#but when i see him i get all cold and nervous and detached

[spocksmalewife]

i'm experiencing a dilemma

[monzabee]

bad idea right? – ln4

masterlist

Summary: The one where seeing Lando tonight is a bad idea, right?

Pairing: lando norris x ricciardo!reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: mentions of breakups and also fighting, cursing, kind of a toxic relationship?, allusion to smut, it's criminal how long it took me to finish this fic

Request: this wasn’t requested, but the idea is veeery loosely from this tiktok right here! (i might def write the scenario in the tiktok in the future though)

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! it has officially been a month since i started my master's programme and i have to say it is absolutely kicking my ass, but thank you all for bearing with me while i adjust! this song has been stuck in my head for the last two-three (?) months and i really wanted to write a fic based on it. i also wanted to say that i've received all of your guys' requests, and i'm working on those, but it's harder for me to get out a request than a fic that just popped in my head because i tend to be more of a perfectionist with those - so, those are definitely on the way, don't worry! i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

It’s not that you don’t like spending time with your brother and his girlfriend – because you do, but considering the fact that spending a mere hour with them causes you to suddenly question your life choices (of being single), you are very eager to leave them alone for the night. Which brings us to the current situation, with you standing in front of your brother’s apartment complex in one of the hoodies you stole from the sample boxes, waiting for someone you should’ve never hit up in the first place. It was probably not your brightest idea to message Lando to ask him if he wants to go for a ride, especially because a) the last time you saw him a year ago the two of you were yelling and throwing things at each other and b) you’re definitely buzzed from the bottle of wine you hogged upstairs. But you know what they say; absence makes the heart go fonder, right?

So there you are with your phone in your hand, texting Lily in hopes of getting the tiniest bit of reassurance about your decision.

To lily m: i texted lando To lily m: he’s gonna pick me up From lily m: WHAT? NO To lily m: seeing him tonight To lily m: it’s a bad idea, right? From lily m: YES From lily m: DO NOT GET INTO THAT CAR To lily m: yes i know that he’s my ex, but can’t two people reconnect?

Fuck it, it’s fine, you decide as you quickly delete the last two messages. With a soft sigh, you wrap your arms around yourself to shield yourself from the cold air of the night. And while you could just wait for Lando inside the apartment building, you really don’t want to attract more attention to yourself. You can feel yourself getting more and more nervous as the minutes pass by, and you even contemplate cancelling the whole thing and going upstairs to sleep. Just as you’re about to give up on the whole thing, a car honk grabs your attention. When turn to look at the source of the sound, you see Lando’s unamused face through the open window.

He motions you to get in with his head, his voice as equally detached as he calls out, “Get in.”

Rolling your eyes at his behaviour, you do as your told. But you tell yourself that it’s not because he told you to, but because you’re cold. And so you get in the car making sure you slam the door as hard as you can, which makes him scowl as a small smile forms on your lips. “You know, you could really try on being more polite.”

“I’m picking you up in the middle of the night,” he points out as he puts the car on drive and starts driving off, “and put your damn seatbelt on.”

You give him a sideway glance as you put on your seatbelt, letting out a sigh, “Are you okay? I’m sensing some serious undertone.”  

Lando doesn’t answer you, mainly because he is smarter than he looks and he knows you’re trying to goad him into another fight. That’s what the two of you had always done, not that he hated you or vice versa, but the two of you mainly got along in fights which ended up in both of you twisted between the sheets of the whatever hotel you were currently staying in. And it had worked for a while, until of course it didn’t, and Lando was mature enough to admit that he had a huge role in fucking up your relationship.

“You changed your car,” you point out.

“Thought you’d appreciate a roof over your head this time,” he replies.

The car is silent as Lando drives down the now empty streets of Monte Carlo, and you find yourself involuntarily checking out his side profile because well, he always looked so good while driving. You suppose it’s only one of the things that didn’t change with time.

“So,” his voice draws you out from your thoughts, “why’d you call me tonight? Are you drunk?”

“I am not drunk,” you scoff, crossing your arms across your chest, “if you don’t feel like being here Lando, I can just get off and go home.”

“Now I didn’t say that, I simply asked a question.” He steals another glance at you, but this time a little smirk forms on his lips when your eyes meet and he sees your scowl. “It was a harmless question, really.”

Your voice comes off as clipped as you answer, “I’m not drunk.”

“Your cheeks are red,” Lando points out but the playfulness from mere seconds ago is gone, in fact, he’s more serious than you’ve probably ever seen him, “you either had wine or your rosacea is acting up.”

It takes a moment for you to take in his words, and there is no humour in his voice or on his face when you look at him to see whether he’s joking or not. “I had some wine,” you confess, voice much lower than before as you add, “but I’m not drunk.” One of his eyebrows rise up, and you find yourself mumbling, “Fine maybe a little bit, but not a lot.”

His jaw ticks as he mumbles, “Okay, whatever you say.” And as you try to assess whether his voice is cold or not, you see his hands tightening around the steering wheel.

“What?” You ask, a bit quicker than necessary (in your opinion), “What did I say?”

Now it’s his turn for his voice to be clipped, and his eyebrows furrow as he asks, “Did you only call me because you’re drunk?”

“No,” your reply is truthful to some extent, you suppose, you would’ve texted him even if you had no alcohol in your system. “I wanted to see you.”

He lets out a hum, “Why?”

It’s a hard question, and you contemplate not being a hundred percent honest – but deep down you know he deserves better, even if you had your differences. So, to reveal the truth, you turn your face away from him to look outside the window, “I missed you.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you don’t turn to see what his reaction will be. Everything is peaceful for a moment.

He takes you to a hill, the very one he took you for your first date. Though, it doesn’t carry the same excitement this time around. The two of you remain in the car with the windows rolled down, but the colder air doesn’t make you chilly. It’s silent, but it’s not an uncomfortable one. Neither of you make the first move to start a conversation, and you don’t know if that’s because you’re both obstinate or he doesn’t want to be there. Though, you suspect he would’ve told you ‘no’ if he didn’t want to be there – not that he could ever tell you ‘no’.

It's unnaturally hard, you realise, not looking at him on purpose when he’s seated so close to you. Especially because you haven’t seen him in months. Not that you’d confess that to him, or let yourself have another weak moment where you say you missed him. Because you can’t. Because it’s not the way the two of you operate. Because he broke your heart but you’re not strong enough to let him go. With that last thought, you take a sharp breath, undo your seatbelt and get out of the car. You lean against the hood of the car and he soon follows suit. But where your hands are splayed behind your back, his arms are crossed over his chest.

“You’ve not been sleeping.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. Because he is not dumb (or blind enough) to let the circles under your eyes slide.

And it’s a statement that might be true. You only give him half of a shrug, “So?”

“It means that something is bothering you.” You’re about to object, but he quickly shuts you down, “I once drove you around for four hours so you could sleep in my car, honey,” his fingers move to gently turn your chin towards him so he can look into your eyes, “and that was because you forgot to bring me back junk food from Australia.”

Even if you’re taken aback by his physical touch, you don’t show it as you stubbornly maintain your eye contact. “It’s the jet lag, I haven’t travelled in a while.” You gulp down a breath as you gently push his hand away, “And don’t call me that.”

“Why?” He turns his body to face you, “You’re just as sweet, aren’t you?”

“Lando,” you warn him, “don’t.”

He raises a brow, “Why not?”

“Because we’re friends,” your response comes off in an instant, “I only see you as a friend.” The biggest lie you’ve ever said.

“Friends,” he repeats, tests out the word, then shrugs, “sure. Now tell me what happened tonight that made you call me. Did you and Daniel fight?”

“What?” an involuntary laugh leaves your lips, and you catch the corner of his lips turning upwards just the smallest bit. “No, we didn’t, it’s not about Daniel. Can we just not talk about it, please?”

He gives you a firm nod, and you catch his grimace as he turns his attention back to the view in front of you. “You can tell me, you know,” he mumbles, “you used to.”

He’s right, you realise. You used to tell him all the little thought that popped into your head, whether it was nice or not, and he’d accommodated your thoughts. It was easier to talk to him, once upon a time, and you’re not really sure why it hurts so much right now that you can’t.

“Why do you care?” The question comes out quickly, and your voice is not as strong as you’d like it to be. “After everything, why do you care?”

“We’re friends, right?” The words tastes unbelievably sour in his mouth, and he has to restrain himself from making any sort of face, but it seems harder than it actually is for him to do and he questions whether it is worth it to

“Friends,” this time it’s your turn to test out the word, and it tastes as bitter as they come, “sure, can we ride around a bit more?”

“Fine,” he gives you a nod and motions you to get in the car, “but I have to get gas first.”

The fluorescent lighting of the gas station is definitely not the most flattering thing. So much so that you’re sure the unflattering light outside is exaggerating the bags under your eyes. But that situation of course doesn’t apply to Lando because even under the harsh lighting, he looks too pretty. And compared to earlier in the night, you don’t try to hide the way your eyes focus on him while he’s driving, though you hope you do a much better job at hiding the thoughts that come to your mind. Even after he’s parked the car in the nearest pump, you find yourself staring at his side profile a bit too long, which earns you a sideway smirk and you try your hardest not to react, but the smile you keep trying to fight is too strong and eventually you find yourself with the tiniest smile playing on your lips.

Lando turns towards you, meets your eyes and leans over the console, “Do you want anything from the shop?”

You blink once, trying to come up with anything, twice, then “Can you get me those gummy bears that I like?”

He gives you another nod, reaches into his pocket and then hand you his phone. Ignoring your questioning stare, he explains, “So that you can play music or something, the password is still the same.” Before he gets out of the car, he does the unexpected and leans in just a little bit more to press a feather-light kiss to your temple.

You watch him get out of the car and walk away from you with your mouth slightly hanging open. You contemplate trying to unlock the phone, because why would he tell you that his password is the same? And why would he trust you with his phone when the two of you have been broken up for over a year? With shaky hands, your fingers put in the password, calling Lando’s bluff. Oh shit, you think when the phone unlocks, now what? Throwing the phone out of your hands onto the driver seat, you grab your own and quickly type a new message to Kika, who of course got the news from Lily and has been blowing up your phone, while ignoring her dozen other messages who went unread in your text thread.

To kika: this was a bad idea kika Tokika: a very *very* bad idea From kika: please tell me you’re going home To kika: um… To kika: sure From kika: GET OUT OF THAT CAR AND GET YOUR ASS HOME From kika: NOW!!

Chewing on your lower lip, your eyes linger on the messages spamming your phone, and you contemplate just getting out of the car and trying to find your way back home. But you also can’t help yourself but think… what’s the worst that could happen if you stayed? Clicking the button on the side of your phone, you place it face down on your lap after making sure you silence it for the rest of the night. With the reminder of the abandoned phone on the seat next to yours, you open your window to let some of the night air in. As your phone keeps buzzing on your lap, your eyes focus on the figure that comes out of the convenience store – and by some grace of God, he doesn’t realise the way your eyes basically undress him as he approaches his McLaren.

There’s no smile on his face, in fact, if you didn’t know Lando, you’d say he looks like an asshole; not that he occasionally doesn’t act like one. He gives you that boyish smirk when he’s next to your window, signalling you to roll it down by tapping on it twice. Lando leans against the car, his eyes locked onto yours. “Got your gummy bears,” he says, holding up the package and handing it to you once you roll it down. “It was the last one too, you’re lucky.”

Giving a tight lipped smile to the man looking expectantly at you, you accept the packet of gummy bears. “Thank you, Lando,” the softening look in his eyes is, ironically, strong enough for you to choke on the next words that are on the tip of your tongue. “I–”

“I’m sorry to bother you, are you Lando Norris?” A third voice interrupts you, and you find yourself moving your gaze from Lando to the woman who’s excitedly waiting for a response.

“Yes,” he breathes out, and you can tell he’s trying to keep his voice polite but he’s also very annoyed at the same time – though the way he eyes up the stranger definitely makes your blood boil.

With his attention on the woman, you find yourself feel the tension in the air and quickly look down at the packet of gummy bears in your hands. You start absentmindedly picking at the wrapper, your mind racing with a mixture of emotions. As the conversation between Lando and the fan continues, you steal glances at them from the corner of your eye. She's gushing about a recent race, talking animatedly about the thrilling moments she witnessed. Lando, for his part, is gracious and engaged, taking the time to listen and respond. And despite the polite exchange, you can't help but feel a pang of jealousy. It's a reminder of the world he's a part of, a world where fans approach him with admiration and excitement. A world you used to share, but now only observe from the sidelines.

You watch the woman place her hand on Lando’s bicep, laughing at a (rather mediocre) joke he made about the understeer of the car. It’s not a funny joke by any means, and you are not scared to admit that the woman’s laugh that fills your ears makes your insides twist uncomfortably. You remind yourself that you're here by choice. You could have left at any moment. But there's something about this night, about being with Lando again, that you can't quite let go of. It's a confusing mix of nostalgia and longing, wrapped in a blanket of uncertainty.

The woman’s voice hits your ears as you hear her ask, “Do you want to come back to my place?”

Without letting them both know that you’re actively listening into their conversation, you attempt to subtly let out a warning cough, but Lando covertly smirks as he leans towards the car with his hand grabbing the lowered window – without caring about the possible finger prints he might leave behind, might you add. Without any hesitation, you let your fingers go of the packaging to thread your fingers with his.

While his thumb gently starts to draw circles on the knuckle of your thumb, he does his best to supress the chuckle building up in his throat. “That’s, um, very kind – but I’m with my girl, you see, and we are both pretty tired.”

Maybe you would’ve given her a friendly smile over a misunderstanding if you were in a better mood, but as the woman looks at you with wild eyes, all you can offer her is an annoyed pout, and soon after she leaves after apologising to you both for interrupting your plans. You watch her leave until there is a good enough distance for her to not hear you, and then turn to Lando and give him a glare as you hiss, “I am not ‘your girl’.”

He finally lets out the chuckle he’s been holding as he watches you letting go of his hand with an exaggerated push, and then diverts his amused eyes towards you, “Sure, whatever you say, jealous girl.”

“I am not– I wasn’t jealous!” you exclaim, eyes narrowed. When he starts walking towards the driver’s side, you can’t help but call out, “I’m not jealous!”

Lando is still chuckling to himself when he gets in the car, and even as he starts driving, completely ignoring your whining complaints. “That’s alright, honey,” he says, voice full of condescension, “it was very cute.”

“You are an ass.” You roll your eyes as you cross your arms across your chest. “Maybe I should’ve gotten off when I had the chance, that way you could’ve fucked her in the back seat.”

“Bold of you assume she’s the one I’d want to fuck in my back seat,” he raises an eyebrow, then shrugs “but sure.”

Your face scrunches up in disgust, “You’re, ugh, you’re just the worst, Lando.” Shaking your head in disbelief, you add, “I can’t believe I’m arguing with you over you fucking girls in your car.”

Lando manages to get out a disapproving tut, and then contends, “I never said I’d fuck girls in my car, I’d said I’d rather fuck you in my car.”

Completely baffled by this revelation, not that you should’ve been, you turn to him in disgust, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He shrugs again, noncommittally, and without paying you any mind continues to focus on the road.

“Well,” you laugh, breathlessly, “good thing that’s never happening.” Gently clearing your throat, you later can’t help yourself but add a silent, “Again.”

“If you’d rather a bed, that could also be arranged, honey.” Lando assures you, and you realise the little fucker has a smirk growing on his face.

“As if I’d sleep with you willingly,” you scoff.

A boisterous laugh is what you get from Lando, who tilts his head towards you, “Come on, I’m a good-looking bloke.”

“And I’m sure I’ve seen much hotter man,” you sing, but you just can’t remember when. So deciding to block out what Lando is rambling about, you pull out your phone to message someone who has the answer for you.

