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zzencat · 3 months

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Your Person When They Realize They Want More With You (+ character traits) - Timeless ⏳

From left to right. Choose the one you can’t take your eyes off of.

Applicable to a current or future person. This is someone that wants to be someone more to you. Warnings: tooth-rottingly sweet. Some suggestiveness. Some angst.

BEFORE YOU CHOOSE. Clear your mind. Time is now patient and still. Close your eyes, inhale deeply, fill your chest up to the fullest, feel the soft air brush up against the ridges of your nose. Breathe out. You may now begin.

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Pile 1. “If we’re both still single by 30, let’s get married.” “Deal.”

•you could be coworkers OR someone who goes in the same direction as you in the morning

• one day, a thought will cross their mind when they’re ordering your favorite so-and-so, maybe coffee, maybe favorite pastry, OR they randomly keep remember weird details about you(?) like “oh y/n likes this…”—cuz they’ll be like “wait…why do I know that? lol why did I just randomly rmr that…” they’ll laugh it off,,,,and then they see you again later and their heart beats a different way…

• they honestly did not see you like this before…

• ear muffs and black sweaters…puffy jackets…perhaps it’s cold/snowing when it hits them how radiant you look

•honestly a very sweet fs. if you’re okay with vanilla people, this is def for you. if not, let’s spice it upppp (you gotta do it)

• it’s weird bc it hits them gradually too. like thinking “why are you still single…why am i still single?”

• you guys have a mature vibe. ^^(relating to previous point) a lot of this pile’s fs will realize their feelings too late or will realize when you’re both financially stable

• maybe you give the vibe you’re not interested in them or you don’t have the intention of getting married—at some point you may have mentioned this to them, sober or drunk, and they rmr it so their being cautious and gauging how you could feel about them, if you feel anything for them at all

• childhood friend kind of energy. I really don’t think you see them in this way either, not until they start acting weird around you. All of sudden, they’re not smiling as much anymore and maybe they’re averting their gaze more

• it sucks bc you’ll question why and will feel weirded out when they start avoiding you, turning down your requests to hang out…

• I’m getting a very empty feel. Either you feel empty without them or they’ve been on dates with other people in the past (you’re wondering how tf they still haven’t settled) and it’s bc they’re not feeling that “unidentifiable”…spark. Like the one they should be feeling on dates with new people, but no…it’s just…dry. They don’t know what it is tho. All of these people are attractive and share the same interests, yet there’s just something missing…

• if you give this a try, you will fall very fuckin hard

• ^^ having thoughts like “how tf do they know how to cook? were they always this hot?” lawd…noticing the small things about them and it’ll get you blushin

• honestly…there’s gonna be a huge difference in communication. you’ll probably be a bit pissed- like “why are you acting so weird? have you been avoiding me?”

• they’d give you all these excuses of why they can’t hang out, and that’s bc they wanna be a lone with their feelings. They’ll try to suppress it at first because there’s just no sign that you like them back, no indication of you even feeling anything romantic towards them, and it kills them…

• I honestly see this person suffering alone from it. They’ve got all this worry and bad energy and it’s not even your fault, so the energy is just going inwards. They can’t express it- they don’t even want to verbally acknowledge it bc they’re THAT sensitive to the fact that they like you and the potential of you not liking them back. It’s really just their own mind and doubts being the bad guy

• why is this happening in a car? 😳 you might have to conjure up a little ruse to get them in one place bc they are definitely avoiding you

• I’m really getting the feeling that you were oblivious. Like it had NOT occurred to you once that they could’ve had feelings for you. The most you would’ve thought of your relationship with them is a friendship

• ^^ bc ngl a prominent portion of this group think the fs is too good for them, like out of their league—both in physical and status

• they could be tall and wear glasses, or fit and good facial bone structure

• if you mention another person (that you could possibly interested in) they’ll purse their lips and play up that they’re happy for you (but trust me, it’s fake as hell and you’ll see it). Like they won’t even be able to hold a real smile bc they’re already hurt by the possibilities. OR they just go quiet and say “oh, really?” *looks down, hands in pockets* if you’re both standing up. If you’re one of the oblivious bunch, you’ll notice their tone change but you won’t understand what’s wrong. (there’s also a split amount of you that would ask what’s wrong and others that won’t)

• BUUUT there’s also a handful of fs in this pile that will look down at their feet, hands in pockets, maybe even wearing a beanie, and will avoid your eyes while passive aggressive shooting down the other person. For example, if you compliment this other person, they’ll quietly be like “well, they’re not THAT good…”

• if you’re not giving any signs STILL? then this person will try to suppress their feelings even more and will start going on dates again. this person isn’t the most optimistic when it comes to this—which I can’t blame them for bc I think you treat them TOO much like a friend or family and joke around too casually with them that they think it’s permanently stuck like that—EVEN THO you haven’t even rejected them. there’s also a chance you’d never even friendzoned them. Perhaps when you two were younger, you were like “ewww 🤮🤮🤮” to the prospect, but now that things are different, you’re not totally opposed to it…maybe it’s crossed your mind once or twice, but you didn’t think much of it really…

•hella puppy vibes from this person tho. either they look the part or act it

•I feel kind of sad for your fs only bc some of you could friendzone them or at least have given off that vibe to them. you would go out to events with this person, even 1-on-1 and not even think of it romantically while your person is feeling this one-sided love

• it’s up to you guys if you want to date this person or not, but if you do, they will literally do EVERYTHING for you- esp the planning

• very strong cold weather, scarves, hot drinks, cold region

•this person tries to invite you out often

• i will also mention, this pile is more likely to date this person than pile 3 is to date theirs

• if you do end up dating, in the beginning stage of this relationship, they’re just shy as hellllll and you’re like “what? 😃” when you catch them staring at you — in the beginning stage, they’re prone to laughing/giggling a lot when yall make eye contact and looking away so you don’t see how flustered they are

• you could be an extrovert OR if not, you just really enjoy being around this person. their personality and presence balances out yours

• you might be unsure of what you want in a romantic partner, open to different cultures/people, kind of in your own world(?) —> like not fixated on one thing or it’s easy for you to get caught up with multiple projects/easily distracted and this person keeps track of you/keeps you grounded

• if you figure out that they have feelings for you, you’ll start to feel bad for not seeing it earlier, you’ll start to hella ruminate about it and the more you think abt them, the cuter and more appealing they seem to you

Points of Interest: infj? overthinker for sure, introvert but still good with people, the color gold, “we’re just hanging out,” going to dinner often, getting mistaken for a couple, 7:43 pm, *shrugs* “idk maybe” (from your side), unwarranted sass (from both sides), no hookups—this person wants a genuine relationship with you, “you have shit taste in love interests”(lmfao???), car fights, “wifey” *takes Snapchat selfie while sitting in the passenger seat with the more feminine energy driving*(…nah listen, if the more masc energy be saying this? dude is immediately submissive), curly hair or FLUFFY hair, lots of thick hair, you make this person feel like a kid…like you bring them back to when they didn’t have to worry about jobs and taxes, financial stability, maturity, miscommunication, amusement park dates, trench coats, “I’m feeling kind sick. Sorry 😞”, excuses, excuses, excuses, “why haven’t you been answering my texts?”, catching them try to shamelessly avoid you at the parking at their workplace, going to movies with this person and them treating it like a date (even when you don’t see it that way), when will they make an actual move??

——————

Pile 2. “What are you looking at?”

• yooo have you been to this person’s house before? 😳👀

•idk if you realize this pile 2, but if it was just the two of you, alone, with some dimmed down lights and faint jazz in the background? it could get down and dirty real quick. but only if you’re not sober and not a stubborn person. otherwise, this person isn’t who you’d initially think of as spouse-material

• I’m pretty sure this person has thought abt it before. 200% sure. Not sure if you’ve caught this, but they check you out a lot. They’ve had their eyes on you for a while…

• idk if they’re a huge flirt or just really gives off sensual vibes, but this person is hot…damn

• something about their eyes. They always look so sensual? Or they look really seductive? They’ve got *those* eyes ykwim? They’re also very laidback so that adds to their sexiness

• I think I lot of people wanna sleep with this person, so you’re in an unsaid “competition” — or at least the people around you see it as such. you might get a few dirty looks or sneaky glances your way from jealous people and it’s honestly tiring. you won’t care but it’s just an extra bug on your shoulder

• an issue tho is that you could find this person untrustworthy or not ready for commitment. they’re just hot AND THEY KNOW IT, so if someone asks them for a piece, they’ll easily give themselves — BUT what you don’t know is that a lot of the fs, NOT ALL, in this pile are very picky with who they want

• if you’re smart, this person could tease you for it. only bc they find it super sexy tho. You’re not exactly friends, just acquaintances/partners in business? People who know of each other because of mutual things or people. They know you secretly want them tho even if you try to keep composure

• I’m sure a lot of this pile thinks this person is conceited as hell or you could even cringe at how they are, and you wouldn’t admit in front of them (not even to yourself) that you do find them attractive

• if you’re stubborn, possess a lot of self control, or perhaps hold yourself and others to a standard, maybe it’s just hard for people to get into your pants in general—but this person will like that. they think you have substance to you and you’re not like the rest

• This person likely has a bunch of yes-men around them. It’s a pretty privilege thing

• pretty mysterious and even prettier eyes

• smth about those eyes man… you’d blow up if you look too long or steam might start coming outta your ears

• a lotttt smarter than they play out to be

• if you’ve never been with this person sexually, they’d be so down. if you’ve hooked up once, they’d hit you up again

• even tho this person seems noncommittal, once they commit, they REALLY do

• this person might be wealthy or has grown up in an affluent space

• OR they’ve grown up playing sports

•I don’t think they view people as “pawns” necessarily. I think you perceive them as super popular but in reality, they only consider a handful of friends, real friends. this person isn’t dumb and they know who kisses their ass

•your deviance will intrigue them. not conforming to what they want and what the people around them are like. you do what you want and they like that. they like that you also don’t settle for less.

•but I have to say, these people don’t chase. If you end up with this person, it’s bc you grew the balls to ask them out and they, impressed, agreed to it. Outside, they LOOK the same- like carry the same expression on dates, but inside, they know there’s something more to you

• it’s most likely an ego thing. They don’t do the asking out if you’re someone minding your own business

• both of you guys have an ego thing tho. This person beats you by a smidge but you think they get too much credit for just…existing.

• they’re thinking how people usually try to get with them, but bc you haven’t yet, that kind of…tugs their attention a bit. (Their spirit doesn’t want me to make it obvious that they’re lowkey affected by it lmfaoo). It’ll hang in the back of their mind, yes, but it’s not something they think about randomly in the middle of the day

• this person has found or will find success early in life…in their 20s or even before. Some of it may be due to their looks getting them the opportunities, but they haven’t done modeling. At least, not for the sake of modeling. I don’t think it’s an interest of theirs. Heavy on business person tho or someone pursuing a profession in business/finance/economics

• this person’s jaw is nicely shaped. they don’t have too much fat around their jaw

• weirdly, they can be smart for their age. I think they feel a bit of pressure from being praised for so long for looking so good that they have to perform at that same level

• there will be chances for you to actually speak to them regularly, but they will seldom make the first move. they want you to pursue so it doesn’t hurt their ego. if they can’t take it anymore, they’ll approach you (preferably at an event or somewhere where youre kind of…disillusioned? stood up, standing alone somewhere feeling insecure abt something…not in the right state of mind/unbalanced mind

•i’m not getting too many extroverts here. high chance a lot of you are introverted and would rather not be at this event. you either pushed yourself to be here or you HAD to be here. the people at this kind of event are not for you…you don’t like a lot of them and some of them feel the same towards you. you don’t care too much tho (maybe a little but not to the point where it hurts your self esteem)

Points of Interest: suits, symmetrical face, blessed features, POSSIBLY MIXED RACE, hazel colored hair, brown or tan skin, hair that compliments skin color, eyes with soul, kinky as hell, realllly good looking, switch in bed, there’s a lot of emphasis on this person’s looks, “don’t try to fight it,” 50 shades of grey (😂?!?), “if you want me, just say so”, any slow Chris Brown song, some fs here has stubble, laidback, single hand in pocket, isn’t scared to make eye contact with you, will leave a conversation with their friend midway to talk to a potential lover/partner in bed interest, zayn malik is not leaving my brain, very slow and sensual vibe, the color black or darker shades, tons of eye fucking (from them to you), intense gaze and especially intense eyes (the staring into your soul type, full of desire and curiosity type), black clothing, mysteriousness, unable to look away, intj vibes

———————

Pile 3. Best friends forever.

• This one feels more sad than the other piles bc it’s just straight up unrequited love (from you). they’ve got the fattest crush going on but you may not feel the same way.

• ^^ damn yeah…i’m getting a mixed bag for this. some of you are open towards it but the other half of you are really not interested

• This person has to have started out as a friend first and then started making subtle, almost too subtle and friendly, gestures that they’re interested in you

• similar to pile 1, you won’t be able to tell that they like you. UNLESS, they get super (very obviously) shy when asking you to go somewhere with them, like a movie or something — and you’ll be able to tell with the stuttering and head scratching and fidgeting, might struggle to make eye contact but will try

• ^^^ The biggest distinction between this pile and pile 1 is that this person is a full on FRIEND. pile 1 is more of friends that fell apart and are reconnecting, while not considered to be a part of your friend group or close friends. in pile 3, there’s an obvious disconnect, like some kind of veil between you two, and it’s really bc they only see you, but to you, this person is a ghost. someone that you really only feel platonic towards.

• they could be soft spoken or has a very… “non-aggressive” voice when speaking to you specifically

• tries to send you funny stuff or make conversation on text — 50/50 answering you right away bc they don’t wanna seem desperate/obvious, but they’ll remember to respond in the same day

• i think they hold back a lot tbh. like they have to sling back to composure whenever you’re around

• stares at you a lot in a group setting

• this person is sooooo similar to pile 1, but more…masochistic? lmfao I mean as in…wanting to be around you even when they know that they don’t have a chance or even after you’d straight up rejected them

• to be honest, there’s a chance you don’t like them that way because of their looks? the personality is perfectly fine but they’re not the type of person you’d go for if you’re looking for someone super attractive (this might be a bit harsh, but maybe a big part of why you’re comfy around them is bc they’re not someone that has model type looks? like it makes you less nervous around them than you would be around someone crazy good looking)

• stalks your social media a lot, doesn’t look at other people. you literally occupy their mind around the clock

• some people here might date this person, only for a little time tho bc there could be someone else you’re interested in, so you end up breaking up. for everyone else, you’re just really unlikely to date this person bc they’re too far from what you consider a romantic partner

• in a monogamous relationship, these are the type of people that would forgive you and welcome you back into their lives if you cheated on them

• an extremely SMALL portion of you, and i mean very small, will actually see this person for who they are and will decide to stay with them. idk if this is out of pity, “oh it’s bc I feel bad for them 🥹”, or possible regret- like “if I don’t date this person, I might regret it”—looking at it like a missed opportunity?? if you genuinely like them and grow fond of them, it will come later and like I said, an extremely small amount of you (~99.9% nonexistent)

• in rejection, this person takes YEARS to get over it. even if they try dating someone else, they’ll think about you and will show care towards you — some will try to be less obvious like “it’s fine i’m over it 🙂‍↔️” but nah, you can feel it. at some point, you could feel annoyed about this

• there’s a small chance that they believe you’ll give them a chance after rejection so they won’t date easily—unless you end up dating someone else and they know abt it, then they’ll do the previous bullet point

Points Of Interest: emotionally masochistic bc they keep wanting to be around you even when they’re hurt (if rejected, this person NEEDS to take some months away from you. idk if they’ll do that right away or not), “nothing else to say”, “that’s okay, I can wait”, awkward, unrequited love, unbreakable loyalty, “aww you’re so sweet”, this person is super rebound energy, gets their heart broken and welcomes the heartbreaker in again, snapback, acne, crooked smile, possible mbti involved (you or them): enfj, enfp, infp, isfj, esfj

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Teddy Note: Enjoy this one guys!! As always, thank you for reading. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t :)

Teddy outtt 😎😎😎

#tarot blog #tarot reading #daily tarot #relationship pac #love pac #divination #pac tarot #tarotblr #intuition #pick a pile #pick a card #love reading #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick an image #tarot masterlist #tarotcommunity #pac reading

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avocad1s · 26 days

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The Gnosis Can Wait

Requested By: No one. Original work.

CW: 5.0 spoilers below this line!!! 5.0 spoilers below this line! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!

Summary: After his battle with Mavuika, Capitano was left injured. He retreats wanting to replan his strategy when he runs into you, the Creator, who had just descended to Teyvat.

Note: So how are you all liking Natlan? As of right now I think it’s okay only because I want to return to Fontaine 😞

Capitano wasn’t used to the taste of defeat.

As number one in the Fatui harbingers and the strongest amongst them no doubt, he is used to winning every match he partakes in. Or for his opponents to concede before the battle even begins.

Yet he doesn’t take it to heart, he knows the outcomes of every battle can differ in many different ways and he isn’t arrogant about his strength.

Mavuika was a God after all. Even though his power rivals hers, he knew he would have to best her with a foolproof strategy and it seemed barging in wasn’t the right one. She was a worthy opponent.

Capitano returns to his camp, the pain in his chest still burning from the small wound Mavuika left on him. He can wait, once his wound heals then he will strike her again, only this time he won’t miss. At least he has an ally in his pocket keeping him up to date on all the politics within Natlan.

“My lord,” Capitano’s right hand, Rezanov begins while bowing. “We found footprints nearby. We believe someone might stumble into camp soon…”

Capitano lets out a sigh underneath his mask, “how many people?”

“We believe only one, there’s only one track of footprints.”

Only one person? Nothing really to worry about. Unless this person is returning to tell the Archon his location.

“Find them and bring them here.” He orders and Rezanov nods and quickly takes off.

��——

Okay… don’t freak out. Don’t freak out…

You just woke up in Genshin Impact.

You remember waiting impatiently by your PC for the newest update to the game, but you must’ve fallen asleep while waiting. Now you were dreaming about the it? Jeez, even in your own dreams you thought about the game. You really needed to touch grass. (lol jk jk luv you all)

You were dreaming about Natlan… a nation that you haven’t even played yet. You couldn’t have had a dream about your favorite nation? Or meeting all your favorite characters?

But everything felt so real. Even after watching the trailer and the leaks you’ve seen online, there’s no way you could know such detail about the nation. Maybe it was just your mind filling in the gaps…

“Stop right there!”

You turn around and your blood runs immediately cold. It was two fatui skirmishers and one fatui agent. You don’t even know the amount of times you’ve killed these enemies for their drops or just for the fun of it.

So this is how you die… at least this is better than falling into the claws of Childe, who you’d beat up anytime you built a new character.

“Our lord the Captain will deal with you, come with us with no fight.”

Scratch that. This was much, much worse…

“Wait… isn’t that…?” One of them whispered.

They put down their weapons, looks of remorse on their faces.

“Your Grace… please for give our imprudence we had no idea it was you…” Rezanov. “Please come with us, the Captain would be delighted to see you.”

Right… you’ve read fanfics like this before. Believing you’re their Creator… you wonder if your blood was gold. Perhaps you could check later. For now, you were going to follow them, it’s not like Capitano has appeared in the game you can get a first time look at him.

You follow the trio deeper into the forest, a small fireplace in the distance, you could only assume the Captain would be there.

“My lord, we found who was trailing around camp. Their Grace has decided to bless us with their presence on Teyvat once more.”

Capitano turns around and say nothing for what felt like forever. Even with the helmet, you knew he was staring intently at you.

“Your Grace.” He finally says, his voice much softer than you ever expected. “I am honored to be in your presence.”

He approached, towering over you.

“You three. Fetch Their Grace some food—“ he looks down at you once more. “And a change of clothes.”

You feel embarrassment creep up your neck. What’s wrong with your pajamas? Could he tell they weren’t from this word?

He holds out his hand, and you take it being able to feel the warmth underneath the glove. This dream was much realer than you thought…

Capitano leads you to his large tent holding the flaps open so you could enter. “We weren’t expecting your arrival so I apologize for the lack of preparations…”

You shake your head, “everything is fine.” Not like you’d be here forever…

“You can have my tent You Grace, I will camp outside.” He adds.

You furrow your eyebrows, “this tent is big enough for two people, can’t we just share it?”

Capitano doesn’t say nothing for a moment, you fear you’ve might’ve offended him with your offer but it was the complete opposite. Capitano felt as if he was on top of the world, to share a camp with the Creator? To be able to protect you? To see your sleeping face…

He feels his cheeks grow crimson and he is eternally grateful for his helmet. “Of course, if that’s what you wish Your Grace…”

The flaps to the tent open and Rezanov enters the tent. “My lord, we've received word that the Pyro Archon has lost much of her power.”

