (over three million tweets from IRA accounts). Academic researchers have published papers on the data released from facebook and twitter. Several papers. So many papers. Soooooo many papers. We have a LOT of direct evidence that you can explore for yourself that there were hundreds (possibly thousands) of IRA accounts that were created on Facebook and Twitter. Of those accounts, some shared usernames across platforms, and of those accounts, a few had tumblr accounts that posted the same content on twitter and tumblr.

To quote a buzzfeed news article from the time:

The Russian-run Tumblr accounts used the same, or very similar, usernames as the account names contained on a list of confirmed IRA accounts Twitter submitted to congressional investigators. In some cases, the Tumblr and Twitter account has the same profile image or linked to each other in their bios. Some IRA Tumblrs and Twitter accounts also cross-promoted content between platforms, further linking them together.

Current tumblr user @ alwaysbewoke (who I don't want to tag because I'm sure he's got better things to do) is interviewed in that article and talks about following one of the blogs identified by tumblr as an IRA blog that had a matching account on twitter identified as an IRA account but unfollowing when the left-leaning blog supposedly run by a black creator started rooting for trump in the election.

Dr. Jonathan Albright is heavily quoted in the article; the data review he collaborated on is one of the only reviews of this subject that includes data from Tumblr and Reddit.

One of the claims that I've seen is that tumblr just deleted funny black people, but these were blogs with thousands of followers on tumblr who never recreated, never popped up on another social media site, never started a reddit account after getting banned; nobody ever showed up saying "hey this is 4mysquad, I got banned on tumblr and twitter, follow me to pillowfort". These very popular blogs got deleted and, as far as I know, nobody ever popped up claiming to be a person who was deleted - and it's not like tumblr users haven't figured out how to evade bans.

What you are doing when you make posts saying that the IRA accounts on tumblr never existed is *absolving tumblr of guilt for their utter lack of transparency.*

Tumblr is not the only tech company that has tried to fly under the radar as its larger counterparts face regular scrutiny in Congress and in the press. Earlier this month, Reddit revealed it too had deleted hundreds of accounts with ties to the Internet Research Agency. A WIRED investigation found more than a thousand links to Russian propaganda websites are still live on Reddit, and unearthed two suspicious accounts that Reddit immediately shut down.

So should you believe what Tumblr says? No, because Tumblr has been functionally fucking silent on this issue and the information about this subject aside from the list of blogs has come from the hard work of data scientists, journalists, and researchers.

(For the record; some of those bot accounts that were recorded by Dr. Albright also had Google+ accounts in 2017 - there is every possibility that they had myspace accounts).

Now, the reason that I'm popping onto this post as an annoyed anarchist is that I was tracking a similar group of blogs for a while and was discussing them and I stopped precisely because of the galaxy-brained liberals who are now trying to dunk on communists for criticizing electoralism. One of the people who was following my project was one of the ones who started calling out the "joe biden kills dogs" posts as disinfo and I realized they were using some of the guidelines I'd written up to "identify" misinformation and that is very a rock fucking stupid approach to what was clearly a leftist making jokes and was horrified and realized there was no way that I could continue documenting what I was documenting without someone attempting to call actual leftists russian bots.

I've seen the post that OP is referencing [it's one where someone makes a very obvious joke about the democrat presidential ticket and people jump on to call them a bot and then someone tries to do the "AI tell me a story" thing and OP is just like "I don't want to :(", proving that they are in fact a person and not an AI] and have deeply enjoyed the humor of watching liberals a) not understand a very, VERY obvious joke and b) become the unwitting butt of a joke they were trying to make, but also I am so exhausted by watching normie dems call leftists AI bots after years of watching normie dems call real live actual leftists who hold actual political views that real people actually have, like prison abolition, russian bots.

But I am also so fucking tired of left conspiracism and how stupid it sounds when leftists dismiss a preponderance of evidence that is easily accessible and publicly available for analysis as "lol so you just trust everything tumblr tells you?"

No, dipshit, learn to click a fucking link or twelve.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Somewhere Over the Rainbow pop-up event.

born to run

Prompt: Red | Song: All Too Well by Taylor Swift | Word Count: 1978 | Rating: T | POV: Eddie | CW: Self Isolation, Language | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, But He's Isolated, And Steve's Having None of It, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Getting Together, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Lots of Springsteen References

'cause there we are again on that little town street, you almost ran the red 'cause you were lookin' over at me

The criminal case had fizzled into nothingness, dismissed before it began with some strings pulled from places higher than Eddie will ever understand. Of course, the court of public opinion has been less forgiving. Eddie's not surprised, not at all. It's always that way for guys like him. 

Different. Weird. Freak.

Guilty.

Even if he's not.

He still feels trapped, caged, locked up. Like he can't leave the house. And as someone who wants to run by nature, that's been torture. 