To lily m + kika: can you tell me someone who is hotter than lando? From lily m: alex From kika: pierre To lily m + kika: ew, be serious please From kika: what about the guy with the accent, from hungary? From lily m: the doctor? To lily m + kika: i think she meant the reporter From lily m: god no he was a creep From lily m: what about the surfer? From kika: oh yeah he was cute too To lily m + kika: i need someone hot, pleaseee From lily m: THE MODEL FROM MILAN From kika: WITH THE ABS From kika: and also porche From lily m: BUT ALSO THE ABS To lily m + kika: okay thanks To lily m + kika: love you guys

Getting lost in the conversation, with the aid of your ambition to prove yourself right and, naturally, Lando wrong, you don’t realise that he’s actually driven you back to his apartment instead of a bar or literally some other place that sells alcohol in that ungodly hour.

“This isn’t a bar.” You point out, eyebrows furrowed.

Lando dignifies your comment with a scoff, “Well aren’t you quite the detective?”

Crossing your arms across your chest, you basically hiss at him this time, “This is basically kidnapping.”

Lando glances at you, a playful glint in his eyes. “Kidnapping? Really? I thought we were just catching up.”

You shoot him a sarcastic look, but can't help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “Yeah, sure. Catching up in the middle of the night at your place.”

He parks the car and turns to face you, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Well, here’s my proposal. I’ll go to my apartment and you’re free to either join me or drive my car back to Daniel’s – I’ll come pick it up tomorrow.”

You hesitate for a moment, considering your options as you watch Lando give you an assuring smile and handing you the keys before getting out of the car. Going back to your brother's place doesn't sound all that appealing, and Lando's offer, as questionable and a bad idea as it may be, seems like the lesser of two evils. Though, there is also the reality that if when you go up to his apartment, you’re probably going to do something that either you or your friends will regret tomorrow morning. Watching Lando’s retreating figure move further into the apartment building, you think, fuck it, it’s fine.

So, you wait for a few minutes, anxiously twirling the car keys in your hand to make him wait – but you’re pretty sure it makes you suffer just as much. You take a deep breath, exhale slowly, and then climb out of the car. Locking it behind you, you follow Lando into the building. The familiar scent of his cologne hits you as you step into the elevator, and a wave of nostalgia washes over you. The elevator ride going up to the second floor is pure torture, and it leaves you squirming in your place the whole time. Basically throwing yourself out of the elevator once it lands on the second floor, you realise that Lando has been waiting for you, standing and smiling at his door.

He gives you a teasing look as you approach, clearly amused by your slightly dishevelled state. “Took you long enough,” he remarks, unlocking the door and holding it open for you. But instead of saying anything or retorting back, you quietly follow him inside his apartment. Lando closes the door behind you, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment. The dim lighting casts a soft glow, creating an intimate atmosphere. The first thing that catches your eye is the helmet collection he keeps in the living room. Without saying anything, you quickly make your way over to the shelves that display the helmets, trying your best to avoid his approaching footsteps behind you. The familiar design of a particular helmet has you instinctively tracing the number at the top, and the arms that hug your waist from behind makes you freeze for a moment. Lando's touch is both familiar and foreign, stirring up a mix of emotions you thought were long buried.

“That's from Monza, 2021,” he says, his voice close to your ear. The warmth of his breath sends a shiver down your spine.

You clear your throat, attempting to regain composure. “I remember,” you reply, your fingers still lingering on the helmet.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The weight of the past and the uncertainty of the present hangs in the air. Lando breaks the silence, his voice low and measured. “I wasn't sure you'd actually come up.”

You turn to face him, meeting his gaze, but don’t attempt getting out of his arms. “I didn't think so either.”

Without breaking eye contact, he slowly leans in, his lips brushing against yours. It's a tentative touch, a testing of waters, and you find yourself responding to the familiarity of the kiss. The taste of the past lingers, and for a moment, it's as if the years haven't passed. But reality crashes back in, and you pull away, the distance now a necessary boundary. Lando looks at you, a mix of emotions playing on his face. There's longing, regret, and an unspoken acknowledgment of the complexities that bind you.

“I thought we could just catch up,” he says, his tone a mix of apology and yearning.

You turn in your place, facing him. “Catching up was never our strong suit, was it?”

“Not really,” Lando shakes his head, “no.”

You bite down on the corner of your lip, threading your fingers through his curls as you pull his face down to meet yours as you rise on your tiptoes, “It’s a bad idea, right?”

Lando lets out a supportive hum as he lets his lips softly brush against yours, “The worst.” And maybe he should have been the gentleman and pull away, but when he sees your eyes closing, he just leans in further to press his lips against yours – and the way you respond to his kiss? It's as if the world outside ceases to exist. The kiss deepens, each brush of his lips against yours reigniting a long-buried flame. Lando's hands find their way to the small of your back, pulling you closer, erasing the physical space between you.

You don’t complain as he pulls you towards his bedroom, or when he gently throws you on his bed, the anticipation hanging thick in the air. As he hovers over you, the weight of the past and the intensity of the present converge. His hands trace the contours of your face, memorizing every curve as if committing it to memory. And when the two of you get lost between each other within his sheets, the only thing that ends up coming from your mouth is either his name, or some sort of encouragement to keep him going. After he manages to wear you out, Lando decides that you’re definitely not going anywhere as he wraps you in his arms around you. The room is filled with the soft sounds of breaths syncing, hearts beating in tandem. Lando's fingers draw absent patterns on your skin while you check the messages that have accumulated in your phone. The glow of your phone illuminates the dim room, creating a subtle contrast to the warmth that envelops you. Lando's presence beside you adds an extra layer of comfort, a silent acknowledgment of the shared intimacy that unfolded moments ago.

From danny: please tell me you didn’t get kidnapped by the organ mafia From danny: wink twice if you’re alive From danny: this is not funny, where are you? From danny: fine i’ll ask alex to ask lily

Rolling  your eyes before sending him a text to let your brother know you’re okay, you decide to turn your attention to the group chat with Lily and Kika.

From kika: did you get home safe? From lily m: daniel is pretty stressed about it From lily m: please for the love of god tell us you’re home and not with lando right now To lily m + kika: omg just calm down i’m in bed To lily m + kika: and i’m going to sleep To lily m + kika: love you guys

You catch a glimpse of Lando’s grin over your shoulder as you click your phone off, but he only chuckles as he buries his face into your neck as he leaves small kisses to the skin there. “Well, I’m not lying, I just didn’t specify where I was.”

“Or in whose sheets,” his laugher gets louder as you jokingly slap him on the arm, “go to sleep, honey, we’ll be tired in the morning.”

And it might’ve been a bad idea to message him in the first place, but it certainly doesn’t feel like one.

[criminalskies]

Hi Rome! I hope you're well 😊

Would you be able to write something about reader constantly trying to snuggle up with Aaron because they just love how warm and affectionate he is with them? They love that only they get to see this side of him and it makes them feel so so special. And Aaron loves the physical contact and the fact that he's not always the one trying to initiate it. He loves that they want him just as much as he wants them<3.

I think Aaron's love language is definitely physical touch once he's comfortable in a relationship ❤️.

Hi Sweetheart! I am so honoured to write this for you. I love this fic so much now!! Also I can only hope this fills the prompt for you <3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader. 

Word Count: 4.7k 

Warnings: Aaron is a nervous MESS. This is enough fluff to kill a family of four. Mentions of sad moments in Aaron’s childhood, also, Jack doesn’t exist here. Not well proof-read.

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When the spark lit the fuse.

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Aaron Hotchner had been in love before, he’d had his fair share of dates in high school with one milkshake and two straws, he’s cared for a handful of people enough to watch over them, offer them his jacket when they looked cold. He’s even been married before, he’s loved someone deeply enough to stand up in front of everyone in both of their lives and devote himself to this person, forever. Of course, it turned out their ‘forever’ was cut short. But in any case, Aaron Hotchner swears up and down that he has been in love before, he’s experienced love before, so why does it all feel so different with you? 

Looking back on all his years of dating and courtship and marriage, he sees now that those were all a more distant kind of love. Touchless. A game of push and pull with very little actual contact ever made. He had a partner, a lover, but never someone by his side. They always moved in sync, but never in tandem. That’s what’s been different with y/n, he supposes. 

It wasn’t an overnight change, for Aaron Hotchner to go from a man who would reach out and hold your hand if the setting was appropriate and you seemed to really need his support. He’s always been shy in showing his affections, particularly in front of those he holds close. Maybe that was his father’s influence, always rousing at him to detach himself from his parents. Even going as far as to send him to boarding school because Aaron was too quick to seek his mother’s comfort for a boy his age. ‘For a man’ As he was so-called. He was fourteen. 

In any case, Aaron’s always been all too careful with when and where he shows his affections. He can’t pinpoint exactly when or where you were able to tear down those deep-seated insecurities and shames of his, but you did it. 

It all goes back to before you even asked Aaron out. That’s right, you asked him. Yet another reason his journey with you has been in stark difference to the dyssynchronous relationships he’d previously held so close, he wasn’t the only one putting himself out there. He wasn’t the only one taking steps to be closer to you, each step he took, he found that you had taken a great stride to meet him in the middle. He had never had someone match him each time he tried to deepen his relationships, let alone to have someone else taking the steps first. 

But,  before you asked him out and changed his way of living and loving forever, you were just a bright spark in Aaron’s dark days. You worked the reception desk at Quantico’s FBI field office, you saw the tired, dreary faces of every agent that walked in and out of the building’s doors morning and night. You took your position very seriously, offering each dreary agent a bright smile as you greet them each day. Aaron couldn’t help but notice you, like a moth to a flame, each morning after peeling himself out of his bed, he would run on autopilot, styling his hair, shaving, picking out a tie, packing himself a sandwich he probably won’t touch for lunch. It was all done without so much as a moment’s consideration, until he reached the tall doors at the front of the building. He suddenly becomes all too aware of the fact that he may have coffee breath, and his hair at the crown of his head is sticking out in every direction as he catches his reflection in the glass. He straightens his tie, smooths down the lapels of his collar and tries desperately to remember how exactly one pulls their mouth into a natural looking smile. Dear god, you make him so frazzled he even forgets how to act like a person. 

All of his efforts to prepare for his fourteen foot walk to the elevator doors are never enough to stop your warm “Good Morning, Agent Hotchner!” from drawing all the air he was once capable of holding in his lungs - out of his mouth, jaw hanging slack where it once sat tightly drawn. He manages to draw in enough air for a rather strangled “g’morning.” as he presses the elevator button. 

He raps his fingers against the handle of his briefcase as he eagerly awaits the metalling pang of his exit strategy arriving. He doesn’t hear you swiftly springing out of your seat and bounding around the desk over to him until he swears he can see the haze of your halo appear in the reflection of the steel doors beside him. He turns to look at you, partly in shock and partly because he really can’t help himself from stealing another look at you at every opportunity. 

“Sorry, Agent. You just have, um. Here. Let me get this.” You lay a warm hand on his chest as you take his tie in your other one, using your nail to try to pick off what must be toothpaste off the sleek black fabric. Aaron feels a churning heat rising from his chest up his pulsepoint on his neck and spreading into his cheeks as attention is brought to the burning sensation of your hand against his hammering heart. 

That was the first of a hundred small moments the two of you shared, in which your hands found a home against Aaron's body and his whole world became set in motion. Of course, he knew deep down that the Earth had been turning for billions of years before your soft hands barely caressed his skin and set his nerve endings on fire. Rationally, he knows that, but it’s like he’s experienced so much in his lifetime, it isn’t until your body makes contact with his own that he begins to feel the world around him. 

It wasn’t long before Aaron began yearning for more of your delicate touches. He still denies to this day that he started planting feathers in his hair or roughing up his tie before setting foot into Quantico each morning. Of course he wouldn’t intentionally smudge some of his morning oatmeal on his lapel so that you would lead him by the arm behind your desk to the sink and dab it out of the fabric for him. The highly regarded, frankly, very busy SSA Aaron Hotchner would never spend time in his parked car scrubbing his rough hands over his own eyebrows, trying to get the long hairs to sit scraggly against his stern brow. That’s just preposterous. Ridiculous. As ridiculous as the way time would come grinding to a halt as you’d set your gaze on the scraggly brows in question, moving your eyes down to look into the swirling pools of chocolate and honey gazing back at you. Aaron would feel the flicker of a thousand nerves lighting up over his scalp as you brush down his angry brows with your thumbs, your other fingertips finding a home on his temples for stability. 

When you finally did ask Aaron out, he was so wonderstruck your bottom lip actually darted out in a sort of tearful pout, thinking he was rejecting you or that you had embarrassed yourself and misread all of his lingering stares and increasingly radiant smiles he cast your way each morning. Thinking you had just imagined the regret in his voice each night he said goodbye, you thought he had been sad to leave you. Wanting to say so much more, but his silence now spoke for itself. You’d been wrong. 

Aaron felt so frozen in his own body as his every impulse to tell you yes, YES, he would love to go out with you died in his throat, suffocated by the sheer volume of joy coursing through him. As your hand fell from the cuff of his coat you had clung to, and your eyes dart to the ground, turning your head away from him, Aaron manages to regain a skerrick of control over his own body, reaching out a hand to wrap around your bicep, turning you back to him as his cheeks warm and begin migrating towards his ears, making his beloved crows feet appear beside his glistening eyes. Yet again, he denies that there were tears at the notion of someone asking him out, of you asking him out after all this time, but you know what really happened. 

“Y/N, nothing would make me happier.” Aaron’s dry mouth finally regains the ability to work normally. You seemed to now be the one standing in a daze, his hold on your clothed arm still sending the same trickles of lightning throughout your body that Aaron had felt through his own before, each time you’d held onto him. 

As one date turned into many, and weeks spent together bled into months, Aaron could feel himself changing. Growing. You had come into his life and taken the wool from his eyes, showing him what a love can be like when the two of you want to foster and nurture it, carrying it between the two of you through your lives, even as it changes and evolves. The two of you aren’t carrying separate entities alone, but instead your hands are intertwined around something beautiful burning between you. 

Aaron didn’t notice some of the more underlying changes in himself, he knew he could feel and see rays of sunshine warming him from within, he didn’t realize the sun was only able to find him because you had dismantled the walls he had built, that were casting him into darkness all of these years. 

Aaron, however, was not the only one to notice these changes. After a rather successful third date, the two of you had planned a fourth. Sadly, a life of chasing serial killers and child abductors and otherwise scummy members of society got in the way, and Aaron had to reschedule you more than a few times before you two lovebirds finally got to go on another date. You were so excited when Friday night finally came around and Aaron had not been called on another case. You wanted desperately to run into the elevator the minute the clock struck five and pull Aaron by his coat out of the office and into the night, but sadly your coworker was running late to relieve you and take over the front desk. Luckily, Aaron was just as eager to meet you, and he felt ten squinting, profiling eyes on his back as he shut his office door at 5:02. He dropped his briefcase between his shoes to pull on his scarf and his coat before his long legs carried him, gliding down the stairs to the bullpen with a hint of a smile gracing his relaxed features. 

“Hotch, I must be seeing things. Are you actually leaving this place on time for once? Is your office on fire? Did you accidentally forward your snarky email to Dave to Strauss by mistake?” Emily was the first to retort, leaning back in her seat and not trying at all to hide her amusement. 

“No, everything’s fine, Strauss’ contact address in my emails is unmistakable. I learned that lesson years ago. I have some… plans tonight. Can’t be late.” Hotch offered Emily a smirk, quirking his eyebrow up towards his hairline as he ran a hand over his tie. A new tie, Morgan notes. 

“Oooooooh no way. Ain’t no way my man has a date tonight! Aight, bossman. Take that fancy new tie of yours and show your friend a good time.” Derek offered a toothy grin, reaching his fist up for Hotch to bump as he breezes past, still not slowing to make conversation. 

Hotch accepts Derek’s fistbump, much to the younger agent’s surprise, he expected his comments to get under Aaron’s skin more than anything. Hotch makes it a rule never to encourage prying into his personal life, but maybe he’s content enough with said personal life to allow a little prying these days. 

Hotch reaches the elevators, pressing the button for Ground Floor as he offers his bewildered team a wave. 

“Goodnight, agents. Please let me find this unit still in one piece on Monday. Remember to lock the doors when you leave, no parties, and no loud music after nine.” Hotch stepped into the open doors with a smile gracing his features and his team was left in what can only be described as shock.  

