#what then. what then. casual intimacy.........

[kiwriteswords]

hotchhotchhotch! it's like you write him extra hot - like sriracha hot - bc he's sososo perfect in your writing! can i request the "saying "i love you" for the first time" with shy!reader?

Hi!! Thank you so much!!! This one turned out to be a little longer than a drabble! Hope you like it!!

Drabble Prompts | Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Shy!Fem!Reader!

Summary: In the high-stakes world of the BAU, you and Aaron Hotchner have shared a quiet, unspoken connection that began as something casual, a way to find comfort amid the chaos. But when a routine case leaves you critically injured, Hotch is forced to confront the depth of his feelings. As he anxiously waits by your side, fearing the worst, Hotch realizes that losing you would break him in ways he never expected.

Word Count: 3.5k

Rating: Technically safe for work, but hints at an intimate relationship.

TW: Canon typical violence, hints at intimacy, angst

The Fear of Falling

You didn’t expect to get shot.

You were trained for it, prepared to face the worst every day, but no one really expects it. You were in the thick of it, chasing down a suspect with Hotch, when it all went wrong. One minute, you had your eyes on him, and the next, pain exploded through your side.

The world blurred around you as you hit the ground, blood seeping into your clothes, your hands, the dirt beneath you. Voices came through muffled, far-off. It wasn’t until Hotch’s voice cut through the haze that reality started to set back in.

The bullet tore through your side, the pain immediate and searing, but in the chaos of the moment, you didn’t have time to process it. Everything around you was a blur—Hotch’s voice barking orders into his radio, the flashing lights of the ambulance, the sound of footsteps pounding the ground around you.

But one thing was clear: Hotch never left your side.

That had always been his way—quiet, steady, dependable. From the beginning, when whatever this was between you had started, Hotch had been there. It hadn’t been some whirlwind romance, no grand gestures or confessions of love. Instead, it was late nights spent together after a long day in the field, where the lines between work and something more blurred. You’d sit close on the jet, your knees brushing under the table as you discussed case files, or spend hours in quiet conversation that had nothing to do with the cases you worked on but everything to do with understanding each other.

The "fling"—as you had quietly labeled it in your head—started as something small, something easy to dismiss. It had begun in the most unexpected way, during a night at a bar after a tough case. The team had gone home, but you and Hotch had stayed, finding some kind of strange comfort in the shared silence over a couple of drinks. It had been weeks of tension, the unspoken attraction between you simmering beneath the surface, and that night, it finally broke. A lingering glance. A brush of fingers. Then, without thinking, you had leaned in, and so had he.

It was never meant to be serious. Neither of you had said as much, but the understanding was there. Hotch had his demons, and you had yours. He was your superior. The weight of those unspoken boundaries hung between you, even as you’d find yourself alone together, the rest of the world falling away for brief moments. Kisses stolen in the shadows of hotel rooms when the team wasn’t looking. Conversations that lasted too long, with gazes that lingered just a bit more than they should have.

You had agreed to keep things casual. Nothing more than companionship in the midst of the chaos of your lives. Neither of you had the space for something deeper, something permanent. Or at least, that’s what you told yourselves. But as the months went on, the way Hotch looked at you began to shift. You noticed the way his eyes softened when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the way he checked on you after a particularly rough case, or how he lingered at your side just a little longer than necessary.

And somewhere along the way, you had begun to care about him more than you should have. You tried to push it down, to remind yourself that this wasn’t supposed to be anything. But the more time you spent with him, the harder it became to pretend--the more painful it became to pretend. The quiet moments, the subtle touches, the way he said your name—it all added up to something neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

“Stay with me.” He was beside you, his hands pressing against your wound, voice stern but shaking. His brows furrowed, eyes fixed on your injury, but his jaw clenched with something much deeper than concern. You could see it, even in your pain-addled state.

“I’m—” You tried to speak, but it was hard to get the words out. You were used to being quiet, used to keeping your thoughts to yourself. That never seemed to be a problem when you were with Hotch. Silence had become a part of the strange rhythm you had with him, this unspoken understanding between two people who couldn’t find the right words but always seemed to know.

Now, though, you felt the need to fill that silence, to say something, anything.

“It’s okay,” he muttered, “you’re going to be okay.”

