#elle's drabble

[moonxytcn]

Mommy Wanda who watches all day long how her sweet little girl always seems to be putting something in her mouth.

Whether it's the tip of your thumb, lightly nibbling on it, your pen while studying for tests, how it takes you longer than usual to take your silverware out of your mouth at mealtime, and how when you were snuggled up watching movies, you would grab her hand and give her little kisses all over her fingers and take your time with your lips on them, making Wanda lightly rub your lips with her thumb. Pulling you closer Wanda notices how you get more snuggled against her chest, lightly rubbing your head against it and playing with the hem of her shirt.

"aww my little baby wants mommy's tits in her mouth now? huh? It's been a long day, hasn't it, love? Why don't you come over here and finally put your pretty little mouth on my nipples and finally relax, baby girl?"

Wanda says watching the reddish blush take over your cheeks, taking off her shirt and pulling you sideways onto her lap, so that you rest your head on her arms, grabbing her breast and lightly rubbing her nipple over your lips, inducing you to take it. When you finally grab her nipple, nothing can stop the happy and relaxed sigh from both parties, you for finally being able to have your mommy's nipples in your mouth, and Wanda for finally feeling closer than ever to you.

"Here we go, such a good girl little love, that's it, you're doing great."

Feeling you sucking gently on her nipple, Wanda sees you playing with your hands, so she slowly grabs one of your hands and brings it to her free breast, making you play with it instead, feeling you squeeze and lightly pinch her nipple, sometimes kneading it like a kitten.

"So comfy baby, right? Yeah I know, I'm sure it is."

Wanda gently caresses your face, whispering soft promises of love, while you fall asleep, with the background noise of the TV lulling you into a deeper sleep.

[cal-flakes]

someone requested this and now i can’t find it😓

‧₊🫧꒷꒦‧₊˚⋆

—“c’mon, we’re going fuckin’ home” he hissed through gritted teeth, vice grip on your arm with no sign of letting up as he pulled you away from the country club, huffing and puffing as you went. “but—“ you cried, only to be interrupted. “but fuckin’ what? hm? but fuckin’ nothin’”

tears flooded your waterline as you neared the car, or more so, we’re dragged towards it. he refused to look at you, knowing the exact look on your face— the one that would make him give in within mere seconds, and he didn’t want to give in. you’d pissed him off, big time. whining and pestering him all day, talking back, making snappy little comments under your breath, and he’d absolutely had enough.

before you knew, you were being pushed into the passenger seat, the door slamming beside you before he hopped in the drivers and buckled your belt, eyes still avoiding your own. “rafe—“ you started hesitantly, pulling your lip between your teeth.

when you received nothing back, not even a huff of acknowledgment, you reached out carefully, trailing your manicured hand along his arm. “m’sorry baby”

sighing, his knuckles relaxed slightly, returning to their usual colour. “no you’re not”

“i am! i am sorry!” you squeaked, edging further beside him, eager for his responses. you flinched when his hand flew toward you, pushing you back into your seat as the car came to a harsh stop. “the fucks’ gotten into you then? actin’ like a fuckin’ child all day” he groaned, tilting his head in anticipation for your answer.

dropping your gaze, your lip wobbled as you played with your hands— only irritating him further. clasping a hand over both of yours, he held them still. “m’talkin’ to you”

“jus’— jus’ wanted some attention, you’ve been talkin’ to everyone but me today” you frowned, picking your head up to face him, eyes wide and tearful.

“you know what good girls do when they want attention? they ask, they don’t nag n’d give me attitude all day” he stated, his firm tone causing your lips to quiver once again.

“you wanna be good f’me? huh?” he poked, tilting your chin up with his fingers. you nodded, lashes fluttering as you enjoyed the warm of his measly touch.

“get in the back”

[fbfh]

just reread your rodrick x hyperfem reader AND IT HAS ME BACK INTO THE GOOD OLD CHOKEHOLD

so if you do still write for him (ignore if you dont <3) maybe some headcanons of them after the prom? 😋

(devon bostick is so FINE)

oh FUCK yes babes. lemme tell you something about roddy and hyperfemme reader. almost immediately after your song finishes and you lock lips in a kiss that rocks both your worlds and blows your minds, it's over for you. you're joint at the hip and locked at the lip every moment after that. both of your friend groups are pissed because whenever they're looking for you you're either sitting on Roddy's lap doing his eyeliner (and putting a little glittery highlighter here and there) or making out in the back of his van. you are completely a package deal, if someone wants one of you they are GOING to get both of you. after the last time roddy insisted on you sleeping in his room or threatening to run away and elope in vegas, Susan decided you know what? this could actually be a lot worse! at least most of Rodrick's energy (or lackthereof, please get this boy some antidepressants) is directed at you instead of harrassing his brother all the time. he still harasses Greg, but that's more of that brother stuff Susan doesn't know about. and that's how you in all your sparkly pink "what like it's hard?" lip glossed glory end up at the heffley's house more often than the actual heffleys.

[shuavez]

litany 𓄧 k.mg

ii. evidence of absence.

summary 𓄧 every oath has a cost. every touch has a consequence. sent deep undercover into one of the city’s most illicit vampire clubs, two detectives must navigate the delicate balance between duty and desire — and survive the consequences when pretending stops feeling like pretending.

and some hungers, once fed, are impossible to starve.

tags 𓄧 detective!au, vampire!mingyu x human!reader. slow-ish burn. fake dating. friends/coworkers to lovers. ft. various svt members/idols.

warnings 𓄧 semi-graphic descriptions of blood, death. 

wc. 5.5k.

The morning sky hangs low, leaden and bruised, casting shadows that stretch like spilled ink down the alleyway. Rain clings to every surface, transforming the cracked pavement into mirrors, reflecting nothing but gray. The body lies at the epicenter of all that grayness, starkly illuminated under the harsh beams of forensic lamps.

You stand silently near the crime scene perimeter, boots slick with rainwater, breath misting gently into the frigid air. Even beneath the thick wool of your coat, the chill seeps into your bones, lingering alongside an uncomfortable, gnawing tension.

Across from you, Mingyu rises smoothly from his crouched position near the victim. He crosses the alley in a few purposeful strides, his expression unreadable, and silently offers Jeonghan a small, sleek, familiar card.

Jeonghan frowns, squinting at the black and crimson lettering. “Velvet Eden…?”

Mingyu nods slowly, voice low and careful, almost apologetic. “She’s a regular. I do recognize her. She was new around six months ago, when I first started infiltrating.”

You shift slightly, chest tightening as the words sink in. It’s strange how quickly dread coils around the edges of familiarity, like ivy reclaiming an abandoned building.

“And last night,” Mingyu continues, eyes flickering momentarily toward you, guarded yet quietly protective, “right after we got there—a group of vampires arrived. Suits, expensive, polished. Different energy than usual. Hungrier, colder. Dangerous. I didn’t recognize any faces, didn’t catch names…but the vibe was off.” His jaw flexes briefly, tension visibly threading through his shoulders.

You remember the moment vividly. Mingyu’s silent shift at the bar, his shoulder brushing against yours just enough to signal caution, subtly shielding you from prying eyes. A flash of silver cufflinks catching the club’s low lights, the cold glint of predatory eyes tracking your movements. You swallow hard, the faint taste of last night’s amaretto lingering on your tongue, mingling strangely with the acrid aftertaste of adrenaline and unease.

When you meet Mingyu’s gaze again, understanding passes silently between you—a low, instinctive hum of tension. You’re not sure what exactly you’re walking into, only that whatever it is, you’re already deeply tangled in its grasp.

You exhale a slow, measured breath, peeling your gloves off sharply, fingers stinging briefly from the cold. “We need footage. Not from inside the club—they won’t give us anything unless we subpoena, and even then, they’ll wipe it clean.”

Mingyu nods curtly, gaze following yours to the surrounding buildings. “Exterior cams?”

“Exactly,” you say, eyeing the narrow brick apartment building looming on one side and the shuttered print shop tucked against the other. Their security cameras look cheap and poorly maintained, but anything’s better than nothing. “Check flank angles. We might get lucky and catch whoever brought her here. Move quickly, before the footage loops.”

Without another word, Mingyu departs swiftly, long strides eating up the pavement as he disappears into the hazy morning fog. Jeonghan watches him go, eyebrows arching in silent amusement as the tall vampire melts easily into the shadows between buildings.

Then, with a grin that somehow manages to be both teasing and empathetic, Jeonghan turns toward you, eyes twinkling mischievously. “So,” he drawls, deliberately playful, though you can sense genuine curiosity beneath, “tell me about last night.”

You blink at him, breath misting in the cold air. “What’s there to tell?” You shrug, feigning disinterest. “We were just establishing my presence.”

Jeonghan snorts softly, rolling his eyes. “Oh, I know that part, idiot. I want the real details. Like, why you and Mingyu are suddenly drowning in weird nervous energy. The guy’s practically glued to your hip.”

Your eyes drift briefly back toward the body, now carefully shrouded in plastic, forensic techs quietly murmuring as they move carefully around the scene. You sigh, relenting just a bit. “It was fine,” you say softly, voice barely audible above the distant murmur of radios and traffic. “We had drinks, established a cover…then went into a Red Room. There was a camera inside—very visible—so we had to sell it.”

Jeonghan leans in slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Define?”

You glance sideways at him, heart speeding uncomfortably. “We made out. Briefly.”

Jeonghan’s mouth forms an exaggerated ‘O,’ eyes sparkling. He chuckles softly under his breath, clearly entertained but trying—and failing—to suppress his amusement. “And?” he presses again.

“And then he fed from me.” You swallow thickly, throat tight with the admission. “That was the whole point, after all.”

Jeonghan tilts his head, expression carefully neutral but eyes gleaming with intense curiosity. “Painful?”

You pause, chewing the inside of your cheek, uncertain how best to convey the truth. “At first, yes,” you admit quietly. “But then…it felt—” Your voice trails off, embarrassment creeping up your neck in a hot rush. “I don’t know how to explain it in a way that isn’t…uncouth.”

Jeonghan smirks faintly. “Get to the point.”

“It was like the best orgasm I’ve never had,” you finally mutter, voice dropping to a whisper, cheeks hot. “Like pure ecstasy. I can’t explain it better than that.”

He blinks once, twice—and then bursts into low, muffled laughter, shoulders shaking with amusement. “Oh, interesting,” he says finally, grinning broadly. “And how do you feel today?”

