#but shoulders the burden with determination and brightness

[helloenee]

blahhhhhhhhhhh

[laceyfaeryy]

MDNI 18+

slow intimate domestic things with simon riley!

mentions of: pure fluff, simon riley is a devoted husband, worships the ground she walks on, brief smut at the end, vaginal sex

having a slow and peaceful life with simon riley in the country side ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

simon stood in front of the grill shirtless flipping the meat with ease, the tattoos that adorned his arms on display, his silver dog tag around his neck. his muscles softening up after coming back from his mission, a soft layer of fat around his stomach from lounging around and having lazy moments with you. his sweatpants hung loosely around his hips displaying the happy trail and v line that went down to his cock.

you laid on the day bed as simon grilled, he was determined to be the one that made your stomach full, to be the one to look after you. he loaded your plate with food, simon didn’t follow the traditional norms of the wife cooking, no. his whole life he promised to himself that he would work hard to provide for his wife, and now he had you, he. was determined to have you lounge around having the easiest life.

when simon took care of everything, he meant everything.

he would wake up bright and early to cook breakfast for you, the sound of bacon sizzling filling up the kitchen as he plated your food with the utmost care. simon was never one for presentation when it came to food, as long as it tasted good he didn’t care. but he cared when it came to you, which was why he meticulously placed the food in an arrangement you would like, his thick fingers readjusting the small fruits scattered on the plate. the sight was almost comical, a man made from pure muscle fussing with the presentation of a simple breakfast, scowling whenever his large hands knocked a berry off.

he would walk to your room, his steps slow and gentle making sure that the wooden floorboard underneath him wouldn’t creak. he would wake you up gently, kissing your forehead before readjusting your pillow when you sat up, draping a blanket over your lap for extra warmth.

“made yer favourite luvie.”

simon wasn’t the best with his words, slightly awkward at times so he expressed it through his actions. whenever something in the house broke down he would be the first to fix it, crouched down with tools in his hands as he focused on the task, determined to fix it to ease your stress. he didn’t see repairing things as labour, but instead removing your burdens just to make your day a little stress free.

after a long stressful day he made sure the house was clean before you got home, dishes washed, clothes folded away, and your favourite chamomile tea hot and ready on the kitchen counter. simon basically memorised your whole routine, ensuring the blankets were draped over the couch with the cushions fluffed and positioned to your liking so you could read after your bath. the moment you returned home and ate his dinner he would start the bath. ensuring that the water was up to your preferred temperature, with your favourite essential oils and candles that dimly lit the room up. he would pick the softest and fluffiest towel just for you, and hang it on the hook near the door.

he wanted to show he cared, remembering every detail so you could relax, knowing everything was taken care of.

sex was an act of worship for him, gently taking his time to kiss every single part of your body. “i love you,” he muttered as he kissed your neck, then your shoulder, then right under your breast. “‘m always yours,” his voice filled with love as he stared into your eyes. before you simon was never one to do missionary, preferring no eye contact so he can fuck and leave. with you however, he took his time, moving slowly as he peppered you with kisses, coaxing multiple organs out of you as he talked you through it.

“i know swee’heart, it’s a lot yeah? but ‘m here, jus’ let it go.”

tag list: @happysmappy @mydickishuge560 @prettyinpink-bimbo @dolli333 @madebyyicarus @l-otti @butlerslut @vampwifee @i-wanabe-yours @bluebarrybubblez @cinnamongrl2006 @akkahelenaa @yanfeiiiiii @actualpoppy

[cherryblessing]

now playing: ▶BUNNY GIRL - AKASAKI

Being a bartender in a quieter part of Musutafu has its moments, both good and bad. On the bright side, you’re spared the chaos of a packed bar—no drunken brawls or rowdy crowds to fend off. Working the late shifts means most of your time is spent polishing glasses, listening to the occasional slurred confession from customers—a weary father, a troubled lawyer, and, most recently, the weight of a hero.

A rather loud and explosive hero—if you must be specific. The rising star, Dynamight.

The first time he stumbled into the bar, you nearly jumped out of your uniform. He wasn’t in costume—no glaring orange cross suit, no heavy boots announcing his arrival. If not for the scar beneath his eye, you might have convinced yourself he was just another stranger looking to disappear into a drink.

His eyes were nothing like the ones splashed across television screens or plastered online. They weren’t fierce, burning with determination. Here, in the dim light, the red of his irises looked almost muted—tired.

“What’re you staring at?” His gruff voice snapped you back to reality. You met it with a practiced smile, an apology slipping out as easily as it had countless times before.

“What would you like to order?” you asked, keeping your gaze elsewhere. He seemed to bristle under direct eye contact—understandable, considering he was used to criminals shrinking away in fear or fans bashfully averting their eyes.

“Whiskey,” he said, settling into the seat across from you. Simple. Even in exhaustion, he was still Dynamight—unyielding, unwilling to retreat, even here, in a small bar at the edge of the town.

You offered a small smile before reaching for the ice, the blade of your knife gliding through its surface with practiced ease. A quiet crack echoed as shards broke away, and before long, a sphere shaped ice tumbled into the glass with a crystalline chime. The scent of liquor curled into the air as you poured his shot, amber liquid settling in a smooth swirl. With a flick of your wrist, you slid the glass across the counter, gliding over the polished wood in front of him.

He stared at the glass for a long moment, fingers drumming idly against the counter. Not a nervous habit—no, more like a subconscious attempt to keep moving. You’d seen it before. Soldiers who’d been in the field too long, mothers who carried burdens on their backs even when the sunlight had long disappeared.

When he finally reached for the whiskey, his grip was firm, practiced, but there was something almost careful in the way he held it. Like he was bracing for the burn, for the way it would slide down and settle in the pit of his stomach, heavy but familiar.

He took a slow sip, exhaled through his nose. The faintest scrunch of his brow—barely there, gone as soon as it appeared.

"Strong enough?" you asked, breaking the silence.

His eyes flicked up, studying you for half a second too long. Then, with a quiet scoff, he set the glass down with a dull thunk. Though he did not answer.

The night slipped by in quiet repetition—him wordlessly motioning for another pour, and you obliged without question. Shot after shot, the amber liquid disappeared, leaving only the faintest tension in his shoulders and the soft clink of glass meeting wood.

Then, without warning, he shoved a handful of cash onto the counter—far more than the tab demanded. No parting words, no glance back. Just the scrape of his chair against the floor and the heavy sound of the door swinging shut behind him.

For the first few times, the routine never wavered—no conversation, no pleasantries. It had settled into something unspoken, a rhythm dictated by his arrival, though the days were never predictable. Yet, every time he walked through that door, you were there, offering all you could.

Waiting.

Waiting for him to speak first, to pour out his sorrow onto you, though some part of you knew he never would. Still, you remained, humming a quiet tune under your breath as he nursed his drink, the soft melody filling the spaces where words refused to go. The quiet ritual continued—the steady pour of whiskey, the clink of glass meeting wood, and the inevitable moment when he’d slide another generous stack of cash across the counter before slipping out into the night without a word.

One night, he arrived earlier than usual, his gaze exhausted, shoulders weighed down. Regardless, you prepared his drink, setting it before him without a word.

But after a few shots—quicker than usual—you noticed the difference. His grip on the glass was lax, his movements slower, unguarded. Then, without warning, he slumped forward against the counter, muttering something under his breath.

"I'm sorry?" You leaned in slightly, not catching his words.

"I just got rejected," he repeated, this time loud enough for you to hear. A hollow laugh followed, short and humorless. "My best friend—he doesn’t want to join my agency."

A beat of silence passed, heavy with the weight of his words. For the first time, he had spoken to you—not just to order a drink, but to share the burden pressing down on him tonight.

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I’m sorry… to be rejected by someone you hold dear, that must be hard for you, sir.” The response was simple, but sincere, a gentle smile tugging at your lips.

He let out a low chuckle, the sound rough at the edges, before extending his empty glass toward you. Without a word, you refilled it, the amber liquid catching the dim light as it swirled in the glass.

“Bakugo. Bakugo Katsuki,” he said, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off some invisible weight. “You probably only know my hero name, and calling me that would piss me off right now.”

He took a slow sip, eyes flicking toward you over the rim of his glass.

“I understand, Mr. Bakugo,” you replied smoothly.

He clicked his tongue in irritation. “So formal. Does it come with the job or somethin'?”

You shrugged, reaching for a glass to polish. “Something like that. Good manners keep customers coming back.”

Bakugo scoffed, rolling the whiskey in his glass. “Tch. Doubt I’m the kind of customer you want sticking around.”

“I quite enjoy your visits.” The words left you before you could think twice.

His fingers stilled against the counter. For a split second, his gaze flicked up—sharp, searching—but whatever he was looking for, he didn’t say. Instead, he exhaled, huffing out something between a laugh and a scoff. “Hah. You say that now.”

You didn’t argue, only reached beneath the counter and set a clean napkin beside him—small, unspoken. An invitation, if he wanted to take it.

After a moment, you leaned against the bar, voice quieter this time. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He didn’t answer right away, just traced the rim of his glass with a calloused thumb. Then, with a sharp inhale, he downed the rest of his drink and let the glass settle against the counter.

“…Dunno,” he muttered, his voice quieter this time.

You nodded, accepting his answer without pushing. “I’ll be right here if you ever want to.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, and for a fleeting moment, his eyes widened—just a little, just enough for you to catch.

From that night on, the hero Dynamight—no, the man that is Bakugo Katsuki—began to unravel, piece by piece. Not in explosions or outbursts, but in quieter moments, in the spaces between drinks and half-scoffed confessions.

At first, it was just fragments. A remark about a stubborn villain, a grumble about an impossible workload, an offhand mention of his mother that carried more weight than he let on. But over time, those fragments stitched themselves into something fuller, a picture of the man behind the title.

He spoke of his work as a hero, of long nights and expectations. Of the friends who challenged him, the ones who kept him grounded, and the ones he feared losing. He never said it outright, but you could hear it in his voice—the quiet longing for something beyond battles and victory, something softer, something real.

And despite it all, despite the sharp edges he still carried, he always came back. Some nights, he would sit in silence, letting the hum of the bar fill the gaps where words refused to go. Other nights, he would talk—never much, never everything, but just enough to show that, in some way, he trusted you.

It happened in the middle of an ordinary night, slipped between words like an afterthought.

Bakugo was mid-ramble, something about a new intern at his agency—how the kid had guts but no damn sense of self-preservation, how he’d nearly walked straight into an ambush if Bakugo hadn’t grabbed him by the collar. He was gesturing as he spoke, fingers curling loosely around his glass, the whiskey inside rippling with every frustrated movement.

You listened, as you always did, hands working through muscle memory—polishing a glass, refilling his drink, offering a quiet nod when he paused to scoff.

And then, just for a second, he stopped.

The words dried up in his throat, not because he’d lost his train of thought, but because of you. The way you leaned against the counter, that same steady patience in your expression, the quiet hum of the bar wrapping around you like something familiar, something grounding. You weren’t doing anything special—just listening, just existing in the space he had come to take for granted.

But something about it lodged itself in his chest.

He wasn’t a fool. He knew admiration, knew desire. He knew what it felt like to have people look at him and see nothing but a hero, a symbol. But this—this was different. There was no fanfare, no thrill of battle, no grand realization. Just the steady rhythm of your presence, the quiet way you never pushed, never asked for more than he was willing to give.

His fingers tightened around the glass, throat working around a swallow.

“Mr. Bakugo?” Your voice cut through the silence, a tad softer than before.

He blinked, shaking off whatever the hell that was, whatever moment had just tried to settle in his bones. “What?” He spat out of reflex then took a sip of his drink to deflect, like that might drown out whatever had crept into his chest.

You tilted your head slightly, studying him for a beat before shaking your head. “Nothing. You just trailed off.”

“…Got distracted.” The words came gruff, but he didn’t look away, not right away.

You huffed a quiet laugh, lips quirking as you picked up another glass to clean. “Must’ve been a pretty serious distraction.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, but there was no real bite to it. Just the lingering weight of something unspoken, something he wasn't ready to acknowledge. Thus he let the moment pass, let the conversation pick back up, let himself fall back into the familiar rhythm of the night.

But later, when the bar had quieted and his glass sat empty, he caught himself watching the way you moved—the way your fingers brushed absently over the counter, the way your shoulders relaxed as you truly listened to him.

He hoped you wouldn’t notice the way his face reddened.

It’s the alcohol, he tried to convince himself, but even he wasn’t that stupid. He’d had enough to dull the edges, not enough to make his pulse stutter the way it just had.

His grip tightened around the glass, fingers flexing like he could physically shake off the thought. It was nothing. Just a moment, just exhaustion, just—

You glanced at him then, eyes warm with amusement, and damn it, he looked away too fast, too sharp, hoping you wouldn’t catch the way his ears burned.

"Tch." He downed the rest of his drink, the burn trailing down his throat a poor excuse for a distraction.

It was nothing.

…Right?

©cherryblessing.2025

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Hɑll Of Fɑme || Nɑɾuto Uzumɑki ||

A/n: My baby boy deserved so much better, this isn't a relationship fic. It's more of a Parent!Reader x Naruto.

The streets of Konoha were bathed in golden hues as the sun dipped behind the Hokage Monument, painting the village in warm tones. You sat on the roof of your home, the cool tiles beneath you grounding your thoughts as a familiar voice called out from below.

“Hey, (Y/N)-nee!”

Naruto’s voice was unmistakable—bright, full of energy, but today, there was a heaviness in it, one you knew all too well.

You turned just in time to see him jump up beside you, plopping down with a sigh that seemed too heavy for someone so young. His usual grin was missing, replaced by a tight frown, brows furrowed in frustration.

You didn’t press him right away. Instead, you both sat in silence, watching the village below, the people moving about their lives. Then, softly, you spoke.

“Rough day, huh?”

Naruto huffed, arms crossed over his chest. “Tch. You could say that. Stupid Sasuke. Stupid Kakashi-sensei. Stupid villagers…” He hesitated before muttering, “Stupid me.”

Your heart clenched at his words. “Naruto…”

“It’s just—” he kicked at the tiles. “No matter what I do, it’s never enough! Sasuke always seems ahead, and Kakashi-sensei barely looks at me. And the villagers still—” He stopped, balling his fists. “They still look at me like I’m nothing. Like I’m just that stupid fox.”

His voice cracked, and you could see the way his body tensed, like he was bracing himself for rejection, for scolding—for the words he’d heard his whole life.

But you wouldn’t give him that. You never had and you couldn't help but feel your heart break knowing that so many people still looked at him with so much distain.

Shaking your head, you reached out and pulled him close, his spiky hair pressing against your shoulder as you rested your chin atop his head. He stiffened at first, but then—slowly—he melted into the warmth.

“Naruto,” you murmured, “do you know what I see when I look at you?”

He shook his head, fingers clutching your shirt tight in his grasp.

“I see someone who’s going to be great.”

He let out a dry laugh. “Pft, yeah right—”

“I’m serious,” you cut him off gently, holding his shoulders so he could look into your eyes. “I see a boy who refuses to give up, no matter how many times the world tries to push him down. I see someone with a heart big enough to carry everyone’s burdens, even when no one sees his own pain. And I see—” You poked his forehead lightly. “—someone who’s going to be Hokage one day, no matter what anyone else says.”

His blue eyes widened, searching your face for any sign of a lie, but he only found sincerity. You smiled.

“Do you know why?”

Naruto gulped, shaking his head. His eyes were already misting with tears.

“Because you’re a fighter. Because you’re the kind of person who doesn’t back down, who stands up even when no one else will. And one day, Naruto—you’re going to be up there, on that mountain, with your face carved next to the others.”

His lower lip trembled, and for a second, he looked like the little boy who had clung to you when the loneliness became too much. Then, slowly, the smallest smile broke through, hesitant but real.

“You really think so?” he whispered.

You ruffled his hair with a chuckle. “I know so.”

Naruto inhaled deeply, then exhaled, sitting up straighter. “Yeah. Yeah! You’re right! I’m not gonna let this stop me! Dattebayo!”

You laughed, watching as that fiery determination sparked back to life in his eyes. Standing up you then gave him a wink holding out your hand. "Now how about I cook you one your favorite dishes. You gotta get your strength."

"Haha yea! You're the best!"

As the stars blinked into existence above,Naruto jumped to his feet taking your hand for help, the two of you slipping into your home. While people may have questioned your actions it didn't matter because you'll be the parent Naruto deserved and Naruto, he'll be the future Hokage already who's shining bright—even if he didn’t see it yet.

And in your mind, you knew one thing for certain:

One day, the world would know the name Naruto Uzumaki.

And it would never forget it.

⸻

“And the world's gonna know your name,'Cause you burn with the brightest flame.And the world's gonna know your name.And you'll be on the walls of the Hall of Fame…”

[exhaslo]

Kinktober Day 21- Yandere!Miguel x Reader (Breeding/Lactation Kink)

(Requested by reader, also early update bc I'm playing Spiderman 2 all weekend)

        It was no lie to anyone that Miguel was a stressed man. His eyes packed more bags than someone did for travelling. You knew better than anyone the pent up tension that man carried. Miguel had the fate of the whole multiverse on his shoulders, plus his shitty Alchemax job. The man barely had time for sleep and himself. Even so, he always managed to find time for you. Miguel had to since he was your loving husband, after all.

        You were just a regular person, but you worked with Miguel at the Spider Society. You were the front desk receptionist. Your job was basically to turn people away who accidently entered the building. Apparently which happened a lot. It was an easy job and one where Miguel could keep his eyes on you at all times.

        You had been with Miguel for over two years. The man was head over heels in love with you. The moment he proposed you immediately said yes. You were happy to live a life with him. You shared his burdens and he with you. Miguel always said that you were his only stress reliever. Just seeing you each day made his tension melt away. He always joked about locking you away so no one but him saw you. It was cute.

        That and the hours of dumb fucking sex. Miguel had a breeding kink. He was always determined to fill you to the brim with his cum, always threatening to get you pregnant. It turned you on so much. Miguel would fuck you anywhere and everywhere. One time he was so horny that he was drilling your pussy right at your desk. He did not care if anyone walked in, just as long as he got to fill you. There have been says where you couldn't move because of how much he fucked you.

"Amor (love), what are you thinking about?" Miguel asked as he approached you from behind. You jumped,

"Miggy, I told you not to scare me!" You whined before hugging him, "I was just thinking about getting a new dress for our date night."

"Hm?" Miguel glanced at the website you were looking at, "But we're having that at home, amor." His eyes glowing bright red towards your exposed breasts,

"Awe, but Miggy, ca-W-Wait," You pouted softly as Miguel's hands already started to roam your body, "S-Someone almost walked in on us last time!"

"Then they'll know that you're mine." Miguel hissed lowly, sucking against your neck, "Nadie puede estar cerca de usted. (No one is allowed to be near you.)" 

        You trembled under his touch as Miguel already started to pump your pussy with his fingers. Miguel refused to teach you Spanish, saying something about him enjoying your confused expressions. When in reality, he did not want you to know about his dark secret. Placing you against the desk, Miguel inhaled to the sound of your moans. Those sweet, sweet cries, only for him. Miguel made sure that no one got to touch your body.

        When Miguel first laid eyes on you, he knew he had to have you. He did everything in his power to keep other men away from you. He was Spiderman after all, what's an injury here or there? Miguel just pushed you in the right direction for him. Playing the perfect boyfriend until you were convinced that he was. You were so cute as you fell into his trap. Miguel had you all for himself and he was going to make sure it stayed that way.

"Mírate, chupándome la polla tan bien. (Look at you, sucking my dick so well.)" He groaned as he started to pound your pussy from behind. "What is it that you want, baby? Tell me."

"N-Need you to fill me," Your moans were getting louder as he pressed you into the desk. Miguel brought your waist closer to his, making sure to hit you deep each time,

"Te he entrenado muy bien. Todo lo que quieres es que te derrame mi semen todos los días. Te doy mi hijo. (I've trained you so well. All you want is for me to pour my cum into you every day. Give you my child.)" He groaned lowly, giving you his first fill, "Gotta make a mami out of you, right?"

"Y-Yes!" You moaned out.

        Miguel licked his lips as he kept going. One was never enough. He needed to make sure you knew your place. He flipped you over, placing you in mating position. Your breasts were bouncing out of your top. Miguel licked his lips as he went to squeeze your breast. You let out a sharp gasp as a sudden release of tension was given to you. Miguel's eyes sparkled as your tender breasts started to lactate. Your adorable face screamed embarrassed while he chuckled,

"Don't look away," Miguel leaned down and started to suck against one of your breasts.

"H-Hah, M-Miggy...T-That-"

        You squirmed under Miguel, a new sensation burning throughout your body. Miguel was sucking against your breasts hungrily. You were reaching your orgasm and fast. Miguel felt you squeeze against his cock and continued his harsh pace. He switched to your other breast, wanting to share the love.

"Miguel!" You cried out, panting heavily after your orgasm. 

        Miguel released your abused nipples, watching your milk drip down your body. He pumped you a few more times with his dick, making sure to fill your womb. Once he was done, he fixed your attire and sat you back down in your seat,

"That was delicious, mi amor. We'll continue this later."

--------------

        It hadn't even been an hour since Miguel filled you that he was back. He caught you leaving the bathroom and proceeded to fuck you in the stall, giving you another few pumps of his cum, while enjoying your milk. You body was starting to grow sore and it was no where near time for you to go home. It was like Miguel was under a spell. He kept groping your breasts, wanting you to cum from just his touch. You weren't sure if you were going to last the day.

"I need more water," You sighed softly, feeling dehydrated.

        Right as you were about to stand, someone walked into the building. A young confused looking man approached you with what looked like a file in his hand. It was probably another lost interview candidate for the building behind the Spider Society. You told the young man that he was in the wrong building and when you went to stand, you fell. Your legs had given up on you from all of the rough sex Miguel gave you today.

"Are you-"

"Back off." Miguel hissed as he towered over the young man in his suit.

        The young man fled in terror. Miguel cussed under his breathe and went over to you. He grabbed your arm before lifting you into his arms. You knew he was mad. Miguel always hated it whenever any guy talked to you. He wouldn't even let you order food if it was a male cashier. He was so protective and jealous that you found it cute, but annoying sometimes.

'Sorry," You apologized as Miguel took you home, "I was going to get a water."

"Then let me know. I'll do that for you," He grumbled.

