#just remember that you might not be right

[bi-writes]

ok but soulmate au with ghost but it's the fucking opposite of rainbows and sunshine. (18+)

you share his trauma. his stress. his anxiety. you do not know who he is, and yet you know the pain of a thousand punches because it's the only feeling he has ever given you. you know the grueling ache of abandonment and the terrible neglect of abuse and the disgusting amalgamation of all your worst nightmares before you even turn 20. everything that he gives you feels aggressive, like it burns, and he only ever gives you reprieve for so long until you just feel it all over again.

it makes you tired. it makes you sick. at first, as a girl, all you wanted to do was comfort him. you wanted to know who he was so you could kiss the cigarette burns that you feel and soak up the blood you know he bleeds.

but as you age, you begin to hate him. you hate him because he does this to you, he hurts you, doesn't he know that he's hurting you? doesn't he know that everything he feels, you feel tenfold, doesn't he know that the terror and the horror of everything he witnesses weighs down your chest, makes you feel like you're drowning over and over and over again?

for a few years into your adulthood, everything is quiet. you feel little except the ache in his back he never tends to, the creak of his knee joints that he refuses to stretch out. you wish you knew him so you could scold him for it, but you curse at a ghost. sometimes you think about doing something to get back at him--you think about carving a FUCK YOU into your arm, about throwing yourself in front of a bus just so he can fucking understand that his entire life is one fucked-up cycle of pain and misery and horror, but you can't bring yourself to do it.

you can't hurt him. you just can't.

and then, the real pain begins. it brings you to your knees, this pain. you scream, you wail, because it feels like you're being carved from the inside-out. your face burns. your chest heaves. you feel like your ribs are breaking, you can't breathe, you claw at the invisible wounds that your soulmate must be wearing, and you beg him to stop, you beg him to let me go--just fucking die already--please, please, please--

those weeks haunt you. the torture he endures, it is branded to you. you wear no scars, and you never lost any blood, but the phantom flesh that you know is gone follows you in your sleep and never shuts up. it talks, it snarls, it eats at your insides. even when he heals, you are never the same. you wake up from nightmares that you know you share with him. you look over your shoulder for the predators you know he has encountered, and you cry yourself to sleep over the loss of something that you can't even decipher because you have no idea who he is or what he buried to feel this way inside.

he's sick. he's twisted. he's a walking corpse, he has no redeemable qualities, he is selfish and mean and cruel, and you hate him, and if it wasn't for the pain that you would feel, the first thing you would do when you saw him is drive something right through his heart to finally stop the undying infection he spreads to everything that he touches.

you know it is him when you finally meet him. you would know him anywhere; you’d know him just by the scars alone who he is because you remember what it felt like when he got them. when you eye the sleeve of tattoos along his left arm--the fucked, shitty, sunburnt art that made it impossible for you to finish your university exams. the faded, grey circles that line the other, ones you recognize being from the burning cigarettes that you would smell when you closed your eyes. and when he removes his mask briefly, you recognize the scar that cuts above his lip and strikes through his eye--that one left you reeling on the bathroom floor particularly loudly. you thought he might be blind if it wasn't for seeing the darkness of both of his eyes.

you start to cry. you start to cry because as soon as he realizes who you are, as soon as you see that flicker of knowing flash across his eyes, all of the hatred and the anger and the poison that plagued you for all this time vanishes. everything you fought so hard to feel, all the misery you wanted to bestow upon him for making your life a living hell, it's gone.

because the universe is cruel, the universe has done what it has done, and it has made this singular person just for you, and against everything you believe, you know that you love him, and you hate yourself for it, and you hate the universe, too.

you have endured. but maybe you endured so he didn't have to. maybe you endured so that he could have this, the feeling that he feels right now, that feeling of sudden relief.

he slides a large hand over his chest, flinching slightly. he blinks, understanding suddenly that he's feeling your joy, your elation. when you shuffle your way over to him, breaching the conversation the men around him are having, you ignore their confused stares as you fling yourself into his chest.

ghost forces you against him, trapping you to him. he practically chokes, tangling a gloved hand into your hair, and you sob into the warm skin of his neck as he hoists you into his arms, into his lap. you don't pay attention to the curious voices around you, you just bury yourself into him and cry. his body is the evidence of all that has happened to him, and you aren't angry anymore because you're relieved.

he's real. he's alive. he's here. he's okay.

when you pull back to look up at him, you blink away the tears that are falling fast down your face. he stares down equally as intensely, drinking in the sight of those big, wet eyes. when he smooths a big hand down your face, he grumbles when he realizes what you are, how you know him.

he never realized this was what he and his soulmate shared. you in your life had never felt pain like he had--he had no idea what he was doing to you. he had no idea what you were surviving at the same time.

he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours, and your lips tremble as you cup his cheeks and hold him close.

it feels wrong to feel this kind of comfort, but he does anyways. he thinks, maybe, that perhaps the only reason he survived was because of you.

because there was someone else, far away, that loved him enough to keep him breathing. even when he thought it was over.

[manda-kat]

I think it's important to remember that just because you find someone basic or boring or whatever, you're actually very wrong and they are a unique and layered person with their own complicated life, emotions and interests. They don't have to perform anything to show you how interesting or special they are.

That straight white girl with her stanly cup and sephora makeup doesn't have to show you what makes her 'unique'. The older gentleman who shares conspiracy theories on facebook and mows his lawn early in the morning doesn't have to prove he isn't an 'npc' to you. The woman with the 'Karen' haircut and her son who watches stupid youtube videos don't have to drop everything to demonstrate to you that they can break the stereotypes you've associated with them.

Every person is a real person. Even if you never see them do a thing other than what you expect them to do, they are just as deep and emotional as you are because they are ALIVE! They're real! And they don't owe you a tour into their lives just to prove to you that they have thoughts and feelings! Just because you lack the empathy or understanding to see that someone who doesn't share your same lifestyle, hobbies or stereotypes might actually have a rich and detailed life, doesn't mean you're right.

[luveline]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

When someone hurts you, you and Aaron both need time to get better, and to put things right. fem, 8k

cw canon typical violence, graphic scenes and imagery of assault/battery, recovery, mentions of being sick, issues eating. established relationship, lots of angst and comfort, hotch being vulnerable, jack being sweet 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

You lay backward over the luxurious stretch of the couch and sigh as your spine gives a sharp crick. Your head feels heavy after a long shower, your arms ache from a day at work, but the feeling of soft cotton on your legs deters any moping. 

I hope these are more comfortable, his note read, a white post it note stuck to a boutique bag. You wrap an arm around your waist remembering how Aaron’s message had made you feel: spoiled, and considered. 

You’d mentioned in passing that all your pyjamas are old and rough as a consequence, thought nothing of it, and promptly forgot about the conversation entirely. 

When Aaron finally comes home tonight, you’re going to give him a proper thank you. You can imagine his reaction to such a thing, his smile as he says it’s no problem, his eyes shuttering closed as you press a kiss to his cheek. You hadn’t realised how prevalent affection would become in your life after meeting him, but everything he does inspires love. Awful, soft, marshmallowy love where he looks at you and you want to sit in his lap. 

You slide your phone up your chest lazily and click the button on the side to light the display. Aaron hasn’t claimed to know when he’ll be home tonight. All he’d said was to let yourself in. 

It’s odd but not the worst thing in the world to be alone in his apartment. There’s less and less free space each time you visit as Jack begins to outgrow his and his fathers lodgings, but there’s never a stain or bad smell, the Hotchner apartment feels homey. You’re excited whenever you’re invited to spend the night with them. 

Maybe some time soon he’ll ask you to move in, or better, to marry him. You’re not a hundred percent sure how you feel about marriage, about being someone’s wife, but there’s a great well of pleasure to be found in the idea that Aaron would want to marry you. He makes you feel loved already in a hundred different ways but the ring might be nice, like a symbol to signify how much you mean to him. 

You rest your hand across your eyes. It’s silly to think of. Sillier to want so soon. You’ve been together for just under a year, and you have no false hopes about rushing into the future, but it’s certainly a future you want with him (and with Jack, too). He’s taking things slowly for a hundred different reasons but he loves you, and gifts like your new pyjamas cement that. He really listens to you. 

Your phone rings a moment later. 

You smile at the screen. It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves you too. 

“Hey,” Aaron says when you answer, his voice warm even through the phone, “I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“How come?” You sit up with a little start. 

“It’s getting late, honey. I called Jess and Jack was already gone.” He doesn’t say anything further. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I wanted to hear your voice, I think.” 

“Well, where are you?” You struggle to envision him speaking saccharinely like this where his colleagues could hear him. He’s nice to you often, but he’s a reserved man. 

“I’m just,” —a crunching sound of metal, the trunk of his car closing— “about to get in the car. I’ll be home before ten. Can I have you until then?” 

“I don’t see any reason to say no. But do you think you could come home a little faster? I have a crick in my neck.” 

“And you want me to fix that?” 

“You always fix my neck.” 

“How have you done it?” There’s a sound you assume to be the car door closing, but you can’t hear anything beyond that. 

“I have bad posture.” 

“You have perfect posture.” 

“No, it’s quite bad.”

He laughs loudly. It took some time to draw the humour from him but he isn’t as stony as you’d think, and for a while he didn’t have much worth laughing for, anyways. Whenever you hear it, you try to prompt it twice. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, Aaron, it’s just like when you said my weird rash wasn’t weird.” 

He laughs again, to your pleasure. “It wasn’t weird, it was a heat rash, I promise. You act like you’ve never seen heat rash.” 

“One of us goes to hot cities all the time and one of us lives permanently in Virginia.” 

“What are you talking about? Virginia’s far from cold. You’re being argumentative, I can see your smile in my head. I’m never going to fix your crick if you keep acting like that.” 

“No, don’t be like that,” you laugh, tipping back into the cushions. “You’re always such a sore loser.” 

“What did I lose?” 

You can tell from his tone that you’ve promised yourself one of those hugs that borders on a straight jacket tightness, his face tucked into your neck as he asks you to repeat yourself. What did I lose? he’ll ask again, kissing your chin, the line of your jaw. Tell me clearly.  

“It hurts,” you say honestly, “please don’t be mad. I really need one.” 

“I’m not mad… I’m going under the overpass, my signal might cut out.” 

“Okie dokie. Hey, did you eat? I can make you something for when you get home. I got groceries.” 

“I’m not hungry, but you can make yourself hot cocoa, and I’ll drink it when I get there,” he says. 

“Or I could make us both some?” 

“It’s much more fun if I drink yours before you can, honey. You know that—”

You pause in the quiet, then hear a quick beeping. You pull your phone from your ear and find the call disconnected. 

Cruel overpass, you think. 

Sure he’ll call you back, you take your phone into his kitchen and set about finding all the things you’ll need for hot cocoa. One mug, because you should hate when he forces you to share, but you love the feeling of his fingers on yours as he takes it and the thankful kiss he dots on your cheek. 

The kettle is uncomplicated. You toy with the stovetop, set the kettle on the burner, and let the temperature rise. It begins whistling lightly a mere thirty seconds later. 

You click your phone on again. He’ll have passed through the tunnel now and will be calling you back any minute. You stare at the phone, hoping to summon him, slouched over the counter with the tin of cocoa powder by your fingers. The kettle whines with growing heat, but cool air kisses your back. 

Goosebumps rise. Up and down the lengths of your arms, the back of your neck—

A sudden chill. 

The lack of air comes before the hand, the pain a rush, a burst to be away from. Leather on your neck creaking without sympathy as a hand tightens and drags your body back against something hard. 

Not Aaron. Your scream comes strangled under cruel fingers as you fight to move forward again, straight for the burner, the kettle shoved across the burner grate and exploding with scalding water, heat of the burner kissing your chest— you scream, only it’s worse than a scream, sound from the deepest part of you forcing itself past the heat at your neck as you try to fling yourself away from the pain. 

You fall with a hard clout. “Stay still!” comes out enraged against the back of your neck. You drop to your knees, the pain lighting flaring up your chest, your gaze frantic as you search for a flame that isn’t there. You’re not on fire, you’re crawling and then scampering up into a standing position when the heavy weight drops itself on you again and smashes your face into the floor. 

All your fight leaves you. Your ears ring. Your panic wanes but the pain stays alert in your mouth. 

A hand grabs you by the back of the head and drives your face into the ground. It’s like light in your eyes and your nose, the brunt of it, the crack of your bone and the hot trickle of blood that swiftly follows. You gurgle in pain, spluttering and gagging against the linoleum, waiting for Aaron to turn you over and say sorry. It’s an accident.

Blood drains from your nose in spurts to match your racing pulse, so much blood you can see your eyes reflected in the dark stretch of it. Water drips down the front of the stove, your breath aches and begs, and your attacker takes a measured breath. 

He flips you over. You can’t slide away, there’s nothing left in you, your head a second body as he raises something. 

Your phone rings on the counter. 

“Please, don’t,” you plead with a sob.

You pass out as the pain connects. Just as quickly as it started, your body takes the reins. 

—

There’s a strange darkness waiting for you. Like waking before your alarm and stealing those last minutes, body aching, not wanting to get up and face the day. Aaron gets up early every morning, sometimes as early as four AM, and whenever you get up with him your eyes hurt for hours. 

Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

Hey, hey, I think your boyfriend’s coming.

What will he make of my handiwork?

You didn’t stay awake long enough for that one, did you? But you’re waking up now.

The pain is enough to wake you up again, a hot drag down the side of you to your hip and in. You aren’t aware of the sounds you make, but you can hear them. Your panicked squealing as the heat presses further and further in. Your crying, and your whispering, “Stop, stop.” 

“There’s handsome,” the dark voice says. “I’ve gotta go hide somewhere, does he carry after hours? I think I’ll find out.” 

“Oh,” you say, feeling sickly. You attempt to curl into yourself, when did you turn onto your back? “No,” you mumble, lips wet with something hot. 

