#Tinkle Pit

[quirky-vg]

From: Tinkle Pit

[mixing0]

Collab with @solvalinky!

We're both avid fans of obscure little yellow creatures, so we combined our strengths and defied universes to have them meet up!

Characters are from Kirby: Right Back At Ya! and Tinkle Pit, respectively.

[koppashiren]

So I was playing this Namco NA-1 game called Tinkle Pit (ティンクルピット) which is a maze game that plays similarly to Bubble Bobble, the game was developed and published by Namco, game was released in March 1994. So I had this idea that Bitsy from SuperKitties and Koppa from Shiren the Wanderer would meet Pitt and Patti from Tinkle Pit, mostly because I think it would be really cute seeing Bitsy meet up with Patti and Koppa meet up with Pitt.

[mangamers]

The hero and heroine of Tinkle Pit, the Namco arcade title from 1994.

Proof that a life of destroying monsters in a maze with your weird retracting ball device is not one without equality.

[babylonburningmadiacenter]

Tinkle Pit (Japan) (1994) (Maze) (Arcade)

Tinkle Pit (Japan) (1994) (Maze) (Arcade)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tinkle_Pit ROM : Tinkle Pit (Japan) (1994) (Maze) (Arcade) Tinkle Pit[a] is a mazearcade game that was released by Namco in 1994 in Japan. It features many of the characters from the company’s earlier games (including: the Galaxian flagship, Pac-Man, the Rally-X Special Flag, the Solvalou from Xevious, Mappy from his self-titled game and several others besides,…

[emjayewrites]

Private Landing (Lewis Hamilton Fanfic)(7/15)

SUMMARY: In the high-speed world of Formula One, Lewis Hamilton subtly introduces a mysterious partner via Instagram after a slight mishap during an interview. Sparking media intrigue, everyone wants to know: who is the enigmatic figure that calls herself Mrs. Hamilton?

INSPO: this post

PAIRINGS: Sir Lewis Hamilton x Aurora "Rorie" Phillips-Hamilton (faceclaim is Justine Skye)

WARNINGS: drama, angst, sexual content, formula one b.s., pre-established relationship (with flashbacks). RATED M (18+)

TAGLIST: @queenshikongo3 @cocobutterqwueen @mauvecherie-writes @a-moment-captured @yeea-nah @lovebittenbyevans @alika-4466 @saintslewis @cherry2stems @liamundi @trinitoldyouso @scorpiobleue @certifiedlesbianbaddie @omgsuperstarg @httpsserene @peyiswriting @motheroffae @eugene-emt-roe @perfecttrashface @xoscar03 @saturnville @trentswrld @weetjy @pinkcatcus @lewlewlemon44 @cranberryjulce @chaoticcoffeequeen @vile-harlot @periodjosh @melanin-queen369 @destinyg237

A/N: Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. The headers/dividers are by @inklore

CHAPTER 7: Who Want Smoke?

As the Qatar Grand Prix weekend kicked into high gear, Rorie and Lyric strolled the paddock, with fans waving excitedly. Lewis's popularity was stratospheric, but his family's place in the hearts of his supporters was undeniable.

They pushed through the throngs of fans and paparazzi, and Rorie was touched by the outpouring of support directed to them.

"You're an inspiration, Mrs. Hamilton!" "We love your little one!" "Hang in there, you've got this!"

One woman tentatively approached, a gentle smile on her face. "I just wanted to say, as someone who also struggled with infertility, your story gives me so much hope."

Rorie felt her throat tighten with grateful tears as she pulled the stranger into a fierce hug. "Thank you, that means so much to me."

The pit lane was abuzz with pre-race excitement as the teams made their final preparations. Rorie settled into the garage, handing a squirming Lyric over to Rosa's waiting arms. Their son, who proudly wore his custom Mercedes team romper, smiled happily at the woman.

"You're on auntie duty today," Rorie winked at Lewis's communications personnel.

Rosa grinned, cuddling the giggly toddler close on her lap. "My favorite job! We're going to have so much fun, aren't we, my little prince?"

Lyric gurgled happily, grabbing at Rosa's headset with grabby hands. With a chuckle, she gently redirected him to a Mercedes toy car instead.

"He's already a natural in front of the cameras," Rorie chuckled to herself, watching Lyric babble animatedly at the Netflix camera crew capturing footage of him playing with Rosa.

Her smile faded slightly as she scrolled through the latest flurry of emails from her legal team. Despite their relentless efforts, Julian's messages held little in the way of substantive updates on tracking down the anonymous sender of those malicious texts.

"Still digging," his latest read. "But this assailant knows how to cover their tracks."

Rorie worried her lower lip, her mind flashing back to the threats of those messages. But then Lyric's tinkling laughter drifted over, dragging her back to the present. She watched her son squirm excitedly in Rosa's lap, all smiles and unbridled joy.

As the race began, the tension in the garage was palpable. Rorie's heart pounded as she watched Lewis take his place on the starting grid, however, just seconds into the formation lap, her breath caught in her throat as she witnessed Lewis get knocked into the gravel by his teammate George, the front wing of his car destroyed.

"What the fuck is he doing?" she gasped, watching in horror as Lewis unbuckled himself and began walking along the far side of the active track back towards the pit lane.

A collective cry rose from the crew as Lewis narrowly avoided being struck by another passing car. Rorie's heart dropped to her stomach, panic gripping her.

Finally, he returned to the pit lane, jaw clenched and fists flexing agitatedly.

"What the fuck, man!!" he screamed, his fingers hurrying to take off his helmet. Rorie rushed to him, pulling his tense frame into a fierce embrace just as Lyric let out a wail of distress from Rosa's lap.

Lewis's fiery eyes softened instantly at the sound of his son's cries. He reached for the distraught toddler, cradling him close and pressing kisses to his head.

"Shhh, hey, it's okay…" he murmured soothingly. "Daddy's right here. I've got you."

Rorie wrapped her arms tightly around them both, grounding her two men with her steady, reassuring presence. Lewis melted into her embrace, the adrenaline and anger slowly seeping out of his body.

"It's okay, I'm right here," she whispered roughly into his neck, and Lewis breathed in her scent to calm his racing heart.

Rorie wrapped her arms tightly around them both, grounding her two men with her steady, reassuring presence. Lewis melted into her embrace, the adrenaline and anger slowly seeping out of his body.

"Lewis…" Bono's voice cut in tentatively. "The FIA stewards are issuing a non-driving reprimand and a 50,000 pound fine for the track incursion."

Lewis tensed, his jaw clenching as the anger flared again. "I don't give a fuck," he bit out harshly.

"Lewis!" Rorie admonished, slapping his arm chidingly before turning an apologetic look to Bono. "He doesn't mean that. We'll discuss it and work through it properly."

Once Bono had retreated, she fixed her husband with a stern look. "You don't mean that 'I don't give a fuck' nonsense."

To her surprise, Lewis simply chuckled, guiding them to a quiet corner of the garage. He set Lyric down to play with his toy car on the floor. "I mean, Toto looks pissed," he sang in a joking lilt, nodding towards his team principal's stormy expression.

Rorie rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched with amusement. "Of course you'll joke at a time like this."

"It's a better alternative than letting the anger consume me," Lewis said simply. "Now distract me with something, beautiful."

His wife's brow furrowed in thought before her eyes lit up. "Well, Julian did text some updates earlier…"

Lewis kissed his teeth dismissively. "Something better than that mess, love."

A sly grin played across Rorie's lips. "How about…I'm a week late?"

Lewis's eyes widened comically before crinkling with unfiltered joy. "You mean…?"

"We might be having another baby," she confirmed, beaming.

Sweeping her into his arms, Lewis kissed her deeply, reverently. "That's amazing. You know we've been trying…"

Rorie nodded, still glowing. "And, Lil Yachty reached out. He wants me to join him onstage in Austin to perform our song 'The Zone' together."

Lewis's eyes widened with delight before crinkling into a broad grin. "Now that's what I'm talking about! My superstar wife, sharing the spotlight." Pulling her into an embrace, he nuzzled her neck affectionately. "You're definitely doing it. I can't wait to watch you shine, love."

"You really think so?" Rorie bit her lip, a touch of apprehension creeping into her expression. "In front of all those people..."

On a whim, she recorded her parts of the song late last year and was lucky that no one had figured out that it was her singing.

"Of course!" Lewis cupped her face adoringly. "This is your moment. You're going to be incredible, I just know it." He pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling. "And after? Well, I've got a few ideas on how we can celebrate..."

Rorie's cheeks flushed hotly, but her eyes danced with anticipation. Giggling, she swatted him playfully. "Down boy. One thing at a time."

Laughing, Rorie pulled him close, reveling in the way their latest challenges had already transformed into cherished memories in the face of potential new beginnings.

The warm Malibu evening was made for intimate gatherings among friends. Rorie surveyed their patio, smiling as she watched KiKi dance provocatively against Miles, grinding to the pulsing beat of the music.

In the kitchen, Lewis observed the scene with a slight frown. "Does she have to be so…extra?"

Rorie rolled her eyes good-naturedly at her husband's protectiveness over his best friend. "Leave them be, babe. KiKi's just having fun." Abandoning the Mediterranean salad she was prepping, she wound her arms around Lewis's waist from behind. "Speaking of fun…have you checked on your wife lately?"

He turned in her embrace, eyes twinkling as his hands skimmed over her curves. "And how is my gorgeous girl feeling?"

"Mmm, can't complain," Rorie hummed. "But I still haven't taken that test yet."

"Rorie," Lewis groaned exaggeratedly. "The suspense is killing me! You gotta take that test." He stole a slice of cucumber from the salad bowl, grinning unrepentantly when she swatted his hand.

Their gazes drifted to the patio, where Andrew now held a giggling Lyric, the toddler's babbling laughter drifting through the open doors.

"Yeah, yeah...." Rorie murmured wistfully. "I hope he's going to be a good big brother."

Lewis brushed a kiss to her temple. "He might be a bit jealous at first, but he'll grow into it, you'll see."

"I had a good rehearsal with Lil Yachty yesterday for Austin," Rorie said, changing the subject. "Though I'll probably just keep it simple with the choreography."

"That's my wise wife," Lewis chuckled. "Oh, speaking of…I've got that tequila tasting in Mexico the day after tomorrow for Almave."

Rorie clicked her tongue in playful disapproval. "So you'll miss date night with the Biebers?"

"I'll make it up to you." Lewis backed her against the counter, his voice dropping an octave. "I promise…"

The searing trail of his kisses along her neck was interrupted by Spinz's pointed clearing of his throat from the doorway.

"The food's ready, you two. Save it for later, yeah?"

Grinning unabashedly, they reluctantly disentangled and headed outside, Rorie carrying the salad while Lewis grabbed plates and utensils.

As the group settled around the patio table, Lewis raised his glass. "To new adventures - hopefully with a little one on the way…"

He was met with hoots and hollers from their crew. Rorie beamed, shaking her head in mock annoyance at his antics.

"And to smoking out whoever's been playing games," she added, eyes narrowing slightly. "Because I'll personally beat their ass when we find them."

The group erupted into raucous laughter and dug into the spread of grilled meats and vegetables. Whatever storms awaited, they would weather them together - an unbreakable crew fortified by years of love, laughter, and unwavering loyalty.

__________________________________________

The morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains, rousing Rorie from her peaceful slumber. Before she could fully awaken, strong arms encircled her waist, pulling her back against Lewis's solid chest.

"Mmm, where do you think you're going?" he rumbled, voice still husky with sleep as his lips found the sensitive spot behind her ear.

Rorie couldn't stifle a breathy giggle. "Insatiable, aren't we?"

She turned in his embrace, pressing a tender kiss to his lips, but Lewis deepened the kiss hungrily, his eyebrows waggling with suggestive promise.

"Always for you."

A tiny cry from the nursery broke the heated moment. Rorie regretfully unlatched herself from her husband's roaming hands.

"Duty calls," she murmured apologetically, sliding out of bed.

"Tease…" Lewis whined playfully, whipping the covers off to reveal his morning wood with a roguish grin. "Come back to Daddy once you're finished."

Rorie chuckled, shaking her head in fond exasperation. "You're awful."

"Sometimes," was his nonchalant response. "Gotta make sure I put that baby in you."

"Boy, bye," she said as she rolled her eyes. Shrugging into a silk robe, she padded down the hall to Lyric's nursery. The toddler babbled excitedly as she lifted him from the crib, nuzzling his chubby cheeks.

"Good morning, little man."

"Hi Mama!" Lyric chirped, all bright-eyed innocence.

Downstairs, the faint sound of murmurs caught Rorie's ear as she settled Lyric into his high chair with a bottle. Peering out onto the patio, she spotted KiKi in an intense conversation on her phone.

"No…I'm not doing that anymore," KiKi hissed, her back stiff with tension. "I've had enough. Goodbye!"

Rorie's eyebrows shot up incredulously as KiKi spun around, nearly dropping her phone at the sight of her friend. A sickly sweet smile pasted itself across her face.

"Hey girl! Just dealing with some work drama…" KiKi blustered, waving a dismissive hand as she breezed back inside.

Rorie's brow furrowed skeptically. "Everything okay?"

"Oh yeah, totally!" KiKi replied a little too brightly. "Just a difficult customer, you know how it goes."

An uneasy prickle danced along Rorie's spine as recent events swirled in her mind. Shaking it off, she continued assembling a breakfast feast - mounds of fresh fruit, whole grain waffles, and tofu scramble for herself alongside Lyric's preferred avocado toast strips.

KiKi cleared her throat, clearly aiming to change the subject. "So…any thoughts on that test yet?"

Rorie paused, gripping the counter's edge tensely. "I don't know, Ki. Part of me wants to stay in blissful ignorance for now."

Her friend's eyes danced with both mirth and understanding. "Girl, you know that's not how it works. You gotta rip off that band-aid!"

Heaving a reluctant sigh, Rorie nodded. KiKi was right, as usual. She couldn't keep avoiding it. Just then, her phone began trilling shrilly from the other room. Rorie frowned, crossing the living area to retrieve it. The display showed Yael's name and headshot.

Answering with trepidation, she listened in growing disbelief as her image manager's anxious voice tumbled through the line.

"Rorie, you need to call your lawyer. The Sun is threatening to run another disgusting article - this time about your biological father's identity."

A bitter chuckle escaped Rorie's lips. So the rag was digging into her past yet again. She'd known the truth about her deadbeat sperm donor's identity since age twelve, his name the only paltry scrap of information her mother had given her.

"I'll look over the documents you forwarded," she assured Yael neutrally. "But I'm not concerned about that low-life's identity being made public. I've never known the man."

"I still think you should—"

A raucous clatter sounded from the kitchen, followed by Lyric's shrill giggles. Rorie's chest flooded with warmth, their call abruptly forgotten.

"Sorry, Yael but Mommy's messy boy needs me," she chuckled ruefully, hurrying back to the chaos and hanging up.

