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kichiyosh1 · 2 days ago

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"Maybe next time… I’ll have something better to say."

scaramouche, wanderer, kabukimono

4.8k words

A run-in with Scaramouche was never going to end quietly. One heated moment leads to you striking him, and immediately regretting it. But instead of the disaster you brace for, things shift. The conversation doesn’t go how it should, and neither of you seem to know what to make of it. It’s awkward, tense, and maybe… something else entirely too.

✧: contains dialogue of bickering, totally not scaramouche just belittling, degrading and dehumanizing you for his own insecurities. enemies to lovers' banter never hurt anyone, no? fluff at the end

note: ahhh how I've missed writing, to those that know me, I'm back! and for those that don't, I hope I can interest you with this new piece of mine. I'd say it's a big improvement from how I used to write. I am no wordsmith, but I hope my current skills will suffice. enjoy! ( I've been reading way too many HL fanfics my brain's becoming mush agjsahgaghss)

Scaramouche kept a strict standard in all things, from the moment he rises to prepare for the day to how he'd like his missions to be carried out. Accuracy and precision are absolute; even the slightest error would betray a flaw in him. Hinting to a past he’s already left for dead.

He was never one to hesitate to point out the shortcomings of others. In his eyes, flaw was weakness, and weakness had no place in his presence. He scrutinized every action, every word, not out of malice but because he believed he had the right. Perfection was not an ideal to him. It was a requirement. To falter was to be exposed, and vulnerability was something he refused to allow, neither in others nor in himself.

Even now, lost in his usual riigid thought, his mind drifts uninvited, unwanted, to you. He exhales sharply through his nose, a trace of irritation rising in his chest. He shouldn't be thinking about you. The very person where all his ideals go to die. And yet, here you are, lingering in the back of his mind, like an ich he can't locate and be rid off.

A strong General, a candidate for a spot amongst the other harbingers. He's heard stories of you. Agents whisper about how you single handedly wiped out an entire enemy camp. Cicin Mages murmur praise about your quick thinking in battle. And inevitably, the stories always end the same way, with fawning admiration for your strength, your charm, your ability to command a room without even trying. It grates on him more than he cares to admit.

A waterfall of exaggeration he thinks…

You are flawed. In fact, you have many. He’s seen the way your fingers twitch at the hem of your clothes when you're anxious, as if trying to hold yourself together thread by thread. “Quick thinking” they say, perhaps it's because you don't bother to think at all, your body moves on instinct before your mind catches up, reckless and unrefined. A creature led more by impulse than calculation.

The corridor was quiet, the low hum of distant machinery and footsteps echoing faintly through the polished stone walls of the Tsaritsa’s Palace. He walked with practiced precision, posture sharp, each step purposeful. His thoughts were occupied, dissecting faults that weren't his own, when a sudden movement entered his path.

And just his luck, no, more fittingly, his misfortune, he rounded the corner and your worlds collided. Literally.

A sharp step, the brush of fabric, a sudden halt. The impact was small, but the offense felt monumental.

"Watch it."

The words slipped from him, low and cold, not barked but bitten off. His eyes met yours for the briefest moment, narrowed and unreadable, like a blade sheathed just enough not to draw blood. In truth, he had seen you coming a second too late, but pride would sooner shatter than admit fault.

You stood there, surprised, perhaps apologetic. Or worse, unbothered.

And that irritated him even more. But after a moment you open your mouth to speak

“M-my apologies, I was in a hurry and—”

“Was that a stutter I just heard?” You can see the look of disgust on his face, not that he was doing anything to be discreet about it. This causes you to raise a brow.

“So what of it? I was obviously startled.” You're willing to admit you share a fault in the predicament, but engaging in a fair conversation with scaramouche would be akin to walking over a pit of venomous snakes, which is why you try to thread your words as carefully as you can, lest you wish to get bitten.

“Sure. Let's go along with that.” He took a step forward, his kasa tilting just enough to reveal narrowed eyes. It was a mannerism you’d seen before, one he reserved for those he deemed beneath him. With that traveler from another world, his kind act was all a facade. But with you, his intentions were laid bare.

“Though, are you trembling from the cold… or something else entirely?”

This wasn’t the first time you’d encountered the Balladeer, yet every time his gaze settled on you, it burned, sharp, unrelenting, and far too intense. His snide remarks and carefully veiled insults never failed to make their rounds, each one more infuriating than the last. Still, you managed to remain professional to the bitter end.

That didn’t stop the twitch in your eye or the veins now visibly pressing at your temples. You took a slow breath.

“Must you nitpick the smallest of things? Have I done something to upset you, Balladeer?” You've always remained docile between your interactions with others, with the intent to not get on their bad side. But when it came to Scaramouche, that became increasingly difficult. What you didn’t realize, however, was that very calmness you held onto was exactly what stirred the fire in his blood.

“Perhaps. It's not what you've done, but rather what I've heard you did, your so-called achievements. In which case, I was right to believe it was all nothing more than ludicrous exaggeration.” He spoke the words like a fact. He's perceiving you like the dirt beneath his feet. Something meant to be trampled on, not acknowledged.

A part of you knew nothing good would come of this already spiraling conversation. Why bother trying to fill a cup with water when he insisted on poking holes in the bottom just to watch it leak? You had offered clarity, reason, and even restraint. Yet every word out of his mouth chipped away at your patience like a steady, deliberate tap against glass.

Your fingers twitched again at your side, a quiet habit you barely noticed anymore. You shifted your weight, eyes briefly darting to the hallway behind him. Maybe if you turned now, you could salvage what little dignity remained. No victory would come from trading words with someone who only spoke to belittle. You weren’t going to win. Not because you lacked wit, but because he didn’t care for the truth ("only his truth," you internally corrected yourself), but only the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

You exhaled slowly, preparing to step away.

But before you could turn—

“Now that I've got a good look at you, you share the same traits as a rabbit,” he murmured, tone venom-laced silk. “Yes, pretty to look at, and make wonderful pets as well, but also fall prey to everything around them.”

His hand lifted without warning. Fingers ghosted along the edge of your jaw, a mockery of gentleness in the way he examined you like a specimen. His eyes narrowed, analyzing, degrading.

Your blood ran cold at his words, but then, just as quickly, it boiled.

“You're one to talk.” Your voice didn’t rise, didn’t falter. Calm, steady, and deliberate. You tilted your head slightly, stepping back just enough to break the contact, yet your gaze didn’t leave his. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a flinch.

Inside, your thoughts simmered, not in rage, but with quiet disbelief. If he expected you to shrink away, to play the role he carved out for you in his twisted narrative, he was sorely mistaken.

You were still standing. Still composed.

And he hated that.

“Hmm…” he drawled, taking his time with the sound like he was sizing you up.

He looked you over again, this time with clear intent. There was no admiration in his gaze, only cold scrutiny. He studied you the way one would examine something fragile, waiting for it to crack.

“How far do you think you can go before your body gives out under the pressure of your role?” he said, tilting his head slightly, voice calm but cold. “You walk around acting like you’ve got it all under control. Straight posture, voice level, like you’ve got something to prove.”

In a swift movement, he leans in by your ear, and your breath hitches. “But I see it. The fatigue behind your eyes. The way your hands tense when no one’s looking. The effort it takes for you to stay upright on this sinking boat of yours. You’re holding it together, sure, but barely.”

He paused, his expression sharpening.

“When it finally breaks, I’ll be there. Watching. A sight I’ll be thrilled to see.”

Something in you snaps.

Without thinking, your palm comes in contact with his cheek, the sound sharp and unforgiving. His head jerked to the side, and for a heartbeat, everything was still.

He turned back to you slowly, his hand now cradling his face, fingers pressed lightly against the reddened skin where your slap had landed, though his grip was tight enough to betray the sting. His expression twisted into something between disbelief and murder. Rage simmered just beneath the surface, the corners of his smile not reaching his eyes, twisted and humorless.

“Hah. Have you gone mad?” His voice was quiet, far too quiet. He looked at you like you’d just committed a grave sin, like he was on the brink of just erasing you from existence.

For what it's worth, it was taking everything within you not to drop down on your knees and apologize right there on the spot. Hell, Your heart thudded in your chest, sharp and loud in your ears, like it was punishing you for acting on impulse. You weren’t the type to lash out. Despite your rash decision making, you were never one to exact violence on others unless it was necessary.

And yet here you were, palm still tingling from the impact of striking one of the Harbingers, the Balladeer, like he was just another irritant in your day (which from how things have been unfolding, he's becoming a constant). You could already imagine your ancestors rolling in their graves. No doubt they were gasping, clutching their chests from the spirit realm, watching your reckless decision unfold in slow motion.

Still, you refused to let your face show the panic bubbling under your skin. Your posture remained firm, and your jaw was set, even as your mind screamed that this might have been the biggest mistake of your life.

You met his gaze, forcing the quiver in your voice back down your throat.

“You’re deserving of another,” you said slowly, each word weighed carefully. Your fists were clenched at your sides from irritation and to keep your fingers from trembling. The silence that followed was thick and oppressive. Your heart was still racing, but you held his stare. If you were going to die for this, you weren’t going to do it acting like a bumbling fool, that's for sure.

You drew in a slow, steady breath, trying to keep your voice level even as your pulse hammered in your ears.

“What’s your problem? You're talking to me like I wronged you in another life. Like I'm your sworn enemy. I don't recall doing anything worth picking a fight over.”

You spoke before you could second-guess yourself, a calm mask stretched over the mild panic crackling under your skin. There was an edge of frustration in your tone, but you kept it low, unwilling to give him the pleasure of seeing you rattled. Then your breath hitched again, barely, but enough to notice. You didn’t mean for your voice to waver, but the heat in your chest was rising. The pressure of his stare, the hostility in his words, it was overwhelming in its own way.

Scaramouche’s gaze flickered for a heartbeat, a shadow of something almost melancholic passing through his eyes. It was gone so quickly you wondered if you only imagined it.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if that were true,” he murmured, his voice dipping for just a moment. Something in his expression shifted, it was faint, unreadable. You caught it in the silence that followed, but it passed too quickly to name. He blinked once, slowly, then lifted his chin and resumed that same sharp, composed stare, as if nothing had changed in the moment.

He’d done worse for less. One move, and this would be over. Easy.

“Meek and foolish… but bold, I'll give you that.” But even as he said it, a thought gnawed at him. He could’ve ended this long ago, struck you down and walked away without consequence, so why hadn’t he?

So why was he holding back, letting you speak, letting you look at him like you saw something he himself doesn't wish would come to light? It gnawed at him, this hesitation. He’d never allowed such restraint before, not for anyone. Yet here he stood, teeth clenched around something unnamed, unsure whether it was curiosity, defiance or fear.

For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. The air hung heavy, not with hostility, but something quieter. He didn’t strike back with a fresh insult. He didn’t lash out or silently mock you. That, more than anything, gave you pause.

You really didn’t know how it had gotten to this point. Frustration burned low in your chest. Because every word he said felt like a challenge, like he wanted to get under your skin just to prove he could. He twisted everything, met every response with something sharper. It was exhausting.

Why haven't you just walked away? Shut this all down before it spiraled any further. But then, just for a second, something changed.

You weren’t sure why, but your anger eased. Not entirely, but enough to make you hesitate. That momentary crack in him dulled the edge of your frustration.

For a fleeting moment, he didn’t seem like a Harbinger or a tyrant trying to tear you down. He just looked… tired. Alone, maybe. Worn down by something you weren’t meant to see. And somehow, that made somethinga in you stir.

For someone so quick to point out the flaws of others, he was full of them himself. Whether he acknowledged it or not. And somehow, that realization made your chest ache in a way you didn’t expect.

There was something sad about it. About him.

Perhaps he was like this because he was covering something up. Not power or pride, but insecurity. Fear. A need to stay untouchable so no one could get close enough to see where it hurts.

You took a slow breath, grounding yourself again.

“—Although preferably in this one, I would like it if we weren’t,” you said, voice softer now. “I have no reason to hate you, Balladeer. So please, don’t give me any reason to.”

Your words were measured, a plea wrapped in firm resolve. Inside, you chided yourself for sounding almost diplomatic when your nerves felt like frayed wires. Still, you met his stare without flinching.

He scoffed, the sound sharp and dismissive, but it lacked its usual venom. His arms crossed, and for once, he’s the one to break contact away from your gaze.

It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t even self-pity. It sounded more like a fact he had long accepted. A sad fact. But even in that resignation, you could hear the weight of it. Like someone who had never expected kindness in the first place.

“That's not something new,” he muttered. “I’ve got enemies too, you know. Some within the Fatui who’d be thrilled to one day witness my downfall. Adding you on to the list, as far as I'm concerned, won't make a difference.”

Perhaps all this time, it was never his intention to harm directly. It’s something else. Subtler. Like he points out others’ flaws just to keep them from seeing his own. Maybe it’s projection. Maybe it’s self-defense. Either way, it's starting to feel less like cruelty, and more like fear, disguised as control.

“I see a tempest in those eyes of yours,” you said quietly. And you meant it. Not just a storm of rage or ego, but grief, bitterness, and something deeper that had never found peace.

Your gaze held his, steady despite the tightness in your chest. You weren’t sure why you said it, or why your voice came out softer than expected, but the words hung there between you. For a moment, you could swear his expression flickered, just slightly. A twitch of the brow. A brief shift in his stance. Something he quickly smothered.

Still, you saw it.

He knew you did.

And he wished you didn't.

Scaramouche never felt cold. He never felt warmth. He never truly understood the concept of any of it. What he was, was an enigma, even to himself.

When others breathed, he mimicked it, despite having no need to. When others slept, he shut his eyes, though weariness never touched him. When others cried, he could force tears from his eyes, though not once had he truly felt the weight behind them.

At Least not anymore.

And yet, when he looks at you, something twitched. Something restless stirred beneath the calm he'd carved into himself. He didn't like it. Didn't understand it.

You were flawed. Irritating. Far too human.

But the way your eyes looked at him, like you saw more than you should. It made something inside him ache. And he hated that more than anything.

You’d give yourself a pat on the back for this skill if the whole thing didn’t feel so… wrong.

You seemed to pick up on his distress, no matter how carefully veiled he tried to hide it. He always ended up off-set around you. Unsteady. A feeling he despised, almost as much as he feared it.

It was uncomfortable on your part seeing the Balladeer not… acting like the Balladeer. Scaramouche.

Whatever that entails in your mind, you're not quite sure. You just knew something was off, and you wanted no part in it longer than necessary.

Still, you stood there, mentally hyping yourself up, for what, to be the bigger person? For the Balladeer, no less? Now there's a dreadful thought. But truthfully, you didn’t know how else to move this conversation along. If you could even call it that.

“Fortunately for you, I’ll have to cut this short,” you finally said, voice cool but controlled. “We all have places to be, I’m sure.” You meant to walk away this time, you really did. You've already shifted your weight forward, already placing one foot in front of the other.

“Once again, I apologize for bumping into you. If I could, I would’ve taken a different route, anything to avoid ending up like this. Truly.” You couldn’t believe you were apologizing a second time, but it was either that or keep playing this endless game back and forth. And you already knew it would lead nowhere.

You expected a scoff. A sarcastic quip. Maybe even a snide remark to send you off. Instead, what you got was silence. Then, when you glanced back, something different. Scaramouche wasn’t sneering. He wasn’t grinning. He almost looked… pained. Just for a second. His eyes didn’t meet yours the way they usually did, with challenge or contempt. He was avoiding it. Hiding something behind a too-still face.

Why?

“What makes you say that?” he asked at last, his voice low, too even.

You blinked. “Say what?”

“You know what I mean. Surely you aren’t that brain dead.” He looked at you, waiting, expecting some flicker of realization to appear in your eyes.

But it never came.

And for a moment, he started to wonder if he was the fool here.

“My, what a tragedy it must be huh.” There was a weight in his words that hadn’t been there before. Like he wasn’t talking about what happened, or the apology, or even the conversation anymore.

You don’t know what he’s trying to say, and maybe he doesn’t either. First, he lashes out. Then when you finally respond in kind, he doesn’t stop, he keeps pushing. But the moment you start to really see past his facade, which you know it is, he hesitates. And now he’s looking at you with this strange, unreadable expression, like he’s waiting for something. He gives you that look, like he’s silently asking, 'Is that it?' Like some part of him hoped you wouldn’t just walk away.