“Honey?” a voice asks. 

“Honey,” you repeat, woozy again, darkness falling in all over again, where it stays. 

Honey, are you in here?

—

The window behind Aaron’s shoulder is cold. Rain patters fast like floods, thunder occasionally chewing through clouds, and Jack Hotchner cries sluggish tears into his dad’s shoulder. 

Aaron has his eyes closed. They’ve been at this for a while. “Shh, shh shh, buddy,” he says softly, patting the bottom of Jack’s back. He’d sway him back and forth if his arms weren’t about to fall off. 

Jack squirms closer, no room left between them. 

“I know it’s scary,” Aaron says. 

Jack just cries. This approach of quiet support isn’t working; Jack isn’t a baby that needs to be put to sleep, he’s a panicking little kid, and Aaron needs to change gears. He ushers him away from his chest and crosses his arm behind Jack’s back. Careful, he shifts Jack’s weight to free his other arm and brings his fingers up to the silky brown hair dropping onto Jack’s forehead. 

“She’s okay,” Aaron says, stroking Jack’s hair. His little forehead is clammy. “She’s not hurting. I know it looks scary, honey, but… she’s just resting.” 

Jack looks him in the eyes. “Her face.” 

“I know.” He nods emphatically. “It’s hard to see. Blood isn’t nice. You don’t have to see her again today, not if it’s too scary.” 

Jack lifts a hand to Aaron’s face. Clumsy but with clear attempts to be careful, he wipes at the skin under Aaron’s eye. Aaron bites back a smile. 

“I look tired,” he says. 

“Yeah.” Jack brings his hand back to wipe his eyes. He sobs as he does it. Aaron can’t describe the ache it gives him to see it. 

“Buddy, I’ll do it. Let me wipe your face. I can do it.” 

Jack drops his hands. Aaron turns his hand and wipes the smudge of Jack’s tears from hot cheeks, testing the waters with a little smile. 

“I couldn’t see you under all those tears.” 

Jack does a little smile back. “Yes you can.” 

“I couldn’t! But now I’ve wiped all your face I can see you again. You’re handsome, did we know that?” 

Jack giggles. He sniffles, and he presses his palm to Aaron’s neck. “I don’t want her to be sad, dad.” 

“She’s going to be sad, because something scary happened, but it’s okay. I’m gonna take care of her.” 

Aaron would offer to take him home, but they can’t go home. They may not go home for a long time —the team is still trying to work out how someone made it into the apartment without alerting the building’s security or Aaron’s internal system. And then escaped again without Aaron’s notice. Until then, Aaron has to make a decision about a safe house, for himself, Jack, and Jess, though she's extremely unreceptive to the idea. 

Aaron has to look after Jack, and he needs to take care of you. 

“What do you think, bud?” he asks, cupping Jack’s head in his hand. “Do you want to go home?” 

“You said I can give her a hug.” 

“If it’s too scary, we don’t have to. I don’t want you to get upset again.” 

“I’m not scared. I want to give her the hug,” he says. 

Aaron pulls him in for a hug of his own. “Okay, buddy. Just try to think of it like this. She’s where she needs to be to get better. Everybody here is looking after her. She’ll be okay soon.” 

Aaron looks over Jack’s head down the hospital hallway. It’s a quiet ward, and here between the main ward doors and the hallway that leads down to the individual rooms there’s complete silence. Night is approaching quickly again, and with it comes Aaron’s panic. Your head turned into a puddle, your face lax of expression in the dark. He can’t stop finding the women he loves bloody and on their backs. 

“Ready?” he murmurs. “Can you walk with me? My arms are tired.”

“Yeah.” 

Aaron puts Jack down gently onto his feet. He neatens his hair, chucking him under the chin as he goes to see his smile. He’s so pretty, like Haley was, with shiny eyes. He’s a beautiful kid. Aaron takes his hand and together they make their way down the hallway to your room. 

You’re sleeping. 

Aaron herds Jack through the door and to the plastic covered chair by your side, where he lifts him up and sits him down. He stays between you both. Jack isn’t scared of you, just the blood, but he wants to show Jack that he’s going to protect him from anything he needs protecting from. He also desperately wants to touch you, and reassure himself that you’re still breathing. 

He looks for your hand. Your pinky finger is splinted, but he can take it with care, give the palm of it a squeeze. 

The blood matted in your hair has finally been washed away after a turbulent day, as well as the staining that marred your face. Your nose is broken, and looks it, the bruises so fierce your eyes have turned puffy and your top lip has inflamed. There are second degree burns in multiple places but most affectedly on your chest. There’s a stab wound at your hip, allegedly done with a small blade. It nicked your small intestine. The bandages laid over you are a lump under your hospital gown. 

Aaron looks at you, and he feels a passionate disdain for himself. He wishes he could… be someone else. Someone who doesn’t have such a deep connection to a job that hurts the people around him, over and over. Haley used to say he was obsessed with being the hero, but this doesn’t feel heroic. 

“Do you wanna give her your cuddle?” he asks softly. 

Jack stays sitting. 

He’ll have to give it to you himself. Careful, Aaron leans down over your prone body and presses a half kiss to your ear, the only place that won’t hurt. 

You have an IV drip going into your arm, painkillers, an ECG monitor to the left. The room is white but busy, you’re a burst of colour against it all, your cuts and bruises, the evidence of violence he can’t remove. Aaron’s tired. He perches on the gap of bed by your leg and holds your hand, turning to Jack, who watches with a frown. 

“She’s sleeping,” Aaron says. 

“When can she come home?” 

“In a few days.” He feels the pad of your hand, terrified of your broken finger but needing to hold a part of you. 

“Why is she sleeping all day?” 

Traumatic experiences are exhausting. “I think she might want to be alone, so she sleeps.” 

“Should we go?” 

Aaron shakes his head. “I think we should stay. When she wakes up again she’ll be happy to see us, because we’re not strangers.” 

“We’re family,” Jack says. He’d liked that, when the nurse asked you how Aaron was related to you. Family only.

“We’re her family,” Aaron agrees. 

If he somehow miraculously fell out of love with you, you’d still be family to them. You’ve given so much of your heart since you met them. Aaron wants everything you have to give. 

You wake in a slow, slow upheaval. It takes effort on your part, the opening of sore eyes, the dreary decision to face your pain. Your hand jumps in his but relaxes when he shushes you, your slimmer fingers stilling under his rubbing thumb. For a split second, you keep your gaze half-lidded, jaw soft, like you’ve been indulging in a stolen nap. 

Then your breath catches and you screw your eyes tightly. 

“You’re okay,” he says, quietly, and not as lightly as he means to, “you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” in quick succession. 

“Hurts,” you say, and gasp, a whine stuck in your throat. 

He doesn’t know what to do. Jack shouldn’t watch this but he can’t leave you alone. “It’s okay,” he says, holding your wrist to stop it climbing up your bruised face. 

You were worse the first time you woke up. Catatonic, then sobbing. You mumble and whimper now, pain threading goosebumps down your arms. 

“It hurts too much,” you say. A sob falls out of you like you’ve been ripped open. 

Aaron doesn’t think, but an instinct sparks. The pain, to hit you right out of the gate like this, to make you say something like that when you’ve always always made your problems small, must be torture. It must feel new and sudden all over again. 

Aaron checks that Jack is alright and leaves the room. He looks down one hallway and then the other, but there’s no nurse around —he races to the reception desk and begs the two nurses there for help with you, “She’s in intense pain,” he says, grasping the desk. 

The nurse he’s more familiar with clears her throat. “Mr. Hotchner, she’s already had enough motrin for two people at your request, she really shouldn’t need–”

“Pain is just as important to treat as the injury.” 

A second nurse puts her salad down with raised brows. “Do you want to overdose her?” 

“Excuse me?” 

Aaron has always seen himself as a gentleman, but the argument that ensues is tricky to navigate while remaining respectful, and he’s no closer to better treatment for you by the end of it. He gives each nurse a disapproving glower and takes his phone from his pocket, turning on the spot, ready to call whoever it is he needs to call for a second opinion. He’s not gonna listen to you cry when there’s no need. 

He pushes the door open with the phone still clutched in his other hand. Jack’s climbed onto your bed. He cuddles your face, sitting by your pillows and bent over you protectively. 

Aaron lets out a breath. 

“It’s okay,” he says, his arm behind your head and his arm on your shoulder. “W’gonna take care of you.” 

“I know,” you say, crying without sound, shaking under his arms.

His cheek smushes against your forehead. Your eyes are closed and your face braced for contact Jack doesn’t make, careful not to hurt you as he rubs his cheek into your skin. Your blankets are falling off of you from the squirming and your bruises shine with tears in the light, but Jack has calmed you down some. 

Aaron shouldn’t have left Jack with you. He’s been so scatterbrained since he found you when he should be the opposite, but Jack is doing better than Aaron managed alone. 

“I’m sorry for crying,” you say slowly. “I’m hurting, but it’s not bad. I’m okay.” 

“That’s good. You have a big scratch on your face, and bruises.” 

“I know.” 

“Dad says you have a bruise on your tummy too.” 

“I got lots of bruises, but it’s okay. Don’t worry about me.” You bring your hand up injured and uncaring to rub his leg. “You’re being a really brave boy, thank you.” 

A tear rolls down your cheek. 

“It’s teamwork,” Jack says. “I hug you and you hug me.” 

“Is that what you want? You want a hug?” 

“I want to go home,” he says, hugging you harder. 

You grasp his arm loosely where it’s just under your chin. “Jack, can you move your arm?” you whisper. 

Your breath comes quickly, but Jack moves his arm away from your bruised neck and you try to calm yourself down. 

Aaron jolts himself back into action. “Sweetheart,” he says, rushing to sit Jack back and give you more space. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

He watches. Not sure what to say. Not sure saying anything is wise. You squint at him through your lashes, eyes opening slowly, your mouth a line pressed hard to stop from crying. 

“I think it's time for Jack to go home,” he suggests gently. 

“Yeah,” you say, eyes swimming with tears. 

“No.” Jack squeezes your head again, to your panic. 

“Jack, buddy, please don’t touch her neck,” Aaron says, grabbing Jack from your pillow. 

He erupts into tears again. Frantic and vying for you, Aaron tries to calm him and he kicks against his chest, tears turning to disgruntled sobs at not getting what he wants. You wince, pressing your face completely into the pillow. 

Aaron carries Jack from your room, phone in hand. 

—

Is she breathing? Can she talk? 

I don’t– I don’t know, I don’t– She’s breathing. Honey, can you hear me? I don’t know what to stop. I don’t know where it’s all coming from. 

Where’s the worst of the blood? 

It’s everywhere. 

Abdominal? Chest? 

I can’t tell. I can’t tell. 

Mr. Hotchner, you can’t panic. Does she have a chest wound?

Yes. Yes, but– 

Is she conscious? How’s her pulse? Be ready to start chest compressions. 

Honey, can you hear me? 

Your name said clearly. 

“Hey, can you hear me?” 

“Yes,” you murmur. 

“If you need a minute, that’s okay.” 

You cover your mouth with your hand. Emily Prentiss has a soft voice like your boyfriend’s when she wants to have it. She’s never spoken to you like this, none of his colleagues have, but since the incident, everybody treats you like you’re made of glass. 

Cognitive interviews are meant to happen immediately after an accident, but you weren’t up for company. Aaron promised this would be on your terms, that Emily is the most practised, and that she’s reaped the most information from them than the rest of the team. So far, it’s worked to drag bad memories to the surface. 

“Maybe we should start from the beginning.” 

There isn’t a beginning. There’s just conversation. Aaron’s hand on your heart and his shaky voice, so unlike him.

“Okay.” 

Emily reaches for your hand. She smiles, and her nice features get nicer. That’s another thing they all share, good looks. “Okay. What did you notice, in the kitchen? It’ll help if you close your eyes,” she reminds you. 

You close your eyes. 

“What stuck out?” 

“Nothing,” you murmur. “I’ve been in there lots of times, and nothing ever changes.” 

“Nothing? Not even the drawings on the fridge?” 

“Jack’s particular about his best work, even if I think they should all be on display.” 

Emily’s voice turns to a shard of itself. “What did you do? Can you take me through it step by step? Make yourself a cup of hot chocolate.” 

“I never got that far.”

“What did you do?” 

“I filled the kettle.” 

“What kettle?” 

You don’t understand the need for specificity, but you answer. “Aaron got it for me, when he… he told me he loved me, and when we got home he’d bought me a kettle and a bunch of stuff to make my being there easier. The kettle, because… he said something about superheated water. How the microwave can be dangerous, and this would be easier than a pan.” 

“Alright. Okay, and what did you do after that?” 

“I put the kettle on the stove.” You lit the burner, and heat kissed your palm, and suddenly the room had felt cold. “I got goosebumps.” 

“When?” 

“The kettle started to whistle, and it was cold.”

“And then–”

“Then he grabbed me.” 

“Yeah,” Emily says softly. 

You touch your nose. “I tried… He didn’t feel like a person. He didn’t feel like someone I was fighting, it was just painful.” 

“Like he was quick on his feet?” 

“He was silent. I didn’t hear him until I made him fall.” 

“How big did he feel?” 

Your stomach churns. Big. He’d felt big. 

Where’s the worst of the blood?

“He said he was going to hide,” you remember. 

“He said that? He said ‘hide’?

“Yeah. And he asked me if Aaron carries after hours.” 

“When was this?” 

It’s a headache. You try to remember more, because that’s what they need right now. If you ever want to go home, if you want Jack to go home, you need to remember more. The BAU are good, but nobody can make a map out of slivers. 

“That was at the end,” you say. 

“After he stabbed you?” 

You wince. “Yes. After.” 

“You’re doing so good,” she praises, “I just want to fill in the gaps.” 

“I can’t remember. I was unconscious.” 