"He's such a messy eater," KiKi said with a half-smile, wiping at Lyric's face with a wet cloth. KiKi had Lyric halfway out of his high chair, his chubby limbs and cherubic face smeared with mashed avocado and fruit puree. Mother and friend shared an exasperated look as the toddler gurgled happily.

Rorie chuckled and scooped Lyric, peppering his sticky cheeks with kisses. "Oh yes, you are! Mommy's messy boy!" she cooed, causing Lyric to giggle and squirm. But then, reality intruded as Rorie glanced down at her son's soiled clothes. "Can you get him a change of clothes? I have to wipe him down," she asked KiKi.

"Of course, darling," KiKi replied, heading to the nursery. The air in Lyric’s nursery was thick with tension as KiKi entered, trying to maintain her composure despite the discomfort. Lewis was already there, his arms crossed and his expression guarded, as he paused unpacking his son's suitcase.

"Lewis," KiKi said, her voice clipped and formal.

"KiKi," Lewis replied, his tone just as cool.

They stood there for a moment, each sizing the other up, until KiKi finally broke the silence.

"Lyric had an accident so I need to get some clothes."

Lewis let out a long exhale as he walked to the chest of drawers and grabbed a onesie and a pair of shorts. He gave them to KiKi but kept his grasp on the clothes. "You've been acting weird since you got here. What's up?"

"I’m acting weird?" KiKi said, eyebrows furrowing. "Are you high or something?"

Lewis's expression hardened slightly as he released his grip on the clothes. "Just calling it as I’m seeing it."

KiKi felt a wave of anger wash over her at Lewis's accusation. She took a deep breath, trying to keep her cool.

"What exactly do you mean by that?" she asked, her voice laced with frustration.

"I mean, ever since you got here, you've been acting like you're on edge," Lewis replied, his own tone sharp. "So I just want to know what’s going on."

KiKi's jaw tightened as she processed his words. "I don’t know if crashing too many times got your head permanently fucked up, but Aurora’s my best friend, okay? I know that we don’t see eye-to-eye and y’all are knee-deep in an impending lawsuit but I’m loyal to a fault. I would NEVER do anything to mess up Rorie or Lyric."

Upon hearing his wife and son’s names, Lewis's face relaxed. "Fine," he conceded, moving out of KiKi's way. "But I’m watching you. And if I find out you’re doing anything, best believe I’ll take everything from you and have your ass deep in lawsuits you’ll never get out of."

KiKi felt a mixture of anger and hurt at Lewis's words. She knew she had made mistakes in the past, but she had never intentionally tried to hurt anyone. And for him to accuse her of such malicious intentions felt like a low blow.

"Trust me, I don't need your threats to stay in line," she retorted, her voice trembling with emotion. "I'm here to help my friend, not cause any trouble."

Lewis gave her a cold look before leaving the nursery. KiKi took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down before she did or said something that she would regret. She left the nursery and returned downstairs, uneasy about her encounter with Lewis. Returning to the kitchen, she spotted Rorie wiping off an unclothed Lyric in the sink. Rorie’s face lit up as soon as she saw KiKi.

"Thanks, sweetie," she said to her friend as KiKi handed her the new clothes.

KiKi nodded, returning Rorie's smile. "No problem, I'm just glad I could help." She glanced around the kitchen, noticing that it was a bit chaotic with dishes in the sink and food left out on the counter. "Do you want me to help clean up?"

Rorie shook her head. "No need, we have a maid who should be coming now, but thanks for offering." She turned her attention back to Lyric and gently dried him off before putting on his new onesie and shorts.

KiKi watched the exchange between mother and son, feeling a pang of envy in her heart. She had always dreamed of having a child of her own one day, but with her career constantly taking priority, she wasn't sure if that would ever happen.

As if sensing her thoughts, Rorie looked up at KiKi and gave her a sympathetic smile. "You'll find someone who loves you enough to start a family with," she said softly.

KiKi managed a small smile in return. She wasn't ready to open up about her struggles with relationships yet, especially since Rorie already had a lot going on. "Thanks, girl."

Two days later, the Crypto.com Arena buzzed with anticipation as the Lakers faced off against the Warriors in a preseason matchup. Rorie settled into her courtside seat next to Hailey Bieber, both women drawing appreciative glances from nearby fans.

"God, I needed this," Rorie sighed, sinking into the plush seat. "A night out without any mama duties."

Hailey grinned, nudging her friend playfully. "And how's that test situation going?"

Rorie groaned, rolling her eyes. "Not you too. I swear, between Lewis and KiKi, I'm about ready to scream."

"Hey, no judgment here," Hailey said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "But you know we're all rooting for you, right?" Hailey squeezed her friend's hand supportively.

Rorie groaned. "I know I should take that test, but… I don't know. Part of me is scared to know for sure."

"Because of how hard it was before Lyric?" Hailey guessed.

Rorie nodded. "Yeah. And I've been feeling off lately, but it could be anything, you know? Stress, my crazy schedule, whatever. I guess I'm in denial."

The roar of the crowd swelled as LeBron executed a flawless alley-oop, momentarily drowning out their conversation. Rorie found herself swept up in the excitement, her worries fading to the background as she cheered along with the rest of the arena.

As the game progressed, Rorie's phone buzzed insistently in her purse. She ignored it, determined to enjoy this rare night of freedom. But a nagging voice in the back of her mind wondered if it might be Nina, calling about Lyric.

During a timeout, Hailey leaned in close, her voice low. "So, what's the latest with that lawsuit against The Sun? Justin mentioned you guys were dealing with some heavy stuff."

Rorie's brow furrowed, a familiar unease settling in her stomach. "It's a mess, girl. They're digging into my past now, threatening to publish stuff about my biological father. As if I give a damn about that deadbeat."

"That's awful," Hailey sympathized. "How are you holding up?"

Rorie shrugged, her eyes fixed on the court. "I'm managing. It's just… exhausting, you know? And with everything else going on…"

She trailed off as the timeout ended, the thunderous applause once again filling the arena. Rorie's gaze drifted to the jumbotron, where she caught sight of herself and Hailey on the celebrity cam. They both laughed, striking exaggerated poses for the camera.

As the game entered its final quarter, Rorie found her mind wandering. The constant scrutiny of her personal life, the pressure of her career, the looming possibility of another child – it all swirled together in a dizzying whirlpool of emotion.

"Earth to Rorie," Hailey's voice cut through her reverie. "You good?"

Rorie said nothing, her silence speaking volumes.

Hailey raised an eyebrow, clearly concerned. "Okay, spill. What's really going on?"

Rorie hesitated, then sighed. "It's just… everything. The lawsuit, the baby stuff, and now KiKi's been acting weird. I don't know, maybe I'm just paranoid."

"Weird how?" Hailey pressed gently.

"I overheard her on the phone the other day, sounding all secretive. And Lewis swears something's up with her." Rorie shook her head. "I want to believe she'd never do anything to hurt us, but…"

The final buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the preseason game. As they stood to leave, Rorie's phone buzzed again. This time, she fished it out, her heart skipping a beat as she saw Yael's name on the screen.

"Everything okay?" Hailey asked, concern evident in her voice.

Rorie hesitated, then shook her head. "It's fine. Just some work stuff. Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow."

As they made their way through the throng of departing fans, Rorie couldn't shake the feeling that something was brewing on the horizon. Whether it was the potential pregnancy, KiKi's strange behavior, or this latest message from Yael, she couldn't be sure. But one thing was certain – the calm before the storm was coming to an end.

"Hey," Hailey said softly, linking her arm through Rorie's. "Whatever's going on, you know you've got us, right? Me, Justin, your whole crew – we've got your back."

Rorie managed a genuine smile, feeling a rush of gratitude for her friend. "I know. Thanks, babe."

____________________________________________________

As Rorie drove home, her mind drifted to her upcoming show with Lil Yachty. She dialed his number, a smile spreading across her face as he picked up.

"Lil' Boat!" she exclaimed cheerfully.

Yachty's laughter filled the car. "Hey there, Ror-Ror! How's my sis?"

They chatted animatedly about their upcoming performance, bouncing ideas off each other and sharing their excitement. When Rorie turned onto her street, however, her good mood evaporated. A swarm of paparazzi clogged the road, their cameras flashing incessantly.

At first, she assumed they were there for one of her celebrity neighbors. But as she inched closer to her house, her stomach dropped. The mob was camped out in front of her own property.

"Oh hell no!" she shouted, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

"What's the matter?" Yachty's concerned voice came through the speakers.

"I'll call you back," Rorie said tersely, ending the call.

Police officers were struggling to keep the paparazzi at bay. As soon as they spotted Rorie's car, the crowd surged forward, shouting questions and snapping photos.

"Rorie! How do you feel about The Sun's article on your mother's affair?" "Did you know about your father before this?" "What's your reaction to your father wanting a relationship?"

The cacophony was overwhelming. Rorie kept her eyes straight ahead as the police cleared a path for her to reach her garage. She parked quickly and practically ran into the house, her heart pounding.

She found Yael, Penni, and Lewis deep in conversation in the living room. They all looked up as she entered, their faces grim.

"What's going on?" Rorie demanded, her voice shaky.

Yael stepped forward. "Did you see my texts?"

"No," Rorie replied, looking to Lewis. "What's happening?"

Lewis sighed heavily before speaking. "The Sun published an article about your biological father."

Rorie shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "So what? I don't care if they know who he is. He was never part of my life anyway."

The others exchanged uneasy glances, which didn't escape Rorie's notice.

"What?" she pressed. "Why is it such a big deal?"

Lewis took a deep breath. "Your biological father… he did an interview with Piers Morgan. He's claiming your mother kept you away from him, and now he wants a relationship with you."

"That's bullshit!" Rorie exploded.

Yael jumped in. "That might be true, but the public doesn't know that. Worse, his wife was in the interview too. She said they were separated when he had the affair with your mom, and now she wants to meet you and Lyric. They're portraying themselves as victims and… well, they're putting all the blame on your mother."

Rorie felt like she'd been punched in the gut. "Has anyone talked to my mom?"

"We all have," Lewis said softly. "I just got off the phone with her before you arrived."

Rorie reached for her phone. "I need to call her."

Yael and Penni stepped forward, gently restraining her. "Wait," Penni said. "We're putting together a statement with evidence to counter their claims."

"We're also preparing another cease and desist letter for The Sun," Yael added. "And we're working on getting a gag order for your father and his family."

"My father," Rorie spat the word like it was poison, laughing bitterly. "And now he wants to play daddy? After all these years?"

Deemed the Black Bill Gates, Martin Edwards III is a real estate magnate and investor who cared only for himself. He never loved her mother - she was just a poor maid who got caught up in his web of lies. Of course, her mother should've never gotten involved with a married man, but Martin failed to claim Rorie as one of his children. He even had the gall to demand her mother get an abortion.

The room fell silent, the weight of the situation hanging heavily in the air. Rorie felt a mix of anger, confusion, and hurt swirling inside her. She'd spent her whole life not caring about her poor excuse of a sperm donor, and now he was threatening to upend everything.

"What do we do now?" she asked, her voice small and uncertain.

Lewis wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "We fight back, babe. We protect our family and we tell our truth. That's all we can do."

Rorie nodded against his chest, drawing strength from his embrace. Whatever storm was coming, she knew she had her real family – the ones who'd always been there – by her side. And that, she realized, was worth more than any long-lost father's claims could ever be.

The oppressive Texas heat shimmered off the tarmac as Lewis Hamilton's sleek Mercedes-AMG pulled into the Circuit of the Americas. The sprawling track, with its iconic observation tower in the distance, buzzed with the frenetic energy of Formula 1 media day. Pit crews scurried about, the air filled with the cacophony of revving engines and the chatter of eager fans and journalists.

Lewis took a deep breath, steeling himself for the day ahead. He glanced in the rearview mirror, catching sight of Lyric's cherubic face in the car seat behind him. The toddler was blissfully unaware of the chaos around their family, his tiny fingers playing with a toy race car.

As Lewis opened the car door, the wall of heat hit him in full force. He rounded the vehicle, opening the back door to unbuckle Lyric from his car seat. "Come on, little man," he murmured, lifting his son and perching him securely on his hip. Lewis hiked the diaper bag higher on his other shoulder, adjusting his designer sunglasses as he surveyed the paddock area.

His bodyguard moved ahead, creating a path through the throng of people. "Some space, please," the guard requested firmly but politely. Fans pressed forward, waving items for autographs, while photographers' cameras clicked in rapid succession.

Lewis approached the paddock entrance, shifting Lyric slightly to free up a hand. He fished out his ID card, swiping it through the turnstile with practiced ease. The familiar beep and click signaled his official arrival for the day.

As he made his way through the paddock to the Mercedes garage, Lewis nodded to his crew members, his mind racing with thoughts of Rorie. She'd been so sick lately – more than just the usual pre-performance jitters. The constant nausea, her heightened sense of smell, the fatigue that seemed to cling to her... All signs pointed to pregnancy, but Rorie steadfastly refused to take a test. Lewis understood her hesitation, remembering the heartache they'd endured before Lyric, but he couldn't help the glimmer of hope that sparked in his chest. The upcoming Austin City Limits festival loomed large in his mind. Despite everything, Rorie was still determined to perform. He felt a surge of pride thinking about her resilience, her talent; and wanted nothing more than to see her conquer the world stage, to watch her dreams unfold even as they navigated this storm together.

His phone buzzed with a notification - the flowers he'd sent to Rorie's mother had been delivered. A small gesture, but one he hoped would bring some comfort. The media circus surrounding Rorie's biological father had been relentless. He'd done everything he could to shield his family – hiring additional security, considering legal action against some of the more aggressive paparazzi, and even arranging for Rorie's mother, stepfather, and sister to be relocated temporarily to their home in Denver.

Lewis's jaw set with determination. The Sun's underhanded tactics, and the sudden appearance of Rorie's biological father - it all fueled a fire within him. He was committed to bringing down the tabloid, to make them pay for the pain they'd caused his family. The lawsuit proceedings were set to begin next month, and Lewis was ready for battle. The support from their friends had been overwhelming. Just that morning, he'd received messages of encouragement from the Biebers, Beyoncé and Jay-Z, and Rihanna. Their united front against the media onslaught was a testament to the bonds they'd forged over the years.

Lewis spotted Nina, their nanny, making her way through the garage. He felt a mix of relief and reluctance as he prepared to hand Lyric over. Part of him wanted to keep his son close, a tangible reminder of what truly mattered amidst the craziness of race day and ongoing personal drama.

"Lewis," Rosa approached. "The press conference is in ten minutes."

Lewis nodded, giving Lyric a final squeeze before passing him to Nina. "Be good for Nina, okay?" he murmured, pressing a kiss to his son's forehead.

Lewis made his way towards the press conference area, his mind racing with thoughts of Rorie and the impending media onslaught. He knew the questions wouldn't just be about the upcoming race or his strategies for the circuit. The recent revelations about Rorie's biological father had become fodder for gossip columns and social media speculation.