        You pouted towards his childish behavior. Once you arrived home, Miguel made sure you got hydrated. He took your pants off, massaging your legs to try and give them feeling again. His eyes trailed towards your pussy, seeing his cum still leaking out of you. A low growl escaped his lips as he pushed you against the bed. His suit disappearing before he started to stroke his dick,

"¿Por qué sigues desobedeciendome? ¿Ni siquiera puedes guardar mi semilla dentro de ti y dejas que otro hombre te hable? te voy a castigar amor. (Why do you keep disobeying me? You can't even keep my seed inside you and you let another man speak to you? I'm going to punish you, love)" He spat, shoving his dick inside your drenched pussy.

"M-Miguel! N-No more...It's too much," You whined. Miguel groped your breasts, giving them a good squeeze, "Hah~ Ah~"

"Voy a hacerte madre. Darte una muy buena razón para mantenerte alejado de los demás. ¿Tienes esperando en casa toda hinchada por mi culpa? (I'm going to make you a mother. Give you a damn good reason to stay away from others. Have you waiting at home all swollen because of me.)" He groaned, ravishing your cunt.

        Miguel ignored your cries as he took your nipple in his mouth. The warmth of your breast milk going down his throat. How could he ever let you leave the house again after this? Miguel needed to be stricter with you. Gripping your hips tightly, Miguel let out a grunt as he filled your womb once more. Your body arched, moaning out in pleasure. Despite your cries, your body always told Miguel what you wanted. You could never be too full.

"Are you learning your lesson?" Miguel asked, releasing your nipple for the other one. You shuddered in response, "I can't hear you,"

"Y-Yes, Miggy."

"And what is it you learned?"

"Mhm, I-I won't," You whined as he kept bullying his cock into you, "I-I'm yours. O-Only yours-"

"And?" Miguel rubbed your clit as he pounded you harder. You gasped, moaning louder,

"I-I'll do as you say. N-no talking to other men, a-and...ah...ah~ M-Migu-" You shook as you reached another orgasm. Miguel chuckled as he gave you another fill of him,

"Good girl,"

        Picking you up as he finished, Miguel carried you to the bathroom. He sat you between his legs in the bathtub, messaging your breasts. His whispers about how sexy you were made your brain foggy. Miguel loved the fact that you were lactating for him. His hands kept wandering all over your body, marking you as his.

------------

        You ended up working from home afterwards. Miguel said it was for your protection. You were so madly in love with him and blinded by his true nature that you obeyed him. Miguel always rewarded your obedience. You were his good girl. He made sure you got what you wanted as long as it did not involve leaving the house without him. Miguel made sure that you were always with him everywhere else. If you even stepped out for mail without him, he would punish you.

"Now, what is it that you did wrong?" Miguel asked as he pounded you from behind harshly. You gripped the bedsheets, sobbing from the overstimulation he was giving you,

"M...Ma..." He had made you cum so many times you lost count. You could barely form a word.

"Can't understand you when you're so fucked out and full of me," He said with a smirk, "Oh? You're lactating even more...I wonder if this means I succeeded." He hummed lowly. You moaned loudly as he went to fill you again,

"Mig....s'much....mhm..."

        Miguel lifted you up as he gave you one last load. He turned you around, holding your waist up so nothing would spill out of your pussy. He licked your breasts, enjoying the lewd expression on your face. You learned your lesson alright. You were never going to disobey him again. You were his good girl. Miguel smiled as he rubbed your belly,

"You're going to be a mami, amor. I'll have to reward you later,"

"Mhm,"

        You just laid against the bed, slowly falling asleep from exhaustion. You were happy and contempt with your life with Miguel. Even if it meant losing your freedom to him. Miguel could have never been happier, especially after finally breeding you. And he wasn't going to stop after just one. You were stuck with him forever.

[maikissed]

the day I saw your eyes, I stayed

jude bellingham x reader

warnings: none, just a tad of sexual tension, yeah

note: there is going to be part 2! I planned to write the whole story in one shot but I gotta go to sleep now and was too excited about this rubbish (jk, I love it tbh). And he scored today, whoop sorry for any mistakes!!!!

Rose got herself a new boyfriend. The name brought up in presence of your girlfriends caused much of a fuss. It was a grand revelation and as much as it surprised you as well, you did not share the enthusiasm as every other girl in the room. Not because you felt envious, jealousy was never your thing, you rather grew worrisome. The excitation over the fact that Rose secured herself a football player of such range – famous, a hot topic, high quality player, one of the most valuable characters in the England national team, highly payed, and to add to that: uncommonly gorgeous - absolutely knocked your friends of their feet, but to you… To you it was a sign of massive trouble. People like him belonged to a world where individuals had their impeccable ways to draw from their fame, money and phenomenon as much as they could, despite the morality or ethics. Rose always mingled among various groups of people, there were musicians, actors, even politicians. She was a lovely girl, very pretty, her modelling career developed quickly, spectacularly. But she still haven’t made her name the way she aimed to. You suspected the boys she chose were always an occasion, a special addition to make her reach for more, to be seen, to feel special and unique. She was determined, regardless of the consequences, regardless of the fact how many times she has suffered and burned herself even almost to the point of absolute destruction. It felt awful to even reminisce it. But that’s how it’s been so far, it was the path she has chosen. Although this time this whole situation felt much different, there was a spark in her eyes that could tell you many things. But you would define it this way: she intended to hold onto him, she wanted to keep him. He seemed like the greatest prize. But who would have thought that the massive trouble you feared from the very start would be your burden to deal with?

Jude Bellingham.

Girls were over the moon when the time has come and Rose invited you all to join them in a private lounge in one of the most exclusive clubs in London. You scoffed when you heard the name of the place, you remembered the time when you and Lucia tried to sneak in there, but the bodyguard was too smart to fall for your theatrics. Only precisely selected people could party there. It was one of those grand and fancy places. So you found yourself invited, at last. Yet you weren’t very thrilled about the way you were about to spend your Saturday night. It turned out you would be the only single person there.

And him? The man, the hot topic himself? He was taller than you envisioned, maybe the hair added to that? His smile truly was bright, he was well built, broad shoulders, but not too muscular, well, he was an athlete. The Brummie dialect annoyed you at the start, but the itch seemed to cease as you payed attention to the tone of his voice, there was nothing particular about it, it was just right, good, not screechy, not too deep just… pleasant. He was an amiable guy, you thought to yourself, polite and friendly at the first contact. You realised you were a careful observer until he turned to you to greet. Now you were very much noticed, now you had to act as a part of the events, not a shadow and analyser. And situation very much changed. Time seemed to slow down so suddenly, you found yourself in the strangest state of unconsciousness, like a scene in a movie where the background blurs and any noise is muted, when the spectator is deprived of any other senses despite the sight to notice those specific details that are supposed to made him feel the sublimity of a given moment. And the source of it was in his eyes, you realised, and the way he smiled softly as he extended his hand to you. It was strange and disturbing, his eyes seemed to be the darkest ones you’ve ever seen, but you most definitely had seen eyes like his before, no doubt about it. You took a breath, blinked, fought to not fall into this depth that almost sucked you in. He was smiling, now something slightly impudent about it, and you realised he truly was stunningly gorgeous. Strangely, insanely attractive. Just a simple look into his eyes made you stumble into a realisation that there was something different about this man. And it frightened you.

You did say your name back, did you?

As the night went by you decided to stay in your attentive observer state. You felt safer there, although decency inquired you to engage in few conversations with your friends. Tonight you felt tense, carefully sipping the wine, you tried with all your might to relax and stop examining so intensely the boy seated opposite you. Few new conclusions you came into in the last hour was the fact that he was a great interlocutor, he listened as well, and his smile was one of the most pleasurable things you’ve experienced in your lifetime. You just couldn’t take your eyes off. And another conclusion was that him and Rose was nothing of exclusive. No lingering stares, no secret touches. After all, they met quite recently. She wondered if she bagged him already. And if so, would they all be there if she did? He did not seem like the kind to make such effort to get himself a girl he was not seriously interested in. Rose was not the type to act restrained and unavailable. She crawled into many beds the first night she met someone. You kept yourself far from casual hook-ups and one night stands, just a simple thought of it made you uncomfortable. But for her it was a common thing, if you could use such words. So, was he really interested?

After a while all of your friends decided to use the night to the fullest as the alcohol finally kicked in, rushing to the dancefloor and you truly couldn’t find the spur to join them. You were seriously thinking about taking a French leave. And you almost succeeded.

“You’re not enjoying yourself much, are you?” a well known voice reached you from behind and you turned your head in its direction.

Something in your gut jumped as you spotted Jude. He took a seat beside you. You smiled as his scent reached you, fresh, citrus with addition of something stronger and… alluring.

“I’ve had a long day. Tired, I guess” a safe and simple answer.

His full attention was on you, no one here to accompany you. It begun to feel overwhelming because you did not expected his gaze to be so intense.

“I know the feeling. Find myself in a constant state of weariness lately, cannot get rid of it” he played with his glass, the liquid looked like orange juice.

“Well, you live quite the fast and exciting life” you noted, observing as the corner of his mouth rose a little at your comment.

“Where are you from?” he asked, not continuing the subject you just raised.

“Here, London, born and raised” you smiled again before lowering your gaze, finding the glass of wine interesting “Became as gloomy and morose as this city”

“I wouldn’t describe you with such words” his voice was soft when he said it, something itched in you to ask what words would he use to describe you, but raising the glass of wine up to your lips saved you from that. You hoped you didn’t blush.

“My grandmother always says that I’m an old soul. Emphasizes it like it’s a virtue” you continued.

“That’s a very interesting thing to say about someone. Mine says that I’m a lovely companion although I use way too foul language and it’s scandalous” he frowned funnily and you laughed at the information, he quickly accompanied you.

“Well, I haven’t yet got the occasion to hear some of that tonight”

“I’m trying to be a gentleman” he murmured “It would be improper to throw fucks around in presence of a pretty girl” a lively glint in his eyes as he looked at you.

Now you definitely blushed.

The conversation flowed from there, and you realised you grew more comfortable with each passing minute. He truly was a great listener, and a good companion. He made you laugh many times and suddenly you stopped regretting leaving your apartment for this night out. He was not daft or arrogant as you might have presumed before you met him, being smothered by all this money he had and a name he’s gotten himself at such young age. The complexity of his persona could be spotted in his eyes as you payed closer attention, but it was his words and the way he picked on any subject you brought, that expressed his maturity and wide perception. You haven’t met a guy like him in a long time.

“What are you guys doing here? Come on down, join us!” it was Charlotte’s comment as she came to the longue after a while.

You haven’t even realised how much time has passed and how much alcohol you have already poured into yourself. You only picked on that as you stood up, dizziness hit you like lighting but you composed yourself, agreeing on Charlotte’s and then Jude’s proposition. As soon as you joined the dancefloor, Rose spotted you both, throwing her hands around Jude, guiding him deeper, keeping him closer. He kept his eyes on you as she did it and a strange feeling stroked you as you kept his gaze. Charlotte grabbed you by your hands, singing the words out loud, the song was energetic and lively, you laughed at your friend. Others from your pack nowhere to be seen. So you loosened up and tried to keep up with your drunk companion. The dancefloor became quite chaotic, people jumping around, your eyes landing on Jude from time to time and to your surprise he was looking your way as well. There was a lean and tall guy that jumped in front of Jude, almost stumbling over him and you laugh at that, seeing that Jude laughed as well, his attention still on you. You wanted to share this fun with him directly, but it was forbidden since the realest fact of this night was that he was not yours to have.

“I need to pee!” Rose shouted near you and you turned, watching as she grabbed Charlotte with her, leaving the dancefloor.

You stopped and decided to follow your friends but felt someone’s presence behind your back before you made any move.

“Now I can tell you’re enjoying your night!” Jude called next to your ear, this way you could hear him well despite the thumping music.

When you turned around you noticed how close he stood, you had to raise your head to look at his face, his big and dark eyes gazing down at you, full lips twisted into an amused smile. You returned the smile.

“You are a terrible dancer” you shouted back to him, your voice filled with laughter.

“That’s a fact” he nodded “But you’re quite good, show me more” he reached for your hips to draw you deeper into the dancefloor and you laughed out, throwing your head back as he lead you with him.

You have not payed much attention to the closeness of your bodies as long as the songs were quick and your movements kept rapidly changing with the rhythm. Still, you haven’t realised the sound slowing, a more sensuous song sounded from the loudspeaker, you knew this one. If the reason could break through the basses that reached your ears, you would finish your dance right this moment. But the fact was that it did not. So you continued, with your hands placed at his shoulders you begun to move your hips. Your eyes closed as you turned around, your back to him, he was not touching you, not directly. He took your hands in his and you started to raise it up in the air, you smiled when you felt his breath on your ear. Your joined hands stayed up longer, his on the other hand slowly trailed lower and lower, down your forearms, then your shoulders, then down your body. His touch sure yet lenient and soft at the same time electrified you. Carefully and attentively, making sure to not touch your breasts on the way, he rested them on your hips, feeling the rhythm you kept on. You were not sure if it was him that pressed on you or was it purely your movement, but your back met with his front fully, and a sharp intake of breath stuck in  your throat at the realisation. His hands still rested on your hips, making your body move with no pause. You were close, too close, you could already feel too much. But you found it difficult to part with him, to stop it and call it improper. Your eyes wide open but blind. You only focused on the sense of touch, feeling him moving with you. Your hands fell down to reach his head and then levelled on his nape and you kept them there. Feeling something growing inside of you, along with a rough shot of adrenaline that made your heart beat strongly against ribs. Once more his breath landed on your ear, close, closer. A strange sensation squeezed your throat and you realised you swallowed back a moan. It was like a rough strike, you turned around to face him, with intention to take a step back, but he held you closer, pressing his palm against your back. You sighed and met his eyes. Dark, darker. You wanted to run.

“Thank you for the dance” you said innocently and he watched the movement of your lips as you spoke.

A daring smirk appeared on his mouth and you shuddered. Were you trapped now?

You had to run. So you did.

[slu7formen]

just imagine Luke taking care of his girl all the time because she decided to join him at Princess Andromeda.

slu7formen’s masterlist | luke castellan masterlist

warnings: possessive!luke

lil taglist 🫶🏻 @captainremmington-13 @saffronwritesstuff @elltheawkward @lixzey

The salty spray of the ocean stung your cheeks as you leaned against the railing of the Princess Andromeda. The once vibrant blue sky you used to wake up to everyday was just a memory now. The setting sun bled vibrant hues of orange and pink across the sky, a stark contrast to the dark ship that cut through the waves. Camp Half-Blood, with its comforting scent of pine trees and the familiar faces of your friends, felt like a distant dream, a memory from another life.

A pang of loneliness tugged at your heart. You missed the camaraderie of the fellow campers, the warmth of the Aphrodite cabin, the strawberry field you spent hours at, even the grumbled complaints of the Ares cabin during mealtimes. Now, it felt like a comforting echo of a simpler time. But here you were, on Luke's rebellion-fueled odyssey, a choice driven by a love that burned so bright it blinded you… well, almost blinded you.

A sigh escaped your lips, barely audible over the rhythmic groan of the ship's monstrous engine. The decision to leave camp, to follow Luke on this dark path, had been fueled by a love so fierce and strong that you were convinced you would never experience again. You knew the consequences, the darkness that clung to Luke's ambition. But seeing the pain simmering beneath his brooding exterior, you understood it all. He was a boy scorned, abandoned by the very gods he was sworn to serve.

Just then, a strong hand settled on your waist, pulling you back against a solid chest. You turned to see Luke, his face etched with a familiar intensity, his dark hair ruffled by the evening breeze. He looked different here, the playful boy you once fell in love with replaced by a brooding leader burdened by a new purpose. Yet, his eyes still held a spark of the warmth you knew, he only looked at you with.

He placed a kiss to your left cheek. "Lost in thought again, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice was a gentle murmur, a stark contrast to the harsh commands he often barked at his soldiers.

You forced a smile. "Just looking at the sunset" you replied, "Reminds me of the ones at camp."

A flicker of anger crossed Luke's face, quickly replaced by a strained smile. Camp Half-Blood, a constant reminder of the life you'd left behind, the life he wished you would forget, but knew you couldn´t. He hated that you missed it, hated himself for taking it away from you, hated that it represented a world he was determined to destroy now.

“The past is just that" he said, his voice low and clipped. "We're building a new future here."

You understood the resentment he felt, but a tiny voice inside you whispered doubts. Was this future worth all the darkness you saw in him? But, however, you remained silent, your love for him a shield against the growing unease.

Luke tightened his arm around you, pulling you even closer. You couldn’t help but lean back to his shoulder, finding comfort in his warmth.

Luke, unable to deny his possessiveness, traced his fingers along the exposed skin of your arm. He secretly wished you could forget about camp, about the simpler times, but you were the only flicker of light in his growing darkness. You hadn't joined his fight against the gods, you never will, and he couldn't blame you. He wouldn't force it on you. You were his escape, and he, in turn, was determined to protect his girl from the ugliness of his plans.

You both stood in silence for a while, the only sound the rhythmic groan of the ship and the crashing waves. Luke leaned his head down, his lips brushing the exposed skin of your shoulder, burning like fire against your skin as the sudden touch sent shivers down your spine. He started a slow descent, trailing kisses up your neck, his warm breath tickling you as his hands tightened around your hips. Each kiss was a whispered confession of his love and dependence on you.

"Thank you" he murmured against your ear, his voice husky with emotion.

You turned to face him, placing your arms around his neck, your eyes searching his. "What for?" you asked softly.

He met your gaze, a flicker of vulnerability flashing within his hardened eyes. "For staying" he whispered. "For choosing me even when you didn´t have to. I know this life isn´t yours, you don’t belong here"

You offered a gentle smile. "Maybe I don´t" you conceded, "but I belong with you, Luke. No matter where that may be."

His gaze softened, the tension momentarily melting away. He brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch a fleeting tenderness amidst the growing darkness clinging to him. "You don't deserve this" he said, his voice laced with a hint of guilt.

"I wouldn't be anywhere else" you countered, your voice filled with a quiet conviction. "I choose you, Luke. Every day."

Luke stared at your face, his sudden concern replaced by a possessive shine flickering in his dark eyes. He seemed to catch his breath, as if he got struck by a sudden realization. He lowered his head slightly, his gaze lingering on your lips. Then, with a slow, almost seductive movement, he pulled down on your bottom lip, a possessive intensity in his eyes. It left you wanting more immediately, a spark igniting in the pit of your stomach.

"You're mine, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice low and intense. It wasn't really a question, but a possessive statement.

Your heart was pounding frenetically inside your chest. The darkness that surrounded him, the whispers of doubt that had been growing within your insides, all faded away in the face of his love. For you, he was just Luke, the boy you'd fallen for at camp, a boy broken by the gods. Your boy.

"Always" you breathed back, voice soft like a whisper.

"Good" he breathed, the word a possessive sigh against your lips, and gave your whole body goosebumps. "Because not even the gods are gonna be able to take you away from me."

And then, as the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange and red, Luke pulled you into a desperate kiss. So good to him, that it felt like his first kiss in a thousand years. It was a kiss that spoke of possession, of a love that burned bright even in the dark night. It was a kiss that sealed your fate, binding you together on a path that stretched towards an uncertain future.

You had your doubts, your fears, your nightmares, but you trusted him. You trusted in his love, in his determination, in his care; you had nothing to worry about as long as you were by his side.

to the ones on my taglist and other readers, thank you so much for supporting my writing 🥹

[rynwritesreid]

Kiss it away| Spencer Reid

A/N:This is my first time writing a sub Spencer, so it may not be as good as my other smut pieces. But I still hope you enjoy. This is also partially requested as someone wanted a sub!Spencer. Please tell me if you want more sub! Spencer. I’ve also started writing the first chapter of Mind Games, and honestly I’m really looking forward to posting it on here.

Summary: Spencer is suffering with a migraine, you find a natural way to help relieve his pain, with some natural analgesics.

Content: Smut and fluff. Fem!reader. Dom!reader. Sub!Spencer. established relationship/dynamic Praise kink. Handjob (M!receiving). Oral(M!receiving). Vaginal penetration (P in V). Cream-pie. No mentions of contraception. Pet names (Good boy. Sweet boy). Migraines/pain. A tiny mention of Spencers addiction(literally in passing/referencing why he wouldn’t want medication). Vulnerability. Caring reader. Use of Y/N. Suggestive ending. 18*

Masterlist| requests are open| Navigation

Spencer, the man known for talking people’s heads off and giving everyone unwanted statistics, was being unusually quiet. In fact he didn’t really seem to be all there. He kept rubbing his head and couldn’t seem to be in bright rooms for prolonged periods of time.

 

Even when you two were at home together, he wouldn’t talk much to you. Instead, he would shut himself in the spare room with the lights turned off and the curtains drawn. You didn’t know what to do, or how to help. You knew he wouldn’t want any medication, so all you could do was try and offer a helping hand.

 

Before going to work one morning, you decided to ask him if he was okay to go to work. You were sure that everyone would understand him wanting to stay home if was feeling this ill.

 

“Hey, Spencer. Are you okay? You’ve being acting off lately. Are you sure you want to go into work today? We’ve not been called out into the field or anything.”

 

Spencer looked up from his coffee, his eyes bloodshot and distant. He gave a weak smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

 

"I appreciate your concern," he murmured, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "But I can't stay home. I need to keep my mind occupied, even if it feels like it's tearing me apart."

 

You watched him closely, the worry etching deeper lines upon your face. Spencer had always been a man of routine, finding solace in the structure and predictability of his work. But now, there was something far more sinister lurking beneath the surface.

 

"Spencer, please," you pleaded softly, taking a step closer to him. "You don't have to suffer alone. We can figure this out together. Maybe it's time to seek some help."

 

“I’ve already being to the doctors; they couldn’t see anything wrong. So, please let me go into work.” Though his voice barely crept above a whisper, you could sense the anger.

 

You sighed, feeling the weight of his frustration and desperation. You knew how much he valued his work, how it gave him purpose and stability. But seeing him like this, so lost and distant, it tore at your heart.

 

“I’m going to call in sick, handsome. Please join me in staying home today, let me take care of you.”

 

Spencer's eyes flickered with uncertainty, a mixture of gratitude and resistance fighting within him. He seemed torn between his desire to protect you from the darkness that plagued him and his fear of burdening you with his own struggles.

 

"I don't want to hold you back," he whispered, his voice trembling with vulnerability. "You deserve someone who can give you the happiness you deserve."

 

Your heart ached at his selfless words, for they only made you love him more. You reached out and gently cupped his face, your touch tender and full of reassurance.

 

"Spencer," you murmured, your voice laced with determination. "Happiness is not something I seek outside of us. It is in being with you, in trying to help shoulder your burden. Let me be here for you."