You sigh, rubbing your hands together, staring at the wet pavement as you gather your scattered thoughts. “Everything feels…sluggish,” you admit slowly, “like my nerves are dipped in tar. But last night—I felt something I didn’t expect. It was exciting. I realized we’ll have to do it again, maybe multiple times…and that thought didn’t scare me. It thrilled me.”

“So you’re horny for him?” Jeonghan deadpans.

Your head snaps up, eyes widening with immediate horror. “Jeonghan!”

He laughs openly, teeth bright against the gloom. “What? I mean, I’m straight, but I’m not blind. Mingyu’s literally drop-dead gorgeous. Tall, dark, mysterious, ancient vampire charm? He’s got enough skin in the game. Hell, even I’d probably get flustered.”

You roll your eyes, irritated yet undeniably flustered yourself. “We were undercover, Jeonghan.”

“Uh-huh,” he chuckles. “Sure you were.”

Your cheeks still burn as Mingyu returns swiftly, slipping easily beneath the police tape and handing you a short handwritten note. “They’ll send the footage to the precinct before lunch,” he says quietly. His gaze brushes gently across your face, checking silently for distress, for damage. You soften slightly under his careful attention, heart stumbling traitorously.

Jeonghan slaps Mingyu cheerfully on the shoulder as he passes, smirking broadly. “You’re driving her, bloodsucker. She’s too cold to handle it.”

Mingyu doesn’t protest, merely nodding softly, his expression faintly amused yet somehow quietly pleased. You don’t argue either. The thought of slipping into the warmth and quiet of his car is too inviting to resist.

The drive back is heavy with silence—not uncomfortable, exactly, but thick and charged, your skin prickling with a strange awareness of him. You watch raindrops streak down the window, keenly aware of the quiet sounds of his breathing, the subtle flex of his hands gripping the wheel.

Inside the precinct, the warmth does little to ease the lingering chill in your bones. You pass through the maze of half-cubicles and incident boards, past the coffee station that always smells like burnt rubber and despair, until you reach the far end of the corridor. Your shared office is quiet. Dim, except for the gray light pushing in through the blinds and the faint hum of your space heater struggling to do its job.

Technically, it’s your and Jeonghan’s office. But since Mingyu’s temporary transfer from Organized Crime, you’ve cleared space at the other half of your desk—two monitors now sit side by side, paperwork stacked in tidy columns between. His things are minimal: laptop, notepad, one perfectly aligned pen. Everything else, he borrows. Including your charger, your stapler, and occasionally, your patience.

He doesn’t say anything as he sits, only exhales through his nose, tired. You do the same. The click of your chair wheels is the only sound for a while.

You try to work—really, you do. Your eyes skim line after line of log reports, flicking past duplicate aliases and half-scrubbed membership rosters. Your highlighter drags across familiar names in a haze of yellow, but nothing sticks. The words blur into nothing. It’s like trying to read underwater. Every sound feels muffled, distant. The warm hum of the space heater barely cuts through the chill pressing against your spine.

And then—you feel it.

Stillness. Not tension, exactly. But deliberate, settled quiet.

You look up.

Mingyu’s watching you from across the desk—not with the sharp, clinical scrutiny of an investigator, but something slower, more careful. Like he’s waiting. Not to be heard. To be understood.

“Can we talk?” he asks, voice pitched low enough that the heater almost swallows it. But you catch it. You’re already listening.

You nod once, the motion small. “Of course.”

He leans forward slowly, bracing his elbows on his knees. His hands flex in his lap—just once, then still. The weight in his posture is subtle but unmistakable. Something about him feels older in this moment. Like he’s dragging something from deeper down.

“It’s about your blood type,” he says, and the words fall into the space between you like a stone into deep water.

You blink, posture straightening, a flicker of something cold brushing the back of your neck. “Okay…”

Mingyu’s eyes flick to yours, steady. Apologetic. “It’s RH-null.”

The words don’t hit at first. You just stare at him, waiting for more.

“…Okay,” you echo slowly, cautious. “And?”

A breath leaves him—sharp, but quiet. Not frustration. Not impatience. Just the weight of explaining something he wishes he didn’t have to.

“It’s rare,” he says. “Exceptionally. One in six million. Most vampires will go their entire existence without even smelling it, let alone tasting it.” He pauses, throat working once. “It’s not just rare. It’s potent. Dangerous. Loaded.”

You blink again. The implications begin to ripple outward—slow at first, then faster.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he adds quietly, gaze flicking down to the edge of the desk. “Fear, in a place like that is about as good as an open wound. I knew what your blood could do, and I knew what that room would feel like with you in it. I needed you calm. I wanted to be honest, but…”

“But you weren’t,” you finish for him—not sharp, not angry. Just quiet. Steady.

His jaw tenses faintly, the muscles flexing once beneath the clean line of his cheek. “I should have been.”

You lean back slightly in your chair, exhaling through your nose. It’s not that you’re upset—though the pulse behind your ribs has started to speed up. It’s more the ground shifting beneath your feet. Something you thought you understood—something you thought you had a grip on—suddenly redefined.

“You have to tell me these things,” you say, and though your voice is still even, it carries the weight of something non-negotiable. “Even if it’s scary. Even if you think I’ll panic. We don’t have room for secrets between us—not in there. It's too dangerous.”

His gaze snaps back to yours. There’s no defensiveness in it—only remorse. A soft, wounded kind of acknowledgment.

“I know,” he says. “And you’re right.”

The silence that follows is thick, coiled with the kind of tension that doesn’t come from anger—but from understanding. From the long, uneasy reconciliation between what’s been kept quiet and what needs to be spoken.

“So,” you say slowly, fingers curling against the hem of your sweater, “if I’m… if I’m this potent—this tempting—what does that mean for feeding? Is there a risk?”

The question hangs between you, and for the first time, Mingyu’s composure fractures—barely. A flicker. The barest bristle of offense. You hadn’t meant it that way, but the reaction is there before you can walk it back.

His voice, when it comes, is calm—but edged with something tight. “Not with me.”

You hold his gaze, steady. “I wasn’t implying—”

“I know,” he says again, softer this time. The tension bleeds off him like mist in the sun. “I know you weren’t. I just… I need you to understand that even at its worst, even if every instinct I have is screaming for more—I won’t lose control. Not with you. Never with you.”

You study him.

The way his shoulders have gone still again, the faint crease at the corner of his mouth. He looks… pained. Not because you doubted him, but because you even had to ask.

And you hadn’t meant it like that. Not really. You trust him. You do. But trust doesn’t erase instinct. Not yours. Not his.

“The first feed is always the hardest,” he says after a beat. “The bond hits raw. Unfiltered. It softens with time. You’ll adjust. So will I. It gets easier.”

You nod slowly. That makes sense. It tracks.

But there’s a part of you—small, hidden—that doesn’t want it to get easier.

You don’t want to lose the sharpness of what happened between you. The way it had caught you off guard. The way your body had sung under his mouth, his hands. The way your name had trembled in his throat like it meant something more than duty.

You don’t say it.

But the way his eyes linger on yours says maybe—just maybe—he already knows.

A long silence settles between you, thick and unspoken but not uncomfortable. Just… real. And then—

A voice from the hallway cuts through it, louder than necessary.

“Knock, knock, kids. I come bearing gifts.”

Jeonghan.

He bumps the door open with his hip, two plastic bags swinging from one arm and a coffee tray precariously balanced in the other. The smell hits immediately—spicy, rich, bright with chili paste.

“You two looked like you were about to expire,” he announces, dropping the bags onto your desk with a dramatic flourish. “Eat. That’s an order.”

He sets the food down on your desk with a flourish. Steam curls from the bags, rich and spicy, the scent of tteokbokki hitting the air like a punch to the senses—red sauce, rice cakes, something slightly sweet, and something burning just enough to make your mouth water.

“You didn’t,” you say, half-smiling despite the tension still riding your spine.

Jeonghan just grins. “I did. And I got real coffee this time. None of that precinct-sludge.”

Mingyu murmurs a quiet thanks, already tearing into one of the containers with the kind of hunger that seems too well-practiced. You’re pretty sure food does nothing for him, as a vampire. Mere indulgence rather than sustenance, perhaps. It makes the corners of your mouth curl into a smile regardless.

You’re slower to start, but when the first bite hits your tongue, the heat is like a defibrillator. The spice shocks you back into your body—the sauce sticky and sweet, the rice cakes chewy and warm. It spreads through your chest like thawing out from the inside.

For a while, no one speaks. Just the occasional scrape of chopsticks against the plastic container, the low sound of Mingyu swallowing beside you, the hum of Jeonghan’s laptop fan kicking into life as he checks something on-screen. The heater whirs steadily in the background, and the room is suddenly smaller. Warmer. Realer.

It’s almost peaceful. The kind of quiet that settles like a blanket, made heavier by exhaustion and the faint spice of sauce still clinging to your tongue. The lull of food and fatigue creates the illusion of stillness, of calm—like maybe, for once, everything can just stop.

Then Jeonghan’s laptop pings.

The sound cuts through the room like a blade. Sharp. Surgical.

All three of you still at once. Chopsticks freeze mid-air. Breaths hold. Jeonghan exhales, a sigh that sounds too steady to be anything but forced, and he swivels his chair with practiced ease. He clicks once.

Footage Received: 5 attachments.

You don’t realize how tight your grip on the container has become until you feel your knuckles ache on putting it down. Without a word, you rise, drawn toward the screen like gravity itself has shifted. Mingyu is already moving in sync, silent, his body casting a long shadow across the desk as he leans in beside you.

The first video stutters into life.

The timestamp blinks in one corner—barely three hours after you and Mingyu had walked out of Velvet Eden under the syrupy haze of red light and too many half-formed thoughts.

The alley appears first. Dimly lit. Unremarkable. Then—movement.

Seo-yeon.

She stumbles into frame, clutching herself like she’s trying to hold in something vital. Her gait is uneven, shoulders hunched. Every part of her screams discomfort. Vulnerability. And then—behind her—a second figure.

A shadow that glides more than walks. Sleek. Fast. Purposeful.

You don’t breathe.

Seo-yeon turns. Tries to retreat. But it’s too late. Her mouth opens like she’s going to scream, but no sound escapes before her body crumples. The figure is already on her.

The attack isn’t clumsy. There’s no wild grappling, no chaotic blur of limbs. It’s measured. Precise. The shadow descends with a kind of reverence—like feeding is a prayer, not a crime. There’s no blood spray. No mess. Just the steady, sickening intimacy of lips at a throat and a body going slack beneath it.