“Although your injury complicates things, this is most certainly the opportune time to seize the Gnosis...”

Capitano was slightly irritated with his subordinate’s unwarranted entry but he wouldn’t do anything yet, not while you were right in front of him.

“The Gnosis can wait, we have more important matters…” he replies, his focus never leaving you.

Note: Capitano was the highlight of Natlan for me. Sorry but i’m a Fatui Harbinger glazer 😞 why’d they make them so fine? It’s not fair… Now here’s to hoping my man is playable, saving all my primos for him so he better not disappoint.

Edit: I know Mavuika isn’t a God but I’m thinking Capitano wouldn’t know that since she’s the only one of the Seven that isn’t a one which is where I went with this fic

#genshin cult au #sagau #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #sagau x reader #self aware genshin #sagau fatui #avocad1s posts #sagau capitano

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mentally-gone002 · 2 months

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i waited for you

summary: just pure fluff

a/n: sorry it’s been a few days gang i’m working on a big project atm so if i go mia that’s why

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the white queen that once had a place on the marbled chessboard twirled between each of her fingers beside her head. her elbow propped on the table was covered by one of spencer’s many sweaters bunched up and sliding down her forearm. the way the sunlight streamed in through the beige curtains cast a light that made her look angelic. her hair was messy and beautiful. the way her eyelashes almost kissed the highs of her cheeks was making spencer swoon the longer he stared.

“spencer, it’s your move.” she tilted her head to meet his eyes, smiling gently at him.

he straightened his posture with the quick clear of his throat before his eyes focused back to the chess game. he tried to think of the next move with his fingers hovering above the board but all he could think about was her. he looked back up at her and dropped his hand that would have moved a piece of the game.

she noticed and held eye contact with him. “something wrong, baby?” her voice was oh so gentle and her hand slid across the table to take his in the middle. she could hold his heart in her hands and it would be safer there than in his chest.

spencer shook his head, and stared at their hands. the corner of his mouth twitched up. “i…” he hesitated, “i think i love you.” the confession came out airy and barely audible.

her hand still fiddling with the queen chess piece dropped, the gentle thud making spencer worried that her skin would have discoloration. she stared at spencer’s face, his eyes, nose, lips. she went over every detail like it was the first time all while her heart hammered inside her chest. she thought spencer would hear it if she didn’t breathe.

“you don’t have to say it-“

“i love you.” she blurted, stopping his words in his throat. her hand that was holding his squeezed in assurance. “i was waiting for you to say it, just so i knew it was real.”

spencer felt his heart ache at that. did she think he didn’t love her? he pulled at her hand as a way of silently telling her to stand up and walk to him.

she stood, slowly, and rounded the small table until she was standing knee to knee with him. spencer slid his empty hand onto her hip, pulling her down to sit on his lap, straddling his waist.

“did you think i didn’t love you?” spencer whispered because they were nose to nose. she only shrugged, fingers toying with the collar of the sweater he was wearing.

her eyes switched from his left and right multiple times before her lips parted and she said, “i never doubted you for a second, but i wanted to be sure.” she smiled. “i waited for you.”

he smiled as his eyes lingered on her pink lips. he blinked slowly, taking the time between his eyes closing to shift his gaze up to meet hers. “i love you,” he whispered, liking how the three words sounded when they were meant for her and her only. “so much.”

“i love you too.” her hands tangled in his hair as her lips pressed against his own slowly and with the most gentle intentions.

spencer melted, his arms winding around her waist and his hands pulling the fabric of her sweater into his hands. he reveled in the feeling of their lips between each others, slipping and dancing together slowly. he sighed, breathless, when there was minimal space between them for needed breaths.

she smiled at him, tracing his jaw with her fingers. “say it again.” she whispered it gently.

it made spencer smile and kiss her again, once before he told her, “i love you.” he’s not afraid of wearing it out.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid drabble

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daycourtofficial · 1 year

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The Shadows Want You to be Happy

Summary: Azriel’s shadows overhear a conversation where you doubt Azriel’s true intentions, and they urge him to rectify the situation.

Author’s note: this is just pure fluff baby! Pure unadulterated fluff. Go to the dentist! Also I didn’t proofread this, so enjoy at your own caution!

His shadows didn’t mean to spy on you, they promise. They just liked keeping an eye on you at all times.

Azriel had no idea why his shadows seemed to adore you so much - well, he could understand it, because he adored you just as much as his shadows did. But he can’t figure out why - they don’t like being around Elain, but most of the others the shadows just watch.

Not you, though. Whenever you two are in the same room his shadows roam over you, greeting an old friend. If he’s been away for a days on a mission, they spend several minutes swirling around you, seemingly doting on you, like they’re asking “are you okay? Did you eat while we were gone? Did you sleep?”

A few shadows have taken it upon themselves to stay stationed with you at all times. He thinks they have a schedule, out of jealousy and need to share their time with you, but they don’t really tell him too much about what they see. The most they’ll tell him is if you haven’t eaten in a while or that time they told him about you having a cold and not wanting anyone to find out. He spent three days in your apartment with you, feeding you soup and taking care of you.

His shadows absolutely do not tell him the things you say or how you’re feeling, or so he thought. Both of the shadows that were asking as your bodyguards came to him, like little kids with a story to tell.

You were laying on the couch in the library with Feyre, engrossed in your independent books. The two of you do this weekly, enjoying each other’s presence without much social obligation. Sometimes the two of you will talk, but it’s often followed by long, comfortable silences. Just when you thought the silence was going to stay for a while, Feyre spoke up.

“so, sweetie, how are things with you and Azriel?” She asks, closing her book to turn to you.

Your cheeks heat immediately. “Um,” you say, closing your book to turn to her, knowing that she won’t relent until she gets what she wants out of this conversation.

You had kept your feelings for him mostly to yourself, except one drunken night a few weeks ago you had told Feyre about how pretty he was. You thought she might have forgotten about it, but this conversation is telling you she wants more. Thank the mother it wasn’t Rhys or Cas you had told that to - they would have mocked your word choice of “devastatingly pretty” for years.

“Well, we have plans to go out tonight,” you reply, very nervous about opening up to Feyre. She looked at you, her face asking for you to continue. “We’re trying all of the bakeries in Velaris to see who has the best pastries and hot chocolate, so once a week we try a new one and gorge ourselves on baked goods and chocolate.”

Feyre smiled at how absolutely adorable that was. “Are these… dates?” she asks, smiling at how absolutely oblivious the two of you were.

“We call them dates,” you reply.

“Do you two do anything physical? You don’t have to be gratuitous with details, I’m not Mor.” Feyre says, shuddering thinking of Mor grilling you for details on if the two of you have had sex yet.

“Um well the bakeries are usually cozy so we usually are tucked away in a corner, pressed up together. In one of them we had to wait for a table, so he just wrapped his wings around me while we waited.” You told her, grinning at the memory of his body heat.

“Do you two ever kiss?”

You sink a little further into the couch, your cheeks blazing with heat now, your hands covering your face as you say, “yes”.

“Has there been more than kissing?”

Feyre watches the head hiding behind youe hands nod ever so slightly and squeals. She actually squeals.

The people of Velaris love to gossip with her, and when she heard rumors of two of her friends being spotted around town looking very coupley, she decided to investigate. It also doesn’t help that the Inner Circle has a betting pool on when you ans Azriel will get together. Her bet was this week, so she’s doing what she can to win. And because she wants the two of you to be happy. And because Cassian bet that you two would be together next week, and she can’t lose to him, his gloating is atrocious.

“So, you two are together?” She asks, practically bouncing in her seat.

“I’m not sure,” you say, “honestly I’m a little worried that this means more to me than it does to him.” You look down at your hands, “I don’t really do casual dating, and I’m a little worried that this is just a fling to him. It’s really incredible and hot and sweet and all but.” You look around to see if anyone is listening before you whisper, “honestly, it would break my heart if this was just casual for him.”

Feyre was shocked at how sad you looked at the idea of being something casual to Az. She knew the two of you were head over heels for each other, they all knew that, but you looked devastated.

“Sweetie,” she says, trying her best to console you, “there is no way that that male views you or anything to do with you as ‘casual’.“

“Are you sure?” You ask, hesitation lacing your every word.

“Absolutely. He lights up whenever you’re around and I’ve never seen him miss a function you’re at.”

You thank your friend for the reassurances and settle back into your respective books. You knew that Azriel’s shadows often followed you around, even without him being anywhere nearby. He once told you that they find you adorable. However, you didn’t realize that the two who were stationed with you left very quickly after your discussion with Feyre.

The shadows relayed the whole story to him, in part because they, like the inner circle, want the two of you together. But also because they understand that you were upset and Azriel could fix it.

Azriel was more shocked at the insistence from them to make you less upset - usually they are just uninvolved observers, simply passing along information to him, allowing him to draw his own conclusions. The way those shadows spoke to him you’d think that they were in charge of him.

He met you outside of your apartment later that night, dressed in an all black casual outfit. “Ready?” He asks, extending his arm out for you to take. You lock the door behind him, straightening your coat before taking his arm.

The two of you start these dates off by walking through Velaris. Winter has just begun and there’s a light falling of snow covering the two of you.

“What’d you get up to today? I haven’t seen you since breakfast,” he asks you, not-so-subtly reminding you that you were, in fact, his breakfast, before he left your apartment this morning.

“I spent most of the day in the library with Feyre, reading a few books, doing some research. I had to get out of there, the words were all starting to blend together,” you reply, nuzzling into his arm to retain some of his heat, despite his jacket covering his arms.

“Mm, well then I guess you could consider me you’re handsome knight, off to whisk you away for an evening of delicacies in your time of need,” he retorts.

You chuckle and begin to speak, not stopping yourself before blurting, “why are you only like this with me? Don’t get me wrong, I love this side of you, but you only show it to me. Why’s that?”

Azriel stops your walk to stand in front of you, “ignoring your recent declaration of love,” you huff, “I just.. feel different around you.”

The look he’s giving you makes your knees go weak. He’s looking into your eyes with deep, raw honesty, like he wants you to see inside his soul.

“I love my family, despite their best efforts to annoy me into murdering them,” he says. You giggle. “But you’re.. different. The way I feel about you is different. I thought I loved Mor, but I didn’t. I loved the idea of saving her, of being her knight.” He sighs, unbelieving that he’s spilling all of this to you out in public. Luckily the other pedestrians just ignore the two of you, out of kindness or fear of him, he’s not sure. He pulls you into a quiet little alley, in the hopes to retain some privacy.

“It was stupid, but I thought I could save the girl and we’d live happily ever after. Then I met you. When I was a kid, I always wanted someone to come rescue me, and I thought that that was how you fall in love. But it’s not. I didn’t need to save you to love you. After this big revelation about myself, I took some time to really think about what I want. It’s why a few weeks back everyone thought I went to check on the war camps. Well, I did check on them, but I spent most of the time thinking. And I want you, no rescuing required. Though if you’d have me, I’d rescue you from anything. A bad day, my annoying family, the flu, anything. I’m not sure how clear my intentions have been, I figured showing you off around Velaris was enough, but I guess not.”

He paused, a mixture of nerves and intense determination radiating off of him.

“I haven’t thought about another person since I met you. I haven’t even considered looking at anyone else. Rhys has started calling me a puppy, because I follow you around everywhere, and I don’t care. I’ve never been so public with anyone, not giving a damn who sees or what they think, because I want them to know that you’re with me. I want everything you’ll give me.”

You’re stunned. It’s so quiet, you can hear the snow falling. It’s as if the world has gone silent to hear what you’ll say.

“Anything I’ll give you?” You say, a smirk crossing your face, wanting to draw out his confession a bit more.

“Anything.”

“Even if I snore?” You ask.

He laughs, “you don’t snore. You’re actually quite adorable when you’re asleep, hate to break it to you.”

“Hmm,” you say, stroking your finger on your chin, looking quizzical. “Guess you’ll just have to get used to my adorable sleeping, because if you’re accepting it, I’m giving you everything.”

He leans down, capturing your laugh with his lips, his shadows dancing around the two of you in excitement.

He pulls away after several minutes, laughing at the groan coming from your lips, “did you know that the idiots have a bet about us?”

He begins again after seeing your confused face, “If we’re together this week, Feyre wins the betting pool. Next week is Cassian.”

“Oh!” You exclaim, “that’s why she wanted us to be together so badly! Hm, maybe we should let Feyre win, because Cassian would be-

“Unbearable.” You both say in unison.

“When should we tell them? And how?” You ask.

“Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow we can just have sex on the dining room table, that’ll send the message loud and clear.” He says, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

You swat his arm, “no, we’re better than Cassian and Nesta. Maybe we should have a banner made. It’ll say “we had sex!” And point down to us.”

He chuckles, grabbing your arm again and steering you towards the bakery, as the two of you contemplate how to tell your family the news that will make them all so incredibly happy.

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #acotar fanfiction

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thewulf · 5 months

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The Analyst's Arrival || Aaron Hotchner

Summary: Request - Hi can I request a hotch x bau reader? I'm sure its been done before but I just love your hotch fics!! When Strauss hires the reader without Aaron Hotchner's approval, tensions run high. Hotch is distant and a little mean, but the reader's unwavering positivity and kindness start to chip away at his walls... Read Rest Here

A/N: Really loved writing this one. Hope you all enjoy!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader,

Word Count: 4.2k

TW: Yelling, gunshots (non wounded), general CM triggers

The BAU conference room hums quietly with the usual pre-meeting chatter. Derek flicks a crumpled paper ball at Spencer who is engrossed in his latest physics journal. While JJ shares weekend plans with Prentiss. The light mood does little to ease the stiffness in Aaron Hotchner’s posture as he stands at the head of the table with his folders organized neatly in front of him.

The door swings open and Erin Strauss steps in. It was a rare occurrence that immediately draws everyone’s attention. You follow behind her, your confident stride belying the curious glances you receive from the team.

"Good morning, everyone," Strauss begins. Her voice pulling the room into a focused silence. "I’d like you to meet Agent Y/N L/N. She’s joining us from the NYPD where she served in the Major Crimes unit. Agent L/N has a sharp analytical mind and extensive field experience which I’m confident will be invaluable to our team."

Hotchner's eyes narrow slightly, not at you, but at the way Strauss seems to relish the surprise on his face. He had not been informed of this decision—a move that didn't just sidestep his authority but outright ignored it. A move he hated.

As polite smiles and nods pass around the room, Hotchner remains motionless. His gaze finally landing on you. You seem unaffected by the tension your presence has stirred as you returned his scrutiny with a polite, unwavering smile.

"I'm very excited to be here and look forward to working with each of you," you spoke. Your voice steady and warm. "I’ve heard only the best about the BAU team."

"Thank you Agent L/N," Strauss cuts in smoothly. "I’ll leave you in Agent Hotchner’s capable hands." With a final nod Strauss exits, the click of her heels echoing a stark finality to her departure.

There is a brief silence as you linger in the doorway. "Why don’t we get started then?" Hotchner says. His tone more a command than a suggestion. "Morgan, Reid, can you bring Agent L/N up to speed on the current case?"

As the team dives into the details of their latest unsolved case Hotch observes you. You listen intently, asking pertinent questions that demonstrate not just your understanding but your capability to dive right into the deep end. Despite his initial resistance he can't help but admit—albeit grudgingly—that you seem competent.

Yet as the meeting progresses Hotch feels a gnawing sense of irritation. It isn't directed at you, but at Strauss and the situation he’s been forced into. Watching you interact with his team, a part of him wants to see what you can do. To see if Strauss’s confidence in you is justified. But as the leader of the BAU and with walls built from years of leadership, admitting that will take a bit more than just a good first impression.

In the days following your introduction the BAU team falls into a familiar rhythm with you, gradually weaving you into the fabric of their tightly knit group. Spencer shares book recommendations, curious about your interests. While Morgan teases lightly, testing your sense of humor. Prentiss and JJ involve you in their lunch outings often asking about your experiences with the NYPD.

However, Hotchner maintains a professional distance. During briefings he is succinct, his interactions with you strictly businesslike. His questions about your reports are pointed and perhaps harsher than necessary. You sense his doubt. Not just in his words but in the lingering looks that question your conclusions or the slight frown when you speak up during meetings.

One afternoon you're updating the team on a profile you've been developing. "Based on the victimology the unsub is likely someone with a deep-seated resentment towards authority figures. Possibly stemming from a troubled childhood," you explain as you clicked through the presentation slides.

"Seems like a stretch without more evidence," Hotchner interrupts abruptly. His critique hangs in the air. Heavier than the typical scrutiny profiles usually receive. You notice a brief exchange of looks among the team, but they remain silent.

Despite this you maintain your composure, responding calmly. "I'll dive deeper into the case files and see if I can substantiate that with more specific behaviors," you assure him with a nod that's meant to show both your respect for his experience and your confidence in your own skills.

As you work later in the quiet of the empty briefing room refining your profile, Hotchner watches from his office. The light from his desk lamp casts a long shadow and his expression is unreadable. The easy acceptance from others contrasts starkly with his skepticism and it's clear that you have yet to earn his trust.

One evening as you're the last two in the office Hotchner approaches your desk with his usual resolve towards you. "Agent L/N, I want our profiles to be watertight. I can't have assumptions without solid evidence," he states. His voice low and firm.

"I understand, sir," you reply, meeting his gaze. "I appreciate your guidance. I'm here to learn and contribute as effectively as I can."

There's a pause, a moment where something unspoken passes between you. Perhaps it's the acknowledgment of your dedication, or maybe it's Hotchner wrestling with his own reluctance to accept change. He nods curtly and leaves you to your work.

Despite the cold front you don't let it dampen your spirit. Instead, you double down on your efforts, pouring over case files late into the night. You were determined to prove your worth not just to Hotchner, but to yourself. Your positivity and commitment slowly chip away at the team's initial reservations and even though Hotchner remains distant you start to feel like a part of the BAU family.

As weeks pass your insights during case reviews become sharper. Your suggestions more intuitive. The team begins to rely on your judgment. They sought out your opinion, and slowly, very slowly, you notice a thaw in Hotchner's demeanor—a nod here, a less critical question there.

But the wall he has built around him isn't one to crumble quickly and you know that gaining Hotchner's full trust will be a marathon, not a sprint. Still, your unwavering kindness and the diligent sparkle in your eyes during every case discussion continue to sow seeds of change. Even in the stony ground of Hotch’s reserved heart.

A couple of weeks later and Hotch finally decides you’re ready to join the team in the field instead of staying behind with Penelope. Not that you didn’t like working with her you were just craving to do what you were hired to do.

The air is thick with tension as the BAU team arrives at the suspected hideout of the unsub at an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It's late, the darkness only broken by the beams of flashlights and the occasional flicker of police sirens in the distance. Hotchner's orders are clear and concise. His voice a calm command over the sound of rustling tactical gear.

"Reid, Y/N, you're with me. Morgan, Prentiss, take the east side. Radio if you make contact. Everyone, stay sharp," Hotchner instructs. His eyes scanning the perimeter before leading you and Reid towards the main entrance.

The warehouse is a labyrinth of shadows and echoing spaces. A place that seems to absorb sound and light alike. You follow Hotch with your senses heightened every training you’ve undergone pulsing through your veins. As you navigate through a maze of crates and discarded machinery, a noise—a soft scuffle, almost imperceptible—catches your attention. You signal to Hotchner and Reid pointing towards a dark corridor off to the left.

"Stay here, cover us," Hotchner whispers. His gun raised as he edges toward the sound with Reid close behind.

You position yourself with your back to a solid surface, gun aimed at the corridor. Your mind races through various scenarios, but nothing prepares you for the sight of a figure lunging out of the shadows. Heading straight for Reid with a knife glinting in the dim light.

Without a moment's hesitation you break cover, tackling Reid out of the knife’s path. The impact sends you both sprawling to the ground just as Hotchner turns, firing off two quick shots. The unsub goes down, a groan echoing off the walls.

"Reid, you okay?" Hotchner is immediately by your side. His usual stoic demeanor replaced by concern.

"Yeah, thanks to Y/N," Reid gasps. His eyes wide with the adrenaline of the near miss.

Hotchner turns to you. His expression unreadable for a moment. Then, slowly his features soften, the corners of his eyes crinkling not with frustration, but something akin to gratitude. "Good work, Agent L/N. That was quick thinking."