As he walked, he nodded to a few fellow drivers - Valterri gave him a supportive pat on the back, while Charles offered a quiet "All's good?" Lewis appreciated their discretion and support, a stark contrast to the rabid curiosity of the waiting press.

_____________________________________________

Once the press conference was finished, which thankfully focused more on the upcoming race than personal matters, Lewis found himself surrounded by his fellow drivers.

"Hey, Lewis," Pierre called out, a grin on his face. "Is it true Rorie's performing at Austin City Limits tonight?"

Lewis nodded, a hint of pride in his voice. "Yeah, she is. You guys planning to come?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Pierre replied enthusiastically. Several other drivers chimed in with their interest as well.

Lewis spent the next hour with Lyric, cherishing the quiet moments with his son, and when he was about to head to get lunch, Toto approached.

"Lewis, can you come to my office for a moment?" Toto's expression was unreadable.

Handing Lyric back to Nina and Rosa, Lewis followed Toto, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. As they entered the office, Lewis froze. Sitting there, looking far too comfortable, was Martin Edwards - Rorie's biological father.

Lewis's jaw clenched. "What the fuck is he doing here?"

Toto held up his hands. "He requested to speak with you. I thought it best to provide a neutral and private space."

Reluctantly, Lewis took a seat across from Martin, his posture rigid.

Martin leaned forward, a smile plastered on his face. "That boy of yours, Lyric - he's the spitting image of you. That's really your seed. Can't deny that baby even if you wanted to," he chuckled as if he'd said something hilarious.

Lewis remained stoic, his eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. "What do you want, Martin? Haven't you fucked up enough?"

Martin's smile faded slightly. "I want to make things right. I've missed out on so much of Aurora's life—"

"Rorie," Lewis corrected sharply. "She goes by Rorie."

Martin nodded, continuing, "Rorie, then. I want to be a part of her life, of my grandson's life."

Lewis's voice was low and controlled. "You had years to be a part of Rorie's life. You chose not to be. And now, what? You think you can just waltz in because it's convenient for you?"

"I made mistakes," Martin admitted. "But I want to fix them. Surely you can understand that, as a father yourself?"

Lewis felt a surge of anger. "As a father, I understand being there for your child, no matter what. Something you know nothing about."

The tension in the room was palpable. Toto shifted uncomfortably, clearly regretting his decision to facilitate this meeting.

"Look," Martin said, his tone changing to one of barely concealed frustration, "I have rights. I'm her father—"

"No," Lewis cut him off, standing up. "You're the man who contributed DNA. I'm her family. We're her family. And we'll do whatever it takes to protect her and Lyric from this circus you've created."

With that, Lewis turned to leave. As he reached the door, he paused, looking back at Martin. "If you really care about Rorie, you'll respect her wishes. And right now, she doesn't want anything to do with you."

Leaving Martin and a stunned Toto behind, Lewis strode out of the office, his mind already racing with plans to further shield his family from whatever Martin Edwards seemed determined to bring.

That motherfucker had another thing coming if he thought he was getting close to my family. Nigga going to end up meeting nothing more than the barrel of my gun if he keeps fucking around.

For the rest of the day, Lewis shifted his focus away from what occurred in Toto's office, ultimately deciding against mentioning the impromptu meeting with Martin. Rorie was already stressed for a myriad of reasons, and Lewis would be damned if he brought more bad news to her. His wife needed to focus on her performance - nothing more, nothing less. He'd handle everything else.

That was what a husband and father did - properly lead his family and protect them, which wasn't something Martin knew anything about. An intrusive thought wondered how Martin could just weasel his way into speaking with Toto and demanding a meeting with him, but then Lewis remembered how having obscene amounts of money could always provide access to certain people.

His phone rang and Rorie's smiling face lit up the screen.

"Hey, babe," he answered.

"Hey," Rorie replied. There was a pause before she continued, "Is everything okay? You sound... off."

Lewis hesitated for a moment before responding, "Just race stuff, you know how it is. Nothing to worry about."

"Mm-hmm," Rorie hummed, not entirely convinced. "Can you bring home something sweet and salty when you're done?"

Lewis let out a laugh, the tension from earlier melting away.

"What's so funny?" Rorie asked, a hint of defensiveness in her voice.

"Nothing, nothing," Lewis chuckled. "It's just... the last time you asked for this exact combination, you were pregnant with Lyric. Still in denial, are we?"

Rorie huffed. "I just want that, okay? Don't make it a big deal."

"Alright, alright," Lewis conceded, grinning. "I'll bring something back for you. And you know what? I'll grab a pregnancy test too, so we can stop fucking around and know for sure."

"Whatever," Rorie grumbled, but Lewis could hear the smile in her voice.

"Love you too, babe," Lewis said, his tone softening. "I'll see you soon."

As the call ended, Lewis pocketed his phone, a mix of emotions swirling within him. The day's events - from the press conference to the unexpected encounter with Martin - seemed to fade into the background. What mattered now was Rorie, their family, and the possibilities that lay ahead.

Lewis glanced at his watch, mentally calculating how long it would take to wrap up his duties at the track, find Rorie's requested snacks, and make it back to the hotel. He had a pregnant wife to take care of - whether she was ready to admit it or not.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over Zilker Park, Rorie stood backstage at Austin City Limits, her heart racing. The air was thick with anticipation, the distant roar of the crowd washing over her like waves. Lil Yachty's energetic performance was coming to a close, his last song echoing through the night.

Rorie closed her eyes, taking deep breaths to calm her churning stomach. She'd barely kept down her dinner, a combination of nerves and what she stubbornly refused to acknowledge might be morning sickness. The thought of pregnancy flitted through her mind again, reminding her that she had a test to take after the show, but she pushed it aside.

Focus, she told herself. The show comes first.

She silently thanked the universe for the unwavering support of her husband, friends, and family. Their love had been her anchor in the stormy seas of recent events.

The crowd's cheers swelled as Lil Yachty addressed them, his voice booming through the speakers. "Y'all ready for something special?" The response was deafening. "DJ, hit it!"

The opening beats of "The Zone" began to pulse through the air. Lil Yachty started his verse, the crowd singing along. Then, he paused, his voice filled with excitement. "Now, give a warm Austin welcome to the one, the only… Rorie!"

Taking a final deep breath, Rorie stepped out from behind the curtain. The sea of faces before her erupted in screams and applause. The energy was electric, palpable.

As she began to sing, her rich voice filling the night air, Rorie's eyes scanned the crowd. In the VIP section, she immediately spotted Lewis, his proud smile visible even from a distance. Beside him were Yael, Pierre, Charles, Valtteri, and Susie, all cheering her on.

"I never meant to make you feel alone," she sang, her voice carrying emotion with every word. "A non-chivalrous tone you've used since I got home. I feel wrong, deep down inside, I'm stoned. I feel cold and alone."

The lyrics seemed to take on a new meaning, reflecting the turmoil of recent weeks. But as she continued, Rorie felt a surge of strength.

"But now I know that you love me (Love me). Will you put anyone above me? Let me know, is this home?"

As she sang the last line, her eyes locked with Lewis's. In that moment, despite the thousands of people surrounding them, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. This was home, she realized. Not a place, but the people who stood by her through everything.

The music swelled, and Rorie threw herself fully into the performance, letting the rhythm and the energy of the crowd wash away her worries, if only for this magical moment under the Austin stars.

As the last notes of "The Zone" faded, the crowd's enthusiasm remained at fever pitch. Lil Yachty engaged with the audience, asking if they wanted to hear more. The resounding cheers and screams made the answer clear.

Rorie glanced back at the VIP section, catching Lewis's eye as he recorded the entire performance on his phone. The crowd began chanting her name, the sound washing over her in waves of adoration and support. Overwhelmed with emotion, Rorie felt tears prick at her eyes.

"You hearing this, Ror? They love you!" he shouted over the noise.

Rorie nodded, visibly moved. "This is incredible," she managed to say.

Lil Yachty addressed the audience. "Y'all want more from Rorie?" The answering roar was deafening. "Alright, alright!" Lil Yachty laughed. "Let's give them what they want, big sis!"

The opening chords of "Running Out of Time" began to play, eliciting another round of cheers from the audience. Rorie and Lil Yachty's voices blended beautifully, the lyrics touching on themes of time, connection, and staying together. The audience swayed and sang along, clearly familiar with the song.

When the performance ended, Rorie took a deep bow, her heart pounding with adrenaline and emotion. She lingered for a moment offstage, basking in the continued chants of her name from the adoring crowd.

Later, as she relaxed with Lewis and their group, enjoying the rest of the festival, everyone showered her with hugs and praise.

"That was incredible, Rorie!" Pierre exclaimed, giving her a warm hug.

Lewis pulled her close, kissing her with an intensity that made their friends playfully protest.

"Get a room, you two!" Charles laughed, shaking his head.

Lewis grinned, his eyes never leaving Rorie's face. "I'm just incredibly proud of my wife," he said, his voice full of love and admiration.

As the night wound down, Lewis and Rorie found themselves in the back of a car, heading back to their hotel. Lewis's hand rested on Rorie's thigh, his brown eyes fixed on her face.

"What?" Rorie asked, noticing his intense gaze. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Because I love you, baby," Lewis replied softly. "I love you so much."

Rorie smiled, her heart swelling. "I love you too, Pookie."

Lewis leaned in closer, his voice low. "And knowing that you might be carrying another seed…fuck Rorie, you don't even know what's in store when we get back."

Rorie giggled at his enthusiasm. He could be such a dirty freak at times. "Lewis, we don't know if I'm—"

"You are," he interrupted gently. "I can smell it."

"Oh? And what does that smell like, Lewis?"

His eyes sparkled with mischief and love. "Smells like a woman strengthening my bloodline."

"Goodness, you sound like such a caveman," she teased, but his words only heightened her arousal.

"But you like that shit," he murmured, pulling her closer for a deep, loving kiss.

And do.

Lewis wasted no time in carrying Rorie inside the bedroom once they arrived at their hotel. He set her down on the bed and began undressing her slowly, taking in every inch of her body.

His lips trailed down her neck and onto her chest, Rorie let out a soft moan and arched into him, craving more of his touch. He knew every sensitive spot on her body, and it drove her wild with desire. Lewis moved lower, planting kisses on her stomach until he reached the apex of her thighs. His hands firmly held onto her hips as he teased her with delicate licks and flicks of his tongue.

Rorie's breath hitched as she felt herself becoming wetter with each passing moment. She reached down to tangle her fingers in Lewis's braids, urging him on. "Oooh baby, don't stop."

With a wicked gleam in his eye, Lewis obliged and began sucking on Rorie's clit, sending waves of pleasure through her entire body. Her moans grew louder as she neared climax, and she couldn't hold back any longer.

"Fuck!" Lewis’s tongue soon brought Rorie to an explosive orgasm that left her panting and trembling beneath him.

"Mmm, you taste so good," he murmured.

Rorie came down from her high, and Lewis crawled up her body to kiss her deeply. She could taste herself on his lips, and it only turned her on even more.

"I want you inside me," she whispered against his lips.

Lewis groaned and quickly positioned himself between her legs. Rorie wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he slid into her in one smooth thrust.

They moved together in perfect rhythm. It wasn't just about the physical pleasure for them; it was about the deep connection they shared. With each movement, they were both expressing their love and desire for each other.

Rorie ran her hands over Lewis's back, feeling the muscles flex beneath her touch. She loved how strong and powerful he was, yet how gentle and attentive he could be with her.

Their lovemaking became more intense as they both approached their release. Rorie cried out Lewis's name as she came once again, and he followed soon after with a deep grunt of satisfaction.

They collapsed onto the bed in a tangled mess of limbs and sweaty skin. Lewis rolled onto his side to face Rorie, pulling her close to him. As they cuddled in each other's arms, Rorie couldn't help but think about the possibility of being pregnant again. She knew Lewis would be overjoyed at the news, but she couldn't shake off the slight fear and anxiety that crept into her mind.

"Are you okay?" Lewis asked softly, sensing something was bothering her.

"I…I'm just thinking about what might happen if I am pregnant," Rorie admitted hesitantly.

Lewis's expression softened as he cupped her face in his hands. "Hey, whatever happens, we'll handle it together. We've been through so much already and have come out stronger."

Rorie's heart swelled with love for this man who always knew exactly what to say to comfort her. "I know…I just don't want to disappoint you if I'm not pregnant."

Lewis shook his head and pressed a gentle kiss on Rorie's forehead. "You could never disappoint me, baby. Our love is so much more than having another child."

She wrapped her arms around him tightly, feeling grateful for their love. "We should just take the test," she said firmly.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, let's just get it over with." Rorie stood up abruptly and walked to the bathroom. The pregnancy test was sitting on the counter, and with trembling hands, she unwrapped it and followed the instructions carefully.

She then nervously paced around the bathroom as Lewis watched intently, waiting anxiously for the results. As the timer beeped, Rorie's heart raced in anticipation. She closed her eyes and prayed for a positive result.

Slowly opening her eyes, she looked down at the test and saw two distinct lines. A wave of emotions washed over her as she realized that she was indeed pregnant.

Tears of joy streamed down Rorie's face as she stepped out of the bathroom to show Lewis. He immediately wrapped her in his arms, knowing without words what the result was.

"We're going to have another baby," he whispered, his voice filled with awe and happiness.

Rorie nodded, unable to speak through her tears. They held each other in silence for a few moments before Lewis pulled back to look at Rorie's face.

"Are you okay?" he asked, wiping away her tears with his thumb.

"I'm just so happy," she managed to say before kissing him passionately.

The California sun hung low in the sky as the woman drove toward a discreet restaurant nestled off the Malibu coast. The sleek, modern lines of the Hamilton's mansion were barely visible from the road, obscured by sprawling trees and winding driveways. The ocean’s rhythmic crash played in the background, but all that resonated in the woman’s mind was the bitter truth she clutched like a weapon.

The restaurant’s parking lot was mostly empty, save for a lone car parked in a shadowed corner. The woman’s heeled boots crunched over loose gravel as she approached. The maid, nondescript and dressed in plain clothes, glanced up from where she leaned against the car’s door. Her eyes were wary, darting around as though expecting to see someone lurking.

"You’re late," the maid muttered, shifting nervously.

"Traffic," the woman replied, dismissively. "Do you have what I need?"

The maid hesitated before producing a small USB drive. She handed it over with trembling fingers. "I can’t be seen doing this. If Rorie finds out…"

"She won’t," the woman interjected sharply. "You just keep your head down and play your role. If she suspects anything, you’re done. But right now, I’m your best bet for protection."

The maid swallowed hard, clearly torn. "Why are you even doing this? Rorie has been good to me...she treats my kids like her own."