The grip of his hands tightened, and in a rare moment, his walls seemed to crack. He wasn’t just your boss here. He wasn’t the stern, unflinching leader of the BAU. He was Aaron—someone who had been carrying something for a while, someone who hadn’t yet spoken all the things he needed to say. Someone you cared about more than you ever let on.

“I’m sorry,” you managed, wincing as a fresh wave of pain surged through you. You weren’t sure why you apologized—maybe for being hurt, maybe for all the times you’d kept quiet when you wanted to say more, or maybe for all the times you felt like you were asking too much of him, even when you hadn’t asked for anything at all.

“Why would you apologize?” His voice was tight, but there was a gentleness in it that you’d rarely heard. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You never do.”

Hotch rode with you in the ambulance, his hand gripping yours, his jaw clenched tight as he stared down at you, concern and fear etched into every hard line of his face. You could feel the tension radiating from him, the way he was barely keeping it together for your sake. Aaron Hotchner was always the one in control, always the one to keep a level head when everything else was falling apart. But right now, it felt like that control was slipping.

As the paramedics worked on you, you could hear the urgency in their voices. The blood loss, the need to stabilize you—it was all happening too fast for you to grasp. The only constant was Hotch’s presence, his voice grounding you, telling you to hold on.

By the time you reached the hospital, the world was fading in and out. The last thing you saw before you were wheeled into surgery was Hotch standing there, his eyes locked on yours, as if he was afraid to let you go.

Hours passed. Hotch didn’t move from the waiting room.

The sterile hospital air seemed suffocating, the hum of fluorescent lights above adding to the unbearable stillness. Time felt warped—minutes dragged into hours, each second stretching endlessly as he waited. His mind was stuck on one thing: you.

Reid was the first to arrive, his face pale as he walked into the waiting room. He wasn’t good with hospitals, and Hotch knew it. His hands fidgeted with the strap of his bag as he approached. “Hotch,” he said softly, “how is she?”

Hotch didn’t answer right away. He kept his eyes fixed on the swinging doors down the hall, the ones that led to the surgical ward. “She’s still in there.”

Reid sat down beside him, the silence between them heavy. Hotch could feel the younger man glancing at him occasionally, probably wanting to say more, but holding back. Reid wasn’t someone who pushed when others needed space. But even his quiet presence wasn’t enough to pierce the fog of worry clouding Hotch’s mind. After a few minutes, Reid left, muttering something about needing to call Garcia for an update.

Hotch barely registered it.

Morgan came next, his energy a stark contrast to the stillness that had settled over the room. He strode in, his expression serious but determined. “How’s she doing, man?”

Hotch shook his head, his fingers gripping the edge of the chair. “They haven’t told me anything yet.”

Morgan sat across from him, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward. “She’s tough. She’s gonna pull through.”

Hotch nodded, but the movement felt mechanical. Empty. His mind was spinning with worst-case scenarios, a constant replay of the moment you went down. The blood. The way your body crumpled. His heart clenched painfully in his chest at the memory. He could still feel the warmth of your blood on his hands as he tried to stop the bleeding.

“She’ll make it,” Morgan added quietly, his voice softer now. He was trying to comfort Hotch, trying to be there in the way he always was for the team. But Hotch didn’t have it in him to respond. He barely acknowledged the weight of Morgan’s words before he stood abruptly, pacing to the window.

He stared outside, seeing nothing but the reflection of the waiting room. His reflection. And behind it, Morgan, looking at him with quiet concern. But Morgan didn’t say anything else. After a few minutes, he got up, clapped Hotch on the shoulder, and left, probably to update the rest of the team.

Rossi arrived last. The older man walked in with the calm, steady air that he always carried, but even he couldn’t mask the worry etched into his features. He had been doing this job longer than any of them, and Hotch knew he had seen more than his share of teammates in the hospital. But that didn’t make this any easier.

“How’re you holding up?” Rossi asked, standing beside Hotch by the window.

Hotch didn’t answer right away. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, fingers clenched into tight fists. He stared out at the city below, his jaw working as he fought to keep his emotions in check. “I’m fine,” he finally muttered, his voice tight.

Rossi didn’t buy it, of course. “You’re not fine, Aaron. None of us are when someone we care about is lying on an operating table.”

Hotch flinched at that. Care. The word hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. He knew what Rossi was implying—what everyone had probably suspected for a while now. But this wasn’t the time to talk about it. Not now.

“I should’ve been faster,” Hotch muttered, his voice barely audible. “I should’ve seen it coming.”