Your heart pounds not just from the action but also from Hotchner's acknowledgment. "Just doing my job, sir," you manage to choke out though the gravity of the moment isn't lost on you.

As the team secures the scene and paramedics check over everyone Hotchner keeps glancing your way, his gaze lingering longer than usual. In those looks there’s a new respect, perhaps even a reassessment of his earlier doubts about you.

Later, as the team debriefs back at the BAU, Hotch publicly commends your actions. "Agent L/N’s instincts and bravery tonight might have saved Dr. Reid’s life and potentially others. Excellent work."

The team’s applause is warm, genuine, and you can't help but feel a surge of pride. More than the praise it’s Hotchner’s nod of respect towards you that marks a significant shift. It's a turning point not just in your relationship with him but in your place within the team. Your actions have not only proven your worth, but they’ve begun to dismantle the walls Hotchner had built around himself, brick by brick.

In the weeks following the intense warehouse operation the dynamic within the BAU team subtly shifts. You are no longer just the new agent. You have proven yourself as a vital part of the team. Hotchner notices the change not only in how the team interacts with you but also in his own perceptions.

One crisp autumn morning as the trees outside the Quantico offices burst with gold and russet hues, Hotchner finds himself observing you from across the bullpen. You’re assisting Morgan with recalibrating the physical training program for new recruits. The ease with which you handle the task, balancing Morgan’s strength with strategic insights, does not go unnoticed by Hotchner. There's a gentleness mixed with competence in your approach. A stark contrast to the decisive action you displayed in the field.

Later that day, you offer to stay late to help Morgan review the training schedules, ensuring they are optimized for the team’s needs. Garcia joins in eager to add her tech-savvy touch. Hotchner overhears laughter from the office you’re sharing, a sound that is light and genuine, making him pause as he packs up for the night. The sound of friendship and shared effort makes the BAU feel more like a tight nit family and he realizes you are a big part of that shift.

During a team briefing the following week Hotch openly seeks your opinion on the psychological conditioning aspects of the training program. As you outline your thoughts by citing recent research and adaptive training methods he listens intently. The team watches this interaction, clearly seeing Hotchner’s respect for you which influences their own views.

When the team encounters a critical situation with a string of high intensity raids you suggest an innovative tactical maneuver that saves valuable time and minimizes risk. Watching you handle the pressure with composed determination Hotch feels a significant shift within himself—a deep-seated respect for your skills and a growing admiration for your resilience.

It’s not just your professional competence that reshapes his thoughts but also your empathy and dedication. You take the time to ensure that the team is not only prepared physically but supported mentally. A role that enriches the team in ways Hotchner hadn't anticipated.

One evening as everyone is about to leave you pass by Hotchner’s office. He calls you in, an impromptu gesture that surprises even him. “Agent L/N,” he begins, his voice reflecting a mix of professional respect and something more tentative. “I’ve been meaning to say… your work, especially in these past weeks, has been exemplary. I initially misjudged you and I want you to know I appreciate what you bring to the team.”

Your response is a nod accompanied by a warm smile, but his words catch you off guard and a faint blush colors your cheeks. “Thank you, sir. I’m just glad to be here, and I really truly appreciate your guidance.”

It's then, in that quiet moment, as the setting sun casts a warm glow through his office window highlighting the blush on your face and the sincerity in your eyes that Hotchner sees something he hadn't fully allowed himself to recognize before. The softness of the light, the quiet dignity with which you accept his praise and the undeniable warmth of your smile strike him profoundly.

For a brief moment Hotchner is silent, observing you not just as a capable agent but as a person whose presence has subtly but indelibly changed the fabric of the team—and his own perceptions. The realization that he finds you beautiful, in more ways than one, surfaces quietly but powerfully in his mind. This acknowledgment isn't just about your physical appearance but encompasses the entirety of your influence on him and the team.

As you leave his office with a certain lightness in your step. The thoughtful look on Hotchner's face mark a turning point. It's a small almost imperceptible moment, but it’s one where personal and professional lines blur slightly, hinting at deeper unspoken possibilities that neither of you may yet fully understand.

The next case up had been grueling with long hours and high stakes that left the entire team feeling the weight of their responsibilities. As the post-case debrief wraps up in the BAU conference room the team disperses, leaving behind a palpable relief mixed with the usual fatigue. But as everyone else heads out to grasp at some much-needed rest, Hotchner lingers at the conference table organizing his notes with more care than perhaps necessary.

Seeing you gathering your belongings slowly he finds the resolve to address the change he's felt brewing within him. "Agent L/N, could I have a moment?" he asks. His voice much softer than usual.

You nod, curious, setting your bag down and returning to the table. The room is quiet now, lit only by the dim lights left on for the night shift.

Hotchner takes a deep breath, his demeanor uncharacteristically open. "I owe you an apology," he starts. His eyes meeting yours. "When you first joined the team, I was... less than welcoming. I questioned your capabilities. Not because of any fault in your record or your behavior, but because I was resistant to the change you represented."

You listen, surprised by his candor, as he continues, "I've always insisted on control, on predictability. After everything I’ve been through, it seemed like the only way to protect the team, to protect my family from further loss. But I've come to realize that I was protecting myself more than anyone."

Hotchner pauses. His gaze shifting away momentarily before returning to yours, more intense, more vulnerable. "You’ve brought a new perspective to the team, a resilience and warmth that I didn't know we needed. You've saved lives, not just through your actions in the field but by being who you are. And...” he hesitates, the next words clearly weighing heavily on him, “and I find myself grateful, not just for your contributions to the team, but for the light you've brought into my life."

Your heart skips a beat at his words. The formal barriers between you melting away in the quiet honesty of the moment. “Thank you, Hotch," you respond, your voice low. You were touched by his admission. "I’ve always admired your dedication and getting to see this side of you, it means a lot."

Hotchner nods with a slight smile breaking through his usual reserve. "I guess what I’m really trying to say is, I would like to... explore this, whatever this is, with you. If you’re open to it," he adds quickly, almost awkwardly.

As the room quiets and you acknowledge Aaron Hotchner’s feelings. Even though your elated you feel that pit of dread form in your stomach. Aaron was your superior… a shadow of concern passes over your face, quickly deepening into visible anxiety. "Hotch," you start, your voice carrying a mix of hope and worry that quickly spirals into panic. "What about Strauss? If things change between us... I mean, if we do this, couldn’t it really complicate things? What if it impacts the team, or your position, or—"

Seeing your distress, Hotchner steps closer. His expression softening significantly as he picks up on your escalating fears. "Hey," he interjects gently, his tone soothing. "Let’s just take a moment, okay?"

You pause, your breath shaky, caught up in the whirlwind of potential consequences that his words had unwittingly unleashed.

Hotchner reaches out slowly. He was giving you time to accept his comfort before his hands rest lightly on your shoulders. "We're not going to rush into anything," he assures you, his voice calm and steady. "Yes, there are risks, and you’re absolutely right to consider them. But we’re not in this alone. We have a team that supports us, and we have each other."

His words help, but it's the firm comforting presence of his hands, the warmth from his touch, that really begins to calm your racing thoughts. "We'll be careful," he continues. "We’ll make decisions together. I respect you too much to let this cause you any distress. If it ever becomes too much, we stop and we stay professional. That’s a promise."

Your breathing slows, steadied by his reassurances. Looking into his eyes you find a sincere commitment there. A steadiness that you’ve always admired in him now directed towards nurturing whatever might grow between you.

Seeing that you’re still tense, Hotchner does something he rarely does—he pulls you gently into a hug. It’s a careful gesture making sure to respect the boundaries but offering comfort. "We’ll handle whatever comes, together," he murmurs. "You're not in this alone."

The hug was unexpected but deeply comforting. It helps to dissolve the last of your apprehensions. You let out a slow breath, allowing yourself to lean into the embrace. You felt a sense of safety in his support.

"Thank you, Hotch," you manage to say with your voice muffled slightly against his shoulder. "I needed to hear that. One step at a time. I can do that."

"One step at a time," he confirms. Giving you a reassuring squeeze before stepping back to respect your space. "We have all the time we need."

As you both leave the conference room, your steps feel lighter. The burden of immediate decisions lifted. With Hotch’s support you feel ready to face whatever challenges might come knowing that not just the weight of the case, but also the weight of new possibilities could be shared.

In the weeks that follow your relationship with Hotchner develops quietly but deeply. Both of you are cautious, acutely aware of the professional boundaries that must be maintained in the intense environment of the BAU. Yet outside of those walls, in the small, stolen moments you find together, a new world seems to unfold. A world where you can be just Aaron and Y/N, not agents with burdens too heavy to bear alone.

You start with simple coffee dates after long shifts where the conversation drifts from case debriefs to shared interests in literature and quiet confessions about your lives outside the FBI. These moments are a revelation, filled with laughter and soft looks that linger longer than necessary. They are moments that stitch the fabric of your relationship tighter with every thread of shared vulnerability and joy.

Aaron, who has always been guarded with his emotions, finds in you an understanding ear and a comforting presence. You learn about his son, Jack, about the painful loss of his wife, and how these experiences shaped him, not just as an agent but as a man who fiercely protects those he loves. Your empathy and gentle encouragement help him navigate the lingering shadows of his past. Allowing him to embrace the possibility of happiness again.

For you, Aaron becomes the person you didn’t know you needed in his strength. His steadfast nature and unyielding integrity inspire you, guiding you through the complexities of your role within the BAU. His belief in your abilities boosts your confidence and his support becomes your anchor in the turbulent sea of your demanding careers.

Together you navigate the highs and lows of life at the BAU. After particularly harrowing cases it’s Aaron who helps you decompress by taking long walks by the lake near your apartment or simply sitting together in comfortable silence. And it’s you who brings light into his evenings with Jack making sure to join them for movie nights and slowly becoming part of the family he holds dear.

The relationship does not go unnoticed by the team but the respect you both maintain at work ensures that your personal lives enrich your professionalism rather than detract from it. Your colleagues see the subtle changes—how Aaron smiles a bit more, how you’re both more relaxed despite the demands of your job.

After a few months of dating, you and Aaron walk hand in hand along the quiet paths of a nearby park, he stops, pulling you close. The city lights cast a soft glow around you, and the world feels like it’s holding its breath. "Y/N, these past months have shown me something I hadn’t dared to hope for," he says, his voice low and full of emotion. "That it’s possible to find light even in the darkest places. You’ve brought that light into my life."

You smile while reaching up to touch his face gently. "And you’ve shown me that strength isn’t just about holding up the world on your own, but knowing when to share the load," you reply, your heart full. "I love you, Aaron."

"I love you too, Y/N," he whispers, and as he leans down to kiss you, it feels like a promise. A promise of a future together where love and understanding can thrive amidst the chaos of the life you’ve chosen.

As autumn turns into winter the relationship between you and Aaron blooms amidst the frosty edges of the season, weaving warmth into the crisp air around you. Your love, quiet but profound, becomes the silent strength that both of you draw from during the demanding days at the BAU.

One chilly December evening after a usually tough case that had stretched your limits and tested your resilience, Aaron plans something special to celebrate not just the end of the case but the life you are building together. When you arrive at his house after the long day, you find the living room transformed into a cozy winter wonderland. It was complete with soft blankets, flickering candles, and a fireplace that crackles with warmth.

Jack was at a sleepover and Aaron greets you at the door with a gentle smile dressed in a comfortable sweater that makes him look homier than ever. "I thought we could use a quiet night in," he smiles while leading you into the room.

The table is set with your favorite foods and there’s a gentle playlist humming through the speakers filled with songs that have slowly become 'yours'. Aaron pulls out a chair for you, his manners impeccable as always, but his eyes are shining with a joy that is purely personal. As you eat, the conversation flows easily—plans for the holiday, funny anecdotes from the day, shared dreams for the future. After dinner Aaron leads you to the couch where a blanket is draped invitingly. He sits beside you pulling you close into his side, and you nestle against him feeling the steady beat of his heart.

“Y/N,” Aaron murmurs, his voice soft in the quiet of the room, “when I think about all we’ve been through, I realize every moment led me right here, to this. To us. I can’t imagine my life without you.”

You look up at him touched by the sincerity in his voice. “And I can’t imagine a better person to share my life with,” you reply. Your hand finding his. “You make everything... brighter. More beautiful.”

Aaron smiles, his gaze tender. “I have something for you,” he says while reaching into his pocket to pull out a small, exquisitely wrapped box. He opens it to reveal a delicate silver necklace with a pendant that glimmers softly in the firelight—a compass.

“It’s to remind us that no matter where we go or what cases we face, we’ll always find our way back to each other,” he explains. His fingers brushing lightly over the pendant before fastening it around your neck.

You touch the pendant overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of the gift. “It’s perfect, Aaron. Just like this night, like this.”

He leans in with his lips meeting yours in a kiss that is slow and sweet, a seal over promises made and kept. The rest of the evening passes in gentle laughter, shared kisses, and dreams whispered between the folds of blankets under the watchful glow of firelight and twinkling stars outside your window.

Aaron Hotchner/Criminal Minds: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: (Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @daily-evanstan @hardballoonlove @14buddy22 @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @mrs-ssa-hotch @panandinpain0 @viscade @kreepja @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kajjaka @guacam011y

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sparkrls · 7 months

Text

simple questions

MASTERLIST

Summary: in which Harry is eager to makes his girl happy and she just wants answers to simple questions

Author’s Note: a blurb i wrote based on these Harry pics because I am NOT over it

Word Count: 2.6k words

•••

Her boyfriend was an idiot. That’s what Y/N resolved as she watched him stumble over his words as he was asked a simple question of, “Who’s the girl you’re with?”. It wasn’t even anyone important asking, just a fan who’d noticed Harry and felt brave enough to ask for a photo, albeit with hands that shook as she passed over her phone.

It had started as Y/N’s idea. She knew she was entirely at fault for Harry’s nerves, but it wasn’t even completely her idea. She had just asked him, “Have you ever had a public outing with a partner?”

It was an innocent question, asked due to pure curiosity, not with any ulterior motive as Harry suspected. He had given her a look, trying to get a read on her intent behind those words. He tended to do that a lot. Doubt people’s words, like they had some double meaning, and they were trying to trick him into making a fool of himself. She had a tough time getting him to trust her enough as to not doubt her as much, but the trust issues slipped through every once in a while.

Harry then stumbled over his words, the way a newborn doe might trip and fall as it clambered onto its frail legs. Simple questions were never his forte. He could answer you deep, philosophical questions and ponder them in his mind without hesitation, but it was the simple questions that tripped him up. A whole conundrum, if you asked Y/N.

Eventually, Harry admitted, “No.”

She’d stared at him with a deadpan expression, because it had taken an extraordinary amount of ‘um’s and ‘uh’, along with some weird humming sounds to get a one-word answer from him.

So she followed up with, “Don’t you wanna?”

“Do you want me to do it with you?”

“Well, no, I was just asking because-“

“I’ll do it with you,” Harry rushed to say.

Sometimes he tended to rush himself into doing favors for people he didn’t really want to do. A tendency lots of overly kind people had. And he’d always have this particular warm, soft tone when he did. And she loved that little tone that indicated he was feeling kind. But lots of times he regretted agreeing to those things and would stumble home to her apartment, grumbling and griping about whatever stupidity he’d been forced to do. So it grew into a strange mixture of adoration and disdain for that tone. Because she never liked to see her boy tired to the bone because he was too polite to back away from a promise. (Although she did love running her fingers through his soft hair until he fell asleep with his head on her lap)

This time, however, Harry wasn’t using that warm tone. It was a much different one, a bit of a higher pitch, and with a much sweeter undertone. It was a tone he used when he was trying to win the favor of his girlfriend.

She chuckled, “Baby, I didn’t ask you to-“

Harry had one arm rested on her waist and the other underneath the pillow she rested her head on. “But I wanna,” He said with a small pout, an almost whiny quality to his words. His cherry lips looked so kissable when they stuck out that way. “Wanna show the world you’re mine.” He leaned up until his nose was nuzzling her neck, and his lips brushed against her collarbone. “Mine and only mine.”

His lips clamped down on her skin, sucking at it for a moment before allowing his teeth to nibble lightly. Sharp stings followed wherever his teeth sunk in so deliciously, sending sparks throughout her whole body.

Y/N had learned early on that Harry had a very possessive side to him. He’d spent years feeling that everything he was belonged to the public, including all the dirty details of his personal life and his friends and partners. And now he had regained that privacy (he’d had to pry it by force from the unfailing grip of the media), he wanted to claim everything as his own.

It was why Harry was so fiercely protective of his friends and loyal to a fault. He felt the incessant urge to always stick by their side. He finally knew what it was like to have something belong to him, and it was his greatest fear to lose it.

After a lot of therapy, communication and compromise, Harry had not only found a healthy balance for himself but for his relationship with Y/N as well. A certain possessiveness that she wouldn’t deny him because she could never refuse anything he asked, and it was just part of who he was. But a harsh line as to not become controlling or overprotective as Harry had threatened to do in previous relationships.

The habits snuck into their daily lives, as Harry had a tendency to leave marks where everyone could see them. Therefore, the hickeys on the neck which Y/N always had to cover with concealer because she despised turtlenecks with a passion.

“Love, I’m not doubting your choice,” she began to speak, interrupted by Harry leaving open-mouthed kisses from her jugular up to the base of her jaw. And it was getting hard to think straight when his lips were on her and his tongue was tracing delightful patterns.

Y/N cleared her throat trying to focus. “However, I don’t want this to be an impulse decision. Think it through.”

Harry separated his lips from her skin long enough to murmur, “I’m sure. I wanted to make it public to everyone soon anyways, might as well go out together.” As he spoke, his warm breath grazed against her sensitive skin, causing goosebumps.

“Go out where?”

“The Man U match, obviously.”

And that was why Y/N spent the next week fussing over her choice of hairstyle, whether to leave her natural waves or straighten it or straighten it and then create strategically messy waves. And then freaking out on the phone to her best friend about whether her outfit was a good choice or not. Because of course, she had to look stylish for her first public appearance with Harry- those photos would be circulating the internet until the day she died- but she also had to dress for the unforgiving winter and plan for rain. Even if she was going to be in the VIP suite with Harry, the entrance and exit could possibly have rain, and she couldn’t always count on an umbrella. She’d learned that the five times she’d gotten stuck in the rain while waiting at a too-full bus stop in peak traffic in London.

The point was, Y/N didn’t want to let down Harry nor the fans by wearing the wrong hairstyle, clothes or makeup. Resulting in overthinking every tiny detail down to the jewelry.

The morning of, it was Harry who soothed her nerves saying, “Love, if you don’t want to do it we don’t have to. It was always a choice.”

“I want to, but it’s just…” She looked up at him with a shaky breath. “It’s scary.”

“We can wait,” Harry replied, placing her face in his hands, his thumb caressing her cheek. “We’ll stay home and watch the game on the telly, we’ll wear our sweats and I’ll order in some food from that Thai place you’ve been wanting to try.”

Taking a good look at Harry from top to bottom, from those dress pants that clung to his thighs in the most delightful manner, and the button-up that tragically hid his well-sculpted biceps to the sweater vest he’d bought the first time they’d gone shopping together. He looked so soft and warm, yet so confident and sure of himself. Like a scale that had finally found balance.

Harry had an energy that screamed youthful, but he’d recently settled into the warm feeling of peace that came not with age, but the realization that chaos wasn’t necessary to be happy. He wasn’t afraid of his career always being on the chopping block, or the precarious opinions of outsiders. He had found himself, and with it, found an inner peace he’d never had before.

And it showed. From the way he dressed, to the courage of him showing up to their hotel room with the surprise of a shaved head one day, to the way he carried himself so firmly. He was centered. He was calm. And he was happy.

This was the first time everyone else would get to see Harry after the latest stage of his self-discovery. And Y/N wouldn’t be the one to hold him back. “No, I want to go,” she said firmly. “But I want you to pick my outfit.”

To no one’s surprise, Harry picked an outfit that was primarily made up of clothing from his own closet, completely shoving aside the outfit she had previously picked out for herself because, “Babe, I have better taste than you.”

Y/N didn’t have bad taste, but when it came to fashion, she laid her trust in Harry… most of the time.

The only thing he kept were the jeans she’d picked out, a new pair she’d gotten recently which flattered her figure. They were high waisted and cropped at the ankle, the color a grayish tone of the classic denim. Most importantly, they highlighted her ass. The one thing that no matter how insecure she was, she always loved. And Harry did as well, if the way he swatted her ass playfully a couple of times a day was any indication.

He paired it with a long-sleeve white top that clung to her skin, a green sweater on top that was slightly baggy on her figure as it was one of his and one a black coat that would keep her warm. Harry was careful to make sure all the layers would keep her warm even in the winter air, as he knew she tolerated much less cold than he did.