“Okay, tell me I’m not hallucinating. Did Hotch leave this place willingly, of his own accord, on time, with a smile on his face and jokes? He’s got jokes all of a sudden?” Emily was blinking slowly as if to clear her vision, at the others who all appeared equally stunned by their boss’s sudden change of habits. 

“He has been in a better mood lately, last week when Penelope kept referring to the previous case notes as ‘the tea’ Hotch made no efforts to correct her. The last time she tried referring to an unsub’s criminal record as their ‘bio’ he looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel trying to stay calm asking her not to call it that.” Spencer chimes in. 

“Hold your horses, pretty boy. Go stake out the South windows in the briefing room and see if you can see our happy camper heading out the front door, I gotta go get babygirl to see this. She’ll never believe me otherwise.” Derek bounced away in a jog towards the batcave, retrieving the BAU’s most renowned gossip monger to delight in their boss’s new developments. Meanwhile JJ, Emily and Spencer moved quickly to the window in the round table room. 

Derek and Penelope just made it in time, Derek pushing Penelope to take longer steps, her stilettos the only thing preventing her from sprinting to the window. The front doors of Quantico swung open, six floors down, a large arm holding them open as two heads of hair, tightly embraced, floated out of the tall doorway. The hand holding the doors is revealed to be their boss’s, holding onto his briefcase and shouldering a larger sage green bag, presumably belonging to the individual who’s seen leaning their head on Aaron’s free shoulder. His arm tightly snaked around their waist as their own arm disappeared under the shielded warmth of his long coat, wrapping around his back in a sort of walking embrace. Despite the awkward angle the team has of the couple six floors below them, they look to be talking animatedly as they walk, Penelope squeals as Aaron presses his lips to his lover’s temple leaving a warm kiss against their skin. 

“How- How?! How long has this been happening? Quick. Profilers, profile! What do we know? Who is this mysterious fallen angel in our midst? Oh my god. We have to go to my lair tonight! I have to track down these star crossed lovers and see how compatible they are and oh! My god-” Garcia is cut off by her own gasp as she sees you and Aaron stop by the car, where he puts your bag in the backseat before bending down on his knee and taking your ankle in his hand, guiding your foot to his thigh where he ties your hanging shoelace. You’re still talking, your hands gesticulating wildly as you recall the events of your day to Aaron, who has long since finished tying your shoe, and is now just watching you talk, still pinned down by your foot, he doesn’t seem to mind one bit. In fact, even from six storeys up, on the opposite side of the carpark, Emily swears she can see a glimmer in her boss’s eyes as he watches his date talking. The lights on the outside of the building behind you, making you look like an angel to him as your ‘halo’ illuminates the signet of the FBI on the face of the building. 

“So this is why he’s been religiously applying chapstick lately. I thought he was just becoming really sensitive to the wind.” JJ offers, Penelope jumping up and down and clapping her hands together in a silent celebration before clutching her necklace in front of her heart.

“He also changed his haircut this month. I have seen that man enter this office on the first Monday of every month with the same high and tight crew cut for like, three years now. This month he kept the top longer, damn we should have seen right through that.” Emily sounds almost disappointed that the team failed to see the lover effect in full force. 

“Hmm, making it easier to grab onto?” Derek asks with a smirk. “My man.” Penelope’s hand comes up to whack the back of Morgan’s head in retort. Spencer stands, looking bewildered by the comment and by the sudden violence. 

“Wait a minute. Do they work in this building? I know that face.” JJ questions.

“Yes! That’s it, they work at the reception desk! They always say good morning even when it’s technically 12:09pm. The worst time, though, they even said good morning to me at 2:35! Must have been having a long day.” Spencer laughs to himself, the rest of the team not finding his exact timekeeping anywhere near as funny as he seems to. 

“Oh boy, I will have to ask them what bossman’s like on a date tomorrow when I come in. This is too good an opportunity to resist. Maybe we can bribe ‘em with a latte from down the street, babygirl we gotta find out how they like their coffee.” Derek wraps an arm around the blonde, trying to appeal to her pro-level social media snooping skills for assistance. 

“He looks happy, guys, like, lovesick puppy level of happy. Maybe we just leave this alone, let them… come to us when they’re ready?” Garcia offers, sounding surprised at her own voice offering to stay out of someone’s business.  

The others all seem to agree with their chirpiest team member that the only way to let Hotch continue being their happy, joking, playful boss is to make sure this person stays in his life, and the best way to do that is by letting them be. Of course, this won’t stop them all from racing towards the South window the next time Hotch leaves work on time, but he can’t exactly punish them for looking, can he?

Things continue in this fashion for a few weeks, and the team marvels each time at the amount of physical affection their boss is comfortably showing in a semi crowded carpark, bustling with agents coming on and off the clock. He’s become less and less shy about letting his arms find home around your waist each time the two of you stroll out of the building. It isn’t until your ninth date was rescheduled for the second time that the team got to see the two of you up close. Aaron’s team was working around the clock to find the source of a classified information leak in a neighboring bureau department. 

You got off work, your smile falling when you saw a text from Aaron that he was probably not making it out of the office at 5, let alone before dawn the next morning. So, you set off to the chinese takeout place a street away to fetch his team some fuel. You got an assortment of mains, sides, chopsticks and cutlery, and a bag so full of drinks you thought the handles would break, sending eight cans of carbonated sugar to explode against the pavement, spraying everywhere. Luckily, you were able to double bag the contents and successfully bring it back to Quantico and up to the sixth floor. 

The elevator doors opened and it was like setting foot inside a life-sized beehive, agents whizzing past you in all directions, manilla folders being passed around and stacked haphazardly on desks where phones rang and rang with no free hands to answer them.

You manage to weave your way through the hustle and bustle and into the bullpen, where you spin around, looking for any familiar face when you spot Aaron and his team in the conference room, blinds half drawn to occlude the whiteboards from sight through the glass. You knock against the door to the conference room with your knee, not having so much as one finger free to knock on the wood. Your heart is racing with the excitement in the room, though, the agents all seem to be radiating a sort of anxious feeling so potent it feels like the air is thick with TV static. The door swings open, revealing a very wrinkled Aaron standing before you. You feel the sharp, anxious twinkle of the static clearing from before your very eyes like fog meeting sunlight as Aaron looks behind you, looking left and right before he smiles at you and pulls you into the conference room, closing the door.

“Sweetheart, what’s going on? Are you alright?” Aaron asks you, placing a hand on each of your shoulders and looking at you to study your face. 

“I’m fine, love! I just thought you guys seem so busy, you could use some dinner.” You raise the bags in each of your hands, seeing Aaron’s frown lines fade and his dimple appear in their absence as he and his whole team smile over at you. Aaron takes the bags from your red hands, surprised to find they’re both so heavy as Morgan clears some space on the roundtable for the food. A wave of ‘thank you’s wash over the room as Dave, Penelope, JJ, Emily, Spencer, Derek and even your Aaron all show you their gratitude at the offering of fresh, hot, food on what was bound to be the longest night they’ve worked in months. Aaron pulled you into his side as the team each introduced themselves to you, shaking your hand excitedly as they all failed miserably to hide the fact that they already knew your name and exactly why you’re here. 

You open all the containers of food, explaining all the options you brought and which ones are meat-free for Penelope and offer each agent a drink with a smile, feeling Aaron’s gentle hand resting on the fall of your shoulder as you hand spencer a knife and fork you got specially for him and Aaron asks you if he can get you a plate ready. The team is starstruck, both at your display of kindness and thoughtfulness for every member of his team, and at how comfortably you seem to fit right against your boss. The two of you are practically joined at the hip, each time Hotch asks you a question his hand finds your knee or your arm or your waist to brush over it and get your attention. After a full minute passes of his hands staying away from your body, you move your wheely chair closer to his, looping your hand under and around his bicep, elbow resting on the armrest of his chair as he engages with a conversation with Reid and Dave regarding how exactly the leak of this information stands to gain anything from it. 

Once Aaron’s scarfed down his plate of food, his free arm lays over the back of your seat, curling around your far shoulder and rubbing there as he checks in with you if any of the information you’re hearing has upset you at all. He offers to find some place to sit alone with you if you’re uncomfortable for another ten minutes or so before he has to go back to the investigation. 

Emily and Penelope are sitting at the opposite side of the table, completely in awe as they watch their boss who’s usually known to move almost like a statue, very calculated and still. If he’s undisturbed long enough he can actually often appear as if he’s not even breathing or blinking when he’s hard at work. But here, he moves so naturally with you. The two of you have a way of reassuring one another without a word that you’re there for the other and you’re okay without so much as making eye contact. 

Garcia audibly gasps when you lean in to place your head on the slant of Hotch’s shoulder, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment as most of his team is engaged in a conversation about the possibility of a team of people being responsible for the leak when Hotch looks down at you, a smile of unbridled adoration donning his face and he cranes his neck to kiss you on the crown of your head. In front of everyone. In the middle of a meeting about an emergent situation, her boss found enough joy in his heart to smile widely and kiss you, while you’re nuzzling your own smile further into his neck. She never thought she’d see the day her compartmentalizing, dedicated to a self-destructive degree boss actually found someone that loves him so freely and so openly that he’s actually comfortable enough to do the same. 

“Garcia, is everything alright?” Aaron asks, Penelope is ashamed that her audible surprise has dragged the happy couple out of their special moment as both of your eyes are blinking back at her, concerned. 

“Everything is just swell, sir. Couldn’t be better, actually.” Penelope smiles, beaming with pride and eyes darting between the two of you. 

“For the record, Garcia. I agree.” Hotch offers his own proud smile and a wink as his voice lowered to a whisper, half of the team not registering the interaction as Spencer was rapidly scanning seven files at once with the wave of his hand, looking for the exact time logs from the door to the evidence storage facility on the nights in question. 

From that one fateful evening onwards, you became a staple attendee at any and all BAU family functions. The team had loved you from the moment they met you, for you had changed their stoic, slave-to-his-desk boss forever. You had changed him slowly and so kindly that he had seen it happening all around him and still didn’t care to question it. 

The whole team, even the young doctor Reid noticed the difference between Aaron and his past partners compared to you. How when you entered the room, Aaron’s hands would start to seek you, and you’d find him, letting him hold onto you. You knew his past experiences had made him paranoid of losing those he loves, and you don’t mind one bit proving to him that you’re still there. They all noticed how whenever you or Aaron laugh at something the group said, your eyes find each other to see the other smiling, feeling free. They all grew to love seeing the two of you moving in the same spaces, your bodies never falling out of step or losing their harmony. No matter how stressful Hotch’s work gets, you can always find a way to soothe his stresses away, with a hand kneading at his shoulders or a gentle thumb grazing against his cheekbone, your hold cradling his face. You made Aaron feel okay with looking possessive, or small and delicate, or just looking like a man in love. You showed him it’s okay to need reassurances and that he’ll never have to be the only one offering them again. 

You’ve shown him a love that burns so brightly he doesn’t mind loving you publicly or in private, loudly or whispered in a longing ear. Aaron Hotchner loves you freely, without restraint. He loves you on your quiet mornings just as he loves you from behind a karaoke mic at a crowded bar. His love for you grew too fast and too beautiful for him to contain it anymore. He will tell you he loves you in every language he can. Because from the first time the two of you made contact, like flint on steel, there’s been a spark. He’s glad you were brave enough to reach out and take hold of it, the two of you keeping it safe, because now the heat from that flame keeps you both warm even on the coldest nights.

tagging: @montyfandomlove , @pastanoodles11 , @ssamorganhotchner, @hotchnerbau , @hotchs-babygirl , @ssa-tahlia-obsessions , @p0ssywhippedcream , @14buddy22 , @elenamoncada-ibarra , @supercriminalbean , @ssaspencerreidswife , @levithestripper , @beehive16,

[praisethesuuun]

Hi. I am not sure if you open the request, but if you open the request, can I ask for NSFW alphabets for our thunder berserker Thor from Record of Ragnarok? Thank you 💕

This big guy is one of the softest out there, I was so happy while writing this❤️hope you like it!

THOR: NSFW ALPHABET

A: aftercare <what they're like after sex>

Thor always, ALWAYS, worry about you: he's a big guy and he knows it. He loves massaging every sore spot on you, then going to get you something to drink, something fresh and cool usually.

B: body part <their favourite body part on them and you>

His favourite part of his are his eyes: he can't ignore the way you get lost in those golden pools, the expression of wonder you have when you look at them makes him feel proud of his appearance. Plus, Thor absolutely loves your cheeks, because he likes to pinch them and kissing them while he pounds into you.

C: cum <anything to do with it, really>

On your face, without a doubt. He gets over heels when he sees your eyes slightly closed so as not to risk blinding you when he cums...it's just so hot for this god.

D: dirty secret <a dirty secret of theirs>

He doesn't want to admit that he has a lactation kink, like, he feels so loved when he drinks your milk (especially because he never had someone to care for him so much or a mother, if we have to say it all)

E: experience <how experienced are they>

Thor doesn't have much experience, like I said before, he's kind of a loner. Please, teach him how to make you feel good.

F: favourite position <self-explanatory>

Leap frog, he feels like he has control over the situation without risking of hurting you still remaining the dominant one. Sorry, but I don't think he'll like being the bottom.

G: goofy <would they use humor in the moment?>

I mean, have you seen him? Thor is serious, BUT every now and then you can see a small smile make its way over his usual bored expression.

H: hair <how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the courtains?>

Thor is really well groomed, everything is clean and shaved. The carpet match the courtains, red as ever.

I: intimacy <are they romantic in the moment or they do not care?>

This big god of thunder it may seem cold and detached to you, but it's quite the opposite! He's the sweetest lover ever, always asking you if he's hurting you and kissing you all over your skin. Such a sweetheart!

J: jack off <...self-explanatory part 2>

Well, not gonna lie, I thought he was the type to not even think about it. That time you caught him masturbating with your clothes in his hand may tell you otherwise. You know how they say: the silent ones are always the kinkiest-

K: kinks <their kinks>

Beyond the lactation kink that I named before, I see him as someone who has a hidden daddy kink. And, why not, he likes seeing you as a prey, while Thor is the scary hunter that wants you all to himself. Good luck with him, it will be difficult to tame this beast.

COCK WARMING AND YOU CAN'T CHANGE MY MIND-

L: location <where they usually do the do>

The bedroom and the temple's garden. We all know that Thor likes gardening, so just imagine: him sweating under the sun, with all flowers around him and his long red hair up in a ponytail. Girl, I will be horny if I were you, it doesn't surprise me the fact that you two won't always keep your business in the bedroom.

M: motivation <what turns them on>

You two sparring is incredible for him, especially when he makes you think you can overpower him and then roll over, pinning you under its weight. You're too cute under him, he can't help but being all horny and nervous.

N: no <things they refuse to do>

Trying something that could hurt you too bad. Thor doesn't know how to control his power and he's madly nervous about doing anything bad to you. You'll have to work on that.

O: oral <do they like giving or receiving?>

He prefers receiving, mostly because he wants to feel loved and appreciated. Give him all you got and please him like you never did to another, he's a lot touch starved after all.

P: pace <are they slow and sensual or fast and rough>

Thor wants to go slow thanks to his dimension (which are very remarkable, if we have to be honest). Take all your time in taking him, you're there for a good time, so no need to worry about time: you two got plenty of that.

Q: quickie <would they fuck you for five minutes or wait until you wait home?>

He's doesn't really likes quickies. This big boy wants to feel the full experience of fucking you: admire all your movements with attentions, the way your eyes look at him with love and the way your little hands grip the sheet.

R: risk <...DUH>

Yeah, Thor is okay as long as it's not extreme for any of you.

S: stamina <how long can they last?>

Oh, boy! All day if he could! This god is strong, I mean, have you seen his muscles? And his fight? He will stop only when you pass out from pleasure.

T: toys <do they own any? do they use them?>

Naaaah, he doesn't even know what they are, he won't mind trying one of them out on you tho, if you know what I mean-

U: unfair <how much they like to tease>

Not so much, the only tease he does is when you're attending a meeting and, totally out of nowhere, he decides to bury his thick cock in you. Making you stay there without moving and with a throbbing pussy. A total torture, indeed.

