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luveline · 4 months

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𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭, ��𝐮𝐬𝐭 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, buddy, 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) ❤️

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

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greensagephase · 11 days

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For Better or Worse - Part 2

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x Female!Reader Summary: Overwhelmed, you seek a moment of solitude on your sister's wedding day at the garden, but you can't even have that thanks to your sister's now brother-in-law, Miguel. Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: use of y/n; no name for your sister still (I think we're just going to go with a nickname); some cussing; alcohol consumption; pesky aunts and a divorced man offer unsolicited opinions; some Spanish but translations are provided in text; a bit of arguing; suggestive content, so MDNI, please!; reader is fluent in Spanish; I think that's all A/N: hiiii, finally updating this after two months 🫠 But anyway, I just wanted to give a big thank you to @lauraolar14 for the amazing fanart she made from part 1!! Found here ! Thank you, Lara!! 🥰 Pls go and support her!! Masterlist | Spotify Previous Part

You down a glass with water and place it on a tray just as a waiter offers you another drink. You politely decline before letting your gaze wander around the elegant venue your sister and Gabriel chose for the reception, thinking how it’s truly beautiful and perfect for the wedding they both envisioned.

Your eyes eventually land on the newlyweds as they dance, a smile tugging at your lips. They’ve been dancing nonstop since their first dance, which means their feet will likely be sore tomorrow. However, by tomorrow afternoon they should be in their honeymoon destination, relaxing from the last couple of days of last minute wedding shenanigans and basking in their newlywed energy.

“Aww, sweetie,” someone says, ripping your attention from your sister and now brother-in-law. It’s one of your aunts. You offer a polite smile as she approaches, your gut warning you about her intentions. “Look at you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Look at me…?” you state but it sounds more like a question.

“This must be so hard for you,” your aunt says, taking your arm and holding it, with a sad tone that matches the frown on her face.

You hold back from sighing in annoyance, recognizing where this is going. You’ve heard it twice already from two other aunts.

“Not really. I know she’s the baby of the family, but well, we all grow up, right?” you reply, forcing a smile. You hope your words will deter your aunt from explaining what she truly means, but unfortunately for you, it doesn’t.

“Aw, not that, sweetie. I mean, yes, but I was referring to how hard it must be for you as the eldest. Seeing your younger sister get married before you - it must be so hard. You should’ve been married by now, maybe with a little toddler at your side. Instead, you’ve found yourself witnessing your younger sister marry first, and who knows, maybe pregnant in a few months, but cheer up, sweetie. Don’t let this make you feel less, okay? Sometimes… Not everyone has the pleasure of marrying and experiencing motherhood, but that’s alright. I’m sure you have other… things that bring happiness to you, like… your job?” your aunt says, giving your arm what she thinks is a reassuring squeeze, but is rather an uncomfortable one. On top of that, she’s delivering another jab at you she doesn’t even know she’s making. “I’m sure that brings a lot of satisfaction to you.”

“Thank you for your kind words,” you force yourself to say with a fake smile that seems to go past your aunt. You silently pray she leaves you alone and that this is the last time you have to hear the same “comforting” and ��reassuring” words for the night. You hope so, or you’ll slap someone. Mentally, of course. You’d never cause any kind of commotion publicly, much less at your sister’s wedding when you care so deeply about her and Gabriel. Besides, that’d give the people a field day and fill their minds with thoughts of you being “jealous” or “resentful” about your sister marrying before you.

Thankfully, your aunt leaves, off to offer more unsolicited advice and words of comfort, probably.

“Mierda [shit],” you sigh just as you hear a man somewhere behind you.

“Ah, Miguel! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Working all the time, huh?”

Subtly, you glance behind you at the man’s words. You didn’t even know Miguel was nearby, but now knowing he is, you wonder if he heard your aunt. You hope he didn’t as the last thing you want is Miguel to think you were looking at the newlyweds with jealously and that that was the reason your aunt felt the need to provide those “reassuring” words.

“Yes, yes. I stay busy working,” you hear Miguel reply.

“Good for you. And you’re still single?” the man asks.

“Si. No tengo pareja [Yes. I don’t have a partner],” Miguel replies, a hint of humor in his tone.

“That’s good, that’s good! No plans of marriage in sight for you. It’s better that way. You can spend your money how you want to, no children involved, no woman bothering you about grand gestures, or making you spend money. Enjoy your youth, have your fun. Maybe later on, you can settle down.”

You continue to watch the people on the dance floor, but you can’t help but scoff to yourself at the difference.

Your aunt was just pitying you about not being married and having children, but Miguel is being celebrated for the same thing by this man when he’s a few years older than you. You grab a glass from a waiter’s tray, thanking him. “I need one, or two after the crap I’m hearing,” you murmur to yourself as he walks away.

“You think so?” Miguel asks. “At my age, people think I ought to be married. Maybe with a kid or two.”

“No, no. Trust me, it’s better. That’s why I divorced.”

“I thought it was your wife who divorced you,” Miguel says gently. Despite the gentleness, Miguel’s words tear down the man’s attempt to make it seem like he had been the one to make the decision, and had you been watching Miguel, you would’ve noticed his raised brow to go along with it.

“Ah - well. Yes… But who cares? I’m divorced and free. I’m doing better than I was.” The man laughs. “I’m doing so, so, so great...” he says trailing off before chugging down some alcohol, a sign of a man who is most definitely doing great.

You roll your eyes. God bless that woman, she made the right choice divorcing the idiot behind you.

“Yeah, well…” you hear Miguel start. “I guess marriage is not for everyone. I’m not going to say it’s not for me, though. Who knows? Maybe one day a woman catches my attention.”

“You’ll be a miserable man, trust me. Don’t let any woman lure you into the marriage trap. You’re too young. Enjoy your youth. Go on dates. Have fun, if you know what I mean,” the man says, using a tone that leaves no doubt about what he’s referring to.

You decide you’ve heard enough, so you walk away, glass in hand. You glance at your sister and Gabriel from the sidelines of the dance floor, still dancing and lost in their own little and magical bubble. The sight brings a smile to your face once more before you turn, seeking a moment to yourself.

You step out of the venue, sighing deeply as you walk into a garden area where photos were taken earlier in the day. You briefly recall the photo session and how you were forced to take some photographs with the groom’s best man, who looked equally displeased to stand next to you, the maid of honor. You stood next to each other, stiff as surf boards and hands clasped in front of you with the most serious faces.

“This is the most scoffs, eye rolls, and scowls I’ve ever seen in a photo shoot. C’mon, guys! You’re the maid of honor and the best man. And -” Arturo, the cameraman, paused, walking closer. “Respective eldest siblings to the bride and groom. You should be acting like - a family. Here, let’s just move a little closer,” he said, finding it easier to move you instead of Miguel, and moving you closer to him.

You stiffened even more at that and Miguel scoffed at the way you were acting, like he had some incurable disease.

“You, too, señor [sir]. Please step closer,” Arturo gently demanded.

That earned Arturo a scoff and a glare.

“Yeah, O’Hara. Move closer and stop wasting time,” you added, innocently.

“Thank you, señorita [miss],” Arturo replied happily, believing he had at least turned your attitude around when in reality, you were simply taking the opportunity to poke fun at Miguel. It was the only way to make the photo session bearable.

With an eye roll, Miguel stepped closer until his arm brushed against yours. “Better?” he said through gritted teeth.

“Better,” Arturo confirmed. “Though…” he trailed off, frowning.

“You look like a three-day old piece of bolillo [savory bread in MX + other Latin countries],” you said all too seriously. “Stiff.”

Arturo, bless his heart, turned away and attempted to hide his shock.

With a poker face, you turned to look at Miguel and found a scowl, his eyes on you already.

“A three-day old piece of bolillo?” he repeated, annoyance dripping from his mouth. “And what are you? A fresh, sweet, soft piece of cortadillo [a kind of pan dulce; Mexican pastry], I suppose?”

You snorted at that. “I’m flattered you think of me like that. Cortadillo is so good,” you replied, smirking softly.

“Dios mio [my God], I’m just trying to do my job and those two are talking about pan dulce [Mexican pastries],” Arturo complained from somewhere, thinking he was quiet enough that he wasn’t going to be heard, but he was.

Miguel and you stared at each other as the cameraman’s words of frustration rang in your heads. You held each other’s gazes and as much as you both wanted to keep the glares and scowls, Arturo made both of you smile and then burst into quiet laughter.

In the end, Arturo got his opportunity with that moment of laughter and managed to capture the best man and maid of honor smiling in each other’s presence before you both ran off to get other duties done once the photographs were done.

You shake your head from the memory and look up at the garden lights hanging over you, giving the area a whimsical look, before you walk further away from the door and into a less well-lit area.

You sigh deeply again, something you’ve found yourself doing too much lately. The comments from your pesky aunts and the conversation you overheard have caused you some irritation, but it’s not just that. You’ve been trying to ignore a problem that’s been weighting on you all day. You’ve tried not to let it dampen your mood, today being your sister’s wedding, and you had succeeded until now. On a normal day, those conversations with your aunts and the man’s words to Miguel would’ve mattered little to you, but with the big issue in your life right now, they’ve managed to put you in a bad mood.

The big issue?

You were forced to resign from your job two days ago, leaving you unemployed.

It wasn’t anything that you did, but rather what you refused to do that led to the decision. You grimace in disgust just thinking about it all over again. You started working at the company two years ago and everything was great with you rising up the ranks quickly due to your hard work and determination, but as you rose higher and higher, you were warned.

You were told to be cautious of your boss and his wandering hands. You did your best to avoid him on your own and always kept a professional attitude to set clear boundaries. Foolishly, you thought you were safe with two years in and no impropriety on your boss’s side, but you were wrong.

Two days ago, he cornered you in his office to make his move. Of course, you made it known you weren’t interested nor willing to do anything beyond what is professional. Even when you were promised a promotion if you “played” the game, you refused - something that angered your boss. Apparently, the disgusting man believed you’d accept his advances. Despite taking it to HR, nothing was done because of the position and status your boss holds within the company. You knew then that you needed to leave the company, so you did.

You don’t regret it. You’ll never give yourself away like that to some disgusting and horrible man, even if you’re unemployed now.

However, you don’t look forward to job searching and all that it entails. Thinking about it makes you feel stressed and even some anxiety. Then, there’s also the words from your ex-boss, his promise to make it hard for you to find a job within your field.

You wonder. Surely he doesn’t have that much power, right?

You hope not.

You down the rest of the drink, briefly thinking about how you should probably stop drinking by now, but the unexpected change, one you’re carrying on your own because you refused to tell your family about it with the wedding coming up, is weighing heavily on you now.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear the door open, follow by footsteps. You recognize it’s not a woman’s, at least you don’t think so since there’s no sounds of heels, but either way, you can’t help but feel annoyed that someone has stepped out and taken your small moment of solitude. You just wanted a moment to yourself, but it seems that whoever stepped out, decided otherwise.

“Ah, you’re here, too?”

Rolling your eyes, you turn to face Miguel O’Hara. Of course, it had to be him of all people.

Miguel stands a few feet from the door, hands inside the pockets of his perfectly tailored pants while staring at you. For some reason, your annoyance grows at the way it hugs him in what women would say the “right way,” which you’re certain many women did comment on tonight, considering you caught many staring at him like he’s a piece of candy. You’re sure many are probably having little fantasies of him now; recalling how tall he is for a Mexican man, his wide shoulders only enhanced by his suit jacket, and the way his hair frames his chiseled face so well like God himself styled it for him.

And if they shook his hand, they may be thinking about how large and warm it was, how it felt against their own.

There may even be some women imagining making their parents suegros [parents-in-laws] and planning some elaborate wedding in their heads, thinking the bride today will be like a sister to them.

“Yes,” you simply reply, turning away again and making it known you don’t wish to talk. He can stay over there, on his own little spot, and let you be over here, unbothered.

“Needed some fresh air?”

Great.

“Yes.”

Miguel snorts, decreasing the distance between you. He’s still not in your space, but he’s significantly closer now. “One-word answers. You must be having a night.”