“Cute,” Harry said with a dimpled smile when she finished putting on the outfit and gave him a twirl to showcase it. “You’re really pretty, darling.” He hooked his fingers through her belt loops and yanked her forward until she almost toppled into his chest as he sat on the edge of his bed. He gave her a soft smile, the kind he gave her right before a heartfelt message- “And ten times prettier because I chose the outfit.”

Y/N swatted his arm playfully at his joke, and he simply laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. “It’s a basic outfit.”

“Aw, don’t be mean because the outfit I picked out is better than the one you did.”

“You’re such a bully.”

Harry grinned at her. “Is that so?”

She nodded in mock earnestness. “Yeah. I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Harry replied simply.

“No, I don’t.”

With a couple of more kisses which included wiping the lipstick from Harry’s lips, the couple got into the car and held hands as the engine started and drove them to the stadium.

“So, we’re cheering for Man U, right?”

Harry sighed heavily. “Love, do you even know me?”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” She said with a chuckle, raising her hands defensively. “Man U for football and Green Bay Packers for the other football.” She gave him an apologetic look. “Sorry baby, but I know nothing about football.”

“I’m going to be explaining all the rules, aren’t I?”

Y/N’s silence was enough of a response.

But then it was time for the most dreaded moment of the day, when they entered the stadium hand-in-hand, walking past press and media and paparazzi.

Harry laced his fingers between hers and gave her a small squeeze before opening the car door and stepping out. He was quick, making her almost jog to catch up with his long strides. He’d warned her he would move hastily as to avoid lingering around the cameras longer than necessary.

There was one quick snap and a small flash and then-

They were inside the stadium and no press could chase them in any longer.

“Wait, that was it?” Y/N asked, glancing at the door they’d just walked through as their pace slowed down.

Harry glanced at her quizzically. “Did you expect more?”

“Well, you always describe it all huge and dramatic, flashing lights and a billion cameras and a huge crowd of screaming lunatics-“

“Football matches are different,” Harry said, chuckling as he interrupted her rant.

“I got worried over that?” Y/N signaled over her shoulder, her jaw dropping. “Seriously?!”

Harry laughed. “What do you expect me to say? You’re an overthinking maniac?”

She huffed, “This is your fault.”

Harry kissed her when her lips pouted. “Love you, darling.”

“Love you too,” She grumbled as they made their way to the VIP suite.

And that’s the full story of how they’d ended up at the Man U match- which they won, thank god, because Harry would’ve teased her relentlessly for being bad luck- and with a fan asking for a photo and asking who Y/N was.

“Um, well- she- we met- me and her-“ Harry couldn’t seem to form a train of thought, so she rolled her eyes and took control of the situation.

Holding out a hand for the fan to shake, Y/N said her name and said, “I’m Harry’s girlfriend. Nice to meet you, babe.”

The fan’s jaw dropped. It was a bit hilarious, but out of sheer politeness, Y/N held back her laughter. “You are definitely hot enough. Cool. Bye.” Turning on her heel, the fan walked away.

Harry seemed in shock as Y/N laughed, turning to him, completely bewildered. “You hear that? I’m ‘hot enough’!”

Without a care in the world of the dozen of cameras probably pointed at them, Harry grasped her face in his hands and gave her a deep, loving kiss.

Y/N scanned his face, a giddy smile on her own, “What was that for?”

“For being my girlfriend,” Harry replied before pulling her back in for another kiss. So maybe she’d allow her boyfriend a celebratory kiss or two or maybe five before they had the decency to move out of sight of the cameras. And just maybe, it wasn’t their last football match together.

Two years later, Y/N and Harry would return to the very same stadium for yet another Man U match, a bit older, a lot more mature and their love stronger after growing roots for so long. The tree flourishing with branches extending to the deeper reaches of her heart, she had never felt so fulfilled. Like the world was so much lighter and easier to endure even with the extra weight of a diamond ring on her finger, and a white gold band identical to the one on Harry’s hand.

“Who’s the girl you’re with?” The fan asked, a 15-year-old girl with her hair dyed blue and a Love On Tour shirt on, her curious eyes scanning Y/N, a flicker of familiarity in them.

Harry smiled, looking his wife up and down, admiring the outfit he’d carefully chosen for her earlier that day. He inhaled deeply, and for once, he didn’t trip over his words as he replied firmly, “This is Y/N. I’m her husband.”

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fireya-x · 25 days

Text

AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist

Your husband, Captain John Price, insists on teaching you how to shoot at the range. But you soon realize that his instructions involve a lot more than just handling a gun.

[4k+ words]

cw: piv sex, spanking, light dom/sub

“Remember what I just told you,” John said, and your grip around the cool material of the gun you held grew tighter. It was a foreign object in your hands, and even though you’d just received detailed instructions on how to hold and handle it, it didn’t feel right. You’d hesitantly taken it from his hands, and felt something unexpected, as if accepting a dangerous secret from him. It felt intimate, like a shared moment of vulnerability. He entrusted you with this part of himself, this dangerous expertise, never doubting for a second that you would accept it.

Then there you were, in the middle of a shooting range, and John was moving through the facility as comfortable as he was moving through your own living room. You’d been to the base a few times, of course, meeting teammates and other partners, but never with the intention to hold a weapon.

You’d told him, more than once, that you wanted no part in this side of his life. That ignorance was your safe haven, your way of pretending that the man you loved could leave the battlefield behind. But deep down, you knew it was a lie. John Price, for all his tenderness, for all the quiet moments of domesticity you’d built a life around, was a soldier to his very core. He breathed and lived it as long as his heart pumped blood through his veins.

It was in the way he moved, precise and controlled, and it was in the way he touched you – possessive, protective, as if you were the most precious weapon in his arsenal.

He insisted it was for your own safety. “You need to be able to protect yourself, love,” he’d said. But you saw right through it. This wasn't about you. It was about him. About the nightmares that lingered in his eyes, the enemies he'd made in a life you couldn't begin to comprehend. This was his way of ensuring that no matter what happened, no matter how far apart duty tore you, he could rest easy knowing you had a fighting chance. It bordered on paranoid, the lengths he’d go to protect you – the home security systems, the calls to his former teammates, the subtle checks whenever you were out alone. But beneath all that, you saw the love, and you wouldn’t deny him this. You’d never shied away from his darkness, the stories he’d told that both terrified and fascinated you.

It was all part of the complex man that was John Price: both a trained, lethal weapon and a caring, loving husband.

Gentle but ruthless. Controlled, but capable of destruction. Dangerous in ways you probably never could even begin to understand, but you felt safer with him than you ever had alone.

He was a walking oxymoron.

“I’ve never even held a gun before, John.” You admitted, your words echoing through the vastness of the range, uncertain how to explain the weird mix of emotions you were feeling.

“I know,” he said, his lips curving into that half-smile. “And I can see you hesitating, and that’s the correct first step, love. Respect is most important.”

He’d guided you to a secluded booth, the table stocked with more ammunition than you’d ever expected to see outside a warzone. He’d shown you how to hold the pistol, how to check the chamber, reload the magazine and how to disable security. He’d shown you the stance, the subtle shift of weight so that the recoil wouldn’t punch you in the gut, and told you that it’s best to use both hands to aim, to steady yourself.

“Finger off the trigger, sweetheart,” he suddenly instructed, his tone serious. You hadn’t even realized you’d moved it, your finger was hovering over the trigger with reckless curiosity, and you couldn't quite explain why. "Only put it on there if you really mean to take a shot.”

He put his hands above yours on the grip of the pistol, then chuckled lightly. “Loosen up a little. Don’t make that a habit.” He then grabbed your elbow and lifted it up a little, so gentle, it was a weird contradiction to how controlled he moved around the shooting range like he was never meant to be anywhere else.

He stepped back, giving you just enough space to breathe, to remember you weren’t his soldier to command. But he could tell you still weren’t sure about your stance.

“Want me to show you?” He gestured to the target at the end of the range – a silhouette that seemed eerily human-shaped in the dim light.

You nodded, surrendering the weapon and retreating to a safe distance as John stepped forward, his movements fluid, almost graceful, belying the lethality he embodied.

He pushed the safety lever off with a sharp click. You could almost feel the energy in the air shift. You saw his hand gripping the weapon as it became more serious and alive, like not just a tool, but an extension of him.

John raised the gun. You were captivated, your gaze tracing the line of his arm, the flex of his bicep beneath the fabric of his shirt. It shouldn’t have been so mesmerizing, watching him handle a weapon clearly meant to kill, and yet, you couldn't tear your eyes away.

His stance was relaxed, almost casual. He didn't even flinch as he pulled the trigger.

The gunshot echoed in the silence, sharp and startling. You flinched involuntarily at the sound. It wasn’t that you weren’t expecting it – but there was something different, something almost intimate, about watching him handle a weapon with such lethal grace, such unflinching control.

There was no time to feel anything but awe as John lowered the weapon, his eyes fixed on you. The air was thick, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

“Now you,” he said as he clicked the safety back on and stepped aside. He didn’t need to say anything more. You were ready, he had made sure of that, and he was waiting to see if you would rise to the challenge.

“Downrange, safety off,” you muttered to yourself, remembering his words. Your finger found the safety, disengaging it with a soft click that felt overly loud in the quiet space. You tried to replicate the stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, a slight bend in your knees that made your thighs ache. Taking a deep breath, you raised the pistol, lined the sights up on the target at the far end of the range, ignoring the tremor in your arms, and squeezed the trigger.

The shot caught you completely off guard. The recoil was sharper, more violent than you'd expected. It jolted your entire body, throwing you off balance. You stumbled back, a startled yelp escaping your throat before you could help yourself, the heavy weight of the gun almost slipping from your grasp.

You missed the target entirely.

“Easy, love, easy,” John's voice, calm and steady, was right beside your ear. You hadn’t even registered his approach, your senses still reeling from the gunshot, the adrenaline that spiked through you sharp and bitter on your tongue.

You hadn't realized you'd stopped breathing until his hand settled on your waist, his touch firm yet reassuring through the fabric of your shirt, steadying you. Your body leaned into his warmth, seeking comfort, and found it in the solid presence that had always been your haven in the storm.

“Don't fight it,” he murmured. “It’s not about forcing the shot. You need to work with it. Let it flow.”

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, but you didn’t try to pull away. His closeness was more reassuring than you wanted to admit, the solid weight of him a stark contrast to the unexpected power of the gun. You’d felt this way before, countless times: small beside his strength, intimidated but inexplicably drawn to the same danger that made you feel so vulnerable.

“Again,” he commanded softly, ignoring your remark, as his hand tightened momentarily on your hip. You couldn’t disobey, even if you’d wanted to. His other hand covered yours on the gun.

You tried to recall the stance he’d demonstrated, to feel more confident, but it felt awkward. Your body was tense, and you cursed the way your heart hammered against your ribs.

“You have to relax, darling,” John murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear, his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

He leaned closer, his chest a wall of heat at your back as his hand moved from your hip to settle on the small of your back. “Don't let that little gun take all the control,” he whispered, his fingers splaying against your spine as he adjusted your posture, holding you steady. “It's not about brute strength. Lean into it, find the balance.”

His heat seeped into you, chasing away the chill of the shooting range and replacing it with a heat that centred between your legs, a yearning you hadn't anticipated. His touch was doing things to your senses, sending a jolt of something hot and reckless straight through you.

You could feel his fingers, calloused and rough, brushing against yours as he made you hold the gun right.

“See, like that – now, the grip –” You could hear the amusement in his voice, the way he seemed to savour your discomfort. He wasn’t going to make this easy for you, and something in you – something wild and hungry – revelled in the challenge. His fingers traced a searing path down your arm, his touch lingering for a heartbeat on your wrist as he guided your hand.

“Use your wrist – just like that –” You shivered as his breath ghosted across your ear. “That’s it. That’s how you hold it. It's all about control.” He pressed closer, your bodies moulding together.

His hand covered yours on the gun again, overlapping it as you held the weapon together. This different kind of intimacy touch sent a spark down your spine, scorching away every last thought, as you tried to focus on the instructions. “Now pull the trigger.”

You did. And this time, you hit the target. The bullet tore through the paper silhouette, a testament to his guidance, his control.

It was impossible to ignore how close he was. His fingers grazed your back, sending a shiver through you, and then – oh, God – you felt it, the insistent pressure of his knee between your thighs, adjusting your stance, bracing you.

“Feet apart, love,” he murmured, his voice husky as his knee nudged you wider, his hand a steady pressure on the small of your back. You felt like a toy in his hands.

You fired again. This time, it was a little closer to the target, but still far away from the bullseye.

“That’s better,” he murmured, but there was an edge to his amusement now, something heated. You tried to ignore the pressure of him against you.

“Look at that target, focus on the sights, love.” He shifted, his lips finding the delicate skin beneath your ear, and you sucked in a breath. He was doing this deliberately now, pushing your buttons, testing your limits, and the worst part was that he knew you were powerless to resist.

You fired again. Same corner.

“That’s not good enough.” His lips hovered over your pulse. “Hit the target and you’ll be rewarded. Hmm? How’s that sound?”

A familiar heat built in your belly. The knee that was still holding your stance steady felt way too prominent. This position did nothing to hide his arousal, either.

You focused on the sights, tried lining it up with the middle of the target. The shockwave was not completely absorbed by John’s strength as he held you, and you were shoved back against his chest. You hit the target's neck.

“Good girl,” he said. “You’re a fast learner.”

Every time he’d utter that phrase, every time he brushed his fingers against your hand as he guided you, it was like a surge of heat coursing through your veins. You were flustered, struggling to keeop your focus.

“Stop it,” you pleaded. “You’re distracting me.”

You aimed again, after he’d adjusted your stance, his breath ghosting over your neck as he leaned close to make a correction. “Yes, just like that.”

That was your undoing, each word he said was laced with a playful, knowing intent. His hands guided you, but it wasn’t about the gun, or the lessons, it was all about the feel of him close to you.

You fumbled, almost dropping the gun.

“What’s wrong?” He laughed.

Your cheeks burned. “I –I can’t concentrate.”

You were so lost in showing him that you could do this, you didn’t realize what he started to do. Lips on your neck, and his hand suddenly slowly snaked below the waistband of your gym shorts.

You froze. “John! Isn’t this place covered in cameras?”

“Made sure they’re out of order tonight.” He leans in a little closer as if to whisper it in your ear, his breath warmer than the summer air. “It would take so much paperwork to have you here otherwise. Besides, my wife deserves a private lesson from her husband.”

You shuddered at the words, at the implied claim in them. You aimed again, but missed.

A sharp sting on your backside made you gasp, a sound that morphed into a startled moan as you registered what had just happened. He'd spanked you. It shouldn't have been arousing, not here, not now, yet a thrill shot through you as much at the audacity of it as the sensation itself.

“Do I have to punish you for missing shots?” He sounded so deceptively soft, sending a shiver down to the place where his knee still pressed insistent between your thighs. He was fully aroused, you realized, a thrill shooting through you at the knowledge, the feeling of it a branding iron against your overheated skin.

“Wasting ammo like that?” He punctuated the question with another swat, harder this time, his hand lingering on your ass, his fingers flexing as though torn between wanting to punish you further and pulling you impossibly closer.

It was impossible to think straight, let alone concentrate on lining up the damn shot.

“J-John,” you stammered, hating the way your voice sounded – breathless, needy – even as you pressed back against him, seeking out the heat that radiated off him in waves, making your head spin. You were caught in a delicious, dangerous game, and the only way to win was to surrender completely.

But you weren’t quite there yet. You needed to hit this damn shot. Pride warred with something hotter, wilder, as you struggled to ignore the insistent pressure of his erection against your backside.

Just as you thought you could regain some semblance of focus, his other hand, the one that had rested so innocently below the waistband of your shorts, began to descend further. It was a slow, deliberate movement, and then you felt it – a finger, rough-tipped and insistent, slipping between your folds.

Pleasure shot through you like a bullet, so unexpected and potent that your entire body went rigid. You bit back a moan, the sound dying in your throat as you clenched around his intruding digit, the ache that bloomed low in your belly a thousand times more distracting than any recoil.

“Again,” he commanded, his voice low and hot against your ear, as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening, as if his fingers weren’t actively attacking your most sensitive flesh, driving you to the edge of madness. He held all the cards in this game he'd initiated. And you were a willing participant, your body already betraying you, arching unconsciously against his touch, seeking out the friction he so expertly offered even as you tried to focus on the task at hand.

You lined up the sights again, his scent filling your senses, so distracting and so dangerously addictive that it had you clinging to him, desperate for something you couldn't quite name. The barrel wavered as a tremor ran through you, and you swore you heard his breath hitch as your hips moved against him.

“Close,” John breathed, and you felt as his fingers snaked further along your folds. You gasped as a finger slowly pushed into you. “Good girl.” His other hand had a tight grip on your hip, his fingers digging into the flesh as though he’d hold you there forever, trapped between pleasure and denial. “But not there yet, love. Again.”

The shot, when it came, was pathetic. The recoil almost knocked the gun from your grasp. The bullet ricocheted off somewhere, you weren't even sure where it landed. It hardly mattered.

Another sharp swat of John’s hand against your ass. It should’ve stung, but all you felt was the heat of him, the pressure of his body against yours. His other hand, the one driving you wild with each deliberate stroke, didn't stop even as you whimpered, your hips rocking back instinctively against his touch, seeking relief, release.

“Concentrate, love,” he growled.

But how could you? How could you possibly focus on anything but the insistent ache that throbbed between your legs?

“John, please,” you breathed, arching against his touch, shamelessly seeking more. “Just – just let me –” The words dissolved into a whimper as his fingers found that sensitive bud of flesh and squeezed, not cruelly, not yet, but with enough force to make you gasp, your inner thighs clenching involuntarily.

“Then hit the bloody mark, love,” he commanded, his voice rough with an emotion you couldn’t quite place, a tremor running through his words as though he were fighting for control just as hard as you were.

You squeezed your eyes shut against the wave of frustration – no, need – that pulsed low in your belly. The pressure of his erection against your backside was a constant torment, a promise of a release he seemed determined to deny you.

“Again,” John barked, his control finally snapping as his hips twitched against you. His touch, the way he moved against you, fuelled a fire in your veins hotter than anything you'd ever experienced. It was intoxicating, terrifying, and utterly addictive.

You were a moth drawn to his flame, even knowing you were destined to be burned.

You squeezed your eyes shut as his touch sent another jolt through you. “Please, just –”

“Hit. The. Mark.” He growled, teeth clenched, while moving his hips against you, seeking friction for his own arousal.

You wanted to scream, to sob, to demand he touch you properly, to take what you were aching for. But some primal instinct – some deep-seated need to please him – had you straightening, lifting the pistol with shaking hands.

You tried to concentrate, blocking out the burning heat of his hands, the feel of his erection hard and demanding against your backside, the way his every ragged breath whispered against your ear, fuelling the fire he'd ignited within you. Your mind was a fog of need, your senses overloaded, but the promise of release, that sweet reward only he held the power to give - it was a drug more potent than anything you'd ever imagined.

Lining up the pistol again, you forced your vision to clear, found the target through the haze of arousal, and squeezed the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot, the feel of the recoil, your own ragged gasp of surprise - it all blended into one overwhelming sensation as time slowed, distorted. And then strong hands were on you, urging you forward with a force that stole your breath, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, not when the need to be touched, to feel him everywhere, was an inferno consuming every other thought.

You hadn’t even registered what had happened until you caught a glimpse of the target -

Headshot.

You'd hit the mark.

You barely had time to process your victory before the gun was taken from your hands and safely put away - then you were tumbling forward, the world tilting, the cool surface of the table a shock against your heated skin as John's weight pressed you down, his chest a solid wall at your back.

The clatter of the spare ammo as it scattered across the floor was the only warning you got before he moved. You gasped, the sound muffled against the cold metal, your senses reeling as he yanked your shorts and panties down in one swift, brutal motion, baring you to the cool air, to his gaze, which you could feel burning into you.

He didn't waste his breath on anything but a low growl as he shifted, the sudden sound of a belt buckle ringing in your ears. His weight was pressing you deeper into the table, his erection, hard and insistent, nudging at your entrance. And then, in one swift, possessive thrust, he filled you, the force of it stealing what was left of your sanity, chasing away everything but the all-consuming need to feel him move, to feel him claim you as his.

The world shrunk to the feel of him: him anchoring you to the table, the possessive grip of his hand on your hip, holding you still as he moved within you. His thrusts were deep, powerful, each one a delicious torment that had you arching into him, crying out his name against the cold metal of the table.