V: volume <are they asking for a noise complaint, or are they quiet?>

Only groans leave his mouth as the god thrust into you like a mad man. You will never hear his voice, that means that his shaky breath and soft groans are the only things that tells you if he's enjoing himself or not.

W: wild card <a random headcanon☆>

One time, you decided to suprise him by putting on some cat ears and a butt plug with a tail shape. Turns out he loved it and actually asked you to do it again.

X: x-ray <what to they look like under there?>

Now, you're a really lucky one because this god is large, like very large. The tip is #edadab and has some vein here and there.

Y: yearning <are they in the mood to fuck or are they tame?>

Thor is pretty tame, he will start to feel more horny every time you two fuck. So yeah, just give him a bit of time and he will get the hand of that.

Z: zzz <how quickly they fall asleep afterwards>

He doesn't necessarily fall asleep: if he has something to do after, then he will wait for you to fall asleep to then kiss you softly and tuck you in before leaving; if he has no commitment, then he will fall asleep slowly while watching you sleep on him.

[minkkumaz]

DISASTEROLOGY

hyunjin dreamed of you and the things you'd do together, and not one soul knew about it. he finally draws up the courage to show you his intentions

PIERCE THE VEIL series

PAIRING hwang hyunjin x gn!reader WC 1.1k TAGS friends to lovers. lovesick hyunjin. confessions. smooching. slightly angst. fluff. suggestive implications. OMI NOTE i think out of all the members i struggle with writing hyunjin the most. i literally dwelled on this for so long but honestly turned out better than i expected. @skullverse, my ptv twin. this one is for you my schmookum wookums bc ik he's ur fav!!

a single finger traced over hyunjin’s abs, making him take a sharp breath. there were a million different kinds of fun, but that was only a figment of his mind’s eye. when he was tucked in between his sheets, a tainted dream resurfaced every night.

but this wasn’t true, no, it was completely impossible. nobody knew that he dreamt about you, the dates he’d take you on, and the way he’d hold your hand so perfectly that not one person would get a single idea besides ‘they must be together.’

this was his imagination, and when he wasn’t happily rested within it, the world felt like it was at end.

often time’s he’d wake up in a cold sweat. running a hand through his hair to detach the pieces that stuck to his forehead. his shirt clung to his body, lacking the touch of you underneath.

hyunjin sighed, looking over to his blinking alarm clock that had a small sketchbook next to it. you were meant to come over soon to spend some time with him since days like that came rarely. one quick nap later and he was soon reminded of how badly he wanted you, yet couldn’t have you.

it was everything. the way your lips parted slightly when you were confused, how you stabilize yourself by holding onto his shoulders after he teaches you choreography, or maybe when your hand brushed against his as you walked alongside him.

a low groan of annoyance fell from his lips, moving from his spot on the bed to freshen up in the bathroom. looking in the mirror was only a reminder that today was supposed to be the day he’d say something to you; imply that he wanted so much more than to just be friends.

all he saw was his fear looking back at him. out of every drawing he’s ever made, he could never sketch out a coherent idea of how he fell victim to your spell. so instead he settled with drawing you. just you.

it was now or never, right?

picking up his phone from the charger, he sent you a text to let you know that it was okay to come over. it wouldn’t take very long, as you didn’t live too far. in the meantime, he pushed down these possessive thoughts and cleaned himself up.

the clock felt like it was ticking slower than ever, but that was just a misconception when he heard the gentle knock on his door. thousands of butterflies awoke in his stomach, and he had never been more nervous than in that moment.

he walked over to unlock the door and let you inside. you were cozy in some pajamas, with a jacket hugging your body.

“hyun!” you grin, reaching your arms around him in a hug, enabling his hands to snake around your waist.

“hey, i haven’t seen your face in awhile.” he ruffled your hair gently.

“pff, only because you’re too busy with tour.” you tease him, pulling away to follow back to his bedroom.

“okay maybe i was a little busy! but i have a present for you from when i was on tour.” he tells you, grabbing the sketchbook on his night stand and handing it to you.

“for me?” you flipped it open to see an image of yourself laying prettily on the first page. 

every pencil stroke dug into the paper, getting only the finest of details. you lower yourself back on his bed, still admiring the drawing.

“do you like it?” he smiles at you.

“do i like it? i love it oh my gosh!” you bounce slightly on his mattress, giddy with endorphins.

you place the book next to you on the comforter, reaching your hands out to pull him towards you in another embrace. in the midst of this all, he falls against you on the bed.

all you could do was let out quiet giggles with the boy on top of you, his head stuffed in the crook of your neck.

he lifted himself up, leaning up on one of his forearms. his free hand traveled to your face, moving small strands of hair that were blocking your vision. a pink hue played across his cheeks; this position felt too similar to the ones in his imagination.

“i don’t know how you were able to get all those details of me. you even got one of my moles!” you beam from underneath him.

“you’re just on my mind all the time, how could i not?” 

“uh huh, you’re too busy being one of the most desired men on the planet.” you joke with him, failing to realize he was being serious. your expression shifts when he doesn’t laugh.

“did you know that i dream about you, y/n?” he says tenderly, grazing his fingertip over your jawline.

“wh– pardon?” you mutter.

“there’s so much i want to tell you, but i don’t want to scare you off.” he looked intimidating, towering over you. but there was so much care in his words that it confused you.

“hyunjin.. you could never scare me off. i value all of my time with you.” you respond calmly, trying to mask your flusteredness.

the line he drew down your face stopped, instead drifting down your neck and across your collarbones. a shiver travelled down your spine.

“are you sure that you mean that, y/n?” his voice was composed sweetly.

“i mean it.”

“whenever i draw you, i think back to these daydreams i have about you. about us. we did so much together, but none of it was real.” he stopped, “it made me second guess things a lot. but i figured that even if the world was ending, shouldn’t we spend the rest of our time in love?”

“i– i don’t know what to say.” you lay below him with a shocked look on your face, but you were far from scared. you were curious.

“don’t say anything. just imagine us, please?” there were undertones of distress in his words.

“i like you, so much. but i don’t want to ruin things between us. i was so terrified.” you confess, biting back a frown.

“you won’t ruin anything, my muse. you’re anything far from poisonous. things will be okay.” 

“how will i know for sure?”

hyunjin looks into your glazed eyes, you were looking like you were about to cry. this only made him smile more.

he leaned down closer to you, until he was only inches away from your ear. you could feel every inhale and exhale sliding down the side of your neck.

“you’ll know if you stay. i want to create something beautiful,” he whispers, “then destroy it.”

© 2023 minkkumaz, all rights reserved support your writers by reblogging + giving feedback! it is greatly encouraged and appreciated. thank you! → why feedback + reblogging is so important. ~ (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ if you'd like, donate to minkkumaz ! PIERCE THE VEIL series

[sxmmerberries]

Lights!Camera!Action! - actor!zhang hao x reader

"Cut!What are you guys doing?!" The director exclaimed in frustration as Y/N and Zhang Hao laughed at each other's faces for the nth time.

"This is the last time. l am really sorry!" Zhang Hao apologised, getting in position to finally film the most anticipated scene in your drama, the kissing scene.

It would be a lie if you said that you weren't nervous. lt is not every day you get to film a makeout scene with your handsome co-actor who might you have a crush on.

"I don't get paid enough for this" sighed the director, motioning everyone to get in their positions.

"Okay guys!Lights!Cameral!Action!" He exclaimed for the nth

time, hoping that this will be the last take.

"Why did you run away from me that night?" Hao started reciting his lines as he walked towards you.

"I don't like you like that" You started to step backwards towards

the bed like your character was supposed to.

"Stop lying!I have seen the way you look at me." He let out a dark

chuckle as he inched more closer to you, making your eyes widen in

shock.

You could see the director giving a nod of approval at Hao's improvisation.

"This wasn't in the script. Please don't tell me he knows-" You thought, panicking on the inside.

''And how exactly do l look at you?"

"Like you want me to kiss you " Hao leaned closer to you and you

hoped on the inside that he couldn't hear how fast your heart was

beating as his face inched closer to yours.

Your mind went all hazy as you observed his beauty

Was the mole under his eye always this perfect?

Did his hair always look this smooth?

Were his eyes always this beautiful?

Hao placed his hands on your cheeks and finally closed the gap

between your faces as his soft Iips crashed against yours. You

closed your eyes as you savoured the kiss.

Your lips moved in harmony against his as you felt him softly push you on the bed and hovered over you like the script said.

You felt Hao smile in the kiss as his hand slipped under your shirt. You shivered at both his touch and the cold air that entered your

shirt.

Heat crept up on your cheeks, feeling Hao draw hearts on your skin.

His tongue swept against your bottom lip.asking for entrance which

you gladly accepted.He deepened the kiss as you wrapped your

arms around his neck,your lips moving in harmony.

Suddenly, the warm feeling of Hao's lips was gone as he pulled away,giving you a fond smile.

"Does he feel the same? Of course.he doesn't. It is just because of

the script" You thought as your heart ached.

All your thoughts were proved wrong when Zhang Hao attached his

lips to your neck, a whine escaped your lips at the sudden contact.

"Stop trying to get away from me.l like you too!" He spoke as he

busied himself into making small marks on your neck.

Was he really that offended about the fact that you decided to sit

next to the second lead instead of him during a conference?

You whimpered as he continued to kiss your neck. His captivating

eyes met yours as he smiled smugly while making you go insane

from both his touch and words.

"Cut!lThat was amazing!"

Zhang Hao detached his lips from your neck, discretely glaring at

the director for interrupting. He gave the director a fake smile as he

finally moved from his position over you, letting you sit up.

"Thank you! You watched as Hao smiled at the director

complimenting his improvising skills and how the scene is going tc

drive everyone crazy with how sensual it looked.

You were still in shock, trying to process everything that went down

afew minutes ago

You lost your first kiss to the, Zhang Hao, and he knows about your

feelings for him, too?

"You are all dismissed for the day!" The director announced as he

ordered the staff.

"I meant every word, by the way. Let's talk about it when you've

calmed down. Hao smiled as he playfully ruffled your hair and made his way out of the room.

[closedownregulus]

Prompt: March 2nd - Pool | 742 words | @jegulus-microfic so, this is part four of my jegulus microfic universe. yes I'm going crazy. here's part one, two and three. this is actually part two of part three, I had to split it in two cause it was too long, so it makes a lot more sense if you read them together. part five is here. hope you enjoy it byeee

Before he can stop to think about what he’s doing he turns his face to meet Regulus’ lips. Finally. His whole body, that he didn’t even realize was so tense, relaxes, and he opens his mouth, allowing the boy’s tongue to get in, to touch his, the contact sending shivers all over his body. James feels electric, struck by lightning, he doesn’t feel dizzy or nervous anymore, he feels sharp, focused, like he’s on a fucking mission. He brings one hand to the boy’s waist, pulling him even closer towards his lap, and Regulus gets the message, breaking the kiss to position himself exactly where James wants him, right there. Fuck. James’ not even sure if the moan came from him or Regulus, too intertwined with him for it to be possible to know, too desperate to latch his mouth on the boy’s neck to care.

Regulus pulls on James’ hair to detach the boy from his neck and now he’s sure the pitched whimper came from him, but before he can feel too embarrassed about how desperate he sounds, Regulus’ mouth is on his again, biting, licking, consuming. James’ lost, he doesn’t know which heartbeat is whose, whose spit is whose, whose hands is whose, they’re a mess. A mess of lips, teeth, hands, sighs, whimpers and moans. They’re waves. Crashing, so intense that they might break a third party that tries to intrude, destroying boats that dared to wander in their waters.

“Please” James whines, desperate, Regulus’ mouth on his neck, sucking, biting, hard enough to bruise, to leave a mark, to brand him as his. Mine. “Please, please, tell me you didn’t do it, tell me you didn’t let him fuck you.”

Regulus doesn’t answer, he keeps his mouth occupied on James’ neck, teeth grazing it's side, hands pulling his hair to give Regulus more access to James’ throat, thighs on each side of James' legs keeping James in place where they're sitting by the pool. Regulus is everywhere and he doesn’t give James the chance to ask again, covering his mouth with his own quickly.

James’ hands go to Regulus’ ass to steady him on top of the older boy and the younger one moans on his mouth, filthy, desperate, loud. James’ mind goes blank, he’s not even thinking when he uses his hands’ position to push Regulus closer, to make him move, to fit him just right. They moan each other’s name at the same time. James doesn’t think he’s ever heard something so beautiful, his heart clenches at the idea of Reg’s saying someone else’s name in this same tone, under similar circumstances.

“Reg, tell me, please” James is panting, he needs to focus, he grabs Regulus’ wrists to stop him from touching him, the boy tries to dip in and kiss him again but James turns his face “Please, I need to know, please.”

“Fuck this” Regulus says as he gets out of James’ lap and gets up from when they were sat, suddenly James feels cold, he can feel the sweat sticking on him, his ass hurting from sitting on the ground too long, his thighs aching from having to support Regulus’ weight. Out of a sudden he feels everything, and none of it is good.

“Why do you care so much, James” Regulus’ question comes unexpected, he was hoping the boy would just give a straight answer to his question or nothing at all, he didn’t think he’d question the reason why he’s asking. James’ not even sure.

“I, I, you’re-“

“See, you don’t even know” Regulus is standing while James’ still on the ground, he feels very small, like when he was a kid and did something wrong and his mother would come and lecture him, he knows he’s on the wrong, there’s nothing he can do but listen. He hates this feeling “What do you want me to do? Sit around and wait for you to figure your shit out?” He arches his brown, almost like he wants James to actually answer, like it’s not a rhetoric question, like it’s a yes or no question, like James will say how much time of waiting is left “Well, I won’t”

He turns to leave but seems to change his mind on the last minute, relief washes over James, but that's before the boy turns back to him and he hears his next words;

“It’ been too long, and it hurst too much”

[edenalieth]

i want to believe in forever

Pairing: Seungmin x reader

Genre: angst, hint of fluff

Warnings: none

Summary: Seungmin wants to move on from his heartbreak, however the colorful memories of you are holding him back. 

Words: 1.3K 

A.N: hello guys, cami in the building! it’s my first time writing a seungmin fic (@seungseung-minmin forgive me for not making a cuter one ;v;) it was mostly inspired by the song « the exit » by conan gray which i found really beautiful and true. sorry for the possible mistakes. hope you enjoy, feedbacks are always welcome! ♡ — 231217

He took another sip of the black coffee he was holding on his hand and grimaced. It was already half cold and far too bitter for his liking. For how long did he stare at those high limestone walls ? Apparently long enough for his coffee to turn bad. Spotting the closest bin, he threw the drink away, watching it fall as the lid opened spreading the brown liquid. The winter breeze made him shiver and he buried his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat, trying to warm them up. 

« You can do this, Kim Seungmin », the brown haired boy thought to himself. 

He climbed the stairs silently until he reached the ticket office. A young girl was reading. She was probably just starting her university course and needed this job to gain some money seeing her bored expression. She barely looked at Seungmin before nonchalantly putting down her book with a barely hidden sigh. 

« What can I do for you ? » she asked, visibly annoyed to be interrupted. 

Seungmin cleared his throat « Hmm, one adult ticket please. » 

He was tapping on the small counter with his fingertips, nervous. He was about to tell her that he had changed his mind and turn around but he had promised himself he would do this. It was necessary. Even if it hurt. He knew, he needed to detach his mind and feelings from this place and many others. 

« What is this book about ? » he said, trying some small talk while she was preparing the ticket. She put one out of the drawer of her desk and handed it to him, announcing the price. « Just a regular thriller. » Nothing more, nothing less. He paid and left without further ado. He was sure that, if you had been there, you would have managed to pick that girl’s interest, even just a little. That’s how you were, solar, attracting people around you like a magnet. However, you hadn’t been by his side for months now, he had to move on. 