 

His eyes searched yours, tears shimmering in their depths. Slowly, he nodded, relinquishing the weight he had been carrying alone for far too long.

 

“Okay.” He whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of relief and vulnerability. "Okay, maybe staying home with you today wouldn't be such a bad idea."

You called Hotch, who was very understanding, and told him that you were both taking the day off work.

 

You closed all the curtains and kept only a little lamp on and told him to make himself as comfortable as possible. His sat down on the sofa, with his cup of coffee in hand. You decided to do some research, to see what possible ways you could help ease his pain.

 

Through your research, you saw that orgasms can help, as they act as a natural analgesic. You didn’t know if that was something Spencer would be willing to try, but you knew it was worth a shot.

 

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of nervousness and determination as you approached Spencer. Sitting down beside him on the sofa, you gently placed a hand on his thigh.

 

"Spencer," you began softly, trying to find the right words amidst the heaviness in the room. "I've been doing some research, and I came across something that might help... It's a bit unconventional, but... orgasms can actually act as a natural analgesic. They release endorphins that can alleviate pain and promote relaxation."

 

Spencer blinked, surprise flickering in his eyes as he processed your words. You could see the wariness and scepticism etched across his face, but there was also a glimmer of hope.

 

“Would you like to try it; you don’t need to do anything. I’m going to do all the work.” Spencer's gaze met yours, his apprehension slowly fading as a small spark of curiosity ignited within him. He knew the pain that haunted him was not physical, but if there was a chance that this unconventional method could provide even a momentary respite from the torment in his mind, he was willing to give it a try.

 

"I trust you," he whispered, his voice laced with vulnerability and gratitude. "If there's a chance it might help, then let's give it a shot."

 

“Now that’s my good boy. I’m going to make you feel better, okay?” Your voice was light, soft and caring.

 

You led him into the bedroom, making sure that he would be comfortable. You slowly took of his clothes, making sure to be delicate.  You could feel the tension and anticipation building between you as each article of clothing was removed. Spencer stood before you, his naked body exposed and vulnerable. You took a moment to appreciate the sight before you, the way his gaze met yours with a mix of trust and longing.

 

With gentle hands, you guided him to lie down on the bed, his body sinking into the soft sheets. The dim light cast a warm glow across the room, creating an intimate atmosphere that felt like a sanctuary from the outside world.

 

You positioned yourself beside him, your fingers trailing delicately along his skin. Every touch was deliberate, filled with tenderness and a desire to ease his pain. Slowly, you let your hand travel lower, caressing the sensitive skin just below his belly button.

 

Spencer's breath hitched, his chest rising and falling with measured anticipation. His eyes never left yours, as if seeking reassurance that this act of intimacy was meant to heal rather than exploit.

 

“I love you, my sweet boy. I would do anything to help you. Do you understand?”

 

Spencer nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "I love you too," he replied, his words filled with gratitude and vulnerability. He trusted you implicitly, knowing that your intentions were pure and genuine.

 

As you continued your gentle caresses, your fingers slowly descended further, tracing the outline of his growing arousal. The weight of his pain seemed to lift slightly as pleasure began to replace it, inch by inch. Your touch was delicate and purposeful, seeking to provide comfort and relief rather than raw desire.

 

Spencer's breath hitched again, a soft gasp escaping his lips as your fingertips brushed over the sensitive head of his penis. His eyes fluttered closed momentarily, his body relaxing into your touch as you continued to stroke him with soothing care.

 

With each stroke, the tension in his body seemed to dissipate further. His muscles softened beneath your touch, the knots of anguish gradually unravelling as pleasure washed over him in waves. In this moment of intimacy and vulnerability, he allowed himself to let go of the weight he had been carrying. The pain that had consumed him for so long began to fade into the background, replaced by a newfound sense of relief and release.

 

You watched the transformation unfold, your heart swelling with both love and pride. This was more than just physical pleasure; it was a catharsis, a moment of respite amidst the storm that raged within Spencer's mind.

 

As you continued to stroke him, your movements became more purposeful, more focused on unlocking the pleasure hidden beneath the layers of his pain. You could feel his body responding to your touch, his breath quickening and his muscles tensing with anticipation.

 

"Let go, Spencer," you whispered, your voice laced with both tenderness and command. "Surrender to the pleasure, let it wash over you and carry away the darkness."

 

His eyes snapped open, meeting yours with a mix of vulnerability and trust. He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as he allowed himself to fully surrender to the pleasure that enveloped him. The heaviness in his mind melted away, replaced by a blissful ecstasy that radiated through his body.

 

You continued to stroke him, your movements steady and sure, attuned to his every response. The room was filled with the sounds of his gasps and moans, mingling with the soft rhythm of your touch. With each stroke, the tension in his body unravelled further, making room for a profound sense of release and relief.

 

Spencer's muscles twitched beneath your fingertips, his body trembling on the precipice of something powerful. His breath hitched as he teetered on the edge of climax, teetered on the edge of being released from the chains of his pain. And then, with a shuddering groan, he let go.

 

His whole body convulsed as an intense wave of pleasure coursed through him, washing away the thoughts that tormented him.

 

“Oh, my sweet handsome boy, look at the mess you’ve made. I guess I better clean it up, huh? Would you like that?”

 

Spencer didn’t answer for a while, he was still coming down. As he caught his breath, he let out a “yes”. You lowered your head, making sure to give him a trail of kisses.

 

You lowered your head, pressing soft kisses along his abdomen as you made your way down to his spent cock. The taste of him was familiar and comforting, a reminder of the intimate connection you shared. With each gentle lick and suck, you cleaned him up, taking care to savour every drop.

 

Spencer's body relaxed further against the bed, his muscles loosening as a blissful satisfaction settled over him. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths, the weight of his pain replaced by a gentle calmness that washed over him.

 

“You don’t we’ve finished yet though. Do you?”

 

Spencer's eyes fluttered open, his gaze meeting yours as a flicker of anticipation danced in his eyes. The words hung heavy in the air, a promise of continued pleasure and release. He shook his head slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

 

"No, I don't think we're finished," he replied, his voice filled with a newfound sense of confidence and desire. "I want to keep going."

 

You smiled back at him, a mix of adoration and mischief dancing in your eyes. Your hand gently cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over his bottom lip.

 

"Good boy," you murmured, your voice dripping with satisfaction. "Let's see just how far we can take this."

With a mischievous glimmer in your eyes, you leaned down and captured Spencer's lips in a searing kiss. Your hands roamed over his bare skin, tracing every dip and curve, as desire coursed through your veins.

 

Spencer's body responded eagerly to your touch, his hands gripping the sheets as he arched into your caress. His kisses grew hungrier, more desperate, as if he sought solace not only from his pain but from the world itself. There was an unspoken understanding between you, an unquenchable hunger that demanded to be sated.

 

You slowly lowered yourself back to his cock. As you worked your mouth up and down his length, your hand stroked his thigh, adding to the sensations coursing through him. Spencer's moans grew louder and more desperate with each passing moment, his body arching off the bed as he surrendered to the ecstasy that washed over him.

 

You could feel the tension building in him once again, his breath quickening, his muscles tightening. With a final stroke of your tongue, you brought him to the edge once more, guiding him over it with expert precision.

 

His release was explosive, his body convulsing in waves of pleasure. You swallowed every drop, savouring the taste as if it were a decadent treat.

 

“Do you think you can give me another?” He slowly nodded your head, as he found himself unable to speak.

 

You moved off the bed so you could undress yourself. Spencer’s eyes scanning your body, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. With each piece of clothing that fell to the floor, Spencer's anticipation grew. He watched you undress, soaking in the sight of your bare skin, the contours of your body that held a promise of pleasure. The desire in his eyes mirrored your own, a hunger that demanded to be satisfied.

 

As you climbed back onto the bed, naked and eager, Spencer's hands reached out instinctively to touch you. Each caress was filled with longing and need, his fingertips tracing the lines of your body as if memorizing every curve.

 

Your skin tingled under his touch, and you couldn't help but gasp at the electricity that coursed through your veins. It was as if every nerve ending in your body had awakened, craving the pleasure that only Spencer could provide.

 

With a gentle push, you urged Spencer to lie back on the bed, his body surrendering to your desires. Your lips sought out his with an urgency born from months of pent-up longing and anticipation. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mixture of desire and need.

 

“You haven’t been able to cum yet. Please let me help you out?” His voice was cracking, his eyes pleading for you to let him do anything.

 

“My sweet boy, I told you I was going to be doing all the work. Just relax.”

 

Spencer nodded, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and desire. He allowed himself to sink into the mattress, surrendering control over his pleasure to you completely. You straddled him, positioning yourself just above his aching need, teasing him with the anticipation of what was to come.

 

You began to slowly grind against him, the friction between your bodies sending waves of pleasure coursing through both of you. Each movement was deliberate, calculated to build the tension and desire that simmered just beneath the surface. Spencer's hands grasped at your hips, pulling you closer, desperate for more contact.

 

But you kept your pace torturously slow, denying him the release he yearned for. Each time he tried to thrust upwards, seeking more contact, you gently but firmly held him down, reminding him who was in control.

 

"You're doing so well," you whispered as you leaned down to capture his lips in a searing kiss. "Just a little longer. I promise it'll be worth the wait."

 

Spencer's body trembled beneath you, his fingers digging into your skin as he fought against the overwhelming need for release. His eyes were glazed with desire, his lips parted in a silent plea for more. The intensity of his desire mirrored your own, and you reveled in the power you held over him.

 

With each tantalizing movement of your hips, you could feel yourself growing wet and swollen, your own need begging to be satisfied. But this moment was about Spencer, about giving him the pleasure, he so desperately craved. You would have your turn soon enough.

 

His moans grew louder, more desperate, filling the room with their raw intensity. With each passing second, Spencer edged closer to the brink of ecstasy. But you were not ready to let him go just yet. Your movements quickened, but only slightly, teasing him with the promise of release while denying him its full realization.

 

"Please," he begged, his voice thick with desperation. "I need to cum, please."

 

You smiled down at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of affection and dominance. You knew he was on the edge, his body trembling with need. But you wanted to push him even further, to take him to a place of ecstasy he had never experienced before.

 

"Patience, my love," you whispered, your voice silkily smooth. "I want to make you feel so good."

 

With those words, you increased the tempo of your movements, grinding against him with a relentless rhythm. The pleasure intensified, threatening to break through the dam of control that Spencer had managed to maintain. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his body writhing beneath yours as he fought against the mounting pleasure.

 

You leaned forward, capturing his lips in a searing kiss that swallowed his moans and pleas for release. Your tongue danced with his, an erotic ballet that mirrored the movements of your bodies. The taste of him mingled with your own desire, intoxicating and addictive.

 

With a final thrust, you felt Spencer's body tense beneath you, his release imminent. The grip of his fingers on your hips grew tighter as he surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure that washed over him. His moans filled the room, a symphony of ecstasy that reverberated in your ears.

 

As he climaxed, you continued to move against him, prolonging his pleasure until he couldn't take any more. Wave after wave of intense sensation coursed through his body, leaving him gasping for breath, his limbs limp and sated.

 

You slowly eased yourself off him, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of your lips. The sight of Spencer lying there, spent, and thoroughly pleasured, made your heart swell with pride and delight. You had taken him to new heights of pleasure, pushed boundaries and explored desires you had only dared to whisper about.

 

“When you’re feeling better, I think you should reward me for taking such good care of you. Don’t you?”

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[moonselune]

Saw the Inbox was open, so got a request for Astarion, Wyll, and Karlach if that's okay? Could we get Tav giving them a massage? Maybe they noticed that they seemed tense, or they had a hard fight not too long ago. Or maybe they have been working hard on something. Either way their lover decides to pull out all the stops to help them relax. I just think getting a massage from someone they love would mean the most for those three. For Karlach she's gone so long without any touch whatsoever that a loving gesture like that would mean the world to her. For Astarion he's spent 200 years not getting a gentle kind none sexual touch that I think getting a massage from someone he loves, and having the massage done simply due to wanting to help him would be pretty emotional for him. As for Wyll he makes a lot of comments about his new bumps, ridges, and horns once he's transformed that it seems like he is worried about how he will be viewed by everyone. I think getting a gentle touch from someone he loves, and them being open that they love every part of him would do a world of good for him.

aweee this is so wholesome

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

The camp was quiet as the night settled in, the fire crackling softly, casting warm light across the nearby trees. You sat on a large log, absently staring at the flames as your mind wandered. The day had been long, and the battle not so long ago had taken its toll on everyone—especially Karlach.

She had fought with everything she had, as always. Her unrelenting strength had turned the tide in the group's favor, but you could tell that it had drained her. She’d seemed tense afterwards, her usual infectious energy dimmed by exhaustion and something else—something deeper.

Karlach hadn’t said much after the fight, brushing off any offers of help with her usual bright smile, but you could see it in the set of her jaw, the tightness in her shoulders. You knew she was trying to hide her discomfort, not wanting to burden anyone else with it.

But after so long without any physical touch, her Infernal engine keeping her separated from the world for years, you knew that offering her comfort in the form of touch was exactly what she needed right now.

Your heart ached just thinking about it. Karlach had been deprived of touch for so long, and though she could now finally enjoy it again, she was still hesitant—almost afraid to ask for it. You stood up, determined, and made your way toward her tent.

As you approached, you saw her sitting at the edge of her bedroll, her back to you. She was rubbing her neck, clearly trying to work out the tension, but her broad shoulders remained stiff. Her dark hair was damp with sweat, sticking to the back of her neck, a testament to the effort she had put into the battle.

“Karlach?” you called softly, not wanting to startle her.

She turned her head slightly, her red eyes catching the glow of the campfire. Her smile was as bright as ever, though a little tired around the edges.

“Hey, babe,” she greeted, her voice warm but with an undertone of exhaustion. “Everything alright?”

You smiled softly, stepping closer. “I could ask you the same thing. You look tense.”

Karlach chuckled, though it was a little forced. “Yeah, you know, just… still buzzing from the fight. Hard to wind down sometimes.”

You stopped just behind her, taking in the sight of her muscular frame, the tension evident in every line of her body.

“I was thinking,” you said gently, “maybe I could help with that. How about a massage?”

Karlach froze for a moment, as if the offer had caught her completely off guard. She glanced over her shoulder at you, her eyes wide, searching your face for any hint of insincerity. But all she found was genuine concern and affection.

“A massage?” she repeated, her voice soft, almost incredulous. “For me?”

You nodded, stepping around to kneel in front of her. “You’ve been through so much, Karlach. You deserve a little kindness, a little… love. Let me help.”

Her breath hitched slightly at your words, and she blinked rapidly, as if trying to process the offer. The idea of someone willingly wanting to touch her—especially after everything she had been through—was still something she was getting used to. Her time in Avernus had left her starved for contact, and even now, with her engine stabilized, she hesitated to ask for it.

“I… I’d love that,” she finally whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “But only if you’re sure. I don’t want to—”

“Shh,” you interrupted softly, reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair from her face. “I’m sure. Just relax, okay?”

Karlach let out a shaky breath, nodding as she turned to sit with her back to you. Her shoulders were still tense, but she trusted you completely, and that trust meant the world to you. You moved to sit behind her, your hands hovering over her shoulders for a moment before gently resting them on her warm skin.

The moment your hands touched her, Karlach let out a soft gasp. It wasn’t just the sensation of your fingers—it was the fact that she could feel you, that you wanted to touch her. It had been so long since she’d felt anything like this, so long since anyone had cared enough to offer her something so simple, yet so profound.

You began to knead her shoulders slowly, working your thumbs into the tight muscles. Karlach’s body was solid, sculpted from years of battle and hardship, but under your touch, you could feel her slowly begin to relax. Her head dipped forward slightly, and she let out a long, quiet sigh.

“Gods, that feels… amazing,” she murmured, her voice soft and full of gratitude. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

You smiled softly, your hands continuing their gentle work, moving from her shoulders down her back, working out the knots of tension. “You carry so much weight, Karlach. You never let yourself rest.”

She chuckled quietly, though there was a hint of sadness in it. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Your hands stilled for a moment, and you leaned forward, resting your cheek against her shoulder. “You don’t have to carry everything alone anymore, you know. I’m here. We’re all here.”

Karlach was quiet for a moment, her breath shallow as she processed your words. Slowly, she turned her head, looking over her shoulder at you with an expression so vulnerable, it nearly broke your heart.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve someone like you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “But I’m so damn glad you’re here.”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder before resuming your massage. “You deserve all the love in the world, Karlach. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Karlach didn’t respond right away, but you could feel the way her body relaxed further under your touch, the way her breathing deepened as she let herself surrender to the moment. She had gone so long without affection, without comfort, that even this small gesture meant everything to her.

By the time you finished, Karlach was nearly limp with relaxation, her muscles no longer tense and rigid. She let out a contented sigh as you finally pulled your hands away, leaning back against her bedroll.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Karlach murmured, her voice soft and full of warmth.

You chuckled, brushing a hand through her hair. “I could say the same about you.”

Karlach shifted, turning to face you fully. Her eyes were soft, filled with gratitude and something deeper, something that made your heart swell. She reached out, pulling you into a gentle embrace, her strong arms wrapping around you as if she never wanted to let go.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, simply holding each other in the quiet of the night. It was a moment of peace, of connection, something Karlach had been missing for so long—and now, she had it with you.

“Truly, I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Karlach whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

You smiled, resting your head against her chest, feeling the steady rhythm of her heart beneath your cheek. “You’ll never have to find out.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

The evening air was cool as it drifted through the camp, the last rays of the sun fading into twilight. The fire crackled softly, casting a warm, flickering glow over the tents and figures scattered around the campsite. You sat quietly by the fire, your eyes drifting toward Astarion, who was sitting a little distance away, his back to a tree. He hadn’t said much since the battle earlier, his usual playful banter and flirtatious remarks replaced by a quiet, almost brooding silence.

You could see it in the way he sat—his shoulders tense, his jaw clenched, fingers absentmindedly tracing the hilt of his dagger. It was a stark contrast to the usual confident, even cocky demeanor he carried himself with.

It wasn’t just the physical toll of the fight weighing on him, you realized. Something else was gnawing at him, something deeper. You knew how much he hated feeling out of control, how the years under Cazador had shaped him, made him wary of letting anyone too close unless he was in charge of the situation. Now you were in the lower city, those feelings were most likely bombarding him.

Your heart ached for him. You had been together for some time now, your relationship blossoming slowly as Astarion learned to trust you—learned to accept the tenderness you offered him, despite his instinct to shield himself from vulnerability. But even so, moments like this, when he seemed trapped in his own thoughts, still reminded you of how much he had endured, how long he had gone without the kind of affection most took for granted.

You stood up, quietly making your way over to him. He didn’t notice you at first, too lost in his own thoughts, but when you gently placed a hand on his shoulder, he flinched slightly, his body tensing further before he realized it was you. He looked up, his ruby eyes meeting yours, a flicker of surprise and something else—something softer—crossing his features.

“Darling,” he greeted, though his voice lacked its usual lightness. “What’s the matter? Come to make sure I haven’t brooded myself into oblivion?”

You offered him a small smile, kneeling beside him. “I’m more worried about you. You’ve been quiet… and tense.”

Astarion’s lips twitched into a half-hearted smirk, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh, you know me. Always dramatic, always brooding about something. It’s nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about.”

But you didn’t miss the way his hand clenched a little tighter around the dagger, the subtle tension in his muscles. He might try to play it off with a joke, but you could see through the act—see the exhaustion beneath it, both physical and emotional.

“I can help, you know,” you said softly, placing your hand over his. “If you’d let me.”

Astarion raised an eyebrow, though his curiosity was piqued. “Help? And how exactly do you propose to do that?”

You smiled gently, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “A massage. You look tense, and I think it might help you relax.”

For a moment, Astarion just stared at you, his expression unreadable. It was clear the idea caught him off guard, the offer of something so simple, so innocent, something that had no ulterior motive behind it other than wanting to ease his discomfort. He blinked, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were trying to gauge whether you were serious.

“A massage?” he echoed, his voice laced with both skepticism and curiosity. “Why, darling, I didn’t realize you were offering such intimate services.”

You could tell he was trying to turn it into a joke, to deflect from the vulnerability of the moment, but you weren’t about to let him brush it off so easily. You leaned in a little closer, your voice soft but firm. “I’m serious, Astarion. Just… let me take care of you. No expectations, no strings attached. Just because I want to.”

His expression faltered for a moment, the mask slipping as he studied your face, searching for any sign of pity or insincerity. But all he found was the same quiet concern, the same affection that you always showed him. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he nodded.

“All right,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But if you try anything cheeky, I’m holding you responsible for my utter lack of self-control.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head as you moved behind him. “Just relax.”

Astarion sat up a little straighter, his shoulders still tense as you gently placed your hands on them. You could feel the tightness in his muscles immediately, the way they were coiled with stress and tension. You began to work your fingers into the knots, starting gently at first, gauging his reaction. His skin was cool to the touch, but you could feel the way his body responded to your touch—the way he slowly, hesitantly began to relax beneath your hands.

At first, Astarion remained quiet, his breathing shallow, as if he didn’t quite know how to react to the sensation. It was clear that this kind of touch—gentle, caring, without any ulterior motive—was still unfamiliar to him. For so long, any physical contact had been either violent or manipulative, a tool used against him rather than something given out of love.

But as your hands continued their work, massaging his shoulders and down his back, you were careful with his scars, you didn't want to highlight them, to ruin the moment for him, but eventually you felt him begin to loosen up. His breathing grew deeper, his posture less rigid, and a soft sigh escaped his lips. His head dipped forward slightly, and for the first time in what felt like ages, he let himself truly relax.

“Gods,” Astarion whispered, his voice filled with something akin to wonder. “I didn’t realize how much I… needed this.”

You smiled softly, your hands moving to gently knead the muscles at the base of his neck. “You deserve it, Astarion. You deserve to be taken care of.”

Astarion let out another quiet sigh, his body leaning back into your touch as if he couldn’t help himself. He was silent for a long moment, and when he finally spoke again, his voice was softer, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it before.

“I’ve gone so long without…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “Without this. Without… someone who cared enough to offer it.”

Your heart ached at his words, at the raw emotion you could hear in his voice. You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head.

“You have me now,” you whispered. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Astarion closed his eyes, his body completely relaxing into your hands now, as if the weight of the world had finally been lifted from his shoulders. He leaned back against you, letting you hold him, his head resting against your chest as your arms wrapped around him from behind.

For a long time, neither of you spoke, simply content to be in each other’s presence, to share this moment of quiet intimacy. Astarion’s breathing was slow and steady now, his usual guarded walls lowered, if only for a little while. You held him close, your fingers gently stroking through his hair, and you could feel the way his heart began to beat a little slower, a little more peacefully.