The woman’s expression darkened. "You think kindness and loyalty matter to people like her? She uses them as currency to keep you close until you’re no longer valuable. Believe me, I know better than anyone. And if you want any fucking help getting your husband to Los Angeles, you shut your goddamn mouth, okay?"

Silence fell between them as the reality of their situation settled in. Eventually, the maid nodded, wiping her palms nervously against her jeans. "Okay, but be careful. This game you’re playing—people get hurt."

The woman tucked the USB into her jacket pocket and turned on her heel. "People always get hurt. It’s just a question of who gets hurt first."

As she walked away, the wind picked up, rustling through the palm trees and carrying the distant hum of approaching cars. The maid stayed put, watching the woman disappear into her car before driving off like a bat out of hell.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

[disillusioneddanny]

It’s me, hi I’m the problem is me (dead tired)

The world was ending.

That was the thing Tim had come to accept. Somehow, all of the big bads had made friends and decided to work together to take over the universe and split it amongst themselves. Darkseid, Trigun, Barbatos, they had all gotten together to conquer the universe. Raven was completely drained, The supers three were in the infirmary, and the Lanterns Corp were barely holding them back, losing every second. Hell, even the Justice League Dark were down for the count.

“What are we doing to do?” Nightwing murmured, watching as the Lanterns slowly lost momentum.

“I-I don’t know,” Bruce whispered. Tim’s adoptive father had ripped of his cowl, his hair stood mussed from continuously running his fingers through his hair in stress. Batman, Wonder Woman, and Aquaman stood over all of the contingencies Bruce had ever collected on the three big bads.

Robin stared at the screen that showed the devastation, a frown prominent on his face. “So this is it? We just give up?”

“No,” Red Hood said walking into the room with Arsenal and Starfire in tow. Behind the three stood a young man. He had Lazarus green eyes, snow white hair, slightly blue skin, and pointed ears. His body adorned in black armor, a blue crown floated above his head and a large cape hung from his body with galaxies swirling around. He looked to be Tim’s age, maybe just a little older than him, somewhere between his and Jason’s age.

“Who’s this?”

The being stepped forward, jewelry that hung from his ears tinkled slightly when he did and jeez, he was beautiful.

“My name is Phantom,” the being said with a serene smile. He was otherworldly, unlike anything Tim had ever seen in his life. “I am High King of the Infinite Realms. Jason asked me to come and assist with an issue you are dealing with,” he said, his eyes flicked to the large monitor curiously, tilting his head to the side, the silver that hng from his ears clangled once more. “Ah, those three, how fun.”

“How do you uh, how do you know Jason?” Tim asked, stepping towards the king.

At this, Phantom had an amused smile on his face as he looked back at Jason. “You never told them?”

Jason let out a groan of annoyance, pinching the bridge of his nose as he did. “When I died, Phantom found me in the ghost zone, I never actually moved one when I died. For those six months I just hung out in the ghost zone and became friends with Phantom. Before I came back, he declared me as one of his Fright Knights. And last years he ran into me during one of my missions and brought back my memories from when I died and fixed the pit rage.”

Phantom nodded, a wide grin on his face. “Jason made a lousy ghost. Now, how about I go fix this issue for you all real quick?” He said before he disappeared. Tim went to ask Jason about Phantom only for his father to beat him to the punch.

“Is this why we haven’t been able to get in contact with you?” Bruce asked, furrowing his brow. Jason shrugged.

“Couldn’t find the sword he left me that lets me summon him. Turns out I left it on Kori’s ship so she had to travel to come get me. From there it took a bit for me to remember how to summon him, I’ve never actually done it before so it took a few tries to get it right. And of course Phantom thought it was a social call and he loves to talk so it took a little bit to explain. And on top of that, time works different in the Realms. And Klarion was there so it just took a little longet than I wanted it to but he’s here and he’ll take care of the issue super quick.”

“Klarion?”

“Yeah he’s dating Phantom’s clone, he hates their relationship like a lot but it’s like two little chaos gremlins,” Jason said with a chuckle.

“How old is Phantom?” Tim blurted out.

Jason gave the nineteen year old a confused look but chuckled nonetheless. “He’s twenty.”

“Twenty and he is already a king?” Aquaman said, looking more and more interested in Phantom.

“Been king since he was fourteen,” Jason said, sucking at his teeth before he looked at the monitor and started snickering. Tim followed his gaze and smiled when he saw Phantom grow a third arm and grabbed all three beings by their ears, shrinking them down to his size before he dragged them away from the Lanterns before they disappeared.

Soon after the four reappeared in front of Bruce, Diana and Arthur who all looked on curiously.

“Kneel,” Phantom ordered. The three beings fell harshly to their knees. “I am beyond disappointed in the three of you. Are your realms not enough? What makes you think that you have the right to take over dimensions that do not belong to you?”

“But-” Trigon started.

“No buts from you, Trigon. The only reason you’re even still the ruler of your world is because none of your children want the position,” Phantom said. “Due to your crimes against this realm I hearby sentence you all to a millenia in the Fright Zone. Jason,” he instructed.

Jason grinned and pulled his sword from its sheath and stepped forward. With a quick swipe, all three disappeared from view.

Phantom stepped towards the three heroes and dipped his head in a polite bow. “They should not cause anymore issues. I apologize that I could not get here sooner. While I may be ll power, I am not all seeing and Kronos does not always deem it fit to tell me when my underlings are causing issues,” he said with a polite smile. “Does anyone have any paper or something to write on?”

“I uh, I have a tablet, I can just pull up something,” Tim stammered, stepping forward. Phantom smiled in thanks, taking the tablet from Tim. He drew out a complicated sigil and set it on the large table.

“This is my official line. Next time you are in a situation such as this, please do not hesitate to summon me,” he said before he looked at Tim and looked him up and down, a single fang peeked from under his lip. “As for you, Handsome, feel free to get my personal sigil from your brother and call me anytime.”

Before Tim could say another word, the High King disappeared and Tim immediately turned towards his brother with wide eyes. “ Jason ,” he hissed.

“He’s my fucking friend! I don’t want you dating him,” Jason shouted, running out of the room with Tim following close behind.

[ninibeingdelulu]

A kid’s dream ✧

Plot: You find 5 years old Bachira playing alone, so you decide to join him.

A/N: Can I say im proud of this post ? Cause I am. Oh and if you didn’t understand you’re a kid too, like the same age as him.

The late afternoon light cast a warm, honeyed glow across the empty sandbox, creating wispy shadows that danced and flickered playfully with the faintest breeze.

A chubby-cheeked little boy with a tousled mop of messy black curls bounded around the sun-dappled area, kicking a battered soccer ball in exaggerated, uncoordinated motions.

Despite his cherubic features and bright sapphire eyes sparkling with pure glee, something melancholic emanated from the small figure.

A cloud of perpetual isolation, as if the tiny boy orbited on a plane just adjacent to all his peers - forever the outsider peering in.

"Haha! Did you see that shot?!"

Meguru shouted to no one in particular, tiny chest heaving from exertion as he beamed proudly at the ball now rolling to a stop several feet away.

Before he could race after it again, a soft voice piped up from behind causing the young boy to pivot with those big doe eyes blown wide.

"Whatcha doin'?"

You toddled across the sandy pit, downy hair ruffled by the balmly zephyrs tickling your round cheeks.

Despite the cherubic picture of innocence you painted, Meguru immediately bristled - shoulders hunching as if bracing for the inevitable round of mockery that always accompanied any overtures at friendly interaction.

He lifted a chubby arm to vigorously rub at his button nose, regarding you with open suspicion laced through those crystal azure pools.

"Um...playin' soccer?"

A puzzled nose-wrinkle creased your brow at Meguru's inexplicable wariness to so simple an inquiry.

"All by yourself?"

The little boy merely nodded, muddy cleats scuffing the sand as he shuffled in place - clearly prepared for the teasing jabs that typically followed such observations from other kids.

Realizing he wasn't going to supply any additional details unprompted, you simply traipsed nearer, wide-eyed with youthful curiosity.

"But that seems lonely..." You cocked your head to one side, round features scrunched in consternation.

"Do you wanna play together? I'm not very good yet, but I can try!"

Meguru froze, mouth parting with unspoken surprise at your words - so averse to the ugly responses long imprinted on his young psyche.

Was this some cruel joke? A setup to deliver an even more brutal punchline mocking his desires for friendship?

Frantically his gaze searched yours for any trace of trickery or meanness, finding only the most openly earnest and disarmingly sweet expression mirrored back at him.

You simply waited, clumsily fidgeting with the hem of your shirt as minutes ticked by suspended in breathless hope.

That strange, untapped warmth began radiating through Meguru's tiny chest as the reality cemented in his mind. Not only did you wish to play with him...but there was no scorn or malice in your proposition whatsoever!

Within seconds, his whole demeanor transformed in a blinding shift as happiness and disbelieving joy erased all lingering uncertainty.

Scrambling closer to you, the little boy's sun-kissed features split in a megawatt grin of purest elation so overflowing, it seemed to eclipse his entire miniature frame.

Those big sapphire eyes sparkled like crystalline dewdrops, all radiant hope and heart-bursting affection.

Eagerly Meguru reached for your hand, bouncing on the balls of his tiny feet with infectious enthusiasm.

"Yeah!! Yeah, I wanna play together!!"

He squeezed your fingers tight, as if trying to fuse your joined souls into an adamant tether even at this tender age.

Giggling at his exuberance, you gave a reciprocating squeeze as the two of you tumbled onto the sand in a whirl of kicking legs and peals of carefree, tinkling laughter.

Any apprehension evaporated in the golden warmth of this newly-forged comradeship encircling you both in its glow.

For Meguru, it was as if the universe itself had rewarded his earnest desires with the ultimate miracle - a friend, one who could see the boundless depths of his spirit beyond cold, callous judgements.

In those fleeting moments, the young striker felt buoyantly weightless and complete, untethered by solitude for the first time in his short life so far.

His whole world shifted onto an exciting new axis the instant you graced it with simple, radiant innocence and acceptance. In that moment, nothing else in existence could touch him but the breathtaking potential for adventure and belonging stretching into the horizon...

[sashiavi]

•·······🍑·······• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𝓓𝓪𝔂 𝓕𝓲𝓿𝓮⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•········🍑·······•

𝚂𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝙰𝚟𝚒'𝚜 𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙺𝚃𝙾𝙱𝙴𝚁 2023

#5•𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑 𝚁𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐•#5

𝚉𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒/𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚡 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ʷᵒʳᵈ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ ¹.³ᵏ

The almighty Morax, the Archon of Liyue, God of Geo, loved by his nation, adored by his sweet little Adepti pets. The esteemed Archon kept many Adepti within his close circle, considering he was of descent himself. Warriors, inventors, poets, artists, these colourful people with various backgrounds were considered to be a friend of the God.

Though, Morax kept the prettiest Adeptus by his side, a sweet little thing with wide curious eyes and the cutest little horns adorned on her head. His sweet Adeptus pet was always seen with him, sat prettily by his earthen throne for his nation to see. He clad her in decadent silks, rich fabrics pool around her knees as she kneels by his feet. Dainty crystals and jewels of Cor Lapis hung from her pretty horns, strung over her forehead like a crown.

She clings tightly to his arm when out on a stroll in the dewy mornings of Liyue, nuzzling into his side, her face avoiding the moist fog flowing through the air. She was looked after by the almighty Archon, pampered so tenderly day in and day out, fed and bathed by the hands of the God of Geo. Rex Lapis' pretty Adeptus. The sweetest little follower he had, devoted to his every action and decision. Dependant on him to live. She was pliant, always so willing and obedient, eager to please him in any way she could.

"Come and sit, my Flower," Morax beckons to his lap, comfortably splayed out on his throne. The sweet little Adeptus pitters over, her bottom lip between her teeth, nervous but oh so eager to appease him. Morax's pretty Girl clumsily straddles the thick quad of his thigh, tentatively bracing her smaller hands upon his chest, as if he would be offended by her touch. He hums a noise of acknowledgement, slow and rich from the pit of his throat. His glowing, golden eyes pierce down into her own, admiring the pliant girl in his lap. The Adeptus averts her gaze, bashfully looking anywhere but the radiant, omnipotent God before her. His large palm soothes over her pretty waist, caressing her gently, cheekily tugging at the draping fabric that adorned her body.

Morax squeezes at the soft flesh of his little Adeptus' hip, kneading his fingers over her lower back before finally resting on the curve of her ass. The girl squirms in his lap, the dainty jewels she adorned on her head twinkle softly with her little movements. The little Adeptus clenches her thighs together, squeezing the thick muscle of Morax's quad between them. Another hum rumbles from the throat of the Archon, it's a pleased noise, laced in golden honey. He presses his thigh into her sweet, warm core, applying the most delicious pressure to her achey clit. The girl makes her own noise, a sweet little mewl, cut short out of hot embarrassment. Morax's hand gently guides his pretty Adeptus, pressing into the flesh of her ass, barely covered by the soft silks draped over her frame. The sweet girl rocks her hips against the Archon's thigh experimentally, shyly biting back any little noises that bubble from her throat. As if Morax had never heard her sing on his thick cock.

"Back and forth, Darling.. Back and forth," he coddles the sweet Adeptus in his lap, bumping his knee into her cunny, matching her cute little movements. She moans softly, tilting her head back, her dainty beaded crown tinkles against her pretty horns. The silky fabric she wore droops to her shoulders, revealing the soft skin of her throat. Morax is quick to press his lips on the Adeptus' neck, leaving the softest, warmest kisses on her skin. He exhales into her shoulder, his breath hot on her sensitive neck. Her sweet little cunny aches, she grinds harder to relieve the pressure, pathetically humping against the God's thick thigh.

"Find what feels good on your little clit, my Flower," Morax breathes, his voice low, dripping with the sweetest of syrups. Archons, his darling Adeptus Pet was insatiable, so sweet, curious and always eager to listen. His pretty girl whines, grinding her warm, achey cunny faster against his thigh. Her vigour was akin to a silly little bunny, quick little ruts against his quad, unembarrassed by the sheer notion of using his lap for pleasure. His hand continues to guide his sweet little follower's frame, pressing her hard into his lap, groping at her jiggly ass as she humps into him. The pretty Adeptus tucks her head into the Archon's neck, barely avoiding knocking the man in the face with her horns. Her hands cage against his chest, fingers curling into themselves as she humps her achey clit against her God. Archons, she was so far gone. She moans prettily into his ear, her soft voice heightening with every sweet little 'ahn!' she chirps out.

"Show me your eyes, sweet Pet.." Morax commands, his other hand caresses her soft cheeks, fingers tucking under her pretty chin, lifting her face out of his neck. The Adeptus squirms in his hold, her needy pace in his lap never letting up. He bores his gaze into her, his eyes practically glowing, amused and authoritative over his little darling. His pretty pet's split slicked lips quiver as she breathes, moaning out so, so sweetly as she locks eyes with his own. Her cheeks adorn the prettiest little tears, eyes glimmering and barely focused, doing her absolute best to keep her stare on the Archon.