You catch it, that flicker of something raw, almost vulnerable, barely held back behind his carefully built walls. It's there for a breath, maybe less, before he shuts it down completely. The weight in his eyes vanishes, replaced by the cold, familiar mask he wears so well. Once again.

He straightens, scoffs softly like he’s mocking himself more than you, then speaks.

“Do you think I’m gonna let you walk away from striking me, a Harbinger? Only a fool would do such a thing, and a fool you are.”

The venom returns to his tone, but it doesn’t land the same. It feels like a defense, like he’s scrambling to put distance back where it briefly slipped away. And for all the fury in his words, there’s something else laced beneath them. A tension that doesn’t match the bite he’s trying to deliver. Something unspoken, but not unnoticed.

You’re not sure why, but you find yourself scrambling for a distraction, anything to pull the moment back from wherever it’s threatening to go. Your eyes drift to his face, searching for something to latch onto. And you go for it.

“U-uhm… your face is red."

His brow lifts slowly. In a way that you didn't think he was capable of pulling off on that face of his.

"Well, that came out wrong."

Did you really just say that? Were you implying he was blushing? That he, Scaramouche, The Balladeer, a Harbinger feared across nations, was somehow flustered? Have you completely lost your mind?

For a split second, the air between you tenses. His stare narrows, and you're pretty sure you just issued yourself a death sentence. Your breath catches. Backpedal. Now.

You quickly raise a hand, pointing to the side of his face, the one you’d struck earlier. “I-I meant… from earlier. The slap.”

Something shifts. The tension sizzles out, and realization flickers in his eyes.

“Ah. That. Right ” he murmurs. He repeats the words more to himself than to you, almost as if reminding himself of where this all began.

His slender fingers rise to his cheek, brushing over the warm skin there with a touch that’s strangely absent of anger. He lingers there a moment too long. He could still feel the sting, not from the strike itself, but from the fact that it happened. That he had let you get close enough to land the hit in the first place. That someone like you had dared, and worse, that he had let it slide. No lightning, no retaliation, no immediate retribution.

That should’ve been the end of you.

“I ought to throw you underground and let Dottore and his clones pick you apart like one of his specimens as punishment,” he says finally, tone flat as glass. “Or I can just end you here myself.”

The words should have been terrifying. But they weren't. Not what’d you think he's trying to make them out to be. They fell flat, worn smooth from overuse. Threats had become his reflex, delivered as automatically as breath. He’s not trying to scare you anymore. He’s trying to reset. Push you away before you get any closer. Before you start peeling away at something he doesn't want uncovered.

“Before any of… uhm, that,” you murmur, letting your hand hover awkwardly between you, unsure whether to point at his cheek or simply drop the subject. “At least let me tend to your face. It’s the least I can do.”

''Before I die?" you think, though you wisely choose not to say it out loud.

Scaramouche’s eyes flick down to your hovering hand, then back to your face. The faintest crease marks his brow, as if he cannot decide whether your offer is foolish or curious.

“What makes you think I’m not perfectly capable of handling it myself?” He speaks evenly, but there’s something off, something that hums like a frayed wire behind the smooth delivery. Not exhaustion in the way humans feel it, but a kind of dull wear that comes from holding himself too tightly for too long.

You manage a small, steady breath. “Take it as my apology for hitting you.” A heartbeat’s pause, then honesty slips out. “I don’t regret it, though. You crossed a line.” jerk. You bite your tongue.

There’s the faintest upward twitch at the corner of his mouth, too brief to be certain. “Likewise.”

For a fleeting instant, you think he might leave it at that, some silent truce, an unspoken agreement that you’d both landed your share of blows. You actually think he’s dropped his ego long enough to admit something vaguely human. But then his gaze sharpens just a little, pride flickering back into place like a reflex.

“Regarding your latter statement,” he adds, tone colder but lacking real bite. It’s petty, precise, and undeniably him, a last-second jab to reestablish the upper hand. Just the Balladeer being the Balladeer. A little bruised, a lot stubborn.

You huff, tension easing just enough to tease him. “You’re impossible.”

He tilts his head, almost thoughtful. “And you're infuriating.”

Despite the words, the moment softens. You notice the stiffness in his shoulders ebb, only a fraction, but enough to prove he is not made entirely of steel. He studies you as if weighing risk against relief, deciding which feels heavier on his tongue.

The corridor seems quieter now, as though even the distant machinery has dimmed to grant you both this fragile truce. The sting on his cheek still blooms red, a stark reminder that you can break through the surface. He can feel it too, pulse thrumming beneath his fingers. Something vulnerable lives there, beneath habit and threat.

Slowly, deliberately, you reach for the cloth tucked into your belt pouch, a simple scrap, dampened earlier from your canteen, something meant for scrapes or dust, not this. Your fingers tighten slightly as you draw it out, trying to ignore the part of your brain screaming at you that this could still go very wrong.

You step closer. Your hand is steady, but every nerve underneath is braced like you’re standing in a thunderstorm, waiting for lightning to strike. You extend the cloth between you, not forcefully, not timidly either.

“May I?” It’s a small question. One that carries no challenge, no sarcasm, no agenda. Just quiet sincerity. Just patience.

He does not move, but he does not flinch either. A subtle concession. His lashes lower, the faintest sigh escaping him as if surrendering costs less energy than more bravado.

“Just this once,” he mutters, voice quiet, but no less sharp. “And if you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone… I'll see to it that even Celestia doesn't have a place for you.” he doesn't elaborate, he has no need to.

You dab the cloth gently across the reddened skin. He keeps perfectly still. For once, he is silent without being threatening, and you realize how rare that is. The silence between you lingers, strange, but not unwelcome. He doesn’t stop you. Maybe he should. Maybe he wants to. But he doesn’t. And for some reason, that feels like enough.

When you draw back, he watches you tuck the cloth away. His cheek is still flushed, but the worst of the heat has faded. Your pulse steadies in your ears, the moment hanging quiet and unsure between you.

“That... will suffice,” he mutters, barely audible, as if the words taste unfamiliar. Not quite gratitude, but close enough to pass.

You nod, a touch of dry humor softening your voice. “Any time you decide not to kill me on sight, feel free to ask.”

There it is again, that small twitch at the corner of his mouth, the ghost of something softer. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he replies, tone low, almost casual. and for once, it doesn’t sound like a threat.

Neither of you moves right away. The silence between you has changed, no longer tense, no longer sharp. It hums with something unspoken, something neither of you would dare name. Not yet.

You step back first. Then him. The space returns, safe and familiar, but it feels different now. A little warmer than before. The corridor hums again, a reminder of where you are, of who you’re supposed to be to each other. Still, something lingers.

You turn, ready to walk away. But as you do, you can’t help but think, maybe next time. Maybe you’ll bump into each other again, on a different day, under better circumstances.

And in the stillness that follows, he’s thinking the same. Not that he’d admit it. Not even to himself.

Just a quiet, reluctant thought:

Maybe next time… I’ll have something better to say.

#genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche

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savvyscribbleswriting · 3 days ago

Text

Pairing: Johnny Storm (as portrayed by Joseph Quinn) x fem!Reader

Summary: You are married to Johnny Storm and expecting your first child. Being married into the Fantastic Four, though, it’s not your average pregnancy. It’s all worth it, though.

Word Count: ~8.0k

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: I’m going in blind with this one; nothing is set in stone with regards to plot/setting/characters/other; no use of (Y/N); the Fantastic Four are a team with powers here; Franklin Richards does not exist; implied sexual situation; vague pregnancy/labor terms and experiences; some possible inaccuracies regarding pregnancy and labor; insecurity and doubts connected to pregnancy; some sexist 1960s attitudes regarding women and motherhood; mentions of another popular Marvel group (read to find out which one!); some possible inaccuracies regarding said popular Marvel group (apologies!)

Author’s Note: I actually wanted to do this story first, but it went in all sorts of crazy directions before landing right where I wanted to. (I almost wish I could’ve posted it around Father’s Day given the subject matter.) Now, let’s see how many of my predictions for a Fantastic Four baby come true in the new movie. As always, I hope you enjoy!

P.S. Shoutout to an old high school theatre friend of mine whose name I used for Johnny and Reader’s baby.

P.P.S. I DO NOT OWN THE FANTASTIC FOUR OR ANYTHING ELSE MARVEL-RELATED!!!

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It had been three years since you met Johnny Storm, and almost one year since you tied the knot with him. You two had been through so much during that time, especially the space mission that gave Johnny and his entire family superpowers. As he navigated his new abilities and elevated place in the world, you stuck by him to give him constant love and assurance. He loved you right back and made sure you never forgot how special you were. And it wasn’t just him. Reed, Sue, Ben, and their family robot H.E.R.B.I.E all knew you’d be a great addition to the family the very night Johnny introduced you at family dinner. You were so good to and for Johnny and fit right into the household.

Take tonight - You were helping Sue and H.E.R.B.I.E make dinner for the boys. It was Johnny’s favorite meal and you made certain to take extra care with everything. You talked with Sue and laughed at H.E.R.B.I.E’s little antics as you went on cooking.

All of a sudden, you started to feel ill. The smells of the kitchen, once heavenly and comforting, simply weren’t agreeing with you. It got to be too much and you found yourself hurrying to the bathroom to throw up.

“Are you alright, sweetie?” you heard Sue ask as she gently rubbed your back. She then turned around to retrieve the glass of water she instructed H.E.R.B.I.E to get you.You drank it slowly. Your head was in a tizzy but you managed to push through to answer, “I am now. I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.”

Sue shook her head. “Don’t apologize.” She proceeded to feel your forehead. “You don’t seem to be running a fever. Do you think you can keep cooking?”

“Honestly, no,” you admitted, taking deep breaths when you weren’t finishing your water. “I’m afraid I’ll get sick again. The smell of everything… it’s just too much. I don’t understand. This has never happened to me before, and I’ve been fine all day.”

Sue slowly helped you to your feet and guided you to the room you shared with Johnny. “How about you let me and H.E.R.B.I.E finish cooking? You just go to bed.”

“Are you sure?” you asked. “I’d hate to abandon you two.”

“You’re not abandoning us. You’re obviously not feeling well and you need to take care of yourself. Just rest for a while. We can bring you some food later. Maybe some snacks that won’t upset your stomach.”

You nodded, offering as big a smile as you could muster. “Thank you, Sue.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” she said, leaving you to get settled.

Once the bedroom door was shut, you peeled off your clothes and put on a pair of Johnny’s pajamas that felt so nice. You shut the blinds and turned off the lights before climbing into bed. Your eyes immediately closed and your brain powered down the moment your head hit the pillow.

The only reason you woke up was because you heard someone gently calling your name and felt them nudging you awake. You slowly opened your eyes to find your husband illuminated by a faint glow, probably a lamp on the other side of the room. He sat on the edge of the bed next to you in another pair of his pajamas. You blinked and moaned as you sat up, making him chuckle.

“How long have I been sleeping?” was the first thing you asked.

“A couple hours,” Johnny said. “When me and the guys came in, Sue told us what happened. They’ve all gone to bed now. How are you feeling?”

“Fine, I guess. I’ll feel even better with some food in me.”

“Way ahead of you, honey,” Johnny grinned. He quickly moved to the nightstand to present a plate of chopped fruit, crackers, and cheese and a cup of your favorite tea. He handed everything over to you before taking his place next to you in bed.

“Thank you so much!” you beamed with so much love and gratitude.“Anything for you,” Johnny said with the same amount of love. He leaned into give you a kiss, but you quickly turned your head so he landed on your cheek. “I’m sorry!” you giggled. “I just don’t want you catching whatever I may have. Plus, my breath probably still smells from earlier.”

“Fair enough,” Johnny agreed, opting to give you a big, lingering kiss on your forehead. You blushed and promptly dug into your food. You eventually let go of the mess from earlier… but not for long.

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You thought the incident from last night was a one-time thing, but the next morning you woke up with another strong urge to throw up. You jumped out of bed and hurried to the bathroom, barely making it. It was just as bad as before, which made you worry. It made Johnny worry, too. He followed you as soon as he felt you leave the bed. “Jeez, honey, are you okay?” he asked, concern etched on his face as he knelt next to you. After a few deep breaths, you responded, “I’m fine. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You can’t help how you feel.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m really worried, Johnny.”

“Me, too.”

Suddenly, you both heard Reed call out, “Johnny! Don’t forget our work for today! I’ll meet you in the lab in 20 minutes!”

Johnny only took a second to think before deciding, “No way. I’m going to stay with you today.” He got up so he could let Reed know, but stopped when he noticed you shaking your head as you tried to stand.

“No, please!” you pleaded. “Reed really needs your help in the lab today and you know how he gets when he’s hyper-focused on something.”

“But you look like you really need me now,” he argued, holding you in place and looking you square in the eye. You held him and looked at him right back. “We don’t know that. For all we know, this could be a 24-hour bug or something. I don’t want you dropping important team stuff for nothing, even if it involves me.” Johnny frowned, still not convinced. You offered, “If it will make you feel better, I’ll go to the doctor, come straight back here, and not do anything for the rest of the day. I’ll let Sue know. She’ll be a bit more understanding than Reed right now, I’m sure.”

Johnny let out a deep sigh. “I don’t care if I’m in the middle of handling an atomic bomb, let me know everything when you can.” You giggled. “As if Reed would let you handle a bomb.”

Johnny gasped dramatically as you made your way back to the bedroom. “Now get cleaned up! I’ll call Dr. Stratten to make an appointment.” A smile finally broke out on Johnny’s face. As he quickly got ready, he forced himself to ease up and believe that everything was going to be okay.

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You couldn’t believe it.

You just couldn’t believe it.

You had returned from seeing Dr. Stratten, finally knowing what was making you so sick. The weight of the diagnosis was so much all you could do was sit on the couch for hours in deep thought. With each tick of the clock came another thought, idea, problem in your mind.

Johnny was at the center of everything. What would he think? How would he react? Would he be happy? Scared? Angry? Would he leave you?

You didn’t have to wait long for an answer. You heard the elevator doors open and immediately jumped up to meet your husband.

“Hey, honey!” he exclaimed, rushing over to you to hug you tight. “I got all my work done as fast as I could. So, what did the doctor say?”

You took just another moment to hold him before pulling away. “Well…” you started, “I’m not dying or anything like that.”

“Great! That’s good! But why were you throwing up?”

“It’s nothing bad, per se.” You detached from his hold completely to cocoon yourself. You struggled to meet his gaze as you began to explain. “Um… do you remember when we all went to that benefit gala a couple months ago and we had a little too much to drink and when we got back you started telling me how beautiful I looked and then we-?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Johnny interrupted, blushing at the memory. “But what does that have to do with-“

“Johnny, I’m pregnant.”

Johnny’s mouth snapped shut, his mind going blank. You closed your eyes and waited with bated breath for… something, anything from him. Eventually, the wheels in Johnny’s mind picked back up.

Pregnant.

You were pregnant.

You were going to have a baby.

You were going to be a mother.

You were going to have his baby.

He was going to be a father.

The growing excitement made him pull you into a hug that was even tighter than the previous one. You were shocked at the action. You were even more shocked to hear Johnny sniveling in the crook of your neck. The weight, the warmth, the vulnerability of him, made you start to cry, too, as you reciprocated his hug. You basked in each other arms for who knows how long, your breathing and soft crying becoming in sync. Johnny pulled away to shock you a third time.

“I’m so happy.”

“Yeah?” you asked hesitantly.

“Yes! Honey, I want this baby. I want this baby with you.” He gently placed a hand on your stomach where your child was already growing. “Hey, kiddo,” he whispered. “I’m your daddy. And the person carrying you is mommy. We are going to take such good care of you and you are going to be so loved.” He turned back to you. “I love you so much.”

Somehow, even more tears poured out of your eyes and you’re pretty sure a bit of snot came out of your nose. You wiped as much of it away as you could so you could kiss your sweet, wonderful, and fantastic husband. And strong, because he lifted you up and spun you around in a giddy whirl. You two laughed and kissed some more, solidifying this happy moment.

You were going to be bringing a baby Storm into the world.

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Your pregnancy started off normal.