“Thank you,” he whispered after a long while, his voice filled with emotion. “For this. For… everything.”

You pressed another kiss to his temple, your lips brushing against his skin. “Always, Astarion.”

You knew that no matter how hard it might be for him to accept, no matter how many walls he still had up, you would be there for him—offering him the love and comfort he had been denied for so long. Because he deserved it. And you would make sure he never had to doubt that again.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a gentle silver light over the camp. The day had been long, filled with battles and plans, but even in the moments of respite, Wyll had barely allowed himself to rest. You noticed him sitting by the fire, his back straight, his body tense—always ready, always vigilant. It had been days since you'd seen him truly relax, and it was beginning to take its toll. His usually warm smile had been dimmed by worry, and there was a weight in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before.

He had been working so hard to help everyone, to be the hero he believed he needed to be, but something else lingered in the way he carried himself. It was subtle—the way he sometimes avoided his reflection, the way his hand would linger on the ridges and horns that now adorned his forehead and arms. Wyll’s transformation had been jarring, and though he tried to hide it, you could tell it weighed on him.

You stood and made your way over to him, sitting down by his side. He glanced at you, giving a small smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

"Hey," you said softly, reaching out to gently touch his arm. "You’ve been working hard again, haven’t you?"

Wyll chuckled, though it sounded tired. "Someone has to, love. There’s always something that needs doing, always someone who needs help. I can’t just sit still when there’s work to be done."

"You’re allowed to rest too, you know," you said, your thumb tracing small circles on his arm. "You don’t have to carry everything on your own."

He let out a small sigh, his hand moving up to rub at the ridges on his forehead, his fingers brushing against the small horns that had appeared after his transformation. There was something hesitant in the way he touched them, as though he still wasn’t sure they were truly a part of him.

"I’m not the same, am I?" he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I look in the mirror sometimes, and I don’t even recognize myself anymore. The horns, the… bumps. I wonder if people will see me as a monster now."

His words hit you hard. Wyll, the man who had always been so confident, so noble, was doubting himself—doubting how the world would see him. You could see it in the way he held himself now, as if he was trying to hide parts of himself, as if he was unsure whether he was still the same person.

You shifted closer, gently taking his hand in yours. "You’re not a monster, Wyll. Not even close."

He gave a small, almost bitter laugh. "That’s kind of you to say, but it doesn’t change what I see when I look in the mirror. These horns, this… fiendish body. I can’t help but wonder how long it’ll be before people stop seeing Wyll the Blade of Frontiers and start seeing a creature instead."

You frowned, your heart aching for him. He had gone through so much, sacrificed so much, and yet here he was, doubting his own worth because of changes he couldn’t control. You leaned forward, your voice gentle but firm.

"I see Wyll. I see the man who fights for what’s right, who stands up for the people who can’t protect themselves. I see the man who would sacrifice anything for those he loves, who’s kind and strong and full of light. That’s who I see."

Wyll turned to you, his eyes searching your face, as if trying to find some semblance of truth in your words. Slowly, you moved behind him, placing your hands on his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles.

"Let me help you relax," you said softly. "You’ve been carrying so much. Let me take care of you for a little while."

Wyll hesitated for a moment, but then nodded, leaning back slightly as you began to gently massage his shoulders. His body was tense, muscles tight from days of strain, but as your hands worked over his shoulders and down his back, you felt him slowly begin to relax under your touch.

Your fingers worked gently but firmly, kneading the knots in his muscles, and with each pass, you could feel the tension melting away. Wyll let out a soft sigh, his body sinking further into relaxation as you continued.

"You’ve always been so strong, Wyll," you said quietly, your hands moving to massage the base of his neck. "Not just physically, but in everything you do. You care so much, and you give so much of yourself to others. But you don’t have to carry it all alone. I’m here too, and I love every part of you—horns, ridges, everything."

Wyll’s breath hitched slightly, and you could feel him tense up again, though this time it was different. There was emotion behind it, a vulnerability that he rarely showed.

"You… you really mean that?" he asked, his voice quieter now, almost unsure.

You smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of his head. "I do. Every part of you is worthy of love, Wyll. You’ve given so much of yourself to the world, and now it’s time for you to let someone love you for exactly who you are."

Wyll was quiet for a long moment, and when he finally spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion. "I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that."

You continued massaging his back, your hands moving down to his lower back, working out the last of the tension. Wyll let out a deep sigh, his body fully relaxing now as he leaned back into your touch.

"You’re not alone, Wyll," you whispered, your hands still gently working over his skin. "And you never will be. I love every part of you, and nothing will ever change that."

Wyll turned his head slightly, looking up at you with a soft, grateful smile.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice filled with warmth. "I don’t know what I did to deserve you."

You smiled, your fingers brushing through his hair gently. "You don’t have to do anything, Wyll. Just be yourself. That’s more than enough."

For the first time in what felt like days, Wyll truly smiled—a genuine, soft smile that reached his eyes. And as you sat there together, the weight of the world seemed a little lighter, if only for a moment.

You continued to massage his back, your hands gentle but firm, and Wyll leaned back into you, his body completely at ease. He wasn’t just the Blade of Frontiers anymore. He was Wyll—your Wyll, and that was more than enough for both of you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gods now I want a massage. Hope you guys enjoyed it !! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[solarissttee]

KISS AND MAKE-UP .ᐟ

SYNOPSIS : arguments with lancelot are not just rare, they’re painful as well.

CONTAINS . . . 1.0k ; lancelot x fem!reader (black coded) ; angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship, post-percival death.

it isn’t uncommon for couples to have disagreements. everyone has little lover’s quarrels and always goes through some trouble whilst in paradise, right? but goddamn, it hurts. why does it have to hurt so bad?

you and lancelot haven’t been on the best terms lately. for whatever reason, he’s been more closed off and unresponsive than he usually is. you reckon it’s because of whatever happened back in the demon realm. you’d caught wind of percival dying; it broke your heart to say the least, percy was a great friend and an adorable ball of sunshine. you’d never seen someone bring out such bright smiles other than yourself from lancelot.

you were off on another mission, investigating the parts of liones that were starting to disappear, and when you’d gotten back to the kingdom to give your report everything and everyone was… off. you scoured the entire palace looking for any sign of your boyfriend or your friends but found no one. the queen was the one to break the news to you. you promptly left for benwick to go find lancelot.

when you arrived, you noticed just how dreary the atmosphere was. ban and elaine pointed you straight to lancelot’s room, neither of them saying a word. you knock on the door and wait a few seconds before peeking inside. “lance..?”

your boyfriend’s back was turned to you, facing the window. you step inside and sit by him, your fingers going to thread into his hair. he was awake, just staring into the abyss with no acknowledgment of your presence. your heart pangs and you frown.

“lance–”

“don’t. don’t speak to me right now.”

you oblige and stick to running your fingers through his hair. eventually, you leave the room to give him space.

“he’s still in a mood?” ban looks down at you. he’s leant against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

“..yes..”

the king notices your downtrodden expression and ruffles your hair. “don’t sweat it, kid. he’s been that way for the past few weeks. he just needs some time.”

time, of course. everyone processes grief differently, they just need some time to get back on their feet.

however, days had turned into weeks and those weeks turned into months. lancelot still wasn’t communicating. it frustrated you a bit and that frustration gave way to guilt. he was close to percy and you understand that, but percival was your friend, too. you miss him as well, but you miss your boyfriend too. it’s like you’ve lost both of them..

once again, you found yourself in his room, determined to get him to at least talk to you. you want to be there for him and lend him your shoulder. you want to let him give you some of his burden, but he wasn’t having it.

“for fuck’s sake, why won’t you just leave me alone!?”

you stand there, frozen. you hadn’t even gotten your sentence out completely. “l–lance…”

“no! i don’t want to hear it! god, could you be any more annoying!? i want to be left alone, so why don’t you just leave! i don’t want you here!”

your expression falters and your initial frustration gives way to the anger that’s been simmering within you for the past few months. “well, excuse me for wanting to be a caring girlfriend and lend you a shoulder to cry on! how about you stop wallowing in your self-imposed isolation and let me help you!”

“what part of get out don’t you fucking understand? god, i can’t stand you. just leave and never come back!”

you pause. was… was he breaking up with you…?

“you–”

“I SAID LEAVE GODDAMMIT!”

to say you’re stunned to silence is an understatement. you don’t even notice when tears start rolling down your cheeks. to avoid further humiliation, you rush out of the room and pass his parents who looked at you with concern; that argument wasn’t the most quiet after all. 

you hurriedly pack up the things you’d come with and take your leave, intending to head back to liones. all the way, you couldn’t stop your tears from flowing. you feel like shit.

everyone has little lover’s quarrels, right? this’ll pass, right?

no, he said he never wanted you to come back, so that means you guys aren’t ever coming back from this. you stop walking and sit under a tree, and you cry. you cried there for hours and even ended up falling asleep under that tree, too emotionally drained to even move.

meanwhile, lancelot feels like absolute dogshit. shortly after you left, his father gave him a good talking to and told him to get off his ass and go find you. 

now that his anger has simmered down, he can’t help but feel like a terrible boyfriend. he made you cry. he’s never made you cry before.

by the time he’d found you, it was dark out. he sighed, seeing you curled up under a tree with your bag used as a makeshift pillow. it gets really cold in benwick and being out here like this could get you sick. lancelot stoops down and cups your face, his thumb stroking your cheek gently, wiping away the tear streaks on your face. 

without waking you up, lancelot scoops you into his arms and carries you back, tucking you into his bed so you could sleep properly. 

when you awoken, you noticed the change of your surroundings. “what the..”

“you awake?”

lancelot sits by you, his hand toying with your hair. “you slept for a while. are you hungry?”

you sit up, confused. did that whole fight not happen or is this someone else posing as your boyfriend. hell, are you even awake right now?

sensing your confusion, lancelot sighs. “i’m sorry.”

“..what..?”

“i’m sorry for what i said. i shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. you were only trying to help,” he murmured, cupping your face. “i’m sorry for making you cry. i really am..”

you crack a smile. “i’m sorry, too.. i was getting a little frustrated, but it isn’t your fault. you deserve to mourn..”

he huffs and wraps his arms around you, pulling you down onto the bed with him, his face buried in your neck. he leaves kisses against your neck to make you feel better. he didn’t want to admit it, but he’s scared, terrified, of losing you.

“..i love you, you know that, right?”

“i know you do. i love you, too.”

“good. now, go back to sleep, idiot.”

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[dee-writes-anime]

He Was Gone and So Were You

FEATURING Touya 'Dabi' Todoroki x Reader

SUMMARY You won't leave him to die alone again, not when you're right there, not when you can stop him or go down trying.

CONTENT WARNINGS HEAVY ANGST (buckle up y'all), kids being kids, Touya's backstory, familial abuse, death, murder, suicide (?), descriptions of injuries, fire, it's just straight pain below the cut.

AUTHORS NOTE the new episode of MHA has me so fucked up I decided to be cruel and force you all to join me in my pain. Enjoy! :)

The afternoon sun filtered softly through the cherry blossoms, casting gentle shadows across the grass where you and Touya sat. The pink petals floated down like delicate snowflakes, a soft breeze swirling them around you. The world seemed perfect in that moment—quiet, untouched by the weight of the Todoroki household or the burden on Touya’s small shoulders. Just the two of you, together, in your secret spot beneath the largest cherry blossom tree in the yard.

Your fingers traced the rough bark, feeling the grooves where Touya had proudly burned your initials into the tree. T+_ enclosed in a heart, scorched into the wood with a steady hand and a bright spark of his flame. You smiled as you looked at it, a reminder of all the promises you had whispered to each other under this very tree.

“I’m going to be the strongest hero ever,” Touya declared, his voice tinged with defiance. He sat cross-legged beside you, his fiery hair wild from the wind, his bright blue eyes shining with determination. “I’ll be stronger than my dad, and... and I’ll never treat you like that. I’ll be different.”

You blinked, your heart swelling as you met his gaze. “What do you mean, Touya?”

He looked away, biting his lip, his small hands clenched into fists on his knees. “I won’t be like him. I won’t ever make you feel the way my mom feels, or... or the way you look when you talk about your dad.” His voice was small but filled with a fierce determination beyond his years.

You reached out, gently placing your hand on his. “I know you won’t. You’re kind, Touya. You always protect me.”

He glanced at your hand, and his fists slowly unclenched. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice softening. “I’ll protect you. I’ll marry you one day, y’know?” He turned back to you, a shy grin spreading across his face. “I’ll be a pro hero, and we’ll have a house, and I’ll never... never let anyone hurt you.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, a small laugh escaping your lips. “You really think you’ll marry me?”

“I know I will,” he said firmly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We’ll live together, and we’ll have this tree in our yard. And...” He paused, leaning closer to the bark, brushing his fingers over the burned heart. “No matter how strong I get, I’ll always come back here. I promise.”

For a moment, you sat in silence, the weight of his words settling between you like a secret. His dream seemed so bright, so clear, and in that moment, you believed it too. Touya would become a hero, he’d marry you, and you’d have that perfect future together. The world hadn’t been cruel enough yet to make you doubt it.

But then, Touya’s smile faltered. His bright eyes dimmed, and he turned his gaze downward, tracing the edges of the grass beneath him. “Dad said I wasn’t good enough again today.”

Your heart ached at the way his voice cracked, so quiet and defeated. The confidence he had held so fiercely just moments ago crumbled before your eyes, and your chest tightened at the sight of it. You knew how hard he tried, how he practiced for hours, pushing himself until he could barely stand—all for his father’s approval, and yet... it was never enough.

“Touya...” you whispered, scooting closer to him, your knees brushing against his.

He sniffed, his hands balling into fists once more. “He says I’m not ready. Says I shouldn’t use my quirk anymore, that it’s too dangerous.” His lips trembled, and he bit down hard to stop them. “But I can do it. I can get stronger. I know I can.”

“I know you can too,” you murmured, reaching up to gently cup his cheek, turning his face toward you. “You’re the strongest person I know, Touya. One day, your dad’s going to see it too.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch, and for a moment, the tension in his small frame eased. “Do you really think so?”

“I do,” you said softly, your thumb brushing away the tear that had slipped down his cheek. “But you don’t need him to see it to know it’s true. You’ve already shown me how amazing you are. Every time you show me your new moves, I can see how much stronger you’re getting.”

He opened his eyes then, staring at you with a quiet kind of hope. “You... you like seeing my moves?”

You nodded, smiling brightly. “Of course I do! I love seeing you in action. You’re going to be the best hero, just like you said.”

His lips twitched into a small, bashful smile, and he looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe I’ll show you some new ones soon. I’ve been practicing. Just don’t tell anyone, okay?”

You laughed softly, crossing your heart with your finger. “I promise. I won’t tell a soul.”

Touya’s smile widened, and he looked up at the tree again, at the initials he had burned into the wood, and then back at you. “You’re always going to be here, right? Even when I get strong... even if... even if Dad never sees it?”

“I’ll always be here,” you promised, shifting closer so your shoulder rested against his. “No matter what.”

And there, beneath the cherry blossom tree, with the sun setting and the petals swirling in the breeze, the two of you dreamed of a future that felt so certain, so full of hope—a future where Touya would be a hero, and you would always be by his side...

But that future had burned faster than your young lover's flesh on Sakoto Peak barely a month after that.

And now here you stood, years later, the flowers you had spent hours arranging, as you always did, trembling in your hands. The petals you had fluffed meticulously now pale against the gray of the sky as you knelt beneath the cherry blossom tree. The wind whispered through the branches, tugging at your hero’s cloak, and for a moment, the world felt frozen in time.

It haunted you, the moment when you found out— sitting in the break room, sipping on cold tea, the faint noise of the broadcast playing in the background. You hadn’t thought much of it at first, too exhausted from the latest mission to care about anything but the quiet that followed a hard day. And then, the screen flashed. A name you had tried so hard to forget. A face you had mourned every day for years.

Touya.

The breath had left your lungs in an instant. You watched, horror-stricken, as Dabi—no, Touya—spoke with that same fire in his eyes, but there was no joy, no warmth. It was rage. Pure, untethered rage. He talked about his father, about his hatred, and each word was like a knife twisting deeper into your chest. This wasn’t the boy you had known. This wasn’t the Touya who had dreamed under the cherry blossom tree, who had promised to protect you, to become a hero alongside you.

This was someone else.

And now, you sat beneath that very tree, clutching a bouquet of cherry blossoms in your hands, your heart breaking all over again. You had been coming here every week since the day they told you Touya was gone. Every week, you brought flowers, laying them at the base of the tree as a quiet tribute to the boy you had loved, to the future that had been stolen from both of you.

You had believed he was dead. Everyone had. They found the ashes, the charred remains of what was once a child, and you had wept for him. Wept for the boy who had been denied his dreams, for the boy who had burned so brightly that the world couldn’t handle his flame.

And now, all these years later, you still brought flowers. Even after learning the truth, even after watching the broadcast, after hearing his voice, twisted and cruel, you came. Because for you, Touya had died. The boy you had loved, the one who carved your initials into this tree, the one who swore he would be different—he was gone.

A sob clawed its way up your throat, the grief too much to hold in any longer. You pressed the flowers to your chest, your fingers digging into the soft petals as your tears fell silently onto the grass. “Why?” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rustle of the wind. “Why did it have to be this way?”

The cherry blossom tree swayed above you, the branches creaking softly in the breeze. It had grown over the years, the initials you and Touya had burned into the bark still visible, though worn with time. T+_, a promise etched into wood, a promise of a future that would never come to pass.

“I... I thought you were gone,” you choked out, your vision blurring with tears. “I thought you were dead, and I—” Your voice broke, and you clutched the flowers tighter, trembling. “I became a hero for you, Touya. I tried to live the life you wanted, the one we talked about.”

You laid the flowers at the base of the tree, your fingers brushing over the initials, and a fresh wave of grief crashed over you. You had done everything for him—trained, fought, bled—all because you thought it was what he would have wanted. You thought it was what he would have done if he had lived. But now...

Now he was out there, burning everything in his path, destroying lives, hurting people. Everything he had promised he would never do.

“How could you?” you whispered, your hands shaking as you pressed your forehead to the rough bark of the tree. “How could you let this happen? You were supposed to be different. You were supposed to be better.”

But the only response was the wind, carrying with it the distant echoes of your childhood, of the days you spent dreaming of a future that no longer existed.

Your heart ached in ways you couldn’t put into words. The boy you had loved—the boy who had burned so brightly, who had been so full of hope and determination—he was gone, replaced by someone twisted and broken. Someone consumed by anger and hatred. And it hurt more than anything, knowing that the person you had once sworn to stand by was now so far beyond your reach.

Tears streamed down your face as you sat back on your heels, staring at the flowers you had laid at the base of the tree. “I still love you,” you admitted, the words bitter on your tongue. “I still love the boy you were, but I don’t know who you are anymore.”

And that was the cruelest part of it all, wasn’t it? You had loved Touya with everything you had, and even now, knowing what he had become, some part of you still clung to the memory of him. But the boy who had once held your hand beneath this tree was gone, and the man who stood in his place—Dabi—was nothing more than a ghost of the past, a shadow of the boy you had once known.

“I don’t know if I can save you,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you stared up at the cherry blossoms, the pink petals swirling above you like memories you couldn’t quite grasp. “I don’t even know if you want to be saved.”

You sat there for a long time, the silence pressing down on you, the weight of everything too heavy to bear. The world had moved on, continued to fight, but here, in this quiet corner of the past, you were trapped. Trapped in the memory of what once was, of what could have been.

The boy you loved was gone, and you were left with nothing but the echo of his promise, carved into the bark of a tree that stood witness to your shared dreams.

And still, despite everything, you brought flowers. Because for you, Touya had died long ago, and even now, you couldn’t let him go.

No matter how badly your heart ached at the news of Touya being alive, you had promised another that you would support them no matter what. A boy who became a younger brother to you, one who became your anchor in your own family storm after the loss of Touya.

Which is why, after cleaning yourself up from your visit to the cherry tree, you found yourself at the hospital, the sterile scent of antiseptic hanging in the air as you walk down the hospital hallway, the sound of your footsteps muffled by the tiles beneath your feet. The world outside was loud—sirens, chaos, and the aftershock of Dabi’s broadcast still rippling through the city—but here, in the quiet, all you could hear was the soft hum of machines and the distant murmur of voices from other rooms.

Your heart raced, a hollow ache spreading through your chest as you neared the door at the end of the corridor. Shoto was inside. Alone. The weight of everything that had happened—the reveal of his brother’s identity, the trauma it had brought to light—was more than anyone could bear, let alone someone who had already suffered so much. And you… you were barely holding it together yourself.

For years, you had been a constant presence in his life, stepping in after Touya’s supposed death. You’d watched him grow up in that cold, abusive household, doing everything you could to be the older sister he needed, to offer him comfort when his own family couldn’t. But now, after everything, you weren’t sure how to help him through this. How could you? How could you possibly console him when you couldn’t even make sense of your own grief?

The door creaked open under your hand, and there he was—Shoto, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, his back turned to you, his shoulders hunched beneath the weight of everything he’d just learned. His hair, a stark reminder of the family’s fractured history, glowed faintly in the dim light of the room. You paused for a moment, your breath catching in your throat as you saw the tension in his posture, the way his hands were clenched into fists on his lap.

“Shoto...” you whispered, your voice trembling, the grief you had been holding back threatening to overwhelm you.

He didn’t turn at first. For a long moment, he remained still, as if frozen in place, staring at the floor. But then, slowly, he exhaled, his shoulders sagging. “You saw it too, didn’t you?” His voice was quiet, a hollow echo of the boy you had once known.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and stepped closer, your hands trembling as you reached out to him. “I did.”

His head bowed further, his hair falling over his eyes. “He’s alive. He’s been alive this whole time, and... and now he’s—” His voice faltered, and he shook his head, biting back whatever words he couldn’t bring himself to say.

You didn’t hesitate any longer. You closed the distance between you and Shoto, sinking down onto the bed beside him, your hands gently resting on his shoulder. The contact made him flinch, but he didn’t pull away. Not from you. He never had.

“I’m so sorry, Shoto,” you whispered, your voice breaking as the weight of the truth settled over both of you.

For so long, you had both believed Touya was gone, a bright flame extinguished too soon. But now, the reality was so much worse. He hadn’t died—he had become something twisted, something filled with hatred and pain. The boy you had loved, the brother Shoto had lost, was still out there, but he was no longer the person either of you had once known.