“That's it, love,” he growled, his voice thick and primal, something that went far beyond the controlled man you thought you knew.

You suddenly felt his entire weight hovering above your back, slowing pressing your full body into the table. The angle changed, and his movements became more intense. You felt his teeth graze your earlobe, and then he murmured against your skin. “You’re mine. All mine. Say it .”

“Yours,” you gasped, the word a broken plea. The hand on your hip felt like a hot brand against your skin, as if it was marking you, claiming you in a way that went far beyond reason. “Please, John –”

“Please what, darling?” He chuckled, a low, rough sound against your ear, but his hips never stuttered, never slowed their relentless rhythm. “Tell me. What do you need?”

“You ,” you sobbed, the need, raw and desperate, clawing its way out of you with every thrust.

As if he sensed you nearing the precipice, the edge of control he’d deliberately pushed you towards, John shifted. The pressure of his chest eased, but before you could mourn the loss of his warmth, his free hand shot out, fingers closing around the back of your neck, not cruelly, but with an unquestionable force that demanded obedience.

He lifted you from the table, and then his mouth was on yours. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, not with your bodies angled as they were, but it was possessive, desperate. The scrape of his beard against your cheek was a delicious torment, and you couldn't help but press closer, seeking more, needing to be closer still.

“I’m yours, my love,” he rasped, his breath hot and uneven against your cheek. “You have me.”

You met his gaze, those ice-blue eyes were smoldering with a need that mirrored your own, and something reckless, almost feral, took hold of you.

“Then fuck me like you own me,” you breathed.

The effect was instantaneous. He didn't just snap, he shattered. The control that was as much a part of him as his own skin, gone. Vaporized. The growl that ripped from his throat had no semblance of human restraint left in it, the sound raw, feral, echoing dangerously in the silence of the range. You might have been his wife, but at that moment, you were something far more elemental: his to claim, his to conquer, his to brand so deeply with pleasure and pain that you'd never forget who you belonged to.

And he moved like it too: a rough shove pressed you back against the table, his hands grabbed yours, pulling them back, restraining you.

Your whole body trembled as his cock thrust so deep, so utterly possessing, that you cried out.

“John!” – a plea, a prayer, you weren’t sure.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” The words were a gasped groan, torn from him as his hips moved against yours, stroking a spot deep inside you that throbbed with desperate need. You whimpered, and your hands clenched into fists against your back as pleasure shot through you.

You instinctively began to meet his thrusts, your hips rocking back against him, seeking out the friction that sent sparks of need through your overloaded senses. It earned you a growl of approval.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, the words a litany against your ear. He sounded like a man possessed.

“Please, John,” you whimpered, grinding your hips against him, desperate for that friction, that release. But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. You needed more, needed his hands, needed him. “Touch me, I –”

You didn’t need to finish the plea. He heard it. He felt it, the tremor in your voice, the way your slick heat tightened around him, urging him closer to the edge.

His fingers were tracing the curve of your waist, reaching around below your belly and slowly started to pry apart your folds. His fingers were on your clit again, and a sound that was both a cry and a sigh left your lips. You were drowning in sensation, and it was glorious.

“Mmm, that’s it, love,” he rasped, the words a broken groan as his fingers stroked, circled, teased. “Come on my cock. For me.”

You felt it then, with the help of his touch – that sweet, white-hot bliss that washed over you, causing your legs to tremble and your cunt to contract around his cock. He groaned, so deep and primal it shook you to your core. Your orgasm shattered every last bit of control in him, the feeling of you losing yourself pushed him over the edge, too. You felt that familiar throb in your pussy, the way he painted your walls with his come, hot and thick. His fingers dug so deep into your skin you were sure they'd leave marks.

And you wouldn’t mind. You were his, after all.

He finally released you, his hands leaving yours. “Nice shot, love. You just needed the right motivation.” He chuckled, and you felt as he pulled up your panties and put your pants back into their place. His hand ghost over your pussy through the fabric. “Keep me in there,” he whispered. “Consider it your reward.”

You slowly straightened your back as you stood, your gaze meeting his, and you shook your head in disbelief, a smirk playing on your lips. “Is that an order from a captain? Or a request from my husband?”

“Both.” He grunted, as he finished buckling his belt.

You tilted your head slightly, stepping closer to him. “Well, then. If this is shooting training, we need to do that more often.”

He froze, his eyes shooting to meet yours. “Don't make me have to explain why so much footage from the security feed is missing.” His expression sobered, that playful glint fading as he added, voice low and serious, “But seriously, love, you did good. We'll keep practising, alright?”

You nodded, and then he closed the distance between you. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away some smudged lipstick at the corner of your mouth. “I'm proud of you, you know,” he whispered, and before you could reply, he leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was surprisingly tender. There was no demanding heat this time, no desperate urgency - just the taste of him, and the lingering warmth where his come pooled between your thighs, a silent, undeniable reminder of exactly who you belonged to.

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un-lawliet · 4 months

Text

“Fit For an Archon”

— in which the Hydro Archon is fascinated by you

a/n- happy pride month to all my wlw, i wrote this for us <3 im sorry for how long it is (gasp)

word count (7.1k)

You are the worst seamstress in Fontaine.

You’re sure of it.

Your hands seem to repel fabric, your needle poisoning the thread in which you clumsily stitch with and leaving you with a truly horrendous looking frock.

Chiori, bless her soul, had hired you as a a request from your Father, who, in Chiori’s defence, was a fantastic tailor, renowned for his intricate stitching and detailed attires- Truly a renaissance for Fontaine fashion.

And so when he left Chioris business, set to start his own amiss the bustling harbours of Liyue, you found yourself tucked away, working in his place for Chiori, who was currently frowning pensivly down at your work, as if it had personally offended her.

“…It’s bad isn’t it?” You state, looking intensely at your boss who chewed on her painted bottom lip, head cocked, wondering how in Tevat you were your Fathers daughter.

“It’s not…Awful” She tries, although not very well, her gaze fixed on the uneven stitching and the deplorable match of colour.

“Better than last time?” You question, a terrible sense of hope clouding your voice, hopeful that maybe, just maybe you were improving-

“No, no, definitely worse.” Chiori mutters, and your face falls.

She sticks a hand out and touches the skirt you had presented her with, lifting it up.

The seams fall and the skirt halves in her grasp, and you cringe silently, eyes closing in embarrassment.

“Hm.” She ponders, turning to stare at you from over her shoulder, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s…Meant to do that?” You try, shoulders raising in contention, only to be silenced again at the shake of her head.

“Take a break Y/N.” Chiori says, tired under attempts to support your terrible creations.

You don’t argue with her, immediately fleeing the boutique as if you were being hunted down by the God King Remus himself.

The bell on the door dings as you exit, waving goodbye to your co-workers who scoff at your exit, whispering words under their breath that you chose not to render.

You just needed to stick this job out until you had enough income to quit.

But- with the state of your designs and the even worse execution of said designs, you doubt you’d ever make enough to follow through with your intentions.

And really…You barely make ends meet as it is.

Oh God.

You kick a stone and watch as it skims across the tarmac, bouncing up and down until skidding to a stop metres before you.

You hate being a seamstress.

Making it to the manufactured river, you slump down, lazily throwing your legs off of the sides, your boots delicately touching the water surface below.

The same way they always did when Chiori sends you away.

How ridiculously boring.

Fontaine’s a-lot quieter in the evening, most people finding themselves at the Opera Epiclese to watch a spectacle, faces tinged red with excitement.

You prefer it when it’s quiet, when the streets are empty. It means you can lie backwards on the hard ground without too much judgement from your fellow citizens.

Your legs still bent down towards the water, with your back on the concrete dock, you allow yourself a breath.

You hear footsteps somewhere off to your right but pay them no mind. After all, passing judgement is only ever passing, and you’re sure whoever it is will waltz past you, giving you a confused once over before immediately forgetting your face.

You stretch one of your legs and break the surface of the river, feeling the tip of your boot soak up the water briefly, before you’re lifting it back out, shaking it gently to dry it off.

Someone cleared their throat behind you and you sign with the frustration of interrupted serenity.

Can you truly not have anything?

Pushing yourself up with your elbows, you turn your face the perpetrator, eyebrows drawn down to a frown.

You were gonna stare them out until they left you to mope at this stupid river, politeness be dammed!

It’s Focalors behind you.

Lady Furina.

Every retort resting on your tongue is swallowed up, getting stuck in the back of your throat and you choke on your words, chest heaving in shock.

The Hydro Archon stares down at you, watching your struggle, her arms crossed over her chest and a smug smile on her lips.

Her hair sways in the breeze, tickling her leg and she seems to be quite fascinated in the dress encasing your figure.

A long ruffly mess of colour and mesh with a corset that one would barely call fitting, you look like a run away mannequin, pathetically thrown together before your God.

“Lady Furina.” You wheeze, propelling yourself to your feet, dropping into a bow, your skirt following comically behind.

Why is she here? Is she not fond of the Opera house? Archons people wait half their lives to meet her and here you are face to face with God through pure circumstance.

She waves a gloved hand in your direction, dismissing your bow entirely, eyes still drawn to the fabric of your gown.

“Your..attire is quite interesting.” She states bluntly, walking two steps to the left to capture your dress from all angles.

Your face flushes, “Thank you Lady Furina, it’s an honour to be complimented by-”

“Were you supposed to be in the opera?” She cuts you off, turning her body in the general direction of the Epiclese.

“What?” You answer before finding your manners, “I mean n-no it’s my….” You sigh, shoulders slumping, “I’m a seamstress.”

Lady Furina pauses, her head lifting you look at your face, studying it with such precision that you feel yourself bite back the desire to look away.

“..A seamstress?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Oh.”

The pair of you look at each other for a moment before she throws her head back and laughs. It echoes around the empty streets of Fontaine and reverberates right into your ears.

“I suspected as much!” She guffaws, clapping her hands together.

You cock your head, confused, “No you didn’t?” You reply, unable to stop the offence in your voice.

Sure you weren’t good at your job but you liked this dress! And you were definitely not apart of any play!

Lady Furina’s laugh trails off and she stares at you, her lip between her teeth, holding back a grin.

“Tell me!” She begins again, and you shudder at the volume of her voice. “Why is it that you look so sad?”

“Huh?” You question, eyes widening in confusion.

Furina smiles, it brightens her face, before pointing at you then back to herself, “As your Archon it is my duty to right the wrongs of Fontaine, and you appeared so gloomy that I had no choice but to journey off my path to check up on you!”

Shame forces its way through your body and you shake your head, holding out your sweaty palms to face her, “Lady Furina you do not need to trouble yourself with my issues, trust me.” And you shiver against her unblinking gaze, “Please, continue on your way..” You awkwardly laugh, gesturing to the street, dying inside.

Furina blinks at you, “You don’t want to share problems for me?”

You take a step back, bashfully shaking your head, “I mean no offence…”

It’s awkward.

Furina tilts her head, studying you, confused.

She is far too use to Fontainians requesting her opinions on trivial matters so much so that the blatant avoidance from you is baffling.

You scratch the back of your hand in the silence.

Lady Furina watches you, dissecting you with her eyes, trying to go over every woe that past Fontainians had brought to her omnipresent ears.

You chuckle, trying to force her gaze off of you before you melt and join the water behind you.

“You’re not watching the play?” You say, gesturing in the general direction of the Epiclese, pleading silently for her to stop looking at you like that.

She shakes her head, closing her eyes, “I’ve seen it before, it gets quite tiresome seeing the same thing over and over again.”

“Oh”

Lady Furina grins, her opposing eyes still gracing your face as if you were so easy to figure out.

“Do you…Hate your job?”

You gawk at her.

She smirks.

Jack pot.

“I’m right aren’t I? You can save your praise, I know I’m truly otherworldly when it comes to intuition.” She fans her hand up and down at you, throwing her pretty head back dramatically.

“Must be a gift from Celestia then.” You conclude, turning away from her and sitting back down at your river side.

You’re slightly peeved at her reaction and would rather not disrespect an Archon so early in your life, so you do not face her with your glare.

“Come now.” Lady Furina says, strolling over to you, “I only joke.”

The Hydro Archon was now sitting beside you, kicking her feet in the water.

This truly cannot be real.

You sigh.

Well, if she’s asking, you may as well answer.

What’s another sinner to an Archon anyway.

“Do you ever feel trapped by the wishes of another?” You ask, defeat clouding your senses as you speak.

Lady Furina stills, but you do not notice.

“My Father, asked me to keep on his legacy in Fontaine, he’s a brilliant tailor, I mean, it’s like he was born to be one…”

You trail off, and splash your foot into the water, “And I just- I’m terrible at being a seamstress, I can’t even pretend to enjoy it because I am so utterly rubbish at it.”

She’s watching you, you can feel it. It’s as intense as your emotions, you almost shy away.

“Sorry.” You mutter, “I don’t know why I’m asking. It’s not like you have to struggle with these “mortal issues.”

You laugh bitterly in the silence of your confession.

Lady Furina’s hand slightly brushes yours and you wonder if she notices.

The pair of you sit quietly for a moment, your face growing warmer in the seconds.

You’re about to apologise again, your words on the tip of your tongue before she speaks, ripping the pages from your mouth.

“I always find it fascinating to hear how Mortals think.”

“Hm?”

“How they can voice their feelings so freely, it has always struck me.” Her voice is a lot quieter, you almost mistake her for someone else.

You glance, taking in the side of Lady Furina’s face, her soft features seem burdened, you hope silently that you were not the cause of her worries.

“An Archon admiring her subjects…” You say, slicing through the quiet, “That’s quite comforting actually.”

Lady Furina tilts her head, narrowing her dainty eyebrows quizzingly, “Pardon?”

You smile, and hope it reaches both your eyes and hers. “You care. It’s kind.”

She’s watching you again, her chest rising and falling in tandem to the gentle swish of the water.

You place an arm on your knee and rest you head in your palm, feeling bold.

“It must be lonely being a God.”

And her eyes grow wide, for a split second, before she’s blinking and resuming her facade of impassive control.

“What ever do you mean?”

“There’s no higher being to think about you.” You reply, introspection fluctuating in your words before it slaps you back into reality with a cold hand.

“Uh- Pardon me, I don’t mean to call you lonely I just-”

“It’s quite alright.” Lady Furina says, straightening up, her hair brushing your shoulder and her hand moving from yours. “You did not mean any harm.”

She moves to stand, and you watch, perplexed.

“You have the freedom to quit.” She says simply, “There is no higher deity forcing you to stay.” And she smiles, “All will be ok.”

She leaves as fast as she had arrived and you’re left alone to think.

Strange you think.

You hope you didn’t offend her.

—

When it’s not raining, the sun has a habit of overstaying her welcome.

It’s absolutely roasting in Fontaine, and so when Chiori asked if you would stay behind to finish your garment after work hours, you jumped at the opportunity to relish in the cool breeze of the back rooms.

Besides, you feel less embarrassed working by yourself, with nobody around to mock your gowns.

You flinch as you pierce the skin of your finger, watching as a maroon red slides into your palm.

You wipe it on your dress, it clashes with the colour.

“Do you always make a habit of wearing the most..peculiar garments?”

You jump, dropping your needle onto the sickly pink fabric, you wince as it falls, sure to be lost forever.

“L-Lady Furina?” You gasp, turning your body towards her, your dress swishing in your movement as you try pathetically bow your head in her exuberant presence.

“Yes “tis I.” She replies, her arms opening dramatically but her eyes stay focused on your choice of apparel. “Honestly.” She muses, “It’s no wonder they keep you back here…”

Lady Furina glances around your cluttered work room, taking in the flurry of vibrant coloured ribbons dripping out from their boxes, half finished corsets falling apart at their seams and the tatttered fabric unevenly pinned to a mannequin standing just inches away from her.

You step in-front of her, your eyes wide as you try conceal her vision of your failures, a sheepish grimace on your face.

“Um, we’re closed today, it’s only me in- uh how did you get inside-”

“I am the hydro archon.” Furina’s voice booms out, the exaggerated drawl making you cower away from her slightly, “I merely walked in.”

“I thought I had locked the door?” You questioned, taking a step back from her.

“A locked door is no enemy of mine!” She laughs, regarding you with a look oozing with pride, her chest puffed out and head raised.

“Right..” You mumble, picking at the skin on your fingers, nervously swaying back and fourth.

Your fingers are adorned with pricks from your needle, they would bleed should you continue your childish picking, yet you persist, unable to stop your absentminded jittering.

Lady Furina watches your movement, satisfaction appearing to glow in her eyes.

“Now!” She exclaims, wondering over to the only empty surface in the room, an old blue chair, faded with age.

“I need a new ribbon for my hat.” The chair creaks when Furina sits, crossing her legs and staring at you expectantly.

You think the chair isn’t even worthy enough for you to sit on, let alone the God Of Justice.

“I can..Write an order down for a ribbon for when Chiori returns?” Your voice trails off, thwarted by the dull look she regards you with at your suggestion.

“No, no, no!” Furina shakes her head, her actions reminding you of a child, “I want you to make it!”

“I beg you pardon?” Your eyes widen, and you glance around, taking in all your terrible, terrible works of fashion.

“Me?” You breathe, “Lady Furina, if I may- I clearly lack the talent to create anything, let alone something in which an archon should wear.” You hands shake slightly as she stares at you, willing yourself not to blink or look away in her ever present intensity. “You know this.”

“But I demanded it?” She cocks her head, reaching up to take her hat off, outstretching her arms to look at it intently.

Her hair falls down, it cascades down her shoulders like water and you hold yourself back from counting the waves between each strand, instead choosing to look away.

Ribbons are simple, you remind yourself.

You’re not entirely deficient in the art of fashion, you’re just…Well- you’re just you.

“So?” Furina says, her voices drags you from the inner monologue whispering in your ear, she pushes the hat in your direction, twirling it so you can view its simplicity from every angle.

Your clasp your hands together, head tilted like a dog.

“I’m thinking.. here.” Her finger rests on in the space between the crown and the brim, “A blue ribbon thats doesn’t blend in with the rest of the hat but adversely will not stand out…”

You nod, it’s curt, Furina smiles, it stretches her face and she all but glows, cheeks flushed.

“You’ll do it then?”

You scratch your arm, and sigh.

“It will look horrid.”

“It will look like it was made by you.” She replies, sweetly, her voice like the silk in which she adorned, you take a second to truly feel the implications behind her words and suddenly feel yourself become quite bashful.

Your heart ticks within your chest and like clockwork you reach your hands out for her hat, avoiding her gaze.

“A blue that doesn’t blend in but also doesn’t stand out?” Your voice is whispered, trying to act assertive but failing all the same.

“Indeed, a ribbon fit for an archon!” Furina appears to get louder the more she reminds you of her status, you cringe at her volume but turn so she does not see.

“I’ll try my best.” You hum, glancing at the box you pathetically labelled “Ribbons”.

You reach out and touch the cardboard confines, pulling it towards you and shuffling some fabric under your finger tips.

Red, yellow, green…the most hideous shade of pink ever- Dear God did you supply this?

Furina sits, twirling a strand of her hair as she watches you, taking in the chaos of your dress and your work space respectfully.

You really had such a unique flare to you.

Your dress was terribly put together, fabric seemingly falling off the skirt, which, in Furina’s opinion, was much too puffy for an average day at work.

When she leaned closer, she could see how the seams were pathetically stitched together, a bundled mess of experimentation that clearly did not work, the sheer fact she could see the stitching was enough of a sign to tell her that you had made this dress yourself.

Furina raises a hand to cover her the genuine smile that ripped across her features.

You truly were fascinating to observe.

“You chose to stay here then?”

You look back at her, a small frown on your face.

“Yea.” You say simply, “It’s just easier.”

She scoffs.

“What?” You reply, indignantly, “I’m still getting paid.”

“You’re staying for the money?”

“I’m staying to save up the money.” You retort, “As soon as I have enough I am gone, you’ll see.”

Furina laughs, you can help but feel melodic, almost sad.

You don’t know what else to do, so you smile, watching as Furina breaks eye contact immediately, coughing into her glove.

“I hope I do.” You hear her say, and you try to ignore the giddy sensation that seems to course through your veins and into your heart.

—

“Lady Furina what an i-interesting bow.”

“I know, I know! Isn’t it just fabulous.”

“It’s um rather…big?”

“Yes? Is there a problem?”

“N-no! I was merely voicing that-”

“If there is no issue then I must bid you farewell. I have a meeting with a most important diplomat, I assume you have already placed the pastries?”

“Yes Lady Furina…”

“Good.”