You don’t reply. Maybe if you don’t he’ll go back inside, but with your luck recently, doubtful.

“Did the comments from your aunts get to you?” he asks suddenly when you say nothing else.

“What comments?”

“You know very well which ones. I happened to be there, you know. When the first aunt went over, the second one, and then, the third and last one.”

You scoff. “Didn’t know you were a chismoso [gossiper; masculine noun].”

Miguel snorts again. “It’s not my fault they talk so loudly and I happened to be there.”

True on the talking too loud, but you still wish he hadn’t heard, just like you wish you hadn’t heard him being celebrated for the same things you were being pitied on.

“Right, and are you here to offer words of comfort, too?” you reply in a snappy tone. “Or, are you out here to celebrate how you were recommended to stay clear from commitment by your friend?”

Miguel scoffs. You really think he’s that kind of man?

“If you heard the conversation, surely you heard what I said,” he replies defensively turning his body to face you now. “I don’t agree with that mindset.”

“You know -” you step back and pinch the bridge of your nose for a second. “I don’t care. Can you just - leave me alone?” you snap, stepping away. You don’t care about the topic anyway, it’s not the reason why you’re truly upset. Miguel O’Hara can do whatever he wants with his life and your aunts can nag and pity you, you don’t care. What you care about is the fact you lost your job the way you did and that now you’re unemployed.

“No,” Miguel says, upset. “I’m not. You seem to think you have me all figured out, don’t you? Just because we’ve never been two to get along. I’m not that kind of man.”

“I don’t care what kind of man you are. This isn’t about you.”

Miguel steps forward, his body brushing against your arm making you turn to face him, too. You glare at him.

“This isn’t about me, but I’m receiving the brunt of your anger.”

“I’m not angry about what you think I am, alright? I could care less what my aunts said, what that man said to you, though it’s unfair, but it’s not what’s on my mind. So, do me a favor and drop it. Leave me alone. You’re not the center of my world,” you reply with a scoff before turning away from him.

“What a shame,” Miguel murmurs following you. He grabs your arm and pulls you back, his hand wrapping around your flesh with enough force to keep you still without hurting you. “¿Que te pasa [what’s the matter]? Why are you so upset if it’s not that, then?”

You tug at your arm, a fruitless attempt to free yourself since Miguel doesn’t let go.

“Answer the question,” he demands, those deep brown eyes looking straight at you.

“It’s none of your business,” you answer, still glaring at Miguel.

He scoffs, holding your gaze as you look at him like he’s the most disgusting thing your eyes could ever lay upon.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he mumbles, his grip tightening around your arm slightly, tugging you closer to him. With narrowed eyes, he holds your gaze for a few seconds before images of your lips flash in his mind from the dance lessons.

He had never been that close to you before, never held nor touched you.

Miguel had never noticed the way your eyelashes framed your eyes, the shape of your lips, nor had he ever noticed your scent, a mixture of your very own essence and perfume. It’s the kind of scent that makes a man weak in the knees and wish for a closer inhale. No, Miguel had never noticed those things about you and it was to his great annoyance that not only had he noted them, but that those details had also made him feel weird afterwards.

Miguel felt so off that he had to make up the excuse about having a call to make. In reality, all he did was step out and take some fresh air, his mind boggled with the entire situation from the comments the dance instructor made about the two of you being in love and sharing passion to his little stunt after your two left feet comment and your payback, which left an ache on his foot, to the details he had never noticed about you. His mind was boggled and yet, you were the same as always with him; annoyed by, distant from, and uninterested in him.

And for some reason, it bothered him that day.

When he went back inside, he found you on the other side of the dance studio, looking closely at the couple and offering some advice to help them, ignoring his presence. Even when the four of you met up at the parking lot once again after the dance lesson, your attitude was the same. Your sister and Gabriel asked if either of you were interesting in grabbing something to eat, but you declined so fast and stated you had other things to do before the wedding, “maid of honor duties” you called them.

He watched with a scowl as you got in your car and left, only having said bye to the couple while barely giving him a glance of acknowledgement despite the conversation you had just had about making things work for the sake of your sister and Gabriel.

Of course, Miguel declined the invitation, too. He was in no mood to be third wheeling and he did have some things to do for work, so he, too, left with thoughts of your annoying self on his mind.

He eventually placated his thoughts with work, including dealing with his team and the fact that his current assistant put in their four weeks. Thankfully, he still has some time left before his assistant leaves, which he hopes is enough time to find someone to fill in the position. Either way, his work helped him set his thoughts about you aside that day.

Now, Miguel pushes past his thoughts and focuses on you, still holding your arm.

“And what of it?” you reply to his comment about you being a brat, still glaring at him so fiercely and angrily about whatever you’re upset about, proving Miguel you can be such a brat sometimes.

For two seconds Miguel has a thought - bending you over his knee and teaching you a lesson to tame that bratty attitude of yours. Then, his brain betrays him and he imagines what you’d sound like if he did. Would you still be a little brat when his heavy palm makes contact with your rear, or would you whimper and -

“You’re so upset,” Miguel says in an almost breathless way, his mind blanking for a second. “If it’s not your aunts’ comments, then what is it? It must be something of importance, if it has you like this on your sister’s wedding day,” Miguel adds, trying to focus on the moment at hand and not on whatever the hell his brain is going on about. He decides, quickly, that he’s probably had a few too many tequila shots. That’s probably why his brain is acting up. Surely.

“As I said earlier, it’s none of your business,” you reply, once again trying to free your arm, but to no avail. The giant man has you rooted to his side.

“Bullshit,” Miguel replies. His brother married into your family and your sister into his, that makes the two of you something now, doesn’t it? You’re tied for life now, for better or worse, in this way thanks to your siblings. And, the two of you did agree to get along for their sake.

“No te metas en lo que no te importa [don’t get involved in what doesn’t bother you],” you snap. “Mind your business. We may have agreed to be civil, but that doesn’t mean we’ll be besties.”

“As if, princesita [little princess],” Miguel responds with a scoff. “I wouldn’t be able to take your little attitude for two hours, even if I was paid, much less be ‘besties’ with you.”

“We have that in common, at least. I wouldn’t spend a day with you, even for a million dollars,” you reply, even though you could really use a million dollars, especially now.

Miguel smirks, amused by your response, and pulls you closer. “Not even if I paid you two million?”

“Not even five.”

Lies, lies, lies. You wouldn’t be worrying about being unemployed if you had even just one million dollars in the bank right now.

Miguel shrugs. “Maybe it’s too little, they’re little numbers after all,” he replies with a cocky smirk, for some reason bragging about his wealth to you now, something he’s never done before to anyone, but then again, his brain is not working accordingly right now.

Scoffing, you roll your eyes. You know Miguel is a CEO for a company you’ve never bothered to learn the name of, so you’re not surprised he has money, but saying five million dollars is “too little” is aggravating, and kind of shocking.

“Whatever, let go of me. Now,” you demand.

Miguel now scoffs at your demanding tone as if he couldn’t easily throw you over his shoulder and carry you off, or pin you against a wall.

“¿Qué tal si te digo que no? ¿Qué vas a hacer entonces, princesita? [What if I tell you no? What are you doing then, princess?]” Miguel replies, pulling you closer, so much closer his expensive cologne surrounds you.

You breathe it in, subtly of course. It’s rich, warm, and woody mixed in with his own scent. It’s the kind that sends a pool of warmth to your very core if allowed to inhale straight from a man’s neck with your nose pressed to his sensitive and warm flesh. You freeze for a second, the very thought almost makes you grimace, the fact that you’ve thought of such thing with Miguel of all men.

“You’re gonna slam your foot on mine again like the other day?” he asks mockingly, bringing you back to your senses.

“And mess your pretty, expensive shoes?”

Miguel snorts. “I can easily replace them.”

“So, you want me to slam my foot on yours? Is that what you’re saying?” you reply, raising an eyebrow.

Miguel grins, leaning closer, so much closer. He continues to hold your gaze, holding you still.

You scoff, your gaze unwavering.

You’re such a little brat, Miguel thinks again, his hand tightening around your arm just a tad more.

“What? Can’t make up your mind now?” you ask with a smug smile.

He scowls, pulling you so much closer. Your breath fans his face and he finds himself growing still when he feels it against lips especially. He swallows deeply while holding your gaze, your scent filling his nostrils and making him lean almost instinctively.

“You can ruin the shoes, I’ll simply buy new ones. I’ll even get you some pretty heels for your trouble. ¿Trato [Deal]?” he asks quietly, his gaze flickering to your lips for a second.

And God, maybe it really is all the drinks you’ve both had tonight because you lean closer, too.

Suddenly, it feels like two rocks rubbing against each other, a spark of fire made beneath the moonlight.

“¿Que pasa [What’s wrong]? Cat got your tongue?” Miguel whispers with a smirk.

“No. I was just thinking about the color I'd like the heels,” you reply, sarcastically.

“Ah, the color. Don't worry, you can choose whatever color you like. Whatever brand. Saint Laurent, Burberry, Gucci…”

You snort. “Didn't know you were so giving, O’Hara.”

“You don't know me” Miguel replies, tilting his head a little.

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a smirk that makes Miguel's heart skip a beat. He leans slightly closer, further decreasing the distance between your faces.

“I’m a man that likes to give - to provide,” Miguel continues, his hand tightening around your arm, his gaze flickering to your lips once more.

“Ah, interesting. You're the tree that keeps on giving, hm?”

“Such a smartass,” Miguel mumbles, eyes narrowing and meeting yours again. “One of these days that mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble.”

“I can't wait,” you reply defiantly.

Miguel scowls, your little defiance stirring something in him once more. He huffs, eyes moving to your lips yet again, not thinking straight. All he’s suddenly thinking about is closing the distance and shutting your mouth - with his own. He thinks about his mouth pressed against yours, about slipping his tongue in and swirling it around yours to taste you, to make you whine.

Meanwhile, you look at him, noticing his gaze on your lower face. You find yourself doing the same, your eyes landing on his full lips specifically. You silently wonder, despite yourself, what they’d feel like against yours and against your skin. The thought creates a fluttering feeling inside your chest, one that Miguel shares.

His heart races, his mind clouded with these strange thoughts. Miguel thinks about leaning in all the way and doing it, kissing you once and for all to satisfy a hunger and craving he’s suddenly overwhelmed with.

And he would've, if only the door leading to the garden hadn’t suddenly swung open before you both register voices.

You both pull away instantly, staring at each other like two deer caught in headlights. The realization hits the two of you like a ton of feathers at once, the truth echoing in your heads over and over again.

You were going to kiss.

The only thing that breaks Miguel and you from your shock are the sudden intimate noises, tearing your gazes from each other to see what’s the matter. It’s then that you both see a couple making out against the wall, totally unaware that Miguel and you are there due to the poor lighting.

Seeing the intimacy and hearing their noises of passion is all you need before you walk past Miguel, fleeing the garden area wordlessly to pull yourself together.

Miguel doesn’t try to stop you, not even when you brush past him. He stands there for a second or two before he, too, walks off in the opposite direction, hands clenched.

It’s not until you find yourself utterly alone once more that you stop walking. You stare at the ground, your heart racing while your mind plays the last few minutes over and over again. It makes no sense. There’s no way Miguel was about to kiss you, right? You huff in frustration and begin to pace back and forth, one hand clenched tightly around the glass you brought out with you as you try to make sense of the situation.

“Alcohol,” you say quickly to yourself, nodding. “Too much alcohol. It makes people do stupid things.” You nod once more, slowly calming yourself as you repeat this in your head.

At last, you stop pacing when you find reason for that near mistake.

Alcohol, which messes with your brain. Nothing more.

“Hey!”

Startled, you jump and let out a small gasp before turning. You find your mom, happily smiling.

“Come on! What are you doing out here all alone, mija [my daughter]?”

“Just - taking some fresh air,” you answer, walking over to her.

“Your sister and Gabrielito are about to cut the cake. They were wondering where you were,” your mom informs you, offering her arm to you.

You smile and accept your mom’s arm, embracing her comforting presence as you both head back inside the party.