Rossi shook his head. “You can’t think like that. We all know the risks. So does she.”

Hotch clenched his fists tighter, the anger and frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “She’s in there because of me. If I’d been quicker, more careful...”

“She’s in there because it’s the job. You did everything you could.” Rossi’s voice was firm, but it didn’t soothe the guilt gnawing at Hotch’s insides.

The silence stretched between them, and Rossi eventually gave him a small nod before heading out. He knew better than to push Hotch when he was like this. And Hotch knew that, deep down, Rossi was right. But that didn’t change the fact that you were in surgery, and he was standing here, helpless.

The minutes dragged on. He glanced at the clock. Then at the doors. His mind was racing—picturing every possible outcome, every scenario, from best to worst. He had never felt more useless in his life. Out in the field, he knew what to do. There was always a plan, always a course of action. But here? Here, he was just waiting.

And Hotch wasn’t someone who did well with waiting.

He leaned against the window, his hand rubbing his face as exhaustion tugged at him. The pressure in his chest was unbearable. He couldn’t lose you. Not like this. Not after everything you’d been through together—every quiet moment, every glance that spoke louder than words. He had never said it, never admitted how deeply he cared for you. Not to you, not to himself. But now... now he didn’t have a choice.

He loved you.

And if he lost you, he wasn’t sure how he would put himself back together again.

He paced the waiting room some more, his hands running through his hair in frustration. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He wasn’t supposed to lose it. But the image of you lying there, bleeding, the sound of your voice barely above a whisper, haunted him. He could still feel your hand slipping from his grasp as they took you into the operating room.

“Hotch,” Emily said softly, placing a hand on his arm to stop him mid-pace. “She’s strong. She’s going to make it.”

He nodded but didn’t trust himself to speak. What could he say? That he wasn’t strong enough for this? That, for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was falling apart?

When he finally sat down, it was with a heavy sigh. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this unhinged, this terrified of losing someone.--Not since Haley.

But you weren’t Haley. You were different.

Haley had been the love of his life—the mother of his child, the person who had seen him through some of his darkest moments. But his love for her had been rooted in something that had bloomed long before the BAU took over his life, before the job hardened him, before the tragedies that followed had changed him. Haley had seen him as a younger man, unburdened by the weight of the world. And even after everything, she had always held a place in his heart.

But you... you were different.

You had become a part of his life without him even realizing it, quietly slipping into the spaces Haley had left behind. At first, he had resisted it. After Haley, he had sworn that he wouldn’t let himself feel that deeply for someone again. The loss had been too great, too painful. He had told himself that he didn’t have time for it, that he didn’t deserve it. His job demanded too much, and he had already paid the price once.

But then there had been you.

Your presence had been subtle, almost imperceptible at first. There were the late-night debriefs after a long case, the quiet conversations in the jet, the moments of silence that somehow felt more comfortable than words. You never pushed, never demanded more than he was willing to give. You didn’t need to. You just were—steady, present, a constant in his life that had become more and more important without him even realizing it.

And now, sitting here, waiting for news on whether you’d pull through, he knew there was no going back. He couldn’t pretend anymore. Couldn’t push away what had been building between you.

Because somewhere along the way, you had become more than just another colleague, more than just another person he cared about. He wasn’t sure when it had happened—maybe it was during a quiet evening when you had shared a rare laugh, or maybe it was when you had listened to him without judgment after a particularly brutal case. Or maybe it had been a thousand little moments that had piled up until he couldn’t ignore them anymore.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t deny it now.

He was in love with you.

It wasn’t something he had planned, or something he had even wanted at first. But it had crept up on him, slowly and surely, until the thought of losing you terrified him more than he had ever been willing to admit.

He had tried to keep his distance, to keep things professional. After all, what business did a man like him have getting involved with someone like you? He was too old, too broken. You deserved someone who wasn’t carrying the kind of baggage he did. But every time he was near you, every time you smiled or laughed, or even just sat quietly with him in comfortable silence, it chipped away at the walls he had so carefully built.

And if something happened to you—if he lost you now—he wasn’t sure he could survive it.

It had been so easy to fall for you. Too easy.

Now, he was terrified that he’d never get the chance to tell you.

When you finally woke up, groggy from the anesthesia, the first thing you noticed was the stiffness in your side. The second was the sound of steady breathing beside you.