—

On days when you aren’t in the boutique, you write to your Father.

You write pages upon pages of frustrated scribbles, voicing your resentment of his craft and the comparison to your own, writing furiously about how much you wish to be freed from your job and allowed to travel with him to nations far and wide.

In the end you send none of it, opting instead to write false truths about how honoured you are to work in the darkest parts of his shadow, and how gracious you are for his talents.

You lick the envelope seal and pop it thru the post office window, smiling softly at the old lady behind the glass.

It’s raining in Fontaine today, dark clouds pulsing in the sky, above you, soaking the fabric of your skirt.

It always seems to rain after a trial.

You shake your head. Damn, you should have brought an umbrella.

When you pass by a group of children you hear their yells, pitiful pleads of; “Hydro dragon, hydro dragon don’t cry!”

And you smile and whisper it under your breath as you look to the sky.

Your thoughts circle back to Furina, you hadn’t seen her as much, especially not with the growing fears of the flood of Fontaine.

You wonder if it’s true, wonder how she’ll solve it.

You have faith in her, you think.

There’s no way you’ll drown before you can leave to travel.

There’s no way Fontaine’s Archon would let you all perish under the power of Hydro when she herself is the embodiment of the element.

You have faith.

—

There’s nothing you truly dread more than presentations to the Archon and her people.

And there’s nothing you hate more than how Champvallon, who was standing in for Chiori due to her endeavours in Inazuma, was currently mumbling under his breath at your choice of dress.

You had been running late, quite literally, the ends of your dress stained with dirt, dying the pale blue fabric brown and green.

“You’ll have to stand in the back girl.” He grumbled, his moustache dipping slightly into his mouth, pushing your shoulders and making you move behind your fellow seamstresses, grey eyes pinched into slits as he chastised you.

You heard one of your coworkers giggle from behind her hand, whispering to another about your ill fashioned garments matching your deplorable creations of fashion.

You bit your tongue and glanced at the wooden floor beneath you.

She isn’t wrong, you think, thank Celestia that your tailoring would never see the light of day.

Lady Furina and her entourage enter the room moments later, you think Furina appears to glow and wonder if your eyes are playing tricks on you, or if this is some strange phenomenon one achieves when becoming an archon.

You shake your head and join your party’s collective bow.

You and Furina had grown closer, although, the margin of closeness was confined between her passing by the boutique window and waving in when she saw you, smiling cheekily as she took in your plethora of dresses that just appeared to get more ridiculous with time.

You had begun to crave these moments of seeing her, positioning yourself closer to the window, as to ensure you did not miss her.

You don’t understand why.

Maybe you just liked to see her smile.

…“Lady Furina, we at Chioriya Boutique thank you for allowing us to present our garments for you today.” Champvallon declares. You cringe at his sickly sweet voice that deepens in tone as he continues his speech.

The man behind Lady Furina is Neuvillette, you’re sure of it. High and mighty, his stature as impressive as his title.

And under your breath you repeat the pronunciation of his name, dragging out the syllables from under your tongue.

Lady Furina allows a moment to pass before she prompts, “Ah yes! Only Fontaines best is suited for your justice party.”

The presentation from the boutique takes hours.

Furina catches your eye a few times, and smiles, it’s subtle enough that you almost believe it’s not aimed at you. Ignoring the flutter of your heart everytime her eyes meet your own.

The final designs are being brought out when suddenly you see a creation that makes your heart drop.

Sitting on a cushion, is a broach.

An ugly, bedazzled broach that you were sure you had thrown out.

And it was being carried over to the justice team by a worker who stares at it confused.

“And here we have a broach for the Archon herself.” Says Champvallon, who is still yet to turn his head to view your horrendous work.

You’re paralysed, hands shaking trying to think of a way you can remove the jewellery without causing a scene.

“We hope you adore it as much as we adored making-” Champvallons voice trails off and he looks at the cushion, his eyes widening as he finally see’s what he’s presenting.

You hear the party behind Furina collectively stop their idle chatter and stare.

Everyone looks.

Nobody says anything.

“And who is behind the creation of this…thing?”

You want to die. Truly.

Your heart is in your throat and feel sick, raising a trembling hand as you step forward, your eyes stuck to the ground.

You’re sweating, palms clammy as you take a breath, preparing to be fired in-front of Lady Furina and her circle. Shame appears to drip off your brow and onto the crevices of your cheeks.

“It was me Sir.” You mumble, your voice weak, “But it was an accident I swear!”

Looking towards Lady Furina, you bow your head, pleading silently for her forgiveness, “I never meant to offend.”

“You foolish, troublesome girl.” Hisses Champvallon, his eyes narrowed as he walks towards you.

You bite your lip, and apologise profusely although you know it will not matter.

“Lady Furina.” Champvallon says as he reaches your side, plastering an ugly smile on his furious face, concealing his bitter dissatisfaction.

“I will send someone immediately to retrieve your actual broach, please, hand that one over to one of the maids, I will dispose of it as soon as possible.”

“No need.” Lady Furina says, halting the conversation instantly with a raise of her glove covered hand.

She glances at the miserable looking broach and then towards you, you hold her gaze for a moment before she smiles, recognition flickering across her decorated eyes, finishing her examination of your face.

“I’d like to keep it.”

“Lady Furina?”

Holding the broach in her hands, she raises it to her face, almost as if fascinated by the shameful stitching and the odd colour scheme.

“Lady Furina.” Champvallon stutters, moving away from you, “Your kindness knows no bounds b-but surely you would prefer something a little more..well pleasing to the eye?”

You stare at the back of his head as he leaves your side, counting the freckles on his neck to steady yourself.

“It’s unique, it’s different, Fontainians are known for their eloquence, and I as the God of Hydro must always be challenging these trends.”

Furina peers over her hands to stare at your boss, a dainty eyebrow raised.

“You wouldn’t dare to challenge an Archons will, would you?”

Champvallon splutters, his face warming to a putrid red, his arms rising up as if pleading to surrender.

“N-No I merely thought that-”

“Then it is settled.” Lady Furina laughs, leaning back in her chair and glancing at you.

In your daze, you barely register the tiny wink she sends you way, eyes too focused on the way you broach was now sitting snug, amongst the fabric of her outfit.

It stuck out like a thorn grips the side of a rose and you grimace.

It was ugly, inarguably so.

Neuvillette clears his throat, eyes sweeping over your trembling figure.

“It was you who made this?” He ponders, head tilted slightly.

Your eyes snap to his, and you nod, it’s clumsy and awkward and you hate yourself.

“Um, yes your Honour, I made it.”

“It’s very interesting.” His voice is light, as if trying to filter out the tension pulling the conversation to a standstill, “The yellow and the pink are an unusual yet unique combination, very bright to the eye.”

You breathe out a small smile, as Lady Furina nods her head. “Yes, yes, indeed.”

“Thank you Monsieur Neuvillette, Lady Furina.”

You’re bowing again, chastising yourself for never taking the time to learn how to properly bow for an Archon, and then you’re leaving, hands still shaking, but head lifted just a little bit higher.

Furina doesn’t see you leave, too busy tracing the colours of her broach, smiling down at the terrible stitching as if it were weaved in silk and gold.

The presentation finishes with an awkward finality, with all eyes subconsciously darting down to look at your broach on Furina chest, wondering what in Fontaine their Archon was thinking.

—

You don’t know how, but Lady Furina had became a regular in your life now.

Always managing to catch your eye when you’re walking the streets of your home land.

Popping up randomly behind you just to greet you before leaving.

It appeared she worked in patterns, as if she was use to working by a routine.

You almost assume she appears there on purpose, it’s always far too convenient for it to be by chance.

“Y/N!” You hear one day, you’re sitting outside enjoying your lunch break as Lady Furina approaches you.

You hear a bustle and suddenly Fontainians are flodding the streets, clamouring over to her, crowding her.

You smile as she appears to soak up the attention, flaunting her hands in every direction, acknowledging everyone, one by one.

The people don’t seem to think about the prophecy when Focalor herself is before them, too busy trusting her with their lives to care.

You catch her gaze after a moment, and she puffs out her chest, as if trying to impress you.

Your heart aches.

You blink.

…That’s a strange feeling.

“Now now, my faithful subjects.” She begins, “I must take my leave now, I have very important business to attend to!”

You hear the groans of her people, as they beg her to stay, but reluctantly they remove themselves from her and walk away.

It’s just you and her now and she gestures for you to follow her.

You grow nervous, knowing there are watchers.

You hear them whisper behind their hands, hear them questioning why the “crazy girl from the boutique was the centre of the Hydro Archons attention.”

You cringe, but follow her anyway, your steps timid under eyes.

You think you’d follow her anywhere, but that could just be your adrenaline talking, your heart thumping within the confines of your chest.

“Lady Furina,” You say when you reach an empty alleyway, away from the eyes of Fontaine.

You pause, taking in the cracked bricks in the surrounding walls. “This is…Well- I’ll be honest it’s creepy.”

“Huh.” She says, turning to face you, “It’s more private no?”

“It’s a dark alleyway.” You deadpan.

Furina laughs, taking your hand in a wild moment of humour.

Dear God you hope you aren’t sweating.

“Never fear!” She declares, “As long as I’m here, nothing can harm you.”

Her words draw out a feeling that you don’t allow yourself to delve into, choosing instead let her hold your shaky hand without pulling away.

“I never got to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

You blush.

“For saving my career the other day.”

You see Furinas eyes move, as if trying to recall.

“Oh! The showing.”

You nod, “Thank you for…being so kind.”

You smile at her, and her eyes drops to your teeth in one fast, graceful motion before travelling back to your eyes.

“Always.” She replies, as if it was the simplest concept to her, like washing your hands or falling asleep.

Your face is on fire.

Gods your hands are definitely sweaty now.

Lady Furina shakes her head, as if pulling herself together.

“Now! I’m inviting you to tea.”

What.

“Sorry?”

“Tea. With me, together.”

“No, no I-I got that.”

She smiles, “So?”

“Why in Teyvat would you want to have tea with me?” You question, hope blooming in your chest, overpowering your habit of avoidance.

Furina stills, her face filled with confusion that you don’t get.

“You don’t want tea with me?” Shadows seem to cover her face, and you pull your hand from hers to frantically wave them in front of you.

“No no! Don’t misunderstand me! I’d love to, oh my God there’s nothing I’d enjoy more it’s just that-”

“Just that what?”

“You’re an archon?”

Furina frowns.

“What does that have to do with anything? I’m asking you to join me as a friend, not as an Archon.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

You know of your less than extraordinary appearance, and the simplicity of your life. You know that imagining anything more with an Archon is a fantasy so baffling that it even embarrasses you.

But you still can’t fight the disappointment resonating in your chest at the stupid word “Friend”.

Furina doesn’t seem to notice your deflation, instead probing you for an answer. Her hand reaching up to hold your arm, tugging you closer to her.

There’s a hopeful, cheeky look in her eye that you think could persuade even the most hellish of Demons to stand down.

“Well? You’ll join me?”

You sigh, and try to throw on a smile.

You feel like a puppet, your grin has to be ugly, repulsive, even so, you maintain it with cracked continuity.

“Sure.”

—

What does one wear to a date visit with an Archon?

You hate everything you own.

You almost rip your nails off in frustration after the fourth attempt to dress yourself fails.

This is terrible, everything is terrible.

Archons why do you own such ugly clothes!

You hear a knock at your door, and you jump, lifting your head to see Chiori staring at you, her unwavering gaze filtered with confusion.

“Chiori?” You ask, trying to hide the mess of your room.

Or well, her room, saying you were technically leaching off of her house until you could save up enough money to move.

She raises an eyebrow, a silent question of your antics, and you sigh.

“I have nothing to wear.”

“Hm.” Chiori responds, her lip going between her teeth as she takes in the mess of your clothing.

“And since when do you care what you wear?”

You scoff, offended.

“I always care!”

“Right…”

—

You think Chiori was sent by Celestia.

No really, you do.

Especially now when you’re twirling infront of your mirror, admiring her artistry on your body.

“It’s beautiful Chirori.” You whisper, your finger tracing the delicate stitching, enamoured by the sheer amount of detail on your gown.

“It’s hardly my best.” She replies, batting your hand away to finish the seam, “But all my other work is being used for the Fashion festival.”

You grin.

“I get the leftovers then.” You say cheekily, daring to wink at her.

Chiori shakes her head, “You get what I feel is right for you, and this…” She gestures to your dress, “Does look beautiful on you.”

Thank you Celestia you repeat in your head, Thank you for finally giving me a break.

—

You meet Furina at the Palais Mermonia.

She spots you as you walk in, and beckons you to a room across the hall.

Tiny Melusines greet you, and you smile at them, reaching down to pat their little heads.

Furina stills as she takes you in, fully looking at you.

“You look different.” She states, and you stop your movements entirely.

“You’re dressed…” Furina trails off, and your face warms.

“Nicely?” You finish, a teasing smile on your lips, “For a change?”

She shakes her head.

“You always look nice, it’s just jarring to see you wear something so well fitting.”

Her eyes trail along your figure, and you flush, your mind unable to comprehend your compliment.

Furina suddenly pulls herself out of her trance and smiles, putting out a hand for you to take.

“Never-mind that now!” She beams, “Desert time! Come, come!”

And you’re alone with Furina, your hand in hers.

She leads you over to a table adorned with confectionery to last over a hundred life times.

“Do you drink tea? Or would you rather Fonta?” She asks, turning her head to glance at you, and you rip your eyes away from your conjoined hands.

“Uh, tea, tea is good.”

Lady Furina looks at you, her eyebrow raised, “Alright, sugar?”

“Huh!!?”

“Sugar? As in, do you want sugar?”

“Oh! Yes of course!”

You pause, and Furina continues to look at you.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you taking sugar?”

Dear God, how are you so pathetic?

“Yes please.” You say silently, embarrassment morphing your face, forcing your head to fall to look at the floor.

Furina sets your tea in front of you, before pulling a chair over to sit next to you.

She watches the way your body seems to shrink in on itself, you hand fiddling with the loose fabric of your gown.

You nervous, and Furina scowls.

She doesn’t like this.

“What’s going on hm?” She asks plainly, and you restrain yourself from jumping at her forwardness.

“I-I’m sorry?” You attempt to delay, taking a sip of your tea, burning your mouth.

“You seem..off.” Furina says, her voice slightly drawn out, a frown on her features. “Have I done something?”

“What? No! Absolutely not you haven’t done anything…” You stammer out, a fake laugh breaking the barriers of your teeth as you try to compose yourself.

“Then why-”

Your eyes dart around the table, choosing to make eye contact with the bread than with her.

“It’s just a lot like wow I’m having tea with a God!”

Furina stirs her tea slowly, her eyebrows furrowed.

“I thought we were past this?”

“Sorry?”

“You seeing me as a God?”

You blink, and Furina takes a sip of her tea.

“You..You are a God though, you’re my God?”

Furina thinks the tea turns sour in her mouth.

“Technically, I suppose so, but I believe us to be friends?” She sets her cup down, and looks at you, her cheeks slightly red. “Am I mistaken?”

You clamour to explain yourself, your arms reaching out as if trying to slow time, ignoring the painful tug of your heart at that stupid word again.

“N-No of course we’re friends!” You stammer, “It’s just…Well I-”

“Then there’s no reason for you to be nervous.”

You nod.

And then something happens.

Something switches.

And suddenly Furina isn’t merely looking at you,

She examining you.

“Unless.” She starts, and you feel a truly dreadful sinking feeling within your chest.

“Unless there’s..Something else bothering you?”

And every facial expression you display is analysed before you, every twitch of your eyebrow, the way your eyes widen and the way you seem to stop breathing.

Furina leans forward, an emotion so humanly desperate flickering across her face.

An emotion she is yet to understand.

Your lips part and you truly do not know what to say.

It’s foolish, to ever consider yourself worthy to share a reciprocated love with your God you remind yourself bitterly.

You’re confused, anguished, disheartened by her referral to you as a friend and yet, you do not know what to say.

So you clear your throat.

And breathe in.

“I do not know what you mean Lady Furina.” You whisper, and it’s wrong, wrong, wrong.

And Lady Furina waits only a sheer second, before she’s leaning back in her chair and raising her head.

Somethings off.

“Then let’s us drink together as friends.”

You could swear then, that Lady Furina looked human.

You would stand trial on the fact that you saw her deflate with disappointment in the most mortal like way. You’d swear an oath.

But then you blink and the Hydro Archon blinks back.

And you’re sure you were mistaken.

—

There’s rumours in Fontaine.

There’s rumours everywhere, this isn’t a new concept to you.

But this is different, this rumour makes your blood freeze in your veins.

You heard it after you walked home from the boutique, a group of local Poisson men whispering under their breath.

“Lady Furina isn’t Fontaine’s Archon.”

You pause, turning your head as subtly as you could, creeping closer as to listen to their words.

You’re not a silent stalker and so they see you immediately.

They glare at you as they leave and you’re left confused as they made their way back to Poisson.

The next you hear of them, they’re dead.

Dissolved in the rising water.

You throw up when you see their faces in the paper, along with the heading “Fontaine’s Archon Fails Her People.”

You have faith.

—

Your faith dies with your Archon on the day of her trial.

You don’t go, you never go to trials.

But you know the happenings as if you were there to witness.

You find yourself running towards the Opera Epiclese, tripping over your own feet when the words “Death Penalty” reach your ears.

It’s silent.

Oh so silent.

And then the rain starts, and the tides grow.

And you can’t make it to the staircase of the Epiclese due to the water filling your lungs.

You’re drowning.

Screaming out bubbles of prayers to an Archon that isn’t yours.

Betrayal wrecks through your body and you’re drowning.

You’re drowning.

—

Furina cries on her watery throne.

Mourning the loss of her people, her home, her facade.

She thinks of you, briefly, thinks of your face, your clothes, your eyes.

Letting herself smile gently, she allows her tears to wash away her role.

It was nice to play a God.

If only she could save them.

—

You’re nervous.

You keep pacing back and fourth, pathetically trying to figure out a way in which you can knock on the door of Furina’s house, and speak with her like humans.

After the flood, you found yourself bed bound, your lips tainted blue and breath engulfing you so vigorously that you coughed until your eyes stung red.

The man who saved you kissed your hand when you woke up, crying out that he thought you wouldn’t make it.

You smile at him and thank him.

“I owe you my life.” You had whispered.

Lady Furina was no longer Fontaines Archon.

Gone into a state like hiding from the public, terrified of their outrage.

The nurse that cared for you, informed you of as much, recounting how the Iudex Neuvillette had saved Fontaine, saved you.

And you cried when she left you, tucked up in a hospital bed, weeping over the unknown.

You can’t face her. You conclude.

Not because you didn’t want to but because you had absolutely no idea how to begin.

Would she still regard you with such kindness despite you knowing everything?

How do you convey how you feel for her, when you truly do not know who she even is?

You heart sinks to your stomach and you walk away, hands dropping to your sides. Forcing yourself to move on, and to let fate guide you as far away from Fontaine as it could lead.

You hear a door open, but don’t make the connection until you hear your name being called from behind.

“Y/N!”

You freeze, glancing over your shoulder timidly, staring towards the very God woman you had grown so fond of.

Staring at you humbly on her doorstep.

“Lady-Miss Furina.” You reply, your hands trembling and voice shaking, turning to face her fully.

Her cheeks were flushed as though she made her way to the door in a hurry, eyes narrowed and yet you could not see a trace of annoyance in the depths of her pupils.

“You-” She starts, breathless as if realising that her action of following you would lead to confrontation for the first time, “I saw you.” She pointed up to her arched windows and your face flushes, mortified.

Of course she had.

You say nothing, trying to think of an excuse, anything to dissipate the tension you feel in your bones.

“…You weren’t going to come in?” She questions, her voice small, unbefitting for a woman who use to bellow to the masses with the unfiltered confidence of a Deity.

And you stare, and stare and stare . Your eyes moving over her face, her attire, the stupid bow on her hat.

You’re utterly speechless, profoundly so.

Unable to say anything of value to the woman in which you swore that you-

Furina sighs, her shoulders dropping, hat slipping forward on her head.

Taking your silence for resentment, she accepts your unfettered anger as atonement for her sins.

“I see.” She mumbles plainly, turning to go back inside her house.

And it’s said with such bitter regret and vile disappointment that you find words spilling from the confines of your lips, desperate to call her back.

“I quit.” You frantically say, voice meek.

And Furina stops so you continue.

“Working for Chiori.” You clarify, taking a step forward.

The sun appears to intrude on your conversation, the early morning light presenting itself from behind the brazen buildings of Fontaine, eager to listen.