Then—black screen.

You’re left staring at the monitor’s dark reflection. Your own face stares back at you in the gloss of the laptop. Your features look warped. Pale. Drawn. The hollow curve of your mouth stays open a beat too long.

You look like someone who’s just watched a girl die.

But it’s not horror that sits in your chest.

Not really.

It’s recognition.

You know what it’s like now—to be the one beneath the mouth, the hands. To feel that sharp, electrifying prick of fangs, and then the drop. The sudden, inexorable fall into something vast and hot and bottomless. It doesn’t feel like death. It feels like drowning in pleasure so deep it defies logic. You’d felt it yourself. Still feel it, sometimes, in phantom echoes that hum beneath your skin.

You remember Mingyu’s mouth. The way his breath had ghosted across your skin before he bit. The way his hands had held you—firm but careful, like you were something fragile and treasured. The way your body had gone soft under his touch, your thoughts obliterated by bliss.

The figure in the video wasn’t careful.

But they were experienced.

You wonder, in some deep, sick part of you, if Seo-yeon felt it too—just for a moment. If, before the end, it felt like something else. Like being chosen. Desired. Consumed.

Your stomach churns.

You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to drown the thought in breath, but the taste of last night still clings to the back of your throat. Amaretto. Velvet. His mouth.

And then, the shame hits. Heavy. Crawling.

You’re standing here, mourning a stranger through the lens of your own memory. Not because you knew her. But because your body remembers how good it felt—and part of you hates that. Hates that you know.

“It’s clean,” Mingyu says, voice low and even, like he’s speaking from behind glass. “Efficient. Whoever did it… knew exactly what they were doing.”

His voice is close. You hadn’t noticed how close he’d gotten.

You swallow, the dryness in your throat like sandpaper. “It wasn’t just a kill,” you murmur. “It was a ritual.”

The words hang there, suspended between you.

Jeonghan mutters something—maybe a curse, maybe a prayer—but it sounds far away. Distant. Muted beneath the buzz that’s started in your ears. You can’t pull your eyes from the screen even though it’s blank now. Black as the inside of a coffin. But your mind keeps playing the footage on loop.

Seo-yeon’s stumble. Her turn. The way she dropped.

You shake your head once, sharp, like it might clear the images lodged behind your eyes.

“She hesitated,” you whisper. “Right before. Like she sensed something. But she didn’t run.”

Mingyu is already moving, sliding back toward his desk with the focused calm of someone trying not to let adrenaline short-circuit his logic. “We need names,” he says, fingers flying across his keyboard. “Anyone who left after us. Anyone unaccounted for in the hours after. Timestamps, aliases, everything.”

The calm from earlier is gone. The warmth of food, the easy jokes, even the sting of the pepper sauce on your tongue—it’s all been stripped away. The air is colder now. Hungrier. You slide back into your chair without thinking, the muscles in your body moving like they’re working from memory rather than command. You start parsing data. IDs. Door logs. Code scans. Anything that might offer a trail.

It feels like falling face-first into a blizzard—white noise, frantic movement, eyes that can’t blink fast enough.

And then—

“Captain’s in today, right?” Jeonghan asks, his voice quieter now, like he’s asking for permission he already knows he’ll get.

Mingyu doesn’t look up. “Let’s go.”

The captain’s office is a glass box at the end of the bullpen, lit only by the thin gray wash of daylight and the soft glow of his desk lamp.

Choi Seungcheol is exactly the kind of man you’d want steering a ship like this — calm, grounded, deeply competent. You’ve seen him lose his temper exactly once, and it was the kind of quiet that makes people start looking for exits.

No shouting. No slamming fists or storming down hallways.

He’d stood in the middle of the bullpen with a file in his hand, one that detailed a botched cross-jurisdiction sting—agents left hanging, one dead, two hospitalized—and just… stopped moving. Not a word for almost thirty full seconds. Everyone around him froze like animals in a clearing, instinctively bracing for something worse than fury.

And then he’d walked, slowly, to the whiteboard. Picked up a marker. Erased the entire operation detail by detail with clinical precision. Rewrote the command chain. Scrapped half the team and reassigned the other. All without ever raising his voice. That was the day you realized Seungcheol didn’t get angry.

He got surgical.

You reach his door first, knocking twice on the door before easing it open. The blinds are half-drawn, pale daylight slanting through the narrow gaps and striping the floor in sharp lines. Inside, Seungcheol is already looking up from the open file on his desk, one hand loosely curled around a black ceramic mug, steam still rising from the top. His sleeves are rolled past his elbows, exposing forearms marked by faded scarring, burnished skin, and the faint shimmer of a ward tattoo just beneath his wrist.

He doesn’t smile, not quite, but there’s something gentler in the way his eyes settle on you—something solid, like stone worn smooth by water.

“You look like you’ve been through hell,” he says, voice low but warm. “Come in. Sit.”

You don’t wait to be told twice. Jeonghan sinks into the chair to your left with a theatrical groan that goes unacknowledged. Mingyu takes the far seat, posture neat and precise, arms folding loosely over his lap. You ease down between them, suddenly aware of the weight in your shoulders, the cold still clinging to your sleeves.

Seungcheol takes a sip from his mug, then sets it down with the same deliberate quiet he does everything. No wasted movement. No performance. Just a man who’s seen more than most and carries it like a steady hum beneath his skin.

“Alright,” he says. “Walk me through it.”

Jeonghan starts. He always does. Sharp, efficient, fluent in the rhythm of command. The second victim. Same profile. Same cause of death. Same link to the club. He lays it all out in quick, clean lines, like pinning evidence to a corkboard with invisible thread.

You follow, adding detail where needed—the exterior footage, the shadowed figure, the precision of the kill. You don’t dwell on the emotional weight of it, but Seungcheol sees it anyway. His eyes flick to yours when you mention the time stamp, the bloodlessness of the scene. He nods once. Just once. Like an anchor thrown into deep water.

Mingyu rounds it out. He names the names TARU flagged, lays out the narrowed timeline, the roster shifts inside the club. And then, calmly, clearly: your plan.

Another appearance. No contact. No feeding. Just visibility. Presence. You’re not spooking the hive—not yet. The idea is to be seen again, to be remembered. To deepen the illusion that whatever bond they saw that night wasn’t staged.

Seungcheol listens without interruption. Fingers steepled loosely, elbows resting against the worn leather arms of his chair. His gaze flicks occasionally to the file, but mostly, it holds on each of you in turn—assessing, not doubting. Measuring for strain.

When the room quiets again, when the last thread of your plan has been laid bare, he leans back in his chair and exhales slowly. His mouth tugs downward—thoughtful, not displeased. His voice, when it comes, is calm. Grounded.

“I don’t hate it,” he says.

You catch the faint twitch of Jeonghan’s mouth—approval, disguised as smugness.

“But,” Seungcheol continues, “if we’re sending you back in, you’re not going in blind. I want wires this time. Low-gain. No ambient bounce. One channel only.”

Mingyu nods once. “I’ll get Soojin to prep the kit. Subdermal adhesive, low profile.”

“Good,” Seungcheol says. “Keep it tight. No chatter unless it’s urgent.”

He pauses, eyes flicking briefly between the three of you. His focus lingers longest on you—not questioning, just observing. There’s a steadiness to him that doesn’t ask for explanation. It just holds space for it.

“You think they’ll recognize her again?” Seungcheol asks, voice quieter now, his focus fixed on you.

You don’t answer right away.

Instead, your eyes flick to Mingyu. A silent handoff. There’s something careful in the gesture—not avoidance, but deference. You’ve already had this conversation once, in the hushed stillness of your shared office, with the heater buzzing and the weight of truth pressing in around your ribs. This time, it’s his to carry.

Mingyu straightens slightly in his seat. Not tense. Just composed. A breath drawn slow before he speaks.

“They’ll recognize her,” he says. “Not just her face.”

Seungcheol’s brow furrows faintly.

Mingyu continues, more deliberate now. “Her blood. It’s rare. RH-null. Most vampires go their entire existence without even smelling it. It’s… potent. Like walking into a crackhouse with a loaded needle in your pocket.”

Across the desk, Seungcheol’s expression doesn’t change immediately. It holds—curious, parsing, neutral—but there’s a subtle shift in the set of his jaw. The kind of movement that only registers if you’ve spent enough time learning the small ways he telegraphs disquiet. His thumb taps once against the ceramic of his mug, then stills.

“RH-null,” he repeats, slowly, like the words are shaped strange in his mouth. “That’s… not on any of our briefings.”

“It wouldn’t be,” Mingyu replies. “There’s barely any data. Less than fifty documented humans worldwide. It’s not something you screen for. It’s just… there. And when it is—it changes everything.”

You watch Seungcheol closely as he processes it. His eyes settle back on you, and for the first time since you walked in, something flickers behind them. Not doubt. Not distrust. But concern—clean and quiet, the kind that’s heavier than it looks.

“She didn’t know,” Mingyu adds. “Not until 20 minutes ago.”

A beat. Then another.

“And you still want to send her back in?”

Mingyu’s jaw flexes, but his voice stays steady. “I wouldn’t put her in danger. I wouldn’t let anyone else, either. But they’ve seen her now. Smelled her. If she disappears, they’ll start asking questions we can’t answer. It’s safer to move forward than to pull her out.”

He hesitates then, just slightly, and for the first time, there’s a note of something almost vulnerable in his voice—low and certain and close to a promise.

“I’ll keep her safe.”

Seungcheol doesn’t speak immediately. His fingers curl loosely around the handle of his mug again, but he doesn’t lift it. Just holds the weight of it in his palm like it anchors him.

You watch his gaze shift—once to Mingyu, once to you, then down to the edge of the case file still splayed open in front of him.

When he finally exhales, it’s slower this time. More thoughtful. But his voice holds.

“Then we stick to the plan,” he says. “You stay close. You don’t deviate. And if anything, anything feels off—”

“I pull her out,” Mingyu says.

“Good,” Seungcheol murmurs. But this time, there’s a crease at the corner of his mouth that wasn’t there before. The first faint outline of tension begins to settle. Not distrust. Just a quiet, unwanted understanding of how quickly the variables have changed.

The bullpen feels different tonight—less like a workspace, more like a staging area. Wires, tape, and surveillance equipment spread across the desk between you and Mingyu, while Jeonghan and Soojin busy themselves with last-minute checks.