When he entered the familiar hall, he was greeted by the unique scent of museum and all its splendor. Soon, he was surrounded by history and felt so little and insignifiant, as well as mesmerized by the beauty of those masterpieces he had seen so many times with you. When you used to call yourselves « us », you had made a ritual to visit this place once a month. The museum was big enough for you to always discover small details you hadn’t seen before or to explore the temporary exhibition. Since your breakup, he avoided this place like the plague. Yet here he was, feeling his heart clenching as he looked at the paintings. One of your favorite hobby was to tell him stories when you analyzed a canvas. Your imagination was overflowing and never missed to make him laugh, which sometimes made you incur the wrath of the visitors and security. No one was here to make him laugh today and loneliness weighed heavily on his shoulders. He didn’t have this talent. He would just skim through the description next to it. Colors seemed dull compared to the vivid memories of you, scarring his heart mercilessly. He felt his throat getting tight. He had chosen the museum to start his healing journey because he knew he wouldn’t be able to cry without being heard. He had shed tears more than he would even admit. Was it truly helping though ? Or what is it just him blowing on the embers of your lost love. 

He sat down on the leathered bench, facing your favorite art. It was a pretty simple one, a cottage on the countryside, using impressionism technique. The first time you saw it, you went strangely quiet. You were like absorbed by it. He remembered how you leaned on his shoulder, intertwining your fingers with his. « I can picture us living there. » you had softly whispered. « It would be the embodiment of our love, our safe place. Growing old together, laughs of our kids and grand-kids filling the rooms. Am I allowed to dream about this ? » your voice had seemed insecure, seeing you vulnerable like that was rare. « Yes and it will be our dream from now on. » he had replied, brushing his nose against yours before tenderly kissing you. Warmth had filled his body, his heart melting like ice under a scorching sun, your touch permanently marking his skin. A dream. Was it all it had been ? Just something made up by his cruel mind ? No. He still could remember the sensation of your skin on his, the scent of your shampoo, the little habits you had, the sound of your giggle. 

Recalling these memories was like torture. The grip he had on the bench became stronger, his knuckles turning white. If only he had noticed how left out you felt sometimes. Maybe, you would be next to him, still daydreaming about your perfect house. Or, perhaps, you just weren’t meant to build one together. This thought turned his vision into blurry shapes. « Shit ». He didn’t want to cry in public. He stood up hastily and looked for the exit. Wandering between the corridors, his steps echoing on the cold ground, the artworks seemed like moving stains. It was as if the walls were tightening around him and he was tempted to rush out of here to get some air. However, his run was abruptly stopped when the object of his obvious desire showed up. You. 

You were there. Your arm around the waist of someone who wasn’t him. His mind went blank for a second. It couldn’t be, right ? He swallowed the sobs that were trying to escape his throat, his hands shaking. He thought you were both sharing the same wounds, that you were still mourning your old feelings. His were surely not buried yet. Still, there was no mistaken. You looked happier now and you had already found someone to miss. He wanted to let himself drown into the abyss of his sorrow. He almost called out your name, every single letter which used to roll on his tongue like honey, addictive like a drug, tasted sour. He had to leash his heart not to break down and try to get you back again. He had tried but you already had built up a wall to protect your opened wounds. His were still raw. 

Were you going to tell this man the same stories you had told him ? Did your « I » became a « we » when you met him ? In fact, he didn’t want to know. He wanted to forget you for a time, to get strong enough to be able to talk about you as a young love that bloomed too fast and wilted in the process. He couldn’t blame you for getting everything you wanted. 

He stared at you, as your eyes spoke for you, full of some love that used to be his. Each step you took leading you towards your ideal. Deep down your heart, feels for Seungmin were still waiting to be set on fire again. However, the ones you had for your new lover were stronger and you wanted to cherish them. It was a painful sight for Seungmin and he wished someone would rip his heart for it to get numb. He had to let you go. He was still standing at the exit before he opened the glass door. 

Immediately, the cold bit his flesh, tears rolling down his cheeks and burning his skin. 

« I want to believe in forever » he thought, you just weren’t meant to be his. 

[kiddbegins]

Closed Off - Will Halstead

requested: yes

word count: 2,231

warnings: nothing really, just cute, closed off reader i guess?

a/n: i apologize if this isn't written well?? i cant tell-

Masterlist

“You’re a lot different under the sheets, aren’t you?” “How so?” “…You’re way softer, I like this side of you.”

When you started working at Chicago Med, you swore that you would just live your life there as a doctor and that was that. No romances, no mingling of any sort. As minimal talk of your personal life as possible. 

You wanted to leave that part of you back in New York and let Chicago be completely detached. As well as not letting your coworkers into your inner circle. And so far it had been working. Most of the people you worked with knew you were self reserved, respected that.

Including one Will Halstead but he really couldn’t get past the fact it drew him in even more than any sort of mystery usually would. Seriously, how could he just ignore that the new beautiful doctor at the hospital had so much hidden behind a brick wall. 

He of course respected your want to privacy, but that didn’t stop him from conveniently going to the vending machine at the same time as you, offering up any sort of light conversation he could. Simply wanting to offer out his attention and want to at least be friends.

And in all honesty, you found it cute. That he cared, if that was even the right word to use, to try and let you hunker down in this city. To know that you had each and every person in this hospital to lean on regardless of what you tried to shut out.

Usually you would just brush him off, but today was… decently hard. You had no real way to save this mother and you had to tell her family that. So you decided on grabbing something to try and calm yourself down. Some chips.

As always, Will followed you, leaning against the side of the machine with a slight grin. “Hey, what kind you getting?” He waited, knowing if you were going to reply it wouldn’t be right away. And he was right.

With a sigh, you looked up at him, “Salt and vinegar.” Short and bluntly, leaning down to grab the bag out of the bottom, sucking in a breath before going to go around him. As if he could tell, Will turned with you.

“Hey, wait. You alright?” His hand went to your arm, something that usually wouldn’t have made you stop but for some reason you did, gripping the small bag of chips in your hands. Genuinely you didn’t know if it was the bad day getting to you or what but you shook your head.

Will frowned slightly, pushing past the surprise that you actually spoke to him, “Do you wanna talk about it? Maybe I could help?” He offered, you nodding faintly. If it meant even possibly coming up with something to help your patient you’d do it.

“Yeah, my patient, she’s sick and I can’t save her. She’s past the point of chemo and everything so,” You paused faintly. “I don’t really know what to do.” Something you didn’t admit lightly. 

You were good at your job, cold shoulder or not. And honestly, one of the highest success rates of doctors in the ED, only topped by Dr. Choi. “Let me take a look at her and her papers and I’ll see if I can find anything. New eyes and all.” He once more offered.

Part of you was ashamed of the help but you brushed it off. Will managed to find something and by the end of the day, she was on a new treatment plan that was hopefully going to get her home before the holidays.

Later that night, when shift was about to end, you went into the break room, not looking for Will, but bumping into him was actually alright. “Hey, Halstead.” He lifted his head towards you with a hum of acknowledgement. “I just wanted to say an actual thank you for today.” You paused, actually feeling a bit nervous speaking up.

“I’m glad I could help. Always nice to see a parent make it home to their family.” Will shrugged his jacket on, watching as you still stood there, hands clasped together, “Was there something else?”” 

With how quickly you usually split from any sort of conversation it was odd that you didn’t with him, at least not now. “Well, I was uh, gonna see if you’d let me get you a drink.” Will’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Because honestly, I don’t think I could have handled losing that mother today.” You rolled your tongue against your cheek nervously.

He nodded faintly, doing his best (and failing) to hide the smile that was actively growing on his face. “Well, I think I’d like that.”

“Just the one though.” You faintly laughed, “Don’t get your hopes up.” You managed to joke faintly, Will holding his hands up in defense. He’d take anything he could, conversation was conversation and that was how the two of you ended up next to one another at Molly’s that evening, a beer in both of your hands.

Will leaned on the counter, “You know, you’re pretty hard to read.” He spoke, looking over at you. “And I like to think I’m pretty good at reading people.” He sipped from his drink with a thoughtful look behind his eyes. That much was true, Will was good at knowing what kind of person he was getting entangled with.

Not that he ever had the best judgment on what that meant or would lead to but at least he had a baseline. With you though it was like there was nothing. You didn’t give off anything. He had nothing to base his thoughts off.

“Well, that’s kind of the point.” You shrugged, taking a swig from your bottle, “That’s exactly how I want it to be.” Will shifted at the statement, facing you more, his eyebrows pulling together as he looked over at you.

“Why?” He chuckled faintly. “I mean, you’ve been in Chicago a few months now and all I got from you is that you’re from New York and that you like cats.” The only reason he even knew that was the pin you had attached to your jacket that you sometimes wore.

A small black cat pin. “Well if I answered that I’d be giving away all my secrets, wouldn’t I?” You cocked an eyebrow up, crossing a leg over the other. Will chuckled faintly, nodding with a shrug. He sighed faintly, tilting his bottle towards you.

“I guess you’re right.” Once more he took a decently big swig from his beer, taking a moment to think over his next words, “You know I’m gonna keep trying to get to know you right?” Will spoke, glancing to you. If he was one thing it was stubborn and one thing he wanted more than anything was to sneak through one of the tiniest cracks you had to have. 

Because everybody has one in the walls they put up. “I know.” You leaned your elbow on your knee, glancing up at him. “Doesn’t mean I’ll give in though.” The two of you shared a look, and you were unable to say you weren’t attempting to flirt at least a little bit. And it wasn’t like you were fully against talking to him in general. He wasn’t the worst company.

Will hummed faintly, he wasn’t sure what he was exactly allowed to do or say. Sure you had asked him to get the drink but that only put you at acquaintance level. If that. And as much as he wanted to reach out, put a hand on yours, he couldn’t let himself. That would be too far. 

At least to him. But truthfully, you couldn’t keep the facade up that much longer. Because he was persistent and you were only so strong. “Well, I figured as much. But hey, maybe I’ll crack you down.” Will smiled warmly, and for some reason that was it. That was the smile that made you just want to confess everything you’ve ever held back to him.

You sucked in a deep breath, looking away from him in a vain attempt at keeping your composure. “Yeah, maybe.” There was a brief silence, you finishing your beer before standing, grabbing your jacket off the back of your chair. “Well, thanks again. Enjoy the rest of your beer.” 

Will stood quickly, reaching his hand out just as fast, stopping before it touched your arm, “Wait, you’re leaving already?” He said, a tinge of disappointment in his voice. Slightly you nodded, lifting your gaze to him with pursed lips, his eyes locking with yours. 

“Uh, yeah, I should,” You gave him a light smile, frozen in place as much as you wanted to walk away it was like you couldn’t. Something about looking at Will just made you want to stay. Whether it was the warmth of his eyes, how he pressed you for conversation while still respecting when you snipped it in the bud.

Something held you there, and it wasn’t the hand he lightly put on your arm, stepping slightly closer, “Or, you could stay. Let me buy you another drink.” His voice was hopeful and so alluring that before you knew it you were agreeing, sitting back down with another drink in your hand. 

It was like somehow he just knew that you didn’t actually want to leave. That you wanted to keep talking. And he managed to keep you wrapped up in conversation along with a few more drinks that led to you walking out together and you laying in his bed that night. 

Not minding when his hands traced over your skin or how your head rested against his chest, his hands twisting through your hair, luring you to sleep.

-

You were the first to wake up the next morning, shifting onto your side to face Will. He was still asleep, his arms tucked under his head and hair sticking up all over the place. It was admittedly extremely cute and you couldn’t help but gently reach over, raking your hand through his hair and pushing it off of his forehead.

He just looked so peaceful, content, that it almost made you feel bad for always brushing him off. Made you second guess the fact that you were so closed off. Maybe this was your way of finally opening up. Will shifted slightly under your touch, making you retract it quickly, eyes widening. 

“Mmm, what time ’s it?” He mumbled, eyes still shut. Just slightly you leaned up, looking over his shoulder at the clock on the bedside table, having to push hair out of the way as it fell over your eyes.

“Only 7,” You spoke softly, laying back down, this time meeting his gaze as he finally opened his eyes. Will grinned widely, shifting closer, his arm going around your waist, nuzzling up against your side. “You’re clingy when you just wake up huh?”

The man nodded as best he could, tucking his head away in the crevice of your neck. “Only when I’m this comfortable.” His statement was muffled but you understood it nonetheless, unable to keep yourself from bringing a hand up to rake through his hair. “Now you just don’t want me to get up,” He chuckled lightly.

You hummed softly, twirling some of his hair around your fingers. “You are admittedly kind of cozy, I won’t lie.” The man lifted his head, looking across your face quickly. A deep blush covered your cheeks as he looked at you.

He was practically studying you, taking note of your face, how you looked back at him. All of it. “I… what?” You asked quickly, eyebrows tightly pulling together.

Will shook his head slightly, “Nothing, you’re just a lot different under the sheets, aren’t you.” He leaned up on his elbows, planting them on either side of you as he spoke. It made his heart flutter, the way you only seemed to be comfortable letting him in.

“How so?”

“You’re softer. Not as closed off.” He spoke, a breath catching in your throat. The man reached out, hesitantly putting a hand on the side of your face. “I like this side of you.” Will swiped his thumb over your cheek, “A lot.” He admitted, giving you a tight smile.

Everything he said was thought over, worried that the wrong move or wrong saying would send you running. That he’d overstep in some way or another. But in reality, you missed being around others. 

A lonely life in Chicago was just that. Lonely. And as much as you were content with how you were living there was always a bit of something that had you wanting to change your own mind. 

Heavily you sighed, giving up on keeping yourself from leaning into his palm. Will grinned wider, shifting closer to you. “Does this mean you’re done with that? At least with me?” He muttered, eyes meeting yours as you slightly nodded.

“At least with you,” One of your hands went over his, pulling him closer. Will’s arm went to the spot on the bed behind you, leaning forward. “Which makes you, very lucky.” You mumbled, in turn putting your hand on his cheek instead,

Will laughed quietly with a hum, “Is that so?” His voice low as you got closer to him, nodding once more before pressing your lips to his firmly, putting your arm over his shoulder tightly.

“It is.”

JOIN WILL'S TAGLIST HERE!

tags: @winchesterszvonecek, @everything-fandom, @thebejeweledwatercat, @mrspeacem1nusone, @wnbweasley, @alexxavicry, @halsteadbrasil, @firetruckstuckley, @lilithblade, @angelicbxtchthea

[lawlightautismtruther]

SUPER LONG LAWLIGHT DYNAMIC ANALYSIS RANT (THIS MOSTLY ONLY APPLIES TO THE ANIME)

It’s really not that serious, but there’s more to my thesis of L being a sub/bottom than just blorbo yaoi fuel. I‘ll call back to my post about L’s true emotional vulnerability that most viewers seem to miss, because on a surface level (especially when coming from the manga and when trusting the words of Obha at face value) you may see L as detached and cold. You’re supposed to think that L is unfeeling at FIRST but post-confinement/pre-yotsuba, the truth starts to seep out. L could have had Light convicted after seeing that no more criminals were dying since locking him up, but he didn’t. Even Aizawa admitted that it was enough evidence. You know it’s real when Aizawa agrees with Matsuda, lmfao.

Anyway, after this point, L and Light actually really start to bond. (I pretty much see lawlight as subtextual canon) L, not really needing to do this because of his access to surveillance, handcuffs himself to Light Yagami. He doesn’t want to be apart from him. I actually find it to be a comedically obvious act of desperation.

My point is, Light is winning the game, and L is letting him do it out of what I believe is love. L has found the one person in his life (besides maybe Naomi) that he really feels any sort of connection to, and therefore he would hate to watch that person die. L is inarguably a vulnerable character imo. If you rewatch the the series, outside of his internal monologues, he’s actually extremely soft-spoken and coy.

“Oh, uh, well it was nice meeting you”

“Light, please make Misa stop talking now.”

You get the point. He’s nervous. He’s super frail and holds himself very compactly, he walks with his eyes on the ground usually. He shakes when Aizawa lays a hand on him. He is terrified of shinigami. I think his coldness is an act to protect himself. I really do, because he knows how much things actually do affect him. In order to continue with cases, he has to pretend like none of it really matters to him. And he almost believes it at this point, too— hence his monster speech.