“They were also looking for Miguel. You haven’t seen him, have you?” your mom asks, nearly making you trip.

“N - No, I haven’t,” you lie, clearing your throat and checking your shoe to pretend something is wrong with it to make up for you nearly tripping. “He’s probably talking with the men. They all seem like big fans of him.”

Your mom smiles, nodding. She hums softly as you both enter the venue again, the kind of hum that only moms can muster when they know something you don’t.

“I’m sure Miguelito is somewhere around here. Maybe he needed some fresh air, too,” your mom continues, patting your forearm as you fully enter the reception room now. “Let’s go get some cake.”

After eating cake and making toasts with your family and the guests, you stick near your parents’ side for the rest of the night, as a distraction to forget what almost happened earlier, until it’s time to see your sister and Gabriel off. You watch next to your parents as the newlyweds walk out of the venue, saying bye to the guests and other family members until it’s the immediate families’ turn at the end.

You hug your sister and Gabriel goodbye when it’s your turn, wishing them a great time and congratulating them yet again.

At last, the couple makes it to the car and gets settled. You smile softly as they wave goodbye one more time before the car departs. Watching the car grow smaller and smaller, the realization that your baby sister is married dawns on you. In the blink of an eye, she grew up and turned into a wonderful young woman. You briefly recall when she was a little girl, when she used to follow you everywhere because she wanted to do everything with you. And now, she’s all grown up and starting a new life with the love of her life.

A few feet away from you, Miguel does the same with a thoughtful expression on his face. He can’t believe Gabriel is now a married man, that he’s all grown up. He sighs, wondering where time went before he turns sideways, finding you staring in the direction of the car. He has no doubt you’re having similar thoughts like his, the two of you being the eldest siblings.

Sensing someone’s gaze, you turn, only to meet Miguel’s eyes. You stare at each other for a few seconds, the moment at the garden flashing through your minds like the highlights of a video with one particular part in replay: that moment when Miguel leaned forward and his gaze fell on your lips before you allowed yourself the same with his.

Your senses, both Miguel’s and yours, are overwhelmed in seconds. You easily recall each other’s scents, the warmth from your bodies, and the angry energy that slowly turned into something different due to the shoe talk before you fell into whatever that was at the end.

You blink at last and swallow deeply, pushing the memory away. You scoff at yourself, still holding Miguel’s gaze.

Damn alcohol and the things it makes you do and feel. Right?

You finally look away and walk off to meet your parents, not sparing Miguel another glance.

Miguel’s eyes follow you until you disappear from his sight. He runs a hand through his hair with a sigh, frustrated. He doesn’t even know if it’s at you or himself, or both. Or, maybe he’s just exhausted form the wedding planning and the actual wedding activities.

He doesn’t know anymore, just like he doesn’t know what he was thinking back at the garden. He turns away and scowls at himself. Okay, fine. He knew exactly what he was thinking: kissing and tasting you.

“Miguel-”

“What?” Miguel snaps, turning. He clears his throat when he finds Daniel, the man from earlier who was boasting about being divorced and advising Miguel to stay single for a while longer. He sighs and shakes his head. “Forgive me, Daniel. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s alright. You’re probably tired from the wedding. These things are always exhausting. I was just going to ask if you are interested in joining me and some of the other guys to a bar. It’s still early,” Daniel says before three other young men reach them.

Knowing the men, Miguel knows what kind of night they hope to have; one with no attachments but filled with carnal pleasure.

Miguel shakes his head. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m too tired. And besides, I still have to wrap up some things here regarding the venue. You guys have fun.”

The other men boo him and one even dares to call him “old fashioned” since they know Miguel isn’t interested in those type of nights with strangers. They eventually walk away, leaving Miguel alone once more. He shakes his head as he sees them pull out of the parking lot before fishing for his own car keys inside his pockets.

The truth is, Miguel has no tasks related to the venue left. A cleaning crew was hired to take care of everything so neither families would have to worry about it. The food situation was handled and the gifts have been collected to be stored for now until the couple comes back from their honeymoon.

All Miguel needs to do is wish everyone a good night and head home. That’s it. Yet… His thoughts are a storm and you’re at the center of it, the culprit.

His gaze, despite himself, searches for you. He finally spots you several feet away talking with a man, one he doesn’t know personally. Miguel watches the interaction, noticing the closeness and the way you seem at ease with the individual. Hell, you’re even laughing at something the man says.

He looks away when the man places a hand on your forearm while talking, opting to gaze at the venue’s front gardens with trimmed bushes and perfectly aligned flowers.

Miguel suddenly realizes it. He’s stalling, but why? He turns to look your way again, discreetly, and the need to talk to you suddenly hits him. He needs to talk to you about what almost happened at the garden earlier. So, Miguel takes a few steps your way.

As he approaches you, he’s unsure of what he’d even say. I’m sorry for almost kissing you? Miguel cringes internally. Should he even bring it up? Talking about it makes it more real. It means acknowledging that that almost happened between you along with admitting some level of vulnerability, something neither of you have ever shared with each other.

He suddenly finds himself standing next to you and the man, his large strides making the walk a short one. The man stops talking and looks over at him, a look of confusion at Miguel’s sudden appearance. On the other hand, to Miguel’s annoyance, you give him a look of nonchalance.

“Excuse me,” Miguel starts, acknowledging the man. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but I need a word with Ms. Y/N.”

The man nods, looking somewhat disappointed. “I see. I’ll give you two a moment,” the man says despite you beginning to protest.

You watch the man, a son of one of your dad’s friends from work, walk away. Slowly, you turn to face Miguel, keeping a neutral expression. “Yes?”

“We need to talk about what happened,” Miguel says quietly, meeting your gaze.

“What happened?” you reply, raising an eyebrow.

Miguel scoffs, his eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t give me that attitude.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“At the garden,” Miguel continues through gritted teeth in disbelief at your nonchalance.

You hum, tilting your head. “Nothing happened,” you respond.

“Are you kiddi-” Miguel starts but stops, his frustration mounting. He lowers his voice. “Don’t play stupid with me, princesita [little princess]. We both know you’re far from it.”

“You know what I know?” you ask quietly. “There’s nothing to discuss. Don’t make a storm in a glass of water, okay?” With that, you walk around him.

“Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done talking,” Miguel replies, following you.

“As far as I’m concern, we have nothing to talk about. So, I’ll see you around, Mr. O’Hara,” you say, ending the conversation as you head to your car.

“Dammit,” Miguel murmurs, still following you.

You quickly unlock your car and get inside, slamming the door close. You start the car even when you see Miguel standing next to it, trying to talk to you. Sighing, you consider rolling your window down for a few seconds to let him talk, but at the same time you don’t wish to hear him out. A part of you knows that talking about what nearly happened will make it feel important when it’s not. Or, at least you’ve made yourself believe it’s not.

You shift the car’s gear, ready to drive off, but at the last second, you roll your window down. Facing forward and with your foot on the brake, you speak. “We’ve both had drinks. Alcohol makes people do things that they wouldn’t do when they’re fully sober, even with a little bit in their system. There’s nothing to discuss nor explain. Nothing happened and that’s what matters. I’m certainly not making a big deal out of it, nor have I been offended by what nearly happened, so if that’s what you’re trying to do - apologize - save it. Have a good night,” you state firmly before driving off, leaving a frustrated Miguel in the parking lot.

Through your rear view mirror, you look at him one more time. You find him watching you drive off, his arms at his sides in a stance that lets you detect his frustration clearly. At last, you look away, certain you’ve handled the situation accordingly.

A/N: Hiii, I'm sorry for how long it took me to update, but life got crazy in August due to a family member's death and then sickness. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed part 2! When I wrote part 1, I wasn't planning on this being a multiple parts fic, but with writing part 2, I guess I am now.

I'm unsure of how long this will be. Tbh, I'm hoping for it to be short 😭🙏🏼 Like, 10 chapters or so? Maybe less. I need to sit down and plan accordingly! As you can probably guess, this will transition into a CEO!Miguel x Assistant!female reader who are also now connected because of your sister and Gabriel, so I'm just letting you guys know the forced proximity will increase! 🙂‍↕️

Thank you for reading, and I hope you're having a great day/night!!

Alondra❤️

p.s. I have attached my side Spotify account in case you guys are interested in keeping up with the music I listened to while writing this chapter.

for the people that asked me to notify them for part 2: @vera4luv @safixiovi

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #miguel x reader #miguel atsv #miguel 2099 #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara x you #atsv fanfiction #spiderman: across the spiderverse #miguel fanfic #reader insert #miguel o'hara x female!reader #miguel o'hara x y/n

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cozycottagetarot · 5 months

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Random Things About Your Person

From Elle: Pulled This One From The Drafts... wasn't going to post it but maybe there's something useful in it for someone. It's a chill one ✌️

Notes:

Definition of 'Your Person': At this point, I'm not sure how I personally define 'Your Person', so I guess I'm leaving that up to you're interpretation. For now, let's just say someone you'll have an impactful connection with.

Reading Layout: This reading is done in a brain-dump style where the info is just bullet as it came to me and less organised.

Dividers From X

Reading Masterlist | Patreon | Paid Readings -- Open 🥂

PILE 1

This person is such a loving and nurturing person… they could even help heal your inner child. If you want kids then this will transfer over to how they parent and it's very heartwarming.

They give off ethereal vibes. Very in tune with their intuition or have a strong sense of knowing

They could be your 'perfect match'

Someone you 'grow old' with or could envision yourself 'growing old' with

They could have a diverse friend group or their friend group is very important to them.

Night and the moon could be super important. They could be born at night, you meet at night or you communicate with them through your dreams.

They’re very abundant. Regardless of how much money they make, they just have such a rich life that you can see they are without want.

They’re very calming. They could calm your nervous system.

You’re going to have a very passionate/intimate relationship

There could be a 1-3 year age difference between you two (this is more so if you're interested in age differences... I don't why but I ended up reading those here)

They’re trustworthy and reliable

A very strong, gentle and protective person

PILE 2

Could live by the water or be very emotional.

They’re your heart, your everything. It might be hard to deny your attraction to them… but not physically. More so like a knowing once you meet this person that they play a significant role in your story

'Lionheart'... Regal energy

Lots to learn from them... So much that I actually wrote it twice lol

Kind of exotic… very beautiful

They don’t bark, they bite

They're someone who makes things happen

Very quiet…. It makes me think of something that I saw that goes along the lines of "You're harmless, not peaceful. If you’re peaceful you’re capable of great violence" or something like that. This is not meant to say that they're this aggressive/violent person. I feel like it's quite the opposite really.

I kept seeing this image of coming across a wounded animal, a wolf to be exact. You can see they've been in a fight/injured and are on guard. They're not going to hurt you but you can see that they are alert and will attack if you show you mean harm. A case of survival...

I feel like they hold the key to your happiness in a way

Something angelic about them… it could be their mind too

3 to a 8 year age difference (this is more so if you're interested in age differences… I don't why but I ended up reading those here)

An unexpected meeting

Beauty in darkness. Easily stressed or anxious. It feels very tense compared to pile/group 1

They’ve overcome a lot… flexible at a cost

One of you is further ahead in life than the other

Protective of their energy. Loyal, ambitious.

Overstimulated frequently or easily

PILE 3

They may be big on naps. Like napping together is their love language

They may be a little weird

Grumpy x sunshine vibes

Whimsy or connected to their inner child, youthful vibe

Very calm and peaceful

You two could be polar opposites but you work well together.

Their appearance can change a lot... I think more so through them willingly changing it. Really, don't be alarmed if you come home and they look completely different. I feel like they're mischievous and would get a kick out of your reaction

You could have a 2-6 year age difference (this is more so if you're interested in age differences… I don't why but I ended up reading those here)

They've managed to maintain a positive disposition despite the hardships they've faced

They could give off a met you in a past life vibe

Either good at helping you relax or they easily get stressed out but then can just as easily relax themself

Could be very creative or artistic... muse energy

Could like to take their space/time alone.... but could get lost in their head if not careful.