“When Hotch found you?” 

“No, before.”

“Before?” she asks. 

You’re sick of sitting there with your eyes closed. Sick of your hands shaking with nowhere to hide them, and sick of feeling sick, your nausea as present as the stinging pain of your burned wrist against your sleeve each time you move. 

You open your eyes and look around the conference room for something interesting. How nice would it be to think of something else for a few minutes?

“He called it handiwork when he cut me. Asked if I thought Aaron would like it,” you say, bordering monotonous as your gaze fizzles, unfocused, across the room. 

“Okay, Y/N. Okay. I know you’re tired.” She reaches for your hands to squeeze at the same time. “You did really well. Any details at all are details we can use to find him.” 

You’re not in the mood for talking anymore. Tears burn your eyes, waiting for a blink to set them loose. 

“I want to see Aaron,” you confess quietly. 

“I’ll find him for you.” Emily stands but bends, the dark of her hair a contrast to her pale face. She’s lovely, and her hand is gentle on yours. “Are you okay? Can I get you something to eat?” 

So Aaron’s not keeping that to himself. “I want to see him, please.” 

“Yeah. Okay.” 

This is a horrible room. It’s not their fault, but the big white board is tacked with bad photos of grisly cases —currently your own. You stare at a photograph of your blood in the kitchen and don’t know what to do. Should you look away? You hadn’t realised you bled so much. 

You turn your chair toward the door. Emily looks back as she leaves and smiles at you softly, but your eyes are already moving to the smaller dry erase board by the doorway. It’s ‘Hotch’s turn to clean up on Thursdays. How strange that they make the boss clean the conference room. 

You can picture him picking up coffee cups and wiping down the table. You can always picture Aaron. 

You can see him hovering over you, his hand pressed to the bloody mess of your hip to stop the blood. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper to yourself, wanting to break from the memory, following Aaron’s example. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” You repeat it into your hands, head tilting down. You sink until your knuckles touch your knees. 

That’s all he says when you panic. He’ll say it over and over again until you can breathe right. I have you, I have you, you’re okay. 

He’s much quieter this time. You hear his footsteps, his familiar gait, your head pounding too hard to move. Aaron makes a sound between a sigh and a hum, like he’s saying a sorry hello as he kneels in front of you. His hand takes your face, rubs softly over your ear. 

“My head’s just hurting,” you murmur. 

He doesn’t respond. You sit together for some time as your mind races with bad memories, your fear a rush of goosebumps down the lengths of your arms and thighs. It’s hard not to think about what happened, mostly because you’re still a walking bruise, your stitches sting when you move, the blisters on your chest ache, all of it inescapable. But it’s your anxiety that plagues you most. You’re in a constant state of dread. 

You had no idea someone could hurt you as badly as they had until it happened, and now you’re desperate not to be hurt again. 

“You have to look after me,” you say eventually, throat sore with how awful it feels to say. 

“Yes, I do.” 

“Please don’t let me get hurt again.” 

Total silence. You sniffle at his lack of an answer, only slightly comforted by his hands at your wrists now, pulling them from your face. “Let’s sit up,” he says, standing himself. “Come on, let’s sit up. You shouldn’t be putting so much pressure on your abdomen.” 

You lean back and everything aches like a stretch after a long run or a bad night’s sleep. 

Aaron pulls a chair next to yours. When he sits, your knees are pressed in between one another’s thighs, so close he could hug you. You might need one.  He’s given you a ridiculous amount of them each day, some for him and some for you. 

He has with him a takeout box and a bottle of water. 

“Here,” he says, popping the seal of the drink. “Three sips.” 

You feel like crying, but you drink. He opens the takeout box to reveal a normal looking sandwich already cut into two halves, but he takes a plastic knife from his pocket, peels away the wrapping, and cuts the sandwich again into quarters. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” you say. 

“No, you’re not. You won’t be.” He presses the sandwich flat with his hands and holds it to you until you take it. “Please, Y/N. You only have to eat what you can.” 

“I don’t want it.” 

“Please.” 

“Did Emily tell you about my interview?” 

He reaches for your thigh. Mildly unlike him when you aren’t at home. You assume it to be a tether for your sake. “No. Is there something you think I should know?” 

“I don’t want to say it again.” 

“Then you don’t have to. Someone will tell me when I get back.” 

You pinch the fluffy bread in your hands, eyeing wearily at the wet insides. “Can I come with you?” 

“You’re having trouble in the cognitive interviews, you won’t want to hear what we have to say.” 

You split the sandwich in half again, watching as salad and mayonnaise ooze from the bread. 

“If you don’t eat, you won’t get better,” he says, a touch stern. 

“I can’t eat when you won’t let me come with you.” 

“I’m not the only person capable of protecting you. I…” He circles your wrist before you can make a mess. “Can you please eat it?” 

You take a bite to appease him, your stomach roiling, food wet and cold on your tongue. You eat the whole quarter queasily, a lump at the back of your throat begging you to stop. 

Aaron takes an empty hand and rubs it tenderly. “Thank you,” he says, that rubbing turned more forceful, his hand journeying to your elbow and back again. 

It’s sweet how attuned he is to your needing his touch, but mortifying. This entire experience had been embarrassing from start to end. Couldn’t defend yourself, can’t get to grips with it, and can’t keep anything down. Aaron looks at you and your bruises and you wonder if he’s seeing you with blood matted in your hair, or hearing you beg for him to get you something stronger. All you’d wanted was a sedative. 

“I’m far from the only person capable of protecting you,” he says. 

“You saved me,” you say. You mean it in every sense of the world. 

“…This is my fault.” 

“I want to be with you,” you say honestly. “I don’t feel okay by myself right now, I just need you, or I feel so sick I wish that I died.” The anxiety is marrow deep. 

Aaron looks gutted. “Don’t say that.” His hand goes back to yours, back to tenderness. “I know you're scared.” 

“Then why won’t you listen?” you ask weakly. 

“I’m listening to you,” he says, his tone a dulcet, pleasing softness you’ve never ever heard before, “I need you to be safe, and I need Jack to be safe, and I can’t do that while he’s still out there.” His brows pinch together, agonised. “I’m sorry you’re scared. I didn’t protect you. But I won’t let anything happen to you again.

“I love you. Please believe that I’m doing what’s best for you right now.” 

You turn your head away. He cups your cheek regardless. 

“I love you,” he says again. 

“I know.” 

“No, I love you.” 

He’s saying sorry.

“I love you,” you mumble back. 

“How are you feeling? Is anything hurting more? Weeping?” 

Your eyes are heavy at his touch. “You only looked at me a couple of hours ago.” 

“Alright. Can I kiss you? I need to go.” 

You don’t answer. Aaron kisses your chin, your jawline, the type of roving, teasing kisses he’d give as he squeezed your sides, only he doesn’t squeeze you, he can’t without hurting you. His hand hesitates just above your deepest wound. 

His bright kiss works to spark a modicum of life back into you. Not a lot, but enough. It was likely his intention, some quick prodding kisses to remind you of something happy between you both. 

You curl your fingers over his hand and turn your face for a chaste peck. He smiles, the curve of his lips evident and relieving against yours. 

“Someone will take you back to the safe house, okay? Give Jack a kiss for me,” he says. 

You nod. Aaron strokes your cheek. 

—

Your assailant could have killed you while you were vulnerable, but he didn’t. “He assumes he’ll have another chance,” Emily surmises. 

“That’s cocky,” JJ mutters. 

“It’s telling,” Aaron says. “But he won’t.” 

The coaching has been extensive. You, sick, a breath from tears and hurting, your shoulders in his hands and his grip too tight. If someone tells you I’m dead, you wait. If Morgan tells you I’m dead, you ask Rossi. If he says I’m dead, you ask Emily. You can’t believe the first thing someone says. No one is going to move you from this safe house to another without seeing me first. If I do get hurt, you and Jack will be moved separately. You will always get my confirmation before you’re moved. 

I’m not gullible, you’d said, wincing at his sharp tone. 

It’s not about that. People will lie, and they will lie well. They will talk their way into the house if you let them. You can’t let them. 

I won’t. 

He’s racing against a countdown, because no matter what he says, what you know, or how many agents wait outside your house, sometimes it’s a force of will. 

Foyet didn’t need much more than that. 

He admittedly feels on surer footing knowing where you are. The decision to guard you without putting you in WITSEC is aching and scary but better, too. He knows where you are. He can be there in ten minutes. No guessing games, but no hiding for you either. 

Your dread is taking over everything you do. Today’s the first day since you came home almost two weeks ago that you could function without a live-in nurse or Jess there to look after Jack, and already he’s worried, because he’d convinced you total honesty was what’s best for the both of you, and so your texts are candid. 

One an hour for his sake, more if you're up to it.

Threw up my beta blockers. Jack misses you, he wants to make you a Lego boat and fishing rod, but I’m not sure how to do it. Please make sure you eat dinner. 

Your next message makes him smile, thankfully. I’m kidding about the dinner thing. Ha. I had one of those gels you got for me, and Jack wants fries, so I’m making waffle fries. 

He texts back quickly. Eat dinner. Please tell Jack I miss him too, and don’t worry about the boat, he’ll work it out. Then, feeling awful, he adds, I love you

Aaron should go home. He’d feel better if he knew he was there to help you keep your medication down, but if he leaves… He knows his team will give you everything they have, but he has more. He can fix this. 

He can’t fix this, god, his head hurts badly. You’re covered in cuts and bruises and burns and he thinks he can make up for that? You’ve been brutalised. Aaron can’t believe this is happening again. 

He rubs his brow. 

“You okay?” Emily asks. 

When he looks up, JJ is gone. 

“I’m fine.” 

“It’s okay if you’re not.” 

He’s not fine, but he knows what she’s asking. “I’m okay enough to do this,” he says. 

It’s hard not to confuse you with memory, your hurting similar to his own, your situation one that he’s already lived. Haley will haunt him for life. It doesn’t usually feel as punishing as he fears he deserves: he gets to remember the best parts of her everyday. He sees her in Jack all the time. He sees her in you, occasionally —you’ll touch his hair or rub his arm like she would’ve done, and it doesn’t make him miss her any more than he does, he’s not in the business of wishing you weren’t yourself, he loves you, but he remembers her. Aaron remembers how he failed her every day. 

He can’t fail you, too. 

“Is it ever easy?” Emily asks. 

Aaron looks around for a bottle of water. “Is what?” 

“Being in love.” 

He thinks about it. “I must make it look hard.” 

She laughs softly. “Sometimes, yeah.” 

Maybe that’s not fair, then, to you. For him to make it seem difficult to love you. To fail to correct Emily when she asks. 

He chooses his words carefully. “Loving her is the easiest thing in the world. But… I continue to work a job I know makes me hard to love in return.” And that puts you in danger. 

It doesn’t feel wrong to be sincere. Perhaps it’s easier with Emily. She saw so much of him during Foyet, and she’s family, truly. He can tell her how intense it’s felt. 

“Well, it doesn’t seem hard for her,” Emily says. 

He shakes his head. 

She continues regardless, “Even during her cognitive, she mentioned the first time you told her you loved her. When it was over she wanted to see you over anything else.” 

But I put her here, he wants to say. Or doesn’t want to say at all, but instead knows with surety. 

“She can’t eat if I’m not home,” he says. What a thing to do to someone. “It’s my fault.” 

Emily smiles, hair slipping off of her shoulder as her expression turns to playfulness. “I think you’re seeing it all wrong. Something bad happened to her, and you’re so safe to her that you make it better when you’re with her. That’s not fault, Hotch. Just love.” 

He turns his attention back to the board without another word. 

—

When the day comes, when they find the man who hurt you, you’re sitting at home with Jack Hotchner in your lap. You’re laughing at his laughing, cartoon fish on the TV, and Aaron’s got a gun in his hand fifty miles away. You both giggle, nearly in hysterics as the safe house living room glows pink and red, Jack’s favourite character swimming hurriedly across the screen, as Aaron negotiates the arrest. 

Usually capable of mediation, Aaron finds his patience completely unravelled. He offers the UnSub two choices: he surrenders now, immediately, and he keeps his life, or he deliberates and Aaron kills him. 

He has reason to believe the UnSub will try again, of course. Will keep hurting you until it sticks. 

He goes home satisfied.

“Dad’s home!” you say excitedly, your movie long finished, your thighs numb and stitches stinging where Jack has leaned against you. You encourage him off of you as the front door closes, the cold air from outside rushing in. 

“Honey?” Aaron calls. 

“Yeah!” You stumble into a standing position, sure you look about as disgusting as you have since the situation began, promptly sitting back down as head rush hits. 

Jack races for the door, meeting Aaron in the hallway with a whoosh. “Hey!” 

“Hi, junior g-man, what are you doing?” 

“We watched Finding Nemo,” Jack says, “and now I’m hugging you, duh.” 

“Duh. Well, I need to talk to Y/N for five minutes. Can you wash your hands for dinner?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“I’m fine.”

You hear the sound of a light kiss, and then Jack rockets across the hallway and up the stairs. Aaron walks into the doorway, tie still knotted but with no suit jacket, and you know what he’s going to say before he says it. He wears a strange expression.

“You got him?” you ask. 

He puts a white bag on the coffee table, looking down at you fondly. “I got him.” 

“How did you find him?” 

He crouches down in front of you. He’s so careful to be harmless to you now, so tentative. “You’re not the only woman he hurt. We dealt with him in the past. From the information you gave Emily during your interview, and the information he left behind, we found him… If you weren’t as brave as you are, I couldn’t have kept you and Jack safe.” He holds your knee. “Thank you.” 

You stare at him. Staring, wondering what he means. “Brave?” 

“Brave.” 

“I’m a coward.” 

He shakes his head. “No. You’re not.” 

All you've done for days is cry and throw up and bleed, literally. You’ve ruined clothes and sheets, thrown up in his lap, terrified and aching. Each time was met with the same gentleness. A kiss on the cheek, or a hand rubbing your back. Is that bravery? You feel like a baby. 