But then there’s Light Yagami. A worthy individual to truly understand L. He comes along, actually treats L like a human being (be it an act, I believe it still feels good to L, who has been treated like a robot his entire life), of course L is bound to at the very least see him as a friend.

I don’t believe L’s external behavior towards Light is an act. He didn’t have to be kind, he didn’t have to pretend it was a friendship. He had zero professional reason to do so. In fact, it very much made the case a harder one to solve. If we take L’s character at face value, he would have scrapped all of the fluffy shit (like asking Light to go get cake with him, telling Light he was his only friend knowing damn well Light wouldn’t budge regardless, etc.) Adding a friendship into the mix only complicates the process of trying to read Light.

As much as L the detective hates to lose, L the person is desperate. If he really hated to lose, why did he let himself? He’s submitting to Light’s will and THAT is what kills him. On the day he dies, he knows it will happen, but still, he treats Light with kindness. Sure, he asks him if he’s ever told the truth once in his life, but after that, he pretty much gives up prying. That’s it. He’s put his gun down. Since he’s going to die anyway, he might as well just enjoy being around Light. I know for a fact that he is smart enough to have come up with some sort of plan to convict Light post-Higuchi. There’s a book about that. But canonically, he didn’t do it. Notice also how L goes to Watari before he dies for comfort. L is really such a sad character.

The crux of his character is his submissiveness, hence why I’m such a proponent of that ship dynamic. Its not just a wet-dream, it’s something I sensed in their dynamic to begin with. It’s why I became an L simp, not the other way around.

Anyway, the anime is a genius adaptation and expansion on the original story imo. (At least up until L’s death— unfortunately it didn’t do the other Wammy’s boys any justice)

TLDR;

manga L- cold and domineering, hates to lose and mostly loses at first because Light outsmarts him

anime L- the very opposite and I LOVE IT

Look at me putting my 5 on the AP English literature exam to use! Also, I know I’m a huge L fan, but I am a Light kinnie and I love him as a protagonist in every possible anti-hero type way and would love to analyze him so let me know if yall want that.

Okay, class, any questions?

[yanderecrazysie]

request: yandere!shirabu with shy!reader

tbh any form of shirabu like school, doctor, eyc. works cause he’s amazing anf your writing is amazing so it will be great

-anon🥂💍

My first request for Shirabu! *wipes happy tears* I can’t pass up Doctor Shirabu, now can I? And yes he is amazing!! And I’m so glad you think my writing is too!!!

Title: Malpractice

Pairings: Shirabu Kenjirou x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, medical malpractice, Shirabu is a terrible doctor

Summary: How far will Shirabu go to make sure he keeps his favorite patient by his side?

malpractice

/noun/

improper, illegal, or negligent professional activity or treatment, especially by a medical practitioner, lawyer, or public official.

Shirabu had always put his emotions aside in favor of logic and practicality.

Logic, he believed, was most important for a job like this. Cold, emotionless logic that detached him from his patients. That way, he would not mourn their unavoidable losses or empathize too heavily with their pain.

He would do what needed to be done. Nothing more, nothing less. Those that let their emotions take over were not fit to be doctors.

At least, that’s what he believed.

He had had patients like you before. Smiling through the pain, friendly to your doctors and nurses, kind in a way that no one ought to be. He didn’t care. Not at first.

You were planning to stay for just a few days for a pretty invasive surgery on your leg. You wouldn’t be here long and he wasn’t the one doing surgery. Just giving you some updates here and there. The nurses took the most care of you.

He shouldn’t care at all- he never did. You were no one special… so why?

Why was he giving you more updates than anyone else? Checking on your health obsessively after the surgery? Glancing furtively at your room windows to make sure you were doing alright?

As your time in the hospital drew to a close, Shirabu found himself becoming more and more panicked. He’d never felt this stressed at work and, at first, he couldn’t place where this newfound fear was coming from. When he’d realized that it had to do with worrying about a patient, about you?

He was disgusted. Irrational behavior, irrational thoughts, just irrational.

That wasn’t who Shirabu Kenjiro was! He was as rational and capable as they came!

But when it came to you, he was never really himself, was he?

On your last night, he’d pumped you full of pain and sleeping medication so you wouldn’t feel a thing. A scalpel was all he needed to insure you stayed longer.

“It’s rare for scars to split open like that, I’ll have to talk to the surgeon,” he’d say, come morning, “We don’t want it to become infected, so you’ll have to stay here so we can monitor you.”

But that would only keep you here for so long, wouldn’t it? He needed to look at your files, find out where you lived and everything he could before he let you go.

People got sick from hospitals all the time, didn’t they? He could keep you longer that way… but he couldn’t risk endangering your life.

A few clicks at the computer was all it took to get your address. He’d drive by after work, break in if it was empty.

He could hear your assigned nurse fussing over the incision in your leg, see her finally heading towards him to report what she’d found.

You looked so nervous, but he knew you’d understand. You’d smile and thank him for doing his job.

You’d thank him for being selfish and hurting you to keep you near him as long as possible.

Isn’t that illogical?

[emailblog]

Hey any chance I can put a request in? I loved your Rooster fic!

Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x reader set in the original top gun movie from 1986, they have been married for about 2 years having met through Goose and Carole. The reader discovers that she is pregnant after like a year of trying and then gets help from Goose and Carole to break the news to Maverick.

Feel free to make changes to the request if you want to, I would just love to read it! Thank you!!

Author's Note: I think this idea is so cute! I appreciate all the love I've been receiving today, and I want you all to know that I do work and have school. However, this is super fun to me, so I will try to use my days off as time to write for you <3

Word Count: 1.13k

If someone had told you four years ago that you’d be pacing in your kitchen trying to find ways to tell your navy pilot husband you were pregnant after many failed attempts, then you would have laughed in their face. However, you don’t feel like laughing. If anything, you feel like throwing up all over the counters. Carole sat at your dining table flipping through a magazine nonchalantly as if you had not been told the biggest news of your life over a phone call from the doctor. 

“I feel like you should not be as calm as you are, Carole.” You shakily call out to her, a cup of water in your trembling hand. She doesn’t stop flipping through a Better Homes and Garden magazine, and she doesn’t even look at you. 

“Honey, you’re going to worry yourself sick over this! Pete is going to be over the moon about the new addition.” She smiles as she finally looks up at you. You turn to face the sink and brace yourself against it. Closing your eyes, you try to take deep breaths to slow down the sickness from being pregnant and stressing, but it keeps fighting its way back. Carole places a hand on your shoulder for comfort. 

“I’m not worried about telling him Carole. I’m worried about us. He’s off constantly, and he loves that job more than anything in the world. I can’t take that from him. Especially with this.” You admit, and it does feel good to get off your chest. She rubs your back and moves some of the hair that has fallen forward behind your ear and back. 

“That man is crazy about you. Any worry you have, he’ll fix it at the drop of a hat, so stop all this worrying. Me and Goose will help you tell him if that will make you feel better.” She starts the sink and gathers cold water to apply to your face. The coolness helps you calm down a lot more, so you let out a deep sigh while leaning your head on her shoulder. 

“Tell me it will be just be fine.” You plead, and it reminds you of all those years ago when she first introduced you to Pete.

“That’s him over there. Pete! We’re over here!” Carole calls out to a dark-haired man who is blending in with the sea of Navy pilots. He looks dumbstruck and confused as he looks around the room trying to find where he heard Carole’s voice. Once he sees her blonde hair, he begins to walk over with another man who is taller than him. 

“Honey, this is my new friend! I met her while me and Bradley were having a little mother-son outing. Sweetheart, this is my husband, Nick.” She says while pulling down the blonde man sporting a mustache and square aviators. 

“It’s nice to meet you. This is my friend, Pete, but I just call him Mav.” Goose mentions, but you can tell his attention is all on his wife and child. You don’t blame him. Pete hesitates before taking a seat beside you in the booth seeing as Goose took the seat beside Carole. He gives you a quiet hello before asking if you wanted anything to drink. As you watch him walk back up to the bar, you lean over to Carole and tug on her sleeve to detach her from Goose. 

“Tell me it will be just fine.”

“You’ll be just fine, Sweetheart.” She smiles. 

When you hear the faint voices of Goose and Pete walking towards the small house you had near base, the nervous stomach comes back, and just as you were about to run away, Carole put a strong arm on your shoulder to keep you in your place. You know that if you try to stop this show now, Carole wouldn’t hesitate to use force. She’s a wonderful woman, but she knows how and when to get stuff done. The box in your hands feels heavy the second you hear the front door open. 

“Carole? Are you still here?” Goose calls out, but he knows what’s about to happen. He knows you and Carole left for a while to plan for this hopefully magical moment. Lucky for you two, Goose and Maverick were at the bar when Carole called. Her intuition was right about them hanging out there. 

“I’m in the kitchen!” She is way too cheery for this, you note. You know you should be bouncing off the walls excited, but the doubt and worry find their way back into your heart. When Goose sees you and Carole standing side by side, he knows that she is the only thing keeping you grounded right now, and it makes him chuckle. The whole scene makes Pete furrow his eyebrows as he watches his friend lean against the wall for support due to his laughing fit, so before he can ask any questions, you give him the small box. 

“I got you something while you were out today.” Your voice doesn’t betray you since it doesn’t waver or stutter. Still confused, Pete grabs the brown box with a little white ribbon around it cautiously, and you couldn’t blame him due to the pranks you and Goose would pull on him sometimes. When he reaches inside to grab the present his eyes widen. 

“A small officer hat?” He asks as he plays with the black rim on the white hat. He dusts off the top from the stuffing inside the box and looks towards Carole and Goose for hints. Carole can’t contain herself any longer. 

“A baby officer hat.” As the words leave her mouth, you slide over the tests you had taken earlier that week. All saying pregnant. 

“We did it.” Your voice is small, but he hears it. His eyes light up brighter than the sunrise, and his smile widens just like the horizon. 

“We did it!” He picks you up and swings you back and forth before putting you down carefully. 

“I don’t think I should shake you, should I?” His hands rests on your shoulders. Carole walks over to Goose who wraps an arm around her, planting a kiss on her forehead as they watch the loving scene play out. 

“No, you shouldn’t.” You laugh, and it’s the best damn thing he’s heard all day. He missed that laugh more than anything. 

“He’s going to be my wingman, Honey. I’m telling you now!” Pete begins to ramble about how he’ll teach his kid all about his job, planes and jets, how to fly them, and just about anything else under the sun. As you sit there with a smile and take in Pete’s happiness for now, you vaguely hear Goose speak. 

“Does this mean I’m out of a job?”

[robotlesbianjavert]

Ten headcanons about spinner please

well you asked so nicely. okay!

10) i think i've already mentioned this in the past and some fics but despite what you expect from someone with reptile associations he's not anymore affected by the cold than any other warm-blooded person. and he knows it's a silly thing to get sensitive about but well when people assume he gets a bit heated!! so to say!!

9) he first learned how to use a knife, and in particular knife throwing tricks, from his mom, who is most of the born and bred country rep in his family and grew up with very little else to do and really needed a cool party trick. between her and toga, knife-throwing is his only surefire way to bond with women.

8) who is the biggest bara rep in league of legends. idk mordekaiser looks promising. in any case spinner's first glimmer of realizing that he is gay was accidentally stumbling upon LoL bara doujinshi, on the internet. somehow the continuing fascination for bara did not translate to real life where he keeps going gaga for weird skinny weirdos with disappointing t&a (UNTIL shigaraki's ujiko-provided glow-up)

7) his backup plan for going to the city after seeing stain on tv if he failed to find and join the league of villains was just to hit all the clubs and get laid. but as a virgin and hikkikomori he was very nervous about this option and was kind of relieved that he could just join a terrorist group instead.

6) i used this one in a fic too lmao. as a kid his claws were filed down regularly so that other kids and the rest of the town didn't freak out and think he was gonna gut them. cuz they're evil. as part of the headcanon of it all he does have weird hang-ups and

5) backseat gamer. like, pathological. much like myself as a child watching my stepbrothers play zelda or conker's bad fur day, he will sit over shigaraki's shoulder (and anyone else's i guess but he's literally so under-socialized he doesn't know anyone else who plays videogames irl. sad!) and be like i wouldn't have done that. you're supposed to go over there. why aren't you using all these cheat codes that i know (they don't work). thankfully shigaraki is cool with this cuz he loves to argue. i actually consider this canon enough given that we have now seen spinner hanging over shigaraki's shoulder as he's playing games.

4) were a tumblr equivalent to exist in bnhaverse spinner would have an account and he would try to be crazy stealth and not have it associated to any other social accounts ever and he would be a hater on it and you could not pay him to commit voter fraud for something against his morals (shipping polls) (he would have voted destiel!! he knows he is cas-coded!!) but he would create so many dummy accounts manually by hand HIMSELF like a hard worker to influence results as much as he could. without paying people. or getting bots. he has a pure hater soul.

3) related to the above spinner is a constant hater online. people ask him what does he ever like and he just regurgitates whatever video essay he watched recently that had a nice thing to say. but his hater stances are 100% original. not to say that he never Likes something about anything but he's dogshit at expressing it.

2) part of his issues is that he was very unintentionally detached from any other of his heteromorph-related family that he could relate to (a lot of the family was probably located in cities) aside from whatever parents or siblings, which contributed further to his feelings of isolation from the community he grew up in, and his heteromorphic traits were just enough more apparent compared to the immediate family that he was more targeted by the community he grew up in. so he's both discriminated and marginalized by the community, and has a harder time finding solace in his family to cope.

1 ) i must once again stand by spinner's hybistrophilia. like really specifically his true fantasy is a cool suave older man who does a lot of serial killing and is willing to take spinner under his wing and say ah i see you have a lot of potential. but then he fell in love with shigaraki. that's how you know it's true love. i guess you can argue that shigaraki is an old soul.

[th4t-bug]

Here is chapter one of Bug's origin story! Ao3 for those who don't like reading on Tumblr:

And now, here we go, because I have gotten the first five followers of this blog as of last night.

The Beginning

(Chapter One of "The Bug")

It's strange, really, how much my life changed in the span of three short months. It feels like forever ago, but I can still remember how this all started so clearly.

I was walking home from school, by myself. It was late, I had to make up a test in one class, and earlier that day had earned myself a detention in another. That's not the point though, what really matters is that it was dark out already when I left. I nervously peeked around each and every alley I passed on the sidewalk, around there I was more worried about getting mugged than the cold- for good reason.

The sound was faint, down an alleyway I was coming up on, but I would already recognize the sound of breaking glass anywhere. My mouth went ever so slightly dry, my backpack heavy on my shoulders, and I made what must be one of the dumbest decisions of my life.

With my hand on the wall, I peeked around the corner.

“Anybody There?” I whispered my words before I processed anything, my throat tightening at the sight before me. I'm still glad to this day that I was so great at being silent, even back then. There, down the alley, was a man, tall, and a nasty scar along the side of his neck. He held a broken glass bottle in his hand, no doubt the cause of the sound I had heard earlier.

And, most importantly to me at the time, backed against the wall in front of him, was Maddie Lane.

Maddie and I weren't friends. I didn't know her that well, but she seemed like a nice girl. And then, as we silently made eye contact over that evil man’s shoulder, she looked so scared. I don't exactly remember what the man said to her, something about money- I just know that I had to act, to do something, and I did before even thinking about it or its consequences.

My backpack was heavy, like a bag full of rocks with how much stuff I had to keep in there, so it’s surprising I was able to slide it off of my shoulders so quickly without hurting myself- and hurl it at the man.

My improvised projectile hit the man solidly in the head with a force that surprised me. The guy didn't even have time to react, the hit was angled enough for the man to fall and hit the brick wall of the side of the alleyway with the back of his head. There was a sickening crack and I fought the urge to heave as I watched the man's eyes roll back into his skull, his form slumped on the ground. There was the sound of my backpack heavily hitting the ground somewhere in the commotion, but if it was before or after the man went unconscious, I couldn't tell you, and there was a shriek (although I don't know if it was Maddie who made that sound, or me).