"Living in alignment" could be important to them... they may have a set of personal values or principles they really like to adhere to.

#pick a card #pick a pile #pick a card reading #pac reading #pick a picture #pick a pile reading #pick an image #free tarot reading #tarotblr #pick an image reading #cozycottagetarot #cozycottagetarot readings #pac tarot

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lovesuhng · 3 months

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habit

w.c: 414 friends to lovers, fluff

Nothing relaxed you more after a stressful day than going to your best friend Jaemin's apartment to talk about what had happened and to let out everything you felt during the long hours of work. As soon as you arrived, you were welcomed by the strong arms of your handsome friend, who enveloped you in a warm and cozy hug on that cold friday night.

After taking a hot shower and putting on clothes of Jaemin that were about two sizes bigger than yours, you both sprawled out on the living room sofa drinking a delicious hot chocolate, even though he protested, talking about all the calories it had (yes, even though Jaemin was practically perfect, he had a bit of an obsession with following a balanced diet).

You started talking about something very interesting that had happened at work: they were close to approving a project you had conceived, your first major project at the company. Jaemin watched, enchanted by your excitement as you talked about it, how you gestured animatedly, your eyes shining with joy and your beautiful lips that spoke about every detail you had envisioned and were ready to put into practice.

This was a habit you didn’t know how to handle with Jaemin: he had a habit of looking at your lips while you spoke. It was inevitable that you felt nervous. Even though he was your friend, he was a handsome guy looking directly at your lips. To make yourself a bit less nervous, you decided to make a little joke.

“Jaems, why do you look at my mouth so much? Do you want to kiss me?” You saw him shift his attention from your lips to look directly into your eyes.

“I thought it was obvious.”

“Hm?” Your wide eyes were proof that you couldn’t believe what your friend was saying. He just gave a little laugh and practically whispered a soft “cutie.” When you felt his hand on the back of your neck and his sweet lips touching yours, you were certain that he was telling the truth and it wasn’t a silly flirtation he always did.

Jaemin pulled away just to see your reaction, which was a bit indecipherable, but he was sure you liked it when he felt your hands holding his cheeks, pulling him in for another kiss.

In the end, this habit Jaemin had of always looking at your lips was just a way to show how much he always wanted you.

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meanbossart · 7 months

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Oh boy, VaM is kind of a trial and error experience LOL I couldn't really show you how to use the interface and stuff without a whole video or something, but it's not THAT difficult to get a hang of if you just give yourself a day or two to play around, not to mention the number of tutorials you find out there. Luckily, if you only want to use it as a reference software that makes the process far easier (to this day I have no idea how to animate on that thing, since that's not what I use it for)

As for how I use it, it's pretty self explanatory - if there's a complicated pose I want to draw but I'm either having trouble with it, or just want to double-check angles/anatomy, I will use it as a resource! I use for most of my "proper" pieces (y'know, the nicer looking ones) and every once in a while for my silly comics if I'm having trouble with a pose.

Lets use this drawing for example (the character on top of DU drow belongs to @namespara )

I don't draw a lot of mud-wrestling (shocking, I know) but I had an idea of the kind of pose I wanted them to be in. So the very first thing I did was make a rough sketch of what I was envisioning:

I often do a rough sketch first, even If I know I'm going to be pulling the program up because A) It's less tedious than adjusting the models over and over again until I pick a pose and B) because sometimes I'll decide I don't need the reference, after all, and so that's 30 minutes I'll have spared myself of playing around on the software.

Now, this is a pretty complicated pose! It's in a weird angle and the bodies are making contact in ways I'm not used to depicting, so I did choose to whip out VaM for this one. I went into the program and after some messing around, I flopped my little dolls together like this:

Now something really cool about VaM is that you can completely customize your models, and if you have the patience, I would definitely encourage you to do so! Obviously, you don't have to make picture perfect replicas of every single character you have, but as you can see here I have made a DU drow "decoy" to help me better understand some of his features when I draw him: he has a strong brow, a short nose, a square jawline - these are all going to look a very specific way from certain angles, and I might not always be sure of how to draw it right! So it's useful to have models that bear SOME semblance to the character so you can better understand how different viewpoints will affect their bone structure and mass.

Also thank fucking god for the elf-ear slider. Figuring out how to draw those shits from certain angles was a huge pain in the ass when I started drawing DnD races.

So, with the reference in hand, I go over the sketch again:

Now you may notice that I don't stick to the reference 100%. There's three reasons for this:

posing on VaM is tedious as hell. You can get something incredibly natural looking and picture-perfect to reference from if you wish, but it's going to take you hours to do. So, for the most part I just slap guys together until the results are "close enough" and use that.

In my opinion, you should always aim to ENHANCE your reference material, not replicate it exactly!

While VaM is a PRETTY DANG GOOD source of anatomical reference, it isn't perfect, I often supplement it with further reference from real life resources or make tweaks based on my own knowledge where I catch it falling short (and, antithetical to what I just said, I sometimes fuck the anatomy up further on purpose if I think it looks better that way LOL it's all jazz baby).

Then lines, color, yada yada. I don't have a tutorial on that and I don't think I could make one, because my process is chaotic as hell, but I do at times use Virt-a-mate as loose reference for lighting too when coloring - waaaaayyyy less so however, because that process is even more tedious and I feel like I often get better results by just winging it. It is a feature of the program though, and I'm sure it would be helpful for someone who has a difficult time visualizing lights and shadows. I only started using this program a few months ago, so I happened to already have a pretty good understanding of that kind of thing and just don't personally feel like I get much out of that particular mechanic.

Here's a few other examples of pieces that I made reference for (WARNING: Suggestive)

Now, for the question many of you may want to ask:

"Can I trace this junk?"

And to that, I say: Buddy, you can do whatever the hell you want with the reference material you created.

However,

If your goal is to learn and improve your art, and to recreate realistic proportions and anatomy from memory, tracing won't help you.

Developing your own style, your muscle memory, and personal technique will all be hindered by choosing to trace instead of drawing from observation, so I would encourage against it. Hell - even when tracing is employed as a technique, it's usually by high-skill realism & concept artists who are looking to either cut some corners, save time, or just double-check their own proportions in order to improve further - if you try tracing as a beginner, you will most definitely find the result to still look stiff and "off".

So trust me, there is so much more to be gained from drawing from observation. Make note of tangents, compare proportions, use all the elements of the picture to dictate where and how things should go - it will be a far more rewarding experience.

Hopefully this has been helpful! VaM is a really cheap program (you get it on the guys' patreon for I think 8 dollars, just google it!) and it's definitely been worth my money as an artist since I found it. Learning to use it can be a little intimidating at first glance, but as I said above you only really need a day plus one or two tutorials to get a hang of the interface.

A fair warning though, IT IS A SOFTWARE MADE FOR VIRTUAL SEX/ADULT ANIMATION So when looking it up expect to see a some spicy content.

#Funfact THIS is the post that got me flagged last time so i'm really tempting fate right now LOL #ask #art #tutorial #resource

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vrystalius · 20 days

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How would the Hashiras react to finding out that Sanemi is secretly dating the star Hashira ?Sanemi's girlfriend created the star breath and she became hashira around the same time as sanemi/she killed the lower moon 1. She and Sanemi were enemies turned lovers (can you include Sanemi's version please?/it was a discreet romance so she and Sanemi didn't tell the others)

Secretly dating Sanemi

The hashira’s reaction to Sanemi and you dating in secret.

Includes: Giyu, Kyojuro, Muichiro, Tengen, Gyomei, Mitsuri, Shinobu, Sanemi

Sanemi was pressing you up against the wooden walls, planting desperate kisses all along your neck and collar. He was tugging on your collar trying to reveal even more skin to him. The air in the armoury felt steamy.

Your hands gripped onto his uniform. “N-Nemi, not here, i-idiot- n-not now.” You shuddered as you felt his teeth sink into your skin, before placing multiple kisses on it. “Fuck, I want you now.” Sanemi mumbled into your ear. He pulled away, his lips hovering over yours. Just as he was about to lean in for another kiss, the door to the armoury opened and the love hashira stood in the frame.

“KYYAAHHHHH!!”

The news about you two spread quickly…. What do the others think about you two?

Giyu Tomioka

Giyu would not show the surprise on his face. His face is neutral as always, maybe even a little more gloomy than usual. But on the inside, he’d be a little envious of Sanemi. Of course he’d be finding love this soon. But those thoughts were fairly quickly overshadowed by confusion. How did you two even start dating? Weren’t you guys at each other’s throats the whole time? Well, you still are, but more romantically now.

His respect for Sanemi prevents him from judging you two harshly, and as long as your relationship doesn’t jeopardise any missions, Giyu doesn’t mind.

“Good for you two.”

Kyojuro Rengoku

He could be incredibly happy for you two. Kyojuro would have never thought that you two would be dating, since he was the one who used to break up your fights and make you mediate.

The flame hashira would slap Sanemi on the back, laughing and congratulating him loudly, unintentionally making everyone else on the estate hear him. Even though he was very surprised and confused after first finding it out, he quickly became your biggest supporter! From now on, he thinks everytime you and Sanemi are talking, you two are surely being romantic! Maybe even planning a date? He’s just a little curious.

“Oh? Are you going on date tonight? May I recommend a perfect establishment to visit? They have incredible sweet potato dishes!”

Muichiro Tokito

Muichiro could not care less. As long as you two aren’t being overly affectionate in front of him and don’t let this interfere with your duties as hashira, he does’t care.

He also didn’t care about your arguments before, so why would he care about you dating now? Also, he’d quickly forget about you two dating anyway.

“Oh? You two are in love?… Okay.”

Tengen Uzui

Tengen would be incredibly amused. Just to annoy Sanemi, he would pull you aside and give you “tips” on how to keep things flashy in the bedroom. Also, he would offer Sanemi help in case he has any questions about relationships, given that he has been in three relationships, now marriages, while Sanemi probably was never dating anyone. Of course, Tengen is only saying this to fuck around with him. He’s actually supportive and real happy for you.

Also, he would probably tell his wives about you two, shocking them as well.

“Don’t be shy, tell me… What’s it like, hm? Sanemi must be rough with ya. Or is he gentle? I see him go both ways.”

Gyomei Himejima

He knew about you two the whole time. Gyomei was planning this the whole time, ever since you became a hashira. He envisioned you with Sanemi since the start and gave the both of you little encouragements to make a move, without outright telling you. After you two started dating in secret, Gyomei could just tell how the energy between you two shifted.

But after the other hashira found out about you, Gyomei acted as if this is the first time he heard about this.

“I am truly happy for you two. I wish you the best for the future.”

Mitsuri Kanroji

After drowning in shame and embarrassment when she found you and Sanemi getting on it in the closet, she’d be incredibly bubbly and happy for you two! Mitsuri would be so curious, asking a million questions about how it’s like, what you two like to do, who said “I love you first”, where and when the first kiss was, how it was… the list goes on.

Overall, Mitsuri is super happy for you two! She’ll squeal everytime she sees you two together, thinking you are totally being super romantic right now!!

“Oh! Oh! How did you two even fell for him? It thought you and him really hated each other…”

Shinobu Kocho

Shinobu would have her usual grin on her face. She’d tease Sanemi about becoming softer, especially for you, and about being safe during certain activities. Her teasing would be gentler than usual though. She’s happy for you and him, wishing you nothing but the best. Sanemi could use the good influence, maybe you can stop him from slashing himself open during fights. Less work for her.

“Make sure to be safe during intercourse, okay? We don’t want a baby to disrupt everything, do we?”

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Sanemi’s first reaction is to yell and lash out at the other hashira, telling them to back off and leave him and you alone. Why are they so damn nosy?!

You (besides Kagaya) are the only one who can make him calm down and not to threaten to beat the shit out of Tengen for teasing him. He’d distance himself from the other hashira, not wanting to face their annoying comments. This is exactly why he wanted to keep this a secret…

“Nah, I’m not gonna go train with them. Can we train together instead? ‘m not in the mood to deal with their shit.”

💠

So sorry it took so long! I really struggled with this one, I hope you enjoy it anyways!! My requests are open for both the hashira and the upper moons <3

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!