When you and Johnny told the others the news, there were many hugs and congratulations as to be expected. Each offered help in their own way on the spot, something they stuck to as the days turned into weeks and months.

Being a woman herself, you went to Sue with most of your pregnancy and motherhood concerns. She gave you as much advice as she could and, for the things she didn’t know, she helped you find some good books on the subjects. She also went shopping with you on more than one occasion for various things for you and the baby (you two always managed to surprise the boys with how much shopping you could do in a day).

Ever a man of science, Reed said that he would contribute to monitoring your health. He checked your vitals every now and then, made sure you had a good diet and exercise plan, and even did a bit of research regarding what your baby might look like (boy or girl, tall or short, your hair color or Johnny’s, your eye color or Johnny’s, etc.). He also built a new, more family-friendly car so that when the time came for you to deliver, you all could get to the hospital with little complications.

The dynamic duo of Ben and H.E.R.B.I.E did acts of service. Needed to run an errand? They offered to do it for you so you could get your rest. Wanted to keep up with your exercise routine? H.E.R.B.I.E set reminders and Ben was great at showing you what to do in a safe manner. Had any weird cravings? The two made sure it tasted like a gourmet dish.

And, of course, Johnny was right there learning with you, helping you with this or that, and showering you with tons of love. As your belly got bigger and you began to have some insecurities about your appearance, he was constantly telling you how beautiful you looked. He also reminded you how strong you were and how lucky he was, which was funny because you thought he was just as strong and you just as lucky. With each passing day, you both got more excited about your bundle of joy.

It wasn’t until the boys were attempting to build the crib in the baby’s new room that things took a bit of a turn. You and Sue were sitting on the sidelines snacking away on some popcorn while the men and robot argued in a semi-circle.

H.E.R.B.I.E piped up with some noise as he waved the instructions wildly.

“Yeah, I know what the instructions say, H.E.R.B.I.E,” Ben said, a hammer in one hand and a crib bar in the other, “but I’m telling you this way is better. It’ll make things more stable.”

Reed peeked over at the instructions. “I agree with H.E.R.B.I.E, Ben. If we do it this way-“

“I just want to point out that you guys said this would take about an hour and it’s currently going on three,” Johnny groaned. He then caught a glimpse of you giggling softly. How could he not crack a smile at the sight? He was back to being cranky, though, as Reed, Ben, and H.E.R.B.I.E continued arguing.

“I think we should take everything apart and start over,” Reed suggested. H.E.R.B.I.E nodded his approval while Ben shook his disapproval. “No way. We’re so close to having this finished,” he said. “And I’m about this close to setting the entire thing on fire!” Johnny cried out, holding his thumb and index finger barely a centimeter apart. You and Sue couldn’t contain your laughter at that.

“I can only imagine our baby having that fiery temper of yours, Mr. Storm,” you commented.

Reed stopped what he was doing and whipped around to you. “Say that again,” he demanded. You did as you were told, albeit a bit quizzically. “I was just saying that our baby may have Johnny’s temper.”

“A fiery temper…” Reed trailed off, looking between you, your protruding belly, and Johnny. “Fire powers…” You were starting to get worried, as were the others. Reed didn’t help matters by jumping to his feet and running out of the room.

You all looked at each other, stunned. “What just happened?” you asked Sue. She knew her husband better than anyone, after all. “I don’t know,” was all she could say.

“Great. Now that’s one less set of hands to help out with this,” Ben mumbled, trying to remember where he was so he could continue his work with the hammer.

Normally, Johnny would let out a snide remark under his breath before begrudgingly going back to the task at hand. However, something in his gut told him to set that aside and follow Reed. “Let’s take a break,” he said, getting up and stretching his limbs. “I’m going to check on Reed.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” you asked. “No, no,” he insisted, leaning over to give you a quick kiss. “I won’t be long.” With that, he left the room, leaving you, Sue, Ben, and H.E.R.B.I.E even more confused and concerned.

Johnny checked the entire family floor first before going to the one other place Reed could be – his lab. Sure enough, when he got there, there was Reed at his chalkboard furiously scribbling some stuff down in a newly-erased area. He would take a break for only a couple seconds to mutter something to himself before writing again. Johnny tried to decipher what Reed was calculating, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

“Reed!” Johnny called out, which miraculously got Reed to stop and turn around. Johnny slowly stepped closer to Reed’s work as if that would make things clearer to him. “What’s all this?”

“This,” Reed pointed to his writing, “is all the possibilities I can come up with regarding your baby’s genetics.”

“What are you talking about? I thought you already went through all of that with us. The baby has a strong possibility of being a girl. She won’t have my hair but she will have my eyes. When she gets older- “

“It’s more than that, Johnny,” Reed interrupted. “Each child gets fifty percent of their DNA from the mother and the other fifty from the father.”

“Right,” Johnny nodded along.

“But your DNA changed when we went into space. That’s how you got your powers. Who knows how much of that power you could pass onto your child.”

Johnny’s mouth hung open in shock. You and him had been so caught up in the fantasy of bringing up a baby just like any other couple that he forgot that you weren’t any other couple.

The revelation was like a cloud hanging over Johnny all the way back up to the family floor. Even the surprise of Ben and H.E.R.B.I.E finally finishing the crib wasn’t enough to chase the cloud away. Of course you noticed that something was bothering your husband, but you waited until the two of you were in bed that night to talk about it.

“Johnny, what’s wrong?” you started. “You’ve been awfully quiet ever since you and Reed came back.”

For a moment, he considered not telling you, but that’d be tantamount to lying and he’d never do that to you. “I just…” Johnny tried, not really knowing where to start or how to say it. You gently took his hands in yours. “Take your time,” you said.

Johnny took a deep breath and tried again. “Reed was in the lab trying to figure out our kid’s genetics. And not the fun stuff like what color hair they’ll have or if they’ll like vegetables right out the gate. He said there’s a chance our baby will have powers like me. Since they’ll only have half my DNA, though, it’s possible that they might not have the exact same powers. Reed even said they may not get powers until they’re a toddler or a teenager or maybe when they’re middle-aged. It was just scary enough wondering if I’m going to be raising our kid right in the normal ways, like making sure they’re clean and fed, playing with them, teaching them right from wrong. But if they have powers… It all just really threw me for a loop.”

Johnny couldn’t help but slump into your lap once he was done. His head was in front of your stomach where your baby was resting, growing, waiting. The thought, plus all the previous thoughts, swirled around in his head. You simply ran your fingers through his hair in an effort to ease his mind. That seemed to help because you could feel his breathing return to normal. Before he could fall asleep, you nudged him to sit back up and face you.

“How did you figure your powers out?” you asked.

Johnny thought about it for a moment. “I… experimented. Did a bit of trial-and-error stuff.”

“Were you alone?”

“No. Reed was there. Sue, too. Ben, but mostly to distract me with-“

You giggled while you interrupted, “And was it something that happened overnight?”

“No. It took time. Like, months. You know that. You were right there with me, too. I for sure wouldn’t have made it without you.”

“And how do you plan on teaching our child right from wrong or how to play or how to use their powers?”

It finally dawned on Johnny. “The… same way?” he guessed.

“Exactly!” you exclaimed. “I know this is going to sound weird, but I honestly don’t see how our child having powers will be different from any other challenge parents face with kids. And you’ll handle it just like anything else – by learning from your past and leaning on your family, especially the mother of your child who is right in front of you and believes in you with all her heart.”

Johnny nodded thoughtfully at your response. You were absolutely right. He closed his eyes and tried to turn all his negative thoughts into positive ones. He began picturing him and his child in Reed’s lab working on harnessing their powers. Johnny would pass on all the techniques he learned and watch in amazement as his son or daughter applied them so masterfully… or clumsily and set something on fire. He burst out laughing at the idea.

“What’s so funny?” you asked, glad to see your husband back to normal.

“I was just thinking about teaching our kid how to control fire,” Johnny admitted. “How fun, or funny, it would be.”

“What if they have water powers? Or ice powers?” you wondered.

“Reed may actually appreciate that. It’ll mean less money spent on fire extinguishers.”

You and him shared a good laugh before spending the rest of the night talking about the potential powers of your unborn baby. Johnny began imagining all sorts of scenarios for training your child and even taking them on missions (‘Not until they’re eighteen,’ you stated). The fear was still present with Johnny, but there was a good amount of excitement and determination to balance things out. When he eventually went to sleep, it was with the single thought that his baby was going to be amazing, whether they developed powers or not.

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It wasn’t often that the Future Foundation hosted a baby shower, so when it did it went all out. There were tons of options for lunch and dessert, iced in pink because (as Reed predicted) you were having a girl. Off to the side was a huge stack of presents that ranged from small trinkets and toys to big boxes of diapers and clothes. And some of your coworkers arranged a few fun games like “Baby Bingo” and “Pin the Diaper on the Baby.” It was a joyous occasion and you could not have been happier.

However, things went a bit downhill when you found yourself talking to one of your supervisors, Robert. He was married with two kids of his own, and in lieu of a physical gift he offered you a few words of advice. “Don’t be afraid to take at least four or five years off work. My Marsha did that with both of our kids. She waited until they were settled in school before going back to work, and even then she just does simple stuff like volunteer work at the library.”

“Actually, I plan on only taking a year off,” you stated, biting into your second piece of cake.

Robert raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Really?” You nodded. “I know that the foundation can survive without me for however long I need, but I know I’d miss my work if I stayed away for too long.”

“Your baby will be your work.”

“Well, obviously she will be work and the most important work I’ll do, but I don’t see why she should be the only work I do, you know?”

“But how are you going to balance work and a baby?” Robert inquired. You knew the direction the conversation was heading, but you continued in the hope that you could put an end to it. “I’m a smart girl. I am confident I can balance being a mother and career woman.”

“So, is he going to be hanging off your hips as you try to conduct meetings?”

You finally set your cake down to discuss your plan. “No, she will obviously be in a stroller. And it’s not like I’ll be bringing her to the office every day. Johnny is looking forward to taking care of her, too. He’s already thinking about trips to the park or the lab with Reed, which he insists will be as safe as possible for a baby.”

“Your husband is okay with taking care of the baby?”

“It’s just as much his baby as it is mine, Robert,” you gave him a pointed look.

“What if he’s unavailable?”

“H.E.R.B.I.E is more than capable, I’m sure.”

“But it’s a mother’s responsibility to raise the children. Sweetheart, I’m saying this as a father myself, I just don’t think it’s realistic that you can be a mother and still work.”

You opened your mouth to retort but were thankfully stopped by Johnny. “Hello, mother of my child,” he addressed you as he pressed a firm kiss to your lips. He then turned to Robert and said, “Hey, Robert, Harry form Donations is eying the last of the truffles and I know how much you like truffles.” Robert gasped. “I better run before he snatches them up.” He sped away as you and Johnny waved goodbye.

“I hope he chokes,” Johnny said under his breath.

“How much did you hear?” you asked, grabbing your cake to finish it.

“Enough,” he replied, stealing the fork away from you to have a bite. You wanted to giggle at the action but ended up sighing. “Is he right? Would I really be able to balance work and raising a child? I thought I could, but now-“

“No, no, no!” Johnny said, taking another bit of cake and feeding it to you. “Do not do that. Do not doubt yourself. You can do anything you put your mind to. And if you want to work while taking care of our baby, that’s what you’ll do and you’ll be great at it.”

You slowly let out a smile and went in for another kiss from your husband. It was great that he believed in you. Now you just needed to believe in yourself.

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“Johnny, you could’ve died!”

“But I didn’t!”

“That’s not the point!”

“It’s what matters!”

This wasn’t the first time you and Johnny had this talk, but it was the first time he came close to death.

What was supposed to be a simple takedown of one person turned into war with twenty or so henchmen on the ground and about fifty drones in the sky. Johnny decided to handle the drones and was doing fine until he felt a sharp pain in his back. One of them managed to stun him with a big dose of electricity. His fire form started to flare out and he was barely flying, but he still managed to take out most of them. When he got back on solid ground, Sue forced him (literally forced him with a force field) to stay in the team car. Johnny found himself in and out of consciousness once his body hit the backseat. Before he knew it, the mission was over and they were all back at the Baxter Building. Because he still felt tingly from the electric shock, Reed sat him down in the lab for examination. Just as Johnny was given the okay to head up to you, you surprised him by coming to him.

Johnny had been on plenty of missions as part of the Fantastic Four during your relationship. They almost always involved a routine between you and him - You would wish him luck, he would do his thing, get a little banged up, ultimately make it back to you, you would express your worry, and he would assure you that he would be more careful next time. From the early years of you two dating to when you finally got married and even during the first few months of your pregnancy, he more or less kept his promise. He figured if you could try balancing a career and a baby, he could too. It didn’t really sink in with him, though, that you and him had very different job descriptions. Lately, you felt like he was becoming careless with his powers, reckless even. And when Sue told you how badly Johnny got hurt this time, you decided that enough was enough.

Everyone left the lab so you two could have your moment. It started off like any other conversation between you two after a mission. You expressed your concern, stating that you were seven months along and you couldn’t lose him now, or ever for that matter. Johnny assured you that he understood and stressed that he was fine. His attempts at brushing the whole situation off caused something in you to snap. You started getting anxious as all your fears over him, your baby, and the future poured out. He tried to calm you down, which only made you more anxious until it morphed into anger. This caused him to get angry back at you. That’s how you two ended up in a back-and-forth that went on for a good five minutes.

“What about next time?!”

“I’ll be careful!”

“You always say that!”

“And I always try! It’s not my fault! I never know what someone is going to do or send after us on a mission!”

“Can’t you just stop missions for a while?”

“No, I can’t! My family needs me!”

“I’m part of the family, too! I need you! Your baby needs-!”

Suddenly, you felt a sharp pain in your stomach. You winced as you involuntarily hunched over. Another sharp pain sent you wobbling over to a nearby table for support. Johnny hurried over to you, keeping a short distance so that he didn’t hurt you… or you didn’t push him away.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked.

You closed your eyes and took deep breaths as another wave of pain came. “It’s just the baby. She’s a real kicker,” you said through gritted teeth. You then gathered all your strength and began talking to the baby in a desperate attempt to make the pain stop. “It’s okay. Everything is alright, little one. No need to be so rough.”

“You think she’s reacting to our argument?” Johnny speculated. “Maybe,” you found yourself admitting.

Johnny sighed and hung his head. He didn’t think their daughter would witness an argument from them this early in life, or at all. From the very beginning, he wanted to make sure she knew nothing but love and happiness. Maybe she still could.

“Can I…?” he gestured towards your belly. You didn’t know what exactly he had in mind, but you didn’t stop him as he knelt in front of you and placed his hand over where the baby was kicking. “Hey, kiddo,” he started, trying to make his voice sound upbeat. “I know you can hear mommy and me in there. I’m sorry you have to hear us arguing. Daddy… well, daddy got really hurt today and made mommy worry. I tried making excuses, but mommy’s not having it… and she’s right. I put so much pressure on myself to be there for my family and for the city, but it won’t be long before you arrive and become my world. I want to be here for you, not just when you’re born but forever. That’s not going to happen if I keep putting myself in danger. So, I’m going to talk to Uncle Reed and Ben and Aunt Sue about not coming on as many missions. I’m sure they’ll understand and find a way without me. And I know mommy will appreciate it. That’s what I love about her. She makes me want to be better. You’re so lucky to have her, and so am I.”

Johnny heard a loud snivel and looked up to see you crying. His own tears broke out and he picked himself up to hold you tight. You cried in each other’s arms for another good long while.

This was probably the most difficult thing you two faced so far. You knew it wouldn’t be the last time. You also knew how strong you and Johnny were together. As long as you stayed that way, you were positive that there wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle.

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It was the week before you were scheduled to deliver.

Feelings amongst everyone were running high.

Reed conducted check-ups every other hour and freaked out whenever you so much as stubbed your toe.

Ben was stress-eating alongside you, even going as far as trying (and liking) some of your weird cravings.

You were surprised to see Sue cleaning and fiddling with everything in the baby’s room about three times a day.

H.E.R.B.I.E was running back and forth trying to help everyone at once.

And Johnny? He was right there panicking alongside everyone else. He would freak out with Reed. He would eat with Ben. He would help Sue clean. He would bump into H.E.R.B.I.E twenty times a day.