"All- Almighty Rex L-Lapis~" His sweet little Adeptus pet cries, her thighs clench, her gaze falters, Gods she was close. Cute little thing, using her Archon to get off, grinding her achey cunny over his lap, leaving a deliciously sweet wet spot on his thigh. Morax squeezes at her chin gently, tilting her head to nearly meet his lips with her own. He leans in, his breath warm on her glossy lips, barely grazing over the plump swell of her mouth. He pulls away, the Adeptus girl tries to chase him, attempting to capture his lips with her own. Morax hums, his mouth forms into an unreadable grin, soft, yet something else lingers under his smile.

"Come for me, my Dear.. Relish in an ecstasy only a God could provide." Morax's voice is deep, guttural, his eyes never leave the pretty Adeptus pet in his lap. He takes pleasure in her cute little humps against his thigh. Using a God in his own throne to get off, his sweetest little underling getting the most special of treatment. Her eyes never leave his own, squinting and widening, eyebrows pitching up in the softest little way. Her lips fall open, her crown twinkles softly, her fingers thread through the fabric he wore over his chest, her hips stutter in his lap. She could feel it, her achey clit rubs hard on his lap, humping fast as her cunny throbs and tummy coils.

"C-Comming-!" The sweet little Adeptus cries, eyes glassy and wet, locked with her Archon as he nods his head sympathetically. Morax's sweet Pet clenches her thighs hard over his own, wriggling her hips in short little humps as she cums so, so prettily. The cute little Adeptus girl fucks herself silly in his lap, her achey cunny gushes wetly over her Archon. She messes in his lap, her sweet, sticky juices drenching any material that lay between them. The poor girl sobs the prettiest little apologies, small 'sorries' tremble from her lip and yet she never slows her greedy little pace. Morax's darling Adeptus hiccups little cries, fat tears roll down her cheeks as she begs for forgiveness. The Geo Archon couldn't care less about her sweet, sticky mess, God's she'd rightfully marked him as she should. He supposed however, he could indulge in the sweet little thing's prattling.

Perhaps he could truly prove his sweet, sweet little Adeptus' devotion.

Sweet and caring men that aren't so sweet and caring auGhhh

Smth about Morax!Zhongli 😔 I think he's neat

•··········🍑···········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•···········🍑··········•

Thank You For Reading! Comments Are Always Appreciated!

♡KinkTober Taglist♡

@heath-sama @yejiswifex @hunnibunnix @bleh09 @madsw9 @py-schi @wizzardcatwithastick @shiningpaint-marbleheart @cherrytomato2 @i-am-silver @your-tears-taste-sweeter @kqzutcra @themusingsofmany

•· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·····.•🍑•.····· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·•

[luna-azzurra]

How to describe emotions? Please help.

1. Show, don't tell: Instead of simply stating the emotion, use vivid descriptions and sensory details to create a sensory experience for the reader. Show how the emotion affects the character's body language, facial expressions, and actions.

Example (Anger): His fists clenched tightly, his face turning an alarming shade of red. He balled up his trembling hands, nails digging into his palms, as his voice exploded in a torrent of seething words.

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2. Use metaphors and similes: Comparing emotions to relatable experiences or objects can make them more tangible and relatable. Metaphors and similes add depth and richness to your descriptions.

Example (Joy): Her laughter bubbled up like a symphony of tinkling bells, filling the room with its infectious melody. Her eyes sparkled like the stars on a clear, moonlit night.

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3. Incorporate body sensations: Emotions are not just felt emotionally but also physically. Include physical sensations that accompany the emotion to make it more tangible and immersive for the reader.

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Example (Fear): A chill crawled up her spine, prickling her skin with goosebumps. Her heart pounded like a drum, reverberating through her chest, while a knot tightened in the pit of her stomach.

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4. Consider the character's thoughts and internal dialogue: Describing the character's thoughts and internal dialogue can provide insight into their emotional state, allowing readers to connect with the character on a deeper level.

Example (Sadness): As tears welled up in her eyes, she fought to hold back a sob. Why did everything feel so heavy? Each breath weighed on her chest, as if she carried the weight of the world within her.

/////

5. Show the impact on the character's environment: Emotions can influence the way we perceive the world around us. Describe how the emotional state affects the character's surroundings, whether it's through changes in the atmosphere, colors, or overall mood.

/////

Example (Excitement): The air crackled with electric anticipation. Vibrant hues danced before his eyes, as if the world had suddenly transformed into a kaleidoscope of possibilities. It felt like every corner of the room was infused with a contagious buzz.

if you have further questions or would like to have it explained more explicitly write to me on my IG: Saraswritingtipps, I answer much faster

[quirky-vg]

From: Tinkle Pit

[misskittyhart]

Your Soul Forfeit

It was a loud, wild night at the Black Dahlia, the energy was palpable in the room. The loud sound of trumpets and clarinets whined alongside the deep sounds of bass, drums, the soft tinkling of an old rag time piano joined the cacophonous symphony. There she stood, like a silver lit movie star. Miss Kitty Hart, the upcoming star of the down town district.

She had become well known for her sensual nature and sultry tones. A stunning fox demon from 1920's New Orleans, are star in life, as well as in death. Though these days there was pain and sadness in that voice. In which, only made her music that more moving.

Ghosts and past pains ebbed into that mind of hers. Haunting her with the violence and darkness of her past. However, when she was on that stage none of that mattered. Music consumed her, like a pit swallowing her up.

That voice rang out into that hot, crowded room. The breath seemed to be sucked from the room as she sang her set. People watched with baited breath. For such a small demon, she exerted an air of power and confidence. Which often had sinner's harassing her, to her disdain. Not that she couldn't defend herself, she was down in hell for a reason.

Her song came to a close. She took her bow to a wildly cheering audience. The sounds of admiration making her pride swell, a high filling her. She moved back behind thick velvet curtains to her dressing room.

Before she could manage to change there was a knock at her door. Her fox ears twitched and flicked curiously to the door. Upon opening it she saw him. "Radio demon?" she gasped surprised.

starter for

@radio-demon-on-air

[hey-august]

A Line from Me to You - Chapter 8

Description: Buggy finds a peculiar book on his ship. Enticed by the words contained on each page, the pirate opens up. Anonymity leads to vulnerability. What else will come from this? (Chapter 1 ... Chapter 7, check out the story tag for all the chapters)

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: buggy x afab!reader, this chapter is SFW, alcohol, angsty drunk buggy, no use of y/n

A/N: Smut in the next chapter!

Tag list: @lostfirefly @rorywritesjunk @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction @voloured

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

A day passed. Then two days. Then the days stretched into a week. The sun coasted into a second week, time moving as it normally does, despite weight from worry and anxiety. These feelings hissed at you from the empty spot beneath the bench, taking residence in the space where a book should be. The space you checked frequently at first, then infrequently as time stretched on, before increasing in frequency once more.

Hope and fear had you grasping at any weak excuse to walk past the secret spot multiple times a day, as well as visiting at night, just in case the book learned how to camouflage and you simply hadn’t noticed its return. With every failed search, you struggled to ignore the small voice that said this was your fault. This was because you folded a page in the shared book. Muscle memory kicked in and you left a dog ear to mark the pause in your reading.

Maybe your reading buddy (if he was still that) got upset that you damaged the book. Hell, he even gave you a shoddily made bookmark to use instead. Maybe he followed through on the threat to not return a book if you damaged a book by creasing the pages again. Maybe this was the end of whatever this relationship was.

You decided to silence the thought with another walk around the ship. Maybe the book was there this time…

---

Buggy fucked up. He fucked up badly. Nothing worked. Nothing helped.

The book lay on his desk, where it had been for weeks, and the captain didn’t know what to do. It was damaged. Ruined. As badly as he wanted to pass the story back to you, how could he?

Buggy slammed his empty glass on the wooden desk and glared at the novel. It sat there, daring him to make the next move. Despite all the words that built the story page by page, the book was silent. And it was all Buggy’s fault. If he hadn’t gone to the washroom that night, if he paid more attention, if he treated your belonging with more care, if- if some dumbfuck freak didn’t leave out a bucket of soapy water- shit!

Another heavy pour of alcohol did nothing to wash away the guilt. All it did was burn, searing down his throat and chest, into the heavy pit in his stomach. The heat did provide a brief welcome distraction. Casting aside the empty glass, the pirate grabbed the bottle of distractions by the neck. Disconnected feet shuffled away from the desk while a floating body swayed just above the grounded appendages. Gravity roughly pulled Buggy onto the bed with a bounce, earning a grunt and a splash of alcohol that seeped into the sheets. Fucking great. He can’t take care of anything.

With lips pressed against the opening, Buggy chugged the liquid fire mouthful by overflowing mouthful. Fumes and a lack of oxygen built up and exploded in a sputtering cough and watering eyes. His face contorted into a wince that he tried to rub away with a large hand. He smeared his lipstick across the lower half of his face in a sloppy attempt to wipe away spit and alcohol. Blearily, Buggy looked at his red-stained palm. Another mess he created.

Angry with fate mocking him, Buggy threw his bottle across the room with a shout. The tinted glass was no match for the speed and shattered after colliding with the wooden wall. A loud crack was followed by the dainty tinkling of shards falling to the ground. The amber liquid that had been left in the bottle dripped down the wall.

Buggy chewed his lip and stared at the stain as the alcohol seeped into the porous wood, watching it grow with each beat of his own bleeding heart. He blinked away a burn in his eyes. A hand zipped over to his desk and retrieved a full bottle. Buggy uncorked the distractions and settled in for another night without a bedtime story.

Morning arrived and left without a word. The afternoon slipped by in a haze of headaches and half-assed duties that couldn’t be put off. By evening, Buggy’s head was finally clear. Waves of cheap rum had ebbed and his weighted guilt sat in it’s usual spot - at the captain’s desk. Buggy absentmindedly ran his thumb along the rippled pages of the water damaged book. They fluttered loudly. The paper was stiff, stuck together and impossible to separate without tearing.

Buggy’s attention wasn’t on the damage he couldn’t undo, though. He was reading. And taking notes. According to the map and his books, there should be an island with a sizable population nearby. One big enough to barter and trade with plenty of other islands and towns. Big enough to welcome visitors and travelers who would spend money. And maybe it was big enough to have a book shop.

---

The crunch of pebbles spat up by the ocean gave way to loose gravel, then to the compacted streets of a town. With the changing path, footsteps became muffled and overlaid by busy chatter, merchants beckoning potential shoppers, childish shrieks of laughter, and the clang of a nearby clock tower. A busker crooned unfamiliar songs to a captive audience enjoying the outside seating of a waterfront bistro.

You strolled past the stalls closest to the dock, eyeing the fresh catches of the day being turned into handheld snacks. At the edge of the entrance, where you were just barely in town, you parted with a few coins for a paper cone loaded with a mix of fritters. You ignored the steam and popped one into your mouth. It tasted of freshly fried potato, salt, and regret.

The jangling from your wallet increased and decreased as you went through your shopping list line by line, depending on whether you paid with bills or exact change. Eventually you came to an item that was followed by a question mark. You almost always found an excuse to buy a book or two at port. And if you couldn’t find a shop that sold new releases or secondhand stories, there was usually an overturned book in a restaurant or café that you could sneak away without the current reader noticing.

You had been able to excuse the theft by reasoning that people on land could replace their belongings easier than you could buy them while at sea. Plus if they didn’t notice their belonging disappear, then they didn’t deserve to keep it. Now that you were the one with a half-read story in your mind, you felt differently. Maybe this was your fate - to become a victim of the experience you callously forced onto others.

The thoughts cycled as you continued walking and snacking, making your way through fried clams, chunks of sweet potato, bouncy octopus, and flaky fish. Eventually you found yourself with only fried peppers left in the cone and standing across the street from a bookshop. The idea of reading alone no longer seemed enjoyable. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, just like the fried peppers you would throw out. Still, you found yourself trying to read the book titles in the window display.

Planning to only browse for a few minutes, you stepped inside. The shop was calm compared to the bustling street outside. You drifted down the small aisles, unable to find a genre that interested you. Just you. In each section there were books that were only half-interesting. The half that was missing belonged to someone else.

There was an absence that was growing past the boundaries you wished it would stay within. It crept beyond friendly borders and turned into an aching loneliness. The feeling was compounded by all the books surrounding you, whispering through paper pages, calling out their stories. But none of them would have the ending you wanted.

Just as you turned to leave, you were knocked entirely off balance by a mass of barely contained panic. Someone’s hand on the back of your head kept you from smacking it against the edge of a shelf, but they weren’t able to keep you from falling ass first onto the ground with a cry. Before you could look up at your assailant, you were hoisted back into a standing position. Finally, you were able to look your captain in the face.

“In a rush?” Your tone was tight, walking the line between frustration and teasing. Surprise and curiosity.

“Yeah- No. Yeah. I’ve got things to do,” Buggy said, stumbling over the words. His eyes darted around you, following his hands which were picking up the few books that fell in the shuffle. “You alright? I wasn’t loo- I didn’t… Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so. Maybe embarrassed for falling like that and shouting.” You shifted your weight and felt a little tenderness in your rear.

The captain’s hands returned to rest of himself with a book. His fingers were splayed awkwardly, concealing most of the cover and spine. Most, but not all.

“Where did you find that book?,” you blurted out at the familiar item. One that looked like your source of guilt for the past few weeks.

“What book?” Buggy’s response was a tad too loud. He dropped his arms to his side and tried to shuffle past you.

“That book! This one!” You grabbed his coat to stop is escape and reached around for his other hand. It remained just out of reach, floating a few centimeters from his wrist.

“Over there,” Buggy said, trying desperately to walk away without shoving you again.

Logically, you knew it wasn’t the same one. The pages weren’t full of banter and snide comments. It wouldn’t have spicy remarks or goofy faces doodled in the margins. The novel was crisp and unmarred. There were no bookmarks. You could buy a new copy, but that’s not what you really wanted.

“I didn’t expect you to be a romance guy,” you commented.

The captain you knew was rough. Rugged and abrasive. Not the kind of person who would want to read about kings and queens bartering their kin and arranging marriages. You noticed how his hands gripped the story and how natural it looked. The idea of Buggy thumbing through pages full of coy glances and shy hand holding was…endearing. As you remembered the moments that gave you butterflies, you also remembered the scenes that made you sweat.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I read all kinds of things,” Buggy muttered. A cherry hue was blooming across his cheeks.

Smut. Your captain reads porn. And you just called him out on it. While outing yourself in the process, because you recognized the fucking story.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you liked to read too. What other books do you like?”

You wanted to change the subject and get away from this spicy territory. Unfortunately, that didn’t work. The heat that prickled up your chest only increased with Buggy’s answer. You had already read the titles your captain mentioned. They were on the ship, full of notes from being passed back and forth with another reader.