Take care of yourselves!

#💠 house of vry 💠#demon slayer x reader #demon slayer #kny x reader #fluff #demon slayer hashira #sanemi x reader #sanemi x you #demon slayer sanemi #kny sanemi #demon slayer giyuu #rengoku kyojuro #demon slayer gyomei #demon slayer muichiro #kny tengen #hashira x reader #mitsuri kanroji #demon slayer shinobu

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laurenairay · 5 months

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Got me in the palm of your hand - M. Tkachuk

Summary: Wedding preparations are always emotional.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: mild angst

A/N: I love this song and I just felt inspired to write a little something. Enjoy!

Title from I don’t dance, by Lee Brice

I'll never settle down, That's what I always thought, Yeah, I was that kind of man, Just ask anyone, I don't dance, but here I am.

“How many more of these do we need to make?”

“Seeing as your family has about a 1000 people in it, we are barely a quarter way through,” you mused.

Taryn just groaned, throwing her head back dramatically.

“I love you, and I love Matty, but I am never doing this again,” she muttered.

“Hopefully I’ll never have to do it again either,” you teased.

That was the thing about weddings – there were a hundred things to do and nowhere near enough time to do them. Taryn had volunteered to come over to help you assemble the table centrepieces while Matthew and Brady went to pick up their tailored suits, and now that you’d finally sorted out the table plan, it was time to figure out decorations. It didn’t matter that Matthew was more than happy to splash the cash and hire professionals to take care of everything – there were just some things that needed a personal touch. Table centrepieces were easy enough, and what you’d been putting together wasn’t difficult, but with the amount of guests you’d invited? Turns out there were a lot of tables needing decorations.

“You know, I never thought he’d settle down,” Taryn said suddenly.

You inhaled sharply as her words sunk in, dread cutting through your body.

“What?”

You turned your head, frowning at your soon-to-be sister-in-law’s words.

“Do you want to elaborate on that, Taryn?” you said dryly, raising an eyebrow.

She flushed deeply, grimacing at your reaction, but you held firm. It wasn’t like you hadn’t known Matthew’s reputation when you’d first started dating him, the serial dater-and-heartbreaker, but to hear that from his sister? You couldn’t deny it stung a little.

“I really don’t know how to answer without digging myself a hole?” she admitted.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. You knew she wasn’t malicious or spiteful or even mean, but you needed more than that.

“I need you to say something, Tar, because right now my head is saying that this is Matty’s way of sneakily saying that he doesn’t want to get married.”

Because that was exactly what you were preparing for right now – the wedding that was only a month away. So the last thing you needed was the doubt that Matthew wasn’t as all in as you were – you needed to know.

“Oh my god, no, no way,” Taryn said quickly, shaking her head, “He absolutely 100% wants to marry you. That isn’t it at all.”

You let out a breath that was far shakier than you thought it would be and nodded. That was a slight relief at least. Still, you waited her out, needing her to finish her thoughts before you spiralled all over again. Matthew held your whole heart and for that brief moment that heart had started to crumble. Nothing had ever felt like that before.

“Matthew is a hopeless romantic at his core,” she eventually said, “You know that, everyone knows that. But he had such high standards for the person he envisioned spending the rest of his life with that I guess he figured he’d never find that perfect person, so he just dated casually, right?”

“Okay…”

You could see where she was going with this, so you nodded your encouragement.

“He dated casually, and often less than even calling it dating, all things I know you two have already talked about because he told me and Brady that he’d told you it all. It turned into him putting on a front, creating this image of someone who wasn’t a romantic, who didn’t invest himself in any relationship and it sucked seeing him that way. We just wanted him to be happy, you know? So when he started talking about you? We knew something had changed.”

“Really?” you found yourself asking.

Taryn grinned widely, making you laugh. “Yeah, really really. It took him a while, I’ll admit, old habits and all I suppose, but when he properly started talking about you? About all the dates and how beautiful you were and the way you were clearly filling all the voids in his life? Me and Brady were buzzing. When he finally told mom about you after that date he took you dancing? That was it, I knew you were it for him. He never dances for anyone. So yeah, I never thought he’d settle down because he wanted that fairytale. But he’s found that with you.”

The tears that filled your eyes didn’t hesitate to trickle down your cheeks, a soft whimper tearing from your throat before you could stop it. No-one had ever told you that’s how Matthew had spoken about you. And that was when she knew you were it for Matthew? That was years ago.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Please don’t tell Matty I made you cry,” Taryn said, panicking.

“Happy tears, I promise. Happy tears,” you replied, shaking your head.

You wiped your face with sleeves, no doubt smearing mascara everywhere, laughing wetly as you tried to compose yourself. It didn’t matter how long you’d known the Tkachuk family – one of them always managed to catch you off-guard. And to think, soon enough, you’d be one of them.

Wasn’t that a thought?

“I’m really sorry. I’ve made an ass of myself and I really didn’t mean to,” Taryn mumbled.

That self-deprecating look on her face was so familiar that it made your chest ache, and you wasted no time in pulling her into a hug. Taryn immediately hugged you back, firm and loving, a Tkachuk family trait, making you laugh softly.

“I think this calls for a drink,” you said, once you’d eventually pulled away.

“Shit yeah, I’ll get us some beers.”

As Taryn walked out of the room, you unlocked your phone, tapping through to your message thread with Matthew.

To: Matty I love you. So much.

You didn’t have to wait long for a reply, phone buzzing within minutes.

From: Matty I love you more. So much more than Brady. He keeps whining that he’s hungry even though we ate two hours ago. How do you feel about sushi for dinner? I can pick up your favourites on my way home?

Yeah you really couldn’t wait to marry this man.

Spinnin' you 'round and 'round in circles, It ain't my style, but I don't care, I'd do anything with you anywhere, Yes, you got me in the palm of your hand, 'Cause I don't dance.

#my writing #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk fanfic #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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ohmerricat · 3 months

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using the above tweet, i.e. proof that he’s a fan, to begin an Assad Zaman For The Sixteenth Doctor agenda. (not that i want Ncuti gone, god forbid — i hope he stays on for the usual three seasons or more!) now back to Assad: just look at him, for heaven’s sake

you’ve heard the man on interview. you’ve seen him perform fiery theatrical speeches in fits of rage and quiet judgemental contemplation and irresistible charm. he’s got matt smith’s talent of portraying an incredibly old, world-weary immortal while being a young man

you can just envision him. stepping out of that big blue box. a calmer, less brash-and-bold, less ostentatiously optimistic doctor than fifteen — the twelve or eight type, a brooding romantic, distant and wistful, yet with that edge of emotional manipulation like eleven possessed

i am aware that plot + character dynamics + personality + costume design + set design + mood and atmosphere etc. are all up to the writers, directors and rest of the crew, not the actors at all, but they are created to fit around the doctor’s actor’s vibe to an extent — at least i know that capaldi influenced a lot during his tenure, from the fashion choices to the intensity of twelve’s relationship with clara.

basically, we all know how assad is. he understands armand on an intimate level. he’s got a grasp on the psychosexual multi-layered tension of it all. so, provided he gives input, this could be a renaissance for all us twelveclara eightcharley elevenamyrory ninejackrose (etc. etc.) freaks — imagine another unstable “TARDIS trio”, all at odds with each other, challenging each other, with the episodic sci-fi stuff as a reflective background to different aspects of their complex relationship. series 5-10 were peak for a reason. we need that type of Who back, no offense to ruby “perfect companion with 0 tension” sunday. not like kids won’t get it: kids actually love the moffat era plenty + there’s always fun scary monsters for the kids to enjoy

well, i’m getting ahead of myself. # assad zaman for sixteenth doctor 2028 . look at his sad, deep eyes. there’s a billion years in them

#please make this happen whoever will be running the show after rtd2 #assad zaman #interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire amc #iwtv #iwtv amc #armand #loumand #armandaniel #doctor who #dw #fancast #twelfth doctor #peter capaldi #eighth doctor #twelveclara #kitty.txt

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nvirskies · 8 months

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sand - c. la rue

idea taken from one of @star-girl69 's asks about married clarisse and immediately went to think about how the vast majority of greek demigods didn't get to live past their 20's or even teen years... and the survivor's guilt that would come with being one of the few lucky enough to live longer.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, traumatic nightmare flashbacks, descriptions of violence, descriptions of blood + war, spoilers for TLO, set after both reader and clarisse leave CHB about 6-8 years into the future, google translated Greek term of endearment, crying, survivor's guilt, platonic RueGard, ooc Clarisse, she's matured more over time and more articulate with her feelings and words

summary: clarisse wakes up from a particularly bad nightmare in the middle of the night, reader comforts her through a breakdown

wife!fem!demigod!reader x wife!clarisse la rue

word count: 2.2k

καρδιά μου (kardiá mou) - my heart

Η καρδιά μου είναι η καρδιά σου (I kardiá mou eínai i kardiá sou) - my heart is your heart

"but you have more pieces of me than than desert has sand, and I have less pieces of you than I can hold in my hand" sand, alchemical: vol. 1, dove cameron

taglist: @lvrue @star-girl69 @azrielsdiary @petitegavotte @b0ok-lover

men, nsfw, non-sapphic, 16-/19+ dni

Greek demigods fell in love hard and fast with an unmatched intensity. They normally didn’t live long enough to even envision themselves in their adult lives, and why would they? Every day was a struggle to stay alive with monsters coming in from all angles and quests most didn’t come back from.

And that was why, as soon as the two of you graduated high school, Clarisse got down on a knee and proposed with the knowledge that you were the one she would want to spend the rest of her life, however long or short, with.

When you two had graduated college, the next thing in the books was to make it official in the courthouse, and that was what you had done. No extravagant party or ceremony, just a quiet day in the courthouse and a night in to celebrate.

But no matter how far the two of you ran from Camp Half-Blood, the nightmares never went away, never got better. As the years passed, more of the people you had considered friends died. One after the other, falling like cursed dominos, helplessly standing by as they all tumbled down.

Soon, the nightmares became more about the people that were lost than the monsters themselves. Nightly plagues of searingly painful memories from watching the life drain from so many demigods’ eyes burned themselves in both of your psyches.

All you could do was hope Charon would be kind enough to ferry them across the Styx without his payment of a silver coin.

And tonight certainly hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary with the two of you and your limbs interlaced in a protective embrace while sleep claimed your minds, as if the both of you could protect each other from the monsters both in and outside.

Your head, nestled into her chest. Her deep, rhythmic breathing made your hair flutter ever so slightly as she exhaled. Her arms, wrapped loosely around your waist, hands not-so-sneakily under the baggy shirt of hers you had stolen to wear as pajamas for the night. It was all perfect. Too perfect.

You would be damned fools to think that peace would last for so long. Demigods didn’t get peace, they didn’t get tranquility, and they especially didn’t get uninterrupted domestic bliss.

Unbeknownst to you, Clarisse’s face contorted into one of distress. Her arms pulled you in closer subconsciously as the all too familiar face of Morpheus greeted her with a sly smirk on his face in her dreams.

In moments, she was transported back to the Battle of Manhattan.

She was seventeen again.

Blood was everywhere. Abandoned weapons lay on the floor, the hands that once gripped them tightly, now loose and limp. Shrill screams echoed throughout the air, all cut short by gut-wrenching sounds of fatal injury. Metal cut through flesh. Acid burnt through metal. Flames licked and greedily consumed anything and everything as fuel.

Her feet felt heavy, her hands numb. She could do nothing but stand and watch it all unfold before her own eyes, forced to relive the carnage and devastation that had ripped through Manhattan on that fateful day.

Morpheus’ voice whispered in her right ear, the sound of it sending an uneasy chill down her spine. “Daughter of Ares. A fitting dream, no? Your father must have been proud of you for the way you fought after… well, I’ll let you relive that, too.” Before she could blink, she was transported to the moment right after Silena had been sprayed by the Lydian Drakon.

Clarisse was too late. She had always been too late.

She was back on her knees, choking and weeping bitterly as Silena lay in her arms, watching as life slowly left her once-lively eyes.