Aaron’s brow is relaxed. He takes your two legs into his hands, and he looks at you with a reverence that leaves you breathless. 

“You’re hurt forever because of me,” he says quietly, you strain to hear him, “because of who I am, and what I choose to be.” 

“How can you say that? It’s not your fault.” 

“It wouldn’t have happened to you if I hadn’t missed his MO the first time.” 

“You’re not putting the knife in anyone’s hand,” you argue. 

“But it keeps happening.” 

His hair shines dark and wet. It must be raining outside, the safe house walls are thick, the windows shuttered permanently, you haven’t heard a peep. You stroke it back from his forehead. 

“Remember… when we first got together, and you told me you were sorry for how hard being with you could be. And I said it was okay, that it wasn’t hard, and you said it would be?” 

“I remember,” he says, practically mouths. 

“I was so afraid when...” You swallow roughly. “I still am. But not– not of you. Not of what you can do. When you told me it was going to be hard, I thought, well, it’s worth it, because I really liked you then and I love you now.” Tears collect in your eyes. Safe. I’m safe. “And you look after me, so– so–” 

You stop as your voice turns to glass, worried you’ll make a fool of yourself and cry in his hands. 

“I didn’t want this for you,” he says. 

“Nobody wants this. Bad things happen to everyone, but who has someone like you to look after them?” 

He breathes out heavily. “Please… don’t cry.” 

You wipe your cheeks, taking a lengthy pause before you say, “I’m okay now.” 

He looks at you in silence. 

“Come and sit with me,” you say, scrubbing your cheeks, hot tears cooling on the backs of your hands. “Your knees.” 

He actually smiles. It changes his entire face. “What about my knees?” 

Aaron sits on the couch next to you atop Jack’s blanket, a bag of pretzels tipping between your leg and his. You attempt to rake his damp hair into submission as his fingers run against your thighs, fishing for pretzels to put back into the bag. 

You’d like for him to grab you and kiss you harshly, give you one of his straight jacket hugs, some roughhousing, but you won’t get that from him until you're better, and even then, it’s up in the air. So much has changed. 

But not everything. 

“I love you,” you murmur, fingertips scratching down behind his ear to the back of his head. 

He turns to you, sagging with relief and exhaustion. “Kiss?” he asks quietly. 

You nod. He holds your cheek, and you close your eyes at the same time for a kiss. It’s not a lot, but you have time. He can give you another one when you’re both better recovered. 

He pulls away. You open your eyes, finding his closed, his face downturned. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“Was Jack good?” 

“Jack’s always good.” 

“Did the nurse have anything to say about your chest?” 

“She said it’s healing okay. That I need to use, uh, scar patches when they start to scab.” 

“I can get those.” 

“I know, I knew you would.” 

He gathers you up for a hug. For a moment, you think he’ll move on, that the end of your nightmare will kill his remorse, but he breathes in, nose wedged against your cheek. 

“Do you think that tonight, we could pretend it didn’t happen?” You’d like to just sit with him, press your hand to his chest and doze. It’s the first night in a while that you’ll feel completely. 

“Yeah. I can do that.” He hugs you rather tightly. “Do you want to see your present?” he asks, relaxing his grip. 

“My present?” 

He grabs the bag on the coffee table and places it in your lap. “I’m worried it’ll remind you of bad memories, but I wanted you to have nice things then, and I still do.” 

In the bag, there’s a pair of pyjamas. Very different to the ones you’d been wearing when you were attacked, they were girly and sweet, soft in your hands, these are sturdy. Still soft, but thick. The shirt is short-sleeved and the pants cuffed at the ankles, a hoodie tucked underneath them, and a packet of minky socks. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

Thanks for everything, for saving you twice, for taking care of you at your worst, and for wanting you to have something comfortable to wear at the end of it. To have experienced an abjectly cruel battering will leave its marks in your forever, but you meant what you told him. He looks after you, and you love him. 

He kisses your shoulder. “You don't need to say that.” 

He doesn’t add anything else, his nose pressed to your shoulder, his hand on your hip. Whatever goes unsaid can be felt in the other’s touch. 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thank u for reading!! it’s been a long time since I wrote a fic for hotch and it’s hard to write him being vulnerable but I hope this is alright anyways and that you enjoyed :D please consider reblogging if you did enjoy it (cos that way my fics get shown to more people <3) ❤️

[moonstruckme]

hi !! i saw that your requests were open and i'd really love if you wrote something with james (or poly!m !!) with a gn!reader taking up literature in uni who tends to get back pains from being hunched over reading and writing almost all hours of the day (definitely not projecting, hehe!)

i love the stuff you write and everythings just so sweetly written and portrayed so lovely !! thank you for keeping the marauders fandom alive lol

Thank you ml <3

modern au

poly!marauders x gn!reader ♡ 709 words

James plops down beside you on the couch, and when he pokes your spine you straighten reflexively. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, only half in the room as the rest of your brain continues working on your essay. 

“Are you really not done yet?” Sirius asks, putting a bag of popcorn in the microwave. You start typing faster. They’re going to want to start the movie soon, and then your laptop is going to be wrested away from you whether you’ve reached a stopping point or not. “I can’t remember the last time I spent more than a couple hours on an essay. You’ve been laboring over that thing all day.” 

“It’s a long one,” you admit, “but it’s hardly labor.” 

“Sure looks like it, when your back is hunched worse than a coal miner’s.” 

You give him a deadpan look. Sirius glances down at your fingers, still typing rapidly, and shudders. 

“Fucked how you can do that.” 

“Literature students might be the new coal miners,” says James.

You hum dubiously, looking back to your work. “Not sure that’s a super fair comparison.” 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t quite say that,” Remus agrees with you, “but it’s not like you’re not doing yourself any harm when you write all day like this, love. Your back is already hurting you—” 

“You’ll probably get carpal tunnel,” James adds. 

“—and I know looking at your laptop for this long gives you headaches.” Remus’ slow strides into the living room feel like a countdown clock. You manage to hammer out the end of your sentence just before he pulls your laptop out from under your fingers. “If you’re not careful, it’s gonna fuck up your sleep. That’s enough for tonight.” 

You sigh but don’t complain, rolling back your shoulders to ease some of the tautness there. Your spine crackles, quicker and louder than the popcorn popping in the kitchen, and James flinches away from you. 

“God, make it stop,” he pleads. 

You ignore him and roll your neck to the side, eliciting a series of cracks from there too. James makes a dramatically horrified sound and squeezes his eyes shut, and Remus grabs your head in both hands, restraining you. 

“Don’t,” he tells you severely. “We’ve been over this.” 

“Freak,” Sirius says lovingly as he pulls the bag of popcorn from the microwave. 

“It hurts,” you complain. 

“Sounds like it, fuck,” James agrees emphatically. Now the danger has passed, he leans towards you again, splaying a protective palm over your mid back. “Sirius, could you grab my icy hot from the fridge? Here, lovie, lie down.” 

Remus lets go of your face somewhat reluctantly, letting James help you lay across his lap. His hand smooths up and down your spine, pressing down lightly upon muscles rigid with tension. You sort of wish he’d just crush you. You’re sure he could, he doesn’t spend all that time at the gym for nothing. 

“I’m gonna get you a back brace,” Remus mutters, fondness under the veneer of resentment in his tone. 

“That'd be kind of hot.” Sirius lifts your feet, dropping down onto the couch before passing James the tube of cream. “Those are the strappy looking things, right? I’m for it.” 

“I do not consent,” you say clearly, then hiss as James applies the cool balm to your lower back. 

He and Sirius laugh. Remus reaches over to press your shoulders back down. 

“Easy, angel,” says James. “It’ll help.” 

“I didn’t know it’d be this cold,” you defend yourself, a little laugh tripping out of you as well. “You do this voluntarily?” 

“You’ll see why in a bit.”

“If I were spending all of my Saturday hunched over my laptop and a bunch of books,” Sirius says, “I think I’d at least use the right ‘your.’ What are they teaching you, babe?” 

You suppress a groan. You’d sent Sirius a grammatically incorrect text two days ago, and he’s yet to stop lording it over you. 

“That was autocorrect,” you tell him again. 

He hums noncommittally, tracing a path up your calf with his forefinger. “I’m just saying, can it really be worth it if we’re making those sorts of mistakes? Will they even still give you your degree?” 

“Sirius, their back is getting tense again. Knock it off.”

[corrodedbisexual]

@waning-croissant well... I had to.

"Nope. Outside of D&D, I am no hero," Eddie talks as he keeps walking, a step ahead of Steve. "I see danger and I just turn heel and run. Or at least that's what I've learned about myself this week."

Eddie's not even sure what he's saying anymore, he just knows that if he doesn't keep talking over the nightmarish ambience of this hellscape, he might actually go insane. Hearing his own voice, he can at least pretend like he's just narrating a game, and the rest is his overactive imagination. Not that he actually believes that, of course, it's just... irrationally comforting.

"Give yourself a break, man."

Steve reaches for him, but Eddie's body reacts on autopilot to an unexpected touch, practically slapping the boy's arm away. He's on a roll here, words still spilling right over the all-too-late pang of regret in his chest. It would have been nice to experience, that pat on the chest or squeeze on the shoulder, whatever Steve was going for, if it weren't for Eddie's perpetual skittishness.

"See? The only reason—"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"—I came in here was 'cause—"

"Eddie!"

Eddie's head snaps to Steve as he cuts off the rest of his semi-planned speech, which was suddenly inspired by the sight of Nancy Wheeler ahead of them. If he was the cowardly bard in the story, the least he could be useful for is cheer on the real hero of it. Give the courageous bat-biting paladin the motivation to keep fighting.

"Huh?"

"Do you ever stop running your mouth and listen?" Steve's brows are furrowed, but his tone isn't mean, and there's an amused smile playing on his lips. "You're almost worse than Dustin, Jesus Christ."

Eddie opens his mouth, lets his jaw hang for a second, and closes it again with a click of the teeth, as he processes the words he would have perceived as an insult, had he not been piecing together what the kid meant to Steve for the past several days. It was a bit of a revelation that their relationship ran far deeper than just some giant one-sided platonic crush on Dustin's part, like Eddie had mistakenly assumed throughout most of this year.

Steve takes a small step closer, the first one to invade Eddie's personal space for once, after Eddie's been doing it for the better part of their walk together. Unconsciously, like his body just decided that being tucked into Steve meant safety from the bloodthirsty bats, and the creepy vines, and that Vecna guy they could run into any minute.

"We all ran, all four of us. Just now, when we saw that giant swarm of bats in the distance, remember?" Steve speaks softly, waving his arm vaguely in the direction behind them. "Because sometimes, running and surviving is the only thing you can do."

Eddie doesn't know what to say to that. He just focuses on looking at the boy's eyes, like a normal person, and trying not stare at his lips moving. But then, when he pauses, Steve's eyes flicker down, and... huh. Huh. Wait, what?

"Of course you've been running. You couldn't have fought Vecna when he took Chrissy. Or Carver's crazy mob, or the entire police force of Hawkins," Steve keeps talking intently, looking into Eddie's eyes again like his gaze never wavered south. "Any more than we could fight that whole swarm. Because we'd definitely be dead now if we tried, no matter how metal you think I am," he adds with a tiny smug smile that's entirely Eddie's fault. "So there's a difference between being a coward, and acting stupid and reckless."

Steve pats his shoulder twice, then turns and keeps walking, and Eddie moves to follow him like on a tether, before his flustered brain even catches up.

"H-hey, I never said you were metal! I said what you did with that bat was metal," he grumbles, thankful for the darkness concealing his undoubtedly flushed face.

"I beg to differ," Steve turns around to tease, grinning, and pointedly tugs on his own collar. "You're the resident metalhead, and I'm wearing your vest, that does make me at least a little bit metal."

Yeah, thanks for the reminder, Harrington. Eddie's not sure what possessed him to throw that thing at the boy. At the time, he only thought of how he wouldn't survive the whole ordeal of Steve's hairy tits on display for much longer, but him in Eddie's clothes? Even worse.

"Fine," Eddie rolls his eyes and shoves his hands into his pockets, catching up to Steve in three quick strides. "Only a little bit though." He sneaks a glance at the boy; Steve's not looking back, once again on guard, surveying their surroundings with his flashlight, but the pleased smile makes its way to his face regardless.

"Doesn't matter why you jumped after us, Munson, you're here now. And don't try to act all modest when you've just saved a guy's ass. Which, by the way..." Steve turns his head to Eddie again. "Nice job with that oar. Too bad you hate jocks, you'd have made a fine hitter on the school baseball team."

Eddie gasps and grips his own chest in mock offense, even as warmth spreads up his neck and pools in the tips of his ears, thankfully hidden beneath his hair.

"How dare you, with these vile insinuations."

"I'm just saying," Steve shakes his head, laughing. "You're pretty... bat-ass, too, Eddie." He glances over again with a shit-eating grin. "Get it? Bat-ass?"

"Oh no, Steve Harrington is actually a dork with terrible puns," Eddie mumbles to himself and sighs, rolling his eyes up to the dark sky.

"Shut the fuck up, my puns are amazing." Steve elbows him in the ribs and chuckles. "You know what, I'm starting to understand why Henderson was obsessed with getting us to hang out."

What is that supposed to mean?

"He... he was?" Eddie gapes.

Another earthquake saves him from the mortifying ordeal of re-assessing the whole Munson doctrine, for the hundredth time this week. And as they hurry along to catch up with the girls, and Steve's hand grips his bicep whenever he falls behind, Eddie wonders if maybe he should just set fire to the doctrine and let it turn to ash.