I was breathing heavily, my vision was a blur, and I was unable to look away from the man's body for a moment before I shook my head and looked up at Maddie, seeing the shock in her brown eyes. “Are…” I trailed off with a nervous swallow, I could still feel my hands traveling. Finally, the words managed to leave my throat, “Are you okay?”

Sure, it might have been a basic question, but that's all I could think of to say. I wanted to make sure she was alright, after what had happened.

Maddie took a deep breath, looking at me as if I was no more than a hallucination. “Yeah, I think so.” She mumbled out, sounding like she was trying to detach from the situation itself.

I was concerned, sure, but to say the least the situation felt awkward. Sure, me and Maddie shared the same English class, but we didn't really know each other. I didn't know what to say, and with the all the events that led up to this- I didn't want Maddie to think I found her ‘just in time' because I had been following her, which wasn't the case. I eventually settled on the most generic question I could think of.

“...how’d this happen?” Okay, so it may have been a very bad thing to ask given the delicate situation, but my brain pulled up blanks everywhere else. Maddie shook herself out of her stupor and shrugged, saying that it was sudden and she didn't know. It didn't sound like the truth, but I didn't push her.

I nodded and walked forward with a grimace last the still unconscious man to pick up my backpack, hoping nothing in it was broken. “Do you need me to walk you home?” I asked after a moment, but it was more of a formality than anything. Maddie, thankfully, did not take me up on my offer and shook her head. “No- no, I think I can get home safe from here.”

I nodded again, it was for the best really, we were both still a bit shaken up and I preferred being alone when something was disturbing me. “Good… I guess I'll see you tomorrow?” I said as I slung my backpack back onto my shoulders. Maddie nodded awkwardly and her brown eyes glanced away, “Yeah.”

We stood silently in that alleyway for a moment in front of each other before Maddie said her goodbyes, turned away, and left. It was a strange moment, but I didn't notice anything distinctly wrong with Maddie at the time. I sighed heavily, glancing back at the man who was still unconscious on the ground of the dirty alley. I was starting to get concerned, if he was knocked out that long he could have gained brain damage from the situation.

I, however, didn't feel particularly inclined to call an ambulance or the police, as I wanted to get home soon. I simply tried to steady myself, and I resumed the walk home.

It was dark, but my parents weren't back yet- as usual, they wouldn't be until morning. I let myself in the house, and stumbled down the hall to my room. I set my backpack on the floor next to my bed, gently so as to not risk damaging anything.

I wasn't hungry. I had eaten on the walk home from school- before seeing Maddie. But mostly, that man's unconscious body, the sound of that sickening crack- it had unnerved any sense of an appetite I may have had that night.

I crawled into bed after kicking off my socks and shoes, but otherwise didn't bother changing. That situation, all of it had exhausted me, more than I would have thought with how much worse it could have been. My green eyes stared up and spaced out at my blank white ceiling, and I got to thinking.

I mean, sure, I knew the crime rate in my city was pretty high, too high to be considered safe, but in my neighborhood it really did get bad at night. I blindly reached to the side, turning off the lamp on my night table, the blinds of my window had already been pulled shut. The room became nearly pitch black aside from the soft light of my phone, I always preferred it like that to go to sleep.

My eyelids felt heavy, I put on my wireless headphones for music and shut off my phone, placing it on the nightstand to charge. I thought of Maddie, what might have happened if I had passed her by. I sighed softly, closing my eyes, the last thought that crossed my mind before I slept was ‘maybe it's possible for me to help people more?’

Which, of course it was.

The next morning, I went through my usual routine, feeling like a passenger in my own body. I got up, dressed in clean clothes, brushed my teeth- all the works. I did so quietly, not wanting to wake my parents who would have gotten home only two hours or so before.

I don't remember thinking a lot that day, it was mostly a blur of memories from the night before. I ate breakfast on a TV tray in the living room, cleaned up a bit, and grabbed my backpack before leaving for school. I made a point to pass the alleyway from before on the way, it made my heart jump to my throat, but the man wasn't there any more- so at least he hadn't died there (as I had almost nearly convinced myself of).

I continued on my way to school, got there- yadda yadda yadda. I will be completely honest here, the only thing I remember noticing that day is that Maddie Lane was missing from her seat in my English class.

Luckily, that day, I didn't have to stay after school as I had the day before. So the walk home from school was not in the dark, but it still had me on edge, checking around every corner. It wasn't too cold, I was always resistant to temperature changes. It was about two or three months from the first snow of the year, but my jacket was zipped all the way up- I guess somehow it made me feel safer.

I did the same thing I did the night before, checking down the alley ways on my usual path home. I didn't stumble along anything bad, not for my area at least, but getting closer to my house seeing the trash and broken items on the dirty ground left a sour taste in my mouth.

The city wasn't great, hell, it was far from it. It was dirty and ridden with crime. But, for me, it was home- well, the area of my neighborhood was at least. One person could not fix all of this, it would take a miracle, a hero, even a grade A superhero to really help. However, I was no hero. But I was a rather stubborn kid who had seen some horrible things, and I wanted to help.

So, for the life of me, I was going to try.

[kentwells]

who am i to ask for more, more, more

i haven't written fic in at least four years (maybe five which is batshit time is really a bitch) but i was so desperate for more fic abt these losers that i had to write some. title is from "waiting room” by phoebe bridgers!

i love the careers because they are obviously lethal and terrifying and brainwashed and insane. but also the scenes in the movie where they're running up to the water & laughing at the other tributes? they were raised without childhoods but they are also your average teenage bullies and it's so interesting to me. that is like. what i was getting at here. they did not realize being kids was a choice.  also huge thanks to @clatoera​ for talking endless stuff abt domesticity & ambition with regards to cato & clove!! and giving me some inspiration for the scene by the lake thank you so much for reading <3

AO3 link | fic under the cut off

When the 12M announces his love for the 12F, Clove rolls her eyes. It is, however, interesting enough for her to look at the screen instead of staring off into space. His cheeks are flushed pink, his eyes like a child’s. The district stylists might have forced Clove to look like a child, with a puffy orange dress and even puffier hair, but at least she doesn’t speak like one. The Capitol seems to think it something interesting, judging by the way the audience gasps. 

Cato lets out a harsh laugh, the same way he does whenever someone drops a weapon. Clove meets his eyes, and they share their 800th moment of knowing that no one else takes this half as seriously as they do. 

“This is a problem,” Brutus says.

“In what world?” Clove asks, rolling her eyes. Kids get crushes every day. She doesn’t know how many girls she’s ‘accidentally’ let a knife get too close to because they wouldn’t shut up about Cato in the dormitory. Even she has them. But she’s capable of ignoring it. Her heart can flutter all it wants to when Cato grabs her wrist, she’s still going to pull her shit together and wrench it out of his grip. Peeta, who only showed his strength after Katniss told him to and is willing to blush in front of all of Panem, is not going to be capable of that.

“It’s an angle?” Cato guesses. She can tell that he’s trying not to continue laughing, nervous to upset his mentor the night before the games.

Clove smirks. “A terrible one,” she says. “That’s basically saying you don’t give a shit about winning, who would sponsor that?”

“No one,” Lyme says. “But they’d sponsor the girl who kicked your asses in front of the Gamemakers and has a compelling enough personality for someone to love”. 

“Luckily, neither Cato or Clove are really going for lovable”, their escort laughs, though her eyes are still on the screen. 

Lyme’s eyes glint at her in the cold, detached way Clove has practiced in the mirror. “Long day tomorrow. Time for bed, I think.”

Clove takes the longest, hottest shower she’s had in years. Once her skin is burning and raw, she puts on a loose pair of pants and an impossibly soft blue shirt. When she gets out of the bathroom, Cato is on her bed, sprawled out like a puppy searching for attention. 

“Can you not get my pillows wet?” Clove climbs in next to him. Unlike the Center beds, these can actually fit both of them. Cato says nothing, just staring up at the ceiling, so Clove continues. “You don't even have to do any work to dry off here.”

“Who gives a shit, you have 20.” He tucks an arm around her waist, and she wraps a leg over his in practiced comfort. She doesn’t even give him shit for still being wet. It seems like a waste of breath right now. “12M’s an annoying little shit,” Cato says as she leans her head on his shoulder. 

Clove grunts. She agrees, of course. Her mind is still thick with Lyme’s suggestion that the 12M’s idiocy will reel in the sponsors. And every time she closes her eyes, she sees the spinning 11 superimposed over the 12F’s face, like a target she’s trying to hit.

“He’s not special for liking a girl.”

“I thought you were annoying, but you’re a fucking saint compared to him,” Clove snorts. He pinches her side.

“C’mon, Clover, that’s the lowest bar in Panem.”

“Give him some credit, it’s hard to be more annoying than you.” Clove grins at him, but it quickly turns to scorn. “He’s an idiot,” she says. “He wasn’t winning anyway, but his chances went from one percent to zero when he decided to commit to that act.”

Cato kisses the crown of her head. “He wasn’t winning anyway, let him have a last few moments of fun.”

For a second, Clove thinks Cato’s going to slide his hand up her shirt and go for his own last few moments of fun. Instead, he gently nudges her head off of his shoulder, shifts to one side and presses his head deeper into the pillow. “See you tomorrow,” Clove whispers.

 ࿏

 Cato is loyal to District 2 and to the Capitol. He didn’t need to be told twice, his eyes lit up when he first saw someone win the Hunger Games and they haven’t darkened since. These thoughts drum through his head on careful repeat, so loud that he couldn’t think something else if he wanted to. He eats on auto-pilot, creating a meal as close to what the Centre would give him as possible. Azalea, his jittery, pink-haired stylist sits across from him, eating nothing.

“Clove is about five minutes behind you,” she titters. 

Cato doesn’t respond. Clove is back in District 2, watching the stream with the rest of the Center kids. Azalea retrieved him from the 2F’s room this morning.

At this point, there is nothing for Cato to do. No one for him to spar, no one to beat. He settles for keeping his mind as blank as possible so that he doesn’t tire himself out. It’s a relief when he rises into the arena, to see the other tributes and the Cornucopia.

He waits a second after the cannon, having been warned one too many times about the possibility of dying from overeagerness. It’s satisfying to watch the tributes on either side of him peel away, clearly desperate to get as far away from him as possible. He has a good foot on the girl to his right, so he goes after her first. She doesn’t see him coming when he tackles her to the ground.  

Once he’s heard enough cracking from her bones and she’s coughing up blood, he pushes himself up and glances around for weapons. He sees a few swords and spears decorating the Cornucopia walls. A few feet before he reaches them, he sees a pack of knives, the kind Clove could strap around her waist. 

“Clove!” He shouts. The breath leaves his body when he spots her in hand to hand combat with one of the older girls. The second she glances up, he tosses the knives her way. Clove’s eyes light up the second she sees them. The older girl, who’s taller than Clove but made of nothing but bone, looks hopeful when Clove darts around her, and begins to make a run for it.

When one of the knives hits her calf, she falls, and Clove flashes Cato an absolutely lethal smile before kicking her over and slitting her throat. “I’ve got the 12F!” She shouts, breaking into a run across the edge of the clearing, and Cato turns to pick a sword. 

He just about blacks out for the rest of it. Kids die. He kills them. Someone makes a very half-hearted attempt to kill him and he snaps their neck. He had expected it to be more difficult, but everyone who ran towards the Cornucopia was hoping for a quick death instead of trying to avoid it.

“Let’s tally,” Clove says, cleaning one of her knives on her jacket. She’s lectured him about 800 times on proper knife care, and this does not qualify, but a good quality cleaning kit is probably too much to ask for. 

“Can we take a lap?” Glimmer asks, hands on her hips. “Some of them might have grabbed supplies, and there were definitely a few bodies with weapons sticking out of them.” She clears her throat. “And not to state the obvious, but why are you here?” She turns to 12M, who is inexplicably standing near them. 

Clove will give him credit for looking impressively unlike a deer in headlights and starting to speak for himself, but Cato beats him to it. “He’s leading us to his district partner.”

So he must not love her. Clove is taken aback by that – not because she believes in the purity of outer district crushes, but because she would have at least hoped he had a reason to sound like such an idiot on national television. “Does she believe all of the love bullshit?” she asks.

12M shrugs, and Clove can’t really be bothered to press. “Let’s do Glimmer’s idea and make sure we get everything before the hovercrafts come around.” Glimmer beams at her, and Clove turns toward the fallen tributes. She holds the knives she finds in her hand so that she can figure out how to clean them, and stalks around the clearing.

“I think you got blood on your jacket,” 12M says. He’s putting on a layer of bravado, but Clove sees right through it to the nerves. 

“Wait, was there blood around here lately?” Clove asks, her eyes wide and her voice saccharine sweet. “I must not have noticed!” She flashes him a grin that’s all teeth and turns back to the Cornucopia. They’re all covered in it – Cato’s hair is basically red, though given his height that’s probably from being flashy more so than real necessity.

“I’m Peeta,” he says, absentmindedly. From the slightly apprehensive way he looks at the bodies at their feet, he wouldn’t have lasted two years in the Center. Clove curses herself for not having slightly better aim, because if 12F was dead, she could just knife him and be done with it. 

“Clove.”

Once everything is collected and reasonably organized, the sun is starting to set. They agree not to set a fire before they need to, settling instead for the food that will go bad soon. Clove eats her apple and watches Glimmer and Cato from across the circle. She’s directly opposite them, so if anyone questions her, she can say she’s just staring into space. 

It's not like someone would, anyways. Marvel and Marina seem to have figured out that they aren't going to win, and even if 12M is still stupid enough to think that he has a chance, Clove could have him dead before he finished his sentence. Glimmer curls into Cato’s side under the pretense of warming herself up and attracting sponsors. Clove starts to feel a flicker of something detached. She wants more than anything to make a joke about how their matching hair makes them look like siblings, but that would ruin any chance of horny Capitolites sending them shit. 

She can save it until after the pack breaks. 

Glimmer adjusts herself so that her head is lying in Cato’s lap, and her body is curled on the ground. Clove catches Cato’s eye, and they both try not to laugh. Clove will give her some credit though — her head and vital organs are protected, and her back is to the Cornucopia. Glimmer may be annoying, but at least her survival instincts are decent. 

“Think it’s dark enough to hunt?” Marvel asks.

Instinctively, Clove’s hands go to her vest to run her fingers over her knives. “Hold on, I want to see who’s dead.”

As if on cue, the first bars of the Anthem appear. “Cato, tally?” He grins at her. “How the fuck did you get blood in your teeth?” she mocks, and his grin only widens. It's not really the arrogant smirk he’s been giving cameras for a week, much more the one he gives her after he bashes her with a pillow or plays a prank on his little sister.

Clove and Cato each have three, Glimmer and Marvel managed two apiece, and no one’s sure who got the last one. 

Countless trainers had warned her with sharp words, how dangerous it was to go into the Arena with a friend. Clove had worried about it, because she hadn’t gotten this far by ignoring the trainers, but everything was fine once they were in the Arena. She’s spent most of the last twelve years fighting with and against Cato. This is routine.

 ࿏

 Clove knows well enough to step away from Cato when he’s this angry. Her biggest reaction is to tilt her head to get a better look at the mangled way 3M’s neck holds his head and body together. It’s not that she’s scared – if she was really concerned, she could easily snap a knife somewhere fatal, especially with his reflexes slowed by emotion – more so that he’ll burn himself out soon enough. No one, not even Cato, can hold enough anger to throw a long-ass tantrum.

Out of the corner of her eye, Clove sees Marvel slowly backing away, three packs of supplies strapped to his body and spear in hand.

“Is the alliance over?” Clove calls out. He turns, slightly scared, to look at her. She grins, imagining how easy it would be to kill him right now for trying to sneak off. 

“I should think so,” Marvel says. “You should run from this bullshit while you can.”

Clove doesn’t even have to think in order to give him the coldest glare she can. “I don’t need to,” she says, her eyes immediately snapping back to Cato. Clove pulls herself up to a ledge of the Cornucopia and watches him rage.