Shoto’s breath hitched, and you felt his body tense beneath your touch. “I... I don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice raw. “Why didn’t he come back? Why didn’t he... why didn’t he tell us?”

The anguish in his voice was palpable, and it shattered whatever composure you had left. Tears welled in your eyes, and you moved closer, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him into an embrace that you hoped could somehow shield him from the pain, even if just for a moment. “I don’t know, Shoto. I don’t know.”

He stiffened at first, his body rigid against yours, but then, slowly, the tension began to seep out of him. His fists unclenched, and before you knew it, he was clutching at you, his fingers digging into the fabric of your clothes as if holding on for dear life. He buried his face against your shoulder, and for the first time since you had known him, Shoto let himself cry.

Silent sobs wracked his body, his chest heaving as years of grief, confusion, and pain spilled out of him. His tears soaked into your shirt, but you didn’t care. You held him tighter, your own tears falling freely now, mixing with his as the two of you wept together.

You had always tried to be strong for him. Ever since Touya had “died,” you had stepped in, trying to fill the void, to offer him the love and support he had never gotten from his father. But now, you realized you didn’t need to be strong. Not right now. Right now, Shoto didn’t need a hero or an older sister trying to hold it together—he needed someone who understood, someone who shared in his grief.

“I thought he was dead,” Shoto choked out, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “All this time... I thought he was gone.”

“I did too,” you whispered, your throat tight with emotion. “We all did.”

His grip tightened, and his body trembled against yours. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear him. “He’s my brother, but... he’s done so many terrible things. I should hate him, but... I can’t.”

You nodded, tears streaming down your face as you held him close. “I know, Shoto. I know.”

The truth was, you felt the same way. You had loved Touya with all your heart, and even now, after everything, some part of you still did. But the boy you had loved, the boy who had once dreamed of being a hero, was gone. And the man who had taken his place—the man who called himself Dabi—was a stranger, consumed by anger and hatred. It was a betrayal that cut deeper than anything you had ever known, and yet... how could you hate him? How could you hate someone who had been broken by the very people who were supposed to protect him?

“I don’t know if we can save him,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you spoke the words that had haunted you since the broadcast. “But... we can’t give up on him. Not yet.”

Shoto lifted his head then, his tear-streaked face pale and drawn, his eyes red and swollen from crying. “You still believe in him?”

You hesitated, your heart heavy with doubt. “I... I don’t know,” you admitted, the words bitter on your tongue. “But I have to try. For the boy he used to be. For the brother you lost.”

Shoto stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, and then, slowly, he nodded. “I don’t know if I can ever forgive him,” he said quietly, his voice raw with emotion. “But I want to understand. I need to understand why he became this way.”

You brushed a tear from his cheek, your hand lingering against his skin. “We’ll figure it out together, okay? You’re not alone in this, Shoto. You never have been.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch, and for the first time in a long while, you saw a flicker of something in his expression—something like hope. It was fragile, but it was there.

The two of you sat in silence for a long time after that, wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the weight of your grief settle between you. The world outside was still in chaos, but here, in the quiet of the hospital room, you found a moment of solace. A moment where you didn’t have to be strong, where you could just be two people, grieving the loss of someone you both loved.

Even from where you stood, the heat from the flames was unbearable. Smoke billowed into the sky, thick and suffocating, the air heavy with ash. Chaos surrounded you, the sounds of battle—a chorus of destruction—filling your ears, but all you could focus on was the fire. That familiar, haunting fire.

You had been with the civilians, guiding them to safety, trying to keep calm amidst the panic. But when you saw those blue flames rise above the villa, something inside you broke. Touya. It was him. He was here, and you couldn’t stay back any longer. Your feet had carried you forward before you even realized what you were doing, your heart racing in your chest, driven by a force you couldn’t fight.

When you reached the battlefield, it was worse than you could have imagined. The destruction was immense, flames licking at everything in their path. And in the center of it all—your breath caught in your throat—stood Touya, his once-bright eyes now burning with hatred and madness, his face twisted in a sickening grin.

“Touya!” you screamed, your voice breaking as you ran toward him.

He didn’t turn at first. His focus was on Endeavor, his father, who stood barely able to move, his body scorched, his face a mixture of pain and disbelief. But you didn’t care about Endeavor. You didn’t care about anything except the boy you had once loved—the boy who had been consumed by his own flames.

“Touya, please!” Your voice cracked as you pushed yourself closer, ignoring the searing heat, ignoring the way the smoke clawed at your lungs. “Stop! Don’t do this!”

Finally, his head turned toward you, and for a moment—just a moment—you saw something flicker in his expression. Recognition. A trace of the boy he used to be. But then it was gone, replaced by that sick, twisted smile. He threw his head back and laughed, a sound that sent chills down your spine.

“Isn’t this perfect?” he spat, his voice laced with venom as he turned his gaze back to Endeavor. “The mighty number one, brought to his knees by his own sins. This is what you deserve, old man.”

“Touya!” you screamed again, your throat raw from the smoke, your heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst. “Please… don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.”

He ignored you, his eyes fixed on Endeavor like a predator about to strike. His body was trembling now, his flames raging out of control, the heat so intense you could feel your skin burning from the proximity.

But you couldn’t let him do this. Not again. Not after everything.

“Please… come back to me,” you whispered, your voice breaking as tears filled your eyes. “Come back to me, Touya.”

He stiffened at that. For the first time, he turned fully toward you, his eyes narrowing as he stared at you, really seeing you. His chest heaved with labored breaths, and you could see the strain in his body, the way he was struggling to hold himself together. His skin was charred, his lips cracked and bleeding, and you realized with a sickening dread that he was dying. His flames were consuming him, just like they had all those years ago.

“Touya,” you sobbed, your hands trembling as you took a step closer. “Please… please don’t do this. You don’t have to hurt them. You don’t have to hurt yourself.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he tilted his head, his gaze distant, almost unfocused. And then, in a voice so quiet you barely heard it over the roar of the flames, he whispered your name.

Your breath caught in your throat. He hadn’t called you by your name in years. The sound of it on his lips, broken and hollow, tore you apart. And then—your heart skipped a beat—he said it. The nickname. That stupid, silly nickname he’d given you when you were kids, when the world had been simple and full of dreams.

“Cherry…”

The world seemed to freeze around you. Cherry. He had called you that because of the cherry blossom tree you’d always meet under, the one where you dreamed of your future together. The one where he had carved your initials into the bark, sealing a promise you both thought would last forever.

The memory hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you were back there—back under the tree, laughing and planning a life you’d never have. But the boy who had made those promises was gone. In his place stood this hollow shell, burning himself alive with hatred and anger.

“Touya, please!” You sobbed harder, clutching your chest as if you could physically hold yourself together. “Come back. Please, come back to me.”

But he wasn’t listening. His body was trembling violently now, his flames growing wilder, out of control. You could see it in his eyes—the way they flickered with a madness that wasn’t his own. He was losing himself. The Touya you had known, the boy you had loved, was slipping away right before your eyes.

“I can’t stop,” he whispered, his voice strained, as if he were talking more to himself than to you. “It’s too late.”

“No!” You shook your head frantically, tears streaming down your face. “It’s not too late! You can still stop this, Touya! You can still—”

“I don’t want to stop,” he growled, cutting you off, his eyes blazing with fury. “This is what I was meant to do. This is what I’ve become.”

Your heart shattered. The boy who had once dreamed of being a hero was standing before you, consumed by his own hatred, by the fire that had once been his gift. And no matter how much you begged, no matter how many tears you shed, you couldn’t bring him back.

“Touya… please don’t leave me again,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, choked with grief.

He looked at you then—really looked at you—and for a brief, fleeting moment, you saw it. The boy you had loved. The boy who had once promised to marry you under the cherry blossoms, who had vowed to protect you and never let you feel the kind of pain he had witnessed in his family. But that boy was buried beneath years of anger, hurt, and betrayal.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice so soft you almost didn’t hear it. “I’m sorry, Cherry…”

And then he turned away. His flames flared one last time, roaring into the sky, and you watched in horror as he prepared to release everything. He was going to explode, to burn away what little was left of himself in a final act of destruction.

“No!” You screamed, rushing forward, reaching out to him, your heart breaking into a thousand pieces. “Touya, don’t! Please, don’t do this!”

But it was too late.

In the last moment before the flames consumed him, you heard him whisper your name one more time, and with that, the flames roared to life, brighter and hotter than ever before, threatening to consume him completely.

“No!” Without thinking, you threw yourself forward, ignoring the pain as the flames scorched your skin, burning away at you. You didn’t care. You couldn’t let him go. Not again.

Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him close, and despite the heat, despite the agony, you held on tight. His body trembled against yours, his flames raging out of control, but you didn’t let go. You couldn’t.

“I won’t leave you again,” you sobbed, burying your face in his shoulder, the smell of burning flesh filling your senses. “I’m not leaving you, Touya. Not this time.”

His body stiffened, his breath catching in his throat as he struggled to speak, to move. But you held on, your heart breaking with every second that passed, with every sob that wracked your body.

“You won’t die alone,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I swear… I’ll stay with you. I won’t leave you. Not ever.”

He didn’t say anything, but you could feel the way his body trembled against yours, the way his flames flickered as if they, too, were struggling to hold on.

And then, for the briefest moment, you felt him relax in your arms, his head leaning against yours, his breath shallow and ragged. His flames were still burning, still consuming him, but they weren’t as wild now. There was something almost peaceful in the way he held onto you, like he was finally letting go of the hatred that had consumed him for so long.

But you knew. You knew that it wasn’t enough. That no matter how tightly you held on, no matter how many promises you made, you couldn’t stop what was coming.

He was going to die. And this time, you couldn’t save him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice so faint you could barely hear it.

Tears streamed down your face as you clung to him, your heart shattering into a million pieces. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I’ve always loved you, Touya.”

And then, just like that, he was gone... and so were you.

[corseque]

Clair Obscur spoilers

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after my post the other day about the perhaps taboo or unnatural nature of the mirrors, I was wondering if it also applied to Renoir's mirrors too, because it does seem like they also need to overcome Renoir's in order to return to a state of normalcy and move on. But after thinking about it, I wonder if the Renoir mirrors are more productive and help the people who defeat them come to terms with what he was portraying:

Verso overcomes Visages (by the end of the story, Verso's true wishes are made clear, and so he is no longer putting on a mask for others to see - his rage, his sadness and his ephemeral joy are clear on his face)

[redacted] beats the shit out of and completely rejects Sirene (Sirene, which represented how [redacted] only notices things when they're right before her eyes and ignores everything else, dancing in her delusions. As soon as [redacted] confronts/attacks/destroys Sirene, it seems like from that moment onward, she can overcome that tendency and "wake up" with her eyes and face clearly shown)

[redacted] destroys the Hauler with extreme prejudice, and I'm not exactly sure what this might mean metaphorically, because it happened so long before the start of the story, but notably, [redacted] does NOT wish to fight alone, to carry all of Paris on her shoulders alone, and she enters the scene already asking for her father's help. So maybe before she went in and was confronted with the Hauler, she WAS trying to do everything herself, but after she saw and made simon kill the Hauler, she admitted that she shouldn't shoulder the entire burden alone, and started to help her father in hopes that he would be able to help her and shoulder her burden

But that pesky detail of [redacted] not destroying or even attacking the Reacher keeps that reading from me... so instead I maybe keep that reading and then also read it further as a very hopeful sign of the future of the Verso ending, that she doesn't reject her father's tender hopes for her, and she on some level also hopes that one day she can reach the sky with the help of the little green orphan in the top hat who will always build her future and never sabotage it. Regardless, she at least confronts it and comes to terms with it. (Or, more sadly, this can be read that because she doesn't engage with the Reacher enough to kill it, she will never reach the stars)

I was reading a post that called Renoir a hypocrite for painting his family as well, while he disapproved of [redacted] for painting a fake family, but his explanation in the Drafts made me think that he wasn't being a hypocrite - because he specified that he painted for the act of creation and to express his feelings whereas his wife had started to attempt to "paint the unpaintable" which is a very disturbing phrase. I feel also that the family learns and grows from overcoming Renoir's paintings, like his paintings had a metaphorical truth to them that was an attempt to communicate with his real family, rather than Aline's mirrors which seemed like she was trying to block her family out. Like, he was remembering and thinking of the future of his family while she was thinking of only the past, clair and obscur.

I feel like I look on the bright side with Renoir a lot, but I do really admire his determination and his love. And I think that in the story, since he's the one who states the theme most clearly and subbornly, that his nuggets of wisdom and his metaphors are supposed to be helpful and not cruel.

[it-was-summer]

Come In With The Rain (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey y'all, I'm so sorry for the late posting. I know that I don't have a new chapter of 'Video Killed the Radio Star' out yet, but stay with me here. This is part one (of two) of my 500 followers post! I want to thank everyone for reading and being so sweet throughout the years. I really hope you all like this first part! The second part will probably be posted sometime this upcoming week. AND IT WILL BE 18+. I'm estimating sometime between Thursday and Saturday. Again, this is not proofread because I never learn. Love you all- Em <3

Link to the Ao3: Come In With The Rain

You are on Part One! -> Part Two

Yee olde masterlist

WARNING: Slow burn ahh fanfiction, emotional cheating, an accusation of emotional cheating, couple fighting, sex mentioned, alcohol mentions, drunk reader at one point, light cursing, babygirl Spencer Reid, suggestion BLINK AND YOU MISS IT SUGGESTION that Reid is Bi, reader is referred to as a woman, she/her/hers pronouns at some parts, and mention of feeling like a burden. AND probably something else, idk.

Plot: Spencer Reid becomes friends with you after bumping into you at a grocery store. Instantly enamored with you he develops a crush. A crush, apparently destined to fail, because why wouldn't you have a boyfriend?

Word Count: 10,365 (That's correct... 24 PAGES)

 Day One 

Almost everyone could agree that Spencer’s job was incredibly arduous. If not arduous, it was strenuous, formidable, occasionally crushing, onerous; the list goes on. Overall, his job –despite all its pitfalls– was something he loved. There was one thing he was starting to hate more than anything, though: he couldn’t seem to keep all his groceries from going bad after a week of back-to-back cases. 

Spencer narrows his eyes at his messy handwriting, looking back and forth between the paper in his hands and the cans in front of him. He just couldn’t find the can that he was looking for. Penelope had loaned him her recipe a few weeks back, and despite his disastrous efforts in the kitchen, he was determined to give it a shot. His mother never taught him how to cook –not that he blamed her, of course– so it was truly an area in which he simply lacked a lot of skill. Given his eidetic memory, he didn’t really need a list, but Penelope said this brand was best for her recipe when they talked last week. He didn’t want to risk it, so he wrote it down. 

He turned his head side-to-side, looking for a nearby worker, but found none. The only person in this aisle was him. He frowned a little before the sound of a sigh passing behind him made him jump. He quickly looked over his shoulder to see a woman standing behind him, staring at a list in hand. He couldn’t help but wonder when you had gotten there and how long you had been standing behind him before your sigh alerted Spencer to the presence of another life form in this aisle. 

Your head tilted slowly, your eyes met his, and Spencer felt his mouth drying. He wasn’t charming around beautiful women like Derek; most of all, he hadn’t expected to run into one at the grocery store. Your eyes stayed on Spencer for a second before they moved towards the cans in front of them. Spencer felt like a warmth had just been pulled away from him in the absence of your gaze. 

He shuffles out of your eyeline as you scan the cans with a soft smile. “Thank you,” your voice was light and airy, carrying a softness that Spencer wasn’t used to hearing. Your body is closer to his as you walk toward the cans and carefully reach up on your tiptoes to grab a can of sauce on the highest shelf. 

Spencer gets the idea stupidly slow: He should get it for you. He clears his throat and maneuvers his body to avoid touching the beautiful stranger beside him. He slides the sauce can off the shelf and hands it to you. 

He’s greeted with a dazzling smile, dimples on your cheeks, and eyes shining bright under the fluorescent lights of the grocery store. “Thank you,” you repeat before you stare at him expectantly. 

Spencer can’t help but feel like his IQ is taking slashes as he stares at that smile, “Spencer,” 

You gave him a gentle nod as you walked the sauce over to your cart, “Nice to meet you, Spencer. I’m Y/N.” You say as you look over your shoulder at him, hair falling into your face. For the first time in a long time, Spencer can feel the ends of his fingers twitching with anticipation at the idea of offering to brush the hair out of your face for you. He gives you a soft smile instead, his eyes trailing back to the list in his hands in an attempt to stop himself from staring. 

Your voice near him almost makes him let out a yelp of surprise as you say, “Are you looking for something? I don’t work here, but I cook a lot.” You say matter-of-factly, suggesting that your cooking hobby somehow made you an expert in the grocery store layout. 

Spencer felt like handing you his list and following you around like a puppy dog for the rest of his grocery shopping if it meant you’d keep standing this close to him. “Yeah, uhm, this brand of chili beans.” 

“Oh, you haven’t looked low enough.” You barely even glance at his list before bending your knees and crouching down to the lower shelf to grab it. You look up from the ground, holding the can of beans for him to take with a bright smile before you say, “You’re so tall you must have forgotten about the lower shelves.” A laugh escapes your lips as Spencer carefully grabs the can from your hand. 

You stand up with a gentle sigh. He can tell that you’re about to say something else when a man’s voice interrupts you. Your eyes grow brighter at the sound, and your head quickly turns toward the sound at the far left end of the aisle. “I got the cheese.” As he approaches, the man shoots the shredded cheese into the cart with a grin. 

You mouth a soft ‘yay’ as the man’s arm quickly wraps around your waist. “Josh, this is Spencer. I was just helping him look for a can of beans. Spencer, this is Josh.” 

Spencer feels his lips draw into a tight-lipped smile as he waves his free hand, “Nice to meet you,” He says with a slight nod. 

“She’s always talking to strangers, I swear. Stop making friends everywhere you go, you little angel.”  Josh says as he pinches your side, earning a melodious laugh from you. Spencer feels a little nauseous.

“Hey, gross.” You chuckle lightly as you pull Josh’s hand off your side, “Anyways, it was nice to meet you, Spencer. See you around.” You grab the handle of your cart with a beautiful smile before rolling the cart out of the aisle with Josh in tow. 

Spencer watches you until you take a right and disappear from his view, and now he can only look at the can of beans in his hand. He sighs at his luck, smiling a little with amusement at the fact that you have a boyfriend. His short interaction made it clear to him that you were easy to get along with. Beautiful, kind, easygoing, of course, you had a boyfriend. 

Spencer silently resigned himself to the fact that he would probably never see you or Josh again as he continued with his unneeded list.

Now, he felt like the fabled gods of fate were laughing down at him as he made the last trip to his car. He was closing the trunk of his car when he heard a familiar voice yell out his name from across the parking lot. “Spencer!” You yelled with bags in hand, panting lightly as you approached him with a light jog. “How funny is this?” 

A sarcastically bitter voice was in his head. Only the Ancient Greeks would find this funny. “Do you live in this building?” he asked as his eyes scanned the parking lot for Josh. His shoulders relaxed as he realized that it was just you. 

“Yeah, third floor.” You say as you readjust the bags in your hands. Spencer gave you an amused smile as he slid his last two bags on one arm, extending his free arm toward you. 

“Need some help?” He offers in a soft voice. You give him a grateful look as you nod, handing him a slightly heavy bag. Typically, you wouldn’t have accepted help from a perfect stranger, but almost everything about Spencer screamed non-threatening, so you let yourself be a little trusting. 

“Can’t believe that we’re neighbors. I'm glad I talked to you at the store; I made a neighbor friend!” Your speaking speed almost matches his when he is going on his excited ramblings. 

Spencer pushes a door open with his back, holding it open for you with his foot as he laughs. “I guess it's plausible, being that the grocery store is as close as it is.” He’s quick to move to the next door, repeating the motion. 

You smile gently as Spencer opens another door for you, this one leading the two of you to the stairwell. “Oh, you’re probably one of those people who doesn’t believe in fate, aren’t you, Spencer?” 

“I would have to say that I absolutely fall within the twenty-nine percent of Americans who do not believe in fate. Nothing is predetermined.” 

“Maybe you’re predetermined to believe that,” Is your quick remark as you walk in front of him on the stairs. 

“Not likely,” 

“So, what? You’re a cynic?” 

Spencer smiles wide at the question, “How does my not believing in fate make me a cynic?” 

You grin, tossing a skeptical look over your shoulder, before speaking again. “Not believing in fate is such a cynical thing to do,” 

“And what does that make you?” 

“Stupid and optimistically in love.” 

Spencer shakes his head, his eyes glancing at the door that leads to the second floor, but he continues to follow you up another flight of stairs without complaint. “I would label myself as a realist.” And a profiler, but he was careful to leave that part out. The cases over the years proved one thing to him: nothing was predetermined. There was an opportunity for change everywhere. 

“Okay, Mr. Realist, what about luck?” You asked as the two of you approached the door marked for floor three. 

He thought for a moment as you held the door open for him, “Maybe,” was all he could say as the memory of when he was struggling with his aim came to mind: killing an UnSub with a shot to the head when he had been aiming for his leg. 

“So you do believe in fate.” You turned your body to walk backward down the hallway with a satisfied, winning smile as you looked at him before slowing to a stop in front of your apartment door. 

“Fate and luck are not the same thing. Luck is usually used to describe an outcome; it’s a notion. It’s circumstantial.  Fate defies logic, science really.” He said as he handed you your bag carefully. His eyes glanced at the number on your door: thirty-seven. “You live with your boyfriend?” Spencer asks before he can stop himself, silently screaming at himself for being a creep. 

The question barely phases you as you reach into your pocket, searching for your keys. “Yeah, moved in six months ago.” 

“Oh, that’s nice.” Spencer hated small talk. Actually, he secretly hated the fact that the first person he found attractive, after months of failed dates, was taken. He also hated that you were living a floor above him for six months, and he hadn’t known about it– hadn’t known about you. Above all, he hated that he enjoyed your company already, especially having only known you for more than a few hours at best. “How long have the two of you been together?” 

“A year and eleven months,” you answer with a soft smile, your eyes giving way to soft emotion as you open your door. “What floor do you live on again?” 

Spencer wants to say that you never asked, but he didn’t want to seem rude. He was sure you couldn’t be rude if you tried, that sweet smile of yours not capable of the act. “Second floor,” he answers as he readjusts his bags timidly. 

With a soft gasp, you set down a bag or two, “Oh! I’m sorry.” You apologize softly as you look up at him, your eyes beautiful and tender. Spencer can’t remember if he is mad when he looks into those eyes. 

Spencer let out a meek and barely audible “It’s okay,” He decides it truly is.