Mingyu stands quietly under the fluorescent lights, expression patient, eyes focused ahead. Jeonghan circles him once, critically eyeing the loose silk shirt he’s wearing before sighing dramatically.

“Shirt off, Romeo,” Jeonghan says, flicking his fingers dismissively. “This’ll only take a minute.”

Mingyu shrugs easily out of his button-down without protest. The silk slides from his shoulders like water, catching momentarily at the sharp lines of his collarbones, down over the lean muscles of his chest and stomach. Your pulse stutters traitorously. Even under the stark overhead lighting, Mingyu looks carved from marble—broad shoulders, a defined chest, lean abs that flex faintly as Jeonghan presses cold adhesive tape against his ribs.

You blink and force your gaze toward Soojin instead, suddenly hyper aware of your sweater bunched around your ribs, her cool fingertips brushing gently over your skin as she secures the transmitter pack against your hip, hidden neatly beneath the waistband of your skirt.

Still, your attention drifts back to Mingyu. Just briefly. Just enough to catch him watching you, his gaze heavy but unreadable, something softer and warmer than professionalism lingering just behind the careful set of his mouth. You feel heat rise to your face, threatening your composure, and quickly glance away again.

Mingyu doesn’t say a word—he never does—but there’s a subtle, pleased shift in his posture. You have the uncomfortable realization he can probably sense exactly how much your heart rate just spiked.

“You okay?” Soojin murmurs, mouth curling knowingly at one corner. Her tone holds a touch of amusement, but you appreciate her discretion.

“Fine,” you whisper back, a little too quickly.

She only hums lightly, pressing the hem of your sweater neatly back into place before smoothing her hands over your miniskirt. “All set.”

Jeonghan clears his throat sharply, pulling you both back to attention. Mingyu tugs his shirt back on, buttoning it with methodical slowness, each movement somehow drawing your eyes back despite your best efforts. You clench your fists once, twice, focusing hard on Jeonghan as he holds up two slim earpieces and explains quickly:

“These are strictly one-way. Surveillance hears you, you don’t hear us. Less feedback—harder for the vamps to pick up.” He pauses meaningfully, looking between you and Mingyu. “Meaning you’re on your own in there. No audio cues from us, so pay attention to each other.”

Mingyu nods silently, securing the earpiece with practiced ease.

“Just one more thing,” Jeonghan continues, voice tighter now, losing its usual teasing edge. “Tonight you mingle, observe, eavesdrop. You don’t engage unless it’s absolutely unavoidable. If your gut says bail, then you bail—no heroics. And no splitting up without letting the other person know. If you feel like you’re in danger, your code word is ‘I’m feeling dizzy’, and if you need to abort, you’re ‘going for a cigarette’. Out clean, no breach. Understood?”

Your stomach knots briefly. Mingyu shifts just slightly closer to you, the warmth from his body pressing faintly into your space. His skin ran cooler than yours, but not cold. Not dead. Like marble left in the sun—still solid, still unyielding, but capable of warmth when you stayed close long enough.

Jeonghan hesitates, flicking his gaze quickly between you both, his eyes narrowing. “And absolutely no feeding tonight. I don’t care how much Velvet Eden pushes it, you decline. Clear?”

“Clear,” Mingyu echoes, low and steady.

Your mouth feels oddly dry, remembering the last time—the rush, the dizzy heat, the dangerous intimacy of it. You look up, catching Mingyu’s gaze again, and you see it reflected clearly there: he remembers, too.

“Clear,” you echo quietly.

Jeonghan hands Mingyu his jacket, and with a last careful look over the wires, gives a short nod. “Alright then, be careful. If anything feels off, signal to each other and get out. Good luck.”

Luck, you think ruefully, is probably the last thing you’ll need.

You fall into step with Mingyu as you leave the bullpen behind, the precinct feeling suddenly smaller behind you. His hand brushes lightly against your back, guiding you toward the elevators. It’s casual enough to seem natural—but it still makes your pulse jump, just slightly.

“You ready?” he asks quietly, once the elevator doors close behind you both.

You glance up at him, heart quickening again, and find his eyes steady on yours. Concerned, careful, warm—everything you shouldn’t be counting on right now.

“As I’ll ever be,” you answer truthfully, your voice tight with nerves.

Mingyu nods slowly, his gaze dropping briefly to your mouth before he looks resolutely forward again, jaw set, expression sharpening into something determined.

“Then let’s get this over with,” he murmurs, quiet and grim, as the elevator carries you down into the night, toward Velvet Eden.

next chapter ↝ iii. dizzy. (coming soon)

click here for tag list submission / removal.

[lillaberry]

Can we talk about how good the music was in season 1 of Criminal Minds?

[dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes]

Wade wakes up to find Logan gently caressing him, watching his face with this look. He’s about to cum from the loving softness of this hot man’s face who he loves and he wants to cry with how vulnerable and candid Logan is in that moment.

Logan just caresses Wade’s jaw very slowly and softly, and Wade basically swoons back to sleep. Logan finds it endearing how Wade acts.

Wade just quietly giggles in the nearly pitch black and reaches out, gently caressing Logan’s facial hair.

They just stare lovingly into each other’s eyes until Logan rubs his nose against Wade’s textured one with a rumbling purr.

[hotchscoffeecup]

reconciliation (pt.2 to how do we carry on?)

pairing: hotch x bau!reader

rating: t

genre: hurt/comfort with a happy ending

word count: 7.2k

tagged readers: @izakopanyi2 @polireader @jihyowrrld @twilightlover2007 @queenanababy @feyrecarol @rousethemouse @endofthexline @jxvipike @donttrustlove @hiireadstuff @jenna50 @michasia24

The coffee that was hot an hour ago is cold and bitter now. You grimace as the acrid taste slides down your throat. You try to place the disposable cup into your cup holder without taking your eyes off the road, but miss.The lid slips off and brown liquid sloshes over the edge onto the passenger seat. You curse as you grasp the wheel with one hand while you try to mop up the spill with what random napkins you’ve acquired since you started driving. Fortunately, your purse is spared any damage, but the road map and photograph you’ve kept on the seat aren’t as lucky. Ignoring the map, you pick up the photograph and shake it, splattering drops of coffee across the dash. The edges curl slightly, but the photo itself is fine. You hold it awkwardly between your fingers as you return your hand to the steering wheel.

There aren’t many cars on the road at this hour. You glance down at the dashboard and see 02:32 illuminated in green. You aren’t sure where you’re going, you just know you can’t stay there. Even your own apartment didn’t feel secure, not with how much of him is there. Your lives are so intertwined, you see and feel him everywhere you go. It’s what makes, made? God, you don’t even know anymore. It’s what is so beautiful about your relationship, how seamlessly your lives blend together that you’re not sure where yours and his start and end. You’re both so fiercely independent while being so devoted and wholly part of the threads that make up one another’s lives.

Or so you thought.

As you slow to a stop at the red light, the only car at the four way intersection, your eyes fall to the coffee stained image between your fingers. You’re smiling at the camera meanwhile Aaron is looking and smiling down on you, the soft shimmer in his deep brown eyes captured by the lens. It’s your favorite picture. You took it from the frame at the front table before leaving. The sound of his sobs echo in your ears as the red light reflecting on the photo paper shines green. You blink and drop the photo onto the center console before shifting your gaze back to the road. A sign ahead reads to keep left to stay on I-95 South. Richmond and Virginia Beach are in big white letters under it.

Three years you’ve lived in Virginia, and you’ve never made it to the coast. Shifting the steering wheel, you guide the vehicle into the left lane and take the exit.

•

As the waves lap at your ankles, you close your eyes and turn your face toward the sun, the briny sea breeze gently tossing your hair. You inhale deeply and the sigh you exhale is overtaken by the quiet roar of the ocean.

Turns out getting a beachfront house isn’t as expensive as one might think in the off season and fortunately for you, Virginia afternoons in September still reach the high eighties.

The beach house is nothing fancy, more like a beach shack if you’re being honest. It’s one floor supported on high rafters, old wooden steps leading down to the sand. You climb them now and they creak beneath your weight. A half rusted outdoor shower squeals to life when you reach the deck and twist the faucet. You shiver as you rinse the sand off of your legs and arms, and well, everywhere. There aren’t many crevices it doesn’t manage to stick to. You swipe the pink and white striped towel you’d found in the linen closet off the railing and wrap it around your body. Once it’s tightly secured around your chest, you work off the cheap bikini you’d purchased at a year round souvenir shop down the road and spread it out to dry.

The screen door squeaks on its hinges as you enter the house. You should probably go for a proper shower and wash the sea out of your hair, but you can’t be assed. Instead, you crack open the fridge and inspect the pathetic hodge podge of groceries you’d purchased at the corner store. Food doesn’t even sound appealing. It hasn’t for days. Every time you try to eat, you just feel sick. Your stomach roils at the thought and you grab a seltzer water before closing the fridge with a grimace.

As you exit the kitchen, your eyes catch your phone and keys on the chipped granite counter. The black screen of your phone glints beneath the fluorescent kitchen lighting. You’d turned it off when you’d arrived, ignoring the fact that you had 8 missed calls from Hotch and twice as many unread messages from him. There’d been one missed call from Emily, a name you never thought you’d see flash across your screen again. God knows how many times you’d called her phone just to hear her voice recording before leaving a message about how much you missed her and wished she were there to give you advice or talk through a case. For a fraction of a second, you wonder now if she’s gotten the chance to hear those voicemails you’d left her. Did she hear the pain in your voice? Did she feel guilt over the messages where all you’d managed to choke out were incoherent sobs? All this time you thought you’d been talking to a ghost, but she’d been out there all along.

You tear your gaze away from the counter, leaving your phone where it is and cross the cream colored carpet to the small bedroom. Yellow wallpaper splashed with repeating patterns of palm fronds plaster the four walls. The bed frame is made up of white wicker and you fall back onto the comforter, the front of which is decorated with images of shells and starfish. None of the patterns in this house match, but you don’t care. You care about very little right now.

Before you can run away down that thought pattern, there’s a knock at the door. You sit up, brow furrowed, as you lean forward on your knees, as if doing so will suddenly grant you the ability to see through walls and who could possibly be here.

Maybe the owner? A neighboring off season beach goer? Hesitantly, you rise from the bed and tug on one of the guest robes that had been hanging in the bathroom. You drop your towel and shrug it on, tying it tightly around your waist before approaching the front door. You move slowly for two reasons: one, no one should know you’re here and you don’t know why someone would be calling on you, and two; what if it’s Aaron?