You would’ve found the whole thing funny if you weren’t also dealing with your nerves. Every day, you would think about your daughter and start to cry tears of happiness, which would turn into tears of sadness for one reason or another, which made you angry at yourself for being so emotional, which led to you trying to do something productive to make you happy again. The one constant thing you held onto was the promise that Johnny, the whole family really, made to be fully available when you delivered the baby. Just imagining that made you want to cry which led to… you know.

Unfortunately, any and all bad guys didn’t get the memo.

The family received a call that there was some strange activity going on near Westchester County and were begged to investigate. They tried to get out of it but with no luck. The night before they were expected to head out, they discussed the matter amongst themselves. They didn’t want to worry you and, most importantly, break your heart. You surprised them not only with your entrance but also your response.

“You all should go.”

Everyone blinked in shock. Johnny rushed over to you. “Honey…” he started, but you were quick.

“I mean it. They really need you.”

“You need me,” he insisted.

You held his head in your hands and let out a smirk. “I actually won’t need you for another week.” You expected a chuckle from Johnny but got none. He wasn’t going to back down so easily. “I know you,” you tried again. “You’ll be back in my arms, safe and sound, in a few hours. Me and the baby will be fine until then.” You then turned to address everyone. “You all have been so good to me and done so much work and preparation. I can handle myself for a little bit.”

Reed, Ben, and Sue looked at each other. They didn’t seem wholly convinced, but they slowly talked themselves into it.

“I’ll set up a signal for H.E.R.B.I.E to send us if anything should happen,” Reed said, with H.E.R.B.I.E giving agreeable sounds.

“I can set up some snacks for you in the fridge,” Ben suggested.

“I’ll keep you updated on where we are and when we’re coming home,” Sue promised.

You turned to Johnny for whatever he was going to offer. First, he gave you a great big kiss. Then he said, “And I… am going to be on my best behavior.” You let out a big laugh and hugged him tight.

You kissed him and hugged him again just before he and the family set off the following morning. It was hard for you, you couldn’t lie, but you managed to put on a brave face. You and H.E.R.B.I.E waved them all goodbye before heading back to the family floor.

At first, you decided to watch some TV and snack on the food Ben made for you. There was nothing good on, though, and you weren’t terribly hungry. So, you moved onto re-reading one of your parenting books. You stopped when you found yourself repeating the same sentence five times. H.E.R.B.I.E offered to play some card games with you, but you knew he was letting you win which kind of took the fun out of things.

Suddenly, you had this strong urge to go to the bathroom. As you got up to go, you quickly realized that it wasn’t actually that. It was… different. You felt something trickle down your leg and looked down. It slowly but surely gathered into a big puddle on the floor. You finally realized what it was.

“H.E.R.B.I.E! My water just broke!”

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“’New father’ jitters?”

Johnny whipped his head around to the Professor, wondering how the man knew before remembering that said man could read minds.

The Fantastic Four didn’t know what to expect when they finally tracked down where specifically the suspicious activity was taking place. They didn’t expect to be led to a mansion practically in the middle of nowhere. They also didn’t expect there to be a number of kids playing outside and displaying unique abilities like flight, superstrength, superspeed, and weather-control, to name a few. They also didn’t expect to be welcomed with open arms by one Professor Charles Xavier, who sat right outside the front door in his wheelchair and stated that he knew that they were coming. The team was so confused until Professor Xavier, or “Professor X” as they overheard some of the kids calling him, showed them inside, sat them down, and explained things.

Professor X was a mutant, a person born with extraordinary abilities, his being telepathy and telekinesis. The mansion was owned by him and intended to be a school for young mutants where they would receive not only a standard education, but also training in how to control their powers. Since most of the students were initially persecuted for their mutations, the Professor also wanted the mansion to be seen as a loving home so that they could grow up to be confident and proud of themselves.

Each of the Fantastic Four were amazed in different ways. Reed was impressed with Professor X’s great intelligence. Sue deeply empathized with his cause and even offered the help of the Future Foundation. Ben found himself being dragged back outside by some kids who thought he was cool-looking and wanted to see how strong he was, which he happily obliged. Johnny, meanwhile, just stared out the window and took in the sight of them all. He began to wonder for the millionth time if his own kid would grow up to be one of them, whether they would be proud of their potential powers or scared, if they would be embraced by society or rejected.

That’s when the Professor pulled him back to reality. Johnny looked to Reed and Sue, who offered sympathetic smiles.

“Um… yes, actually,” Johnny answered. “My wife is pregnant with our first child. A girl.”

“Congratulations,” Professor X said. “It’s hard work, but well worth it.”

“Speaking from any past experience?”

The Professor shook his head. “No, but I have come to consider the students as my children.”

“You seem to be doing a fine job with them, Professor,” Sue observed.

“Thank you. And I have no doubt your brother will be the same.”

“Speaking from any future experience?” Johnny probed, which made the Professor chuckle.

Suddenly, a noise went off. Johnny could feel a vibration coming from his hand and looked down. It was coming from his watch. It was transmitting a single phrase – “FLAME ON.”

Johnny’s eyes widened. He knew what that meant. He had been preparing for this moment for nine months.

It was time for you to have the baby.

Johnny rushed out of the room, through the halls, and out the door. Instead of going straight to the car, though, he found himself firing up and flying high. He was so hyped and determined to get to you, he was sure he could go the distance.

Reed and Sue looked at each other in surprise, having received the same signal. “We’re terribly sorry, Professor Xavier,” Reed said as he got up, “but we must be going. It looks like it’s finally time for Johnny to become a father.”

“Oh, yes! Please!” the Professor insisted. He led the couple outside as fast as he could.

Even Ben got the signal and was trying to calm the kids down, all of whom were disappointed that the fun had to come to an end. “I’m sorry, you guys! I have to go! I’m about to be an uncle!”

“You’ve got to come back!” one of them begged.

“Oh, this won’t be the last we see of them,” Professor X stated. “I’m sure of it.” He gave a wink to Reed and Sue, both of whom quickly shook his hand.

“We’ll definitely be in touch,” Reed assured him.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Sue said.

“You’re welcome. And thank you for your generosity. May your brother’s child be blessed.”

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In between you trying to breathe deeply to alleviate the contractions and worrying about whether or not Johnny and the others would make it back in time, you thanked God and Reed for the new family car.

It was spacious, could drive itself, had a phone attached so you could call Dr. Stratten, had a suitcase packed in the back with all sorts of essentials for after the baby was born (although you were certain that was more Sue’s doing), and included navigation and sensors to provide the best possible route to the hospital and not crash into any cars as it sped by. So far, it was doing a fine job, although there were a few times you closed your eyes out of fear that it was going to run into something like a fire hydrant or a person crossing the street.

About twenty minutes later, you arrived at the hospital intact. Once you got out and collected your things, you sent the car away to park itself in the nearby lot. You then waddled inside and let a nurse know about your condition. You were subsequently put into a wheelchair to be led up to the delivery room. As you laid back on the table in a traditional hospital gown, you tried your best to hold yourself together until you were sure Johnny was there.

“Come on, little one,” you whispered, hoping your baby could hear or sense you. “Please wait just a little bit longer. Your daddy isn’t here yet and he really wants to be here for you.”

Dr. Stratten eventually came in, all scrubbed in and ready to help you. “Hello, my dear,” he said, warmly. “Are you ready?”

“Is Johnny here?” you asked hurriedly.

Dr. Stratten looked around nervously. “Well, no. I didn’t see him.”

You slowly began to panic. “No, no, no! I want him here! I need him here! Dr. Stratten, I can’t have this baby without Johnny!”

“Now, dear,” Dr. Stratten came over to you and gently patted your shoulder, “you mustn’t get upset. You’re going to need all your energy to deliver your beautiful baby.”

You threw your head back in frustration and felt a few hot tears slide down your cheeks. You made one more desperate plea in the hope that your husband could hear and sense you this time. “Please… Please, Johnny… Come and see your daughter.”

Miraculously on cue like a scene out of a movie, you saw Johnny’s head poke through the door window. He was sweating hard and waving his arms frantically to get anyone’s attention, specifically yours.

“JOHNNY!” you yelled. One of the nurses quickly opened the door to let him in. He raced to your side and pulled you in for as tight a hug as he could manage. You could hear and feel him breathing heavily above you. You found the strength to push him away to look at him. He looked tired and desperate yet at the same time energetic and optimistic.

“Hey,” was all he could say.

“Hey,” you echoed.

“You look beautiful.”

“You look like a wreck.”

He let out a breathy laugh as he fully took in his state. “Yeah, I know. I flew all the way here from Westchester County. Probably the fastest I’ve ever done. I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss anything.”

“You didn’t. I wouldn’t let you. And I don’t think your daughter would either.”

Johnny looked down at your stomach. “I’m here now, kiddo. Now it’s time for you to get here.”

She must’ve heard you all now because you felt a sharp pain and closed your eyes. The instinct to push was great. “Oooooo!” you exclaimed, trying to remember your breathing exercises while also saying one last thing to Johnny. “Johnny, I love you so much!”

“I love you too, honey,” Johnny cooed, getting a firm grip on your hand. You squeezed it hard as you continued your attempts to push.

“Okay, folks!” Dr. Stratten said, rubbing his hands together and getting into position. “Let’s do this!”

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Reed and Sue waited patiently in the hospital lobby. It had been a few hours since you went into labor and it was getting dark outside. As they sat in the rather uncomfortable chairs, they held hands and tried to think positive thoughts.

“Everything is alright,” Reed said like it was any other fact he knew.

Sue nodded and repeated, “Everything is alright.”

“Yeah, but they’ll be much better with this!”

The couple looked up to see Ben carrying a bunch of balloons that he bought from the gift shop. They were in pink, white, and gold colors and said various things like “It’s a Girl!” and “Congratulations!” Reed and Sue smiled at the kind gesture. It brightened things up, if only for a little bit.

Things truly got better when they saw Dr. Stratten come out. “The baby has arrived, healthy and happy,” he said with a big smile.

The trio let out a collective sigh of relief at the news. Sue asked, “Can we see them now?”

“Of course!” Dr. Stratten was already moving ahead to lead everyone to your room.

When they arrived, they had quite a sight in front of them – You were in bed, holding your newborn baby girl in a wrapped, pink blanket. Johnny sat right beside you, delicately playing with his daughter’s little fingers. And the baby looked up at her parents in total awe. A few tears were shed as Reed, Sue, and Ben walked in. You and Johnny looked up and beamed like the proud parents you were.

“Look, Clara,” you whispered. “Your aunt and uncles are here.”

“Clara,” Sue tested the name on her lips.

“Yup,” Johnny said with joy. “Clara Jean Storm.”

“A pretty name for a pretty girl,” Ben commented.

“She surpasses all of my predictions,” Reed said.

Clara’s face brightened up at the compliments, which made everybody laugh.

“May we…?” Sue gestured towards you both.

“Of course,” you agreed.

Ben set the ballons down and went to your side as Reed and Sue went next to Johnny. They all leaned in for a big group hug. Little Clara closed her eyes, taking in all the love.

The Fantastic Four family just got bigger, and you, Johnny, everyone couldn’t have been happier.

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Author’s Note 2: Electric Boogaloo: Thank you so much for making it to the end! I ask that you NOT post this story as your own, please. Instead, give it a like/review/bookmark/reblog/all of the above wherever you read it.

Archive of Our Own

#marvel #mcu #mcu fanfiction #the fantastic four #the fantastic four first steps #fantastic four fanfiction #johnny storm #joseph quinn #x reader #fanfiction #fluff #johnny storm fanfiction #johnny storm x reader

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rosenclaws · 2 days ago

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Sorry if youre already done this but...any headcanons for how the logans would react to you not wanting children?

This is so real bc I don't want kids what so ever and im very strict on this stance.

Origins Logan -

He'd be fine with it. Honestly I think all the Logans would. I mean when Logan thinks about settling down the idea of kids maybe crosses his mind but he's perfectly happy with it just being you and him. Honestly I think that Logan doesn't want kids because he's worried about passing down his mutant abilities. He doesn't know if he would pass on his X-gene or not you know.

Trilogy Logan -

Imo Logan doesn't need to have kids of his own when he has his adopted kids at the mansion. Plus he doesn't think he'd be a very good dad and his whole mutation makes things difficult. I mean what if his kid doesn't have one and he has to outlive his own child? Logan is happy being a mentor and a father figure to his students so he would have no problem if you didn't want kids. The X-men are your family.

DOFP Logan -

Kinda the same thing as Trilogy Logan. He's older, wiser, he's happy. He has all his friends and family back. The idea of retiring and settling down crosses his mind but if you tell him you don't want kids he's not gonna be upset. In fact he might be relieved lmao. Plus his students turn his hair gray as it is, imagine adding a baby to that? He's perfectly happy with it just being you and him.

Old Man logan -

He is 10000% okay with you not wanting kids. The man does NOT want a baby. Okay things do get tricky with Laura because if you don't want to be a step parent thats okay but realistically Logan is picking Laura over anything. That's his kid. But he's not interested in having any more. He's old and cranky and he doesn't have the patience for another kid. He's happy with him and Laura. It's up to you if you'd take them as they are but they are a package deal.

Worst Logan -

He'd be relived to be honest. I mean this is his second chance but his insecurities still shine through. He wasn't meant to be a dad and he has Laura who isn't his universe's kid but she's older and still needs a father figure. This Logan would be happy to have that pressure off him. He needs to work on being a better man and he doesn't know if having a kid is a way to do that.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett headcanons

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gibbearish · 10 months ago

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hey cool that literally isnt what that said in the slightest

#nowhere does it say 'disabled people and poor people cant write'#NOR does it imply it.#it explicitly states that it is referring to those whose abilities or resources are impeded to a degree that they would not be able to #create things without assistance #as in‚ disabled people that are disabled in such a way that means they cant create and poor people whose poverty keeps them from #accessing the same resources as other writers.#not all disabled people. not all poor people. it says literally nothing about either of those groups as a whole #nor about writers as a whole.#i swear the people freaking out abt this stuff literally just have to be insecure about the fact they can no longer tell ai stuff from #human stuff #'ai generated things can never have the same soul as human created things' a) so you agree that the part the ai generates is perfunctory and #therefore doesnt actually need to be done by a human? b) beauty is in the eye of the beholder‚ you put meaning into art you see‚ and c)#if that were true we wouldnt all be passing around stuff about which miniscule details to look for in ai art to tell it from 'real' art #like. is it literally just that‚ just insecurity over no longer being able to tell?#or maybe insecurity on your own abilities?#like. if youve been insisting that this stuff can never be as good as a human's work and then a robot makes something Better Than You #i can imagine that being a pretty rough blow #however that does not justify completely twisting words like that lmao #origibberish

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transmasc-tabris · 1 year ago

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More screenshots (bonus, managed to find Bull a shirt and don't know how to feel about that)

#anyway i continue to Lavellan post because i did some stuff and I'm tired now anyway. thinking about the beginning of the game and #how he's mostly leaning into the herald bullshit because he thinks it'll help him belong here and make people like him and how #devastatingly it's going to hit him after in your heart shall burn (I'm basically leaning into it as much as #possible without establishing him as faithful since it's more difficult to make Leliana pope that way but in my head #he took every 'yeah I'm herald I'm heralding so much andraste right now' option besides one with cass and one with Leliana)#like. he doesn't even really believe it but most people either like hearing it or if they react negatively it's in a way that still #acknowledges him as in charge so he'll roll with that. but then. everything in YHTB happens and it's just like. Oh. Oh Shit. like #it was this mix of bullshitting for fun and saying what people wanted to hear and kind of believing that maybe he was chosen by #Something at least. and like. it's not like he didn't do anything on his own or at least without any special abilities but then #The classic seeing all that be swept aside. realizing how this is going to be remembered because it's already happening. maybe #he should have known that the second he was asked if there was room for more among his gods.#but then. what do you expect. his first memory is being discarded (that's not entirely what it was but that's how his child brain #precessed it) and practically going feral because of it and then. having So Much catching up to do when it came to. basically every #aspect of being a person #and like. he was accepted along with Rella but that still gets to you. especially since. sure he didn't fully understand what it means to #be pitied but he could still recognize that from others. could still want to prove he was Better Than That. could still want to shatter tha #sheet of glass between himself and seemingly everyone else (even Rella to be honest. if only because she almost left him behind too). how #would he not lean into being seen as something special. whether he fully believed the narrative others were spinning or not #i dunno i see a lot of people talking about their Lavellan pushing back against the narrative from the start but i kind of like the #idea of going along with it. thinking it won't get that far and surely he can correct it if it does. he's in charge after all. right? only #to get hit harder than an avalanche by the realization that he's not in control after all. he can direct as many forces as he wants #but he can't change how he'll be remembered. how he's already being remembered. and he contributed to it too? i dunno his specific #combination of pride and insecurity and need to just Belong. to just belong as himself. is. compelling #If anyone is reading this Ive seen posts about all Lavellans having the same personality but no one's elaborated? am i just doing that?#i actually want to know. you know. assuming anyone is reading this.#i dunno just thinking about his continuous need to prove himself for so many reasons (partially because of Rella too since #yeah Rella is a mage but not the first or anything. she's just there because people knew she had nowhere else to go). okay I'll shut up now #but yeah what is this Standard Lavellan Personality i keep hearing about?#original posts #but like. something something he's being discarded again but he understands it this time and he can't fight it and just

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swordgrace · 2 months ago

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❝ 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after getting injured on a mission and dismissing your help, you can’t seem to shake why john doesn’t like you. the answer is more complicated than you thought.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: john walker x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.0K (sorry!)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), teammates to lovers, angst, talk of insecurities, john is an asshole who’s emotionally constipated, mention of violence, wound tending trope, heavy kissing, groping, teasing, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, mild body worship, hair pulling, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, missionary position, john has a huge praise kink, aftercare.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: listen ,,, I know he’s a bad person & he’s flawed but he’s so well-written and hot … and it’s wyatt russell !! first time writing for john and I loved this, I hope you guys love it too! thank you so much for your support! 🫶

Ash floats through smoke-laden air in the aftermath of an explosion, chunks of a building blown into the streets, screams of civilians pounding within your ears. Time stills, as if it’s come to a crawl, and everything slows around you.