Turning your head slowly, you saw him. Hotch was sitting in the chair next to your bed, looking far more disheveled than you’d ever seen him. His tie was loose, his shirt wrinkled, and the exhaustion in his eyes was unmistakable. He hadn’t left.

“Hotch?” you murmured, your voice weak, but the relief of seeing him made your heart ache.

His head snapped up, and the relief that washed over his face was palpable. He stood immediately, leaning over you, his hand resting gently on your arm. “You’re awake,” he said softly, and you could hear the unspoken worry in his voice. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” you admitted, trying to give him a small smile, though the heaviness in your chest made it hard. You had been lucky, but the fact that it had come to this—lying in a hospital bed after being shot—felt like a wake-up call.

The bubbling of feelings in your chest out-ached the pain from the bullet. You couldn’t do this anymore. You couldn’t pretend that your feelings for him didn’t run deeper than you ever intended. And you couldn’t ask him to risk his heart again, not after everything he had been through.

“I think...” you started, your throat dry, “I think we should stop whatever this is.”

Hotch blinked, the words seeming to hit him like a physical blow. “What?” he asked, his voice low, like he hadn’t quite heard you correctly.

“I just—” You paused, unsure of how to explain the storm of emotions inside you. “I’ve caught feelings, Hotch. And I don’t think that’s fair. Not to you, not to me. It’s... too much.”

His face hardened, but not in anger. It was the mask he wore when he was trying to keep himself in check, to not let his emotions spill out.

“I don’t want to make things harder for you,” you continued, your heart aching with each word. “I don’t want to ask for more than you can give. I know you’ve already been through enough.”

“You think you’re asking too much of me?” His voice was quiet but firm, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made your chest tighten. “You’re the one who just got shot, and you think you’re the problem here?”

You tried to sit up, but the pain made you wince, and he was immediately by your side, his hand on your shoulder, gently pushing you back down. “You don’t understand,” you whispered, the tears threatening to spill over now. “I’m in love with you, and I didn’t mean for it to happen. But it did, and now I don’t know what to do because I can’t keep pretending that I don’t care.”

The silence that followed felt heavy, suffocating. You expected him to walk away, to tell you that this was why he had always kept his distance, why he hadn’t let things get too deep. But instead, he surprised you.

“I love you too.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at him, his words hanging in the air between you. You weren’t sure you had heard him right.

“I’ve been in love with you for a while,” he continued, his voice rough, as if it hurt him to admit it. “I just... I didn’t think I could ask that of you. I’m not... I’m not the man I used to be, and I thought you deserved more than someone like me. Someone who’s been through what I have.”

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You’re everything to me, Hotch. I don’t care about the rest.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. His hand reached for yours, his grip firm but gentle, and the weight of everything unsaid between you seemed to settle. 

“You scared the hell out of me today,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “And I realized I can’t lose you. Not like this. Not ever.”

The tears came then, and you didn’t try to stop them. You had been holding back for so long, afraid of what it would mean to let yourself feel this way, to let yourself fall for him. But now, it didn’t matter. He was here. You were both here.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “And neither are you.”

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos

[taihua]

thoughts on peixin? 👀

Took me forever to get to this one because apparently I have a lot of thoughts on peixin and needed to type them out on my laptop rather than on mobile!

I'll start with my boring "what fits with canon" answer: obviously it's a non-canon ship, but I generally don't think Pei Ming and Feng Xin are very close or spend a lot of time around each other. Feng Xin is a known loner who doesn't spend time in heaven, and Pei Ming is busy seducing women (I think he's arguably bisexual in theory but in practice he just likes women too much to bother seducing men). There isn't even really any overlap in their territories to justify the idea of them helping each other, since Lang Qianqiu's in the middle. One of my favorite throwaway lines is Nan Feng calling the Peis "weirdos" in Book 1. Fanon overestimates how close they are by consistently having them be friends or hang out regularly.

Having said all of that... TGCF is the "side characters only exist to prop up Hualian" book, so there could have been a lot of interesting interactions between them if she took the time to actually work on Feng Xin's character and I am mad about the missed opportunities :(

I love the "God of Love who has a lot of casual sex" paired up with the "God of Sex who fears intimacy and has only had one serious relationship in his 800 years of life." Feng Xin should ask Pei Ming for help dealing with the horny prayers and Pei Ming should be delighted to share his knowledge with One Of The Guys and that should lead to the weirdest makeout session Feng Xin has ever had. It would be funny first but eventually they can have deeper conversations about what it means to be soldiers, their relationship with royalty/authority, love and loss and broken friendships...