What the fuck. Wasn’t your reading buddy a grown man? Like the one standing in front of you? He wrote it himself. Could Buggy be… But why would he buy a book that you were already reading? Maybe it was just a coincidence. It couldn’t be, though. It’s just a coincidence that you read the same books and here he was buying yet another book that you knew?

Your wide eyed expression stopped Buggy’s rambling in it’s tracks. The blush crossing his face had made it’s way to his ears. He blinked a few times, opened his mouth, and closed it without another word. His painted lips made a soft pop noise when they closed.

“Alright, well. Good chat.” Buggy clasped your shoulder and gave you an awkward shake. And then he paused. He squeezed his hand and finally let you go.

With no air in your chest and no words in your mouth, you let him walk past. This didn’t make sense, but it also made complete sense. You had so many questions, but what could you even ask in a moment like this?

Part of you hoped it was just a coincidence. That you weren’t swapping books with your captain. Sharing personal thoughts, feelings, and memories. Connecting with him. Reading and commenting on explicit scenes with the person that you liked. The person you wished you could reenact those scenes with.

Glancing towards the back of the shop, you watched Buggy walk further away. He was tall and his strides were long. His blue hair swayed with each step and fuck-

You felt dizzy. You needed air. You needed to get out of the store.

[em-prentiss]

Hey! Would you be willing to write a fanfic with a Beth storyline where Hotch and Beth are in a relationship and Emily doesn’t know how to deal with her feelings for Hotch and he eventually finds out that Em is in love with him and their relationship going forward?

Or do you have any fic recommendations with this storyline!

I love your fics by the way! 🩷

Hi🩷 I personally don’t have any fic recs for this prompt, I’ve honestly never read one for this premise but I hope you like this <3 and thank you so much!

I love you, it’s ruining my life

————

Emily swallows tightly. Her head automatically snaps up at the sound of Aaron’s laugh, her eyes sliding to him and Beth on the dance floor. Her head is tucked into his neck, the dark waves of her hair brushing the gauzy material of her shawl.

Deliriously, Emily thinks from the right angle, she could almost be her.

Word count: 5.6k

————

She swore she would tell him. Aching and cold and bruised on a flight to Paris, tears soaking her skin as the jet rattled her, Emily swore that if she ever saw Aaron again, she’d tell him.

And she wanted to. She was going to.

But then something curdled in the pit of her stomach, something that made her wring her hands as she stood in front of him in his office, the two of them alone for the first time in seven months.

He was solid, steady. She knew that. She also knew she couldn’t handle massively fucking things up again and driving him away with a confession, because what if he didn’t like her that way? Standing there, in his empty office with no one there but him and her, she became acutely aware that he was her boss above everything else.

Saying she loved him would just ruin everything for everyone. Again. 

So she’d just whispered, “I missed you,” instead, hoping he took her jitteriness for her unusual, innocent admission. And when he wrapped her up in a hug, so tight she briefly felt herself whole again, the jagged pieces of her slotting together for the first time in seven months, she’d had to bite her tongue to keep the words down.

He’d attempted to draw her back into the routine they once had, having dinner at his place at least once a week, but she found it harder to stay quiet the more she was alone with him. So Emily kept her distance, turned down his invitations until he stopped asking altogether. He’s still there, she knows he is, but he’s leaving it to her to go to him.

She’s not sure if she hates him for that or not.

While she was drowning in the wake of her destruction and slowly trying to piece herself together again, he’d found someone.

The first time catches her by surprise. For some reason she never thought he’d do it, or that it would progress this quickly. The Beth she’d heard was helping him train bounds over to him as they’re discussing breakfast, throwing an arm around his neck and pressing her lips to his sweaty cheek.

The tips of his ears quickly grow red as her tinkling voice washes over them, singing him praises with a voice sweet as a bird’s.

“Beth,” Aaron says as he wraps an arm around her waist. Emily’s eyes drop to his large palm. “I’d like you to meet my son Jack.” Jack waves cheerfully. “And my team.”

Nothing registers in her head as introductions are exchanged. Emily doesn’t see Morgan and Rossi’s exchanged smirks or the way Aaron’s gaze drops to her for a fleeting second. She barely remembers to lift her hand in a weak wave, grateful for her large sunglasses and the excuse of a hangover visibly clinging to her form, making itself known in her casual leggings and still blown out hair.

Unthinkingly, her eyes comb over Beth, cataloging the dark waves of her hair and the startling blue of her eyes, trying desperately to find the reason why. The lack of blonde hair is notable, though her bubbliness and bright ocean blues are less than surprising.

Nausea churns in her stomach, sloshing around with leftover alcohol and the bitter coffee she’d downed in JJ’s kitchen. She hears the word breakfast and decides to excuse herself before the contents of her stomach splash on the grass.

****

Emily watches them twirl around on the dance floor, Beth’s dark hair catching the fairy lights. Aaron laughs, his hand engulfing hers, and Emily tips her drink back in one go.

Penelope watches her watch them—him—her eyes dropping to Emily’s tight grip on the glass. They had a huge victory yesterday; their best friend is getting married, but with Emily’s lip between her teeth, her brows drawn over her eyes, she looks pained. 

Penelope inhales a sharp breath. She’s not a profiler, but some things don’t need profiling. She looks around the table, making sure they’re alone, before she lets the thought spill free. “You love him,” she says quietly. It’s not a question.

Emily’s breath hitches. She’s quiet, but then she laughs. It’s bitter, catching on the sharp edges of her ribs as it leaves her body. “Yeah,” she whispers, because there’s no point in lying. It’s written clearly on her face, in the downward tilt of her lips as she looks after his retreating form, unable to disguise it anymore.

She can feel Penelope’s surprise beside her, her quiet disbelief. Emily doesn’t blame her; it’d come unexpectedly for her, too. Someone finally knows—though she suspects all of them have at least some sort of idea—and Emily’s lungs feel fit to burst from the silence. It’s a secret locked in the depths of her soul, but she’s tired of keeping secrets. 

“After Foyet…” She begins, then trails off. It’s one thing she’s never shared, something she always kept close to her chest, tucked safely inside her heart. The nights Aaron would call her over so she could coax Jack to bed, the days after where they would share a quiet look of acknowledgment and nothing else.

Emily wets her lips, swallows against her dry throat. “I was over a lot,” she says simply, trying to keep as much to herself as possible. Penelope stays quiet, holding her breath as she watches Emily, her head down as she messes with her already ragged cuticles.

A lot is an understatement. She’d spent more nights than she can count in the Hotchner household, first just to check in, then selfishly, because she wanted to. She found an unexpected comfort in them, and they found solace in her company. Distantly, she hears Jack’s familiar laugh as Reid flips some playing cards and she closes her eyes, finding a hidden memory in the darkness.

“Daddy?” Jack sniffles as he comes into view, his pajamas rumpled and his hair mussed from sleep. Tear tracks shine on his cheeks and Aaron’s leaning forward to reach for him before Jack’s bare feet cross the carpet. 

Jack’s wet eyes find her then. “Emmy?” He absently rubs at his cheek as he walks to her. He holds out his hands and Emily picks him up before he reaches the edge of the couch, settling him on her lap and hugging his small body to hers.

“What’s wrong, Jack-Jack?” She whispers as she rubs his back, her eyes meeting Aaron’s concerned gaze. 

“Bad dream.” Jack hiccups. He grabs her shirt in a small fist and hides his face in her neck, his tears dampening her skin.

Aaron leans close to them both, his hand joining Emily’s on his son’s back. “Do you want to tell us about it, buddy?” His voice is coaxing, but Emily hears the buzzing of anxiety lining his words.

Jack shakes his head. His mussed hair tickles Emily’s cheek as she exchanges another look with Aaron, his eyes so full of concern she inexplicably wants to wrap her arm around him, too. She clears her throat instead, “Well, your dad and I were just about to watch a movie, do you want to watch it with us?” She soothingly runs her fingers through Jack’s hair, feeling his breathing start to slow beneath her palm.

He nods into her neck. Emily lightly kisses his forehead, her eyes accidentally meeting Aaron’s again. She suddenly realizes the tips of their fingers are touching. He smiles at her, an upward tilt to his lips that warms her heart almost as much as the child in her arms.

“Any suggestions?” She murmurs softly to Jack. Her eyes flit to Aaron’s once more and she smiles as he mouths Cars.

“Cars,” Jack’s small voice confirms a beat later. Aaron smiles and gets up to turn the movie on as Jack yawns. He stretches his small legs over her lap, his soft cheek pressing against hers. “Your hair is gone.” He notices.

Emily laughs lightly. “Some of it, yeah,” she murmurs, continuing to rub circles on his back. “Do you like it?”

She feels him nod against her neck. He runs his hand through it seconds later, the soft strands slipping between his fingers.

“Pretty.” He mumbles, his eyes drooping closed before the movie even starts. Emily grins and adjusts her hold on him, fitting her arm around his small body to secure him on her lap.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

Emily takes a slow breath and feels it rattle around in her lungs. She blinks away the memory. “I don’t know how it happened, but I realized it when I was gone.” 

From the moment she stepped on the jet with JJ, actually. The fear had gripped her, the pit in her stomach widening as she realized she wanted to stay home, wanted to stay with Aaron and her team and never leave. The revelation followed the hot tears rolling down her cheeks in the tight bathroom, Emily’s face in her hands as she sat down on the closed toilet seat, too tired to lift her own body up for too long.

I love him, the thought echoed in her head, finally clear from the drugs but aching from the force of her constant tears. I love him and I may never see him again.

And now it’s too late.

Emily swallows tightly. Her head automatically snaps up at the sound of Aaron’s laugh, her eyes sliding to him and Beth on the dance floor. Her head is tucked into his neck, the dark waves of her hair brushing the gauzy material of her shawl.

Deliriously, Emily thinks from the right angle, she could almost be her.

The throbbing in her heart heightens to sharp stabs and Emily sucks in a breath. She turned down Clyde’s offer but now, looking at them, she wonders if she should’ve taken it.

Wonders if he’d take her back.

****

Something’s different. And yeah, it’d be safe to assume it’s the trauma, but it only started recently. She avoids him, turns down his invitations even when he softly mentions Jack, hoping the mention of his son would coax her back into his apartment. But she’s steadfast—albeit polite—and he can only watch from a distance as she works on repairing her bonds with the others, cautiously bringing offerings of peace and extending olive branches that have long since been accepted.

In his heart, Aaron knows why she’s distant; she hates him. For sending her away and burying her empty casket in the ground. She hates him because he ordered JJ to lie, because he allowed her closest friends to go months thinking she was dead. Because he couldn’t catch Doyle when he was right there, forcing her to change her name and heal in hiding as the ghost disappeared once more.

She hates him, but at least she’s alive. He can live with that.

His heart still aches. She’s so close, within touch, really, but they’ve never been further apart. He remembers the few times she’d called him Aaron, the soft touch of her fingertips on his wrist to tell him everything will be okay. Her light jokes and easy smiles are a thing of the past, something he sees only in his memories these days. She’s constantly on alert, the lines of her body perpetually tensed, and he just wants to reach out, place a hand on her shoulder and tell her breathe, relax, no one’s coming after you anymore. 

He misses her, but he doesn’t dare push any harder, already achingly aware of her skittishness, her habit of running when the walls close in. 

This week is particularly bad. She’s pale, dark circles pressed firmly under her eyes and her nails bitten to the quick. He notices she substitutes coffee for herbal teas and stares into the distance when no one talks to her, lost to her thoughts as her eyes grow unfocused. When they’re in the car, on the way to the ME, he can’t stay quiet.

“Emily.” He ventures cautiously. She immediately tenses, her muscles stiffening before she can stop them, because once she’s Emily she knows whatever they’re discussing isn’t work.

She keeps her eyes on her case file. “Yeah, Hotch?” 

He chances a quick look at her and finds her hair shielding her like a curtain, the case file gripped between her fingers. Aaron looks back at the road, her tense shoulders not escaping his attention.

“I’ve noticed you were…” What? Distant, avoidant? Not looking him in the eye except for when he barks out orders? Aaron clears his throat. “Withdrawn, lately.”

He feels her hot gaze on him then. “Is it affecting my performance?” She asks, curt and to the point.

“What?” The question briefly takes him by surprise. “No, of course not. I’m just worried—”

Her phone rings loudly, interrupting him. Emily takes out her phone with shaking fingers, a small huff of air escaping her as she hurries to accept the call. “Yeah Morgan,” she answers.

Aaron doesn’t ask again after she hangs up, but her shoulders are still stiff, as if she’s afraid he will, afraid he’ll try to talk to her about something other than work. He tightens his hands on the wheel to stop himself from reaching out for her, the sinking feeling in his stomach growing stronger as the distance between them stretches and warps, making him feel like she’s a million miles away rather than right here.

****

Penelope keeps her arm firmly looped through Emily’s, as if scared she’ll bolt even though Emily has no means of going home without her. She smiles humorlessly as her friend’s grip tightens.

“I’m not leaving, Pen,” she says dryly, briefly hating herself for her moment of weakness at the wedding. Her stomach twists in anticipation but she swallows down her jitteriness, steels herself as they face Rossi’s door, “I’m already here, I might as well stay for the food.”

The door swings open and Emily’s grateful for her mother’s political training as she walks in, her eyes meeting Beth’s then Aaron’s. Her smile doesn’t waver even as her heart gets wrung by two invisible hands, the hitch in her breath concealed by Penelope’s bright greetings, Rossi’s warm calls of welcome.

“Emmy!” Jack bounds over to her. He’s wrapped around her middle before she can blink, and immediately she feels a real smile tug at her lips.

“Hi Jack-Jack.” She crouches down to hug him properly. His small arms wrap around her neck, his sandy hair tickling her cheek, and she feels a familiar warmth in her chest as she hugs him tight. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he pulls back to pout at her. “Why don’t you come over anymore?” He frowns, the expression so like Aaron’s that she briefly feels her breath catch. 

Emily swallows, her throat suddenly dry at his innocent question. She’s acutely aware of everyone around her, listening even though they’re pretending not to. 

She smiles tightly, “Sorry, sweetheart, I’ve just been a little busy.” She lightly brushes the hair from his face to avoid his questioning gaze, the blonde slipping through her fingers a relief from the honey-like eyes he stole from his father. “I promise we can do something fun soon, yeah?”

His eyes light up. “Like the aquarium?”

Emily smiles, even as the prospect of seeing Aaron after work roils her stomach unpleasantly. “Sure honey. If your dad agrees.” She says and Jack nods vigorously, already well aware he has his father wrapped around his finger.

Dinner is a lively affair, with her seated between Penelope and Morgan, each of them just enough to distract her from the couple almost directly across from her. Emily eats her fill of mushroom risotto and steadfastly ignores Aaron, the steady stream of wine Dave keeps pouring eventually making her shoulders loosen. By the end of dinner it’s easy to ignore them, and as she settles onto the couch next to JJ, Jack slides in between them and leans into her side.