At the new house, the backyard is fenced, and that's Eddie's prison yard. He walks the fenceline, pacing in a big circle, the only energy outlet he has. Just a never-ending loop, wearing a path into the grass. Alone with his thoughts.

Unless he isn't. He hears footsteps brushing through the leaves, and freezes. Then he sees the hands reach up and grasp the top of the tall wooden fence. Seconds later, Steve is hoisting himself over the backyard wall with ease, like some sort of knight in shining armor.

Eddie laughs, though his heart is still beating against his chest, just a little. 

"Front door didn't work?" Eddie asks as Steve swings his body over, sliding to the ground.

"Uh, forgot my key. You didn't answer. I knew you had to be out here," Steve says, wiping his hands on his jeans, "And look! You were!"

It's far too excited of a tone, especially when there was nowhere else Eddie could have possibly been. It's not like he leaves the yard. Eddie starts pacing again, and Steve falls into lockstep. Walking in circles right beside him.

He'd never tell Gareth, wouldn't even admit it under pain of death, but Steve's been the best friend he could ask for these past months. Nobody else is even close. It's just different. What they both know. What they've been through. Seen. Survived. Together.

He finally gets the old war buddy bond that Wayne talks about. It's no joke.

"I'm going stir crazy in this prison," Eddie says, because there's never a reason to lie to Steve.

Steve's seen his worst days. Maybe someday he'll see his best, too. Eddie is optimistic that this isn't forever, even if it feels like it right now.

Jogging a couple steps ahead, Steve turns so he can walk backwards ahead of Eddie. 

"I have an idea."

"And that idea would be?" Eddie probes. He's open to anything right now.

"It's your birthday, right?" Steve asks, and Eddie didn't even realize he knew that.

"Uh, yeah. Tomorrow."

"Come for a ride with me," Steve says, and Eddie's already shaking his head. No way. 

Steve's eyes are pleading, but Eddie can't.

"Later tonight. When the town is quiet. Nothing will happen. Not while you're with me. Not on my watch," Steve says, and Eddie feels his resolve crumbling. He doesn't want to leave the house, but Steve's using those fucking eyes of his against Eddie. It's really, truly unfair. 

Eddie doesn't say no, but he doesn't say yes either. 

For now, they'll just pace the yard, loop after loop.

Laying on Eddie's bed, Steve's got a cigarette dangling from his lip, head upside down off the edge of the bed as he holds up the liner notes of Born to Run, reading them. It was Steve's turn to pick the record. Some of Steve's have slowly migrated to Eddie's room, collection intermingling.

"Hey, Eddie, this guy, he's the real thing," Steve says, just before Springsteen sings the same line of lyrics. 

Eddie laughs.

Steve's proving a point with this album, has been all night. He wants to hide out on the backstreets. Wants a meeting across the river. He wants to ride out tonight to case the promised land. 

Eddie, after all, is born to run.

Wayne appears in the open bedroom door, and they both look over at him. He's got a six-pack held up, "First legal drink on me."

"I'm not twenty-one yet," Eddie banters, tapping his watch.

"Well, I gotta get to work, wise guy. Show some restraint for once and don't crack one open until after midnight."

"What about Steve?" Eddie teases. "He's a minor. Don't make me call Chief Hopper."

Wayne laughs, putting the beer down on the desk, having to scoot some shit to the side to make room for it, "What I don't know won't hurt me."

Eddie grins. He knows before all this bullshit happened, Wayne would have taken him out to his favorite bar for that first drink. That's not really an option now, unfortunately.

Wayne smiles back at him, "Happy birthday, kid."

"Thanks, old man."

"Birthday breakfast?" Wayne asks, "Both of you?"

And they both nod. Eddie tries to not read into the fact that Wayne just assumes Steve's staying all night. Eddie knows he probably will. Steve's made it his personal mission to keep Eddie company.

"Stay out of trouble," Wayne says, a relic of years gone by. And then he's gone. Eddie's definitely not getting into trouble these days.

Steve goes back to studying the lyrics printed on the album flap.

"This town rips the bones from your back," Steve reads, and then looks up at Eddie, "Who knew Springsteen has been to Hawkins?"

Eddie laughs. Ain't that the goddamn truth. It is a death trap. But maybe that's a more universal feeling than he's considered it to be.

It's quiet for a while, Steve reading, both of them smoking. Springsteen crooning from the corner.

"Wanna go for that ride?" Steve asks, interrupting the silence, looking hopeful and earnest.

Eddie shakes his head on instinct, but for some reason he still agrees anyway. For Steve. 

"Okay, big boy. Take me out into that town full of losers."

Playing it safe at first, as promised, Steve hugs the side streets. Long patches of inky darkness only broken up by dim street lights on corners. Revealed with the soft swish of the windshield wipers. A summer shower that'll probably stop as quickly as it started.

Eventually they move out onto the main drag. Eddie isn't sure how it looks exactly the same, but also so different. They've cleaned it up well. Fast. He's shocked. The world, the town, is spinning on without him as he stays stagnant, trapped in that house.