It makes her complexion golden, the blue strands of her hair, now short, appearing to glow in its wake.

Furina opens her mouth, then closes it, shaking her head defiantly before he’s facing you again, and you’re so close yet so far.

“I needed a change.” You whisper, and she appears to lean closer to hear you, to read the way the words fall from your lips.

You don’t know why this is the first thing you wish to discuss with Furina.

There’s countless other things you could spew, the mirage of questions you have resting in the back of your throat, the confused, recount of events, yet you chose to say none of it for sake of talking about yourself.

You’re selfish, perhaps cruel, but God you just wanted to talk to her.

Furina looks at you, her eyes wide, the sun catches the blue and draws out the sparkle as she looks at you. You drown.

“I’m…I’m glad.” She whispers, “You hated it there.”

“I did.”

You step towards her, keeping your hands still, resting at your sides limp.

“You-” You start, clearing your voice, terrified to overstep, “I mean- Did you hate being an Archon?”

Furina doesn’t move, her cheeks painted rouge with the mention of her role.

Then slowly, subtly, she nods, once up and once down. You almost miss it.

You smile, your eyes crinkling trying to express your endless empathy through one look.

“Then I’m glad you stepped down.”

And Furina wants to kiss you.

She feels it in her mortal soul, amid the beautifully soft way you voice your smile, the desire to be human with you and to make you hers.

She breathes and you watch.

“I’ll miss your silly clothes.” Furina sighs, and you giggle.

“I still wear my silly clothes.” You bite back, and she shakes her head before moving a finger along the underside of your jaw.

“You’re beautiful.” She says, and you take her role of silence, stunned.

Furina lifts her hand, and places it on your cheek, looking down avoiding your eye. “And so boundlessly fascinating.”

“I can’t quite explain it I just-”

You cut her off when you kiss her.

Breathing in her confession and replacing it with your own.

Two mortal souls intertwined as one on her doorstep.

She responds by pulling you closer, trailing her hand to the back of your head and smiling against your lips.

You’re not a seamstress and she’s not an Archon and yet, in this moment that’s okay.

Everything is okay.

feel free to leave a request!

Masterlist <3

artwork credits

A/N- when i say i have been wanting to write this for MONTHS i mean it- i am just so BOUNDLESSLY sick of wlw fics being fetishised and the lack of like a good wlw comfort fic in any character x reader was bothering me ! so thank u to anyone who gives this a try and reads it ! i appreciate you so so so much !!!

ALSO when i say the reader’s fashion is strange or unflattering I HAVE BEEN OBSESSED with insane 19th century dresses so i made a collection of outfits PSA when i say she (the readers) fashion is questionable I MEAN IT <3 i imagine my lovely little failed seamstress makes her own clothes from time to time bc although she’s not good at her job, she still enjoys being creative

if ur interested i made a post of her outfits here :)

thank u so so so much for reading i love u i love u i love u

#furina #furina x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #nuevillette x reader #genshin smut #genshin fluff #hurt comfort #hydro archon #wlw post #furina x female reader #AHHH

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hansensgirl · 9 months

Text

summary. | Your husband tells you about his rough day at work.

prompts. | Steve Rogers + Mob/Mafia + “I just want to take care of you.” + Stockholm Syndrome, requested by Anonymous.

pairing. | dark!mob boss!Steve Rogers x fem!reader.

warnings. | NON/DUBCON, kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, wound dressing, housewife kink, mentions of violence, lying, deceit, mobs/mafias, age gap/difference, mentions of torture (not to the reader), scarring/marking (not self-harm), possessiveness, obsession, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

author’s note. | this is a part of my Dark Concepts (2023) request form. thank you for taking part in this event! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY! taglist: @hansensfics

He’s beaten and bloody, but you still love him… Right?

You sit on the dining room chair in your dress with an apron on, smiling as hard as you can because Steve asked you to. He hates seeing you upset, and you hate seeing him mad.

“Sweetheart…” Steve starts, watching your face intently. You clean his wounds with much care and love, just as he taught you. He sighs, knowing you’re too caught up in the task at hand. “Don’t be sad… You know it’s part of the job.”

“I just hate seeing you like this,” you tell him, voice shaky with tears. Your husband coming home all injured doesn’t happen often. The notoriously-feared Steve Rogers usually ends the day unscathed unless he’s been ambushed, which is what happened today.

But he still ended the fight victorious. He always does.

“I get that, but you know I do all this for you, right?” Steve asks, and you look up at him. Your eyes are glassy. You nod your head obediently. Steve works so hard just for you—he tells you this daily, especially when he’s exhausted, and just wants you to listen to him. “I– I know…”

You finish wiping the blood off his hands, and you spy a few bruises already starting to form. They litter his knuckles, but his wedding band remains intact.

“Right. And you know I don’t get hurt often,” Steve continues, picking up his glass of whiskey. He downs the rest and hisses from the burn. “You should see the other guy,” he tells you, and you continue nodding.

You’re not sure what to say. You don’t enjoy Steve’s line of work—you never have. You’ve made him aware of this time and time again, but you don’t have a say in what he does. You never do.

“Sam an’ I got him good. I did most of it—left him to rot in that room for Buck to have his fun. Remember those knives I got him as a gift?” Steve asks. You hum, moving forward to tend to the gash on his jaw. He has as many scars as he does tattoos. Your name is inscribed in ink on his chest, but his initials were written with a blade on your ass.

The mention of knives almost has you sighing dreamily. You lost your ‘knife privileges’ a few months ago when you tried to hurt Steve. The idea seems so silly now. Why would you ever do that to the love of your life?

“Wanna know what that asshole did?” your husband whispers, and you meet his gaze. “O– Okay,” you hesitantly agree. You hate all the nitty-gritty details, but you can’t tell him ‘no.’ That’s the number one rule.

“He said he knew you. Just a kid about your age, really. Think his name was Pete,” Steve starts, and you freeze for a split second.

Peter—your old friend who vowed he’d get rid of the mob that wreaked havoc on your city when he was older. Steve’s mob. He hated that his aunt May would always have to give them most of her paycheck and how your parents lost their business when Steve decided to open his own store.

“Said he knew you, but I doubt it. You would never be friends with some spunky asshole,” he laughs, and you’re snapped out of the childhood memories that have always brought you so much comfort and sadness. You’re tempted to defend Peter, but you bite your tongue. You’ve been so good—why would you want to get yourself in trouble?

“He told me to ‘let you go,’ or else he’d ‘make me pay,’” Steve laughs, pouring himself more of his drink. “I told him he was crazy. He kept sayin’ how I was hurting you and that I kidnapped you.” And he’s right—but you can’t say that.

Tears sting your eyes as you bandage your husband up, the one you’ve never wanted a thing to do with. But he’s been so kind to you—he keeps you safe and doesn’t let you worry about anything except for him.

“Yeah, right. I shut him up real quick, but he put up a good fight,” Steve says, sipping on his expensive whiskey. He places his glass on the dining room table and lifts your chin so you watch him in his blue eyes. “You know I just want to take care of you, right, sweetheart? Always have.”

You give him your sweetest smile and nod, blinking away your threatening waterworks. He’s right. Steve Rogers always is.

“Of course, honey.”

#sabs concepts #steve rogers #marvel #the avengers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x you #captain america #chris evans #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x fem!reader #dark steve rogers #dark!#request #drabble #sab’s dark concepts (2023)

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mrsriddlenott · 11 months

Text

~ Caught VI ~

Mattheo Riddle x fem!Reader

[masterlist][last part]

This is gonna be Christmas centered(gift giving and such)even though it’s almost Halloween😭🤷‍♀️thought it was cute.

I’m sorry if this is a bit long, I’m tryna get in some real plot with this chapter🤞🥰

Warnings: A Lil Angst(in the beginning), VeryFluffy,SweetSmut,Unprotected PinV, DaddyKink. Sex Toys Mentioned&Alludes to Bondage(future pt😉)

“Are you sure we’re allowed to be in here?” Mattheo asked in a hushed whisper as you pushed the heavy door of your manor’s library shut behind you both.

“I’m the only one who ever comes in here, they won’t even hear us talking all the way in the back.” You sighed out, the ball had just ended and your father had unsurprisingly pulled your mother into his study, likely to “brief” her on his plans.

“I know I should have told you ages ago and it was wrong of me to keep it from you….and all of our friends. But I just couldn’t, I couldn’t even form the words to tell you he was a Death Eater, let alone what he’s been planning since….he went into hiding.” Mattheo listened to your hushed words intently, wincing slightly at your mention of his father as you led him to a small leather loveseat in the far back corner of the large, dusty library.

“I knew I’d tell you eventually….I guess I just got so caught up in everything else that I never decided to try. Or maybe I was just too scared you’d never talk to me again. Honestly I don’t know.” You shook your head as you sat on the cold leather, Mattheo remained hovering, standing in front of you as you avoided his eyes.

“I had a half-brother, Will. He died before I was born in the First Wizarding War. My dad tried to run with his first wife, so his wife and son were killed. He married my mom for the money that marrying into my grandfather’s family promised, and then had me to make sure he got the inheritance.” You didn’t notice when you started crying or when Mattheo joined you on the seat to comfort you. The story was clear in your mind as though it happened to you, you grew up under your fathers hatred, and knew every small detail of his obsession.

Your father was one of very few people who knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the Dark Lord did not die on Halloween of ‘81, and when he inevitably came back to power almost 3 years ago, it all was meant to fall into action. Your father played the dutiful follower as he weaseled his way into his inner circle. Your mother was to play the innocent housewife as she absorbed all information from the wives and husbands of the other Death Eaters. And you….you were to get their children to tell you anything they knew of their parents assignments. However, you threw a wrench in that plan before it even began, you’d never hurt your friends, and once you started dating Mattheo it was solidified.

And your father hated you for it.

It only took one year at Hogwarts for your love of your friends to overpower your love for your father. You fed him lies and misinformation or avoided home all together, but somehow could never come out and tell your friends why you introduced yourself to them in the first place. By the time you realized you should have, they were your new family, you couldn’t imagine them turning around and hating you just because of this mistake. So whether consciously or not you weren’t sure, but you hid it, for almost 6 years, you hid it. Even as your father approached his goal, even knowing all of their families would be caught in the crossfire when he succeeded.

“You don’t need to tell me it all tonight,” Mattheo whispered in a small voice nothing like his usual cocky tone. Your bloodshot eyes met his in a pleading look as you tried to speak.

“No I do, I….I should have told you years ago, I should have told all of you years ago.” Mattheo was a smart person, he’d already guessed what your role in this was, and considering him and his father were still very much alive, he also guessed you didn’t quite play the role you were given correctly. Despite the pit in his stomach about what he’s going to have to do to protect you, he was soaring over your loyalty. The fact that you were here in front of him, and not in your fathers study, had his heart hammering in his chest. If he hadn’t already planned to marry you, he certainly would have decided to right here.

“No Gorgeous, you really don’t….I think….I think I already know.” He sighed with a soft smile as he took your chin in his thumb and forefinger, turning you to look at him with your bloodshot, teary eyes. Mattheo delicately brought the thumb of his other hand to wipe your tears away, like you were a piece of art he was preserving. His lips followed suit, pampering light kisses down both your cheeks as he whisperered, “It’s okay y/n, I know and I’m still here, I’m always going to be here.”

Your body practically fell into him as you collapsed into sobs of gratitude and relief. Mattheo’s arms wrapped around you as though it was what they were made to do, pulling you into his lap as he settled into the loveseat further. He let you sob into his neck, brushing tangles from your hair with his fingers and speaking softly of your future together in your ear until you were silently breathing deeply and lightly snoring into him.

“You’re safe Baby, you’ll never have to come back here I promise you that.” Mattheo listened to your breathing deepen as you fell into a dreamless sleep in his arms, but continued to speak, “You’re the only part of this world that matters Darling,” He nuzzled his nose into your hair as his eyelids fell, content right here with you, “I will let it all burn just for you my beautiful Angel” He let out a deep sigh as though finally stripping himself of a great burden on his shoulders, “You’re all that matters to me,” His fingers curled into you hair deeper as his hand on your waist pulled your sleeping form in closer in a protective hold.

He stayed holding you for what felt like an eternity while so short at the same time before gently rising with you in his arms, carrying you bridal style as he maneuvered through the dusty bookshelves to the door. He found your room easily, he’d been there before as a child, you and the rest of the boys had spent practically all of Winter, Spring, and Summer Holiday your First Year there. He’d never understood why you’d never invited them again, but now he saw it clearly as a form of protection. Your father likely loved the idea of the sons of all of Voldemorts best followers, and his own son, coming around his manor with their guards down.

It was much different now, the large circular bed in front of the arched window was now covered in shades of red with black pillows instead of the purples he’d remembered from years ago. The vanity directly across the bed was new as well, it’s large mirror sparkled with the reflection of the stars behind the headboard of your bed as he placed you on it. He swore you looked like a princess, the color of your dress clashing with the bed only drawing his attention to you more while he retreated to remove your heels, struggling to unclip them before tossing them aside with a huff of annoyance.

You stirred slightly as he untied the strings on the back of your dress and began softly pulling it down. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with it so just draped it across a fuzzy chair in the corner with a shrug before ridding himself of his tie, suit jacket, and pants. He unbuttoned his shirt as he crawled slowly onto the bed behind you, trying his hardest to let you sleep while attempting to get his shirt on over your arms. You woke up only for a second, allowing him to slip you into his shirt as you voiced your annoyance in a few grumbled sentences before slipping back into your dreams, snuggling into his scent and giving him a warm feeling in his chest.

He found it easy to fall into a dreamless sleep, something he was never used to until you were a constant in his life. Under your blankets surrounded by your scent, he felt safe, he felt you were safe, he pulled you into his chest with a content sigh. He’d been waiting weeks to sleep beside you again, and he didn’t plan to be sleeping alone anytime soon.

The next morning Mattheo woke you with kisses to your neck and face, allowing you to adjust to the early morning light before ushering you to get dressed and ready to go. “We’re going back to Hogwarts….or anywhere you want…” Just not here, he thought, wanting more than anything to have you out of this house before your father even realized he planned to.

Repacking your trunk was much faster with Mattheo grabbing things and throwing them in before yanking it up and escorting you out of your own house. Before you recognized what was happening you were being Apparated to right outside the Hogwarts grounds and tugged through a tunnel you had no idea existed.

“Matty what is this?” The tunnel was cramped, barley enough space for the both of you as he guided you around as though he’d been there before.

“It’s a tunnel he made when he went here, not even Harry or the Weasleys know about it so we’ll be safe in here while we get back to the castle.” You didn’t need to ask who he meant by he and you definitely didn’t need to ask why he seemed to know it like the back of his hand.

“Oh” Your voice was small and meek as you started to realize he was keeping things from you too, you didn’t know whether to feel relieved that you weren’t the only one keeping secrets or worried about what he felt was too dangerous to inform you about. You knew he had unavoidable meetings with his father, you knew he had to do things to stay alive and you didn’t blame him, but it hurt you to think about the fact that you’d never really thought about what must be happening.

You’d seen his scars and fresh wounds every month, but he’d always say he had it under control and for some reason you always listened. A part if you wanted to know everything right then, while the other, much larger part, was wishing you’d run away with Mattheo when you had the chance.

After what felt like hours you emerged from behind a statue in a dimly lit corridor somewhere in the dungeons. Mattheo took your hand like it was second nature, allowing your trunk to float along behind him while escorting you to his dorm. The corridors were empty and cold, most of the remaining student body gone on holiday, the castle that used to bring comfort to generations of young witches and wizards, now held a lingering sense of danger, like something wrong was hiding just behind the corner.