The knocking repeats. It's light but firm, definitely not Aaron. A woman, you think. You twist the deadbolt and pull open the door, surprise etching into your features as a woman a few years older than you stands behind the second screen door.

“Hi, uh, can I help you?” you ask awkwardly.

The girl’s dark eyes travel up and down your body. She looks at you through the door from beneath long lashes, a knowing smile playing on her lips. You can’t control the shocked gasp that leaves your mouth when she asks for you by name.

You try your best to school your facial expressions and by the slight smirk that crosses the girl’s face, you know you did a pretty poor job of doing so. “Who wants to know?” you ask, wondering if she’s someone who’s crossed paths with you before through work.

“Aaron Hotchner,” she answers, drawing out the last syllable of his name with an amused glint in her eye.

You can’t fight the eye roll that follows. Unbelievable. “Sorry, he wasted your time.” You move to close the door, but she throws open the screen door and catches it with her foot.

Your eyes flash to hers and you see the challenge in the depth of her hazel gaze, equal to the one in yours. “Hotch wouldn’t have reached out to me unless he was desperate,” she adds. “I think you might want to hear me out.” She extends a hand toward you. “I’m Elle, Greenaway to the BAU, but when I left I shortened it to Greene.”

Your brow furrows as the name rings the slightest of bells in the back of your mind. Hesitantly, you accept her ring adorned hand and shake it as your brain sifts through the number of agents you’d heard stories about in the time before you joined the team.

“How did you find me?” you ask as you step aside and admit her into the house.

Elle nods graciously as she looks around, though there’s not much to size up in the small rental unit.

“You think Hotch didn’t immediately have Penelope ping your phone when you left?”

You exhale sharply. “I turned my phone off.”

A short laugh leaves Elle, “Not soon enough.” She turns, a hand on her hip. “You got any beer?”

Your brow furrows, wondering who the hell you just invited into your house. You shake your head as you cross into the kitchen and open the fridge. You withdraw a big bottle you’d bought at the corner drug store. “I’ve got wine.”

Elle smiles. “That’ll work. Let’s head down to the beach.”

•

“Thanks,” Elle says coolly as you finish tipping wine into the plastic cup in her hand. You cap the bottle and shove it down into the sand between the foldable beach chairs you’d dragged down from their place on the deck after you’d gotten changed into something more appropriate to wear outside than a bathrobe.

You retrieve your cup from where you’d been holding it between your legs and take a long sip before sighing and settling back into your chair, the canvas stretching as you do so.

For a moment, you and Elle sit there in silence; watching the orange pink colors of the sunset start to streak across the sky as the waves crash against the sand.

“I had no idea about Haley,” she says after another minute goes by and you stiffen. It isn’t that you and Aaron never talk about her. Keeping her memory alive is so important for Jack and you know a part of Hotch will always love her. That’s never bothered you though. Aaron had told you that he and Haley had talked about that if something ever happened to either one of them that they would want the other to eventually move on and find love again, that they didn’t want the other one to spend the rest of their life lonely. I’m sure neither one of them ever imagined something like what had happened to Haley would ever come to pass though.

“Did you know her?” you ask, your voice tight with emotion at the thought of ever having to endure a loss like that. You’d joined the team years after her death and hadn’t known Hotch during the time he’d grieved her loss. From the stories he and Jack had shared, she seemed like she’d been a kind soul and a good mother.

Elle nods, her gaze fixed on the view though you see a glint of memory in her eyes. “Hotch wasn’t as serious then.” She pauses and smirks to herself. “Don’t get me wrong, he was still a hard ass, but there was also a lightness to him before and right after Jack was born. I remember when they first brought him into the office, such a tiny little thing all bundled up in his arms. Him and Haley had looked so at ease.” She sighs and takes a swig of her wine before continuing. “I think that’s when the job started to get to him, after he had a kid.” Her brow pinches for a moment. “I think Hotch started to see the men and women we put away more as the proverbial monsters that kids fear are lurking in their closets, except we know what horribly evil things the monsters are really capable of versus what a kid’s imagination can drum up. The worst their little minds can conjure up pales in comparison to the heinous files that cross his desk. I think Hotch wanted to protect that innocence so badly and shield Jack from all of the evil in the world that he threw himself further and further into his work, especially after how things with The Fisher King went down.” Your eyes don’t miss the way her hand presses against her abdomen. The stake jutting out of Emily’s stomach flashes in your mind and you flinch at the memory.

“Something happened,” observes Elle. She sits up in her chair, resting her elbows on her knees as she looks at you.

You scoff and take another drink, shaking your head as you do so. “Once a profiler, always a profiler.”

Elle chuckles and shrugs. “Old habits die hard.” Her features soften as she turns toward you. “Something happened though, didn’t it? I know you probably can’t share too many details. Hotch didn’t in the voicemail he left you.”

You perk up at that. “Voicemail?”

Elle nods, the gold hoops in her ears swinging as she does so. “Sorry,” she laughs coolly as she reaches into the pocket of her jeans. “I probably should’ve led with that.” She fishes her cell phone out and swipes her thumb across the screen. You brace yourself as Aaron’s throaty tenor echoes from the speaker on her phone.

“Elle, hi,” he starts and stops. An exasperated sigh follows. “It’s Aaron Hotchner with the BAU I—of course you know I’m with the BAU I don’t know why I led with that. Look, I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from after all of these years but I didn’t know who else to call. I can’t,” his voice wavers here for a moment. “I can’t share details about the case we’re working on, but it’s bad and I had to make a decision.” He stops and clears his throat. “It was a decision that impacted the whole of the team and where it was for their protection, I may have ruined the best thing to have happened to me in years. Look, I know you left the Bureau. I know you changed your name to put distance between you and the BAU, and I don’t blame you. In fact, I think I understand you now more than ever. This job, the toll it takes—” his voice trails off and you hold your breath in anticipation. He goes on to explain who you are and why you left, obfuscating the exact details of the Ian Doyle case for security reasons. He explains how after no one had heard from you for forty eight hours that he’d worked with Garcia to ping your location, how he was more worried than anything else and just needed to know that you were safe. When Penelope had located you, he remembered that Elle had always talked about living on the coast. It had been a shot in the dark, but Penelope being Penelope, she’d been able to find Elle in a matter of hours. “I just need to know she’s safe,” he breathes. “Please, Elle. If anything happens to her, I don’t know what I’ll do. I can’t lose someone else. I have to do better; by you, by Haley, by the team. I’ll spend the rest of my life making amends, but please, with this case still active, I just need to know that she’s ok. Call me back,” his voice quavers. “Please.”

The line goes dead and Elle slides her phone back into her pocket. “That was three days ago.” Elle’s brow arches, looking for a response. “So,” she adds, drawling out the ‘o’ sound. “Sounds heavy.”

You draw in a deep breath and down the rest of your wine. Aaron had sounded so tired on the phone. Guilt squeezes around your heart as you think about what he and the team must be dealing with. It’s reckless and stupid of you to have just up and left when Doyle is still out there with you and the rest of his team in your sights. You didn’t even bring your gun, sure that you’d be sending in your resignation after this cover up; but hearing his voice on Elle’s phone, the pain in it. What you’d been trying to ignore this entire time begins to wriggle its way toward the forefront of your mind; and that’s the hell this must have put Hotch and Emily through. You know he’d never do anything to hurt you, not intentionally, but how are you supposed to trust him if he could watch you suffer through the agony of her loss knowing at any point in time he could’ve put a stop to it? You squeeze your eyes shut because you know the obvious answer. There are things he has to do as Unit Chief, choices only he can make. Choices that don’t involve you or the rest of the team, and that doesn’t change because you two are an item. Still, the conflict wages on inside of you. All of this is true and he’s made choices and decisions that impact the team before, just never on this scale; not something that alters memories and fucks the psyche so irreparably.

“The heaviest,” you finally respond.

“You can talk to me about it,” she says, and you know her words are genuine. “I know I don’t have clearance anymore, so the cliff notes version works too.”

So, you tell her. About Emily, about Hotch, what you can about Doyle, the circumstances around Emily’s death, the grief, her undeath, the betrayal you felt, and everything that brought you to this moment with her.

Elle releases a low whistle and scoops the wine bottle up from the sand, pouring herself another glass and topping yours off. “That’s—” She pops her lips, considering. “Elaborate.”

“I’d say mind-fuck, but elaborate works too.” You quip bitterly and take a drink.

Elle cocks her head. “Hotch doesn’t do anything without careful consideration.”

You inhale deeply before taking another drink, a warmth starting to crawl beneath your flesh as the alcohol sinks in. You hang your head as you respond. “I know.”

“There’s a reason that I left the Bureau,” Elle says after a long stretch of silence. “I made a decision that ended my career, and it’s one I’d make again if I had to.” Her voice grows tight for a moment before she clears her throat and continues. “This job will drain you until there’s nothing left. I remember on the day I left I told Hotch about how I’d get so excited when my phone rang because it meant we had a case; but after I got shot in my own house and was lying on the floor feeling that man’s fingers inside of my gut, something changed in me forever that day. I went back to work after some time, but it was never the same. After that, every time my phone rang I felt paralyzed with fear because I knew what it was like to feel the way those victims felt in the moments leading up to their deaths.” Her voice quavers for a second and she swipes at a stray tear before choking out a laugh. “You’re not the same after something like. I know what it’s like to come back from the brink of death, and it sounds like this Emily knows too.” She stretches out a hand and grips your knee. “The only difference is that after I nearly died, I had the team. I had Spencer, Derek, Penelope, and JJ, hell Hotch was the one that came to my house and scrubbed the blood off of my walls before I got out of the hospital.” Her brow arches in response to my widening eyes. “Didn’t know that, did you?” She smiles and reclines back in her seat. “Emily didn’t have that. She didn’t have her friends, family,” she corrects. “Let’s be honest, the BAU becomes your family after a while.”

You nod in agreement.

“She went through that alone,” Elle continues and a pang of guilt shoots through you. “She didn’t have her family to turn to in a time where she probably needed you the most.”

It’s your turn to swipe at the tears that loose from your eyes. “I know that.” Your voice is tight as you choke back a sob. “I’ve always trusted the team, every one of them. How—” you suck in a shaky breath. “How am I supposed to trust them after this? What’s to stop something like this from happening again?”