Steve's looking at him. Staring. Eddie can feel his eyes on him.

The light changes.

"Red," Eddie says.

"Huh?" Steve asks, brow furrowing.

"Light's red!" Eddie shouts, and Steve slams on the brakes. Sliding a little on the wet road before coming to a stop. Squeezing the steering wheel, laughing.

There's not another soul on the road, but they still stop and wait for it to change back to green.

"Green means go, red means stop," Eddie mocks.

"One stoplight in town, and I almost ran it," Steve giggles, looking back over at Eddie, just like he had been before the jarring stop. Eddie can't help smiling. It's nice, and Steve's car feels safe. Like the house, like the backyard. Another extension of home.

That's all Steve. 

When the light changes, he pulls away from the intersection and the wind whips through Eddie's hair.

The clock flips over to midnight, and Eddie's a year older. Maybe this one will be different. Better.

"Happy birthday," Steve says.

"It's just another day," Eddie answers, because he can't get his hopes up for anything to change.

Steve reaches over and rests his hand on Eddie's knee, and it's shocking and comforting and inevitable, "You're turning twenty-one. That's supposed to be fun."

Eddie covers it with his own, and feels his heart flip in his chest.

"You're a poet and didn't even know it," Eddie says, deflecting, because anything else feels too big, too real.

Steve laughs and pulls his hand back to his own lap.

Eddie misses it, immediately.

So much for a summer shower. It's a full-on downpour by the time they pull back into the driveway. They run back into the safety of the house, laughing, Steve locking the deadbolt behind them. Then his hands are on Eddie. One hand sliding around the back of Eddie's head, tangling in his damp hair, pulling him close.

Looking right in his eyes, Eddie feels trapped, pinned down in another way now.

This way is much better.

"Green," Eddie whispers, and Steve furrows his brow just for a second, then he smiles.

"Green means go," Steve says back, and hell yes it does.

Steve goes, because he's brave, and Eddie feels Steve's mouth covering his for the first time. Eddie reaches for him, clings to him, kissing him back.

After three months in the grave, locked away in this tomb, Eddie feels alive again. Warmth flooding his cheeks, kissing Steve Harrington. 

It suddenly feels like a home, not a prison. Just like that. Eddie's world shifting, being illuminated with the warmth that Steve has offered him.

Eddie squeezes Steve's biceps, and Steve walks him back towards his bedroom. And Eddie goes more than willing, letting Steve pull off their damp clothing, tossing them away. He sighs as Steve presses him down into the mattress, covering Eddie's whole body with his own. Shielding him, protecting him, still. 

Harrington's got him. 

Steve finds his hand, laces their fingers together, squeezing tight. Eddie tilts his head, deepening the kiss. Humming with happiness as Steve eventually pulls back, and moves to kiss his neck instead. Lips dancing across his skin, his tongue peeking out, brushing against the juncture of his neck, making Eddie laugh, delighted.

It's soft, and sweet. 

It's everything Eddie never knew he needed. 

Even in their underwear Steve isn't asking for anything other than this, even if Eddie would willingly give it. This is enough, more than. Steve's hand holding his tightly, his body grounding Eddie's to his own, to the bed, to the world.

The noise of Hawkins, of death, of destruction finally pushed to the back burner with Steve lighting better fires to attend to with his mouth, his fingers.

Eddie's never had this, what feels like hours of staying so close, kissing, touching, just holding onto one another. They've shifted, now face-to-face in Eddie's bed. Steve's hand holding his. Like he might never let go.

He hopes he doesn't.

This was overdue, Eddie realizes.

Inevitable.

"Tramps like us," Steve says, and Eddie laughs, rolling on the bed, but not letting go. And he lets Steve tug him closer. There's no place left to hide.

Nowhere to run.

Eddie can't tell him he loves him. Not yet. Even if he knows he does. Probably has since he was stumbling through the woods of the Upside Down, trailing after Steve Harrington like a lost puppy.

Thinking he had no chance. Flirting to flirt, teasing to tease.

"Wild and real," Eddie says instead, and the way Steve smiles means he gets it. He knows what Eddie is saying without saying it.

Steve Harrington speaks in Springsteen, and after being around him for months, Eddie does, too. 

Eddie surges forward this time, taking the lead, kissing Steve again. He never wants to stop kissing him. He never wants to stop loving him with all the madness in his soul.

He's the one.

In the morning, they drink Eddie's warm birthday beer with breakfast. If Wayne notices that things have changed between them, if he sees their swollen lips and their stupid grins, he definitely doesn't mention it.

He just slides eggs and bacon and toast onto their plates before joining them at the table. Smiling as he gets to share that first legal drink with Eddie after all.

Wayne clinks his bottle against Eddie's, "Twenty-one will be better than twenty. You'll see."