And then my final thoughts are that I like any kind of dynamic that doesn't have Feng Xin as the sexy big-titted lampshade to Mu Qing's OOC crying traumatized little meow meow. Peixin has the potential to highlight some different sides of Feng Xin's character--it's simultaneously a friendship where he doesn't have ancient baggage to worry about so he can relax a little, but he also can't relax because being around Pei Ming is an inherently flustering experience and by the time Feng Xin realizes it he's probably in too deep (or maybe Pei Ming is in too deep ifkwim)

[draconicace]

been thinking lately that harry must know a lot about anatomy. he was a gym teacher and now he's a detective; he knows all about muscle groups and what makes them tick. well what if he knows how to give a massage. what if kim keeps rubbing at the back of his neck because he has to bend his head at a weird angle constantly to write in his notebook. what if harry manages to fight through his anxiety over touching people for a moment because he knows he can help alleviate kim's neck pain. what then

[rosekasa]

please someone validate me and tell me im not insane. ive been getting so into writing what happens in london and getting my head into ladybug's pov that when im vibing in my day to day life i keep forgetting that i am not the one in a relationship, ladybug is

[valeriannnn]

I know little of the Keepers and their cultural norms, but I suppose it should not come as a surprise that matters of grooming and personal maintenance should carry a more pragmatic connotation for those who live in such isolation - or perhaps our friend is simply strange, regardless of his context. I must admit: it was no small comfort to me, in those frigid days heralding the twilight of the Dragonsong War, to discover that our champion did not share our Sharlayan intuition toward personal space. Our more guarded companions don't always share my gratitude for the attention, but I believe that after our long estrangement, even the coldest of hearts could not fail to be warmed by such a gesture.

Wolcred Week 2024 Day 1: Warmth | Home

ok as mentioned in the tags i didnt have time to render a complete scene for this but i found this old mspaint sketch that demonstrates the Vibe. tyagoa just walked up behind him after cleaning up from their meal

[bigdumbbambieyes]

They were on their way to work in the Beamer and Steve was bright and glowing in the morning sun, his face dotted with beauty spots and moles and Billy couldn’t look away, even as his boyfriend kept bitching.

“—and it’s like, why the fuck does it matter how the tapes are displayed? People are gonna see them! And take them! They’re for rent, not for show, right?”

“Right,” Billy hummed with a little smirk, resting his cheek in his hand, elbow on the car door.

“So I told Keith, ‘hey, man, I think this way might be better’ - and you know what that asshole told me?? ‘That’s stupid’! He said my idea was fucking stupid!” Steve huffed with annoyance, which was Billy’s favourite way to have him (annoyed), because it was funny and cute at the same time.

But, only when Billy was the reason Steve was annoyed. Goddamn Keith wasn’t allowed to annoy his pretty boy so much.

“You want me to ruin his morning, babe?” Billy smirked, already thinking of ways he could.

Steve glanced over at him from where he was looking at the road and gave him a smile, like he was touched that Billy was so willing to ruin his boss’ morning for him, but shook his head ‘no’, “Nah, it’s fine - I’ll just put the display up how I want and he’ll deal with it.”

“Atta boy, Harrington,” Billy grinned, proud and amused.

They pulled up to the shop and Billy zipped up his coveralls, making sure to grab his lunch that Steve packed and coffee thermos before looking over to see Steve already leaning into his space. Billy smiled and leaned over, meeting his pretty boy halfway for a kiss, something soft and casual.

He pecked Steve’s lips a few times more before pulling away to admire Steve’s little half-lidded look, smiling as his boyfriend hummed, “Have a good day. I’ll call when I’m leaving the store.”

“Okay,” Billy smiled, “The boss is letting me work on my car after my shift, so, don’t rush. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

“‘Kay,” Steve hummed, and they shared one last little kiss before Billy was opening the door and getting out. He grabbed the door and bent down to tell Steve with a little grin, “And I’m looking forward to hearing what that dickhead has to say about your display.”

Steve grinned with a little roll of his eyes, “I’ll tell you all about it over dinner. Spaghetti tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Billy smiled, loving that he got to make dinner plans with his boyfriend. The little things really made his day. “Love you, peanut butter.” He hummed.