Missions still paralyze you from time to time, fear and doubt creeping in, keeping you frozen in-place. It’s gotten somewhat easier, adapting to chaotic situations, attempting to fit in with your new teammates.

A clammy perspiration clings to your flesh beneath your suit, the design nondescript. Valentina had pushed for something flashy, more in-line with your abilities, but you refused. The less that you stuck out, the better.

It wasn’t nearly as impressive as the rest of the team, healing powers at the expense of your own energy, but you were designated as the ‘medic’, for obvious reasons. Whenever someone was injured or too roughed-up, you were there to help.

“You still with us over there?”

John Walker’s snide quip emanates from the communication link sitting in your ear, and it’s enough to effectively shatter your stupor. It wasn’t a malicious remark — just a little annoying, likely furthered by his tone of voice.

Steve Rogers was someone you knew, years ago — an acquaintance, really, but he’d helped get you out of a bind with undercover H.Y.D.R.A operatives. When he wore the shield, when Sam wore the shield, it stood for something greater than themselves.

Walker had been thrown into enough turmoil already; losing the role of Captain America, murdering an innocent, losing his family. It was all his fault, he knew this — it didn’t make the pain any less, knowing he was at the root of it all.

The both of you butted heads more often than not, two differing personalities that clashed in verbal sparring matches or thinly-veiled hostility. You’d tried to empathize with him, but he made it difficult with his condescending attitude.

Bucky had played mediator more times than you could count — you didn’t enjoy getting angry, the feeling never benefited you. Nevertheless, you were trying to get along with Walker and learn to work better as teammates.

Things were progressing, albeit slowly. Even after extending the olive branch and being kind to him, maybe too nice, he still held some lingering indifference towards you.

“I copy.” In the aftermath of thwarting enemies of the state, you prefer to help the civilians, ensuring that they were out of harm’s way, healed. Jogging toward a group of people attempting to move rubble aside, you’re quick to assist.

“There’s still one more, if someone wants to take care of it,” Ava’s voice comes over the communicator, muddled by background noise of emergency vehicles. “Unless you need help.”

“I got it.” Quick to volunteer, Walker’s voice cuts in before dissipating. You’re busy helping move wreckage aside, freeing any trapped citizens and making way for ambulances. Wailing sirens fill the air, and things move swiftly.

The air smells of burning, intermingled with a twinge of copper, a streak of crimson splashed upon your cheek. It’s a shallow cut, something trivial and minor, muscles aching with a dull throb after the dust begins to settle.

Helicopters begin to circle overhead, the media soon to follow. It was some rogue section of former H.Y.D.R.A operatives that had caused this mess, and with the formation of the New Avengers, these threats seem to appear more often.

The public is torn — one side openly celebrating that there’s protection again, the other side scornful of a ragtag group of government rejects. You aren’t one to pay attention to the discourse, focusing on finding your own footing, building relationships and making amends.

Despite having the team to lean on, you had a complicated relationship with your own family. After your powers manifested, you became isolated, kept at a distance, prompting you to run away and find S.H.I.E.L.D, when it still existed.

Still, you felt alone sometimes, but the pain had lessened with the passage of time. Alexei, of all people, treated you like a daughter, and Ava proved to be a reliable friend, despite her constant grimace. The more you assimilated with them, the more the bitter sting dissipated.

The team was a conglomerate of fragmented pasts — scars, veiled wounds, regrets; but they had become your family, or something close, and that meant the world to you.

As first responders began to flood the scene, you regrouped with the rest of the team, scraped and battered from the fighting, but all intact. Bucky and Yelena typically helmed any media events following a battle, but this time, everyone wanted to go home.

“Look at us,” Alexei laughs, placing a hand on John’s shoulder, and Yelena’s. “We are good team! The best team that the world has ever seen!” He cheers, and you find his enthusiasm endearing. John winces, stepping away from the Russian’s hold.

“You say that after every mission.” Yelena points out, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. The jet is somewhere down the street, and you all begin the arduous process of walking back.

“It is to remind of the truth, of our strength.” Alexei boasts, gleeful as ever as he jogs to keep up with Bucky. Bucky’s taken to letting him pretend that he’s the “co-captain”, just to keep his spirits high.

Morale is Alexei’s specialty — there is never a dull moment when he’s around, and his enthusiasm evokes a small smile from you, curling at the corners of your mouth. Dull, throbbing pangs of sore muscle ebbs through your body.

Straggling along at the tail end of the group, you step through some of the smaller pieces of rubble, a majority of what remains to be disposed of by a clean-up crew. Your mind is elsewhere, and the idea of sleeping once you’re back to the Watchtower is very appealing.

John is there too, uncharacteristically quiet as he walks a pace or two ahead of you, and you notice the slight stutter in his gait. There’s crimson blooming from a gash on the back of his suit, a deep wound, and your brows furrow together.

He didn’t say anything about it, which is typical, but you can’t help but be concerned. You didn’t dislike John, simply abhorred his attitude and the way he sometimes believed that he wasn’t at-fault.

Closing the distance, you come up on his flank, softly clearing your throat. “You’re hurt,” You murmur, low enough for only him to hear. He has an issue with getting injured, as if his pride is simultaneously bruised, so you keep it cordial. “I can take care of it.”

He’s always been reluctant to accept your help, allowing himself to fester within the pain, as if it’s some sort of penance for all the wrong he’s done. His muscles ache, and the gash, bruises, and cuts don’t make anything easier.

“I’m fine,” Dismissive, John brushes your concern aside, focusing on getting back to the jet without collapsing. The serum does its part, easier to manage the pain, but it doesn’t take away the sting. “It’s not that bad.” He utters, hoping you’ll drop it.

It’s his tone again; bitter, indifferent, swatting your offer aside as if you’re more bothersome than helpful. For reasons you can’t explain, it makes you angry, as if he’s too good for your help. Your jaw clenches, and you try again.

“There’s nothing wrong with accepting help, John. When we get back to the Watchtower, I can —”

“I said I’m fine.” Walker retorts, snapping at you without hesitation. It’s born from an amalgamation of agony and his own innermost demons that he’s wrestling with. He stares ahead, not wanting to look at your expression.

Bewildered, you fight against getting frustrated with him, wondering if there’s something that extends beyond his surface-level condescension.

Though, you wonder what you did to make him hate you so much — you sparred about the past, sure, but you were trying to bury the hatchet.

As if pierced by something sharp, you scoff, attempting to smother the flicker of fury that burned within your chest. It overrides your judgment, mouth moving before you can tell yourself to stop. “What’s your problem with me? Jesus, Walker, I just want to help you.”

The both of you are far away enough for the rest to remain oblivious to your sudden squabbling, and John grits his teeth, a sharp inhale splitting his lungs. “I can handle this on my own.” His tone is edged, but there’s something more beneath the surface.

Cerulean hues issue a warning for you to drop the subject, and you do, albeit reluctantly. Anger diminishes into confusion, uncertainty; you didn’t understand. Despite your efforts, he continued to swat you away as if you were a pest.

The splinter of desperation in your cadence turns his stomach, verbal sparring settling into a tenuous silence. John steals a glance despite himself, noticing the forlorn look that is etched into your brow, as if you’ve done something wrong.

He knows it’s not you — never has been, it’s him. John’s agitation dwindles into guilt, knowing that your intentions were wholly good, selfless. It’s something that he wishes he could have, and he’s working on it, but the process is emotionally heavy.

Scorned, you keep pace with him, even if he’s pushed you aside, ensuring that he makes it to the jet intact. The rest of the team regards you with perplexity, though you’re dismissive of it, settling into the webbing of your flight-seat.

The aftermath is often hushed — bodies catching their breath, a wordless recuperation, senses beginning to climb down from heightened adrenaline. Bucky’s piloting you out, heading back to the Watchtower.

Exhaustion settles in, replacing the exhilaration that comes with missions, the surge of vigor in your bloodstream. Tilting backwards, your head meets the cool interior of the jet, engine’s idle buzz thrumming beneath your boots.

John sits beside you, unexpectedly, his strenuous sigh rattling your body, passing from the bulk of his bicep to you. His visage is contorted into a look of thinly-veiled wistfulness, glancing sideways at you, a faint grimace of apology.

Quiet, you don’t relocate, simmering in the silence without so much as a murmur. Copper stings your nostrils, the scent of his blood, and you pretend that it doesn’t phase you; it does.

Your arms loosely fold over your chest, listening to the drone of the quinjet. The ride home is short, shorter than expected, and you’re eager to crawl beneath scalding water and let it burn the rush away.

As Bucky prepares for landing on the helipad outside, your gaze flutters toward John, whose stare is attempting to sear through the metal walls of the jet’s interior. He seems gone, as if his mind is a thousand miles away.

It was the same look he had when you were in the Void with him; loathing, conflicted, ripping himself apart for you to see.

The jet tremors violently as it descends onto the helipad, the noise scraping against your ears, a sound that’s still jarring to you. John remains unphased — he’s done it hundreds of times, terse as the hull begins to open.

Saying something now seems meaningless, words fading to ash within your throat, raw from thirst. Your fingers idly curl into the sleeves of your suit, tension relinquished as the team begins to file out of the jet, bearing the bruises and scrapes from the mission.

When you enter the Tower, a sense of relief finds you, the comfort of home, shoulders slouched as you make for your room. Bob is lingering beside the window, a book in his hand, headphones dangling from his ears.

“Good work today,” Bucky calls, attempting to boost morale. He’s at the helm, trying to steer this ship in the right direction, but it’s harder than it looks. “Get some rest.” He moves toward the lounge, hoping to get a status update on the cleanup.

Alexei chimes in with an echoed remark about how everyone did a good job, mirroring Bucky’s own statement. A smile curls at the corner of your mouth despite yourself, feet dragging as you sluggishly stumble toward your room.

Through the light clamor, you don’t see John, disappearing through the tinted pane of your door, feeling it hiss and click behind you. Your room is warm, cozy; it’s a sanctuary you’ve created, making something within the ruins of your old life.

A hush falls throughout the Tower, typically a quiet evening after returning from a mission. Outside, the skies turn to a swirling ink, veiled by heavier clouds that signal the onset of rain.

Peeling away your suit, your flesh is exposed to the coolness of your quarters, glittering with a layer of perspiration, body speckled in light cuts and fresh bruises. The shower calls your name, inviting, and you marinate beneath the water for half an hour.

Bruises pulse with a dull ache, remnants of crimson swept away by the water, leaving you renewed as you change into loungewear. Perched along the edge of your bed, you towel-dry your hair, gaze flickering toward your door.

You shouldn’t be the one to apologize.

The thought of checking on John crosses your mind, and then it stays, leaving you frustrated and torn. You didn’t hate him, you never have; if anything, you were left wondering why the strange hostility still lingered, after everything.

Even then, your desire to help overrode the brief spat that you had. He was your teammate, and leaving him to lick his grievous wounds without ensuring his safety felt cruel.

A tremulous inhale invades your lungs, steeling yourself as you cross into the corridor, leaving your room behind. His quarters are down the hallway, towards the very end, marked by blanched lights on either side.

No one sees you, and you creep over the cold tile as if you might be apprehended in the process. The walk there feels as if it’s stretched on for an eternity, taunting you with each step as you make it to the tinted panel.

His lock is off, you realize, and you try to knock, the sound eerily soft. There’s nothing, only an awkward stretch of silence that makes you shift uncomfortably, the chill of the floor sending a shiver down your spine.

“John?” Abandoning the use of ‘Walker’, you idly pace before the door, weaving in idle circles as you wait for him to answer. Still, nothing — you wonder if it’s intentional, if he’s purposefully ignoring you to prove a point.

Intending to ask for forgiveness later, you slide the door open, stepping into his room with a twinge of anxiety. You shouldn’t be skulking around in here, but his lack of answer had you worried — more than you should’ve been, really.

“So much for knocking,” His voice cuts through your scrambled thoughts like a serrated knife, though lacking the sardonic poise. “Could’ve waited a minute.” John utters, and you spot him in his bathroom.

Startled, your gaze draws to him, attempting to patch himself up with bloodsoaked fingertips and a disgruntled countenance. His back is facing the mirror, head craned over his shoulder, blonde brows creased together, throat stirring with a noise of agitation.

“You didn’t answer.” With a weak protest, you hover in the doorway, shuffling forward to let it close with a subtle click. Everything seems devoid of personal decorum in his room, as if he’s still deciphering what goes where, some belongings still in boxes.

“You didn’t give me a chance.” John retorts, lips parted to make room for a strained sigh. He’s been harsh enough today — he recollects, composes himself, and lets his guard waver.

“I was worried about you.” The weight of your confession brings him pause, hand poised against his back, attempting to apply gauze. He’s failing miserably, cerulean hues darting toward you, arms folded over your chest.

John stops, jaw tense as he huffs with frustration, discarding the roll of gauze onto the bathroom countertop. The low glow of the light glitters against his skin, pleasantly sunkissed, muscles taut and broad, speckled in violet bruises.

There’s a rawness to him, sinewy yet firm, the honed strength of a trained soldier. He’s visceral, nothing grossly herculean, but he’s worked for his physicality, sacrificed plenty for it.

You realize you’ve been ogling him, gaze carefully tracing over the blonde hair smattered over his chest, trailing along his abdomen before it disappeared beneath his tactical pants.

Tendrils of heat snake across the back of your neck, a twinge of something desirous stirring within your stomach. You aren’t used to it, and you feel yourself attempt to rip your gaze away to something else; and you can’t.

He’s a man beneath it all, beneath the shield, the armor, the facade of an inflated swagger, all of the peacocking — he’s vulnerable, now. John’s countenance softens, startled by the sincerity that permeates your voice.

It’s unusual for him to be this quiet, as if you ripped the bravado and smugness right from his throat. Pacing forward, you decide to extend the offer again, hoping that he’ll accept your help and throw away the pride.

“I can help,” Your tone is disarmingly tender, something that John knows he’s undeserving of, given his behavior towards you. You vex him, but not because of your demeanor — he’s falling, and he’s trying to stop himself; he can’t. “Please.”

John concedes, head bobbing in a brief nod as he turns to face the mirror, lukewarm water ridding the crimson that stained his fingers. Coiled muscle cuts across his back, flesh littered in old scars and a colorful variety of bruises.