Eddie grins, eyes cutting over to Steve who's already eating, wearing one of Eddie's threadbare shirts, a hickey on his neck.

Looking back at Wayne, Eddie smiles, maybe bigger than he has since before.

Fuck yeah, it will.

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the Somewhere Over the Rainbow popup event!

Notes: Let's be so for real. Wayne totally already thought they've been together for months. 🤣

Tons of references to the album Born to Run in this one. Maybe more than the Taylor song that it was built around after all was said and done, lol.

[delusionalalien]

[Embrace You, Devour You] [Prologue] YANDERE!Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader x YANDERE!Variant!Invincibles

this is what happens when my hubby, Tsugikuni Yoriichi, don't get enough fanfictions made about him tsk tsk.

this is hot garbage btw.

note : i'm doing this for fun, and I'm mentally disturb with no writing skills whatsoever so don't expect S class writing. English is NOT my first language so my grammar is really bad. I also have no idea how Tumblr post works

note 2 : They start out as kids in the first few chapters so its pretty innocent...? but I'm leaving the TW and tags here just in case anyone reading this garbage knows what they signed up for ahahsghbgavsfhashajgsgc

next chapter T.W / Tags: slow-burn, soft yandere(main mark), pinning, mark is bat shit crazy on the inside but he good dw(like he wont end the world unless you die lol), baby-trapping (believe it or not), teen pregnancy, yandere variants (they did so much worse in their universe), mark a lil pushy (i still love him), breeding kink (cant forget about that), prob missing more tags but ill add them later as this story progress

(Name) is starting to understand feelings and she's scared ):

It first started with a simple and innocent feeling.

Mark Grayson and (Name) are childhood best friends, next door neighbors that had one parent as a superhero. Every sleepover, every birthday parties, and each and every playdates, attended to since both of you live close to one another. you both were close, closer than what both your parents shares about you two to strangers or friends. yet neither of you cared for that as long as you had each other.

At first (Name) didn't think much of it, didn't understand the feelings you felt towards Mark, just that you understood that you really like being around him, standing next to him, playing with him, and listening to him ramble about the latest superhero that caught his attention or the newest addition Seance Dog that your mother gifted him on his birthday. All ears as you drowned in the way he speaks.

something about him makes you feel special, like you have been seen and understood, was it bad that you think he feels the same way too?

Then comes the budding plant that blossomed uncontrollably as you grew- grew to understand why you like being with him, like when you held hands as you both walk to school when you both miss the bus, like when he talks and rambles over anything he was interested in. You were head over heels in love and you're scared. Scared to lose the friendship, scared to be treated differently.

And you went home, crying uncontrollably because not only did you love Mark, you also had to walk in the scorching heat because of course a villain just had to show up during your summer classes.

Worse of all, Mark saw you cry the day you understood these feelings. Witness from the window that faced both your bedrooms, the very same window where you both would stay late at night just to talk until his father tells you both to go to sleep. Mark opens the window and leaned over to knock on yours. a pleading look to open, the very same ones when he sees you having a bad day.

How can you ever deny him when he looks this sad.

"Are you okay?"

Mark, the 12 year old next door neighbor, who you have a crush on hops on over and flops right on to your bed with his back pressed to the wall. You slide the window shut again and wiped the tears away.

"M'fine."

"We'll you're crying, that means you are not fine." Mark pouts and crosses his arms, scanning you over to see what could possibly upset you so much that you had to cry tears.

"Was Rebecca being mean to you again?" He gasped as if he figured the cause of your tears, "me and William will go and give her a piece of our minds!"

"it's not her this time, Mark..." you laid on your bed facing the opposite from mark. hands clutched near your heart to calm the erratic thumps. unable to speak as the words clogged inside your throat.

Mark ever the dork he was jumped over you only to land on the floor with a thud.

"Mark!"

"I'm okay!"

He popped back up just to sit on the floor, elbows propped against the bed and his head on his hands. grinning and waiting for you to tell him about your struggles. his ears were a little red and you cant help but giggle how he was playing it off like he hadn't hurt himself.

Mark smiled, "You laughed!" you feel his finger poke your cheek "Does that mean you aren't sad anymore?"

shaking your head, you sat up right and sighed.

"Still sad, but with you around I always feel better. Thanks, you dork."

"w-well I'm glad you feel better."

Mark coughed and cleared his throat, "so, what's on your mind?"

You stared into his eyes, and suddenly that feeling in your heart intensifies, your face was warmer and your palms began to sweat.

you wanted, no, you needed him to know what you feel but you couldn't because you fear change. so you began stammering trying to a make passable excuse to give.

"I, uh, i, i just really want a dog!"

"Isn't your mom allergic?"

Mark leaned back and gave you the most baffled look that he knows that you know that you we're lying. the perks of living next to each other your whole lives.

You slapped yourself mentally. Out of all the lies you can say, why an animal that you're mother is deathly allergic too?