You bite your bottom lip and smile at him, “Well, thanks for your help, Spencer. I really appreciated it. Come up some time and say hi!” As you beam at him, you move a stray hair out of your face. 

Spencer nods slowly, swallowing thickly, and manages a soft smile. His feet move his body back to the stairwell slowly. “Okay, I’ll do that.” 

Day Forty-Two 

You’re laughing over something Josh said. Spencer doesn’t really get it, but you seem to think it is the funniest joke you’ve ever heard. Punchlines usually went over his head, but he was always happy to nod along with a smile on his face. 

Spencer honestly didn’t want to come up and visit you and Josh a month ago. Maybe he was a glutton for punishment. Perhaps he just didn’t have it in himself to stay away from your electric personality—why he visited you and Josh three Saturdays ago was still a mystery to him.

As Josh walks away with a smug smile, you turn to Spencer. He watches as you lean towards him, eyes tracking Josh until he’s out of sight. Your amused smile falls from your face as you whisper a soft, “Did you get that?” 

Spencer is taken aback at the question. You laughed at Josh’s joke; how did you not get it? Why did you laugh so hard if you didn’t get it? He wonders until he’s whispering that same question to you, “If you didn’t get it, why did you laugh?” 

You smile a little cheekily and only slightly embarrassed, “I didn’t want him to know I didn’t find it funny. Sometimes, he falls short of witty humor.” 

Spencer smiles at that, shaking his head as he stares over at the area where Josh disappeared. “Why don’t you just tell him that you didn’t find it funny?” 

“Because,” Your voice sounds offended, but the amused look in your eyes tells him differently, “I’m his girlfriend of two years, and I’m nice. Unlike some people.” You give him a side-eyed glare, making Spencer gasp in mock defense. 

“I’m nice!” He hisses out in a defensive whisper. He briefly falters at your incredulous look before slowly nodding in defeat, “Okay, I’m a little mean sometimes.” 

You smile again and face him, your hands moving as you talk, “Which is funny because you’re perfectly nice when you’re around me.” 

Spencer didn’t have an answer to that one either. After being friendly with the couple for a little over a month, he just could not be friends with Josh. His jokes flew over Spencer’s head, he talked over you (and sometimes him), and he never seemed to take your interests seriously. 

Last Monday after work, you called Spencer, asking him if he wanted to go to the movies with you to see a tragic Italian film. He was quick to say yes, partially because of the excellent movie selection and because he wanted to be around you more. 

When he asked why Josh wasn’t joining them, you simply said that it wasn’t Josh’s thing. That didn’t sit right with him, but he let it go. Then, the day after, you called him again, asking him if he’d be willing to go with you to one of those paint-and-sip places around town that weekend. 

His answer was another resounding yes, and he didn’t even drink. Then the question came again during the class, and you responded with the same thing– it wasn’t Josh’s thing. 

Josh’s thing was going off to work all day and then coming home to ignore you for a good two hours before dinner. Then he was all yours again. At least, that’s what Spencer saw. He understood that everyone needed their alone time and that he was being a little petty and a little jealous toward Josh. 

He wanted to be the bigger person, honestly. It was just so hard when your boyfriend made it so easy for Spencer to hate him. He’d never say that to you, of course. You looked at Josh like he had hung the moon yesterday and then created the stars today. You never missed a chance to talk about Josh around… well, anyone—the precursor to Spencer’s current dilemma. 

Deep down inside, he knew that his inappropriate crush on you couldn’t possibly get worse. So he thought, What’s the harm in becoming close friends with you? If anything, it was likely that seeing more of your personality would pull his rose-colored glasses off his face and force him to see you in a normal, less love-sick light. After all, he had gotten over his embarrassing crush on JJ and saw her almost daily at work.

When Josh walks back into the room, he’s on his phone. He barely glances up from the text as he speaks to you, “Hey, babe, would it be okay with you if I head out for the night?” 

Your eyebrows furrow with confusion, “But Spencer is here, and we were going to finish the movie, remember?” 

“Right, but I already know what happens. I mean, it’s a tragedy, right? Spencer and you always have more fun together doing your nerd stuff. No offense, Spencer. The guys just want me to go out with them.” 

A realization dawns on your face as you realize he’s not asking so much as telling you he’s leaving. You nod slowly, letting Josh kiss your forehead before he grabs his keys and leaves. You look over at Spencer, who is trying to be polite by not watching the scene, looking down at the television remote with a deep interest. 

You smile slowly, sadly, and turn your body a little on the couch facing the television. The rest of the night is spent in your living room with Spencer, sitting next to each other and watching a movie before ending with your head on his shoulder and the soft tone of someone saying they “Liked the movie.” 

Day Ninety-Three

You could feel something starting to slip. It was a familiar feeling; something in the ground was shaking. It shook you, at least. You always noticed it first—a crack in the ship's hull.  You were always the first to address it, too. 

With Josh, it used to be customary for him to apologize for any indiscretion and try to fix the damage. But false promises are like duct tape in the ship’s hull, slipping and sliding against wet wood, water pouring in until the whole ship goes down. 

It wasn’t always like this. Him coming home and ignoring you for hours, only to acknowledge you late into the evening. It was relatively new to your relationship. Well, if you consider nine months new. By now, you could only label it as consistent. Before you lived with your loving boyfriend, he would carve out time in the evenings just to talk with you for hours or take you on dates that sometimes lasted for days on the weekends. 

You knew that living together would take some of that away– everyone deserved to have their private time, and you weren’t going to start demanding day-long dates anytime soon. You just missed the effort he used to put in, the time when he would make days for the two of you– hours for just the two of you. 

A year ago, Josh would have jumped to see that weird new Hungarian horror movie with subtitles for you if you had asked. He would have attempted to stay awake during it, hold your hand during the parts that scared you, something lovely. 

The first crack started when you moved in with him. One evening, you had gotten home from work early and occupied the living room for a few hours, watching some random French movie that had been recommended to you by your best friend. She didn’t like this kind of thing but knew you did, so you were grateful that she had thought of you. 

When he came home from work a little later than usual, he saw you on the couch with a plate of pasta, watching the movie intently. You turned your head towards the door and smiled wide at him. “Hey! I made spaghetti, grab a plate and watch this movie with me? I’ll restart it.” Your hands were already reaching for the remote when a heavy, annoyed sigh cut through the air. You looked over at him again and gave him a gentle, empathic smile, “Hey… did you have a hard day? We don’t have to watch anything we could–”

“Have you ever thought that maybe I don’t want to do anything with you right after I get off work?” Josh hissed out as he threw his keys onto the wooden kitchen table. 

You felt your head reel back a little at the question, and you laughed a little, pushing yourself up to sit on your knees on the couch. “I’m sorry?” 

“Have you ever thought I might want to come home after work and not talk to you for a few hours? I mean, I thought that after living here for two months, you would have caught on, but clearly you haven’t. I come home, and you’re right there, ready to talk. Prepared to force me to sit down and watch some… foreign language film that has some profound meaning that you’ll blabber about for thirty minutes before bed tonight.” 

You blinked a little at his harsh words, which were unlike him. He never seemed annoyed by your passions, hobbies, or ramblings. In fact, he always seemed to encourage them. You tried your best to give him a genuine smile, “Love, you’ve had a long day. Let’s just take a second and get some food in you, and then we can d–” 

“You’re not getting it,” he laughed bitterly, a sound that caused a sick knot to grow in your throat. “Sometimes, I’m tired of it being we, we, we, we. I’m always doing things with you: Cooking with you, reading with you, watching movies with you, sleeping with you, going on dates with you. Ever since you moved in, it's like it's always an ‘us’ task or a ‘we’ task.” His voice was rising in volume, and you felt your breathing becoming shaky. “I feel like you're always on top of me. It’s suffocating! Maybe I just want to be alone for a few hours. Maybe I don’t want to watch your stupid, fucking, symbolic foreign films.” 

“I... I didn’t know that’s how you felt.” You breathed out as you slowly turned the television off and got up with your plate. You wanted him to apologize, you wanted him to soften those brown eyes and start telling you that he didn’t mean it. You wanted him to tell you that work was brutal that day, and he had accidentally lashed out at you. But he just stared at you, panting a little. “I’ll leave you alone some more. I, uhm, I’ll watch this alone in our room.” 

And that was that. You had convinced yourself that you were a problem. You were too clingy, always in his space, always trying to force him to like your hobbies, always trying to share too much of yourself with him, always too much. So you decided that maybe what you wanted to do wasn’t his thing anymore. 

Besides, you had plenty of friends that liked the same things as you did… maybe. Molly didn’t like foreign films, but Alex enjoyed them enough. Molly did like to paint, but her schedule always conflicted with yours. Sabrina was also a fan of painting but had moved to Boston last month. The list of her friends with crazy work schedules could go on and on, as could the list of friends who moved. You had thought about reaching out to some of them, but Josh’s words rattled you to your core, and suddenly, you felt like a burden for wanting to spend time with your loved ones. 

Then, after six months of living with Josh, you met a man in a grocery store—a tall, hazel-eyed, intelligent man. Spencer Reid was unlike any man you had ever met in your life, a rare friend. He was transparent, often going into long, passionate tangents that always had you learning something new. So when he randomly mentioned a foreign film he wanted to see that weekend in one of your conversations, you felt comfortable asking him to come to the movies with you.

Then again, to the paint-and-sip place where the two of you failed to partake in any wine and managed to paint two terrible renditions of sunflowers. Spencer Reid was becoming a friend that you didn’t think you’d burden. Your other friends were quick to explain that you weren’t too much. Still, maybe it was because he had helped you carry your groceries up to the apartment the first day you met him or the way he was so happy to listen to your stories and thoughts. Something about Spencer Reid made you believe him when he said that you weren’t a burden. 

And he was nice to be around. Then, there was the pesky fact of Spencer being attractive. At first, it was more of a passing thought. The way he wore his glasses late at night, how his hair fell to one side, the way his fingers were so gentle with books. He was a good-looking man in a nerdy way. Mix that with sweet, caring, and accomplished; he was a threat. 

A threat to anyone but your loving boyfriend of two years. Sabrina was laughing over something you had said over the phone, her giggles rising in volume as she tried to speak between them, “He’s a.” Giggling. “An adonis of th–” Cackling. “The mind!” She managed before asking, “What does that even mean?” 

“It means he’s a very smart-minded, attractive person.” 

“Oh, so you’re like… crushing on the hot mind guy and fighting with Josh. Got it.” 

“I’m not fighting with Josh, and we talked about it last month. We’re okay now.” 

“Still ignoring you when he comes home?” 

You pause before you let out a slow sigh, “Yeah.” 

“What’s his record?” 

“Four hours and fifteen minutes. He said he will try to be more attentive throughout the week, but he just keeps…” You trail off. You can imagine Sabrina shaking her head on the other side of the line. 

“What about the weekends?” 

“Going out with his friends more, he visited his mom’s last weekend. Nary a date night in sight, not since our second anniversary at least, and that was..” 

“Yeah..” There was rustling, chips maybe, on her side of the line. “Maybe he’s planning something big. Maybe a trip? I don’t know, maybe you should bring it up again.” 

You nod a little, your hands typing away gently on your work computer. “Maybe. The last time I mentioned missing our date nights, he just said, ‘We have dinner dates every night at home.’ That was an incredible feeling.” 

“Something about weaponized ignorance is coming to mind.” 

“Don’t,” 

“Josh has been lacking in good boyfriend points since that stunt with the cake on your birthday,” 

“He got a little icing on my nose!” 

“Don’t,” She dragged out the ‘t’ sound, “Care! The disrespect! Your dress! Ugh, I’m going to get worked up. Talk to me about Dr. Genius.” 

“What about him?” 

“Does he ever, maybe, do something you wish Josh would start doing?” 

You laugh, “What? No…” 

“So you don’t wish that Josh would know the symbolism behind The Red Shoes and go into how… what did he say?” 

“That art was worth dying for, and that Hans Christian Andersen's original story surrounded a sense of morality and religious–” 

“Ah, Ah, Ah, so you don’t want Josh to know that?” 

“He doesn’t need to know that,” your fingers falter in their typing, “Two people can have similar interests and not be in love.” 

“Right, it just seems like lately, you’ve been…” You hate the awkward silence that follows Sabrina before she carefully speaks again, “Maybe replacing Josh with Spencer in your hobbies. I know Josh lashed out and was wrong, too, but this Spencer guy… he clicks with you– your hobbies, at least. And your witty humor, too. It seems he matches your intellectualism and your passion for learning,  exceeds it even, but Josh is steps below you. Josh, he… just always seems so tolerant of your hobbies.” 

“So what are you saying?” 

“Nothing,” a voice calls her name, “Look, I gotta go. Josh is great, and I’m just being silly. Maybe I just have a grudge against him or something. I love you.” 

“I’ll talk to you later. Love you.” You reply quickly before she ends the call. 

You shake your head a little at her words, still swimming in your mind as you go back to charting something on your computer. What did that even mean? Josh is steps below you. He wasn’t dumb. He just lacked… that dry humor you had with Spencer sometimes. A quick, witty remark that had one of you smiling in seconds. Besides, that notion was ridiculous, given you had only known Spencer for three months. Josh made up for it in love… and you did love him. 

All couples went through rough patches, but you were sure that if you raised your concerns again with Josh, things would change. You nod a little at the thought as you sigh, shifting in your chair slightly as you readied yourself to be engulfed in your work. 

Day One Hundred and Forty-Six 

Spencer could feel the bass of some pop song thumping in his chest. It had been a pleasant and slow week at the BAU. While he would have loved to go home and sit down with some book of his choosing, he allowed Penelope and Derek to convince him to go out with them. 

The bar wasn’t too far from his apartment complex, so he didn’t mind. Penelope was twirling her drink's tiny umbrella between her fingers as she pointed towards a pretty red-head dancing in a dark green dress. “What about her?” 

They have been playing this game for ten minutes now. By they, he means Garcia and Morgan. The game is ‘Who does Spencer find pretty at the bar?’ 

“Babygirl, you have a great eye,” Derek says as he points the woman out to Spencer, but before he can say anything else, Spencer decides they’ve played this game past the point of amusement. 

“Why can’t we accept that I don’t feel like talking to anyone tonight, again?” 

Penelope frowned a little, giving Spencer a pleading look. “You said that the last time we took you to the bar, you were willing to participate next time. It’s next time, Reid.” 

Spencer remembers the conversation and groans softly as he sips on his water. He hated disappointing them with his lack of effortless charm. It had improved through the years, but he still struggled to find the right words to say in front of someone he found attractive. 

“Come on, Pretty Boy. Are you going to back out of your promise?” Derek’s voice is teasing as he smiles at Spencer. Spencer can’t help but feel a sense of newfound obligation. He knew what was holding him back and hated himself for it. 

His inappropriate crush on you had grown to be near debilitating, and even though Spencer had told himself that it’d never happen, he kept holding out hope that one day it would. He had gone on dates in the near five months he had known you, but he always ended up comparing his dates to you. They never laughed as sweet as you. They came up with the same academically related jokes you did. They never– they just weren’t you, simple as that. 

“Fine, but someone else. She’s pretty, but I think that girl is her girlfriend.” He pleaded softly, watching as a taller brunette woman spun around the pretty redhead to the beat. 

Penelope clapped and set down her drink, “This next one has to be perfect.” 

“Pretty boy’s future bride,”

Spencer felt his cheeks flush at that, and he nudged Derek with a nervous laugh. Penelope was still scanning the crowd. The bar wasn’t empty or devoid of beautiful women or men for her to choose from, but no one screamed Spencer Reid material. Derek was scanning the crowd with her, always happy to see her passionate about something, even if it was Reid’s love life. 

A gasp slipped past Penelope’s lips as she grabbed Derek’s arm tight, her index pointing toward someone by the speakers. Derek’s eyes landed on who she was pointing at, and he smiled wide, nodding quickly, “Future Mrs. Reid material,” 

Spencer can barely see where they are pointing as he tries to look toward the area that Garcia is pointing at. Then he sees her. It’s you, and his heart drops. He wants to tell his friends he knows that isn’t ‘Future Mrs. Reid’ at all, but Derek and Penelope are already pushing him into the crowd. He glares back at them and stubbles with his footing for a second before walking toward you. 

You’re wearing a beautiful black dress, hugging your curves. In the flashing lights, Spencer thinks that you’re shining. Your hips sway lightly to the beat as you stand near the speakers, alone. 

Spencer gently taps you on your shoulder, and when you turn around, you have a glare on your face before you see it's him. He almost laughs at how you gasp and loudly scream, “Spencer!” Your hands fly out to his shoulders, shaking him gently as you giggle. “Hi!” You’re so drunk. 

Spencer is sure that Penelope and Derek are watching the scene unfold with confused expressions as he laughs softly, your hands on his shoulders gently shaking his body side-to-side. “Hey, where’s Josh?” He yells over the music. 

“Getting drinks!” You yell back in an excited tone. 

He smiles wide and shakes his head a little; he usually doesn’t find drunk people endearing. But right now, in the flashing lights of the bar, your rosy-cheek face and tipsy giddiness have him feeling a little more enamored than usual. 

“Who are you here with?” You ask loudly, your hands falling away from his shoulders. 

“Uh, my friends, coworkers!” he replies as he stands beside you to point out the confused-looking pair staring at them. 

“Can I say hi?” He could tell that your friendly disposition continued even when intoxicated, and he found himself adoring the consistency. He nods gently, and you’re smiling so much. Spencer wonders how someone could be so excited about meeting someone else’s friends. 

He leads you over, your fingers grabbing the back of his button-up as he carefully leads you through the crowd. The gentle pull of your fingers gripping his shirt makes his cheeks burn as he stops in front of Derek and Penelope. “Y/N, Derek, and Penelope. Penelope and Derek, Y/N.” 

You let go of the back of his button-up quickly as you extend a giddy hand, “Hi, I haven’t met any friends of Spencer's yet.” 

Derek looks amused as he shakes your hand, his eyes flicking between you and Spencer, “How do you know the boy genius?” 

“I found him looking lost in the grocery store. We’re neighbors! Well, almost,” You let go of Derek’s hand to point towards the roof, “I’m on top of him.” 

Spencer can feel the breath knocked out of his lungs as he quickly corrects you, “She lives on the floor above me.” He explains before either of them can make a joke. 

Penelope matches your happy attitude as she shakes your hand, “We had no idea that Spencer had a friend in his apartment complex! How long have the two of you been friends?” 

“Almost five months,” You say with a little giggle, leaning toward Penelope slightly. “Spencer comes over to discuss movies with me or books, or we went to a poetry reading last weekend.” 

“He comes over often, huh?” Derek’s voice asks playfully, and you nod quickly. 

“The mothership is always beckoning,” You joke, laughing harder than you should at your own joke. 

Penelope slowly drops your hand, tilting her head, and her flower earrings sway slightly. “And... your roommate is okay with that?” she asks carefully, and Spencer wants to ask why she doesn’t simply ask if you have a boyfriend. 

“Oh, no. Josh doesn’t care. He’s my boyfriend of two years. Nothing can break that security, I’m sure.” You look towards the bar for him and catch his eye. You wave high and wide for him, and he smiles, shaking his head at you as he waits for the drinks.

“So, Pretty Boy here is just a friend.” 

You giggle a little at the nickname and try to cover your smile with your hand, looking at Spencer. “Pretty Boy?” You giggle out. Spencer frowns a little and goes to defend himself, but you’re already nodding, “He is a pretty boy. That’s fitting.” Then, he feels like his body is on fire. 

Derek is about to say something when Josh slides behind you with two drinks. “Always with Spencer,” he teases softly, kissing your cheek before handing you your drink. 

“Josh, these are Spencer’s friends, Penelope and Derek.” You say, taking the drink and happily taking a small sip. 

Josh holds out his hand for them to shake, a charming smile on his face, “I thought Spencer’s only friend was my girlfriend.” 

Penelope doesn’t laugh, but she still manages a polite smile and shakes his hand before Derek does the same thing. Spencer fidgets a little, still beside you. You turn your head up toward him, and you mouth a soft, ‘He’s drunk’ as a way to excuse Josh’s behavior. 

However, recently, Josh has been acting like that sober. He would demand to join the two of you at the movies while complaining about the movie selection. He’d sit between the two of you if the opportunity arose, which wasn’t strange. What was weird was how he’d become more physically affectionate with you in front of Spencer. Spencer hated that– hated looking at it.

Josh quickly grabs your shoulders and says, “We should let you all get back to your night.” It sounds like a suggestion, but he’s already leading you away. You gasp as he guides you away from the three of them, and you quickly smile, wave, and yell out a quick, ‘It was nice to meet you’ before you walk further away with Josh. 

Penelope sips on her drink as a way to stop herself from talking, but Derek breaks the silence first. “So he’s jealous of you.” 

Spencer wants to deny it, but even he can’t deny the facts. “Not at first, but now… I don’t know if I’m not nice enough or if I did something, but yeah, lately, he’s been like that.” 

Penelope sighed and looked toward where you and Josh had walked off to, “She seems sweet,” 

“Yeah, Reid’s head over heels for her too.” 

“Wait, Spencer, are you?” 

His cheeks are flushed, and he’s shaking his head a little, a lame attempt to try and hide his feelings. Derek lays it on thick, “Come on, he doesn’t let just anyone touch him. Did you see how he looked at her when he approached her earlier? Like a lovesick dog with a bone in his mouth.” 

Spencer raises his hands and scoffs, “Okay, I’m working on it, alright. She’s just easy to be around. I’m getting over it.” 

Penelope is swooning over the information, “A forbidden romance,” 

“Her gatekeeper boyfriend and you, the pretty boy genius from downstairs,” Derek adds. 

Spencer sighs, annoyed with their teasing, “Alright, let’s drop it.” The pair gives him a look, and he adds a soft, “Please.” Seeing their friend’s annoyance didn’t usually deter them, but the way he shifted from one foot to the other as he begged them to stop had Penelope and Derek sharing a look before letting all their silent jokes go. Spencer was grateful that evening had returned to normal, his nervous thoughts slowly slipping away with easy conversation. 

Day One Hundred and Eighty-Three 

You’re sure Josh is mad at you for something. You just can't get it out of him. A few weeks ago, he had been nothing but sincere. Soft again, sweet again, him from a little over a year ago. It was beautiful, and it felt like he had finally listened. It felt like he had come back around and somehow repaired the hull. 

Then he started ignoring you again. You had been careful, so careful, not to suffocate him like he mentioned. You make sure that you go out with Spencer on weekends. You distance yourself just enough for Josh to miss spending time with you. Spending time with Spencer was also good for you; he helps keep your spirits high.