With a soft exhale, you awkwardly move into the doorway of the bathroom, blanketed by the pale orange of the lights, the distant buzz something of a comfort to you. The gash stretches from his left rib to spine, an ugly wound, oozing red that trickles over his back.

Scraped, calloused hands grip the edge of the counter as he props himself up, gaze flickering toward your reflection in the mirror. Your hair, still damp, tousled and disheveled, a cut on your cheek, mannerisms somewhat shrewd.

It’s quiet — too quiet for your liking, but you don’t want to be the one to break the ice. Wordlessly, you reach out, palm beginning to mist with wisps of a faint green, your powers manifesting.

“I’m sorry for today,” John murmurs, stopping you in your tracks. The mist wavers, concentration effectively shattered by his apology, which happened to be entirely unexpected. “About not letting you help me.”

“Is it something I did?” Your inquiry evokes a pang of melancholy, as if his heart is bleeding, still halfway stitched together. “Listen, I know we’ve had our differences, but I’m trying to move past it.”

John sighs, exiting through his nostrils; measured, restrained. “You didn’t do anything,” He’s learning to admit when he’s the problem, digits tightening against the dark granite; it groans beneath his grasp. “I don’t hate you.”

Relief blossoms within your chest, as if some weight is lifted from your shoulders. Still, you wonder what exactly is wrong with him, festering below the surface, something he’s trying to bury. “Be honest with me — what’s wrong?” You question, brows furrowing together.

He’s reluctant to tell you why he’s comfortable with sitting in the pain — why he feels he deserves it. John knows that you mean well, always looking out for everyone else, showing kindness when you didn’t have to.

“This is what I deserve,” John utters, cadence embittered, withholding a wave of emotion. Tears swim, unshed within his eyes, and he actively fights against it. “The pain — for what I did, for what happened.”

For Lemar, for Olivia, for the blood on his hands, for the son who’ll only know his father as a deadbeat. He hates himself, deep down — he’s learning to be a better man, if that were even possible.

His transparency startles you, attempting to process this information in a way that evokes empathy. No one on the team is truly, wholly good — there’s amends that need to be made, most of them in the healing process, including you.

It’s a bleak contrast from the man constantly barraging you with snarky remarks, constantly engaging in banter with you. You don’t remember him opening up like this with anyone else.

Still, your hand drops, fingers twisting together as you scramble to come up with some encouragement. You’re so accustomed to his general smugness and cocksure attitude that this blindsides you.

“Just because you’ve done bad things doesn’t mean that you deserve to suffer, or rake yourself over the coals again,” It’s gentle, sound advice — John’s eyes screw shut. “Everyone deserves to heal, including you.”

The blood on his hands feels heavy, like some anchor dragging him down. After being stripped of the role of Captain America, spiraling, losing his family, he briefly considered it — a way out. He was glad that he never went through with it.

In the Void, when you found your way into his room, it was the moment Lemar had been killed. Replayed, over and over again, unable to be prevented — but his reaction could’ve been.

He could’ve been a better man.

In the beginning, he tried to justify it, rationalizing killing someone in cold blood. After time passed, he knew how wrong he was, how he desecrated the shield, the mantle; all for something else, to sate his rage. No matter how much healing he did, that would haunt him forever.

“Thanks.” He grits, as if he doesn’t fully believe your words. John understands your intentions, that you’re being empathetic and kind despite the abrasive way he’s acted towards you. It makes him feel worse. “I am trying.”

“I know,” Placating, your digits begin to shimmer with wisps of emerald energy, your power manifesting. “I know you are, John.” Oozing with a tender amiability, you can hear the tremor in his exhale.

When you called him John, it startled him; he’d gotten so accustomed to ‘Walker’, but he didn’t mind this in the slightest. Despite the rough beginning the both of you had with one another, he was warming up to you.

Admittedly, he thought it was the right thing to do, not fully letting you in to protect himself. When you had cordial conversations, he felt your kindness shroud him like a warm blanket; you’d moved on from the past.

Quiet, your hand finally lifts to his wound, brows creased in concentration, energy expelled into healing mist as it curls around the flesh. It feels like cold water, albeit soothing, pluming over torn skin and blood until it sinks inward.

A low grunt rips through his throat, somewhat startled at the sensation of your powers; simple, but wildly effective. It’s as if he’d never been slashed to begin with; the bruises and scrapes don’t go away, but the rest of it does.

Strained, your arm quivers, resolve slipping as you step away, using the doorway as a form of support. You’re always a little weak after you’ve healed someone, almost as if it’s an exchange of life.

“Better?” With a tender smile, you watch as he nods, inspecting himself in the mirror; nothing left behind. “Next time this happens, I hope you’ll let me help you.” You prompt, and he chuckles; it isn’t the typical condescending chide he gives you, either.

“I can’t make any promises.” John’s tone loses that bite, the indifference; it’s disarmingly soft. “Thanks again, for that. I’ve been an asshole to you — wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to help.” He murmured, tone lacking mirth.

“You have, but that can change,” Lips remain poised into a smile, one that makes his heart lurch within his chest. “You don’t have to keep being an asshole.” Your remark makes him scoff, though it’s more of a bemused sound, than anything else.

“I’ll lose my charm,” John counters, but he’s being sarcastic — somewhat, at least. You suspect he’ll still remain sharp-tongued and smug, but lose the indifference with you. “I know it’s something I need to work on.”

Grateful for his acknowledgment, you finally feel your energy return, a slow ebb that spreads throughout your body. Leaning off of the doorframe, you awkwardly step aside, figuring that this was your queue to leave.

“For the record, I never disliked you,” He utters, jaw clenched as he carefully navigates on what to say next. “Never had a problem with you, either. Your problem with me was justified.” John shrugs, his stare even-keel.

Bewildered, you let the pang of surprise fester, head cocking to one side. “I never really had a problem with you, or disliked you,” After this, you were beginning to understand why he was an asshole sometimes. “It’s all in the past, now. I want us to move forward.”

John’s halfhearted smile oozed with sincerity, a genuineness rarely seen by others. “I can do that.” Even still, he wouldn’t blame you if you had some sort of gripe against him, but you were kind — you were good, even if you didn’t think so.

His gaze hasn’t left you, cerulean hues fluttering over your countenance; you’re beautiful, eyes beset by kindness, half-dried tresses strung over your crown. The shirt you’re wearing is a size too big, sweatpants baggy, too.

He’s acutely aware of how obvious he’s being, ogling you; he always thought you were pretty, but in the bathroom’s faint glow, you’re stunning. You weren’t subtle either, he knows this, catching your shrewd gaze as it lingers on his arms.

John’s hands reach for his shirt, black spandex all wrinkled, balled up, stained with dried blood. The tension becomes unusually thick, mere embers kindled to life, now a fire that he doesn’t know if he can extinguish.

“Can I ask you something?” Your inquiry pierces through the tenuous silence, and there’s some momentary relief you gain from it.

“Yeah.” John’s tone is barely above a whisper, warm; as if he’s trying to calm himself down, ease the tension. With his shirt still clenched in one hand, he’s offering you his undivided attention.

With arms loosely folded over your chest, your fingers idly pluck at frayed stitching on your sleeves, a fleeting distraction. “Why were you always indifferent towards me, if you didn’t hate me?” You’re not accusatory, just curious.

Shit — John’s mind is scrambling for an answer that doesn’t make him seem strange. He’s got feelings for you, and you’re slowly drawing them out into the open; he doesn’t know how to handle it.

“Sometimes it’s easier for me to not let somebody in,” He shrugs, gaze wavering, flickering toward the ground. The vulnerability is something he’s still growing accustomed to — rawness of pain, feeling his emotions, choosing the right way to cope. “Because of what’s happened.”

Even then, his explanation still feels like he’s covering up for something else. Nevertheless, you let it rest, offering him a threadbare smile. “We don’t judge here, if you haven’t learned that already,” You sigh. “I’ll be here for you, if you choose to let me in.”

He already has — he’s appreciative, nodding as a display of gratitude before he finds your gaze again. “Thanks.” John smiles despite himself, swallowing down the words that want to escape him.

Silence settles between, the same tension simmering like before, causing you to shift your weight. He’s staring again, but you’re oblivious to it this time, angled away, trying to figure out what to do next.

Chewing at the inside of your cheek, your shoulders begin to slouch with relaxation. “I should probably go — you need rest.” You blurt, fumbling over your words, maintaining a sheepish smile as you shuffle toward the door.

John doesn’t really want you to leave; and he knows it’s selfish of him. His lips part, as if to ask you to stay, but he’s frozen, rooted in-place. Still, he nods, quietly resigning to letting you go back to your room.

His feet feel anchored to the floor, each step a drag as he trails after you, following you to the doorway. He’s quiet, still deliberating, turning over every word, every action within his mind. John comes up short, watching as you stop to say something else.

The closeness is sudden, wracked with tension; you’re nearly brushing arms with him, gooseflesh crawling along your spine. You’re both reaching for the door panel simultaneously, fumbling, fingers ghosting over one another; you recoil like you’ve been burned.

In the slim proximity, he catches a whiff of your shampoo — vanilla and peach, something sweeter, causing his jaw to tick. He’s looking again, unable to stop himself, gaze wandering over your body, appreciative; he grips the door frame as a distraction.

When you catch his stare, it burns you, something incendiary, as if he’s searing you into his mind. A subtle hitch forms within your throat, and you’re prepared to tell him goodnight, end it there — but you won’t move.

Silence stretches on, the sort of contemplative quiet before the onset of a storm, the deep breath before the plunge. Bodies linger within arm’s reach, screaming, and you have the audacity to stare at him, doe-eyed.

Then, you say his name, a feather-light whisper, gentle and placating. It barely registers, but he hears it, notices the parting of your lips, the way you haven’t recoiled from the closeness.

John’s mouth is suddenly pressed against yours in a heated frenzy.

A sharp inhale splits your diaphragm, lungs quaking, filled with a sudden surge of ecstasy when he kisses you. There’s a gasp stuck in the back of your throat, swallowed by the snare of his mouth.

His lips are unexpectedly soft, a stark contrast to the sharpness of his smart mouth. There’s a charged passion that echoes beyond the kiss, as if he’s walking the fine line of restraint.

Bewildered, your head is spinning, brain foggy, as if someone knocked you out. Left reeling, you don’t know what to say, what to do. Though, you’re receptive, mouth shyly moving against his, hands frozen at your sides.

When he pulls away, gauging your reaction, you appear as shocked as he does.

Each breath is labored, wrought with the sudden sting of exhilaration, butterflies beginning to pool within your belly. “I’m sorry.” John’s voice is low, a pleasant hum within your ear, but you don’t seem upset by what he did.

“Don’t be.” Without pause, your lips fly to meet him again, reciprocating the kiss, one that seems sluggish and passionate instead of frantic.

He’s kissing you back, hand dropping from the door to your hip, calloused digits caressing you through your shirt. The gesture ignites a fire within your bones, unable to stifle your mounting excitement.

Shyly, your hands move toward his chest, soft like velvet, smoothing over his pectorals as he presses you up against the door. A low groan vibrates through his chest, reveling in the feeling of your skin touching his.

There’s a poised strength coiled within his body, firm, flesh and blood, chest rising and falling underneath your hands.

His kiss is disarmingly gentle, something unexpected, but not unwelcome. You feel his body nudge against yours, distance now nonexistent.

You don’t know what’s gotten into you, gotten into him, but you’re enjoying yourself — you want him, need him, starving for contact.

He tastes metallic, an amalgamation of copper and a natural musk. Digits idly smooth over the coarse, blonde hair that covers his chest, descending toward his groin. The thought alone makes your knees weak.

Each kiss sends you spiraling, clawing for his mouth, leaving you ragged, desperate for his touch. You can’t remember the last time someone kissed you like this — even then, your experience is thin.

His scruffy countenance melds with yours, bleeding heat, kissing you with enough vigor that it prompts you to hold onto him. Your heart gallops, races — it’s quick and erratic, beating in your ears.

Recoiling from the kiss, your fingers tremble, deftly tracing over his collarbone, over scar-kissed skin, over faint clutches of freckles. “John, I — Are you sure?” You whisper, hoarse, afraid that he might regret it all in the morning.

“Wouldn’t have kissed you if I wasn’t sure.” John murmurs, voice low, curling thickly as his hands rub circles into your hips. He’s strong, secure — you didn’t expect to feel so comfortable with him. “I’ve thought about it for a while.”

His lips make contact with your jaw, mouth clamoring over your skin, kissing the spot beneath your ear. Flush to you, his confession makes your bones lurch, and you wonder what else he’s thought about, too.

Flustered, you’re quick to melt into him, visibly smitten, as if you’ve wound yourself into a tight knot. John notices, mouth twitching into a smirk as he places a string of kisses beneath your jawline.

“John …” A soft mumble rolls from your tongue, hands beginning to trail from chest to shoulders, anchoring yourself to him. His beard burns against your flesh, a pleasant scratch, reminding you that he’s real, this is real.

Warm breath feathers over your throat, your jaw, your cheek — he’s still smirking, too. “You’re getting shy on me.” He mumbles, able to taste the heat that bristles from your flesh. A hitch forms within your throat, his remark making you burn.

“No,” Posturing a weak defense, your body succumbs, lips parted to make room for a dizzying sigh. “I’m not.” It’s pathetic, your retort, but he’s still grinning as if he’s caught you in a trap, attempting to reign in the smug attitude.

“Right.” John’s cadence is dangerously low, little more than a pleasant husk that scratches the back of your brain. He’s teasing you still, cerulean hues alight with mirth, fingertips barely skirting underneath your shirt.

He’s charming — too charming, and it makes your flesh burn with an embarrassed heat. His lips plume over your throat, hips brushing against yours, and that’s when you feel it. Something firm through his kevlar pants, briefly grinding against your pelvis.

A noise echoes from John’s throat, somewhere between a grunt and groan, causing you to smile, as if you’ve discovered his secret. “Already?” It’s playful, sure, but you’re simultaneously flattered that it didn’t take much work.

It’s his turn to blush, scarlet crawling over handsome features, red spreading towards his neck. “Can’t help it,” John mumbled, gaze briefly meeting yours. “You’re beautiful.” His low timbre made you shiver.

Unable to smother your smile, you urge him closer for another kiss, digits clamoring for the nape of his neck, toying with the blonde hair there. Each entanglement of lips seems to grow in fervor, charged with mutual excitement, passion.

His hands are fisted in your shirt against, giving it a soft tug, as if silently asking you for your permission. Mouths continue to clash, a mess of lips and teeth, tongue when John initiates it, eliciting a moan from your maw.

With a brief nod, he breaks from you, only to assist in removing your shirt, tossing it elsewhere in his room. You aren’t wearing a brassiere, which catches his attention, stopping in his tracks as he admires your physique.

“Jesus,” John sighs, rapturous, noticing the doe-eyed look you’re giving him again. Lips part, jaw unclenched as he not-so-subtly ogles your collarbone, letting it drift toward your chest. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Swallowing your anxiety, you feel yourself melt beneath his stare, incendiary enough to turn you to cinders where you stand. “The thought hasn’t crossed my mind.” Barely above a whisper, your gentle teasing evokes a half-smile from him.

A huff leaves him, hand steady as he kneads into your hip, dipping lower, grasping at your haunch as he lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his hips. You’re still kissing him, held aloft by John’s arms, bearing your weight without effort.

He carries you to his bed, gray sheets already disheveled, laying you down as he crawls on top of you. A soft exhale whistles through your nose, arousal beginning to coalesce between your thighs, warmth pooling in your belly.

“You sure?” John murmurs, wanting to ensure that you’re certain about this. He is, but he wants to make sure that all cards are on the table. He’s not used to this, to showing vulnerability, but it feels comfortable with you.

“Yeah, I am,” Gazes twine together, the only illumination being the glow from the bathroom, blanketing you in swirls of orange and shadow. “I want you, John.” Your admission is saccharine, steeped in a warmth that he clings to, savors.

Christ, he wants you, too — craves you more than air, cerulean hues glistening with a thinly-veiled ardor. It’s a sudden shift from how things were before, but the tension had finally come to a boiling point, and he was glad that it had.