"come on (Name) you can tell me anything, we're best friends right? and as best friends we don't hide anything from each other!"

Mark watches you bury yourself in your blankets. You felt your heart aching slightly. Friends, of course he only saw you as a friend never will it be anything else, not now, not in the future. You felt like crying but not here, god forbid he ever catches you crying again.

You hear him shuffle as the bed dips from his weight before he yanks your blankets off you.

"Mark!" you fought him back by trying to take back the sheet.

"Tell me what's wrong first!" He held onto the blanket with all the strength he's got. Damn him and his alien genes, despite not awakening his powers yet he was strong, stronger than you at least.

After a bit, you relent and Mark smiled victorious. patiently he waits for you to confess, to answer for the tears he saw you shed earlier in his bedroom.

your heart raced. we're you going to really tell him now? what if he says he doesn't like you? "Mark... I, I like-"

The boy perks up. Eagerly waits to what you had to say, his brown eyes sparkling.

"I LIKE TODD!"

...

...

"... what?"

"what?"

[bellaxgiornata]

Seeking Forgiveness [Part Nine]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 4k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+ contains angst, emotional hurt, delayed comfort, pregnant Reader, mentions/fear of miscarriage

a/n: Long time no update, I know. I was stalled with this fic because it wasn't supposed to be long, but then it grew into something bigger and needed a new direction and it took me a bit to figure that out. Now I think I've found it. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Matt’s fingers slowly ran over the braille document on the table before himself, his mind struggling to focus on the work he was supposed to be accomplishing right now. He'd promised Fog yesterday at the office that he'd help him sift through some more information for a case they'd been working on first thing in the morning, but his mind just couldn't stay on task. Repeatedly he'd had to run his fingers over the letters just to get a couple of them to form words in his mind, but then in mere seconds he'd forgotten what he'd just read.

But how could he focus on work right now with what he was doing later today? The only thing he could think about since the moment he’d woken up and shuffled out of his bedroom this morning was you. Because today was Saturday. It was the day you’d agreed to meet with him for that coffee where you’d planned to have an important conversation with him. And as much as Matt had tried not to let himself hope for too much to come from this talk, he couldn't stop that hope from growing inside of himself. It had been steadily growing brighter and brighter ever since you’d first agreed to meet the other night. 

As his fingers traced the braille letters of the same line on the page yet again, Matt could feel the weight of Foggy’s eyes on him from across his kitchen table. He could tell Foggy had begun to notice his behavior, his increasing annoyance becoming apparent in the way his fingers had been steadily tapping faster against the table in less of an absent fidget and more of an agitated rhythm.

Once more Matt tried to read the line again, retracing his fingers over it as he leaned further over the document, as if getting closer to it would somehow help him to concentrate. But then he found his mind once more diverting from its task, instead thinking of himself sitting with you over coffee in only a matter of hours. Because soon he'd actually be talking to you, hearing your voice again, possibly even the sound of your laughter that he so sorely missed. And if he was lucky, maybe you'd let him hold you in his arms again, even if it was just to say goodbye.

“Alright,” Foggy said in exasperation, slumping back in his chair. “What is it that's got you so distracted? Because I've been here for almost a half an hour now and you haven't even read the page that's been sitting in front of you for just as long. Is it some Daredevil thing that's on your mind? Because buddy, that can wait until later tonight. We have actual legal work to accomplish right now.”

Matt released a defeated sigh, sitting back in his chair and pushing the document away from himself as his attention shifted over to Foggy. He felt guilty for not being able to focus on work–a problem he'd truly struggled with for far longer than just this morning if he was being honest. Ever since he'd learned you were pregnant his mind was often elsewhere.

“It’s nothing to do with that. It's just–I'm meeting with her this morning. To talk over coffee,” Matt told him. 

Foggy suddenly sat up straight in his chair, the annoyance in his body language immediately disappearing. He said your name in question, the tone of it hopeful.

“Yeah,” Matt acknowledged with a nod. “She agreed to talk and that's all I can focus on. I'm sorry, Fog. I just–just can't think about anything else because I don't want to mess this up with her. I doubt she'll give me another chance to sit down with her.”

“I don't know man,” Foggy disagreed. “I think she wants things to work between you both. From what I hear, it sounds like she's just scared.”

Matt pulled a face, his head canting to the side. “Scared?” he repeated. “Scared of what?”

“Of things not working out between you both,” Foggy answered. “I think you both really want the same things. And from what I’ve heard, I think she’s scared you might hurt her again.”

Matt frowned as he shifted his attention away from Foggy, his right hand reaching up to messily run through his hair. He wasn't certain of the truth in everything Foggy had just said. Matt had a feeling that he wanted far more from you than you wanted from him. And that scared him . But he absolutely refused to ever be in a situation to let you down again. He’d learned from his mistake–he would never break a promise to you again.

“So what exactly are you both planning to talk about this morning?” Foggy questioned. “Just the baby? Or…is there talk about you two getting back together?”