[vampzity]

snake bites | S.MG

“the kisses ain’t free, you gotta pay with your body.” — kissland, the weeknd

—✩ pairing: tattoo artist! mingi x f! reader

—✩ genre: tattoo artist au, smut, nonidol, one shot, explicit content mdni 18+, dom mingi, sub reader

—✩ synopsis: you decide to get your first tattoo with a well renowned artist in town, who is constantly praised for his detailed work. when deciding to get your tattoo in a vulnerable area, he can’t control his sexual urges and neither can you.

—✩ wc: 2.4k

[warnings]: *not proofread* nipple play, nipple sucking, edging, consented sex (wrap before you tap!), pet names (slut, love, doll, princess, baby), mentions of whimpering, fingering, oral (f receiving), soft to rough sex, he’s overall gentle with reader, slight choking, breeding kink??

a/n: i had this sitting in my drafts for a month just because i keep coming up with new ideas and never finishing the older ones, so here y’all go :))

You flinched with every jab the needles took at your skin. Keeping your eyes clenched for a majority of the time, you dreaded how long it was taking to finish your tattoo. However, you can’t blame anyone but yourself for that. You decided to trust your dear best friend and have your first tattoo be on your sternum.

That was your first mistake.

Mingi noticed your discomfort as he tried to work through your tattoo, but the more you squirmed, the harder it was. It annoyed him just a bit but he’s dealt with way worse situations from other appointments, this was simply another cakewalk for him. Nothing he couldn’t get through.

“You doing alright, doll?”

You opened your eyes to meet his own, face red with embarrassment as he noticed the squirming coming from you. You shook your head up and down, quickly looking away from his low gaze on you. He sighed softly, continuing on with the bits of tattoo that he had to finish.

You kept your eyes focused on him from time to time, taking note of the tattoos that covered his arms and neck. You noticed his piercings, making you feel a soft attraction toward him. The rings in opposite ends of his bottom lip as well as the small studs on his ears. Black and silver rings covered his fingers, only enhancing the veins that appeared on his hands from before as you smiled slightly at his painted black nails.

Truth was as cold and nonchalant Mingi seemed to be, he was just as nervous as you. He’s don’t plenty of tattoos, seen plenty of women in various places and positions, yet none of them compared to you. In his eyes, you were a model. One he’d love to use for his tattoos.

“I told you, he’s super chill and he’s well known in town, why would he wanna ruin that reputation by harassing some girl?”

You rolled your eyes remembering Wooyoung’s words. You felt stupid for even assuming anything was bad about Mingi. He wasn’t a bothersome at all, he rarely even spoke to you throughout the process.

If you hadn’t noticed, he closely observed your body; the way your breasts were positioned even if you held them back, the way your body curved, the way it proceeded to squirm under his touch, how warm you might feel if—

Jesus Christ, stay focused.

Mingi quickly snapped out of his thoughts as he began to finish up the final touches to your tattoo, soon grabbing a mirror in order to hold it in front of you.

“What do you think?” he mumbled, quickly turning away from you so he could clear his thoughts.

You observed your tattoo closely, moving the mirror around to reveal areas that may be hiding from under the cleavage. You smiled at the reflection, feeling a small amount of relief wash over you as you began to set the mirror down.

“It’s beautiful, you do such lovely work.”

You watched as his hands began to clean his area. He began to take some of his rings off in order to keep it sanitary and placed them to the side. Oh how you adored rings on a man, how heavily it turned you on. You felt your face flush red as the thought of him. He was right in front of you, and it seemed morally wrong to feel about your tattoo artist in this way. Didn’t it?

“Thank you. I’m going to finish cleaning and closing up shop. It’ll be $120 in cash alright?”

You nodded at his words, digging into your purse for your wallet. As you continued to shuffle for a few minutes, a small amount of worry appeared on your face when your wallet was no where to be found. You continued to shuffle, grabbing the attention of the young man as he was locking the door to his shop. He turned to look at you, raising an eyebrow at the worried look on your face.

“You don’t have the money, do you?”

His deep voice sent chills down your spine, causing you to stop looking for your wallet as he walked towards you. You nervously shuffled once more through your purse, refusing to meet his eyes as he drew closer.

“Hey, don’t worry about it.”

He placed his hand under your chin, bending over to meet your eye level. His eyes hung low as he admired you, his tongue playing with the snake bite piercings on either sides of his lip. Your face flushed red as you noticed the few amount of inches between the both of you. He smirked at you, moving his hand from your chin down to your inner thigh.

“What are yo— shh.. listen doll, I know you’ve been eyeing me the entire time. I felt your heart beat every time my face got close to you.”

Your breath hitched as his words, feeling embarrassed over his observations on you. You looked away from his heavy gaze, making him pout slightly at your actions.

“It’s okay if you can’t pay, doll.”

He leaned in to place a kiss against your neck, making you gasp slightly.

“You can pay with your body… if you’d like.”

He continued to kiss against your neck, following it with small nibbles that earned a small moan from you. His hand made its way under your shirt and to your breast, placing his thumb against your nipple. He began to fondle it softly, continuing to kiss around your neck.

Quiet moans left your mouth as he used his thumb to rub against your nipple, slowly picking up his tempo as you expressed the need for him. A part of you knew it was wrong to hook up with your tattoo artist, but to your body it felt so right. It was something you wanted so badly, all you wanted was to give in to his delicate touch.

“Do you like that princess? Or do you want something different?”

He placed one last kiss on your neck before lifting your shirt over your head and placing his tongue against your nipple. He moved his tongue in circle motions, sucking softly against it as he held you still from squirming.

He teased you overwhelmingly as you struggled to keep your body from squirming under him. You placed your hands against his head, raking your fingers through his hair as he continued to suck at your nipples, leaving them red and swollen with pleasure. Your face grew red, body filled with heat as he slowly pushed you to an orgasm you didn’t think was possible.

He undid the button to your shorts and rested a hand against your stomach, lifting his head up to look at you.

“Is this alright with you, doll?”

You nodded, keeping your eyes away from him. He sat up slightly and placed his hand against your cheeks, pulling you to look at him.

“Look at me when I ask you something love, didn’t anyone teach you manners?”

Your eyes widened as you met his. They filled with lust as he smirked slightly to your embarrassed response. He pulled himself to you, placing his lips against your own as he began to undo his own zipper. You sucked against his piercings, receiving a moan from him in return.

Mingi pulled away quickly, spit hanging from your lips as he hurriedly pulled your shorts down. Kneeling down he placed two fingers against your heat, spreading it slightly to admire the sight in front of him. He licked up it softly, sucking against your clit as his tongue swirled around it.

“Mm, fuck that’s so good.” you let out in a breathless tone.

Your head fell back as you struggled to keep your composure with his tongue exploring between your folds. His lip piercings only pushing up against your clit softly. He placed two fingers against your cunt, slowly pushing them in to see how comfortable you’d feel with him doing it. You slowly opened up your legs to him, clenching around his fingers every time he pushed them further.

“More, please give me more.” you begged.

Mingi laughed at your request, nervous as he didn’t want to hurt you. However, he did as you wished.

He began to move his fingers in and out of you at a steady pace, all while his tongue danced around your clit. You moaned uncontrollably, arching your back slightly as he sucked the life out of you. With every moan you let out, he fastened the pace of his fingers, curling them slightly so they would hit your sweet spot.

“You’re such a slut. You’re seriously letting me fuck you like this, doll? So easily?”

Your hands clenched around the seat, eyes rolling back as he used his free hand to rub against your clit, two fingers still pumping in and out of you. Your moans grew louder and louder with each pump he gave, making his member rise slowly when it pressed against your leg. He tilted his head at you, watching you shake uncontrollably as you began to reach your high.

“M-mingi please.. I’m gonna..”

Did you really think he was going to let you off so easy?

He stopped, pulling his fingers out of you and placing them around your neck securely. You coughed a bit, as he dug his nails into your skin. Mingi gazed at you harshly as his free hand began to pull his pants down a bit, making you worry.

He’s tried long enough to be soft with you, but seeing how easily you fell apart under his touch awakened another side of him. His cock lingered in front of you, making you shiver at its girth and length. He rubbed the tip softly, letting out a gentle moan as he tapped it against your wet folds.

He looked up at your nervous expression, leaning over to place a soft kiss against your lips.

“We don’t have to continue if you don’t want to.” he whispered.

He smiled softly at you, his hand coming up to caress your cheek. You nodded at his reassurance, appreciating it but you were too far gone to just let this go. You grabbed onto his cock, his veins pulsating against your grasp as you shoved it into you. A loud moan came out of you, your walls clenching repeatedly around his girth.

Mingi’s eyes widened at tour actions, making him breath in slowly to get a hold of himself. He whimpered softly at how your walls squeezed him. He grabbed your hands, placing them over your head as he held them down. His pace began slowly, making sure you could get used to him before he dared to go at it.

“Fuck..” he groaned, throwing his head back. His eyes were low and full of lust as he focused his gazed back onto you.

“Let me know if I hurt you, okay doll?”

His pace was steady, feeling more and more aroused by the squelching noises that came from you. Your soft moans filled the room as he continued to fuck you. His hand came down to your breasts, fingers fondling with your nipples.

You let out a small cry of pleasure as his cold rings pressed against your nipples. Leaving a sweet stinging feeling against them. Without realizing, his pace sped up slightly, his cock now poking at your cervix.

“Mingi..” you mumbled, your hands holding onto his arms as he continued to play with your nipples. He raised an eyebrow to you, tilting his head as he fucked you relentlessly.

“Hm? You okay?”

You nodded, closing your eyes as you felt his cock roam inside you. His veins poked at your walls, making you whimper under him as he fastened his pace more and more. Mingi’s groans intensified, sweat dripping from his head.

The feeling that lingered in your stomach from when Mingi had edged you returned, making you arch your back slightly. You could feel your high building with each thrust he gave to you, making you yearn for him more and more.

“Please..” you mumbled, barely able to speak.

He leaned over you, kissing your neck softly as his mouth hovered over your ear.

“Please what, baby? Use your words.”

Butterflies soared in your stomach as he whispered to you, basically talking you through your high. Your face flushed red, whimpers still leaving you as he began to fuck you roughly. His cock pounded against your heat, spurts of precum dripping out of you as he hit your sweet spot.

“I’m.. please.. let me..”

You grip onto him tightened as your cunt squeezed onto his cock repeatedly, making him groan out in pleasure as he struggled to keep his pace. At this rate, he wouldn’t be able to hold out any longer if you continued to do that.

“What’s wrong, baby? You wanna cum?”

You moaned slightly at his words, nodding quickly as you rolled your hips to his fucking, desperate for relief. Mingi’s breath hitched, earning a loud groan out of him that caused his pace to stumble.

With that, his hands were now on the sides of the ink bed, allowing him to pound you roughly as he got off to your whimpers and cries. His groans filled your ears as he let out a breathless “fuck” over and over. Your body became limp as the put in your stomach grew faster than you could prepare for, allowing you to finish so suddenly.

“Fuck, you’re so warm.” he mumbled, feeling your cum coat his cock as he overstimulated your insides.

His hand rested a top your clit, rubbing it softly even tho he banged into your cervix like no tomorrow. You cried out, practically begging him to stop as your walls pulsated repeatedly.

“I’m gonna cum in you… and.. and you’re gonna keep.. it inside, okay doll?”

His head was thrown back as he spoke, signaling the need to let go. He didn’t even bother to see your response, wanting to get off so badly in you. With a few final thrusts you felt his cum fill you, some of it dripping from the sides of your folds. His pace slowed as his high came down, making him pull out slowly. A stream of cum leaked from his cock, making him smile at the beauty before him.

“Look at you,” he started, placing small kisses against your chest. “You’re so pretty when you’re completely fucked out.”

Your face reddened at his words, making you turn tour face away from him. His hand came up to your chin, turning you back to meet his gaze as the lust that once filled his eyes, was now filled with admiration. He kissed your lips softly.

“I mean it, doll. Let’s get you cleaned up now. Wouldn’t want them knowing how you paid for your tattoo now, hm?”

—✫ taglist: @sundaybossanova @kittykat-25 @losrpark @vrtualsins @sanslovesblog

@scarfac3 @interweab @aestheticjoonie @hwasddeongbyeoli @yyaurii

@mingtinysworld @dvrktvnnel @honeyhwaaa

*comment to be added to the taglist!*

—divider creds to owner—

[ghoulphile]

it's always the quiet ones | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | pre-war cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 700 ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; oral (m receiving), throat fucking, choking, dirty talk, bathroom sex ➥ summary | based off this ask; We can see that Cooper tends to go for good girls (like @ghoulfuckersincorporated mentioned!), but what if he ran into a seemingly innocent - or at the very least kind - person… but they dirty talk like a sinner in the sack? ➥ notes | i humbly offer this drabble to @gingersforeverbox 🙈 masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?

At least, that’s what Cooper’s mama always said (and he wouldn’t know how right she was until he found himself shoved in a swanky club bathroom, slacks tucked under his ass as the prettiest — politest — lady choked herself with his cock).

Frankly, how he got here’s a hazy blur of bourbon and cigar smoke.

Whispered conversations and coy looks. The flash of cherry red nails, and a well timed head tilt; a pretty little thing cozied against him as nameless faces passed in and out of view.

Another pointless after party (though far smaller of an event than he used to pull) where vultures circled the room, waiting for their chance to pick at his bones. LA devotee’s ready to snap up the scraps of the once great Cooper Howard.

Dog eat dog; he couldn’t stand the petty games —the mindless indulgences.

So, he’d invited you as a buffer.

An acquaintanceship that’d gone back years, having met on set of one of his earlier productions, you were always cordial and had a kind word to say about anybody. Not a mean bone in that body… or so he’d thought.

Now, he’s not so sure he knows you half as well as he thought he did.

“Fuck!”

Air hisses through his teeth, his hands hovering over the sides of your head, unsure where to grip. Your hair looks awfully pretty (like it took a long time to force into shape), he’d hate to ruin the style. But if you keep trying to suck his soul out through his cock, he might just have to sink his fingers into those delicate curls and yank.