Mouths connect instantaneously, eliciting a pleading moan from your throat, swallowed by his kiss. Your legs drop, spread apart to accommodate for his frame, lean muscle wedged between your thighs.

His palm kneads into your calf, dragging to the crook of your knee, caressing you over your baggy bottoms. Your hands thread against the nape of his neck, taking handfuls of his blonde tresses, ensuring that you weren’t rough with him.

Chests brush against one another, firm muscle exuding warmth, peaks of your breasts ghosting over his pectorals. Each kiss rips the air from your lungs, leaving you reeling, gasping as you feel his tongue prod against yours.

A whine bubbles from your throat, smitten, tongue shyly mingling with his as the kiss turns into a mess of passion. Your fingers are carding over the back of his skull, slipping over his hair as his teeth catch upon your bottom lip.

John grunts, the tent in his pants grinding recklessly against your core, friction causing both of you to writhe. As if to torment him, you roll your hips forward, evoking a groan from him, his gaze pleading with you to stop.

“Don’t,” He warns, strained, attempting to hold himself together. Your mouth quirks into a smile, one that he feels even as he kisses you again, your palm splaying over his shoulder. “Can I take these off?”

His hands curl into your sweatpants, fingers teasing the waistband as he waits for you to consent. As soon as you nod, accompanied by a breathy ‘yes’, he’s tearing into them, the stitching splitting apart beneath his inhuman strength.

A gasp slipped from your mouth, writhing beneath him to free yourself from the fabric, kicking them to the floor. John marvels at the sight of you, your body something perfect, malleable within his grasp, mouth planting a kiss against your jaw.

Cool air plumes over your heated flesh, offering some alleviation, a reprieve from the fever-pitch of your body. John’s hand smooths over your leg, squeezing into your thigh, digits flicking over the hem of your panties.

The brief gesture makes your head spin, desperate for him to touch you. He’s already got an idea in his head, calloused fingers rough like leather as he drags his hand between your legs.

Knuckles ghost over your clothed cunt, feeling the tangle of damp cotton, the way your throat sputters with a subtle gasp. Your thighs twitch, knees trembling on either side of him as your nails trace over the back of his neck.

“Christ,” He huffs, forehead nearly flush against yours, watching as you squirm from the brief caress. John repeats the motion, feeling your nails dig harder into his skin, mouth screwed open. “You like that?” His murmur makes you feel weak.

With a nod, you want more, hips urging into the friction of his hand. To your delight, he doesn’t torment you, doesn’t make you work for it as his fingers slip beneath your panties.

Two fingers stroke along your cunt, gathering the warm slick there with one sluggish swipe. To your utter bewilderment, he lifts his digits to his mouth, sucking them clean before he lavishes your throat in a myriad of kisses.

“John, please.” Moaning his name, the sight he just treated you to is sure to be burned in your mind forever, causing your thighs to rub together. Kissing a trail down your neck, he finds your sternum, mouth voracious, ceaseless.

A boyish grin settles onto his features, deriving enjoyment from your reaction, continuing to worship your flesh in rapturous kisses. No inch of skin is safe as he descends, lips pluming over your breasts, your ribs, navel; lower, and lower again.

You taste sweet, as if your skin oozed with sugar, and he’s savoring every piece of you, kisses steeped in a disarming reverence. His beard tickles your flesh, goosebumps cascading down your spine as he makes it to your waist.

His muscles flex, pulled taut as he crawls lower, face hovering beside your hip as he eases your panties down, letting them creep over your thighs. Everything feels hot, body set ablaze, arousal coalescing against your cunt.

Lips press to your thigh, shoulders creating space, bullying your legs apart. Digits flex, trembling as they lower to card through his tresses, gaze ensnaring with his own, causing you to shiver.

John kisses a trail over your inner thighs, toward the glistening heat at your apex, listening to your breath hitch. It’s labored, wrought with exhilaration as your back begins to arch.

That ghost of a cocksure grin feels like a hot brand against your thigh, softening when you make a strangled, pleading noise. Nearly prone against the sheets, he lets your legs recline against his shoulders, hands gripping your hips.

The first rake of his tongue over your cunt is agonizing, hot embers, scorching against your flesh as he laps traces the length of your slit. It’s sluggish, exploratory — he’s keen to know what makes you writhe.

With parted lips and eyes wrenched shut, a needy moan splits past your throat, unable to keep quiet. John’s chest stirs with a low grunt, greedy tongue deftly splitting past your folds, tasting you with a sudden fervor.

Still, he’s gentle, disarmingly so, careworn palms massaging into your hips, keeping you slotted against his face. The scruff of his blonde beard scratches ragged over the inside of your thighs, sandpaper to silk, the sensation pleasant.

John eases you into it, committing every detail of your body to memory; hoping there’s a next time, thumbs tracing circles into your skin. Lapping against your core, his ministrations slowly gather haste, nose grazing your clit.

A myriad of moans leave you, attempting to keep the sound hushed, as to not alert any unwanted attention. Your legs tense, flex on either side of his head before his shoulders nudge you apart again, mouth dragging over your cunt.

He maintains something of a rhythm, attempting to walk the line of restraint, as to not overwhelm you. Your body rattles beneath him, spasmodic tremors of delight rolling down your spine, waves of bliss felt all over, ebbing through your veins.

One hand haplessly fists at the sheets, fingers curled so tightly that you want to rip it apart. He’s too good at this, which surprises you — he doesn’t give that impression, initially.

The room feels like a furnace, bodies bleeding heat, each breath hoarse, tight with rapture. His mouth is a thing of perfection, pleasuring you as if it’s his sworn duty, tongue lapping at every inch of your cunt.

John’s gaze flutters from the task at-hand to your countenance, contorted into an expression of ecstasy, effortlessly pretty. His heart skips a beat; you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.

You’re wound up, coiled over and over again, into a tangle of heat, furled desire that’s begging to be released. Carding through his tresses, you gingerly scratch at his crown, briefly tugging on his hair, hips wantonly urging into his mouth.

“G—God, John,” A sheepish moan falls from your mouth, coupled with a sharp inhale that rips through your diaphragm. Your cunt clenches pathetically around nothing at all, back arched from the mattress. “So good at this.”

It’s an inkling of praise, but it’s enough, evoking some hunger from John, who's eager to please. The tent in his tactical pants is borderline painful, erection grinding against the bed in a pitiful attempt to alleviate some of the friction.

Driven to the brink, you feel as if you’re beginning to toe the line of some steep plunge, his lips urging you closer to a release. Everything feels hot, as if you might combust, arousal coalescing between your thighs.

John has you pinned down, nose ghosting over your folds, tongue still ceaselessly lapping at your core until there’s a shift in rhythm. He presses a kiss to your clit, listening to the tremor in your exhale, feeling your legs tense.

Teeth catch across your bottom lip, biting down with an absent pressure, digits beginning to lightly curl against his scalp. His name emerges from your mouth again, desperate and wanton, breathy as you squirm.

“You’re easy to rile up.” John murmurs from between your legs, a breathy chuckle floating from his chest when your fingers pull on his hair. He plants a reverent kiss to your thigh, teasing, but the break doesn’t last for long.

If it weren’t for his lips pursing around your clit, you might’ve clawed for a retort, but he rips any remark from your throat. The sudden ripple of bliss sends you reeling, choking on a simpering whine as you shift beneath him again.

His mouth gingerly laps at that sensitive clutch of nerves, shockwaves shattering through your body, tingles of ecstasy following suit. A strangled moan snares in your throat, slipping through when he drags his tongue along your cunt.

He’s right, though — you are easy to vex, and he’s mapping you out as if you’re intimately familiar to him already. John’s mouth is voracious, tongue endlessly greedy, eating you out as if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

You’re getting close, body being pushed to a blissful oblivion, the white-hot heat that threatens to consume you. His hand drifts from your thigh to the slick warmth between, thumb seeking your clit like a missile, slowly circling around it.

“Fuck,” You moan, the expletive uncharacteristic of you, but he finds plenty of enjoyment in you saying it. His name is soon to follow, a bedroom hymnal, repetitive as it spills from your tongue, crying out his name to the ceiling. “J—John!”

It’s pathetic how easily he’s got you squirming, tension beginning to unfurl, the knot within your belly stretched to the brink. He’s careful, tender, intimate in a way that makes your features surge with warmth.

“That’s it.” John murmurs, timbre little more than a drawl as he coaxes an orgasm from you, thumb continuing to toy with your clit until you burst. He’s mesmerized, a super-soldier reduced to a lovesick boy, watching you with a thinly-veiled rapture.

With one simple circle of your pearl, you’re gone, ecstasy bleeding from you in one wave, nearly overwhelming. You’re blinded by euphoria, white-hot stars crossing your vision until you’ve melted into the sheets.

Nerves are frayed from bliss, tossed into the throes of pleasure, one that you may not fully recover from. Stars linger still, head foggy, dizzy from a desirous haze as you try to find a scrap of composure.

He tastes you again, one last time, committing it all to memory as he kisses your leg, kneeling in-between your thighs. You’re shaking, chest tight with drawn-out sighs, gazes ensnared, burning with adoration.

“You’re really good at that.” A soft whisper rolls from your lips, appreciative, but John looks like you’ve just called him perfect. He’s starved for praise, reduced to a mere beast, laying at your feet, preening for more.

John’s up on his knees, staring a hole through you, hands reaching for his belt. Driven by both excitement and instinct, you sit up, fingers clamoring with his own as you’re helping to wrestle his belt off, unzipping the front of his tactical pants.

“You drive me crazy,” John groaned, feeling you grow smitten in the wake of his admission, desperate to be inside of you. “Can’t think straight.” He utters, and you know it’s an intentional compliment.

He repositions himself, hunched in, blanketing you with his bulky physique, lean muscle glued to your frame. He’s much larger than you, you realize, listening to the shuffling of fabric, feeling his cock press incessantly against your navel.

You’re intimidated, bewildered by his size, startlingly large, unabashedly so. Swallowing the growing lump in your throat, your hands come to hook around the back of his neck, no space remaining.

As if to ignite the tension further, your mouth catches his, lips locking together in a heated kiss. You can taste yourself, an added layer of debauchery, but he’s groaning into your lips, fisting the pillow near the side of your head.

John’s other hand finds your thigh, kneading into your haunch as he steadies himself, cock heatedly grinding against you. Mouths tangle, clash — it’s a war of teeth and tongue, thirst instead of hunger, as if he needs you more than anything.

Wanton, exhilarated breaths drag between bodies, the warmth of his sigh pluming over your features, his beard ragged against your cheek. His blonde tresses are tousled, disheveled — he’s painfully handsome, kissing all over your mouth.

He withdraws, heads flush together, mere centimeters apart as he adjusts himself, cock nudging against your folds. You’re clinging to him, a twinge of anticipation churning in your belly.

“You alright?” He utters, low and husky beside your ear, actively restraining himself from being too spirited. There’s something intoxicating about the way you’re staring at him; it’s tender, more than he deserves, he thinks.

Slowly, you plant a kiss against the scruff of his jaw, and then beneath, where a yellowing bruise sits. Hands wander to the firm muscle of his shoulders, kneading over freckled skin.

John exhales; a drawn-out, contented sound that releases coils of tension from his shoulders. With a nod of consent, you let yourself get comfortable. He drags his cock over your cunt again, biting back a stifled groan.

“Go slow,” You squeak, body already sore from the mission — he might add to it, if he isn’t careful. His lips seal themselves to your throat, peppering your flesh in a myriad of sweet kisses, nose brushing over your jugular. “I need you.”

Serum-infused blood pumps through his veins, oozing raw strength, but he knows to rein himself in, head bobbing in a brief nod. “Say that again.” John grunts, cock prodding against the warmth of your cunt, preparing to push past.

His head is partially buried into the hollow between throat and shoulder, beard prickling your flesh, a satisfying sensation. An excitable buzz wracks your body, sending tingles all over, a throbbing pulsing from between your legs.

“I need you,” Wantonly, your palm splays over his shoulder-blade, nails digging into his skin, eliciting a low groan from your paramour. “J—John, please!” It’s a plea, a desperate one, spoken through a beguiling cadence, one that winds him into tight knots.

With a shudder, John is thirsty for your embrace, a man lost within a desert, finding his oasis. His forehead nudges beside your temple, hotly grunting into your ear, sending waves of ecstasy through your belly.

His hips slowly urge forward, flushed head of his cock pushing into you with mild resistance. Disarmingly gentle, John doesn’t move quickly or rough, heeding your words as he fists at the pillow, body kissed by perspiration.

The tightness of your cunt drives him to the brink of madness, huffing beside your ear, fighting against baser, lesser instincts. Clinging to him as if he might fade through your fingers, he moves at an agonizing pace, not wanting to hurt you.

He doesn’t, a husky groan ripping through his diaphragm when your hips accidentally roll, feeling his muscles tense beneath your hands. “Jesus,” John grits out, feeling your nails dig crescents into his shoulder. “You’re perfect.”

A moan tumbles from your parted lips, his cock filling you completely, nearly bottoming out as he sinks forward. Intermingled groans and hot sighs tangle in the thin space between, heat against heat.

Your knees squeeze near his waist, legs kept spread apart by his musculature, bodies clawing for one another, ardor thinly-veiled. John’s countenance is contorted into a look of concentration coupled with bliss.

“S’good,” You moan, having adjusted enough, allowing yourself a moment of composure; it won’t last, and you know it. “Move.” Breathy and wrought with exhilaration, you give him the signal to take things further.

John’s resolve is crumbling, foundation swept away in the wake of your affections, and your wanton moan doesn’t make anything easier. Propping himself up on one arm, the other holds steadfastly to your thigh, an anchor.

Foreheads knock together, noses ghosting over one another as he begins to thrust into you, bicep flexing with exertion. The first drag of his hips sends you reeling, and you know that you won’t last long — and neither will he.

A string of hoarse expletives flutter from his mouth, barely above a whisper, setting your bones ablaze as he pulls back and pushes forward.

The fit of him is tight, cock oozing with heat as he draws back again, following through as he jolts forward.

Beneath you, the bed frame creaks — faint, as if it shows some give with the super-soldier on top of you. Your digits coax him in for a kiss, mouths colliding in a messy clash of tongue and needy lips, fire feeding fire.

John groans into your mouth, pushing and pulling, hips urging into yours, cock filling you with each thrust. Between fervent kisses and pleading moans, your head is foggy, dizzy with desire.

He develops a rhythm, the pace steady, each drag of his hips ripping a moan from your mouth, and he earned it. His hand kneads into your thigh, squeezing on occasion when the pleasure mounts, muscles coiled within his stomach.

“Y—You’re perfect,” The praise leaves your tongue as a hoarse whine, a noise that leaves goosebumps trailing over John’s spine. It’s the validation he desperately craves, the veneration, knowing he’s doing something right. “Don’t stop.”

A husky, throaty groan pierces through his chest, the noise making you shiver, arousal slick and warm between your thighs. It makes each snap of his hips easier, cock sinking into you over and over again.

It’s unintentional, his shifting pace; it begins to climb, from drawn-out and steady to needy, rutting into you as if each stroke would be his very last. John is trying to keep himself controlled, but you make it so difficult.

He slows again, the pleasure mounting, a knot that is becoming frayed at either end, prepared to be pulled apart. His cock throbs incessantly, pulsing inside of you, feeling your cunt clench around him.

Perspiration glitters along his brow, glistening along his hairline as he hunches in over you, and you feel all of him, viscerally.

The bed frame rattles in protest, as if bowing to his strength, and he’s already tearing the stitching in the pillowcase beside your head. A soft gasp slips from your lips, his mouth ghosting over yours.

Grunts of ecstasy leave him in droves, cock easing in and out of your cunt as if you’re made for him. John’s countenance is one of bliss and concentration, frustration now dissipated.

Each snap of his hips drags you further into the throes of ecstasy, and he’s nearly there, cock spearing into you. His breathing is growing ragged, raspy as it curls beside your ear, hot breath pluming over your face.

Noises surge in volume, filling his room with the sounds of vigorous lovemaking; he doesn’t care if the team hears anymore. John’s rapturous groans make you shiver in delight, head flush to yours again, the closeness addicting.