He kept you feeling lighter than air. He would text you sometimes on cases with the team when he was out of town. Little reminders, little jokes, and sometimes… It felt nice. You didn’t know how to describe it. Thrilling, calming, extraordinary, and tumultuous all that once. It confused you, pulled at the heartstrings, softly tugging at something deep within you. It unsettled you and made you ache when you looked at Josh in bed next to you. 

But his sweetness distracted you. Erased longing and replaced it with familiar love. You knew his steps, and he knew yours. 

And now, he was angry with you. You didn’t want to ask, and you didn’t want to be a pest to the man you loved. You hoped he would just come right out and say it. You hoped that his cup of secret rage would overflow and spill over.

The sound of heavy footsteps disrupts your stagnant reading. Your eyes kept reading the same sentence. Every time you tried to continue with the following sentence, you found yourself unable to do so. You set the book face down on the bed and smiled a little at Josh as he stood in the doorway. It was Friday night, and Spencer was on a case. Molly was busy, Christina was busy, and everyone was busy. So you stayed home, attempting to read. 

He was drunk, no drunk didn’t even cover it. He looked like death, pale with red eyes and muttering incoherent things to himself. “Josh… are you okay?” Your smile quickly faded, and you moved to the edge of the bed, watching him sway against the door frame. 

He didn’t answer and just laughed a little, which turned into a groan and then a sigh. You push yourself off the bed and walk to him, reaching up a hand to cup his cheek, but before your fingers can touch him, he smacks your hands away with a deep frown. “Josh!” You gasp as you pull your hand away, rubbing at the slightly pink skin. 

“Not right,” he mutters, and you shake your head as you try to understand what he’s talking about. 

“What’s not right? Josh, are you okay?”

He stumbles as he pushes past you, his shoulder roughly bumping into yours as he sits on the bed. You stay by the door. “This. Us, not right anymore.” He roughly puts it together. 

You can feel your heart fall to the pit of your stomach as you turn around to face him, “What are you talking about?” 

“Not right anymore,” his drunk hands are dramatically waving between the two of you, “You’re not,” he motions to his chest lamely, “Here anymore.” 

You can feel the tears threatening to rise in your eyes, your breathing becoming fast as you shake your head. “I’m here, you’re here.” You point your index into your chest, just above your heart. “What are you saying?” 

“Not here,” He repeats loudly. 

“I am here!” you yell back as you walk to him. “I don’t know what happened tonight, but we can discuss it, Josh. We can fix things.” You can feel the weight of the world crashing down on your chest, its weight making it difficult to breathe clearly. 

“No,” 

You’re quick to talk over him, “Yes, we can,” 

“No, we can’t,”

“Whatever it is, it’s okay, we can–” 

“No–” 

“It’s okay, I won’t be mad–”

“I’m in love with someone else,” He yells, his spit hitting your cheek. Your hands twitch slightly at the feeling, but you can’t move. All you can do is stare at him with a gaping mouth, opening and closing repeatedly like a fish. You couldn’t form the words, and your mind was blank. “Don’t give me that.” 

You feel like someone else’s voice is speaking, “Give you what? Shock? Disgust? You’re in love with someone else. How else am I supposed to react? Do you want me to be happy? Oh, Josh, I’m so happy for you and your mistress! I’m so glad that you’re fucking her and me at the same time! I’m so happy, so happy!” 

“I’m not fucking Estelle, she and I,” 

“Your coworker, are fucking you kidding me?” 

“Oh, shut up with the pity party!” He looks sober suddenly, his face red and twisted with rage as he stands up from the bed. Your footing slips a little before you catch yourself walking back from him. “You think these past six months I’ve enjoyed having him over here all the time? Giggling with you in the living room over some intellectual private joke that I don’t get, o-or how about when you disappear with him every weekend you can? Introducing you to his friends in bars, going to movies with you, you didn’t try hiding it from me!” 

“Him? Who are you talking about?” Then it dawned on you, and Josh could tell from how your back straightened and how you looked at him with unsure eyes. “Spencer? You think I’m cheating on you with Spencer?” 

“Not physically, but yes.” 

“Josh, what are you even saying right now? I made a friend who likes the same things I do. I mean… a year ago, you told me that I was suffocating. You told me that you didn’t enjoy my hobbies. Did you just expect me to stop them? How did I cheat on you? Spencer and I we’ve never–”

“It doesn’t matter if you’ve never fucked, or-or kissed him! Emotionally, you gave up on us. You’re only emotionally available for him. He gets you, all your jokes, your kindness, everything. He has it all. You’re always running into his arms!”  

“Running into his arms? Josh, you push me to him. I don’t love Spencer; we are just friends. He’s there for me because he is my friend! What are you going to say now? Th-that I forced you to Estelle, who, by the way, I saw last month at that Holiday party for the office. Are you going to tell me that me being by your side all while having a friend with the same interest as me was too much for you?” You can barely breathe. 

“You know it's more than that, don’t play victim. I can see the way you look at him. You used to look at me like that, and then six months ago, you met him. You didn’t even try.” 

“I didn’t try.” You repeat back before you’re scoffing a little, pacing the room quickly. “You shut me out. You stopped talking to me for months. If anyone has the right to play the victim here, it’s me. I don’t see you for hours. We had the day off for our second anniversary, and you didn’t talk to me until noon. When I moved in with you, did you even want me to be a person? Or did you want a perfectly still doll, interesting only when you want her to be interesting, talkative only when you want to listen, ready for the taking when it was good for you? Go ahead, treat me like a fucking doll.” 

Josh is shaking his head now, his breathing ragged as he slowly runs his hands through his hair. “I don’t,” He pauses, his eyes looking at a photo of the two of you from two years ago framed on the bedside table. “It doesn’t matter anymore? I don’t love you anymore. You can make me the villain. I don’t care. I want you out.” 

You swallow hard at his words and laugh a little, “Where am I supposed to go?” 

“I,” He looks at you, and you see how tired he looks. The part of you that still loves him feels crushed; the other just feels angry. “My name is on the lease. Find somewhere else to sleep tonight. I’ll let you pack a bag, but I want you,” he motions towards the apartment, and you assume he means your presence in the apartment and your things. “Gone.” And he doesn’t let you say anything back, walking out into the living room. 

You stand still; you feel frozen. You don’t know if you want to start crying, start packing, or just call people to see if you can crash at theirs. That feeling, the feeling that he planted in you rises inside you. You’ll be a burden, suffocating, and miserable. But you need a place to sleep for the night. 

Your shaky hands reach for your phone on the bed, randomly calling people. Alex is out of town, you know. Christina just moved and doesn’t even have a couch yet. You call Molly, but she doesn’t answer. You wish you lived in Boston so you could call Sabrina, but that’s unrealistic. You keep scrolling through the contacts and try to think.

As you reach the next contact, your fingers falter, and your mouth feels dry. You hesitate multiple times before hitting the call button. You wait with bated breath as you bring your phone to your ear. 

Ring. 

You should hang up. This is a bad idea. 

Ring. 

Doesn’t this just prove Josh’s point? 

Ring. 

You don’t even know if he’s back in town or when he’ll be back. You should hang up before he answers; call someone else. 

The third ring is cut short as Spencer picks up the phone. Your hands shake as he says a gentle, tired, “Hello?” 

“He-hey.. Uh, are you still in Illinois?” 

“No, we’re an hour out. Are you okay? You sound like you’re upset.” 

You lick your lips quickly as you debate, telling him everything: the fight, how Josh is kicking you out. Instead, you settle for, “I just need a place to crash for the night, and I know it's a big ask, and you’re getting home from a case, but–” 

“Yes, yeah, you can stay at mine.” You let out a slow breath and nod a little, a sense of temporary relief settling over you. 

“Thank you, thank you so much. I… I’ll make it up to you. I’ll be at yours in an hour?” 

“See you soon,” Spencer says before you hang up the phone. You get to work as fast as you can, grabbing luggage from the closet and packing like a mad woman. Anything you can fit into the case, you carefully fold or roll up and stuff inside. 

An hour comes around, and you’re packed enough for a week at the very least. You grab the only thing on the bed that’s yours, a dark green blanket, before slowly rolling the suitcase into the living room. Suddenly, it feels like you’re not in your body anymore, watching the scene from the ceiling. 

Josh turns, a phone against his ear, and you only catch the ends of an ‘I love you’ before he hangs up. He draws his lips in a tight line before asking, “Where you headed?” 

You feel like he knows the answer, “Spencer’s.” 

His lips turn upwards, and he laughs; he laughs so hard that he’s gripping his side. “Ye-Yeah, that's right. Prove me right. Run straight to Doctor Reid. Fucking rich.” He snips at you as you finally feel the tears start to well up in your eyes. “You know what let him have my sloppy seconds.” 

You gasp softly, the comment like a punch in the gut. “Have fun fucking her in our bed. Make sure to put the pictures face down before you give her the most underwhelming four minutes of her life. I’ll be back tomorrow to start packing.” You say as you start stepping through the front door, slamming it behind you. You’re panting lightly in the empty hallway, your mind numb as tears stream down your face. You don’t remember lugging your stuff to the second floor or getting to Spencer’s door. 

The only thing you remember is the sound of your name and gentle hands grabbing your chin and tilting your head up with care. You remember sobbing, hyperventilating out the events of the past evening to him as he helps you inside. And the eventual call of sleep that reaches you on Spencer’s couch. 

Day One Hundred and Ninety

Spencer could hear the soft sounds of your computer playing something in the living room. Last Friday… Well, technically, early Saturday morning, you had your head on your knees outside his apartment door. The sound of sobs had him dropping his dirty go-bag and grabbing your chin to soothe you. 

He listened to everything: how Josh thought that you were emotionally cheating on him with Spencer, how Josh had fallen in love with a coworker, and how he kicked you out. You said you would have stayed, but the lease was in his name. It was a stupid decision of the past catching up with you– your words, not Spencer’s. 

You had told him that it would only be for one night, but Spencer wasn’t going to make you couch surf all week. He insisted that you stay with him until you found an apartment. He let you stuff your boxes of things in his study and was happy to do it. 

The worst part about this arrangement was seeing you like this, seeing you so heartbroken. You went to work a little later than him, came home later than him, ate, slept, and repeated the cycle. He kept catching you with a dissociative look on your face. Too scared to ask you if you were okay, he would awkwardly attempt to cheer you up with your shared hobbies. But that only worked for so long until you were ending the night with that numb look on your face again. 

He lays in bed, wondering if he should go into the living room to check on you. He barely thinks it through before he throws his covers off and slips out of bed. He has plaid pajama pants on with an old CalTech shirt, and when he walks into the living room, he can see you pause what you’re watching on your computer and smile at him. 

“Hey,” you whisper, even though it's just the two of you in the apartment. 

“Hey,” Spencer whispers back before sighing and walking toward the back of the couch. “Can’t sleep?” 

You look up at him before returning to the dimly lit computer screen, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” His quick reply has you nodding a little. You shift a little, pushing yourself up to make room on the couch for him. He takes the unspoken invitation and sits down next to you.”What are we watching?” 

You lick your lips nervously, “Romcom. When Harry Met Sally.”  

Spencer glances at you before he admits, “Never seen it.” 

You gasp softly, and that playful light returns in your eyes for a second. He hasn’t seen that light in a week. “Spencer Reid, you haven’t lived.” 

Spencer takes the opportunity to joke around with you, making a buzzer sound with his mouth. “Wrong. I’ve been alive for many years.” 

This gets a weak smile from you, but still a smile nonetheless. “You want to watch it with me? I know it's late, but… maybe it’ll lure you to sleep if you find it boring.” 

Spencer grins, glancing at the clock to see how late it is. He shakes his head a little, “Maybe we could just talk for a second? I’ve barely seen you this week.” He suggests. You’re quick to nod, shutting your laptop. You lean back on the sofa and bring your legs up to sit crisscrossed. He watches you. Your eyes are no longer red or puffy, but the skin on your cheeks still seems pale, lacking their natural rosiness. 

“I found a great apartment, but I can’t move in until the end of this month.” You break the silence first, hands folding awkwardly in your lap. 

Spencer nods, resisting the urge to hold one of your hands as he speaks. “That’s fine, and I’m not kicking you out anytime soon. You’re stuck with me for three more weeks.” 

You chuckle a little at that, “Ever the gentleman,” You say softly, but your eyes don’t have that light anymore. You seem distracted, your eyes lingering on him briefly before staring at your hands. “Spencer,” 

“Yeah?” 

“What do you do when everything feels like too much?” 

Your voice cracks softly as you ask the question, and Spencer is scared you’ll start crying again. He always feels useless whenever you cry, a genius without answers. He swallows the nervous lump in his throat: “I read, or sometimes I force myself to go out. Whenever I’m overwhelmed, I end up at the public library. Or sometimes, if I have the day, I go to the Smithsonian. But... it’s been a while.” 

You seem to perk up a little at the mention of the Smithsonian, and you give him a playfully little side glance, “Air and Space?” You guess with a small smile. 

He smiles and shrugs, “Sometimes,” he returns the playful sideways glance. “Portrait Gallery?” 

You’re laughing a little as you nod. Spencer feels relieved to hear its soft melody. “Portrait Gallery.” You confirm your pick with a soft sigh. 

Spencer lets warm silence spread for a second, his eyes occasionally flickering over to your serene expression. “What about you? What do you do when you’re overwhelmed?” 

Your eyes meet his as he asks the question, and for a second, you seem a little surprised that he is asking you anything. He wonders if you expected him to keep talking or ignore the tension in the air around you. 

“Well, reading is lovely. Museums, movies,” you pause for a second, and your expression softens. “Music. I love music when I’m feeling overwhelmed, sad, or happy. It’s a universal fix, music.” 

“What kind of music?” He has heard you talk about music before, how you didn’t understand people who hated it. Music helped him escape to childhood memories, the good ones at least. He wondered if it had the same effect on you. 

“Everything. Pop, country, indie, anything that moves me. I like classical too, but only sometimes.” 

“Why only sometimes?” 

“I like it in ballets, plays, movies. I like the visual representation that accompanies it.” Your eyes leave his slowly, “Like a music box with a ballerina inside.” 

Spencer finds that this version of you, the melancholy version, is blunt. You don’t people-please or avoid questions; instead, you would directly state something. He liked how you directly stated your musical likes and how honest they were. He finds himself wanting every version of yourself that you have shown him lately, and he feels a little guilty for it. 

A soft gasp from your lips stops him from overthinking, “Oh shoot,” You mutter as you pull out your phone, looking at the calendar before you curse softly. 

“What’s wrong?’ 

“I, uhm,” You swallow hard and set your phone down, “I just remembered that Josh and I were going to celebrate our third anniversary a little early this year. Our second wasn’t the best, and he promised we would do something I wanted to do. We had tickets to see Swan Lake.” You chew on your bottom lip slowly, getting lost in the thought before you say, “That’s next month. I gotta cancel.” 

Spencer can see how you slump at the thought and how sad it makes you to cancel the plans. He feels himself saying the words before he can even process them: “I can go with you.” 

You turn to him with a soft laugh of disbelief, “What?” 

“We could go together. Make the most of it. I mean, I like Swan Lake.” 

“Spencer, it would be wrong to spend what would be my third anniversary with you. I mean–”

“It wouldn’t be the exact day. You said it was a couple of months early, so it would just be us…going to see Swan Lake. Just friends, seeing a ballet, and getting dinner or something. A night on the town. Something to keep your mind off things,” 

He hopes you’ll agree to the offer, his heart beating loudly in his chest as you stare into his eyes. Your eyes dart back and forth, rapidly looking into his eyes and then at his face. The silence is killing him, a knife in his back as he tries his best to breathe normally. 

Then you’re giving him a slow smile, a little shy at first, before you beam at the suggestion, “Okay,” 

“Okay?” 

“Yeah, let’s go to the ballet together. I mean, I would do it with or without Josh anyway. Now I’ll be able to go with someone who will actually enjoy it, even better.” Your eyes meet his hazel ones again, and you place a tentative hand over his. “Thank you, Spence.” Your voice is sincere, and Spencer feels his body relax when you touch him. 

“I can’t think of a better way to spend my evening two months from now.” He whispers in the air between you before he slips his hand away from yours and stands. He yawns softly, “Now… let’s get some sleep.” 

You nod, a small smile still on your face as you lay on the couch. “Night.” You whisper as you close your eyes. 

Spencer stands and stares down at you a little longer than he should before he takes a step toward his bedroom. “Goodnight,” he says as he walks into his bedroom. He’s thinking about your genuine smile for another hour before he even closes his eyes.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[sunlightmurdock]

Operation Apollo | 3.0 | Jake Seresin x Reader

previous chapter | epilogue | masterlist

Synopsis: After a threat is made against her life, the President’s grown up daughter gets her security tripled. Her long term detail is about to retire and needs replacing, only — she isn’t the easiest to work with. Ex-Navy and current Secret Service, Jake Seresin is devoted to being the best at everything he does. He isn’t going to let a bratty little girl cost him this job.

Warnings: age gap, power imbalance, enemies to lovers, danger and angst, manipulation, sucky parents, grief and manipulation, lying, distressing themes throughout but especially towards the end of the chapter. Graphic violence, dangerous situations, inaccurate injuries, major character death revenge, wc: 3.8k

There’s no rush to open your eyes. The ache and throb, and painful dryness of your lips brings you no respite from the way things had been before you had fallen asleep. Blacked out. Whatever you want to call it— it hadn’t helped. 

Your nose wrinkles at something offensive. Sterile and sharp smelling. Wrinkling it comes with a crunch, and sharp pain. There’s a dry feeling in your nostrils where old blood still sits. 

The smell is chemical, antiseptic. It’s so strong smelling through all of that blood and pain that it forces your eyes open. That’s worse. That hurts more. Fluorescents above you. You’re left with no choice but to squeeze them shut again— and the sudden realization that you’re not where you were before, at all.

There’s no hard, painful metal chair holding your weight. The burden of being held now falls to something much softer, so soft that it feels like you’re sinking into it like sand. It doesn’t hurt much less. 

Your legs hurt, a prickling static feeling. Your ass hurts from however long you were sitting there like that. Your back hurts, a numb and stiff feeling. You attempt to turn your head and your neck reminds you suddenly not to overlook it— a gasp tears from your mouth and makes your lungs burn almost as much as your bruised throat.

Two voices say your name at once. A chair scrapes across the ground, two sets of shoes hit the floor. People are coming. The gasp, despite your burning throat’s protests, becomes a choked whimper. 

“Don’t— Don’t touch her,” Allen. You’re dreaming again, just like you had been when you heard Jake’s voice. “Maybe we should get the doctor.” 

You try once again. The bright, blinding white stuns your sore, unadjusted eyes. You squint through it, determined as ever. Allen’s weathered face steadies and becomes more clear. His mouth hangs open, watching your bruised face start to move with recognition.

“Stay still, sweetheart, don’t move.” He’s speaking to you. He lifts his hand and reaches. His fingers extend towards you and your skin comes alive, buzzing with electricity like you’re being shocked as you tear back from his extended palm.

He winces as you cough out a choked cry, doubling over in pain from the sudden movement. 

“Doctor Owens?— Doctor Owens!” Your mother. Her voice is further away, growing in urgency. She’s barely recovered herself. She shouldn’t have come.

The monitor beside your bed beeps wildly as your heart rate kicks into another spike, and footfall echoes in the hall as people rush for your room. So many shoes hitting the ground at once that you can’t place how many of them there could possibly be.

“Don’t.” It comes out choked and horse, but loud. “Don’t touch me. Allen. Don’t— I don’t want—“

“Calm down, it’s alright,” He tries, he really tries. The footfall grows closer and you thrash as Allen’s fingers graze the curve of your shoulder. You’re just hurting yourself more. “Stop. Try to stay still, alright? — You’re — Stop. Stop!”

There’s nothing peaceful about the way you’re sent back to sleep, thrashing and crying and screaming as your IV is adjusted and filled. With everything that you’ve been through, they had warned your loved ones that recovery was going to be far from linear.

Over the course of the next two days, you wake three more times and are put back to sleep in a similar fashion. With your stitches and recovering internal injuries, they need you to be still. For now, every time you have opened your eyes has been another fight that your body just isn’t ready to take.

The fourth time comes easier than the rest. Your broken nose has started to heal by now. Under the hospital gown, your ribs are black and blue. Your lungs have stopped making that rattling sound when you inhale deeply now. Still, everything hurts.

The fluorescent lights are off. The curtains are open, the television is on. You blink heavily, your chest aches as you breathe in. 

Allen looks up at the soft rattle of your first breath in. His brows furrowed slightly, green eyes widening as he watches your eyelids blink heavily. 

“Hey…” He whispers cautiously, like he’s afraid to spook you. Your gaze settles on him, the fuzziness of the picture dissipating with each heavy blink. His face is sullen, tired. “Hey, sweetheart. It’s just me. It’s just us, you’re okay.”

Just us. The idea is more comforting than anything you’ve heard in a long time. It’s not really just the two of you, but Allen keeps that to himself. You don’t need to know the amount of security posted around this building.

You want to answer him, but your throat is dry and hoarse when you try to speak. Allen sits forwards, grabbing the underside of the chair with his good hand and pulling it closer.

“It’s alright.” His voice voice croaks. It’s not alright, but you will be. He hopes you’ll understand, when it’s time for you to learn how it all went down. 

Stubble coats his jaw and his hair is longer than he usually ever lets it grow, salt and pepper all the way through. Your fingers twitch and your arm aches as you force it slowly upward, reaching for him. Allen grazes the tips of his fingers over yours. He slides his hand slowly into your palm, and watches your eyes fill with sudden tears.

“What… happened?” You whimper.

“I’ll tell you everything once you’re feeling a little better,” He whispers, thinking back to the strict orders from your mother not to upset you. He lowers his mouth just slightly and presses his lips to your knuckles, squeezing your hand tight. “You scared the shit out of me for a second, there.”

A burning sensation behind your eyes makes you wrinkle your nose, your bottom lip trembling as your chest flares with heat. There’s real fear in his eyes. He shouldn’t even be here, he’s supposed to be retired — there’s no money in this for him.

And yet, he’s the only person at your bedside.

He’s holding your hand, and holding your gaze firmly. Letting you think it’s all okay. Your throat hurts as you swallow softly. 

There’s a news broadcast on the television to Allen’s right. The skyline buzzes, alight behind him. It plays on as he opens his mouth to speak again, he seems to have forgotten that it’s playing.