“S-Sweetheart, what are you — oh, ssshit.”

You peer up at him from beneath the spiky fan of your lashes and hum. His hips jump and you choke, your tongue pinned as your teeth scrape along his thick shaft.

Spit drips past your swollen lips, clings to your chin in sticky strings. The lower half of your face is a mess of smeared lipstick and pre-cum.

He pants, gazing down at you with awe. “How’re you so fucking good at this?”

He’s so big, stretching your mouth to the limit. A tender ache sets behind the hinge of your jaw, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Those half-lidded eyes, dark and hungry, make it all worth it. The slack circle of his mouth, the pained furrow of his brows as he wrestles with his self control all the payment you require.

You pop off; trace along the throbbing vein with your tongue as the heavy weight of his cock slips free with a wet suction. Your thighs clench and your toes curl in your heels at the low-throated groan punched from his chest.

“Practice makes perfect, don’t you think, Mr Howard?” you press a sloppy kiss to his leaking slit, lapping up the salty beads of fluid. Your fingers roll his balls, dragging the tips of your nails along the sensitive skin to watch him shiver. “Besides, I’ve seen how you look at me.”

His eyes flick off to the side, blowing wide once he catches your reflections in the mirror. He gulps, his knuckles white beside his hips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.”

“Please, spare me.”

You snort, roll your eyes and shoot him a catty grin. Laugh when his cock throbs at the teasing flash of your tongue.

“You’re sweet — as true a gentleman as they come — but you can’t fool me. You’ve wanted me since you met me... and I don't get my best dress dirty for just anyone.”

“...”

“Now, before you try to say otherwise, remember whose on their knees with your cock in their mouth.”

“...No. Y-You’re right but I… I shouldn’t want to.”

You wink, circle the crown of his head with a red nail. More pre-cum dribbles from the slit, sticky drops you kiss away with your tongue.

“It’s okay, Mr Howard,” you say. “I want you too. Now do us both a favor and fuck my throat until I can’t talk. Please, I want it to hurt — want you to make me cry.”

[annabelinlove]

Tattoo

Pairing: Wolfstar x reader (Sirius Black x Remus Lupin x Reader)

Summary: You wanted to get your first tattoo

Word Count: 2k

Notes: fluff, fem!reader, no use of Y/N, language, English isn’t my first language, lmk if I missed any

“I wanna get a tattoo,” you mumbled with food in you mouth, looking at your plate of spaghetti, but the boys didn’t seem to hear you. Sirius was too preoccupied inhaling his food and Remus was looking at him in bewilderment, he could never understand how he could eat like this and not suffocate himself.

“I’m sorry dove, what was that?” Remus turned his gaze to where you were sitting right in front of him. But before you could say anything he turned his attention back to Sirius. “Siri, you’re gonna choke, if you keep eating like this, my star,” he tried to get Sirius to stop but the boy in question just playfully winked at him and kept eating. You took a deep breath; you knew that it was now or never. You swallowed your bite and said out loud.

“I wanna get a tattoo.” That has finally gotten the boys attention. Sirius choked on his food and started coughing loudly, Remus just rolled his eyes, before patting his back and shooting him a look that said I told you so. When your boyfriend finally stopped coughing and could normally breathe, his whole attention went to you, as did Remus’.

“You wanna do what now?” He almost yelled, looking at you stunned, matching Remus’ expression. Both of them knew how much you loved their tattoos, how could they not, when you told them almost every day and you ogled them every time, they were visible. But neither of them had any idea you wanted one as well.

“I’ve been thinking about it for quite some time now, to be honest. I think it could look pretty and, well you know, badass. Plus, you look so cool with yours and I wanna be more like you, get out of my comfort zone as well,” you admitted shyly, not looking at them. Remus noticed your sheepishness and decided to approach it more calmly than his boyfriend.

“That sounds really lovely, sweets. But you know it’s gonna be permanent right? I don’t want you doing something you might regret. I’m all for getting out of your comfort zone but do it only if you’re really sure.” He said sweetly, but all he could think of was what design you’ve chosen, imagining wild things in his mind.

“Sirius has tattoos he regrets, and I bet you do too, so what if I do as well?” You asked, finally looking up from your plate but your gaze stayed on Sirius’ bicep, where he had Remus has a big dick tattooed. He doesn’t really remember getting it done, he just woke up one day, after a crazy party, with sore arm and a new tattoo. He blames James and Marlene for it. You know he secretly likes it (because it’s true) but regrets it because Remus gave him a really hard time about it, when he found out. He secretly likes it too and it boosts his ego, but he would never admit it.

“Sirius is an idiot who gets every stupid shit tattooed on his body. You can’t compare yourself to him, dove” Remus also looked at Sirius’ bicep, blushing a little bit.

“Heyy, you love my body with every stupid shit on it, and we all know it.” Sirius imitated him, playfully looking offended before continuing speaking. “Yes, I wish I didn’t get some tattoos done and that’s okay, I’m fine with it, we just don’t want you to make the same mistake. Especially with your first tattoo, that’s a big deal. You never forget your firsts.” Sirius winked at you, proud of his innuendo. You blushed, knowing damn well it was true, the memory of your first time with your boys came to your mind. You quickly blinked to get the image out of your head, looking at the smirking boys who knew exactly what you were thinking about.

“I’m not gonna regret it, I’ve gave it a lot of thoughts and I already know what I’m gonna get.” You smiled at the idea of you finally having a tattoo, just like your lovers.

“Okay then, I’m gonna book you with my favorite artist, he’s amazing and always does an amazing job” Sirius beamed at you.

“I thought I was your favorite artist.” Remus pouted at his boyfriend playfully. He was responsible for at least half of Sirius’ ink and Sirius was always bragging about it to everyone who cared to listen.

“And you are my love, I just think that your first tattoo should be done by a professional.” Sirius tried to defend himself, even tho he knew his boyfriend was only joking.

“Are you calling me unprofessional?” Remus teased him more, “And wasn’t your first tattoo done by James?” You added into the teasing, grinning wildly. Sirius gave you both the middle finger, rolling his eyes before continuing to eat, not having anything to defend himself with. Remus laughed loudly at his defeat, looking at him with love.

“I think that’s a good idea actually, to get it done in a professional salon. It could also make you feel more comfortable than one of us doing it.” He shrugged his shoulders, starting to eat as well, but in a much slower pace than his boyfriend, who stuffed his face with spaghetti again.

“I could never feel more comfortable with someone else than you, my loves,” you stated strongly, looking at them with big smile in my face. You were happy that they supported your decision and were happy for you.

———

True to his word, Sirius booked you with his tattoo artist and just in two weeks, you were walking to the salon, with your boys by your side. You couldn’t keep the excitement at bay, as you were almost skipping on the way. You couldn’t be more excited to have a tattoo on your own. People always saw your two boys with tattoos on almost every inch of their bodies, especially Sirius, and gave you weird looks when you admitted you didn’t have any. Now you could finally show them as well as have something new to bond over with Remus and Sirius. They kept asking you about the design you decided to have permanently inked on your body, but you were adamant on it being a surprise and didn’t show them, no matter how persistent they were.

They insisted on going to the salon with you and as you stepped inside, you were glad. The tattoo artist sat you down on a chair as he went to get everything sorted and the fear of needles suddenly hit you and you gripped both of their hands. Both of them immediately noticed and Remus placed a soothing hand on your cheek.

“Are you feeling okay, dovie?” He asked gently and rubbed your cheek soothingly. You swallowed the lump in your throat before answering. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a tad bit nervous.” You bit the inside of your cheek, looking at their tattooed hands and wondering how much it had to hurt.

“You know, you don’t have to go through with it, if you’re not sure. We can walk out right this second.” Sirius lifted your chin so you could look o his serious expression.

“But I want to have a cool tattoo and be hot.” You whined slightly and Sirius’ eyes widened.

“Woman, your are the hottest person to ever live! You’re so hot, I can't believe we haven’t melted yet” He shrieked and in the corner of your eyes, you could see Remus rolling his eyes at Sirius’ loud proclamation but he smiled nonetheless.

“He’s right, you know? You’re smoking hot, with or without tattoos. If you don’t wanna do it, or you’re not sure, we can get out and you’d still be the hottest, more beautiful person to ever walk this earth.” He stated, giving you his most sincere look so you knew he wasn’t joking. You giggled, all the anxiety leaving your body.

“Thank you, but I’m sure. I wanna do this, I really do.” You breathed in and with that, the artist joined your and asked the boys to leave so he could tattoo in private. They both gave you a last look, silently asking if you were sure and when you gave them a nod and a big smile, they both kissed your cheeks and went to sit in the waiting room.

After an hour, the guy was wrapping up your new tattoo. The pain wasn’t even that bad, and the man was talking to you the whole time, helping you with distraction. You put on your (Remus’) sweater, not wanting the boys to see just yet, and went to the reception to pay and leave. He gave you a huge discount, thank to Sirius, and with a promise to see him soon, you left to get your lovers. The second you walked into the waiting room, Sirius jumped to his feet, rushing to you.

“Show me, show me, show me.” He begged like a little boy who is waiting to get a present. Remus walked slowly to the two of you and once again, placed a hand on your cheek.

“How are you feeling, sweets? Are you fine? Was the pain okay?” He asked, wanting to make sure you were okay. You smiled at them, the smile hurting your cheeks as you took both their hands in yours.

“I’m amazing. It was fine, didn’t hurt that much and we talked the whole time.” You calmed him down. Remus looked like he wanted to say something but Sirius jumped in.

“That’s amazing, love. Now show us!” He really looked like a kid, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“I wanna show you when we get home.” Sirius looked like you took away his favorite toy, pouting. Remus laughed at him and went to the exit, holding the door open for you and your whining boyfriend.

“You’re killing me, you know that? I’ve been waiting for two whole weeks.” He trailed after you, like a dog with his tail between his legs.

“See, you’ve waited for this long, you’re gonna survive the few extra minutes.” Remus gave him a kiss on the cheek, taking his hand and you all walked back to your shared apartment.

The second you arrived home, Sirius insisted you show them the tattoo. I’m gonna throw myself out the window if I don’t see it this second, were his exact words. Surprisingly, Remus agreed with him, proclaiming you’ve teased them long enough, with a smirk on his face. You took of the sweater as well as your shirt, taking a deep breath. You were a bit nervous about their reaction. Their eyes fell on your collarbones where the new tattoo laid.

Canis Major (the constellation Sirius was named after) on one side and the Lunar phase on the other. Both boys had their mouth wide open, staring at the ink on your body.

“Is- is it real?” Remus whispered, like he wasn’t with you at the salon. Both him and Sirius walked closer, wanting to have a better look. You nodded, too nervous at their silence to speak out loud.

“I can’t believe you did that.” He said quietly and softly, his eyes never leaving my collar bones.

“You don’t like it?” You asked meekly, scared that they hated it. Sirius whipped his head to look you in the eyes so quickly you were surprised he didn’t break his neck.

“Are you kidding? I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. It’s just..” he said but trailed off, fishing for words. He looked almost insulted when you suggested they didn’t like it.

“We absolutely love it, my sweet girl. We just can’t believe you’d tattoo something with a connection to us.” Remus added, looking at you gently, his eyes full of love. You looked at him in absolute shock.

“Of course I’d tattoo something with a connection to you. You’re my whole world.” Sirius and Remus looked at you like you hung the stars for them.

“And you are ours, our lovely girl. It’s fucking perfect, just like you. I couldn’t love you more.” Sirius said kissing you deeply, before passing you to Remus who did the same thing.

“I can’t believe you did that, my love. Thank you.” He leaned his forehead against yours, his love for you radiating off of him. You basked in their love before Sirius gasped loudly.

“Wait! You’ve let a stranger look and touch you without a shirt on?”

[gabessquishytum]

a silly idea: since dream isn't really all that human, sometimes he forgets to manifest himself a wedding band when he visits hob in the waking world. it doesn't actually matter since their souls are cosmically intertwined or whatever dream tells hob, but sometimes hob makes fun of him for forgetting, jokingly accusing him of having an affair, which dream instantly becomes overly dramatic and defensive about because he's dream, etc. it's just a joke for them until it gets turned onto hob one day while they're out in public, at a museum or something, and somebody's grandmother accuses hob of cheating on his wife, hence why he's out on a date with a single man and only he has a ring on. dream uses his shred of sense of humor to tease dream about it until the end of time, of course

AHHHH I do love this.

Imagine Dream turning to Hob, eyes twinkling - "she's right, Robert, you promised to tell your wife about me and you still haven't done it! you don't intend to divorce her at all, do you?!" Leaving Hob half laughing, half protesting as he's smacked with the grandmother's handbag and glared at by every visitor in the museum. Dream is extremely amused.

From then on "when are you going to tell your wife about me" totally becomes their favourite inside joke, with both of them using it on each other at inopportune moments. It's certainly an incentive for Dream to remember his wedding ring, that's for sure! Which is nice, because Hob really does like to have solid proof that Dream is his husband - sometimes he thinks he might have dreamt the whole thing! (Technically he did, their wedding was in the dreaming, but regardless: that little gold band is real proof that it happened, and Hob gets to love and tease Dream forever <3)

[strwbmei]

i can't get kafka off the brain, she's so attractive 😭 she'd be such a huge brat, testing your patience all the time with that smug grin. she deserves to get tied up, gagged, spanked, humiliated and fucked until she's crying and promising to be good 💞 she's 100% a masochist

-🌧️

I am so sorry. This was only supposed to be a short, 2-4 paragraph thirst, but then it turned into pure filth 😭😭😭 Also a bit extreme compared to other things I've written, so it might not be to most people's tastes

nsfw utc (fem reader with strap on, bondage, dom/sub dynamics, use of toys, spanking, dacriphilia, not proofread)

She'd probably rile you up on purpose just for that. There's nothing she wants more than to just lay there and get fucked senselessly until she inevitably ruins the sheets, and she knows you're perfectly willing to accommodate her. Still, getting what she wants so easily would be so boring, wouldn't it? It's not fun if you aren't seething with a kind of irritation only Kafka could make you feel and if she still has some form of control of her body.