Matt's hand ran another pass through his hair in nervous frustration. Of course that's one of the things he’d wanted to discuss with you, but he was certain that particular topic wasn't even on the agenda for this morning. It probably wasn’t even remotely on your mind. It didn’t matter if you’d asked him to hold you in your bed the other night after the scare you’d had because he’d known exactly what that had meant. He was just happy that at the very least, you found his presence comforting still.

“I think we're just talking about me being more involved with the baby,” he answered. “That’s all the talk is about. And don't get me wrong, I'm happy we're even discussing that after the mess I made of things over the past few months. Because I do want to be more involved in things with her and our daughter even if she hasn’t been born yet. But I…”

Matt trailed off, the frown deepening on his lips as his focus dropped down towards the table. He heard Foggy lean forward, resting his elbows along the surface of it as his pulse accelerated in anticipation.

“But what?” he pushed.

Licking his lips nervously, Matt's eyes slowly closed. “I want more,” he admitted aloud. “And I know after how I messed things up that I don't deserve it with her. She's far too good for me, Fog. I get it. But I still want it.”

“Want what, exactly?” he asked. “The relationship?”

“Yes,” Matt answered immediately. “And I still want her to move in with me like we had been planning before everything fell apart and she found out she was pregnant,” Matt confessed, finally bearing his heart to Foggy. “I want her here . I want to set up the crib in our room that’ll be our daughter’s bed. I want them all in that room,” Matt said, gesturing behind Foggy to his bedroom, “where I can sleep next to both of them every single night. Knowing they're both safe with me. And I want to make space in the closet and the dresser for both of their things. I want to accidentally pull out baby pajamas instead of a tie in the mornings.” A sad smile tugged at Matt’s lips as he imagined everything in his mind while he spoke. “I want her to keep that growing stockpile of diaper boxes in her apartment right over there,” he continued, gesturing a hand towards the closet past his couch where he kept his Daredevil suit. “And I want to wake up and make coffee to the sound of a baby babbling.”

Tears were beginning to sting at Matt’s eyes as a flood of emotion began to well inside of him. He'd never realized quite how much he had been wanting until he’d suddenly given voice to it.

“I just want her to be here so that I can make her breakfast in the morning and dinner in the evening,” he continued softly. “I want her here so I can rub her back when she's throwing up or her feet when they're sore after work. I just–”

He paused, wincing. He found himself wanting so much that he never realized he'd even wanted until you had come into his life. But how would he ever be able to have any of that? After how he'd ended things with you and walked out on you when you'd begged him to stay? How did he get you to still move in with him? Let him be a part of your life again? Trust him again?

“I just want it all,” he whispered, fighting back the burn of tears. “But that's not what this talk is about today, and I understand that.”

“You could still tell her,” Foggy suggested gently. “You could still let her know how you feel, Matt. Be open with her about your feelings.”

Matt shook his head, his heart feeling leaden in his chest. “No,” he told him. “I think that's the last thing she wants to hear right now. I can't push my luck, Fog. Maybe someday I can tell her all of that, but I don't think today is that day.”

“I don't know, man,” Foggy countered.

“I can't ask for too much when I don't deserve it,” Matt said. “She needs to know I'm serious first, so that's my focus. I'll take whatever she gives me and show her that I mean it when I say I want to be a part of things. That I’ll really be there when she needs me.”

“For the record, I don’t exactly agree with that route,” Foggy told him. “But if you think telling her how you feel will somehow push her away instead of bring her closer, then I’m not about to argue because you’re obviously not going to listen. I’m just happy to hear that you’re both sitting down together to talk finally. We’re all rooting for the both of you to figure this all out, Matt.”

Matt’s attention focused on Foggy across the table from him. He heard the truth in his words with how steady his heartbeat had been. It felt good to know at least his friends believed in him. But he knew it would feel amazing to finally have you believe in him again, too.

You didn’t have to search hard to find Matt. He’d sent you a text when you’d left your apartment and made your way to the coffee shop letting you know that he’d already arrived early and grabbed a table. And now there he was, sitting in a corner booth with a coffee in front of himself and another across the table from him. A wave of nerves hit you at the sight of him in his dark jeans and snug-fitting gray shirt, your stomach twisting anxiously as the reality of sitting down with him actually hit you. It had been so long since you’d both really sat down together to talk; the only other time had been earlier this week on the night he’d shown up at your apartment because he’d heard your panic. But that had been under entirely different circumstances than this. 

Matt’s head instantly spun in your direction as the door to the shop shut behind you. You figured he’d probably picked up on your strong reaction to seeing him, and that only increased the nerves running loose in your stomach. Beginning to make your way over towards the corner booth where he sat, his covered gaze focused on you, you chewed your bottom lip while awkwardly maneuvering your small bump between the tables and chairs. Briefly you were reminded of your third date at this very coffee shop with Matt. The memory of it had you longing to be able to slide into the booth beside him and wrap your arms around him now, desperate for some of his strength to transfer to you. 