And as you watched Mattheo’s focused eyes, clenched jaw, and possessive hand, you thought there just might be.

~~~~

Christmas at Hogwarts was always worth looking forward to, it gave even the most damaged of us a chance to let loose. But as you looked around the Slytherin Common room, realizing it was almost midnight on December 24th and not a single person seemed to care, you decided that just for the next 24 hours, there wasn’t a single thing wrong. You would tell everyone the truth on the 26th and everything would be okay. You were sure of it.

Even if it was just you and Mattheo, you were celebrating Christmas like you did every year. Huddled up in the boys dorm, drinking spiked hot chocolate, fighting over the best Christmas songs, and giving each other presents.

Mattheo wasn’t shocked to see you sauntering through his door with a bottle of firewhiskey and wrapped boxes as you had for the past 5 years. His heart sank slightly as he watched your eyes swivel around the un-decorated and empty dorm room.

“Wh-,” They had decorated their dorm room every year, at first it started with you bringing them little ornaments from a village by your manor your first Christmas together. By your second Christmas, Mattheo took it upon himself to buy a miniature Christmas tree. A memory you could never forget, a chilly December evening organizing only 5 ornaments along it. Arguing slightly all the way until Mattheo told the boys to just listen to you. It was one of the first moments you even realized you liked the curly headed boy.

From that year on, every member of the friend group was ensured to get at least one gift, a new ornament for the dorm tree. Which was still stuffed in it’s box under Mattheo’s nightstand. Mattheo followed your eyes to it and sighed, “I’m sorry Baby, I completely forgot to decorate this year and all the boys got an owl to come home so I did-“

“It’s okay Matty,” You gave him a soft smile as you set your bottle and packages on his bed and took your seat beside them.

“I’ll set it up now and we can decorate it together, Enzo and Blaise left some gifts behind so w-“ He stopped abruptly as you flopped backward further onto his bed with an exaggerated sigh.

“What a shame, all of your dorm mates gone and no way to be caught in the act, the horror,” You giggled slightly as your sarcasm began to settle in his mind and a smile tugged on his lip.

“Don’t act like you don’t absolutely love when we’re almost caught, I can feel how you clench around me Princess,” He stalked towards you as he leant himself against the bedposts at the end of the frame, eyeing the way you bit back a laugh and sat yourself up on your elbows.

“Okay Mr. “Scream My Name,” Your voice held an unusual mix of teasing and dominance that Mattheo wasn’t quite used to as you swayed your leg and watched while his tongue subconsciously wet his lips.

“Mmm, don’t tempt me Princess. I wanted to open presents first.” He faked a pout, watching your skirt slide up your moving thigh as your fingers moved to slowly unbutton your shirt.

“Am I not a present fit to be unwrapped Mr.Riddle?” You teased as you licked across you teeth and played at the second button on your shirt. Mattheo groaned from deep in his chest as his head fell backwards, his jaw clenched as he tried to collect himself.

“Baby, I have a plan and if you call me that again you’re gonna miss out. You don’t wanna miss out do you Gorgeous?” His eyes met yours, the dark spark you knew meant he was in control having you bite at your smile and shake your head, still slightly playing with the buttons on your shirt.

“Good girl, now come here,” Mattheo suddenly pushed off the bedposts and motioned for you to follow with a wiggle of two of his fingers.

“I thought I’d have to give these to you late but since you’re here,” Mattheo sighed happily as he pulled out a trunk from under his bed, “Sit on the edge….now.” You were slightly confused but after a second followed his orders, swaying your feet and waiting patiently as he unlocked the trunk with two loud clicks.

“Your first set,” You narrowed your eyes at him as he set two neatly wrapped black boxes beside you, both tied with a red bow. “First….set?” Mattheo only nodded his head with a happy little smile before urging you to open them with his outstretched hands. The first and smallest was expected, a delicate glass snowflake ornament hanging from a silver ribbon.

“Perfect, I can hang it on the tree when it’s set up,” You said happily as you gently set it back in it’s box, “Actually that’s gonna be the first to go on our tree.” Mattheo interjected, making you giggle up at him before realizing he was entirely serious.

“It may collect some dust while I find the perfect cottage for you,” He said with a wave of his hands, “but that’s the first place it’s going, nowhere else”

“Okay Matty, it’s decided,” You laughed as you grabbed at your, significantly less neat, golden wrapped package. Mattheo’s hand dramatically shot to his chest as his mouth dropped open, “For me?” he gasped sarcastically, ripping it from your hands as he opened it.

“Oh fuck Baby, is this the one we saw in Diagon Alley?” Mattheo’s voice was filled with excitement you rarely got to hear as he pulled out the thick silver ring with a snake tangled around the front. He haphazardly shoved it on each of his fingers before ultimately settling on his right pointer finger.

“How does it look Gorgeous?” He held up his pointer and middle finger, letting the others fall beside them as he watched you bite at your lip. “Can’t wait to find out what it’ll look like halfway inside of you…mm” He seemed to be in his own world as he eyed the ring, fitting perfectly with the other two he already wore on that hand, before shaking his head slightly, “Guess we’ll have to wait and see, your turn again.”

You shook your head, blinking rapidly with a shocked smile before reaching for the next box, his eyes lighting up to follow as though he’d just remembered what was hidden behind the wrapping paper. It was was longer and thinner than the last box, opening on a hinge to reveal a golden necklace with a heart shaped ruby dangling in the middle.

“Gods Matty….” You whispered, feeling across the necklace delicately with your fingertips. “It’s beautiful,”

“Can I put it on for you Princess?” Mattheo asked as he crawled on the bed around you, reaching for the necklace before you could answer. Clasping it quickly and leaving a kiss on the base of your neck, whispering with a confident smirk, “It has my initials carved in the middle of the heart.”

You chuckled as you felt at the pendent hanging between your collarbones, grabbing at the next package while Mattheo began kissing up and down the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine as his breath fanned against your cold skin. You turned in his arms, handing him his hext gift with a smile. “And here’s your ornament,” Mattheo gasped as though he was offended, snatching the package mumbling, “Don’t ruin my surprise Baby,”

“I get you one every year, besides you don’t know what’s on it, now open it,” He huffed while ripping at the messily placed tape, halting slightly, staring down at a handmade ornament in the shape of a gingerbread house. A moving picture of you and him from almost two years ago sat where the door would have been, a picture that was taken only days after he realized he was madly in love with you, something he wasn’t sure you knew. Making it ten times better.

“I’ve changed my mind, your snowflake will be the second ornament on our tree.” His gaze met yours as a smile grew on his face, laughing while gently placing it into it’s box and leaning back to set it on his nightstand. “I wanna open my last one before you get more.”

Mattheo’s voice was stern and matter of factly, taking his last present from beside you as you nervously chewed the insides of your cheek. He wasted no time ripping into it, looking between you and the box as his brows bunched together, delicately pulling out a silk red tie, “Now, no offense Darling, but red isn’t really my color,”

“No….but it is mine.” Mattheo watched as you bit your lip before looking back at the box, realization settling in as he clutched the tie hard in his hand, closing his eyes as he groaned slightly.

“You know they say great minds think alike….” He spoke after a second of gathering himself, kissing your cheek before slipping off the bed and reaching back into the trunk, retreating with two larger wrapped boxes.

“This one first,” He all but shoved the box at you, watching you intently as he bounced in front of you. You slowly unwrapped the box, delicately removing each piece of tape as Mattheo narrowed his eyes at you threateningly. “I’m gonna open it myself if you don’t hurry up.”

“Okay okay” You giggled, tearing through the rest of the paper and throwing off the lid of a deep red box. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared down at its contents, a black blindfold neatly wrapped around a set of fuzzy handcuffs, a vibrator, and a collar on a chain. Your face burned as you looked up to a now very nervous Mattheo.

“Is it too much? Do you not like the idea? We can just move on to the next one if-“ He rambled as you looked up at him with a smile, reaching into the box as he spoke.

“Is this a remote Mattheo?” You asked teasingly, biting your lip at Mattheo’s sigh of relief from your demeanor. “Hell yeah it is Baby, that’s more for me though,” He was immediately back to his regular cocky self as he snatched the remote and slipped it into his pocket.

“Saved the best for last.” Mattheo sighed, handing you the largest of the four and watching you intently. He knew exactly which would he your favorite, and knew exactly which one to save for last. You smiled brightly up to him as you pulled out the red, loose weight thigh length dress from it’s box.

“Matty! I love it, thank you,” You practically screamed as you jumped up to hug him, laughing as he lifted you up by your waist. He chuckled in your ear, wrapping your legs around him, pulling you back to look at your face.

“Anything for you Gorgeous,” He said breathlessly as he smashed his lips into yours in a passionate kiss, stealing the breath from your lungs while his tongue began exploring your mouth immediately.

“Fucking hell I love you, you’re the best thing to ever happen to me ya know that,” He growled, kissing down your neck, nipping at it aggressively as he mindlessly cleared the bed of presents, papers, and boxes before laying you down softly and crawling up your body to meet your lips again. Mattheo quickly rid himself of his shirt, pulling at yours as you slid your skirt and panties off, Mattheo cursed as he jumped from the bed to shove his sweats and boxers off. Tripping over them in a rush to join you back on the bed, falling on you slightly as you fell into a fit of laughter.

“Yeah yeah whatever, come here,” He huffed, pulling your face in to an aggressive kiss. He nipped at your lips and battled your tongue with his, your teeth knocking together as you breathed heavily into each other’s mouths. His hands trailed slowly down your sides, stopping at your hips to tug you forward, plowing into without warning, a whine of a moan fell from you as Mattheo sighed and fell into you, holding himself up on his forearms as he began softly fucking into you.

Mattheo’s lips trailed along your shoulder, stoping only to moan as you circled your hips to his slow thrusts. Your fingers found themselves tangled his hair, tugging slightly as the others trailed down his toned back with a teasing scratch. He groaned in your ear, picking up his pace only slightly as he rocked his hips into yours. He lifted his head to meet your eyes as you clenched around him, steadying himself with a hand on your hip, increasing his pace further as he watched your head fall back with a moan of appreciation.

Mattheo felt himself twitch inside you as your nails dug into his back and tugged at his hair, he wasn’t gonna last long after not having you for weeks, but he wanted you to come first. He slowed himself down to an agonizingly slow pace as you whined under him, he balanced himself on a hand beside your head as he brushed his free hand from your hip down your thigh before suddenly bringing it to rush fast circles onto your clit. Picking up his pace and falling back into your neck, licking a stripe from the base of your neck to your ear, whisperering against it’s shell as you shivered, “You like that Princess? Do you like being fucked after I spoil you?”

All you could do to respond was nod weakly as he groaned against your bruised neck, “Do you like it when Daddy treats you like a Princess?” For a second Mattheo stalled, as though he didn’t mean to let the name slip, but quickly picked up his pace as you wiggled below him with a whine of “Yes”

He looked down at you with a wild, daring smile as his eyes darkened further, “Yes what?” He growled, thrusting into you harder as you tried to speak, jumbling your words as you began to lose focus.

“Daddy, ye- Oh fuck, Yes Dadd-“ Mattheo cut you off with a wicked smile as he ruthlessly pounded into you, you were shaking with the bed as his thrusts became irregular and his fingers slowed. Your head felt dizzy as you clamped around him, feeling his cum spill inside you sending you over the edge as you screamed his name.

You came together as Mattheo collapsed on top of you. “That’s much better than our past Christmas traditions,” You sighed in a breathless voice as Mattheo’s arms snaked around your naked waist, cuddling you into him while still inside.

“I love you, and I plan to spend every Christmas I have left with you,” Mattheo whispered in a suddenly very serious tone.

~~~~

Caught VII

I hope this Isn’t weird or anything because I absolutely love it🥰🥰

-HP Taglist-

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

Text

Summer Breeze 6

Warnings: age gap (reader is 22, Andrew is mid 40s), dad’s friend, Andy being Andrew, other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

You sleep sitting up. Aside from the stiffness in your muscles, your stomach is gurgling from the greasy meal. The night fraught with worry and restlessness leaves your head even more cloudy than before. It’s real, you know it, and yet you just don’t want to accept it.

The doctor comes after 8am. He checks your father’s vital and makes some notes on his chart. Andy asks about his condition as you can’t bring yourself to speak. He looks ragged and tired, you must not come off any better.

“We’ll have to wait until he’s stable to make any further determination. We’ll need to test his cognizance along with his physical capabilities. The injury like has caused a TBI, meaning the effects will vary. He’ll need to be monitored well beyond his time here,” the doctor explains as Andy listens intently. You cling to every word but your mind is reeling. “Best to discuss what sort of therapies would be covered by insurance.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Andy says, “thanks, doctor.”

“Of course. You did a good job getting him here quickly,” the man in the white coat pauses and sends you definitive look, “keeping pressure on him. You both saved his life.”

Your eyes sting and your nose burns. You can't cry. Not yet. Once you crack, you know that’s it. You won’t be able to stop. Your cheeks tug and you thank him, swallowing down the swell of horror.

“Andy,” you eke out as the doctor leaves, “I couldn’t get through to my mom. Do you mind if I try again?”

“Hm, I haven’t charged my phone,” he slides his cell from his pocket, “I’m at twelve percent. Could do the trick.”

“Oh, maybe I could ask the nurse’s desk. I think I saw a patient phone around here.”

“Good idea,” he nods. “I texted Jacob but I don’t think he has service up there. We’ll need to go grab some clothes so how about we do that today?”

“I... I can’t leave my dad,” you insist.

“Sweetheart, they said he’s going to be out for some time.”

“He shouldn’t wake up alone,” you argue.

“Alright,” he shows his palm appeasingly, “I’ll drive up, grab your stuff, and we’ll get everything else sorted when I get back.”

“I can do this,” you avow, as much to yourself as him, “you’ve done enough.”

“Right, I know, you’re a strong girl. But what do you do next? Once you talk to mom. You gotta call insurance, right? Do you have what they need? You’ll need the plan number, that’s probably in his wallet, right? You’ll at least need proof of ID. We brought him in in his trunks and nothing else. All that’s up at the cottage,” he shakes his head, “I don’t doubt you can handle it but a little help can’t hurt.”

Your eyes widen and you sigh. You drag your hands down your cheek, “yeah...”

“You can’t think of it all right now. That’s expected. You should worry about him. So I’ll deal with the details.”

“Andy,” you utter, “I...” you look at your dad and get up, shuffling to his bedside. You take his hand, careful not to tug the tubes and tape, “I owe you.”

“It’s what people do for each other, right? I’m a dad too. I know if anything happened to me, Jacob would be lost.”

“Uh, yeah, yeah,” you crackle from your dry throat.

“Try to rest if you can,” he sniffs and scratches his beard, “I’ll be quick. As quick as possible.”

“Sure,” you squeeze your dad’s hand, barely hearing Andy. You just want him to wake up, or maybe you can wake up from this nightmare.

🌅

You force yourself out of the room to ask the nurse about a phone. She points you towards a worn phone down a few halls meant for emergency calls. You punch in your mom’s number and wait for it to dial. It takes six tries for her to answer but you won’t give up this time.

“Hey, what’s up?” She answers casually.

You don’t answer right away. You can hear the lightness in her voice and the rustle of unknown movement. She’s busy with something or someone. Probably her latest fling.

“Mom,” you scratch out, “it’s dad.”

“What is it now? Tell me he’s not drank himself into the tank again. He’s too old for that.”

“Mom,” you say firmer than before, “mom, he’s hurt.”

“Hurt. Well, call the paramedics, I don’t know,” she giggles and you sigh.

“We’re at the hospital,” you raise your voice, “he’s... he’s not awake. He hit his head. And I... I’m scared.”

She’s silent. You hear her move around and she excuses herself. A door clicks on her end and she scoffs, “well, what do you want me to do about it? He’s your father.”

You’re stunned by her callous response.

“And I’m your daughter,” you insist, “what... you should...” you shake your head and deflate. “Well, mom,” your voice cracks, “I’m sorry I interrupted fun for something so stupid as this.”

“Honey, please, I’m a bit shocked is all,” she squeaks, “I mean what can I do from so far away. For my ex-husband of all people? You’re an adult. You need to learn how to handle these things.”

“Gee, thanks, mom,” you sneer and slam the phone on the hook.

You don’t know why you expected any different. You’re not at her house because she told you plainly that she didn’t want you spoiling her fun. She gave up trying to be a parent the minute you turned eighteen.

You roll your eyes back against a new wave of tears; these one angry. You guess you just need to grow up. It’s your turn to take care of your dad.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #series #drabble #defending jacob #summer breeze

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aimfor-theheart · 6 months

Note

Why is it that dc such as r@pe, sa, and incest is totally okay to write about and romanticize but y’all draw the line at racism, fat phobia, and homophobia *talking about the writings creators make, not personal beliefs*? Whats the difference between these things? All of them are hurtful and affect people in real life, so why is everybody on here choosing and picking one and not the other? Do writers on here think that they are not comparable or that one is okay to romanticize and the other is going way too far?

Im just genuinely curious as I have seen this topic be brought up again and again, which has made me realize this and Id like to see it from someone else's pov.

hi! there is a lot to answer and unpack here and i have every intention of doing so underneath the cut. forgive me if this gets long, but you’ve asked me 4 very massive questions that i think warrant detail, nuance, and thought. there is a lot i’d like to say here.

that being said, mind the content warnings and protect yourself.

cw: mentions of rape, incest, racism, homophobia, fat phobia, discourse in general

firstly, i am going to choose to give you the benefit of the doubt in assuming you are actually curious in hearing another side and you are not simply looking to stir a pot or pick a fight with beliefs you have no intention of changing or having an open discussion on. your accusatory tone in the first half indicates otherwise and kindly, i am not an idiot. but i want to earnestly talk to you about this and again, will think better of you than you perhaps have indicated you think of me.

secondly, you do not have to censor words like rape in my inbox. that sort of censorship has become wildly popular because of tik tok and other money-hungry social media that also desperately want to silence people. do you know why you have to censor words like that on tik tok? or words like genocide? suicide? racism? 1. so that they can make money and market and push their squeaky clean algorithms but 2. and perhaps worse, so they can silence victims. if social media platforms and capitalism and the systems of powers had it their way, you would never utter these words again—whether to call someone out for justice or to have an open discussion like this one. i encourage you greatly to think critically about this and how you choose to use censorship and why.

now, to your questions.

to preface, i am interpreting this ask as being anti-dark content in fiction as you state that ALL these subjects harm people in real life. or at least, you are being critical of all dark content in fiction and the way writers engage with them, effectively ‘picking and choosing’ which are deemed acceptable and which aren’t, when they are all hurtful. i apologize if that wasn’t your intention/what you believe, but regardless, i’ll endeavor to answer you.

i personally have drawn no lines about dark content nor spoken about any of these topics specifically really, which indicates to me you have a different narrative and/or are coming from more inflammatory arguments that are always circling fandom lately. in the post i most recently reblogged, i spoke mostly of violence. which, of course, all of those things can be. but i didn’t name one of those topics in particular.

regardless, i don’t believe in the censorship of any dark content in art, but rather advocate strongly for critical analysis on a case-by-case basis. in general, i encourage thinking critically about every aspect of the world around you.

i do not believe that rape, incest, and sa are okay to write about or create art about but racism, homophobia, and fat phobia are not. i believe all of those topics are ones that can, should, and will be explored in the safety of art. all to varying degrees of success, earnestness, impact, and intent. you’re right that these are real things, that can hurt people, and the fictional work about them can have impact on our society that is tangible but the actual art or fiction created is not real. and again, this is all to varying degrees on a case-by-case basis.

art and fiction also historically and massively do discuss these dark content topics and have actively swayed the public’s opinion on matters, whether for better or for worse. throwing away all dark content in art and fiction because it is ‘harmful’ is deeply, deeply dangerous and reductive. a lot of art that engages with dark content actually makes very succinct points about it—i think of vladimir nabokov’s lolita or octavia butler’s bloodchild or speak by laurie halse anderson.

this is where we must exorcise critical thinking. some pieces of work will handle dark content poorly—white saviors making art on racism. men making art about a woman’s experiences that (as you are so interested in) romanticize her pain. etc. etc. and some art will handle it’s dark content incredibly and be transformative, perhaps even revolutionary in how we talk, perceive, or acknowledge systems of oppression, violence, and dark content in this world. some dark content in fiction will have damaging beliefs and effects on society, some will not—we must also look at scope for this, at the writer perhaps, the historical moment, their audience etc.

(for example, there is a significant difference in a main stream male writer, writing of a woman’s experience with rape in a published book in a way that makes it sound romanticized, sold to thousands and thousands of general public vs. a woman using fanfic to explore rape, take control of it, or whatever in a fanfic for a small online community where there are warnings on it. indicating she is aware of its potential damage in a way her male counterpart is not…)

but i still believe in dark contents’ existence in art. of course there is differences between all of these topics you brought up, but i don’t think their differences matter in this answer. i believe in their right to be explored in art. i am talking broadly of media/art here, which i think is the more relevant conversation, but i think you are actually more interested in a much smaller scale of people. ie. fandom. ie. mostly marginalized people in small communities online writing and creating dark content.

people will choose and pick which ones they’d like to create art over and which ones they don’t, which ones they read and which ones they don’t. there’s no ‘hard line’ drawn anywhere. and i can’t control it and neither can you. perhaps you think violence is okay to be explored in fanfic, but racism isn’t. someone else will have different preferences. i do not believe in its censorship.

now, let’s move onto your interest in romanticization and what i think you are more pointing to, which is fandom. you are specifically referring to people in fandom who write about rape, incest, etc. and ‘romanticize’ it—ie. they write about it in a way that is a fantasy. it is perhaps supposed to be horny or sexy. so let’s talk about it.

i must remind you that these topics you’ve brought up (rape, incest, sa) being written are fiction and it is (most often) done by someone marginalized who has either experienced this or is in threat of experiencing this under a patriarchy. i assure you, they are aware of its harm. hence the copious warnings in fandom spaces.

if i can be candid, sometimes i think that people forget how systems of oppression work when discussing fandom and whether dark content being created should be allowed or not.

for example, i sometimes think people who are anti-dark content in fandom believe that a woman or afab person writing a fictional fanfic about rape or sexual violence then influences people to go out and rape people or that women actually like it. when the reality, in fandom spaces, is that rape and sexual violence happen frequently under the patriarchy and then these women in fandom write fictional fanfic in response to cope, explore, take control of, etc. etc.

to insinuate that women or afab people (which fandom mostly is) exploring dark content safely in fiction then causes their own oppression and harm or trauma is rather victim-blame-y to me. fandom exploring dark content does not cause these things to happen in our society….these actions (rape, incest, sa) happen in our society or systems of power and fandom reacts to them in their art by exploring it in dark content. do you understand what i’m trying to say?

it’s not a matter of what is ‘okay’ to romanticize and what isn’t. i do not think the romanticization that fandom does with dark content (ie. my kidnapper actually loves me! or this sexual act that i did not consent to…maybe feels good) is not actually romanticizing but coping because of the systems of power that i described above. and this can be coping with anything—shame of sexuality, shame of fantasies, trauma, fear, etc. etc.

as i said in my tags in that post i reblogged and as plato said, dark content in art is a safe place to explore what would otherwise be harmful and dangerous in real life. it is cathartic. potentially even, a purging.

and even if it isn’t all that—maybe it just is trashy fantasy. it is still playing pretend. it is still fiction and in fandom spaces, it is still most likely being created by a marginalized person. and again, even if it isn’t, we don’t get to censor it. we can be critical of it or wary or whatever, but to censor it, is a slippery, slippery slope. do deem some topics as “acceptable” and others as “unacceptable” is dangerous.

just like kids play pretend where they ‘fight’ or ‘kill’ or ‘kidnap’ or ‘shoot’ each other in games of cops and robbers or heroes and villains, they are safely exploring adventure, dark content, fantasy, tragedy, and higher emotions. adults can do the same in fiction and with adult topics like sex.

and at the end of the day, we don’t get to demand the credentials to do so either. we don’t get to censor them or control them and nor should we be allowed to. i cannot stress enough that i encourage you to be critical of censorship or the absolute disgust in dark content and at those (again—often marginalized people) who engage with it in fandom. i believe it is deeply puritanical, conservative, and dangerous.

you don’t have to like dark content or consume it at all and fandom makes it easy not to with all the warnings and tags, but you cannot control others or police them. nor should you want to.

and at the end of the day, i have some questions for you. you don’t have to respond to this, perhaps they’re just things to think about. what is the end goal here? what is the point in harassing, shaming, attacking, criticizing, or interrogating people in fandom spaces who create or support dark content? do you believe that if it is purged from fandom, it will be purged from our society? if you want it purged from society—shouldn’t you start there rather than in the inbox of marginalized writers in fandom? people in fandom did not create rape, incest, and sa nor do they in their exploration of fiction…they are merely reacting to a world that did create it.

i hope at no point i came off as rude to you, as was not my intention. i intended to stand up for myself and respectfully state my opinions and thoughts on this matter. i’m sorry it got long, but also i don’t believe in being brief on such complex matters. i am a writer who engages critically with the world around me and sometimes, things cannot be made into short, snappy answers. sometimes, we must unpack.

genuinely wishing you well.

#i cannot guarantee that i’ll have the time patience or energy to answer every ask like the one above in such detail #going forward #but i do support open discussions and i wanted to be kind to this anon #these are just my 2 cents on all of this #cw: rape #cw: incest #cw: racism #cw: fat phobia #cw: homophobia #discourse

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