It'd start with you tying Kafka up, a bullet vibrator pressed onto her clit. The way her moans sound through the gag is delightful; they show how much of a whore she is for you. You watch her with disinterest and indifference in her eyes, fully clothed as opposed to how the only things Kafka is wearing are a ball gag and fancy ropes of silk the color of your eyes (something she insisted on) digging into her curves and currently unblemished skin.

It's humiliating, really, being forced to feel all vulnerable and owned—but both of you know just how much she loves that. Maybe if you're in a good mood, you'll even let her cum once or twice tonight. Kafka doubts that, though, especially with how bratty she's been acting. Your patience has its limits, and Kafka wants nothing more than to push you over the very brink of it. She starts begging, vulgar and wanton; almost mocking in its tone.

Kafka thinks you've finally given in when you remove the vibrator from her puffy clit. She prides herself in her beauty, after all. No one would be able to resist her "charms" for long... right? Wrong. Instead, you push her down, knees bent so her face is pressed into the mattress while her hips are up in the air. When you start spanking her ass, she begs for the bullet vibrator again. Her abused cunt just feels so empty, fluttering around nothing as your hand leaves yet another mark on her ass. She's already so overstimulated, and you've barely even started.

The woman endures, locks of hair the color of her most favored wine cascading along her back as each moan becomes more strained than the last. Anticipation fills her lust-addled head as she feels the tip of your length rubbing against her folds. You relish in the way her back arches as you finally insert the strap-on inside her neglected cunt, not to mention the drawn-out moan she lets out. God, you're sure her facial expression right now is downright sinful—you can tell by how she's clawing at the bedsheets and eagerly moving her hips to chase yours.

But you don't move.

Why would you? Did Kafka think you'd be nice to her after all that she's done? Her whines are barely audible through the ball gag, but you hear her mention something about "how mean you always are to her." Funny. You've been patient with all of her bullshit for as long as you've remembered, yet now you're the mean one. You were planning to be a bit lenient since you felt bad for her, but she can wave goodbye to any chance of being able to use either her voice or her legs for the next few days.

"Move," you command her. "Don't you think it's time you stopped relying on me to get you off?" Kafka whimpers at your words, looking back at you with glossy eyes. You can't help but snicker in response. It's rare to see her so desperate and needy to be filled. Maybe you should do this more often? She never really learns her lesson, after all. Realizing you weren't gonna budge on your decision, she rocks her hips as much as she can with her limited range of movement. She can feel each vein and bump of the fake toy rubbing against her walls, but it just isn't enough.

It's not rough enough. Not fast enough. Not deep enough. Nowhere close to being enough, but Kafka submits to the humiliation nonetheless. She can't bring herself to care anymore, too focused on making sure to savor each and every bit of pleasure she's feeling. You look at how fervently she's fucking herself on the fake cock, and think of how you've each turned the other into fully fledged perverts. Kafka wasn't this much of a masochist before she ended up in your bed. Or was it hers? You don't remember.

She never understood the people who liked getting hurt. Kafka used to find the marks that ropes left on her skin itchy and unbearable, but now she loves reliving the memories of lust and passion whenever she sees them. She wears them with pride. You, on the other hand—have never felt like more of a degenerate. You catch yourself wanting to break her; to ruin her for anybody else. You desire to know her body in a way completely exclusive to you. You want to own her; mind, body, and soul.

The past few minutes are a blur. Without realizing, you've been fucking Kafka senseless as she sobs from the overstimulation. The smell of sex fills the air as does the sound of your hips colliding with the fat of her ass. You thrust as quickly as you can, much to the other woman's pleasure, but the tightness of her pussy makes it more difficult than it usually is. You've been holding her over the brink for a while now—you're not sure how long exactly, but enough for her legs to be shaking and for her knees to give out. If not for your hands settling themselves on her waist, she would've toppled over. Kafka is powerless, and she loves it.

When you see her cum form a white ring on the base of your strap, you know you've found another excuse to fuck her dumb, and you plan on making full use of it.

[siasthoughts]

« I'M THE ONE YOU ALWAYS NEED. »

CONCEPT; MORTEFI X F!READER . YOU WENT TO HIM TO ASK HIM TO INVENT SOMETHING.

TOPICS/WARNINGS; USING TOYS . QUICK ORAL (F!RECEIVING) . ATP IDK . NGL THIS FEELS LIKE A DRABBLE . P IN V . PROBABLY OOC

IM PLAYING WUTHERING WAVES AND IM IN LOVE W SO MANY OF THEM N R PLANNING SOME FICS 💞 also should i start writing on ao3 hehe

WORD COUNT; 1.5K

"hey..." you voiced awkwardly as you tapped your knuckles at his open office door, catching his attention. "yes, do you need anything?" he asks, turning towards you and putting down his tablet. you walk into the office nervously, "you said i could ask you if i needed anything made, right?" you questioned, averting your gaze and looking around the room. "yes... i did say that." he looks at you, crossing his arms as he observed your anxious expression. you gulped quietly, swallowing your pride as you really can't seem to find anyone that sells these things... "have you ever made a..."

his eyes widen slightly at your inquiry, a replica of male genitalia? he clears his throat, holding up his fist to his mouth as he took a few moments to think before speaking up, "well no but... i couldn't say that anyone ever asked either." he turns back around to his desk and sends the current hologram he's working on into his drafts before starting a new project, "so... can you?" you asked for reassurance, tilting your head to get a view of the hologram.

he turns to you, leaning on his desk as he looks down at you with rested eyes, you could feel that you've definitely piqued his interest with your 'invention idea.' "have you ever considered just finding someone to be able to..." his voice lowers, "-use the real thing?" he leans down just a bit, but enough for you to get what he's insinuating. "well sure, in a way." you answered, your voice tensing up.

"oh really?" he retreats back, bringing up his hand to push his glasses back, "which person have you thought of?" he interrogated, seemingly trying to pry a certain answer out of you. you look away, staying silent for a few moments he breaks the silence with a small sigh, "well, it's understandable if you wish to not answer. but, i'll try to make that for you. expect it by the end of the day."

he sure works quick. a relieved exhale, even though embarassment still ran through your body, huffs out of your lips as he turns back to his desk. "t-thank you." you stammer nervously as you swiftly made your way out without exchanging any last words with the red haired researcher.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

as you were just getting ready to leave the laboratory, you hear a certain voice call out from behind you. you turn to see a familiar figure with gold-rimmed glasses—mortefi, and he was holding a paper bag.

you feel heat rise to your face as you remember what you just asked of him. "here's what you requested." he walks over to you, holding up the bag as his tablet rested within his other hand. "oh... you really made one." your hands trembled slightly as you took the bag, feeling shame wash over you. "oh, and sorry if it might not be to your best liking, i used... my own as a slight reference." he said as he closed his eyes for a few moments before looking back up at you.

shock runs through you for a few moments before you smiled awkwardly at him, "oh- okay. thanks a lot though!" you tried to force an enthusiastic answer, failing miserable as your voice cracked a bit. "well then, i guess it's time to head home and have fun, no?" he said rather coldly, and with a straight face as he eyed you. well that felt rather insulting. you laughed sheepishly as you clenched onto the paper bag.

you thought about it for a while, if it's like his... why not just use the actual reference?

"sir... have you ever bothered doing these things with someone?" you asked, making the tension even more unbearable and uncomfortable. his eyes narrowed as he looked at you, certain conclusions and thoughts already being formed in his head. "yes, in a way." he answered, seemingly mocking your words from earlier. "then..." you took a small breath, "would you mind using this with me?" your voice shakes as your grip on the bag tightens.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

well fuck.

he now knelt in between your thighs, with your legs over his shoulders, taking in your most sensitive parts as you sat over his desk. "i suppose we need to make your body ready first, right?" he voiced hoarsely, how is he doing this with a stern and cold expression? you swallow a breath as you looked at his calm gaze, "y-yes." you stuttered in a failed attempt to seem composed.

he took off his glasses, and placing it on his cold table before placing a warm, wet kiss onto your core, making your body shiver. you looked down at him as he strategically worked his mouth around you. he held onto your thighs, keeping you stable as his tongue gently worked around your folds, preparing your body and riling up it's appetite. your legs lock his head within your thighs, pulling him closer to your pussy. "mm..." he groaned out, making him frown a bit though he didn't really... dislike it.

"sorry..." you mumbled quietly, loosening your grip as he pulls back, and getting back up "it's very much okay and reasonable." he assures as he reaches for the bag and takes out it's contents. you shift your gaze to what's now in his hands, he used his own as reference?! it was lengthy, and he brought it down to your already wet cunt. "are you ready?" he asked, positioning the dildo against your drooling pussy, "yes." you whined quietly, looking down at the silicone toy.

"alright, i'm gonna do it slowly, okay?" he assured, his voice was low as he slowly pushed it in, starting with the tip. he kept his attention down towards your hole, observing the way it clenched desperately around the fake cock. he clenched his jaw as he slowly pushed it further, earning him a small moan from you as he felt his pants tighten. well shit.

he notices the now growing bulge in his pants as he pushes the entire thing into you gently, "is it okay?" he asks, looking back up at your now pleasure-washed face. it turned him even more. "absolutely..." you responded breathily as you looked down to see his aching cock hiding under the fabric of his pants. "i'll move it now." he thrusted the toy in and out slowly, hearing the wet noises as your pussy resisted against the movement.

he groans, feeling extremely jealous of the silicone figure within his hands. you moaned at the sensation electrifying you, shooting shots of pleasure into your veins as his hands sped up. your body shook as he started to get rougher, now slamming it into you as a knot formed quickly within your core.

"i-i'm getting close..." you mewled out as your legs instinctively closed themselves, and your back arching as his hand kept themselves on your hip to keep you stable. you cry out as you feel the pleasure wash over you, that knot breaking apart as you feel warm liquid spill out of your pussy, making your legs weak. "ah..." he muttered as he slowly pulled it out, feeling the fabric encasing his own heat now tighten even more as it hurts.

you look down at it, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you look up at him, "better if it's the real thing, no?" you said with a dazed laugh as you wrap your legs around his waist. "is this permission?" he asks with eager eyes as he put the dildo aside and his hands slowly undid his pants. "mhm..." you hummed, and even though you just finished, you felt excited for the real thing.

he laughed quietly as he let his pants fall a bit, revealing his twitching dick. it was desperate for your gaping hole, the way it squeezed on the dildo made him all frustrated for some reason. he wanted to feel it for himself. "i'm sorry, dear, i can't wait." he apologizes before pushing himself slowly but firmly into you. he groans at the feeling, your walls tightened against him and sending his body into euphoria as he feels his control over his body slowly dissipate.

you let out a staggered breath, though the smile returns to your lips as you find it in you to make some teasing remarks. "feels good, doesn't it?" you whisper as your hand moves up to cradle his face. "yes..." he says huskily as he couldn't find the strength to move. "what's wrong? why can't you move?" you voiced rather condescendingly as you start to circle your hips against him.

he frowns as his body twitches at your motion, with his grip on your waist deepening. you feel his fingers dig into your soft skin, making you feel a bit confident of your skills. mortefi hisses through his teeth as he slowly started to move, his length leaving your insides empty for a few moments before burying himself back inside you.

a small cry escapes your lips as you feel his cock fill your empty hole, and your body reacts as if it was running on desire. you reach for his back, your arms travel down his waist, stopping just at the hill of his hips. you push him further into you as sounds of pleasure quickly filled the room, echoing through the empty walls. you're both so lucky that everybody's gone.

you claw at his clothes, feeling as if you were ripping the white fabric apart, you whine out his name as you feel that familiar feeling boil up within your body. and you were sure he could feel it too. "are you close?" you asked breathily as his pace started to speed up, rougher, and harder. "so... tight." he frowns as he ravishes in the pleasure, letting it devour him as he continues to ram himself into you.

"i'm so close-" he scowls, his other hand roaming the skin of your stomach as he takes in the view under him. your vision slowly fades to white as you feel your mind go blank, losing your control over your body as you feel that sensation shatter, sending shards of pleasure all across your body. your body uncontrollably trembles under his touch as he pulls out swiftly with a groan and pressing his dick against your cunt, grinding into his climax.

you feel a sticky, warm liquid spill across your stomach and the soft plush of your pussy.

okay it's all up to u now guys 🤑

you have reached the end of this post

→ HOME?

[simping-on-the-daily]

Aita from telling off my brother in law after he made fun of me for using subtitles.

(Anon for personal reasons)

I (22) have been hard of hearing my entire life. Ever since could remember I've had hearing aids. Recently I went over to my sister's house for a BBQ with both our family and his family. For that day, my sister put on old classic movies on the T.V. in the living room for everyone to watch. When I finally sat down after talking to a bunch of people, I as my brother in law if he could turn on the subtitles as to make it easier for me to understand what is happening. He laughed and in a mocking tone asked if I really needed them. I was a bit shocked but still said yes. Then he asked again if I really needed them and said "you have ears you know, you people are the reason everyone is so soft." By this point I was passed as I have never felt so belittled for something so small. So I raised my voice basically saying that yes, I do need them, and was it so hard for him to turn on subtitles. He got defensive and said that I was really that deaf, I would have hearing aids. This would be a good time to mention I have long hair that usually cover my ears, which would cover my hearing aids as well. And frustrated, I pulled back my hair and yelled back "then what the hell are these." At this point other family members were watching us argue, and done, I just grabbed my stuff and left. After a hour or two I got a text from my sister that I ruined the BBQ and made our family not like her husband anymore. Saying that I need to apologize to him and talk to the family about how I was in the wrong. After reading it, I feel so conflicted. Like I thought it was right as I shouldn't have to prove anything just for someone to put subtitles on but I did just yell in his face.