“Following the events of Thursday evening, we have received word that due to complications, a second surgery would be necessary — which is underway as we speak,” The reporter explains solemnly. She and her co-anchor are both wearing black. “The nation’s thoughts are with you, Mr. President.”

You blink at the fuzzy television screen. The picture they used of your father is from your kindergarten graduation. He’s younger there, his hair dark rather than they grey it has been growing into more recently — he’s got an arm around you, and he’s grinning proudly.

“Shit.” Allen breathes out, sitting up suddenly straight.

 The news broadcast is gone with an abrupt beat. Allen drops the remote down onto the side and scrubs a hand along his salt-and-pepper stubbled jaw, studying the ground.

Your lips flatten into a firm line, your muscles screaming as you lift your head from the pillow. 

Your gaze hardens. “Is he alive?”

Allen swallows. He gives you a small, serious nod. “Yeah. He’s upstairs, in surgery.”

The tone of his voice makes your chest ache. Serious in a way Allen rarely is.

Creeping into his office in your pyjamas. Scolding him for all the times he missed you teddy-bear tea parties. Sitting with him on the swing set in the backyard of the first house you remember. All the times you had told him you hated him as a teenager. How strongly you had meant it the last time.

Your gaze flickers back to the blank television screen, losing yourself in its sudden darkness. 

“How?” You croak out.

Allen hesitates. He presses his lips together and shakes his head softly. “I’ll explain everything when you’re feeling better.”

You turn your head, blinking heavily as you look around the sprawling hospital room. Your parents really spared no expense. Well, your mom— you guess. 

“Jake?” You ask.

“He’s here,” Allen nods solemnly. “He’s sleeping.”

And you can’t see him. It wouldn’t be good for you to see him, not until you’re feeling better.

“Is he—?”

“He’s going to be fine,” Allen sounds sure, and not in a sugar-coated way. He sounds more positive than he had about your father. “You should rest. He comes to see you in the mornings.”

Being on a ward himself, Jake’s been getting on the nurses’ nerves around here, trying to break the rules so he can wander out and see you for as long as possible. His shoulder is just about fine now, he can almost roll it back the way he used to. The doctor says an injury like his doesn’t heal that fast, but Jake has always been ahead of the curve.

He has spread his time between your room on the fourteenth floor, and where the President has been falling in and out of being classed as critical on the fifteenth with little regard for the fact he’s recovering from a surgery on his shoulder himself. With you breathing, he couldn’t care less about being hit himself.

If the bullet hadn’t caught his shoulder, it would have torn through your father’s lungs and killed him right then and there.

You shoot a quick glance toward the darkened hallway. Allen sighs.

“No.”

“I want to know what happened.” You don’t. Not really. You want to pull these foreign covers up over your head and hide and cry your eyes out, scream this whole place down. There’s no easy way to say it, and really, no one knows how you’ll handle it.

You close your eyes for a moment and wait. 

Somehow, you’re safe — you’ll be okay. Jake’s okay. Your father won’t make it through the week. You don’t remember a thing. None of it makes sense.

Jake remembers every detail. He sits awake too, not in his own room but in the hallway of the twelfth floor — as close as he can get to the operating room without being put on his ass by a serviceman. 

In the mornings that he’s able to visit you, Jake likes to talk to you. You’ve been out of the woods for a while now, everyone knows that it’s just a waiting game until you’re stable enough to be awake. Really awake. On the Monday just passed, you had opened your eyes for a few seconds and just blinked at him.

Brows drawn together all stern, your lips pursed, your eyelashes fluttering. He never thought he would be so grateful to see you frowning at him.

He has heard about the past few days. The panic and stress. He has made a strong case for himself to be allowed to be there, but the people who make the calls won’t budge. It’s just not the right time. 

That’s not true. It’s his punishment. 

It’s his punishment, for not being the one in that operating room with his chest cracked open and twelve surgeons fighting to keep his heart beating.

Having spent most of his adult life working in environments where he was the expendable one, Jake had heard a lot of stories. He had heard, most frequently, that time always slows down in the moments that matter.

Not that day. It had been a blur. He had walked into that exchange with certainty; you would be leaving there with him. 

To an extent, he had been expecting Elias to be bluffing. No man on the planet couldn’t be bought — Jake had been expecting a bidding war, and he knew your father had the right amount of money to make this go away.

It hadn’t been that at all.

His stomach twists when he thinks about how they had paraded you before them. The look on Matthew’s face as he studied the dried blood in your hair, and the fresh blood trickling from your temple.

They had hurt you to prove a point. Almost killed you, to send a message. It was too far gone to be about the money.

Jake knows that he isn’t responsible for this, he isn’t the one that put your father in this situation. He’s the only reason that those surgeons are even trying right now — if he hadn’t been there, you’d both be dead. 

He’ll never not be there again.

Jake sits there through the surgery. On the floor with his elbows on his knees, his head rested back against the wall, he sits there for six hours. It should have taken six hours.

At a little after seven, Jake is startled awake by an orderly rushing past him with a rattling metal cart. He checks his watch, which is now settled on the wrong wrist due to his sling, and clumsily pushes himself up from the ground.

“Hey, buddy,” Jake strains, sighing at the ache through his side and clearing his throat as he finds his footing. “How’s he looking?”

The twenty-something year old in scrubs whips around to look at Jake, his eyes wide with heavy blue marks under them. He looks like he’s been up even longer than Jake has.

“You’re the bodyguard.” The kid seems to realize, blinking as his rattling cart comes to a stop. He glances back in the direction of the theater, then at Jake. “Uh… I don’t know. It’s going to be a while before they can say, I guess.”

A muscle in Jake’s jaw ticks. At seven, Jake walks to your hospital room and usually starts to bug whoever is in charge of watching you until they let him visit early.

He glances towards the operating room, and then back at the orderly. This could take hours, something urgent could happen in the next few minutes. He hesitates.

Then, his phone buzzes in the pocket of his sweats. Jake takes it from his pocket and glances quickly down at the screen, with every intention of answering the kid in front of him.

She’s awake. Asking for you too. 

And Jake’s mind is made up. He can’t wait a second longer. His heart feels like it’s in his mouth by the time he’s pushing open the door to your hospital room.

He has seen the bruises fade from blue to yellow, and the IV lines and monitors all around you every day for almost a week. It does nothing to prepare him for the sight of all of those things once you’re awake and staring at him.

“Honey…” His breath catches in his throat, his brows drawing together.

The comprehensive list of your injuries is still typed up at the foot of the bed. Jake could list them off by heart, by now. Fractured eye-socket. Broken ring and middle finger on your right hand. Soft tissue damage to your left foot. Extreme bruising to the abdomen. The fracture in your rib. Every single one of those god-damned bruises.

Your right eye had been swollen shut that first day. Now, it’s wide open. The bruise is yellowed and sore looking, your eyes filled with fear. 

“Jake.” Your voice cracks and your breathing hitches.

It doesn’t matter that Allen is standing right there, sitting back against the window ledge with his arms folded over his chest. Jake couldn’t care less that your mother is watching him like a hawk. 

She has been every single time he has visited.

The security guard steps out of the way as Jake charges forwards. He takes slow, long strides. He’s trying so hard to remember what you’ve been through, and remind himself to be slow with you, but every fibre of his being wants to pull you close and never let you go again.

He stops at the side of your bed and hesitates, just for a split-second. His eyes scan across your face, searching for doubt or fear. As he makes his decision, you make yours too.

 He leans forwards swiftly as you ball your not-injured hand into his shirt, his fingers curling gently around the nape of your neck and pulling you against him.

The room falls silent. Your nose fills with his smell, your cheek presses firmly into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. His thumb strokes at your skin.

For all you care, the other people in the room could have disappeared from the second that Jake touched you. He holds you close, silently. He doesn’t know how much you know yet, whether it’s all or nothing, and he doesn’t care. For now, you’re okay, and you’re with him.

It takes a moment before you notice that he’s only got one arm around you.

Jake watches as you pull back, searching for answers and landing on the blue sling resting around his shoulder, covering his right arm.

“I’m fine,” He assures you instantly, already shaking his head as his palm moves to cup your jaw. He holds your gaze, certain. “I’m fine. It’s superficial. We’re okay.”

Superficial. Allen bites his tongue, but can’t help but disagree. That bullet tore through ligament and bone, and Jake is lucky to be recovering so well. It was far from superficial— the surgery had taken all night. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks, weak sounding and trembling. You drop your head forwards to rest against his unbandaged shoulder. “This is all my fault. This is all my fault, you shouldn’t ever have even met—“

“Stop.” Jake whispers, turning his face towards yours and trying to coax you back to look at him. He closes his eyes, pressing his mouth to your temple. “It’s over now. I’m never going to let anything happen to you again. It’s over.” 

Your mother watches. There’s a cautious, nagging feeling that tugs at her that she really doesn’t know you at all. There isn’t much that feels familiar about watching you with him — she wouldn’t have a clue how to calm you the way that he does.

“I want to go home.” You whisper, balling your hands tighter into his t-shirt. If he didn’t know any better, he’d guess that you’re trying to pull him right into your hospital bed with you.

“Yeah, a couple more days, honey,” Jake nods his head. He’s been speaking with your doctor. Once they’re certain that you’re stable enough, you’re free to go. “We’ll get you back to the house.”

“No.” You rush out, so fast that it almost makes you hiccup. It’s then that your head turns, your eyes wide and searching as you look around the room. Just as quickly, before you’ve even met the gaze of Allen or your mother, you bury your face into the crook of his neck and squeeze your eyes shut. Just quiet enough for Jake to hear, you whimper softly. “I don’t want to go back there. I want to go with you.”

Jake feels your mother’s gaze burning into his back, and knows what she must be thinking. She’s about to lose her husband and she thinks that Jake’s going to take you too.

“With me?” He murmurs, stroking a hand over your hair. Your mother has been taking pride in maintaining it — she has cared for you in so many quiet ways recently. Jake will tell you all about it, another time.

“Could — maybe we could see your mom again?” It feels ridiculous to ask, and from the second that the words leave your mouth, you’re already worrying about the kind of danger you could be putting them in.

But for Jake, it makes his heart catch with sudden relief.

“Yeah,” He hums. “Yeah, we can do that.”

He perches on the edge of your bed, draping his good arm around your shoulders. Your mother watches as you curl against him, closing your eyes and finally unballing your fists.

The room falls quiet, and stays that way. 

Allen lets the two of you have the peace and quiet. Your mother, simply, has little to say. 

An hour later, a little after eight, there’s a commotion in the hallway. Jake watches the bustle between the security guards silently, a heavy feeling settling in his gut as he braces for what is coming. 

He feels you perk up at his side as their voices grow more hushed, trying to peek over him.

He turns his face towards your hair and kisses the top of your head softly, wrapping his arm tighter around you. “It’s alright.”

He pities the poor guy who opens the door to the room, forced to meet your mother’s gaze with a sullen expression. He clears his throat weakly, hands tucked behind his back. “Ma’am.”

Your mother isn’t a dumb woman. She doesn’t need it explained to her. The doctors had explained the risks, and explained that he might not make it. Her husband is dead.

…

[jiyascepter]

Congrats on 1k followers!!!

It's totally fine if it doesn't inspire you but here's a song lyric for Bucky or Loki (author's choice!)

"All this time I was finding myself while I didn't know I was lost."

Found You

MASTERLIST The Tunes & Tales Collection (Masterlist Soon!)

Pairing: Loki x gn!reader

Words: 940

Requested by: @ijuststareatstuffhereok89

Prompt: -> "All this time I was finding myself while I didn't know I was lost."

Warnings/Content: pure fluff; cuddly loki, cozy setting, established relationship, lots of kisses ♡

Summary: Loki and you find solace and deep connection in your fleeting time together.

A/n: Thank you soo much for the request @ijuststareatstuffhereok89! It means so much that you requested because you're such a talented writer yourself!! Big fan here !! Hope this oneshot meets your expectations 💖

The summer rain was tapping softly against the windows of the cozy apartment you and Loki shared. The once bright and warm day had given way to a cool, gray ambiance that made the inside feel snug and inviting.

The scent of rain was mingling with the faint, lingering aroma of the lunch you had prepared and enjoyed together.

You were standing at the kitchen sink, the sound of running water blending with the rain outside as you washed the lunch utensils.

The soft light from the overcast sky filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a gentle glow over the kitchen.

The air was pleasantly cool, a refreshing change from the usual summer heat, making the whole place feel like a comfortable haven.

As you were working, you felt Loki’s presence from your bedroom emerging. The God had come to stay with you, seeking refuge from the burdens of his past and the expectations that came with his Asgardian heritage.

He had needed a break from the relentless demands of his princely duties and the complex relationship with his family.

Here, in your small apartment, he found solace and a sense of normalcy he had never known, with you.

However, the reality of his situation was never far.. Loki was a prince of Asgard, and his time on Earth was always going to be temporary.

The day he would have to return was approaching, and you both knew it. But for now, you were determined to make the most of the time you had together.

“Hey,” he says, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder while you work. “Hey yourself,” you say with a chuckle, nudging him with your elbow away playfully.

“We’re not playing that game again, darling,” he says and wraps his arms around your waist again, tighter than before. You could feel his breath on your neck, making a cold shiver run down your body.

“Loki,” you murmur with a smile, pausing your task as you lean back into his embrace.

He smiles against you and uses his telekinetic abilities to put away the bowl you were washing. “How about you leave this task for later?”

You sigh playfully and pick the bowl again, “I have only a few left to do,” you reply, though you really wanted to melt under his touch.

Loki's grip tightens ever so slightly as he places a soft kiss on the side of your neck. “You’re getting a break, we’ll do this together later” and before you could protest, he picked you up in a bridal carry to your bedroom, where you could see the rain repeatedly beat against the glass window more properly, the lights of the skyscrapers blurring from the water.

Carrying you effortlessly, Loki made his way back to the bedroom, placing a kiss here and there on your face while you giggled from the tickles.

Who knew the man who hated being vulnerable would find such joy in simple domestic moments?

He gently laid you down on the bed, the cool sheets a welcome contrast to his warm embrace.

Loki leaned over you, his eyes finding yours when he kissed your forehead softly then laid next to you, wrapping his arms around your body.

He noticed your silence, shifting closer to you. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You smile and nod, taking one of his hands to fiddle with his fingers, “just thinking..” He looked at you playing with his fingers then at your face, “about what?”

You hesitate, sighing. “About everything. About how much has changed.”

Loki’s eyes soften, then cups one of your cheeks and tilts your face up at him to meet his blue eyes. “I know what you mean. All this time, I was finding myself, without even realizing I was lost.”

You turn your hand over, threading your fingers through his. “But look at you now. You’re not anymore, are you?”

He smiles, a rare and beautiful sight that you cherished every time. “No, because I found you.”

He takes your hand and places a few appreciative kisses on your knuckles. You chuckle and pull the covers on you both more cozily, nuzzle against each other. “Stay here Loki.”

He raises an eyebrow and looks at you,”Hm? What was that?”

“Stay here for a bit longer with me,” you notice how needy you sounded at that and blush, “please?”

He lets out a hearty laugh, the sound echoing softly in the quiet intimacy of the room. His fingers trace gentle patterns on your hand, a reassuring touch that speaks volumes more than words ever could.

"I thought you'd never ask," Loki murmurs, his voice carrying a warmth that melts away any lingering doubts. You shift closer, wrapping your arms around him as if to shield him from the uncertainties of the outside world.

He notices the shift in your position. "Darling," he whispers, his breath brushing against your ear, "for you, I would stay forever if I could."

You smile in relief, feeling his warmth and reassurance. Snuggling closer into his embrace, you breathe in his familiar scent, savoring the quiet moment together.

The soft patter of rain outside continues its soothing rhythm, cocooning you both in a tranquil haven.

“I'm so glad I found you,” he whispers, pressing another tender kiss against your forehead, “'cause you helped me find myself.”

“Just don't go,” you say desperately clinging to his warm body under the covers.

“I won't sweetheart.” He smiles down at you.

With that promise hanging in the air, you let yourself relax fully into his arms, both of you drifting in a deep slumber in the cozy covers.

┈➤ Loki Taglist in the comments! Lmk if you want to join or just click this 𖹭

[your-local-simp-writers]

Wrapped in Love

Word Count: 1406

Warnings: None

Ken Sato x Fem!Wife!Reader ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The Ultra Base hummed with activity, the echoes of machinery and distant voices mingling in the air as you stepped into the common room. This space, usually filled with the vibrant energy of teamwork and camaraderie, felt quieter today. Shadows stretched across the room, cast by the soft light filtering through the high windows. It was a sanctuary for those who bore the weight of the world on their shoulders—especially for your husband, Ken Sato.

Ken reclined on the worn leather couch, the unmistakable markings of battle still visible on his body. His Ultraman suit, usually a source of pride, now seemed more like a burden; parts of it were scuffed and marred, with a bandage wrapped snugly around his arm, testament to the fierce fight he had endured. As you approached, the flickering overhead lights danced across his tired features, highlighting the exhaustion etched into his brow. Yet, when he caught sight of you, a weary smile broke through, illuminating his face like the dawn.

“Seeing you this upset over my injuries isn’t helping me feel better,” he said, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. You knew he tried to be strong, but his words only deepened the ache in your heart.

“It’s all fine; I can hardly feel it anymore,” you said, forcing a casual tone as you walked over to him. You settled beside him, the familiar creaking of the couch beneath you grounding you. The fabric was soft and worn, a comforting reminder of the countless hours you had spent together in this very spot.

“Your just saying that to make yourself feel better,” you replied, unable to hide the concern in your voice. You leaned in, resting your forehead against his, the warmth radiating from him comforting and familiar. His eyes, usually filled with determination, now flickered with something more vulnerable, and it stirred a protective instinct deep within you.

“Please, don’t worry so much. I’m going to be alright,” he reassured you, his tone softening as he reached up, brushing his fingers gently against your cheek. The warmth of his touch sent a ripple of calm through you, but it didn’t erase the unease gnawing at your insides.

“I don’t like seeing you in pain,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Just then, Emi, your beloved companion or more so adopted child in a way, made a soft, adorable noise from the corner of the room. The baby kaiju was playing with one of her toys, her wide, innocent eyes darting between you and Ken, sensing the tension in the air. She scuttled over, her body a bright spot in the otherwise somber room.

“Look at her,” you said, smiling as Emi nuzzled Ken’s arm, her affection a welcome distraction. “That’s it! You go back to bed, and I’ll bring you everything you need.” You stood up, determination surging through you. The thought of him lying there in pain fueled your resolve.

“You don’t have to do all of this…” Ken started, but you could see the warmth in his eyes as he grasped your hand, his grip firm yet tender.

“But I really like doing it,” you insisted, your heart swelling with the desire to take care of him. “I’m not only doing it for you. It’s much more fun if you’re not in pain.”

You walked over to the kitchen area, where the air was filled with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed tea. The space was modest but filled with the essence of home—a place that reflected your shared life together. Pots and pans hung from hooks on the wall, each one telling a story of countless meals cooked together, laughter shared over simmering pots, and late-night snacks.

As you prepared a cup of chamomile tea, the steam curled into the air, creating a soothing atmosphere. You glanced back at Ken, who was now attempting to sit up more comfortably on the couch. The sight tugged at your heartstrings; you could see the effort it took for him to shift, and your protective instincts kicked into overdrive.

“What do you want?” you called, focusing on the task at hand. “Chamomile or peppermint?”

“Chamomile, please. It helps me relax,” he replied, his voice warm, and it brought a smile to your lips as you moved with purpose.

You returned to the couch, the steaming cup in one hand and a bowl of hearty chicken soup in the other. The rich aroma wafted through the air as you set the tea down on the table in front of him, followed by the soup that you had prepared with love earlier in the day. “Eat up; you need your strength,” you said, your tone playful yet firm.

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and comforting against the backdrop of the quiet room. “You always know how to take care of me,” he said, a genuine smile breaking through the fatigue that weighed on his features.

“It’s easy when you’re so worth it,” you replied, your heart fluttering at the sincerity in his gaze. You watched as he took a sip of the tea, savoring the warmth and the way it enveloped him like a hug.

For a moment, the weight of the outside world melted away, and it was just the two of you in your little sanctuary. The walls were adorned with photographs of happier moments—vacations, milestones, and candid shots that told the story of your life together. Each frame held a memory, and they all whispered of love, support, and the strength of your bond.

As the evening wore on, you took on the role of caretaker, ensuring Ken followed Mina's strict orders for rest. You nestled beside him, sharing the warmth of the blanket you had pulled over both of you. Emi, sensing the tranquility, curled up between you two, her gentle breaths adding to the soothing atmosphere.

“Just promise me you won’t push yourself too hard, alright?” Ken said, his expression serious as he turned to you, his eyes filled with a depth of concern that mirrored your own.

“I promise,” you said, feeling the weight of his gaze. You leaned down, placing a soft kiss on his forehead, the warmth of your lips lingering as you pulled away.

In a sudden burst of inspiration, you had an idea. “Let’s build a blanket fort!” you exclaimed, your excitement infectious. You grabbed extra blankets from the nearby shelves, spreading them across the living room. The act felt silly and whimsical, a welcome distraction from the heaviness in the air.

“Really? A blanket fort?” Ken teased, a playful glint in his eye.

“Absolutely! This is a ‘no babies allowed’ zone,” you declared, your voice filled with mock seriousness.

With your combined efforts, you transformed the common room into a cozy hideaway, draping colorful throws over the couch and coffee table, creating a safe space where you could forget about the world outside. The soft glow of fairy lights you had hung earlier twinkled above, casting a warm glow throughout your makeshift fort.

Ken settled in, a look of bemusement on his face as you crawled inside beside him. “What’s next, warrior? Are we going to slay the dragons lurking outside?” he asked, his tone lightening the mood as he joined in on the fun.

“Exactly! But first, we must fortify our defenses with snacks!” you proclaimed, darting back to the kitchen to grab a stash of his favorite treats—cookies, chips, and anything sweet you could find. You returned, proudly holding your treasure trove, and Ken’s eyes lit up with delight.

“Now this is my kind of fort,” he said, chuckling as you nestled back beside him. You shared the snacks, laughter mingling with the gentle sounds of Emi’s playful chirps as she darted around the fort, fully embracing the spirit of adventure.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue across the room, you both settled into a comfortable rhythm. The soft sounds of the base faded into a peaceful silence, and you felt a sense of calm wash over you, the worries of the outside world dissipating in the safe cocoon you had created.

“Thank you for being here,” Ken whispered, his voice barely audible above the gentle rustle of the blankets. The sincerity in his tone wrapped around your heart like a tender embrace.

“Always,” you replied, feeling the warmth of his presence seep into your very soul.