Elle’s lips purse. “That’s the job we signed up for, isn’t it? Working for the government and all the shitty red tape they weave in and around the work we do.”

“If I go back,” you start. “I don’t think they’ll forgive me. I left when they needed me most. Doyle is still out there.”

Elle frowns and tilts her head back and forth. “You’ll never know if you don’t though. I couldn’t go back. My actions decided that for me. You have a choice, but you’re the only one that can make it.” She glances down at her watch and then out at the sun. It’s almost completely sunken down beneath the sea over the horizon, the orange and pink sunset fading to the purple gray hues of dusk. “I should probably get going.” She sets her cup down in the sand and stands, turning to you as she does so.

“Here,” she says, passing you a card from the back pocket of her jeans.

You take it, fingering the edges of the sturdy cardstock. Elle Greene: Social Services Coordinator is embossed in dark blue font followed by a cell phone, office number, and email listed beneath it.

“Call me if you ever want to talk. There are ways to do some good in this world without sacrificing your own happiness in the process.” She smiles at you before she starts toward the path that leads around the house and back to the road.

After a few moments, you jump up and call after her. “Hey Elle!”

She turns, brow arched toward her hairline as she waits for you to continue.

“Why’d you come?”

She slips her hands into her pockets and doesn’t say anything for a while, her green eyes focusing on her feet. When she looks up at you, there’s the faintest of smiles on her lips. “The day I left the Bureau I looked Hotch in the eye and told him that I used to wonder why he didn’t smile. When I heard that voicemail, despite how defeated he sounded, there was something in his voice that made me believe he’d found something to smile about again. When you work the job that you do, that I used to do, you have to hold on for dear life when you find the things that can make you smile after witnessing the things we do. I guess I don’t want him to lose what made him find his smile again; even after all these years I’ve spent angry at Hotch, I never hated him.” She sighs and looks like she wants to say more, but chooses not to. “Running away doesn’t solve your problems, it just keeps them at a distance until you’re finally brave enough to face them. I hope you find clarity faster than I did.” Her jeweled rings catch the last rays of sun as she raises a hand in farewell. “I’ll see you around.”

•

You pull your knees up to your chest and wrap your arms around them, the blue and green plaid fabric of the couch scratching the backs of your legs as you do so. You bite at your thumb nail as you eye your powered down cell phone from where it sits on the glass coffee table in front of you.

Elle’s words from two days ago hang heavy in the air around you.

Running away doesn’t solve your problems. It just keeps them at a distance until you’re brave enough to face them. I hope you find clarity faster than I did.

If you turn on your phone, you know there will be a barrage of voicemails and text messages waiting for you. Or, there won’t be anything more than there was when you first shut it down. You turned your back on them when they needed you. It would be easy to write you off, after all that’s what you did isn’t it?

You drop your head back against the couch and groan, the feelings at war within you tearing at your insides; your guts twisted with equal parts betrayal over Hotch not telling you and the guilt of leaving the team instead of facing that anger and hurt head on.

It’s a giant mess; a tangled web of necessary lies and the red tape that binds the hands of those in positions over you and the rest of the team. The rational part of you understands this. In black and white terms, you understand that Unit Chief SSA Agent Aaron Hotchner had to make a decision to protect another agent, SSA Emily Prentiss. While Ian Doyle is a fugitive from the law believing her to be dead, her going into hiding not only took the target off of her back, but off the backs of all of your team members, yourself included, who otherwise would’ve been collateral damage in Doyle’s relentless pursuit of vengeance against Emily. All of this makes perfect sense.

It’s when the emotional, feeling half of you comes into play that the black and white turns to splotchy streaks of gray and you struggle to make peace with the rational side of things. When you look at it through this lens, your boyfriend and long term partner, Aaron, watched you throw up from dehydration over how long and how hard you’d sobbed over the death of best friend, Emily. At any point, he could’ve put a stop to your pain and didn’t.

Your fingers slide into your hair, gently tugging at the roots as you try to sort through these warring versions of yourself and the pieces of information and emotions that come with each. Because in your heart, you know and understand it’s not black and white. It’s gray and it’s messy. So, why can’t you reconcile both halves of yourself and just be okay with this then? Why can’t you just be overjoyed by the fact that your best friend is back from the literal dead? How many people in this life can say that that’s happened for them? Why can’t you just tell Aaron you understand what he did because you do, but at the same time you don’t? You wouldn’t have told anyone, but then that would be Aaron showing you preferential treatment and you’d be in no better position than he or JJ when it came to hiding this fact from the rest of the team. It’s something you’d talked about extensively when you first started dating and so far, it has been fine. He makes decisions that sometimes you agree with, sometimes you don’t. It is always just part of the job. So what does it all boil down to? Where does this leave you?

“Fuck me,” you whisper aloud as you dive forward and swipe the phone off of the table before you can really think about what you’re doing. You hold down the button on the side and it titters to life. For a moment, you close your eyes as you feel the vibrations pulsing in the palm of your hand, each one a notification of some sort. When they cease, you swipe directly to your contacts and select Aaron’s. His is the first to show alphabetically anyway. Your thumb hovers over the call button for only a second, before you exhale a shaky breath and hit the dial.

The phone barely presses against your ear as you catch the tail end of his hello. It’s after hearing his voice, that you’re rendered speechless.

“Baby, are you there?”

Your chest rises and falls, your heart rate quickening beneath your chest. You sniff as tears prick your eyes, not realizing how much you��d missed his voice until now.

“Aaron,” you squeak out, your voice cracking on his name.

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” Hotch says, a plea in his apology. “I promise I’ll do everything I can to fix this. I miss you. I love you.”

A sob shudders free from your lips as all of your walls come tumbling down and you let yourself break down to pieces of ash and stone. “I’m sorry I ran when you needed me.”

“It’s okay,” Aaron soothes. “It’s okay. It's over. We got him.”

You sit up and swipe under your eyes with the backs of your hands. “Doyle?”

“He’s dead.”

Panic rises in you. “And the team? Is everyone—”

“Everyone is fine. No one was hurt.”

You close your eyes and sink back into the cushions as your pulse levels out. “I’m on my way.”

“There’s no need,” he replies coolly.

Your brow pinches. “I don’t—”

The sound of a car door slamming echoes beyond the front door. You stand and the old t-shirt that belongs to Aaron falls to your thighs as you do so. You’d not even realized you’d packed it until you pulled it on after your shower earlier. The linoleum creaks beneath your feet as you cross through the kitchen and unlock the deadbolt. When you pull open the door, you gasp and drop your phone.

Aaron’s lips tremble as he smiles at you and takes the phone down from his ear. He ends the call and slips it into the pocket of his slacks. “I got in the car and just started driving,” he says as his glimmering eyes flit across yours, always the profiler checking for micro expressions. A desperate smile clings to his lips as he looks at you. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you breathe in response; unable to think of what else to say at the moment

His smile falters as he takes a step closer to you. You see his hand twitch ever so slightly at his side.

“Honey, I—”

You leap forward and throw your arms around his neck. He breathes a sigh of relief into your hair as his arms fold around you, his hands pressed flat against your back as if he can somehow hold you closer than he already is. His hands slide up your spine to curl around the back of your neck. When he pulls away, there are tear stains on his cheeks.

You reach up and swipe your thumbs under his eyes, his skin smooth beneath your touch. A smirk tugs at one corner of your mouth as you wonder when he had time to shave.

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you,” you say, still cupping his cheek in your hand.

He nods as he leans into your touch. “I know,” he says softly.

“I know why you had to do what you did.”

Another tear leaks from his eye as he presses his forehead to yours, cradling your hand against his cheek. “I never wanted to hurt you or anyone else, but I had to protect you.”

“I know,” you say and you mean it. “I also know why you couldn’t tell me. I’m a coward for running away, but I just—I was so overwhelmed by everything. I didn’t know how to cope with your return, with Emily’s, with everything. I would’ve been a hindrance if I’d stayed, but I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run.”

Hotch shakes his head as he steps back to look at you, the dark slash of his brow set as he does so. “What you did was not an act of cowardice. Trust me when I say you are not the only one that has a lot of anger and frustration aimed at me right now. Spencer snapped twice at JJ. Morgan laid into me, and I deserved it. JJ and I always knew that if and when this came to light, that there would be consequences for our actions. It was a calculated risk, and I take full responsibility for it. After you left, I gave everyone the option to leave if they didn’t think they could work the case. You knew you weren’t in the right headspace and pulled yourself out. It was the right decision and no one faults you for it.”

“I’m still so mad at you,” you say.

Aaron’s lips form a tight line. “I know.”

“But I also love you.”

His brow relaxes at that admission and relief floods his gaze. “I’ll take your use of the present tense as a good sign.”

You both chuckle at that and a shiver races through you as a sea breeze catches your hair and sends goosebumps up and down your arms. You wrap your arms around yourself and incline your head toward his SUV. “Your go bag in there?”

He nods and you flick your eyes up and down the length of his figure. “Go on then,” you encourage. “Get it and come inside before I change my mind.” You smile and you feel it reach your eyes for the first time in nearly a week. He withdraws the key fob from his pocket and smiles at it in his hand, before shaking his head with a quiet laugh and turns to head toward the car.

He pops the trunk and returns with his bag slung over his shoulder. “You look good in my shirt,” he compliments you with a sly smile as he passes through the front door. You close and lock the door behind him and point towards the bedroom. “Don’t think flattery will get you off the hook, Aaron.”

“You’re pointing me toward the bedroom, so I can only hope that’s a good sign.”

“Nearly a week has given me a lot of time to think,” you call after him as he disappears inside.

When he returns, his suit jacket is off and he’s loosening his tie from around his neck. “And what conclusion have you come to?”

“To be determined,” you muse as you approach him. You finger the tip of his tie and curl your fingers around it before tugging it free and dropping it to the floor.

One of Aaron’s brows arches as he regards you curiously. His hand curves around your hip and you press yourself against him. Heat pools in your belly, but you ignore the sensation, hard as that is after nine months without him. He dips his chin to kiss you and instead of meeting your mouth, he meets your finger instead. You press it against his lips and arch a brow. “Not so fast, Hotch.”

He winces and inhales sharply, a pink blush quickly coloring his cheeks. “I should’ve known it wasn’t going to be that easy.” He admits against your finger. “You only call me Hotch when I’m in trouble.”