I have idea what to do.

i am. so sorry but i think you got the wrong blog anon.

@am-i-the-asshole-official sorry for the pin but i think this might be for you?????

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

G🎸🥵🎀

Golden boy

Words: 989

Rated: E

Tags: Post-Vecna; Established relationship; Scars; Trauma; Dom!Eddie; Sub;Steve; Collars; Leashes; Choking; Butt plugs; Edging; Kink negotiation; Stoplight system

“Oh,” Eddie says, like he only just remembered. “I got you something from Indy.” 

Steve blinks sluggishly. He’s slipped into that pleasant, floaty headspace that he’s only ever able to find with Eddie. Everything is fuzzy around the edges, even the movie they’ve put on reduced to a dull drone in the background. He can't for the life of him remember which one it is. 

“Hm?” he murmurs - a barely there hum against Eddie’s skin, where his face is tugged into the crook of his neck. “Like a gift? ‘s not even my birthday.” 

“Oh,” Eddie chuckles, fingers tracing down the scars on Steve's back, coming to rest on the curve of his ass. “But what better way to spend that gig money than a present for my good boy? You've been good, haven't you, Stevie?” 

His hand slides between Steve’s ass cheeks and Steve gasps. 

“Yes. Yes, I've been good.” 

“Shhh, baby, I know you have,” Eddie coos, lightly flicking the base of the plug. Steve moans but doesn't buck, even though his naked cock is starting to strain against the fabric of Eddie’s jeans. “Wearing this for me, not touching yourself all week. You've been so, so good for me. And good boys get rewards, yeah?” 

He retrieves something from the sofa cushions and presses it into Steve’s hands. A flat, black box. It’s wrapped in a broad gold ribbon made of delicate tulle. It shimmers in the low light as Steve pulls open the knot, and for a second he's afraid it'll come apart under his touch. He can feel Eddie’s eyes on him, dark and intense, as he lifts the lid off the box. 

Inside, nestled on a velvet pillow, is a collar. Soft, tan leather with a gold buckle and a little o-ring to match. Steve’s stomach drops right out of his body.

“I- … no,” he hears himself murmur. “No way, I'm not doing that.” 

He doesn't even realize he's been trying to scramble off Eddie’s lap before those calloused fingers are on his hips, steadying him with gentle pressure. Not enough to keep him from getting away, should he put his mind to it. Just a firm, grounding reminder that Eddie has got him, that he's safe. 

“Woah,” Eddie mutters. “Okay, I think we need a check-in. Color?” 

Steve swallows and feels his throat bop around the lump that has lodged itself in there.

“Yellow? Listen, I'm sorry, I know we talked about this and I said I thought I might like it, but-” 

“But the real thing is different from the thought?” Eddie's voice is a low, soothing murmur. His thumbs are massaging little circles into the skin over Steve’s hip bones. 

“Yeah,” Steve says. Licks his lips. His eyes flicker back to the collar. “No. I dunno, it's weird. I thought I could do it, but …” 

He trails off, fingers brushing absentmindedly over the scar on his neck. Eddie’s eyes follow the movement and Steve's stomach coils with embarrassment. He knows Eddie has been looking forward to this all week, at least as much as himself. Way to ruin the mood. 

“I'm sorry,” he says again. “I should be over it by now.” 

Eddie shakes his head, smile fond, and sets the box with the collar aside. “Nah, big boy. You'll be ready when you're ready. Doesn't matter if that's next month, or next year, or never at all. Okay?” 

Steve nods, breathless, speechless. Something soft blooms in his chest, settling warm and tight in his abdomen as Eddie pulls him in for a kiss. 

“What do you like about it?” 

“Huh?” Steve says. Eddie has pulled back just enough to speak. Steve can feel the shape of the words against his lips.

“If you wanted to try this, that means there must be something you like about the idea. Tell me what it is?” 

Steve wets his lips.

“I, um … I like the idea of being yours, I guess. Of you putting something on me to remind me of that. To remind me you're in control.”

“I see,” Eddie hums. And then his fingers wrap around Steve's throat, a barely there pressure against his pulse, and Steve freezes. “So, how's this, color-wise?” 

“Green,” Steve gasps. His hips start rolling of their own accord, flushed cock grinding into Eddie’s lap. “So very fucking green. Eddie, please-” 

Eddie uses the hand against his throat to guide him into another kiss. Holds him in place while he takes his sweet time coaxing Steve’s lips apart, fucking his tongue into his mouth with slow, languid motions. It takes a long while until he allows them to part for breath, and even longer for Steve’s vision to swim back into focus. 

When it does, Eddie's hand is no longer on his throat. Instead, it's dangling the golden tulle ribbon between them, light and transparent as air. 

“Green,” Steve is whispering before he even knows he's made the decision. “Green, green, green. Fuck, Eddie, please!” 

The fabric feels cool and ticklish as it settles against his skin, and he knows that one sudden move would be all it takes to free himself. Also knows he’d never want to break free. Not when Eddie’s eyes are full of that burning adoration, not when it feels so good, being at his mercy.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes. He lets the long ends of the ribbon rest in his hand, like a leash. “You look amazing in gold.”

“Y-yeah?” Steve asks. He feels dizzy - drunk in the best possible way. He's naked and collared and completely in Eddie’s control, and he never wants to be anywhere else. 

“Oh yeah,” Eddie agrees. “But you know where you'd look even better?” 

He tugs on the makeshift leash, smile turning sharp when Steve moans in response. 

“On your knees between my legs, hands behind your back.” 

Oh, right. Turns out there is a place Steve would like to be even better. 

More celebration ficlets

[happy-place-for-sad-people]

something my therapist told me and might help you through difficult times: your brain holds resistance to change. you've been doing something for so long now, to the point that's what you consider normal or routine. you wanting to change that for one reason or the other will be conflicting, and your system will probably make you feel like that's not what you want or need, but remember it's just your brain playing tricks on you. you're on the right path, sweet soul, keep it going. i love you.

[lethby]

What's wrong with lesson 16 (everything)

A list by yours truly, who is about to collapse if she doesn't vent about it (TW: opinion lmao)

⍣ ೋ The time-travel shit

LITERALLY WHY

It creates so many problems and plot holes that could easily be avoided for no reason.

We leave everyone behind and it's never even addressed?? THEY'RE WAITING FOR US???

Barbatos, supposedly the one that cares about balance and timelines, just goes "well you're stuck here and I literally erased the other MC, good ending :D"

He told her "don't run into anyone" and she decides FIRST THING to head where all the noise is coming from, not trying to hide at all

⍣ ೋ No consequences whatsoever

It's awesome to know no one cared about MC dying

Sure, she's "alive" now, but everyone moved on so quickly??? Even Mammon, who was in the verge of a meltdown.

And it's all because we're Lilith's descendant how convenient

Even Belphie, our murderer who has hated humans for MILLENNIA, had a major switch up at this

Also, the brothers begin to completely disregard MC by treating her like Lilith

Look I understand, it's your dead sister and you miss her, BUT MC IS NOT HER. SHE IS HER OWN GODDAMN PERSON

But the worst part is... MC IS SO DAMN CHILL ABOUT IT

Even if she technically isn't the one who died, you'd expect some kind of uneasiness coming from her, SPECIALLY AROUND BELPHIE

Words can't express how much I hate it

⍣ ೋ Solution

I'm gonna make the devs a favor and fix their game

REVIVAL

MC JUST REVIVES FOR WHATEVER REASON (Lilith's will, the last remnants of her powers, Barbatos' precautions...)

Now you don't have to worry about too many plot holes, focusing on just one timeline

Also this allows her to remember her death, making her trauma more intense and veridical

I know it sounds crazy but if they could pull off lesson 16, they can pull this off

Make the brothers indecisive

They got their little brother back, but at what cost?

Everything is fine now, right? But it's not. MC is not "fine"

Make them conflicted between taking MC's side and comforting her but also welcoming Belphie and make up

MAKE MC UNCOMFORTABLE

I can't stress enough how important this part is

Give her TIME to evolve, develop as a character, and understand her feelings

She wouldn't want to be around Belphie, at all

She might not even wanna be around the others, seeing as they treat her like nothing happened

Make her upset, confused, feel like she doesn't belong, ANYTHING

MAKE HER GO THROUGH THE STAGES OF GRIEF

In fact, if you want to make her relationship with Belphie nourish, you can do that too by not just hey lol I killed you but I'm good now

Make her have nightmares

That's it

Make Belphie notice the dark circles under her eyes and the way she avoids him, then discover she has nightmares

The "now" Belphie could feel guilty

He might try to comfort her, only for her to shy away in response

Seeing as his apologies don't work this early into the trauma, he could enter her dreams and chase those nightmares away, every night, sacrificing his own sleep

THAT is a dynamic I want to see, personally

This could have been done with or without the time-travel, btw

In the time-travel, though, I was also missing some grieving from MC

Remember when I said to make the brothers conflicted? Make MC suffer more too

She wants to go back to her time, her universe, her family. They're waiting for her

But she also doesn't want to leave behind these demons, which have just found peace and happiness after a long time

Here's the catch, No matter what she chooses, she's forced to live her life regretting whatever decision she makes, since she can't make everyone happy and one side must suffer inevitably

An MC going through a heavy trauma and eventually (and slowly) overcoming it would just click with so many players

⍣ ೋ Conclusion

To me, the game didn't fully explore the feelings that going through that experience would bring for everyone, even if the idea itself was interesting. No, more like it didn't WANT to. Making MC go through all that would mean a lot of character development for a big amount of characters and little romance, which is what the game is about.

However, if you can't make that sacrifice, don't settle your game in a world rich in lore. And honestly, with all the explanations and back stories, I don't think obey me! is lacking on that. More so that, even if they were fully capable, they didn't want to go through all the trouble. Remember we're coming from an already fucked up scenario that took a lot of chapters.

Finally, this is just my opinion based on my experience. Of course, you don't have to agree with me in any way.

I have to say, that was relaxing lmaoo

Anyways, since I really like this idea and I've seen several people do it, I'm gonna make my own fanfic exploring how I think lesson 16 would have turned out realistically, hope you stay tuned!

Lethby ༊*·˚

[axellis]

good morning im politely requesting people look at my post abt how the ancients see each other

under the cut some closeups + a ton of additional thoughts

hollyberry + golden cheese are also part of the crew of 'thinking pv is a bit naive', but he's also the most emotionally intelligent out of all of them and incredibly empathetic and thats something they both respect a whole lot .

dark cacao on the flipside can see how much of a mental toll being empathetic can be

white lily seems to have the most "whole" thought of pv - which would make sense, she's been with him the longest and has seen every facet that is pv. but even still her worries that he's too trusting of her are eating away at her thoughts- as such a pv shapeshifter made of her subconscious Would be way more naive .

in my head white lily's pv would be the last shapeshifter and in order to tell the difference between them white lily would ask if he ever doubted her . the real pv would say that he definitely struggled and had been lost and confused- but ultimately trusts her above all else . vs the shapeshifter who would just say "no I'd never doubt you" .

i didnt have room for it but i think dark cacao also recognizes hollyberrys seriousness . if you get drunk with someone enough times you'll start to piece together the really vulnerable moments you had with eachother . i think hollyberry and dark cacao have the closest relationship and im not saying this because im in love with both of them

golden cheese has a bit of a recollection issue and you can see that with hollyberry + cacao the most. golden cheese reminisces a Lot and that affects how she remembers the othera . hollyberrys is a bit of a trickier thing but in this instance golden cheese doesnt remember the braids. she knows hollyberry has a different outfit than before but doesn't pay it much mind

you might have noticed the pattern at this point of pure vanilla having a bit of a cutesy interpretation of all the ancients. he loves his friends so much that he has a bit of a harder time being critical of them. he thinks dark cacaos seriousness/grumpiness is endearing. to be honest its partly an inverse of shadow milks interpretation of the ancients (simple and positive vs simple and negative) but that wasnt entirely intentional. just interesting to notate now that im thinking of it

hollyberrys dark cacao is a bit of an inverse also to what i was talking about with dark cacaos hollyberry . shes seen the sweeter more heartfelt side of dark cacao and that shines through to her

if it wasnt for the outfit + hair, golden cheese's dark cacao would have probably been the last shape shifter standing

and i will stand by the dragon cacao headcanon till the day i die

golden cheese's was fun to think about bc of the little details that are different between the different shapeshifters- specifically in the neck area (bc thays the only portion you guys get to see) . dark cacaos is a bit more of a hanbok style, white lily has a turtleneck thing kind of happening, etc etc. i think pure vanilla has the most accurate idea of what she looks like .

i think white lilys interestingly enough would be the last one standing because i honestly dont think her golden cheese would even be talking with her :(( so we'd only really find out the difference when white lily's gc is forced to talk to her . white lily thinks that gc hates her and wants her gone but golden cheese's feelings are wayy wayyy more complicated. golden cheese doesn't want white lily gone she Is glad that she's back but its also hard. everything she loves is gone right now . but she's going to find a way to get it back- and if white lily can help than maybe that'll rekindle their relationship.

the cuteification beam still reaches for white lily despite how much pv knows her . i doubt this would help with white lilys feelings that pv is being naive bc shes looking at a shapeshifter based off of pvs subconscious and that subconscious is showing so mucy nostalgia it probably hurts

hollyberry in the past probably really babied white lily + pure vanilla because she Knows theyre not eating . shes observant as hell and will always demand they have at least one bite of something in order to figure out if they're Really "not hungry".

the last one would probably land on golden cheese's bc again . her feelings are complicated and as such her subconscious would showcase that multifaceted issue of "knowing this is your friend and also knowing your friend is responsible for your kingdoms destruction".