“Hey, Matt,” you greeted lightly, slowly sliding into the bench across from him. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long on me.”

A timid smile spread over his lips as he shook his head. “Not at all. Though I already ordered you a coffee.” His hand gestured to the cup now in front of you. “Vanilla latte, iced. I hope that’s okay. If not, I can grab you something else.”

“No,” you said, a nervous smile forming on your own lips as you shook your head, getting comfortable in the booth. “It’s perfect, actually. Thank you. I’ve been on an iced vanilla latte kick for weeks now.”

The smile on Matt’s mouth turned sheepish as you reached out and picked up the ice cold cup. You drank down a sip of the coffee, reveling in how good it tasted as you watched Matt’s hand awkwardly scratch at the back of his neck.

“So I’ve heard,” he said. “Karen mentioned that the other day actually. I figured it would be a safe bet.”

“Oh,” you said. “That makes sense then.”

Lowering the cup back to the table, you shifted anxiously in your seat. Normally things had never been this tense between you and Matt, but you weren’t certain how to navigate whatever the pair of you were now. You weren’t entirely sure how to just be around him anymore, especially not while currently carrying his child.

“So how’re things at the office?” you asked him.

“Good,” Matt answered. “Busy. There’s a handful of cases that we’re working on and I think we’re all realizing we may have overextended ourselves, but we’ll figure it out.”

You nodded, your finger toying with the condensation on the outside of your plastic cup. “That’s good. How’s uh–” you paused, not certain you were allowed to be asking him something so personal, but the question had already started to come out before you could stop it, “–how’re things going at night? With, well, you know…?”

Matt sent you a small smile, his covered gaze focused on you from across the table. Your eyes dropped back down to your coffee cup, your heart beating a little harder. You forgot the effect he had on you, but with him sitting right there after months apart, you couldn’t entirely ignore it now. 

You missed him.

“Also good,” he answered. “Not quite so busy, but still…busy.”

“Right,” you muttered awkwardly.

How the hell were you supposed to talk about the baby growing inside of you when you could barely look at him to discuss normal pleasantries? It felt so wrong being so awkward with him as you sat across the table. You found yourself struggling with this meeting more than you’d anticipated, wishing things just felt like they used to be between you both.

“How’re you doing?” Matt asked softly.

The gentle tone had caught you off guard, your gaze flitting back up towards his face. He looked just as nervous as you felt. And Matthew Murdock didn’t generally get nervous.

“Do you want the polite response I usually give people?” you half-joked. “Or do you want the honest answer to that question?”

“The honest one,” he replied.

“Well,” you began, your gaze dropping back down to your coffee cup, “I’m tired all the time. I’ve probably finally reached your level of tired.” 

You paused, smiling down at your cup when you heard him laugh lightly across the table from you. The sound had a warm, pleasant sensation gradually settling in your stomach.

“I almost always have a headache I can never seem to get rid of,” you continued. “I’m guessing that’s something to do with the hormones and increased blood flow. And I feel like my lower back has a personal vendetta against me as of late.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, amusement in his tone. “How’s the nausea?”

You shrugged a shoulder, your eyes once more returning to his face. Internally you cursed him for being so handsome. It only made you long to grab him and kiss him like you used to be able to. Clearing your throat, you tried to ignore that thought.

“Better,” you answered. “Not magically gone like I somehow assumed it would be once I got out of the first trimester, but I don’t want to vomit all the time. Though uh–” 

You paused as a grin spread over your mouth, noticing how it was quickly mirrored on Matt’s face as his head tilted curiously to the side. That flutter of warmth in your stomach felt like it was steadily heating you from the inside at the sight of it.

“What?” he pressed curiously.

“So when you’re pregnant,” you began, the grin remaining on your lips, “your sense of smell heightens. Also because of the hormones, I assume. But I’d wanted to tell you about that little symptom the moment I started experiencing it because I figured if anyone else would understand how gross passing a dumpster smells, it’d be you.”

“You’re certainly not wrong,” he agreed with a chuckle.

“And that symptom hasn’t exactly disappeared yet,” you told him, your grin having grown into a smile. “So some things still make me want to puke. Particularly the smell of bell peppers for some unknown reason.”

“Duly noted. I’ll make sure not to bring any near you,” Matt teased. “But I’ve read that ginger helps–”

You raised a hand, cutting him off and shaking your head as you pulled a face. Matt’s brows furrowed beneath his dark lenses, his mouth suddenly closing.

“Sorry,” you said, your stomach churning. “It’s just that I tried using those hard candies they make for morning sickness so much that the ‘g’ word now makes me immediately want to puke. They’ve had the reverse effect on me.”

“Oh,” he breathed out, the smile falling from his lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“That’s alright,” you assured him, picking up the cup of coffee from in front of you again. “I didn’t expect you to.”