He nudges under her arm and she raises it to wrap around his shoulders. “Hey Jackers.” She can’t believe how much he’s grown in seven months, two of his teeth knocked out and already growing, his cheeks losing some of the baby fat she’d loved to pinch between her fingers. “Where’s Henry?”

She keeps her eyes fixed on him as he leans his head on her chest, trying to ignore the heat from the searing gazes of her friends. She can feel Aaron looking, can feel Beth’s eyes on her; questioning, envious.

“Don’t know. Wanna stay here,” Jack mumbles. He wraps his arm around her waist in a sideways hug, the material of her blouse grabbed loosely in his fist. Emily stifles a sigh into his hair. His small weight settles into her side as he relaxes fully, growing slowly heavier until she looks down and finds him asleep. 

Emily tries to listen to the conversations around her, her hand rubbing mindless circles on Jack’s back, but her attention is drawn from Morgan’s energetic storytelling when she hears Beth’s tinkling laugh.

Don’t look, she immediately tells herself. Her shoulders tense and she swallows. Don’t look, don’t look, do—

She looks. 

It’s slow, the noose that tightens around her heart. Almost gentle, soothing at first, wrapping around her heart snugly before it starts to tighten, tug, until she feels the sides of her heart tear open. Emily swears she can feel the blood trickling down it as Aaron smiles down at Beth, his dimples curved in his cheeks as he holds her hand, strokes his thumb over her skin.

Don’t look, she thinks again as Beth beams at him and tangles their fingers together, hers so pale and slender as they slot between his. There are gaps between them, gaps Emily knows her own calloused fingers would fill effortlessly. Because she felt the imprint of his fingers in the gentle press of his hand against her lower back, absently guiding her further into the jet. She knows how his hands look wrapped around a gun or holding a pen, knows that her palm would slide perfectly over his.

Emily lets out her shaky exhale into Jack’s hair, her arms unconsciously tightening around him. Her heart starts beating faster, blood spraying her ribcage when she hears the low murmur of Aaron’s voice, still so distinct in a room full of talking people. It’s like her ears know the vibration of it in the air. She picks it up, isolates it from the buzz around them, until it’s the only thing she can hear. It’s subconscious, something she does without feeling; his voice rattles around in her head, the same way it did when she was in Paris, telling her to hold on, promising he’ll get her back soon.

She can’t breathe.

Slowly unwrapping Jack from her, she gets up and gently lays his head down on a pillow in her place. Her legs carry her to the kitchen and she shakily pours herself a glass of water, the beat of her heart thudding in her ear. Her skin feels overly warm in contrast to the water she gulps down, trying to chase away the nausea roiling in her stomach at another one of Beth’s laughs.

Aaron isn’t that funny, she thinks bitterly. His humor consists of dry retorts and ridiculous dad jokes, often said in a tone so wry they rarely sound like jokes at all.

But perhaps things are different, when she’s his lover and not just his friend. 

She doesn’t hear the click of heels behind her, her eyes unfocused as she stares into nothing. “Hey Em, I’m getting a bit tired. Should we leave?”

Emily startles from her reverie, turning to find Penelope. She meets her friend’s gaze, wide and shining with poorly hidden concern, and feels a swirl of irritation and affection all at once.

It’s not pity, she tells herself as her throat closes up with something she tries to convince herself is anger. Penelope’s hand is tightly bunched in her dress, her brows furrowed as her eyes dart to Aaron and Beth again. Emily knows that look; the fierce protectiveness that shines through when Morgan messes around a little too roughly with Reid, or when she’s around and they get mistreated by local officers.

Emily’s shoulders slump. “Sure, Pen,” she says. They both ignore the slight hoarseness to her voice, the way it scrapes against the back of her throat. “I’m a little tired, too.” She gives her a small smile and sets the glass down on the counter, half full. 

Penelope’s face tightens at something behind her. Emily frowns, “Wh—?”

“Leaving already?” Aaron’s voice reaches her from behind. Emily briefly closes her eyes and takes a quick breath before turning around to face him, a tight smile on her face. 

“Yeah, we’re tired.” Her tone is brisk and she ignores the way his brows furrow slightly, clearly catching it. She turns to Penelope, “I won’t be long, I’ll just go grab my coat.”

“Actually you go start the car, the keys are in my purse. ” Penelope tells her, a too-tight smile on her own lips, “I’ll be right there.”

Emily gives her a confused frown but she nods, relief flooding her veins at being released from Aaron’s watchful gaze. She walks past him without a word.

He’s still looking after her as she leaves and the spark in Penelope’s blood turns to flame. Without really thinking of it, she places her hand on his back and pushes him to the library, ignoring the way he tenses suddenly, a surprised, “Garcia?”, leaving his lips. He doesn’t resist, though, and lets her lead him through Rossi’s hallways.

She’s fuming by the time she shoves him into the room and shuts the door. 

“What are we—”

“You can’t keep doing this to her.” She interrupts hotly, her head full of Emily’s tight smiles, her diminished light. She misses her cheerful best friend, and while logically she knows Aaron isn’t the only reason, he’s a damn big part of it. “Can’t you see how she feels? You’re flaunting it at every opportunity and you need to stop.” Her tone is cutting, but she can’t think to soften it.

Aaron frowns and his confusion makes the blood rush faster in her ears. Damn profilers. They’re so good at figuring out everyone except their own selves. He swallows and begins cautiously, “I don’t know who you’re—”

“Keep your girlfriend at home.” Penelope bites out. 

The furrow between his brows gives as it dawns on him. “Oh.” He breathes. His eyes widen as he processes the words, his tongue running over his lips. “Is this about Emily?”

“Yes, this is about Emily!” Penelope yells. Her voice echoes off the walls and she’s briefly glad she pulled him into the library. “Damn it Hotch, she loves you.”

He sucks in a breath and she does too, the words too late to take back now. A bitter taste floods her mouth and she snaps it shut too late. Penelope can almost see the words turning in his head, spinning, spinning as her stomach churns.

“Did she tell you that?” He croaks out. He looks pained, as if at any moment he’s expecting her to laugh and tell him it’s all a joke.

“God, she doesn’t have to!” Penelope shouts, her guilt evaporating in a burst of anger. “She loves you and you love her too, only instead of talking to her about it, you went and dated someone else.” She rattles off breathlessly, her skin itching.

She’s overstepping, she knows she is, and god, Emily would have her ass if she knew she’s going off on their boss, but the words spill out of her, blazing hot. For all his rigid decisions and clipped manner, she’s never felt any resentment toward him, even when he directed his rare anger to her. But this sets off a boiling rage in her gut.

Aaron swallows, his throat bobbing. His eyes are slightly widened and Penelope notices the way he runs his thumb over his index finger repeatedly. “She needs time,” he says slowly, clearly trying to convince himself of his own words when she cuts him off. “She’s just—”

“You don’t know what she needs. And you don’t get to make that decision for her.” With that she opens the door and leaves the library. She says her goodbyes and slams the door a little too forcefully when she gets into the car, making Emily jolt in her seat. Her breaths are loud as she starts the car, but the roar of the engine still doesn’t mask the sound.

Emily lets out a low sigh and digs her fingers into her thigh. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.” Her voice is low. Penelope opens her mouth but Emily shakes her head, cutting her off. “He’s dating her, fine. That’s none of my business,” she blows out a breath, ignoring the way it shakes. “He’s still my boss. And yours, too.”

Emily turns to her friend, her chest growing tighter at the sight of Penelope’s frown, the angered pinch of her mouth. God, why couldn’t she just keep her mouth shut? This is exactly why she hadn’t confessed to him in the first place; work and personal life don’t mix.

“He’s not doing anything wrong, so don’t punish him for it. It’s none of our business.” Her tone is final, leaving no room for argument.

Penelope shakes her head as she buckles her seatbelt and drives off. “It is if he’s shoving her in our faces,” she mutters lowly.

Emily doesn’t reply. She stays silent the whole drive, giving Penelope a small smile and a goodnight when she drops her off. Walking into her apartment and shutting the door behind her, she briefly hears nothing, a still silence that almost makes her tense, before the tinkling bell on Edith’s collar rings as she trots to Emily, her tail in the air.

“Hi.” The cat surprisingly pulls a laugh from her as she rubs against her ankles, looking up at her with a meow. Emily leans down and picks her up. “Nice to know I’ve been missed,” she presses a kiss to her furry forehead as she walks to her room, flipping on light switches as she goes. The dark unsettles her in ways it didn’t used to before, the smallest shadows sending chills up her spine.

Emily walks into her room and lets Edith go. She changes into satin pajamas—they usually make her feel at least a little bit better—and sits down at her dresser to take her makeup off, ignoring the welling tears in her eyes and pretending they rise from the aggressive press of her cotton pad against her eyeball. She wipes the stray tears along with the mascara and throws the blackened cotton into the trash, blowing out a huff as she swallows, trying to force the lump from her throat.

Edith jumps onto her lap, her paws pressing into the skin of her thigh. Emily wraps her arms around the clingy cat and hugs her like a baby. “I hate men.” She whispers miserably. She looks in the mirror and her eyes find Sergio on the bed. “Present company notwithstanding, of course.”

In the dead silence, the realization that she’s talking to her cats hits suddenly and violently. “Jesus,” Emily stands, Edith falling off her lap with a protesting meow, “what is my life?” She presses a palm into her eyes.

The doorbell rings, the sound echoing around the walls. She frowns as she walks to it, the tinkling bell telling her that her furry companion isn’t too far behind. Emily looks through the peephole and abruptly feels herself stop breathing. She swings the door open, too shocked to think about hiding her attire. 

“Hotch?” She questions, her voice choked and her brows raised. Her apartment is rarely visited, unlike his. “What are you doing here?”

He’s still dressed in the same clothes he wore at Rossi’s, only his hair is messier and hanging over his eyes, in a way she’s only ever seen in the comfort of his home. He takes a deep breath, his gaze briefly dropping to her bare legs before meeting hers again.

“I broke up with Beth.”

Her inhale is loud. 

Her eyes widen as the words echo in her head—the same ones she’d shamefully dreamt about, now spoken out loud, in his steady voice. Her limbs grow jittery, a weakness to her knees that makes it difficult to stay upright.

“So?” Emily crosses her arms, ignoring the frantic pounding of her heart against her ribcage. She tries to school herself into indifference, but her mask already slipped, and Aaron’s already seen it. Her eyes meet his—how long has it been since she’s done that?

He’s a blur of messed-up hair and desperate hands as he surges forward and kisses her. His palms are on her cheeks, his lips insistent, apologetic against hers. Emily can do nothing but respond, helplessly surrendering under the feel of his hands, pushing away the thoughts that they’d been tangled with Beth’s hours ago. 

Wordlessly, she can feel him begging, his hands tender as they wander to her hair, slip around her waist. Sorry, sorry, sorry, his lips seem to say as she finally lets herself fall into him. Aaron holds her, so tight she almost resents herself for waiting this long.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes against her lips, their heaving chests touching with each exhale. Her fingers are tangled in his shirt, his are winded in her hair, and his honey-brown eyes are so close she loses her breath all over again. 

“I’m so sorry, Emily.” His voice is a low murmur that he presses into her temple with a kiss. He lets go of her hair, squeezes her waist, and she exhales shakily, closing her eyes.

This is real, she tells herself. Her lips tingle, her body is overly heated from his own body heat. She feels the rise and fall of his chest beneath her hands as he kisses her face, so gently, as if she could break. Her breath hitches, his does too, and he’s so wonderfully real she wants to cry.

It takes an eternity before she catches her breath. “You’re an idiot.” 

“I know.” He answers immediately. Another kiss is pressed to her cheek, an apology, but she doesn’t want one.

Emily blows out a breath. “You hurt me.” She whispers.

Aaron’s face crumples. “I know. Fuck, I’m so sor—”

“Don’t do it again.” Her voice turns firm. I couldn’t take it if you did. It makes her pulse race, the way he’s got her heart in his hands.

“Never.” He vows. Against her will, her lips twitch. 

“I told you not to make promises you can’t keep.” She chides, her words escaping in a sigh as he kisses her cheekbone, the delicate skin next to her eye.

“Not breaking this one.” He murmurs. His warm hands circle her waist, his fingers digging the satin deeper into her skin.

Emily tips her head back, wanting to feel his lips on hers again. God, she’s dreamed of this. It kept her sane when she was in Paris, losing her mind with grief, her ears strained for any sound of the phone ringing. She’s too desperate to remember the throb in her heart just minutes ago, but after she kisses the air from his lungs, she’ll give him hell.

It seems Aaron’s been waiting, too. He gently backs her against the door, trapping her between the wood and his warm, large body. The weight of him sears her skin and she can’t get enough. Emily urges his hand on her waist and he just slips his hand under her camisole when he jumps back, startled.

She gives him a dazed look as he peers down at the floor. “Is this Sergio?” He asks, and she finally looks down. A calico cat is rubbing against his ankles, sweet black and brown spots joining together to make a heart next to her ear.

“No,” she breathes out a laugh, “Sergio’s in my room. This is Edith.” Emily bends down to pick her up, smiling at the cat as she starts purring. “She’s a cuddler.”

Aaron's smile is soft. The dimples she’d always wanted to be directed at her are finally here, dented into his cheeks. “You have horrible taste in names.” He runs a finger between Edith’s ears.

Emily’s brow arches. “You have some nerve to comment on my taste in anything, Aaron Hotchner.” She glares as he takes the cat out of her arms and gently drops her on the floor. He straightens and cups her face, stroking his thumb along her jaw; searching, memorizing. “My ‘horrible taste’ is what got us into this mess.” Her voice is strangely wobbly.

Aaron doesn’t seem to mind. “Say my name,” he murmurs, the tips of his fingers sliding into her hair, “please.” She so rarely did, and from the look on his face, she knows he’s desperate for it now.

Emily obliges, breathing it out slowly, her tongue smoothing over the letters, rising and cresting over the vowels. Aaron closes his eyes and kisses it off her lips.

“Again.” He says softly.

Emily’s lips curve. She loops her arms around his neck and says it again and again, each time cementing the idea that he’s hers, each tightening of his fingers on her waist cementing the fact that it’s real.

taglist: @kllingdaddy

[lilypadlys]

Forbidden Fruit

Ghouls indulging in fruit and Mountain slowly losing his mind. Sorry, had to be horny about enjoying fruit for a minute there.

With the heat of summer comes the harvest time for full crops of strawberries, blueberries, watermelons, grapes, cherries, peaches, and more. Ghouls and siblings alike enjoy the chance to indulge. Rich fruits, freshly baked pastries, and delicious juices are the perfect way to celebrate gluttony; not a sin under the ministry’s roof, but a chance to revel in the offerings of nature.

Mountain is steadily losing the fight to not add lust to the celebrations.