What kind of a warrior even was she? So weak that she couldn’t even protect her friend? Too weak to protect the girl who had adorned her armor and led her siblings into battle?

Just as Clarisse reached out to touch Silena’s face to wipe away the one mark of smudged eyeliner that the Aphrodite girl normally would never have even allowed to happen in the past, she was jerked back to consciousness, eyes flying open and arms almost crushing your sleeping form momentarily as she came to.

No longer was she in Manhattan, instead sheltered in the familiarly adorned walls of your shared bedroom. Upon the walls hung framed pictures of joyous times past and her sword collection, among other things.

Familiar faces stared back at her, some faces that would never age again. Immortalized memories of times that would never happen again. Everyone was dead or scattered across the globe.

A particular picture caught Clarisse’s eye. It was a portrait of Silena that she had commissioned one of the Apollo kids to draw for the daughter of Aphrodite’s seventeenth birthday.

She never lived to see that day.

Her eyes locked with Silena’s in the drawing for a moment, and that moment was one too much as hot tears began to prick in the corners of her eyes.

She had inadvertently woken you up with the way her arms tightened around your waist in a near vice grip, slowly coming to your senses. No longer were her breaths slow and rhythmic, their steadfast pattern replaced by one that was erratic and shallow. The once-steady thumping cadence of her heart as it beat in her chest was now quickened, all of which you could hear with your head having been nestled into her chest.

Craning your head to look up at her, you were greeted with the sight of Clarisse desperately trying to silently blink back tears and control her own breathing.

Hurriedly, you pushed yourself up off her chest and tugged the blankets off the two of you before sitting down on her lap. You took note of the way her hands had never left your waist, holding onto you as if she were drowning and you were the last life ring thrown out.

It wasn’t anything you and Clarisse hadn’t dealt with before. The nightmares had been a part of your lives as far back as you could remember, it just came with the territory of being a demigod. But they never got any easier as time went on.

She watched silently with eyes brimming with unshed tears, pleading wordlessly with you to do something, anything to make it all go away.

“Let’s switch, yeah? You can lay on me and completely cover me if you want, love,” you offered up, a melancholy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Wordlessly, she nodded and you slipped off her lap, laying back where she had just been moments ago.

Gently patting your chest, you motioned for her to rest her head on it, knowing that the rest of her body would soon follow, completely engulfing your form with hers. After she had positioned herself, her arms snaked around your waist again as she simply held you for a few moments, her face pressed into your chest as tears slowly soaked into your shirt.

One hand reached out to gently run along the length of her back, the motion meant to soothe. A few beats passed in silence before you spoke in a hushed whisper, the bedroom devoid of sound beyond the two of you breathing in tandem with each other.

“You hear that, love? That’s my heart,” you murmured softly, craning your neck to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “It’s beating, beating for you. Η καρδιά μου είναι η καρδιά σου.”

She didn’t respond beyond releasing another shaky sob into your chest and tightening her grip around your body, but you didn’t mind. You didn’t need her to talk just yet.

“You’re also η καρδιά μου, you know that, right? My heart, my wife, my love, my everything. And I’m yours. Entirely yours, and I”m not going anywhere.” You craned your neck again to press another kiss against the crown of her head, hand never stopping its path of running gently along the length of her back.

“I would go down to the depths of Tartarus for you. I would challenge Hades himself to a fight if it meant I had even a glimmer of a chance in getting you back.”

Never once did you try to rush her into talking or shushing her tears. You knew her better than you knew yourself, and giving her time to let everything out was the best thing you could do for her at the moment.

You were her safe space, the one woman that she could let her walls down around. She wasn’t Ares’ star daughter in your arms, she was just Clarisse. No expectations dangling over her head, just open arms and understanding.

After another few quiet moments, she finally spoke up in between half-choked sobs, whispering so quietly that her voice was nearly inaudible, “Silena… Manhattan… should have been able to save her,” before letting her face fall back down onto your chest, releasing another pained cry.

“She’s gone- a-and everyone else too- why me?”

Her question left you speechless, mouth partly opened in an attempt to come up with a reassuring response, but nothing seemed to come to mind immediately. It was rare for this to happen, as you normally had just the right words at the top of your tongue, weaving them as Arachne once wove tapestries on her loom.

“They’re all gone and- and- ”

“Shh, love…” you cut her off, gently pulling her head up to look her in the eyes, your other hand leaving her back to wipe the tears that were still streaming down her cheeks with the pad of your thumb. “Please, don’t go back into that self-sacrificial spiral. Talk to me, tell me what the dream was about?”

She only shook her head in response, unwilling to divulge details of the memory that had shattered your night of otherwise perfect proportions.

Deflating back on top of you, she whispered, “They’re all gone, and we’re one of the only ones remaining. It was like every time another one of them died, that small part of myself that I gave to them died as well.”

Her arms that were wrapped around your waist tightened for a moment before going limp along with the rest of her body as she lay atop you, her head pressed against your chest.

“Love…” you began softly as one of your hands found its way to her head and carded gently through her curls. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened. None of it was your fault. We didn’t ask to be born, to be thrown into this mess of a world and tossed around like pawns in the gods’ game of chess with our lives.”

“We didn’t ask for this life, and we were so young at the time. For fuck’s sake, we were only seventeen- we hadn’t even made out yet. We hadn’t graduated high school yet, there were so many things we couldn’t control.

“None of it was your fault, I promise you. You were so brave, and you did everything you could.” She stayed silent as you spoke, the only sounds coming from her were the soft, shaky breaths as she sniffled and burrowed her face further into your shirt.

“I can’t explain to you why so many things had to happen, that’s up to the Fates. I can’t give you the pieces of yourself back that you lost when we kept losing everyone,” you murmured whilst your hands kept on with their idle motions.

It shattered your heart to give her such an incomplete answer when you knew it was tearing her apart inside to live with it all, but there was nothing you could do beyond offer solace and comfort. “And for that, I am so, so sorry. But the one thing I can do is keep the piece you’ve granted me to keep, safe and sound.”

She only nodded in response, not trusting herself to speak in fear of her own vulnerability. Her tears soaked into your shirt, but you didn’t care. All that was important was that Clarisse was here, in your arms, and slowly calming down.

Clarisse knew just as well as you did that everyone had done the best they could with the circumstances given, and that the loss affected you just as deeply. But she didn’t dig into that, it would be a can of worms to open for another time, another sleepless night where your own troubles caught up with you after running from them for so long.

And so, the rest of the night stretched on into early morning, the two of you half-awake, seeking silent solace in each other until sunlight crept into the bedroom through the cracks of the curtains the next day.

The two of you might have been running from your trauma like runners to a marathon, but at least you were running hand-in-hand with matching strides.

#🖋️ nvir writes #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x fem reader #clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue pjo #clarisse larue #clarisse la rue x you #clarisse la rue x y/n #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #pjo tv #im not sorry #maybe i am #no im not

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sylvies-chen · 1 year

Text

my mother said something really interesting about this episode (yes, she also watches the show and is a huge fan of dani rojas just like me) and it’s been stuck in my head ever since. she said: “it seems to me like this whole episode was about intimacy”

and like… yeah! that’s exactly it! the amsterdam trip set the perfect scene for it too, because people are normally a little more lax on vacation, a little more adventurous, a little more lenient and able to put themselves out there.

you have the pretty obvious contenders for this point: rebecca having her little fling with that nameless bald man and learning to open herself up to real connection and intimacy again, to be able to envision for herself a life and a love that is unmoored to her past with rupert and is able to exist in its own little intimate pocket. you’ve got jamie and roy learning to trust in each other, to be intimate and vulnerable about their pasts and about their present situations too (especially for roy, who is still right now a man who would rather break up with the woman he loves that admit, that he doesn’t think he’s good enough for her). and you also have, of course, the true soul of the episode, which was colin and trent’s discussion, and how colin feels that ache to be able to show the more intimate parts of him to the world the way heterosexual couples do, to be able to merge his intimate personal life with his fun if not a little reserved professional life. how to achieve a balance between intimacy and privacy.

and then you have the less obvious ones maybe, like higgins and will going to the jazz club— which isn’t really that hard to decipher when you think about it. it is, after all, where higgins opens up about an intimate detail of his love for jazz, and then gets to share his previously very intimate and private activity of playing the bass with the crowd. he even starts the night complaining of how exposed their seats feel, and ends up standing on the stage by the end of it. and, of course, will potentially had a threesome. so there’s a kind of intimacy for you. the one that truly isn’t obvious is the team pillow fight which honestly, I think is just a way of showing that sometimes a more intimate, fun yet indoor activity makes for better memories than something like a sex show or a club, which are both very grand and exciting yet impersonal and detached kinds of activities.

then of course you have ted, who is sort of lacking what my mother called an intimacy with himself. he’s been feeling a little lost, a little “stuck” as he put it. and I don’t think he understood why until this episode, until this adventure he went on with the museum and the american themed restaurant. it was a way for him to spend quality time with himself, to be alone with his thoughts while still not totally unable to absorb his surroundings and learn something. and in exploring his more intimate thoughts he was able to think of something really good! something that will make him a better coach!

and yeah, when it’s framed in this way I think this episode was sooooo killer. I love seeing people open up a little bit, to show these deep and intimate parts of their being. it’s so so so good.

#ted lasso spoilers #ted lasso #ted lasso meta #abby liveblogs #rebecca welton #dani rojas #roy kent #jamie tartt #colin hughes #trent crimm

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zwhoreo · 1 year

Note

thoughts on headcanons on how luffy would be with a shy gf / trying to bring the girl he likes out of her shell / not be nervous around him???? i like to envision him being the initiator sometimes simply bc i myself am so ridiculously reserved… the idea of him and his partner balancing each other out / teaching each other to be more outgoing and free spirited vs less rambunctious and reckless…. it makes me v happy ALSO i hope its ok to send another ask so soon, i love ur work !!! @ v @ ;;; no rush or pressure to answer !! :’’>

hana!!! tysm for all the support, i rly appreciate it, I’m so glad you like my writing :’) you can send as many asks as you want!! i’m pretty busy with work/school prep rn so requests are taking me some time, but yess please never hesitate to submit one if you have an idea <333

coming out of your shell - luffy x f!reader headcanons

fluff

summary in request, how your dynamic might work with luffy if you’re a bit more reserved, how he helps you come out of your shell, and the kind of balance you two give each other in your relationship

words: ~750

________________________

You love Luffy an indescribable amount, and somehow he loves you back tenfold.

This boy loves you so much that he rarely wants to be without you, sticking to you always, pulling you along with him everywhere, talking loudly in your face because he’s excited by the closeness

you’re intimidated by that love so much, you were a bit shy and didn’t know what to say

But god, there’s something about him that just changes you, makes you feel fuzzy on the inside. He calms you. You become comfortable around him so fast, eager to be in his arms

But sometimes it’s too much, his loudness. You’re trying to relax, have a break from the outside world, but here’s Luffy wriggling on top of you, so full of an energy you can’t believe, it’s all too endless.

“Hi, Lu…” you murmur softly in his mouth as he kisses you for the hundredth time.

At first it was hard, he’s so unlike you, he’s unlike anyone, really, that you’d ever met

You hadn’t imagined yourself ending up with this kind of intense extrovert

But Luffy knows you like quiet sometimes, and when you’re feeling tired and want some time to yourself, but if he really wants to hang out, you can say, “hey Lu, wanna take a nap?”

He’ll be so excited to come cuddle on top of you while you read or look out the window, going to sleep quickly, letting you soak in the comforting warmth of his body in stillness

Luffy is attached to you. If he goes somewhere, more often than not you’re along for the ride.

He squeezes your hand, his own so sweaty with excitement, running and dragging you along with him, wanting so badly for you to be as excited as he is.

He talks to people on the street, bouncing on his feet, voice loud and overflowing. You cringe at his boldness, many times, you can’t imagine acting like that.