Something between a scoff and a laugh leaves your lips as you poke him on the tip of his nose, the slope of which you’d missed so much since he’d been gone. “How about,” you start and loop your arms around his neck, “we just talk? From the beginning, tell me what went through your mind and what led to the decision. We can talk about Emily, her funeral, the grief. You can tell me what you can about Pakistan and I’ll tell you about how hard it was when you were gone. Tell me about when you and JJ knew you had to tell the team and I’ll tell you how it felt like I’d had my heart carved out of my chest and put through a blender. Tell me how it felt when I left and I’ll talk about the ways in which I wish I hadn’t but why I felt like I had to. Tell me why I should trust you and I’ll tell you why I want to, but am afraid. Tell me—”

Aaron catches your wrists in his hands and plants a firm kiss upon your lips. You envelope him with your own and revel in the familiar way they meld together, the taste of him like coming home. He pulls away, though his lips still hover over yours. “I promise I will tell you everything and more. We’ll talk until the sun comes up if that’s what it takes.”

You smile and when you speak, your lips brush against his. “I guess I ought to put some coffee on then.”

•

White rays of early morning sunshine break through the sheer curtains, casting soft light across the bed sheets. For the first time in nearly a year, you wake with Aaron’s arm securely around your waist. You breathe in deeply and the faint smell of coffee lingers in the air, two empty mugs leaving brown rings on the nightstand.

You don’t remember when you two had laid down to go to sleep, but remember laughing about it being 3:00 AM at one point and continuing talking in spite of that; and talked you two had. You’d tackled everything from the decision he and JJ made at the hospital all the way up until right now. You laughed and cried, and so did he. You’d never seen Aaron cry before last night, and you were grateful that he’d felt safe enough with you to be vulnerable like that. As the night had worn on, you’d felt the fractured pieces of yourself slowly start to pull together; that you can both heal from this and maybe even come out stronger on the other side.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand and you reach for it, now being as good a time as any to tackle the number of unread texts and unheard voicemails. You can’t avoid them forever.

8 voicemails from Hotch, 2 from JJ, 6, from Penelope, 1 from Derek, and 1 from Emily. Your brow knits together as you view the time stamp next to her voicemail and it’s marked only an hour ago. Why would she have called you so early? Surely, Hotch would’ve let the team know that you’re safe and that he’s with you.

You open the app and press play, bringing the phone to your ear to avoid disturbing Hotch and Emily’s voice fills your head as you listen in.

“I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now…” Her voice is tired and her tone is genuinely apologetic. “…I missed everyone so much, but you. It tore me up inside knowing we didn’t get to say goodbye, that I didn’t get to explain to you why all of this had to happen and you had to mourn me. I knew Hotch would take care of you.” She chuckles softly and you picture her shaking her head. “God, that man adores you, you know that right? Knowing he’d be there to help you through things was a small solace, but I knew that the weight of asking him to keep this from you and the rest of the team would take a toll on him. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Doyle, he never—he never would’ve stopped hunting me and he would’ve used or killed everyone close to me to do so. If there had been any other way, I would’ve done it.” She sighs heavily. “Anyway, Hotch texted the team and myself last night that he’d gotten to you safely in Virginia Beach. I imagine you and him had a lot to talk about last night. It’s probably going to look like I’m copying a page out of his book, but you’re the only person I haven’t looked in the eye and apologized to, so I’ll be there in about an hour or so. Hopefully, you open the door.”

Your eyes widen as you drop the phone back onto the nightstand. After glancing at the clock and noticing it had been an hour and fifteen minutes since she called, you slip out of bed. Hotch stirs, but doesn’t wake and his hand moves to shift under the pillow and he nestles deeper into the blankets. God, he must be so exhausted. From the red eye flight from Pakistan to immediately leaping into and closing the Ian Doyle case, this is probably the first proper sleep he’s gotten in weeks.

The sound of tires crunching over gravel draws your attention to the living room. You pull on a pair of sweats and throw off the oversized shirt you’d slept in in exchange for a tank top, forgoing a bra in the process. You rush into the bathroom and rapidly brush your teeth, accepting there not being any time to fix your tousled bed head.

Footsteps echo up the walkway on the other side of the front door as you approach and before you can think it through, you throw the door open. You only take a second to confirm that it is in fact Emily on the other side of it before rushing forward and throwing your arms around her.

A loud oomph erupts from lips, the sound muffled as you turn your face into her neck. It takes a few seconds for her to react, her arms slowly folding around you as she realizes that it is in fact a hug that you’re giving her and not an attempt to take her to the ground.

Tears leak from your eyes onto the fabric of her purple top. “I’m sorry,” you murmur into her shoulder.

Emily pulls away, her hands not leaving your shoulders as her brown eyes flicker across your face; her features drawn. “You’re sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for. I came here to apologize.”

You shake your head as something between a laugh and a sob bubbles up from your throat. “I’m so mad at you,” you start and reach forward with both hands to clasp her face in yours. “But I am so happy that you’re not dead and I understand why you had to do what you did.” You smile and drop your hands before playfully shoving her. “A bit though, isn’t it? Faking your death and fleeing the country? Where’d you get that idea? Lifetime?”

Emily smiles, flashing her teeth as she inclines her head this way and that. “I did always have a flair for the dramatics.”

The door creaks then and you turn to watch Hotch push the door open. He smiles as he takes in the sight of you and Emily reconciling. “I put on a pot of coffee,” he says. “How many mugs should I bring out?”

You look between him and Emily. “Three,” you answer, turning your attention back to Emily. “Definitely three.”

Emily smiles and follows you inside, greeting Hotch with a short hug before joining you in the living room. As Hotch busies himself in the kitchen and the smell of coffee starts to fill the air, you start to feel like life might finally start to return to normal.

[allisluv]

share your CM headcanons bc you dont get enough CM requests for how big of a fan you are

you know what, baby? you're so fucking right. my requests for cm are open or if you even just wanna chat about the show, my inbox is there for a reason lovelies! headcanons under the cut <3

penelope makes everybody take the hogwarts house quiz every single christmas and nobody fucking knows why. rossi's answer changes every year, too!

jj once went out with the bau to a bar and drank too many crandberry vodkas and threw up on hotch's dress shoes. he insisted it was alright but she still feels guilty about it, even years down the line.

derek and emily make so many dark humour jokes to cope with their trauma and hotch is constantly booking them in for psych evaluations LMAO

when spencer found out penelope was scared of spiders, he set up a prank in her office. she was hysterical and derek would not stop glaring at him and giving him the silent treatment long after penelope forgave him.

penelope and spencer are both autistic -- coming from an autistic person.

elle's favourite game is clue or cluedo and no one wants to play with her anymore because she has the answer figured out in like two guesses.

emily, penelope and jj have a girls night at least once a month and derek is always trying to get in because he's "practically one of the girls."

jj and emily are the same clothing size so whenever they go out of the state, they bring one suitcase for the both of them and just wear each others outfits. in my mind, that's how hotch and derek figure out that the two of them are an item.

derek had a horrible hairstyle as a teen and when the team visited chicago, his mom showed them pictures. he's never been able to live it down. bonus points if it was a mohawk or something.

emily introduced rossi to taylor swift and now it's all he plays in the car, even on high speed chases. his favourite albums are red and reputation. he loves the song endgame.

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

Imagine awakening to find a heaviness on you and as you move you discover that there is a set of arms on either side of you and the same with legs tangled in yours. Through the fogginess of sleep, your memories dwindle back in for you to remember that you had a nightmare earlier in the night and decided to climb into Dean and Castiel’s bed because they’ve done the same with you on cases.

They didn’t complain, only shifted and adjusted to you being in the middle. You in a T-shirt and sleep shorts while they’re both wearing boxer briefs.

You took a slow deep breath as what you realize is Castiel’s arm tightens on you and a kiss pressed into your hair.

“Sleep, Y/N,” the Angel whispers.

A smile drew your lips up as you slowly turned towards him, adjusting Dean’s arm to remain around you and return your other leg under his. The octopus cuddler, you’ve deemed him (not that he would ever admit he liked the idea). You nuzzle into the Angel’s bare chest wrapping an arm around his torso enjoying his celestial warmth and inhaled his natural scent, the air during a lightning storm which you enjoy watching them, so long as it’s safe.

The lull of his heartbeat soothing and relaxing you in his arm.

Dean suddenly grunts and shifts closer throwing his arm around Cas and you. You grin into his chest trying not to laugh at Dean’s sleepy actions.

The Angel rubs his cheek into your hair. “Sleep, little one,” he gently spoke.

Who wouldn’t want to cuddle with an Angel to the Lord to watch over you or be protected by one of the best Hunters ever?

[cal-flakes]

Hello! Could you write something where reader and rafe are together for a while and completely obsessed with each other.. one day someone new to the island makes a negative comment about them and rafe hears about it

got a couple hurt/comfort requests so here u go xxx

‧₊🫧꒷꒦‧₊˚⋆

— laughter and embers from the log fire filled the air, comfortable sounds of waves crashing mixed with chatter, from everyone, from all sides of the island could be heard. and it made your heart swell.

but not nearly as much as the sight of your ever so gloomy boyfriend smiling; that’s right ladies and gentleman, rafe cameron had a smile on his face, a rare sight to behold. and it only made yours bigger, so much so that your cheeks hurt.

you sat comfortably on his lap, strong arms keeping you in places while he conversed with the other kooks, occasionally pressing the odd kiss to your shoulder, until you excused yourself. “m’gonna get another drink, want one?” you cooed, raking your manicured nails through the tiny growth of his buzzed hair. “m’all good kid, hold on— i’ll come with you”

after a minor dispute, nothing harmful, just his usual protectiveness kicking in, he finally agreed to let you go alone, seeing as it was ‘only over there’ you’d whined. you were a big girl, you could do things by yourself.

and you did, and yet, you’d come back sniffling. “hey—hey! c’mere, what’s wrong?” rafe almost shouted, heart beating at the sight of you, mascara smeared around your under eyes, nose red from running. shaking your head, you snuggled into his chest, desperately avoiding his prying gaze, yet only managed to draw more attention. “use your words alright? can’t help if i don’t know what’s going on kid” he sighed, pulling you from his chest and taking your chin in his hand.