That uncomfortable, awkward silence fell over the pair of you again. You took a sip from your cup, watching as Matt’s left hand on the table began anxiously tapping along it. Swallowing down your drink, you supposed you should probably discuss the real reason you were both here.

“So uh,” you began, clearing your throat as you set the coffee cup back onto the table, “we should probably talk about the baby.”

Matt nodded, a tense smile now drawing itself across his lips. As if he was nervous about this topic of conversation.

“You were saying the other night that you wanted to be more involved?” you asked. 

“Yes,” he answered earnestly. “If that’s alright with you, of course. I know she’s not exactly here yet, but I’d like to be as a part of things as I can be.”

Eyes dropping back down to your coffee cup, your index finger smeared a drop of condensation along the side of it. There was a heaviness in the air between you both, one you didn’t need Matt’s senses to detect.

“How involved?” you asked softly. “You want updates if something is going on or…do you want to actually attend appointments with me?”

Matt perked up in the booth across from you, the movement drawing your attention back over to him. He was sitting a little straighter now, something hopeful written across the features of his face even with his glasses on. 

“Would that be alright?” he asked. “If I wanted to go to some of your appointments with you?”

“I suppose so,” you answered slowly. “But I don’t know how interesting they’d be for you. Unlike the rest of us, you don’t need technology to hear her heartbeat. I’m assuming you’ve already been listening to her since I got here.”

Another sheepish smile slipped onto his lips. “You wouldn’t be wrong,” he admitted. “I’ve grown quite fond of the sound of her heartbeat. Especially hearing it beating so close to your own.”

A flush crept up your neck, your gaze dropping back down to your coffee as one hand nervously began spinning your cup on the table. You hadn’t expected him to tell you that, or for how it made you feel. 

“I have an appointment in a couple of weeks,” you told him, trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks. “I can let you know the details when it gets closer if you’d like to come with me.”

“I’d like that,” he replied. “A lot, actually.”

Nervously gnawing on your bottom lip, your gaze still averted from him, you weren’t sure how to broach the next thing you’d considered bringing up. Matt had wanted to be more involved, but how much more did he truly mean? 

“So you also said that you wanted to be around when I didn’t necessarily need you,” you began carefully, your eyes slowly drawing back up to his face. “What’d you mean by that exactly?”

You saw the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his finger tapping faster atop the table. His other hand reached up to readjust his glasses along the bridge of his nose before he spoke.

“I know we’re not together,” he answered slowly, “but I’d like to spend time together. With both of you. If that’s okay? Not–not all the time. Like I said, I know we’re not together and I’m not going to delude myself into thinking things are other than what they are right now. But I’d like to help you out if I could. Cooking or cleaning occasionally so you can just rest. Grabbing groceries if you need. Anything like that.”

“You…really want that?” you asked, eyes narrowing curiously. “Especially with how busy you are?”

“I want to help,” he assured you.

You nodded slowly, aware that having him around you more often would only make you miss him more. But if things were ever going to progress back to how they once were between you two, you figured this was a good first step to reaching that.

“Okay,” you whispered.

His dark brows jumped up onto his forehead in surprise. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you answered. “If we’re going to figure this parenting thing out together, I suppose we should start figuring it out before she’s born. Right? It only makes sense.”

A broad smile broke out across Matt’s face immediately. The sight of it nearly blinded you with how happy he’d suddenly looked. 

“You mean that?” he asked. “About doing this together–raising her together? Do you really mean that?”

“With how much you clearly seem to want to be a part of this,” you told him, “it seems cruel not to try to see if things can work out. So yeah. I think we should focus on taking small steps towards that and see if things can actually work out eventually so we aren’t just…co-parenting.”

There was a faint tremble to his lips that you’d just barely caught despite that beaming smile on his face. The sight instantly reminded you of the other night when he’d asked for permission to feel your baby bump. He’d gotten so emotional the moment he’d felt your daughter move and experiencing that with him had felt special in a way that you couldn’t exactly describe. You just knew that after that moment, you didn’t want to keep any more of those experiences from him. Not if he was truly going to give you and your daughter all of himself.

“Plus, I could use help thinking of a name,” you added with a small smile. “She’s not just mine, after all.”

Matt sniffled softly, his lips still faintly trembling. He almost seemed to be on the verge of crying, and you wondered if he wasn’t wearing the glasses right now, if you’d have seen his eyes rimmed in red and filled with tears.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his hand sliding across the table towards you. “For giving me this chance despite everything.”

Your eyes dropped down to his outstretched hand, studying it for a moment. You knew what that hand meant beyond the obvious gesture. Hesitantly your right hand released your coffee cup and slowly slid across the table towards Matt’s. Carefully you wrapped your fingers around his, your heart beating a little faster when his gripped yours in return.

“She deserves both of us,” you whispered. “As long as we can find a way to make this work.”

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