But he’ll motion you over, and gush about how his new friend HAS to meet his beautiful and perfect and fun girlfriend, he’ll hug you and he’ll want you to talk to his friend and when your voice is small he pats your back and pulls you a little closer, he wants you to make lots of friends, just like he does, because it makes him happy and he wants you to be happy, too

And when you start to conversate, when your smile comes, he grins so proudly and afterwards he’ll reward you with a big, sloppy kiss

Because even though the concept of shyness greatly confuses him, he knows these types of things are big for you

When he wants you to speak, he’ll look at you, turning his head over his shoulder and making a small, giddy sound.

He’ll squeeze your hand which of course he’s still holding, he wants to remind you that you’re safe

But you can balance him out, too. If he comes up to someone who you know doesn’t want to talk, if he’s bothering them and it’s clear on their face but Luffy doesn’t know, then you’ll gently pull him away into a hug and whisper, “hey, looks like they don’t want to talk right now…”

He’ll be a little disappointed but you’ve helped him understand stuff like this

Luffy LOVES adventures

He wants to take you on all of them, even when you’re scared or anxious

There’s that hand holding again, or maybe he’ll link his arm tightly with yours, knowing that the closeness of his body will make you feel safer, bolder

It does help, he’s infectious, invigorating. He’s inspiring in the way he charges ahead, and you want to feel so free like he seems to, always

So you try to be like him, going out of your comfort zone, finding joy in the things you fear

When you’re scared, he’ll hold you. He’ll lift you onto his back or press you close against his chest

And when it’s too dangerous, when your anxiety is right, you can hold his arm, tell him to please just stay with you, and he’s learned (probably the hard way) that sometimes you can be right about these things, you can see what he won’t

It’s a perfect balance, you and Luffy. An unlikely pair, two polar opposites, and yet you share so much, you fit so well. He loves you for that, and he’s going to help you, always

#luffy x reader #one piece #luffy #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #luffy x y/n #luffy x you #luffy x reader fluff #luffy fluff #luffy headcanons #one piece headcanons #luffy x reader headcanons #one piece fluff

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mvltisstuff · 1 month

Note

hii!! i hope you’re well :) i haven’t seen anyone write a fic for ravi panikkar (he deserves the whole world fr) so i’ve got a request hehe, if that’s okay?

could you write a fic where reader and ravi secretly like each other but are both too awkward to admit it so the 118 always tease them and try to set them up together? maybe in the end they both confess their feelings to each other after one of them gets badly injured when attending a rescue?

im soo sorry if this is too long and feel free to ignore this request if you’d like <33 thank youuu 🫶

suburban legends (pt.1) - r.p

summary: request

ravi panikkar x reader

a/n: thank you for the request, i hope this does it justice and you enjoy :)) This WILL have a second part!! i just wanted to get something out for u today :))

everyone knew that y/n and ravi were pretty much the baby siblings of the rest of the crew at the 118. they all got so attached to each other, but for some reason, ravi and y/n always managed to strengthen the distance between them. it was like a family photo, each of them on other ends.

y/n came into the picture a bit after ravi did, instantly clicking with everyone. she was incredibly bright for her age and being so new, so she was perfect to have on the team. ravi was quick and selfless, making him another must-have when bobby was looking for new probies. he could already envision y/n and ravi being just like buck and eddie, or chim and hen.

however, bobby’s ideas were slowed down by their stubbornness. as soon as y/n walked into the station, she got nervous whenever ravi was near. the first time she laid eyes on him, it was evident on her face that she had a little crush forming. ravi, too, kept asking bobby and his other coworkers questions about the new girl, but only getting teasing replies back. y/n and ravi, out of their own anxieties, would exchange a couple sentences a day, and they would be on calls. they seemed like strangers when out of uniform, and none of the team liked it.

they’ve been plotting small things for weeks to get them to talk to each other, like bringing the team out for drinks, or dinner after a call. none of it seemed to work, because they both found loopholes of how not to be surrounded by each other. in buck and eddie’s eyes, it seemed like ravi needed a pep talk.

“hey, ravi!” buck called, while walking besides eddie into the kitchen. ravi was at the table, eating leftovers from dinner the night before. it had been a slow day, so he took the time he had to eat. “we need some advice.”

“yeah, we’re getting old, we need to know what it’s like these days from a younger perspective.” eddie adds, sitting down across from ravi and buck copies.

“okay, with what?”

“so, we both like these girls, and,” eddie turns to look at buck, who nods along. “we need your advice on how to get them. you know, times are always changing and girls like different things now.”

“you guys aren’t even that old-“

“oh, ravi, please,” buck groans. “i feel my knees deteriorating every day and eddie found a grey beard hair the other day.”

“oh, go on, i guess.”

“anyway, this girl, she’s so smart, like amazingly smart.” eddie starts, thinking of ways to describe y/n. “she’s got these eyes that hunt me down and she always has her hair up nice.”

“and mine, she is always on time and never slowed down. she’s passionate and so gorgeous.” buck includes as ravi just shoves more food into his mouth.

“well, what does she do?”

“they’re both firefighters. we met them at the…” eddie starts.

“the bar.” buck finishes for him.

“i play hard to get.” ravi starts spilling, and buck and eddie lean in closer. “the less attention you give, the more they want you. it’ll make it more exciting when they start making more moves. but, you also don’t want to get too attached because she might not want a real relationship. people just want sex these days and i don’t want to make things awkward because we both work at the same station. putting a gap between the two of you works, but it feels like shit, but at least you’ll feel like shit together.”

“mhm, so just ignore her all the time and do everything i can to avoid her?” buck questions, squinting at ravi.

“no, not exactly-“

“isn’t that what you do though?” eddie replies.

“sorry?”

“we’re not dumb, panikkar. your big feelings for y/n are so obvious that it’s the only thing we talk about here these days. do you know how much money i’ve lost because of you two?”

“that’s true, i win all the bets.” buck chimes in.

“i don’t have feelings for-“

“don’t start lying to us now,” eddie sings.

“i’m not ly-“

“you’re lying!” buck sings in the same tone as eddie.

“i don’t really like you guys!” ravi says, putting his fork down.

“well, that doesn’t matter, because you like y/n and she fancies you.” buck tells him.

“wait, did she tell you that?” buck and eddie sigh at his excitement.

“she’s polishing the trucks and she needs an extra hand. and, buck and i, we just don’t want to. and bobby said we can tell you what to do.” eddie says.

“no, he didn’t.” buck hands ravi a cloth and jerks his head in y/n’s direction. “fine. but if this backfires, its on you.”

as ravi heads down the stairs, he stands next to y/n and tosses the rag around nervously. “figured i’d give you a hand.”

hen and chim, on the other engine, turn their heads and stare at the pair, but buck and eddie come back and remind them to not bother y/n and ravi. they were like deer, once you make too much noise they run away.

“oh, thanks,” y/n smiles. “this is my least favorite thing to do.”

“that’s how i feel with cleaning the kitchen, it’s so boring.”

“i don’t mind the kitchen, actually.”

“i’ve been putting it off,” ravi laughs, smearing more polish onto the red, shiny vehicle.

“i can go do it for you, if you want.” y/n offers. ravi does not want her to, because it feels like they’re actually going somewhere now.

“uh,” he hesitates. “sure! only if you want.”

“it’s no problem.” y/n grins and starts making her way upstairs.

buck and eddie come stand next to ravi, shaking their heads in disapproval at the way things just happened.

stuff like this continued to happen for days, ravi would get too close, and y/n would run off. he didn’t understand why she would get so nervous when he’d come around. he figured he’d just give up, no use in getting the girl when she doesn’t want it.

ravi finally thought he had her right where he wanted her. he went upstairs to help her in the kitchen, after taking his chore again to try and help. but, the alarm blaring through the station quickly paused things, like always.

#911onfox #evan buckley #911 #eddie diaz #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley fanfic #ravi panikkar #ravi panikkar x reader #ravi 911 #911 ravi #ravi panikkar fic #ravi panikkar fanfic #ravi panikkar one shot #chimney 911 #911 fic #911 fanfic #911 abc #911 show

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marieisnothere12 · 5 months

Text

Sunday HSR Analysis

“People often forget that when the first bird took flight, the entire world envisioned a future where… No more fledglings would ever crash to their death.”

Hsr 2.2 spoilers 👇

I think Sunday values security and safety above all. Robin tells him he doesn’t need to do everything and not relax and we also see how much he does. He’s kind of like a pastor (or preacher idk the difference) hearing ppls confessions. Sunday is definitely seen as the perfect person. A responsibile, talented, brother than handles everything. Sunday’s main internal conflict is him not being sure he’s doing the right thing. He’s trying to persuade himself that he’s just trying protect people (but mainly Robin ig). And as Aventurine’s Future says something along the lines of:

“To deceive others, you must first deceive yourself.”

I think there are multiple parallels between the two. They both value security (or a false sense of it), deceive others, and in a way, gamble. Sunday’s plan of teaming up with Ratio and getting the “aventurine” stone. His questions with the Trailblazer, Himeko, March, and Firefly were pretty risky if you ask me. And like Aventurine, has questionable ways of achieving their goals. He believes he’s doing the right, and more importantly, necessary things to keep Penacony up and running. His drive isn’t principle like he suggests at the beginning, but need.

When Welt, Sunday, and Robin talk to the Dreammaster, he speculates that they do not worship the Harmony but the Order and Sunday confirms this. He says:

“We were never the children of the Harmony… Within the foundation of law, humanity establishes civilization. And through Harmony, we obtain Order.”

This makes a lot of sense. Sunday’s truth spell doesn’t match the belief of the Harmony very well. It’s very forceful as we can see with Aventurine’s interrogation. Since we now know it’s the Order, his power matches that path perfectly. I mean, he’s a control freak like Ena the Order.

Furthermore, he keeps bringing up the bird story and it dying. When he tells Himeko, March, Firefly, and the Trailblazer the story, he asks them:

“…build a nest with a soft net where the Charmony Dove fell? Or build a cage for it, and feed it, giving it the utmost care from within the warmth of a home?”

March chooses to build a cage and protect it

Himeko chooses to build a cage and protect it

Firefly chooses to build a cage and protect it

The Trailblazer chooses to build a nest.

He then asks another question, the Trailblazer chooses the opposite of what Sunday chose.

Sunday then asked the third and final question.

“Would you still support Robin’s journey on the path of Harmony?”

The Trailblazer says yes.

Let me ask you this: How much can you blame Sunday? He wants protection, for himself and others. That’s why he follows the Order. He believes that you need force to have preace. Sunday wants to unite people under the Order.

But every planet that followed the Order shined bright but burned just as quickly.

He thinks his sister is naïve for following the Harmony and getting that bullet injury, but I would argue Sunday is just as naïve as her. None of the planets that worshipped Ena the Order succeeded in the long term. But the thing about Sunday that makes his naïveté worse than Robin’s, who is less naïve and more idealistic, is his arrogance and ignorance. Sunday is constantly reassuring himself he is a follower of the Order for the sake of Penacony and the Dreamscape.

I think Sunday’s view on humanity is pessimistic (as put in the hsr wiki) bc he detaches himself from. When he talks about, well anything in 2.2 it gives very “i’m a god and you pitiful humans are doomed.” However, he still genuinely wants to help people. I think this god-like stance is a bluff, a facade. We know from the Robin and Sunday cutscene that Sunday believes he has the be the one person that protects everyone, the person who suffers for everyone else. He has to put on a face that says “dw I got it.” Sunday thinks that he has and always will be the reliable one. He emotionally distances himself from everyone else to “see the big picture.”

When Sunday asks why does life slumber, the Trailblazer answers:

“Because someday…we will wake up from our dreams.”

This shocks Sunday. And if i’m being perfectly honest. I don’t really know exactly why. Maybe because he realizes that people (and himself) need to stop indulging into escapism. He may also be reminded he’s human. He isn’t perfect and his ideals aren’t the right solution for humanity.

And he replies:

“The night is still…too short…”

Sunday still wants to dream of something (or reminisce the past?). I’m not sure we gotta wait for him to be playable.