It started innocently enough. As he worked with the garden crews to pick peaches, everyone helped themselves to fruit straight off the trees. Soon they were all sporting sticky hands and dibbles of juice down their chins. Two sisters of sin started it. Rather than washing off in a water basin, one of them jokingly licked the juice of the other’s hands while maintaining fierce eye contact. She moved to clean the other’s chin with her tongue too and well one thing led to another and they quickly disappeared into a bush. Everyone else laughed it off and left them to their make out session and Mountain thought that would be it.

Next it was the strawberries. Mountain walked into the ghoul’s common room after a long day of garden work to find Rain and Phantom cuddling on the couch, feeding each other strawberries. As Mountain entered, Phantom looked up to wave in greeting, a plump strawberry between his lips. Rain grinned and took a bite out of the other end of the berry so that his and Phantom’s lips could meet. Phantom went about as red as the berry. Mountain let them off with some gentle teasing and stole a strawberry for himself before heading to the shower.

He stepped into the hall only to see Dew eagerly hefting a watermelon down the hall to Swiss’ room. Upon further inspection, Swiss and Aether were having a watermelon squashing contest. The two of them stood in the bathtub, already soaked in watermelon juice and with matching grins. This time, Mountain gave them a telling off about wasting food. That is until Dew piped up that he was going to help them clean up after. Mountain rolled his eyes and left to take a very cold shower.

Post shower, Mountain figured it was too late in the day for any more shenanigans. How wrong he was. The delightful smell of warm pastries filled the air. Following his nose, Mountain found Cumulus in the kitchen pitting cherries. She smiled and waved. His eyes lingered a little too long on how her lips and hands were stained magenta with cherry juice. He shook his head both at her offer of a freshly pitted cherry, as well as to clear his head. She shrugged and popped the fruit in her mouth. As she swallowed with relish she tipped her head back a little, exposing the line of her throat. Mountain all but fled to the common room.

Phantom and Rain had thankfully vacated so he took up a spot on the couch to read. That is until Aurora skipped her way in. She beelined to Cumulus’ side, putting on her best puppy eyes. Cumulus laughed her bell tinkle giggle and grabbed a fresh cherry. She used her claw to slice it open and scoop out the pit. Then she held it out to Aurora. The younger ghoulette let her tongue loll out as Cumulus fed her the cherry.

After that little show, Mountain finds himself at Cirrus’ door. When the door swings wide, Mountain is ready to beg. Cirrus beckons him in with a laugh, motioning Sunshine, who's sitting on the bed munching blueberries, to scooch over to make room for the earth ghoul.

[naboman]

Pit.

Chapter One: peeler

Synopsis: Perhaps he was too drunk that night, and although he was called crazy, he was still lucid enough to be convinced that the face of that person was familiar. But what guarantee did Dazai have that his waiter was the killer who had been terrorising the dirty alleys of Yokohama? Pairing: PM!Dazai + Fem!Reader. Genres: suspense, investigation and graphic horror (mentions of body horror). Warnings: The content below features graphically descriptive violence, angst for the most part, hints of a sadistic Dazai bent on ‘yandere’.

Mono: Japanese kanji for ‘thing, object or matter’.

[Start] [Next]

It was no mean feat of his to arrive early, but there he was, a small glass with the commonly served round ice cube, his shot of whisky came in a generous amount. For a moment, Osamu wondered if this was a courtesy of the house, but on taking a closer look at the waiter who was serving him this evening, he could only conclude that it was nothing more than inexperience.

The figure was rather small, with a thin face and dark circles visible under his eyes. Osamu wasn't one to rush into things, but in his short assimilation of characteristics he could deduce with some basis that the person was physically ill, which was the reason behind her frail appearance. However, he snapped out of it when Odasaku appeared in the doorway of the bar, pausing for a second, as if absorbing his surroundings, inhaling the scent of alcohol, the dazai's cologne in the air and the wood under his nose. Something familiar. As Odasaku approached, Dazai's interest focused on the man, leaving aside the well-dressed figure who was rummaging through the counter, looking for utensils to dust. The service wasn't very interesting; on the contrary, it was the same as what the old waiter used to do. “Mono, can you serve me another one of these?” Odasaku nodded slightly, with his usual calmness, which was also reciprocated with a chaste nod. Dazai just followed the nameless waiter's movement, light but still restrained, like water swirling around in a bottle, light but still malleable and slippery. He ignored it for the moment. It seemed better than trying to decipher the puzzle with the missing pieces. “Mono… Isn't it?” “What's it like?” Odasaku slowed his steps, his eyes now focused on Osamu, who stared up at the cloudy Yokohama sky with nothing but his one brown eye, brown obscured by the darkness of the night. “That girl, in the bar” To Odasaku, his question seemed timid, but in reality, Osamu just didn't have the words to describe the figure in the bar, the person who had a slight countenance, slippery attitudes and tense movements, as if that body didn't even belong to her. She was in the process of adapting to his own skin. “Do you know her?” “Ah…” Comprehension struck Odasaku, the edge of his gaze left Osamu and he began to appreciate the cityscape, not with admiration, but contentment ”I've only seen it a few times, three I think, it's a mystery even to the owner.” “I didn't know that bars hired minors,” he laughed acidly, purely out of hypocrisy. “I don't think that's the case,” Odasaku shrugged. “Are you saying that Mono is one of those people who has only grown up mentally, but is still minuscule? Like Chuuya…” he meditated with his index finger raised, somewhat bemused. An understanding hum escaped the man, his hands buried in his pockets. “I think her case is a little more complex,” was the only plausible answer he gave Dazai as they walked back down the gloomy alley together.

#1 day of socializing

His strides were a little more lively, but still at a meek pace, perhaps due to the curiosity energizing his cold bones, the mythical mystery making him feel a little more heated, Osamu had a sadism for things he didn't know, perhaps it brought out his investigative side. In any case, Osamu soon sat down, fingering the counter with his long fingers, which tinkled in a soft thud on the wood, like a bird's walk. His silent scandal was more than enough to get Mono's attention. Tec, tec, tec… Tec… “Good evening, how can I…” Mono paused in her words when she noticed the familiar figure, although she hadn't been involved before, she paid attention to the man's silhouette, after all, hardly anyone with Osamu's profile would go unnoticed among people. Mono's gaze fell on Osamu's bandaged eye, as if she was trying to look him in the eye that was missing. Mono's gaze was not the most receptive, it was pleasant for her trade, but anywhere else her gaze would be described as “distant” or “lost”. Osamu felt that he could drown if he delved any deeper into her taciturn eyes, a place, he didn't know where, but as dark as velvet, so dense that it would suffocate him to death. Osamu's pupils dilated. “One dose,” an amused smile stretched across his lips. A moment of silence adorned the air, as if fullness reigned in the hearts of alcoholics, Osamu usually drank more than once a week, so one more dose during a Wednesday would be nothing, perhaps it would help him forget the cut in the palm of his bandaged hand. The gauze had a bloodstain that stretched across his palm, but the blood was dry and hard as cement. If he said it didn't hurt, he'd be blatantly lying to himself. Dazai will need more than a sore hand to satisfy his curiosity. He just needs a few splinters… a few pieces, to get to the treasure. “I've never seen you around here” He intrudes on Mono's thoughts, the shelf where they kept the still-sealed bottles was at the other end of the counter, making her look up from her shoulder ”Forgive me, am I getting in the way?” Osamu knows he is, but he's counting on his obedient dog talk to give him some assistance in prolonging the conversation. “Not at all, sir.” After a few seconds processing the break in the silence, Mono meditated, still oblivious to the conversation. “Sir?” Osamu repeated with disgust, an obvious wrinkle forming at the corner of his nose from the nausea “You see, I'm not that older” he sneered. “So…” With her attention still on the shelves, she meditated with her index finger under her lower lip, evidently distracted “what should I call you?” “Dazai” He said slowly, as if Mono needed to catch every syllable of his valuable name ‘Osamu Dazai, that's what I want you to call me’. For the first time in a while, she turned to look at him, with a bottle of Johnnie Walker in hand, opening it and pouring it into Osamu's glass, making the ice crackle loudly. “As you wish, Mr. Dazai” He nodded without blinking.

#2 day of socializing

“Is that really your name?” Dazai asked casually, like a classmate, before borrowing his materials. Not really caring, just trying to get what he wanted, before returning to his own seat in the classroom. “Hm?” She hummed with her mouth, flipping through the notebook on the counter. This time, Mono had put herself in a customer position, the older barista now being Osamu's waiter, while she, scribbling on the slightly dirty pages with a pen that Dazai had lent her, from the pocket of his overcoat. “Your name,” Dazai repeated. “But… you know my name.” Mono replied, still in his impartial but confused self. One thing Osamu had learned about the girl was that her compliant personality would give him any information he wanted, all he had to do was poke at it until it came out. 'Ah, if only all the enemies of the port mafia were like that…' he thought, almost letting out a weak sigh at the thought. “I know that's your trade name, I want to know the real one” He dispelled the girl's argument. Dazai lowered his eyes to look at the notebook in her hand, now having a clearer view of the text “And it's wrong here, correct it”. “A-ah… Right” Dazai didn't go to school, so he wondered if all students had grammar failures to the point of getting simple elements of spelling wrong. For a moment, he allowed himself to wonder what it was like, although he could say that his interest in going to school was nil, or too small. He couldn't understand the appeal of the environment, the people… It all seemed like such a bored. “Here too” Dazai interrupted the girl's train of thought, pressing his index finger on the flawed words, making her fixate on his commands ‘and… Here’. A brief hum in agreement was what Osamu received, not that he was complaining, it would potentially be harder to tolerate if she questioned his corrections, so for now his loud hum was enough. “Here too” Gently he exhaled the air from his lungs, one elbow resting on the counter and his left arm holding an already empty glass, Osamu squinted his eyes a little "let me see this". “I don't think you need it,” she said, but even reluctantly, she handed the notebook to Osamu, who took it with a light hand, light as a feather ”it's strange to have someone so young teaching me…” She admitted with a little shame in his tone. Osamu ignored his humble confession and focused on the text, and damn, was he surprised. As he read on, the gap between his eyebrows gradually narrowed, it wasn't easy to take him by surprise, but he was honestly shocked by some of the things he read. “Shit, are you sure you're going to school? There's some pretty tense stuff here…” He criticized, not with his usual mockery, but in unpleasant surprise, “You should do some supplementary lessons, if you must know, Miss… [Name]?”. The sound of her name coming from Dazai's bold lips was the trigger for her to take the notebook from his hands, a little resentfully, hugging him as if her life depended on it. Dazai had his long-awaited moment at last. It made him smile slightly. “[Name] Tamagawa… Is that really your name? Well, it must be…” he said to himself, more to himself than to the girl next to him "It's in your notebook, after all". Her name echoed in his head like a loop, as if he were trying to memorize it so he wouldn't forget it. She took a deep breath, a little bent over the counter, either from tiredness or embarrassment. “Yeah, that's my name, actually,” she muttered quietly, receiving an appraising look from Dazai, something in a limbo between curiosity and unfounded contempt, but moreover contained with an almost sick admiration for knowing more and more about his newest bartender.

#3 days of socializing :

“Getting somewhere”

Dazai hadn't been to the bar for the last week, it was nice for a change, although he was tired from his occupations within the Port Mafia, he was still typing his report, not far ahead, Chuuya was dipping the fries in the ketchup with little or no mercy, if they were alive they would be crying for help, their throats sore from screaming, while their failing vocal cords were gradually losing their timbre, just like the traitors he… His thoughts dissipated when he noticed the young waitress arriving with a tray, possibly the same age as him, with a single cup of strawberry milk shake. Mr.Mori would be screaming seeing all that extra whipped cream and sugar sprinkled on his cup.

“Sorry it took so long,” she laughed lightly, setting the glass down carefully. “Don't worry about it” A gallant smile swept across her sullen expression, leaving the girl somewhat embarrassed before she left. Chuuya couldn't help rolling her eyes, but refrained from words. “Why the hell am I still here? Don't you think I have better things to do?” Chuuya complained, still devouring the potatoes from his portion, to which Osamu responded with silence and the sound of his mug swirling the sugary drink. “You're a key element in my mission,” he said with a cocky tone, ”no wonder you're doing my security.” “That's ridiculous, you don't even need security,” he grumbled in return. “I'll take that as a compliment” “Far from it!” “Look” He threw some unopened cards in the redhead's direction, with a total lack of care. “Watch where you throw those things!” He snorted nonetheless, picking them up and opening them to see the contents, something that took him by surprise. Had he been a little more sensitive, he feared he would have felt like vomiting. The photographs were nothing more than scenes from horror movies. The bodies of old mafia members tainted like animals, the murders not brutally maniacal in intent, but quick damage to kill them as quickly as possible. Fatal damage, but sloppy nonetheless. “Our killer has just started in the profession” Chuuya scrolled through the photos, looking at them one by one, each scene more distorted than the next. “These must have been high-ranking members, some of them were even Mrs. Kouyo's security guards.” A thoughtful murmur escaped Chuuya. “And what exactly are you planning to prove with that, asshole? All we have are these disgusting photos, there's nothing to give us any clues about our killer.” Chuuya tossed the photos back to Osamu, who let out a murmur of approval. “We've got some additional damage, look closely, there's something on the ground here” He pointed at Chuuya, who noticed well enough to identify a slimy, milky liquid on the walls of the alley in which the photograph was taken, scraps of skin on the ground and traces of dried blood, as if someone had cut open a dead animal with such a violation during the crime scene. “It doesn't make sense, the bodies have without any kind of dismemberment…” Chuuya's fist was under his chin, giving him a thoughtful posture. His countenance held a troubled confusion. “I know,” Dazai confirmed, now giving priority to the cityscape outside the window, the diner overlooked a street of busy cars, and at the end of the street, a hospital with little traffic ”The chief was at the corpse inspections and took some samples of that disgusting stuff on the walls…” “É?” “The genetic material doesn't match any of our agents.” Dazai concluded, with an impassive face, something Chuuya hated more than seeing any arrogant sentiment on the bastard's face, it was seeing nothing, simply the emptiness that left open his innermost, grotesque self. But before she could sink into the emptiness of Dazai's apathetic expression, his countenance began to move again, like a doll haunted by some evil spirit. “Which gives us room for interpretation” “And they would be…?” One of Dazai's fingers went up: “We're dealing with a self-mutilator, but the cause of his actions is still a mystery” another finger went up, forming a V “the second would be that the killer catches them at unassuming and opportune moments, disappearing with the victims' partners and leaving only Mafia agents” “Which would imply that the killer knew the faces of our men,” Chuuya added. “Exactly, that indicates that we may be dealing with a traitor” Dazai mused. Chuuya took on a stern, tense expression. Another finger rose in the air, now making the air a little less breathable for Chuuya, the idea of a third hypothesis making him alarmed. “And the third assumption was made by the boss, I disbelieve it, but there's still a possibility” Chuuya waited in silence for Osamu's revelation, who stared at him with his eyes once again hollow. “We may be dealing with a skill user”

thank u for read <3