“c-called me a stuck up bitch” you spluttered, struggling to catch your breath while rafe’s caught in his throat. it was like a switch, something going off in his mind as the words left your mouth. “who? tell me who angel”

“jj— he stopped me at the drinks bar”

“maybank, course it was fuckin’ maybank” he muttered, hands squeezing your face scarily tight, causing you to wince. “shit, m’sorry kid” he hummed, pressing a hard kiss to your chin before standing up, placing you in his warmed seat. “top— c’mon man, kelce— you keep an eye on her, alright?” he instructed, eyes avoiding your tearful gaze, not wanting your sweet little pout to distract him from what was about to go down.

“no—no rafe! please, jus’ sit with me, s’fine” you cried out, reaching for his arm as he began pulling away. turning back round, he knelt to your level— taking your face between his palms.

“listen angel, i love you— i really do, and that’s why he can’t get away with this, m’kay?”

[shuavez]

litany 𓄧 k.mg | masterlist

summary 𓄧 every oath has a cost. every touch has a consequence. sent deep undercover into one of the city’s most illicit vampire clubs, two detectives must navigate the delicate balance between duty and desire — and survive the consequences when pretending stops feeling like pretending.

and some hungers, once fed, are impossible to starve.

tags 𓄧 detective!au, vampire!mingyu x human!reader. slow-ish burn. fake dating. friends/coworkers to lovers. ft. various svt members/idols.

warnings 𓄧 mentions of blood, death, feeding, ritualistic feedings, coercive social structures. consent is a heavy theme in this fic. eventual smut. chapter specific warnings will added to every chapter's summary.

i. tie a cherry. ii. evidence of absence.

iii. dizzy. iv. parlay. v. the rite.

click here for tag list submission / removal.

[saltwaterburns]

elle greenaway

even my phone misses your call, by the way

Elle knows perfectly well that it's a bad idea and that she'll probably regret it when she sobers up, but she still picks up her phone and dials the number of the one she misses the most - you.

[other-fandoms-reblogs]

A/N: After research, I am rewriting dialogue to be more accurate for their accents and slang and idioms used.

I’m stuck on Ghoap (Ghost/Soap; Simon “Ghost” Riley/John “Soap” MacTavish) in a poly relationship. I don’t know why but I love poly.

(Author is AFAB Gender Neutral with a Midwestern american accent—said to be the easiest one to understand.)

Just the idea of all three of us sleeping in a king sized bed because you got two hulking men and me, freckled, chubby, round tummy, hips and ass, and thick thighs. I am not dainty and they wouldn’t want me any way be anyway, you know?

They love the feel of me against them when they sleep. I’m not always between them but damn does Simon have abs and an ass to have and hold. Johnny had some serious legs that I just want to lick every line of definition and rub myself against as if I’m a cat.

Johnny would let me just lay on him. All that firm muscle under me. I’d end up falling asleep with him.

I feel like Simon is a cuddler. Johnny loves to cuddle but when Simon cuddles, it’s a big deal. He just loves to squish me and kiss my squishiness which was initially uncomfortable and laugh because I tend to be ticklish. I’m certain I’d come to appreciate his love of plump roundness. Johnny would tease me and tickle me. He just loves to see me all flushed and end up kissing me because it reminds him of fun times 😉

We don’t always have sex together. I enjoy watching them together too. God, they’re sexy AF. I don’t understand why they want me. I guess I’m outgoing and they’re kind of weird. I’m told I’m kind and easily accepting of people.

Johnny discovers I love arts and crafts. He buys me whatever supplies I need so I can make it. He will even remind me I said I want to do something and we’d do it together.

Simon and him tend to play video games and board games together, like Risk. I suck at strategy games. They’d teach me but I’m only so good. I prefer chess, so Simon teaches me different strategies and it’s awesome when I finally beat him. Do I best him ever again? No.

Honestly, I moved in with them rather quickly, like barely three months into us sort of dating. We’d hang out together, talk, play games, and eventually fool around. They both very forgiving. Being eating out and face fucked st the same time by them is heaven.

It took some convincing for sex to happen. That was on me. I knew I was screwing myself over emotionally because we were fooling around.

See they were already a couple. We were getting high while I played Mario kart with Johnny. Simon was out doing something. When I won, I leaned over without thought and gave him a peck on the lips. I, of course, backpedaled and apologized. He rolled his eyes, easily laid me down on the couch and got on top of me. “Took yer time, hen,” he said before he kissed me back.

🤤

Johnny can fucking kiss. I never knew it could be so sensual that it makes your toes curl. I kept making out with him when Simon was out and about. I felt guilty. I am not a homewrecker.

A few weeks later—after giving him several blowjob and handjobs with him having fingered me. The man with his hands, fuck—he wanted to kiss me in front of Simon.

“Dude, he’s in the kitchen. Cut it out,” I whispered.

“Wha’? Ya think he donnae ken?” He laughed at me. “Oy, Si!”

Simon walks out of the kitchen and grunts.

“They think ya donnae ken ‘bout me shagging them.” Johnny grinned. Simon rolled his eyes and went back into the kitchen. He looks at me with this huge grin. “Who dae yer think idea it was to go aftah ya?”

My face fell. I looked at the kitchen back to Johnny. He nods grinning. I am in disbelief. I get up and walk to the kitchen looking up at this giant man who is making sandwiches for us. I stand there with my hands on my hips. “Simon Riley, did you actually suggest…” I had to pause to think of the right word because dating wasn’t right and neither was court. My arms fell by my side because I couldn’t think of the right word. As I stood there, he finished the sandwiches. He hands me a plate, kisses the top of my head before replying with “Yep”, and walks back out to the living room. I just stand there holding this plastic plate with a sandwich this man made for me. I was very confused. I came out of the kitchen and awkwardly said aloud, “I am not a homewrecker.” They both stopped mid chew and looked at me with their brows furrowed. “I’m sorry I did all of this as if I sort of was.”

Johnny started trying to talk but got elbowed by Simon who glared at him as he finished chewing. Simon returned his gaze to me. “I kneh wha’ fun i’is to do somethin’ ya should’n. I’m no’ upse’. I never vough’ ya were. Yer our bezzie girl, Elle, ain’ ya?”

I blush. I look down at the plate. My face feels so hot. I have a praise kink. Shut up.

I silently nod. When I don’t get a response, I glance up to see Simon giving me his dom brow. Makes me wet just thinking about it. 😅 “Ye-yes, sir,” I hesitantly reply.

“Good,” he says before taking another bite and pats the seat next to him on the couch. I go and sit next to him, quietly eating the sandwich which tasted yummy. Simon don’t skimp on quality ingredients.

Johnny had a knowing grin stuck on his face. I stuck my tongue out at him for it but he just chuckled. Once Simon finished eating, he put his plate done and took a drink of Johnny’s cup before wrapping an arm around my shoulders and brought me close to him. The awkwardness was quickly gone as I cuddled up with him. I ended up fall asleep on him.

The dumb fucks, to further prove their point but not tell me that, put my in bed with them. I woke up in the night between them asleep without my jeans (I always comment how jeans are not for sleeping). I went back to sleep cuddled up to Johnny and with my hand in Simon’s forearm. She

At some point in the night, I woke up to Simon holding my hands and snuggled against my back with Johnny against my front. First time I felt safe in a long time and felt protected, ever.

[aidanchaser]

22 for the Spotify game with Jily? 🫶🏼

okay so. don't hate me. But like. The dice were rolled and the number was given and this was the number and so it was the space i played in and. Well. We're all here now.

Also my first go at this was exactly 99 words. I was quite pleased.

22. Icarus by Bastille

Look who's digging their own grave That is what they all say; you'll drink yourself to death Look who makes their own bed, lies right down within it And what will you have left?

“It had to be one of us,” he snaps at her.

Her wand pulses with a healing glow as it mends the open wound in his chest, but her words lash out to make new wounds all their own. “Well, it shouldn’t be you!”

“I’ll die before I let any of our friends—”

“Don't you dare—”

“You’d do the same, Lily! Don’t pretend you wouldn't!”

“Fine, but that was before—” She bites her tongue. Before they were married, before they had each other, before...

James, despite his wounds and his anger, softens his voice. “Before what?”

Lily swallows. “I’'m pregnant.”

This is how it feels to take a fall Icarus is flying towards an early grave

Send me a number and any additional tropes or fandom details and i'll write you a 100-word drabble based on my Spotify Wrapped

[lesbianjugheadfromriverdale]

sfw requests r open!!

alright im caving. while not feeling completely up to writing new chapters for anything, i am desperate to write something 😭😭

so x reader, x oc, and pairings requests r now open!! just send me ur asks w whatever u want for the following fandoms/characters

criminal minds

🩷 x reader/oc: i will do any of the characters from the team x reader or x oc but i LOVE writing elle, garcia, and morgan specifically

🩷 pairings: morcia, galvez, spencelle, hotchi, jemily, jelle, jarcia, ellemily, rossi x gideon, gideon x hotch

harry potter/marauders

🩷 x reader/oc: harry, ron, fred, george, lee jordan, hermione, ginny, luna, cedric, angelina johnson, lily evans, marlene, remus, sirius, peter, james, regulus, dorcas, mary, pandora, evan, barty, bellatrix, narcissa, alice, andromeda, and rita

🩷 pairings: ronmione, linny, lee x george, lee x fred, jily, jegulus, jegulily, regulily, pandalily, wolfstar, dorlene, marylene, marylily, quillkiller, nobleflower, and rosekiller

the hunger games

🩷 x reader/oc: finnick, annie, johanna, katniss, peeta, haymitch, cashmere, gloss, enobaria, lucy gray, sejanus, and cinna

🩷 pairings: odesta, johannie, everlark, hayffie, cashbaria, clato, and glarvel

mean girls(2024)

🩷 x reader/oc: regina, damien, janis, cady, gretchen, karen, and aaron

🩷 pairings: rejanis, fetchen, cady x aaron, ms norberry x mr duvall

stranger things

🩷 x reader/oc: max, lucas, dustin, mike, will, el, steve, robin, nancy, eddie, jonathan, argyle, and chrissy

🩷 pairings: lumax, elumax, byler, elmax, steddie, platonic stobin, ronance, hellcheer, buckingham, and jargyle

note: i will not do anything beyond making out and i will do angst and fluff :) if a character/pairing was not mentioned, but u want to request it, feel free to ask anyways and i will respond privately if i dont feel comfortable doing it. i can do head canons or full-on drabbles, u pick! i can also do platonic pairings or x reader/oc

as for introductions, im a chronic flirter with an obsession for reading who is loved by one(@siriusblackwannabe)

for more writing, go to my ao3:

[ray935sworld]

*evil laughter in vampire Pedrenzo*