Before that Robin says:

“Even if that star… must hang in a perpetual night of solitude”

So that might also mean he thinks he deserves being alone or doing everything :((( this is a stretch tho

Robin also says:

“Brother… the weakness of humanity cannot be redeemed by others. Stop it… You want to achieve the paradise we promised but the Order is not the only choice! True happiness and the meaning life lie in defying Nihility and embracing all that life offers!”

Sunday wants to solve other peoples problems and humanity’s weakness

He might be nihilistic :((

He’s lonely :(

To close, Sunday doesn’t have bad motives but his execution is pretty questionable. The Order is more about control than anything (Ena and Sunday are both control freaks).

I love Sunday sm <333

#sunday hsr #hsr sunday #sunday #hsr #honkai star rail #Honkai star rail Sunday #sunday analysis #Charactet analysis #Hsr 2.2 #honkai star rail 2.2

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doodle-pops · 7 months

Text

The Ainur | With A Short Reader

Request: Can I make a request for headcanons for how the Ainur would be with a short human reader? Around 5 foot tall? Like an elf of about 6 feet would only reach up to some of their chest or lower still, considering they’re like 7-9 foot tall. Would they be cute, teasing, protective, frustrated by the height difference? P.s. I love the way you characterise all the Ainur, it really feels like their personality, you do a fantastic job. - anon

A/N: Happy to fulfil this request and learn that you enjoy my characterisations of them anon. I tend to envision the Ainur as nothing less than nine feet since they are deities and display their power through their heights. So you’re going to appear super short next to them. Nonetheless, Enjoy!

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Manwë

The bird was too stunned to speak. Are you a child or dwarf, certainly that could not be your final height at the end of your growth? Unfortunately, it is your complete height which makes you appear as a little bird before the great King. Now his nickname ‘little bird’ makes more sense.

He cannot fathom how you can be the same size as a bean and packed with all that sass whenever he mentions how tiny you are. You require a ladder if you ever reach his head for a ‘level-headed’ talk.

Has no issue picking you up with one hand and carrying you around like his personal comfort toy when he’s having a bad day. Anyone commenting or teasing gets a look that speaks about them receiving a bolt of lightning.

Let us not forget his avian side which is going to fawn over how adorable you are. You’re tiny and squishy, perfect for belonging in his nest where he can shower you in affection all day long.

The size difference is outstanding. Just picture a baby lying in their parents' bed, looking like a little nugget among the pillows…that’s what you appear like anytime you snuggle in his bed. On numerous occasions, he didn’t see you and almost squished you under the sheets.

With your size, it means wearing his robes and marching around his room or Ilmarin pretending to be him while he silently watches from afar. You are drowning in his robes, don’t even wear his shirt, it’s a gown on you.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Irmo

Your size doesn’t change the way he’s going to shower you with ultimate love and affection. Apart from the minor teasing he’ll conduct for the fun of the situation, Irmo loves you the same way if you are tall.

A gentleman who enjoys using the opportunities when granted to lift you over puddles or streams so he can fawn over how you fit in his arms. He (and the others) can lift you with his pinkie and has done it before.

You are authorised to always sleep on his chest—you look like a kitten sleeping on his chest in his eyes—mainly because you like to roll and so does he and nothing good has arisen from you both rolling together.

Gets lost in crowds and he panics. He’ll be walking around asking if anyone has seen his little lover and he will give descriptions. “They’re about 5 feet, this short and very tiny. They look like an elfling…”

Saw children’s clothing on a walk with you in a boutique, did not know they were for children and excitedly stated, “Oh look! I believe these would look lovely on you! They even have your colours.”

Do not be upset with him, he didn’t know that it was children’s clothing. Irmo only wished to share the moment of shopping with you. But worry not, he gathers the best seamstresses and tailors to fashion you the finest wear that looks nothing like children’s clothes.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Námo

Has a smile on his face anytime you take the lead and walk in front of him, hence his reason for always telling you to lead the way. He’s a simple Vala, he wants to watch as you waddle like a duck with your short legs as you take him to Eru knows where.

Pretends to complain when you ‘borrow’ his robes because you missed him, but gushes mentally at the sight of how you’re drowning in his forever monochromatic black robes.

His viridian eyes were soft at the sight of you walking around, dragging his robes all over. The idea of complaining about getting them dirty has disappeared, and all he is thinking about is how you look like a penguin.

Your feet running across his halls are the equivalent of tiny pitter-patter and it’s how he can easily distinguish your presence; just listen for the tiny footsteps. But it never works out well when you’re among elves and lost in a crowd.

The first time you met his brother, Irmo mistook you for a child Námo adopted and congratulated his brother on softening up to the idea of children. To make matters worse, you played along—much to Námo’s annoyance—and clung to his arm, calling him ‘atar/daddy’.

Irmo was elated, you were dying of laughter and Námo was contemplating his life. He couldn’t believe this was the humour he signed up for the moment he fell in love with someone shorter than most individuals.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Ulmo

Mistook you for the child wandering the shores the first time he saw you in the distance and scolded you for playing in the deep waters without parental supervision. That was until he learned you weren’t a child and your permanent height for a lifetime.

‘Pebble’ was the most suitable nickname he gifted you since pebbles were small and cute…like you. Plus, he brings you pebbles, seashells and pearls from the ocean floor as a token of affection.

Because you’re smaller, your strokes as you swim alongside him are slower, so he’ll call the seals, dolphins or whales to swim alongside you for assistance. You’re even allowed to ride them anytime you two are swimming out in the depths.

Since Ulmo’s true form is staggering, he opts to appear around the same height as you are anytime he has to walk the earth. His favourite place to have walks would be the beach obviously.

Hand holding while watching the sunset and he’s quietly staring at your short fingers holding his larger hand. He loves holding your hand to fawn over the size. He would even slip on a cute ring with a pearl one day.

Because Ulmo is known for having no resting place as he wanders the waters of the world, he enjoys visiting your home. It’s even better if you live near a lake for him to have easier access to seeing you frequently. Cue Ulmo marvels at how small your household items are as he picks them up.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Oromë

Congratulations, you are the perfect size to sit on all of his creatures (and him) to ride through the forest with him. He cannot get over your tiny figure because he knows that you’re about the same size as an elfling and all his creatures are larger than you.

Roughhousing is a thing that occurs between you both and he gets caught up in the experience to forget how easily he can send you on a trip to Estë for healing…because it has happened multiple times.

Picks you up like a sack of potatoes and slings you over his shoulder when he has to carry you somewhere and you’re being troublesome, or he wants to randomly surprise you. You’re as light as a feather as he runs with you through the forest.

Swinging from his muscular arms anytime he flexes his muscles for you? Yes, yes you do, and he loves it. Fuels his ego to know that he’s strong and his lover can climb him like a tree. Clinging to his muscular physique and probably biting him? Yes, you do that he calls you a tiny beast who needs to be tamed.

Not the type to underestimate the size of a creature you can ride because of your size but is also cautious at the same time. Wanted to gift you a Shetland pony because you were small enough to ride one, but back out last minute knowing that he would receive an earful. Gave you a giant-sized tiger or dog as a companion.

You wear his pelts and pretend to act like him, attempting to wield his bow—sweetheart, you couldn’t even draw the strings—as though you were hunting.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Tulkas

No different from Oromë and will playfight with you using the strength in his pinkie finger and you’d still have to bandage some body parts because accidents happen all the time. No worries though, he praises your injuries and makes you feel as though you fought a great battle with him.

He has no doubts, dismisses your strengths and associates them with your size having seen many great warriors display outstanding strengths and feats despite their size. Instead, he encourages you to take pride in your size and all the greatness you can accomplish.

You got a workout buddy, or rather he got a new dumbbell to lift or someone to sit on his back for push-ups. Your weight is inconsequential, but it doesn’t stop you from enjoying the fun in the moment.

Also picks you up like a sack of potatoes and carries you around the place, introducing you to all his close friends and elves. Anytime you need to speak ‘eye-level’ with him, instead of going to lengths to climb tables or a tree, he’ll kneel to your level.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Melkor

Getting called dwarf, child, or both the first time you meet will result in him changing the names and calling you a critter if you attempt to attack him for calling you short. Probably ‘ankle biter’ might be your new name because he denoted that small things have the most rage.

You’re a ferocious ankle-biter in his eyes whose nerves he enjoys getting on because your responses are hilarious. It’s all in jest…or maybe not.

Nothing of his will ever fit you, that also means trying to wear his crown with the Silmarils. It’s currently sitting on your neck as we speak. All you can do is make versions of his outfits tailored to your size.

You’re smaller, so his hands can cover your entire face. Know what that means? Squish your cheeks as you speak to admire how soft and dough-like they are. “Hm, ankle biter, you have remarkably soft cheeks,” he says while squishing your face.

There’s nothing you can climb on to meet his height because he makes sure that there isn’t anything around. He wants you to break your neck looking up at him (bite his ankles and he’ll reach your height).

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Eönwë

“You’re like a hummingbird minus the speed,” he chuckled upon the first sight of your tiny figure. You were lucky he didn’t consider you a lost child who wandered before him in search of help because he was ready to call you ‘child’.

I have to say, Eӧnwё is the best person to try the same ‘daddy’ prank on when you’re walking through the streets of Valimar but clinging to him and acting like a child for the elves to fawn over how adorable the interaction is. There is always an elf who inquires for you to look them in the eye and say, “This is my atya!”

His avian side adores your tininess; and makes you all the more delicate and squishable. You are never again going to leave the nest…just joking, but his protective side goes up a notch because you are TINY.

I mean, he loses you in a crowd easily and you can’t even jump high enough to show your location. You can climb a table or chair but still have to get past the sea of heads before Eӧnwё spots you.

Gets you the smaller version of everything so you don’t have to struggle with holding the larger objects. He once watched as you climbed a chair as if it were a mountain or fought with a glass of wine because the glass was too big to hold.

At least going on flights doesn’t change whether you’re extra small or bigger. Visits in the morning and takes you to watch the sunrise over the mountain from a bird’s eye view.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Tilion

Doesn’t matter if you’re tiny or tall, you still look the same from his view in the sky as he guides the moon. But he does melt at the sight of you looking up at the moon.

You are forever his ‘little deer’ even though you’re probably feisty and love to bite or nibble on his arms all the time. Similar to Oromë, carries you around like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder, but more for the fun of watching your short legs dangle.

Doesn’t alter the size of any furniture so he can observe your legs dangling over the edges and sway, or the size difference between you and the table designed for a nine-foot entity.

Roughhousing is a constant must-have between you both because he adores pinning your smaller body under his and making you fight back. Tilion just wants to watch you struggle and wiggle like a worm. Bite him.

Puts you to sleep on top of him because it is the safest option unless you want to be crushed under a giant nine-foot Maia, and you look like a tiny kitten curled up on his chest. The only thing he hasn’t done is pick you up by your scruff.

He’s such a tease when it comes to you both riding through the forest. Tilion will purposefully place you behind him so you can’t see a thing and then tease you about being too small. But it’s all in jest because he’ll have you ride an elk or reindeer or even a pony that was handpicked to match your size.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Mairon

He also assumed you’re an ankle biter as well because he called you short and you were ready to attack. Please, do not release him from your tyranny because he will make fun of your height and pat your head or rest his arm atop your head when he’s resting. Again, bite him.

Complains about your short legs and how slow you are when you’re walking side-by-side but comes to you later to ask for assistance because some tool of his fell into a small hole and you’re tiny enough to get it.

Tells you that he’ll feed you to his wolves if you don’t stop clinging to him when in truth, he loves it. You’re small enough to not be a distraction as he moves about his forge or the fortress, but it’s just Mairon being a tsundere.

Doesn’t see you lying in his bed because his bed is huge and you’re extra small, so he almost lies atop your body. It’s turned into a staring match like how children stare you down without blinking.

Has a tendency to carry you around, for funsies, by holding onto your belt or grabbing the back of your clothes so you dangle as he powers through the corridors until he arrives at his Lord holding you like a briefcase.

Deep down, as much as he teases your size, he enjoys the differences. Watching you fight to lift an object made for his size or dress in his clothes—if you’re brave enough to try this—is entertaining.

Masterlist

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