Steve’s grin grew wider, “Love you, too.”

Billy shut the door and watched the Beamer pull out of the lot and head towards Family Video, smiling to himself with a little huff of amusement before turning and heading into work.

[5-7-9]

Cass was Duke’s batgirl

Damian is Duke’s robin

[cryptidm0ths]

wait ive had this sitting in my doodle file for the last few months euuu smoochie for luck

[antaripirate]

lila: *exists*

kell: *blushes like a slut*

i miss them desperately and we get them back in 60 days fuckkkkkkk

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

see the thing is like.. I don't even know if I fully identify with aro as a label or not because I definitely have wanted to date people before but. I've always ALWAYS had such a shit time discerning between platonic/romantic love and the dating scene is such a fucking nightmare I would much rather just like. kiss my friends for fun. literally every "romantic" thing out there is something I could so easily do with a friend. like..there's no difference 2 me. there's no point to this post really that last one just got me thinking about. being aro I guess

[nezumeanie]

𐐪𐑂 B a d H a b i t s 𐐪𐑂

no warnings | gn reader | fluff | uh...not proofread __φ(。。)

Shu Itsuki has a few bad habits, including the fact that he doesn’t realize how heart fluttering they can be

❝ Shu hasn’t quite realized it but he’s become attached to you in a strange way. Inadvertently, he’s made you a part of his daily routine, his dreams and ambitions…❞

…and his afternoon cafe runs.

ఌ Though his concentrated face while mulling over his stage designs are heart fluttering, the issue lies (as he would say) with y o u. ‘Ah, is there a hole in your chin? How did you get icing there? You’re this old already how haven’t you learned how to eat properly yet?’ Shu always presses your cheeks between his elegant fingers, takes his napkin, and wipes off the remains of your cinnamon bun while scolding you. His hands feel a little cold but soft and after knowing him for so long you can only hear the warmth in his voice. You can’t help but think it’s a little unfair—he’s already talking to you about something different while your heart is still pounding in your chest.

ఌ His bad habits also follow the both of you out in public. It looks like there’s a brand new craft store across the street from the cafe, though it’s wares look a little cheap it’s still worth a trip inside! You always have to walk a little faster to keep pace with Shu when he spots something interesting, smiling slightly while listening to him talk about how long lasting cashmere can be if you treat your clothing with care. When you can’t fast enough Shu finds himself sighing and grabbing your wrist to make sure you don’t fall behind. ‘It’s important for you to know these things! And you’re walking to slowly! How can you do your job properly if you can’t manage to make it from one end to the other without assistance?’ Because he’s still walking ahead of you, you can safely give him a lovelorn look, why does he hold your wrist but not your hand?

ఌ Possibly his worst habit rears it’s head in the small craft store aisles……besides openly criticizing the fabric and jewelry making supplies for being stiff and unmanageable. There’s many other customers looking for ways to begin their seamster journeys. Too many. Whether Shu is a repellent or you are a magnet—people just won’t stop bumping into you. The thread aisle, the button aisle, the velcro aisle…Shu begins to huff like it was your fault. Placing an arm around your side he pulls you out of the way of another shopper, bumping your shoulders together. ‘Won’t you pay a little more attention?’ As if you could in a situation like this. His soap has just the faintest scent of linen & peonies, even though he smells like laundry in an open field something about it reminds you of star gazing. The only thing keeping you grounded is the feeling of his hand around your upper arm keeping you out of “harms way”. It might be a blessing that he has a bad habit of not noticing when he manages to make you feel so flustered. ‘Stand right next to me. Ah, I can’t take you anywhere.’ …..He really has a bad habit of saying that, too.

[sylviaplathenthusiast]

listen, i LOVE marylily

the idea of mary being a single hookup queen bad bitch tho? does shit to me

[schmweed]

[enigmasandepiphanies]

why tf are patrick j adams and troian bellisario so fucking cute and domestic and amazing and where can I get someone who treats me like treat each other

[justkeepwalkingnothinghere]

Oh to hold hands and rest my forehead on theirs as I whispers sweet nothings

[lethalhoopla]

lil late night solavellan wip + solas face studies off to the side

been hankering to animate again so I roughed out a setup to base it off of, thought I'd ease back into it with.... objectively more finicky small movements and small interactions, oops lmao. can't resist a stolen stairwell moment, what can I say (￣ヮ￣|||)ゞ