She’s right, per usual. He kicks a pile of ashen supplies and lands on his back, and stays there, silently staring at the sky for a little while. He’s breathing hard enough for her to see his chest rise and fall. Clove jumps off the Cornucopia and walks towards him, eventually standing by his side and blocking the sun from his eyes.

“The Career alliance is over,” she says, offering him a hand. He uses it to pull himself up, and cards a hand through his hair. It’s too short for that, hair buzzed regulation short last week before the Reaping, but he does it anyways. “Not like any of them were much use,” Clove continues.

“Sticking together?” Cato asks. His voice is confident, but his eyes search hers. She’s half a step ahead in strategy most of the time, and smart enough to know he’s the biggest threat against her, all too comfortable ducking her knives and exploiting the few weak points she has.

He imagines them in the final two, the way they’ve talked about since they were eight, and how one of them will kill the other in a way that’s interesting enough to create an iconic story, but not too painful for the others. He thinks that he’ll kill Clove as quickly as possible and hack it to pieces until the hovercraft arrives. Clove’s eyes glint, something half steel and half something else. “Obviously.”

 ࿏

 “Tributes,” Claudius Templesmith’s voice booms through the woods around them, and Clove skids to a stop. “For the 74th annual Hunger Games, I am pleased to announce a rule change.” Clove turns to look at Cato. The Centre has stuffed her mind with hundreds of ways to play, but the only Capitol-created rule she can think of is ‘kill as many people as you can’. He looks just as confused as she feels, glancing around like Claudius Templesmith is hiding in one of the trees. “Under the new rule, both tributes from the same district will be declared Victors if they are the last two alive.”

“Under the new rule, both tributes from the same district will be declared Victors if they are the last two alive,” he repeats. His voice is even, as if they were too stupid to understand the first time, but it turns to wicked as he says “May the odds be ever in your favor” and his voice disappears as quickly as it came.

Clove is paralyzed, unsure of what comes next. Cato acts first, hoisting her up and knotting a hand in her hair. His hand sliding beneath her hair tie like he needs to be as close to her as possible. He’s probably mashing blood into her scalp, but there’s plenty of that there anyways. Her arms are around his neck, probably the first time they’ve ever been there without her making a move to cut off his air supply. Cato’s breathing is so heavy against her chest that she can feel herself shift with it. “Hi,” Clove mutters, because it’s all she can really think to do. 

Cato spins her around once before setting her down, but his arms stay on her waist. She leaves her arms on his shoulders, grip loose and easy. He looks at her with a new type of intensity, almost hopeful. “We’re winning this shit,” Clove tells him, without a single doubt in her mind.

He picks her up and swings her around again, and she would scream if he didn’t do this every time he was bored. “Abso-fucking-lutely.” Fuck the girl on fire, this is fucking fire, burning every obstacle in her path and making her future crystal clear.

Cato drops his pack and sits down, and Clove tumbles down next to him. Every bone in her body feels looser, itching for a fight but positive she’ll – they’ll – win it. She crosses her ankles over his, not bothering with any pretenses. They can both go home. No sense in making sure everyone knows how fast she could kill him. 

“I’m serious, Cato,” she says. She knows she sounds like a kid, but she can’t help it. If she had an ounce less of self respect, she would be jumping like a rabbit. “Serious. We can take anyone.” She glances around for where a camera might be, but decides to keep looking at Cato. “I’ve got long range, you’ve got hand-to-hand.”

“Perfect team,” Cato says, smug and satisfied and not with half as much cruelty as he normally says that. 

 ࿏

 They haven’t killed another tribute in two days, and the only thing on Cato’s mind is that he could have been doing this the whole time. He could have had two more weeks of throwing Clove into the lake without her worried that he was about to kill her. She never screams at home when he picks her up, too focused on getting him to drop her, but here, she laughs and shrieks like a kid from an outer district, playing up the childish thing sponsors seem to be in the mood for this year. She catches his eye when he takes his shirt off to clean up, and he is no longer a weapon that so happens to have this physical form but a fucking idiot that would trip on his own sword because she smirked at him.

“You know you like it, c’mon.”

“Like what, the fact that you won’t smell like rotting corpses and dirt for the next half hour?” He throws his shirt at her and splashes through the lake. She stays on the bench, carefully inspecting her knives, sharpening each one and tucking them neatly into the jacket she’s laid across her lap.

“Cato, I swear to Snow, if you come near me soaking wet, I will kill you,” she snaps, not even looking up from her knives. He laughs and wraps his arms around her shoulders anyways, laughing harder when she doesn’t squirm at the chill. He’s been doing this for years, trying to get a rise out of her because she hates how clammy wet skin feels. Normally, she’d have shoved him off hard enough to bruise by now, but she keeps her eyes trained on her knives and lets Cato touch her.

The metal screech of her knives against a rock keeps going. So does the sound of the water. Cato pulls his shirt back on from where it was on the ground and sits behind Clove, pulling her to his chest. She settles her head on his shoulder and holds a knife up to the sun to inspect it.

“If we win the same games, do we share a house and shit?” Clove asks. 

“Do you want to be roommates?” Cato asks, twirling the ends of her hair. It’s braided today. 

Clove snorts and tucks the knife into her jacket, apparently finding it satisfactory. Instead of reaching for the next knife, she slouches down and holds onto his wrists where they wrap around her shoulders. “I think that if you live alone, you’ll eat nothing but protein shakes.”

“Oh, and you can cook?”

“Yes I goddamn can,” Clove says, indignant, turning to face him. “I’m great at cooking.” That’s not out of the realm of possibility. He hasn’t seen her eat anything not given to them by the Center in years, but she’s good with knives and the smartest person Cato knows. “Will you cook for me when we win?”

“If,” Clove rams a sharp elbow into his ribs. 

Really, even if they were given two houses, Clove knows how quickly one would fall into disuse. The only reason they both actively use their own rooms are because their dorms are tiny, and at this point as stuffed to the brim with extra weapons and strategy books as Center regulations will allow. Most nights though, they crawl into the same bed after covering each other in cheap healing salve and trying to shake off the bruises, locking themselves to each other because the beds aren’t really big enough for two people. She knows that leaving the Arena together would sort of cement their melding into each other, making sure everyone who discusses them says it as catoandclove. 

She had promised herself that it would all end in Remake. They fixed her nose, which was well past crooked from the three times he had broken it. His skin is mostly clear of her tidy, elegant scars, only a few left for dramatic effect. And she had meant it, really, but now she’s thinking about how much of their goddamn stipend they’ll have to spend accommodating his ridiculous appetite and how she can win a fight over the thermostat.

“We need to get someone else soon.”

Cato exhales something long and heavy “Fuck yes. I think we should search out 12 and get it the fuck over with.”

“I’ll get 12F,” she says. She can sense his annoyance at that. “C’mon, I’ll make it entertaining. No one wants to see me methodically slice open someone who already can barely walk.”

“As long as it’s a good show,” he sighs. It will be. Clove imagines pinning her down, carving up her face so that no one wants to see her corpse. At this point in the Games, there are no slow deaths, not when it could be her last chance to slice someone open. Clove wants so much blood on her skin that she has to spend an hour in the lake to get it all off.

“Fucking obviously, who do you think I am?” Clove teases. She twists, albeit a little awkwardly, so that she’s properly facing him instead of pressed to his chest. The smile he gives her is lazy and content.

She slides a hand across his hip, searching automatically for the long, thin scar that should wrap around it. She finds nothing but smooth skin and a scrape, probably from a tree or some shit. She memorizes it, holding onto these new details. 12F and 12M, dying far apart and without the other knowing. An entryway littered with shoes and warm sweaters and a freshly polished rack of weapons in the Victor’s Village.

Cato leans in and kisses her, tugging her to lie on top of him. She’s about to lean back and curse him out for this, but the strategy seems to be working out alright for 12. And if she were in the Center watching this on a screen, she would be laughing with everyone else about how these kids are virgins who barely know each other. This easy affection, hidden among violent plans and strategies, is sure beneath her hands for the first time. 

(She’ll make 12F’s death especially brutal, and remind everyone that they should not fucking think about making fun of her.)

 ࿏

 5F would be hell to track if her hair weren’t bright red. He keeps seeing flashes of it in the distance, egging him onwards. Four more. He’ll take 5F, Clove will get 12F. If 12M doesn’t die on his own, he still won’t be able to put up any sort of fight. 11M will be a solid, respectable final fight, bigger than Cato but not nearly as skilled of a fighter, and Clove will back him up with her knives. It’s so close he can taste it, can’t stop thinking about sharing a bed instead of a shitty sleeping bag.

The first time he hears a Clove’s strangled, high pitched scream yell “CATO!”, he doesn’t slow down. He’s never heard Clove sound anywhere near that scared, not when the air is being choked out of her lungs or the night before a ranking exam. This is a Capitol trick, some sort of trap that he’s meant to fall into.

When he hears it again, every ounce of logic and training goes out the window, and he sprints towards her.

He doesn’t spot her at first, and there’s a wink of relief that she’s somewhere out of sight, ready to hurl knives at everyone but him, but then he sees a flash of red and brown against the grass.

Clove. The bubbled ponytail she tied and untied whenever she didn’t have enough to do with her hands. He is on his knees and she is next to him, a full on fucking dent in her head, lying on the ground, eyes still awake but no longer full of fire. He’s screaming, but he truly does not give a shit if someone hears. He’s easy enough to track down anyways.

And how the fuck could this have happened. How could a fucking nobody from 11 do this to her, careless and cruel, when she was the first person his age to figure out how to escape his chokeholds. 

“Clove, you’re going to get through this,” he tells her, and he does almost believe it. She’s broken endless bones without so much as crying. She likes doing things for dramatic effect – she’s doing this for sponsors, for attention, to create an iconic games moment that will be shown forever after they win. 

He maneuvers her so that her head is in his lap and tries not to think about how this feels like Clove’s dead weight, like lead weighing him down instead of the feather light Clove who fights back like a tiny speed demon. The last time she felt like this was in her dorm room, long after they had stopped pretending to analyze their earlier training stats, and Clove, flushed and catching her breath, fell asleep half on top of him. 

Clove’s always had a reputation for being cold. It annoyed the fuck out of Cato when they were younger, the way it was near impossible to get a rise out of her, but he likes it now. It’s most of why they were sent in together, the way he runs hot and impulsive and she stands a few steps above everyone else. This is different though, it’s not so much that her mind is whirring like crazy behind a thick shell, moreso that everything has gone hazy for Clove. Clove, who can muster a terrifying glare even while freshly concussed. 

On the ground, most of Clove’s energy is going to distinguishing one word from the next. The words Cato is saying are familiar – “I’ll slice him open for this, just how you like it. I’ll smash her head in, break enough bones that she’s unrecognizable. Remember – fuck, I still don’t know his name, actually – remember that kid that tried, yeah, I’ll recreate that, except now I can actually fucking finish the job.” She knows his threats, but his voice isn’t the hard monotone or reckless yelling she’s used to. It’s cracking like it hasn’t done since they were thirteen. She’s heard his voice wracked with emotion before, but never like this, equal parts warm and desperate. His hands cradle her cheeks, oscillating between desperately grabbing her like he can keep her alive with his touch and holding her face so gently that she thinks she might be imagining it. 

For a moment, she wonders if the cameras are still on them. She’s not sure where the line is – what violence the Capitol citizens find hot or funny or impressive, and what violence they find disgusting. Clove doesn’t find any of this disgusting. She knows Cato would do everything he’s promising if there were enough bodies in the arena for the amount of threats he’s making. He might use all of them anyways, to keep a promise to her or work out any extra anger.

He’s thought about this more than enough times since they were kids, the way he’ll eventually stand next to her dead body. This is a nightmare, the kind where he’s holding his breath and waiting to jolt awake in the Center, because she’s actually slipping away and he doubts she could so much as laugh at him right now and someone else did this to her and he wasn’t fucking there in time.

Cato doesn’t quite know what he’s saying anymore, but Clove does. It’s a babble more than anything, and she would bet that it’s because of his own emotion instead of her inability to distinguish words. He tells her that he loves the smirk she gives when she hits every bullseye in the training room and the way her face twists as she pulls her hair into a braid for training. He loves how she never slows down from an injury and the way she makes fun of him as she sews shitty stitches into his skin. He’ll do anything to try and make up for this, the way she lies on the ground, eyes glazing more and more with every minute.

She knows what he’s building to. And she already knows it, has for a while, really, but didn’t let herself think it until Claudius Templesmith told her she could. The two of them have endless, endless advantages over the 12’s, but at least those dickheads got to say whatever they wanted.

She can’t quite make words anymore. She can’t quite do anything. But despite the way she shakes violently beneath her, his knee is solid on the small of her back, and for once it’s not a trap. 

[poetryinsilence]

Yeah fluff is great and all but what about blood and all?👀 I’m putting dom!Corey in a pedestal cuz the extended cut is what my entire one brain cell is filled with. sue me. the speed at which i wrote this terrifies me

🚨general warnings: blood and kill and all that stuff, uh, gaslighting.

Let’s go, me blorbos!

Isn’t it pretty? The colour of blood? How it runs down someone’s throat and bathe them in a new light?

Corey used to be scared- scared of the shade because it brings a warning sign. An alert that he had done something bad and the suffering of consequences are waiting for him.

Cuts used to make him squirm. Seeing flesh being torn open and soft, stringy tendons pulsate with each beat of the drum would have him hurled over and vomit. Even just the thought of it would make him sick.

Ever since the incident with Jeremy, he was- no, he accepted the fact that sometimes a drop of blood is necessary. Sometimes reopening a cut is necessary.

Killing the people around you is necessary.

However, you digress.

“You said that he was bothering you, and you wanted to get away from him. So, how am I in the wrong for helping you with your troubles?”

“I never said that! All I did was just complained about work. But, you! You straight up murdered a guy!”

“I helped you! You were stressing out and it hurts me to see you like this. He wasn’t a good guy anyway. All those secret texts that he tried to hide thinking no one’s gonna find out,” he laughs, dryly. “ No one’s gonna miss that sad sod anyway.”

“No, that wasn’t suppose to happen… You can’t take people’s lives away! It’s not for you to decide!”

But that’s where you’re wrong. You see, Corey thought the same at first. Killing is wrong. But the reason behind his killing were right. Those people were not good people. They had their own dirty little secrets; doing things that were only beneficial to no one but themselves. No, he was doing a world a favour. Even if they don’t agree with him.

He know the rights and the wrongs. Unlike Michael Myres that kills only for his amusement. Chasing the thrill of seeing the light flicker out from a person’s eyes. But what purpose does that entail? Nothing.

Corey kills for the right reason. There’s no thrill for him in ending someone’s life. The first time he killed someone he was so nervous that he threw up right after. But when he convinced himself that he’s simply taking a problem out of the equation, everything felt serene. The glide of the knife justifies everything. After that, each drop of blood fills him with content- that he was at peace with the colour red.

He was hoping you could see that. What he’s doing is right. Even if you can’t, he’ll teach you. Yes, by then, you’ll see what he sees.

“Corey, I can’t do this…”

“What are you talking about?”

“…I think we need to take some time-“

“No,”

“I’m sorry…”

Time? ‘We need to take some time’? The final thread in his brain snapped and fills him with the missing anger that he was supposed to feel. The floodgates open to the gushing of red. Yes, red. His love for you is as deep as blood, the corpses that have shed could not testify how much he loves you. You’re his.

His hand wraps around you wrist, and in the silent protest, you felt a pop of bones detach from its connection. To much of your horror, your back was met with bare walls and air exhumes from your lungs with a deadly force. Screams were stifled by his hand grip tightly around the base of your neck, the pressure digging in with each seeping blood flow. Your eyes red and tear brimmed as you could only gaze at him in shock, kicking to grasp onto gravity.

What draws your blood cold isn’t the malicious intent written across his face. There is, no nefarious glare deep within his eyes. And that’s what terrifies you. What he gave, was a boyish smile, and a playful giggle that you’d normally hear that surrounds your house on a typical Friday evening.

“I don’t think you heard me clearly. I’m not asking, I’m telling you. You’re not going anywhere. You’re mine.”