Another grunt ripples through his chest, the sound stretched, the rest tapering off as his hips begin to stutter, pace erratic and desperate. He’s close, weighing the odds of finishing inside of you, nearly whimpering when your legs hitch around his hips.

His name spills from your lips like a confessional, sobbing to the heavens, feeling your body begin to unfurl with tension. Bodies move within one another, his cock buried deep, kissing your cervix with each thrust.

From the tension in his muscles alone, you can tell that he’s about to burst, combust like fireworks in your hands. You’re on the pill, and so you urge him closer, wanting him inside of you even still.

When your name emerges from John’s mouth, you’re awestruck, flustered by the way in which he says it so tenderly. “I’m on the pill.” It’s all you’re able to say before he’s swallowing your words, covering your mouth with his.

The kiss is voracious, needy — John is unable to mask how he feels about you, letting it all bleed into tangled lips as he cums. He releases inside of you with a groan, followed by a rush of warmth that blankets your insides.

Tingles of delight wrack your body, a subdued release that seems to twine with his, a muted buzz surging through your bones. John’s hips crawl to a sluggish rhythm, agonizingly slow, as if to absorb the last few traces of friction.

Each breath heaves for composure, shallow and taut with exhilaration in the aftermath, sweat-slick skin melded together. His forehead nestles against yours, labored breathing evening out quicker than yours as he stills.

His spend and your arousal feel slick between your legs, making a mess of his sheets, joined bodies bleeding heat. You’re reeling, slower to recuperate as he pulls out of you with a soft grunt, rolling over to lay beside you.

John doesn’t leave, cerulean hues glued to your countenance, as if his whole sense of gravity has been shifted, changed. It’s hushed, save for your labored sighs, in-tandem with one another.

Wordlessly, he coaxes you closer, muscled arm hooking around your middle, inviting you to lay against his chest. One palm remains splayed, flat against your ribs, soothing you with easy caresses.

“Are you still with me?” John’s wisecrack makes you blunder, a soft laugh escaping you, hand playfully bumping against his chest.

“Yeah,” Unable to smother your smile, you’re delighted to sink into his embrace, keeping your hand on his chest. The hair beneath is something you trace through, over muscle, over old scars and greenish bruises. “I …”

As you trail off, John’s head cranes down enough to brush his lips against yours, the kiss sweet, bristling with a thinly-veiled affection. He lets you finish your thought, watching as you sit up enough to see him fully, perched on your stomach.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.” You utter, agonizingly soft, cadence wrought with an amalgamation of sentiments. John’s trying to be better, and it’s something you want to be a part of, if he’ll let you.

Neither did he, admittedly; it’s something John’s willing to admit to. “The thought never crossed my mind,” He murmured, blonde lashes fluttering as his hand cupped your jaw, calloused and careworn over satin skin. “But I’m not perfect.”

“I know, that’s why I like you.” With a dazzling smile, he’s caught right in the crosshairs, lips parting with a placating huff. It turns into a hum of a chuckle, his hand still firm against your side.

In a gentle clamor, his lips find yours, beard tickling your skin again, the sensation wholly pleasant. The kiss lingers, something that feels closer to home, a newfound warmth that the both of you desperately crave.

John’s mouth twitches into a half-smile, a peculiar mirth beginning to touch his eyes. He feels you plant a kiss against his shoulder, and he knows he’s completely screwed — you’re falling, but he’s falling harder.

#mcu #marvel #thunderbolts #thunderbolts*#john walker x reader #john walker x you #john walker x y/n #thunderbolts x reader #marvel x reader #john walker #thunderbolts mcu #john walker fanfic #john walker smut #thunderbolts fanfiction #x reader

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justauthoring · 2 months ago

Text

Necessary Clarification.

Request: Omg can we pls get a sanji comfort fic where y/n is a little insecure bc she notices sanji treats her differently than other girls, she thinks that maybe he doesn’t think she’s pretty enough thinks of her as one of the bros or something. Unbeknownst to her sanji is like madly in love with her and didn’t know to to deal or confront his feelings so when he finds out about her doubts he’s like running to her and putting those bad thoughts to rest. Requested by: Anonymous

Pairing: Sanji Vinsmoke x F!Reader

A/N: Sanji hurt/comfort???? Sign me up!!

Word Count: 2,636

Also, this header honestly doesn't relate to the fic at all but doesn't my man look so good??????

"Here you go, Nami-swan~! Robin-chan~!"

Trying to make your anticipation less obvious, you ignore the way your body instinctively shuffles as Sanji's voice carries across the ship. As usual, there's a sway to his voice as he calls out to the only two other female members of the crew, a tray of drinks in his hand.

Nami, Robin and you were currently sat by Nami's tangerines, chatting and relaxing under the hot sun. There was still a bit of ocean to cover before you all arrived at the next island to reset the log pose, so everyone on the ship was doing their own thing. You knew Zoro was training, as he normally did around this time, while Usopp, Luffy and Chopper were entertaining themselves somewhere on the ship as usual. You couldn't see Franky or Brook, but clearly whatever they were doing was enough to keep them occupied.

Of course, Sanji's "own thing" involved dining and serving the ladies of the Thousand Sunny to his best ability.

The drink he sets down in front of Nami is a bright blue, topped with ice and a straw and looking something sweet. Robin's drink, although milder, looks just delicious. Both drinks are served to the women with a swish and a smile from Sanji, as Robin nods in thanks and Nami oblidges Sanji's wishes with a gentle; "thank you, Sanji-kun."

He admonishes them with a bright grin, and then, finally, turns to you. The lovesick look in his eyes at your two friends softens into something more tame as he meets your awaiting gaze. You try not to make your hopeful gaze so blatantly obvious but by the way Nami and Robin are both watching the interaction, you figure you aren't be so subtle.

The final drink left on the tray is set before you, with a little less florish but still as presented as nicely. Anything Sanji made always looked delicious, so, that fact isn't all that surprising.

"And here you are, Y/N."

Just like that, the hope deflates. It might seem silly (and you know it is), but the lack of an affectionate honorific like Nami or Robin's makes your heart ache. And it isnt just that--Sanji's actions with you are much more serious and done with far less exaggeration.

You've watched, time and time again, Sanji all but bend over backwards for everyone woman he's crossed paths with. It isn't just your crewmates, but strangers and enemies alike. Sanji rarely didn't have heart eyes when a woman was in his sights and even more so was he ever not declaring his love, care and affection all in one breath at them. He'll call them the sweetest names, speak to them with the softest of tones, always filled with warmth.

But with you? He never did.

When he talked to you, he didn't declare his love for you. He didn't have heart eyes. You were always just "Y/N" and nothing else. He still did anything you asked, but it wasn't in the way he did Nami, Robin or anybody else.

You shouldn't care. And you probably wouldn't, if your own heart didn't soar for Sanji. But it did, incredibly and painfully so. You'd felt that way about him since you'd first laid eyes on him, way back when Luffy had first invited you to join the crew.

And although watching him all but drop to his knees and declare his love for a woman not five seconds later, your heart had already chosen him and you'd been unsuccessful in changing its mind.

But clearly, your feelings wouldn't be returned. Sanji didn't even think you pretty enough to treat you like the rest, let alone actually return your feelings.

Keeping your eyes trained on your drink, you nod; "thank you, Sanji." Your voice is small, muffled. You don't see it, but Sanji frowns at the clear upset tone of your voice, but he doesn't express his concern, meeting Nami's eyes whose strangely glaring at him before heading back to the kitchen.

The second Sanji is out of ear shot, Nami is leaning towards you.

"Y/N--"

"You know what?" You cut off before she can even start, suddenly pushing yourself to your feet as Nami and Robin blink up at you in concern. "I'm actually not feeling well. I think the sun is a bit too much. I'm just gonna lay down, I think."

You're standing before Nami or Robin can get a word in otherwise--albeit they try. You purposefully ignore their calls of your name, ignoring the slight pang of guilt at having not even drank the drink Sanji prepared for you.

But, really, if you thought about it, he probably just made it for you because he felt bad otherwise. Not because he wanted to like he did Nami and Robin. And certainly not because he cared about you in any romantic way.

Really, you should just get over your feelings for him. It was only hurting you more in the end anyway.

"Nami, I really don't--"

"Just trust me, please?"

Staring back at Nami, you sigh. You could never really deny her when she looked at you like that (or really ever), so you know you've lost even before the words leave your lips.

"Fine," you huff, letting her continue to drag you back onto the Thousand Sunny despite the nerves twisting your insides. Nami hadn't really told what it was she was planning, but you figured it couldn't be anything good.

Especially after she'd all but dragged you with her the second the Thousand Sunny had docked at a new island that morning. She hadn't given you a chance to argue otherwise or for anyone to even aid you as she pulled you off with her.

She'd ended up dragging you to a clothing store. The first one she could find. When you expressed her confusion, she'd made up some lie about wanting to gift you a new outfit for all that helped you'd given her during your last battle.

When you'd reminded her that the two of you had been separated, she'd simply shushed you. And when that clothing store didn't have what she wanted, she'd dragged you to a different one and then another until she was satisfied.

You knew better than to argue with Nami, so you'd simply let her doll you up in different clothes all day.

Now, with the sun setting and adorned in new clothes that seemed far too fancy for someone who lived on a pirate ship, she was dragging you back to the Thousand Sunny without a single explanation.

Your answer, however, is given to you the second her eyes fall on Sanji.

He turns at the arrival of Nami (because you knew his excited smile wasn't for you), eyes twinkling and grinning ear to ear, only to pause sharply when his eyes fall on you.

You feel vulnerable in a way you never had, chest tightening as you watch him take you in.

"Sanji," Nami calls, grinning ear to ear and purposefully lacking the affectionate 'kun' she adds to the end of his name. "Me and Y/N went shopping today."

Eyes flickering from you, to Nami, then back to you, Sanji visibly swallows. "I can see that."

There's the briefest twitch in Nami's jaw, a sharp sigh leaving her mouth as the rest of the crew watches in curiosity. Then, with a bit sharper of a voice, she asks; "don't you think Y/N looks pretty in her new outfit?"

You breath hitches, turning to Sanji as you wait for him to respond.

Only, he never does.

His lips part as if to say something, but no words leave his lips. His eyes flicker back and forth from you, to Nami, to something past you, clearly uncomfortable.

Something aches painfully in your heart.

"Sanji," Nami calls again, this time her voice has a tinge of anger as she finally lets go of your wrist and stomps towards Sanji. "Just what--"

But you stop her before she can finish, grabbing her by the arm and desperately trying to bite back the tears that threaten to fall from your eyes.

"Nami, don't... don't worry about it," you cut in, voice cracking at the end. Both Nami and Sanji's eyes snap towards you, but you focus on Nami, desperately trying to keep what little of your dignity you have left. "It's okay."

"Y/N, you don't--"

"No, please, stop," you all but beg. You know Nami is just trying to help, but it's only making things worse. And Sanji weirded out. "It's clear Sanji doesn't... Sanji is uncomfortable, Nami. So just drop it."

A tear manages to slip past your defenses and the humiliation burns in you.

Nami, parted lips and stunned, stares back at you, unable to say anything. You then realize how the rest of the crew is watching, and the look on Sanji's face as he stares back at you hurts even more.

Without a single look back, you turn and run off the ship.

Sanji watches you run off, bewildered.

The entire crew does and silence follows as your footsteps grow further and further away until you're completely gone. And the silence follows for a second more, Sanji still trying to process whats even happened, before Zoro lets out a huff;

"You're an idiot."

Turning to the swordsman, Sanji's eyes blaze; "what did you say, moss-head?" And he moves to step towards him, but he can't even move an inch before Nami is in front of him, the front of his button-up clenched in her fist.

And her eyes burn with anger.

"Nami-swan? What--"

"You absolute idiot!" She cries, eyes blazing as she glances up at him. Sanji's lips part, baffled, as he jerks instinctively away from the rage radiating off of you. "Does your brain just not work? Or is there nothing in there?"

"N-Nami," Sanji breathes, honestly a bit hurt. "I don't--"

"Nami," Robin calls, stepping forward as she sets a hand on the younger girls shoulder. "Perhaps we should--"

"No," Nami argues, shaking her head. "I've tried to be understanding, but now this is really hurting Y/N." She spins back to Sanji, "she's crying because of you, you idiot!"

"I don't understand--"

"You like her, don't you?"

Sanji's cheeks burn instantly, spreading to the tips of his ears as his eyes widen. "I-I--!"

"There's no point denying," Nami cuts him off (again). "We all know it."

And as if Sanji couldn't be any more embarrassed, the rest of the crew adds to her point by nodding. Sanji realizes then it's hopeless, so with a sigh, his head bows.

"I do," he admits, voice quiet. "I really like her."

"Well she thinks you hate her."

Sanji's eyes instantly widen, heart falling to the pit of his stomach.

"Why would--"

"Sanji," Robin calls, distinctively more gentle. "You treat her so different. You don't fall to your knees for her like you do us. Nor do you declare your love for her every other second. If I weren't aware of your feelings for her, I'd think you hate her too."

There's a million of thoughts that run through Sanji's mind then. Racing through them, too fast for him to properly understand. All that's made abundantly clear to him is that he's hurt you.

He's hurt you so bad.

And he has to fix it.

Nami, seeing the look on Sanji's face, finally steps back, letting go of him with a huff.

"Sanji!"

Jumping at the sound of his captains voice, Sanji slowly looks back up at him.

"Go find Y/N!" Luffy smiles at him, extending his hand towards him with a thumbs up. "We'll be waiting for you when you guys are ready!"

You know you should be heading back to the ship.

The sun had completely set and the crew couldn't afford to waste time on an island where you'd all already gotten what you needed. It was dark, you were alone and the outfit Nami had bought for you and made you wear was no longer warm enough in the cool night air.

But you were embarrassed. Humiliated even.

How were you supposed to go back and face everyone? Let alone Sanji himself? How could you ever look him in the eyes again after you had made your feelings so abundantely clear and he had made his so as well?

The way he'd just stood there? Staring at you? When you know had it been any other woman he'd have screamed of their beauty to the skies.

Sniffling, you hug yourself tighter, tell yourself you'd head back when you'd cried all the tears you had in you out. Only then would you face that embarrassment--when it was physically impossible for you to cry anymore.

A wave of wind brushes back, pulling a shiver up your spine as you curl into yourself. You're thinking you might have to cry these tears faster or find a shop that's open later, when a jacket falls around your shoulders.

It surprises you, pulling a gasp from your lips as you spin to see who'd snuck up on you.

The last person you're expecting is Sanji.

Tears still streaming down your cheeks, you jump back from you, pushing yourself to your feet as you desperately wipe at your cheeks.

"S-Sanji, I..." But your voice trails becaues you don't know what to say. His arrival here stuns you so stupid and in addition to the tears, you feel like nothing could possibly make this night worse.

"Y/N, I--"

"You don't have to say anything," you cut in, words rushing without thought. "Nami shouldn't have put you in that position and I shouldn't have run off. Luffy probably made you find me, right? I'm sorry. He--... Please, just, I'm fine so--"

"Y/N," Sanji interrupts you, "I don't hate you."

Jerking, your lips are left parted as you blink up at Sanji.

He takes your silence as an invitation to keep going. Hands held in front of him, he steps towards you. "I don't hate you and I don't treat you differently because I think you're... not worth it or anything like that."

Hands falling to your sides, you inhale sharply.

"I... I've hurt you," Sanji whispers, head bowed. "I hurt you and I'm so sorry. The truth was that I didn't treat you the same as other women because... well... the way I feel for you goes beyond how I feel for them."

Brows furrowing, you shake your head. "I don't understand..."

"I like you--no, Y/N. I think I'm in love with you."

Blinking, your breath gets caught in the back of your throat, shocked.

"And I didn't know how to handle those feelings. I've never... felt so strongly about a woman as I have you, Y/N. So I acted indifferent and... well, I hurt you." He lets out a heavy breath, eyes imploring and face sincere. "And for that I'm so sorry."

Shaking your head, you step towards Sanji, pulling his jacket closer around yourself. "No, Sanji, you don't have to apologize."

"But I do," he argues, "for ever making you feel any less beautiful than you are. Or for making you think I... hated you."

In a surge of surprise, emotion and want, you reach for Sanji, taking his hands in yours as you shake your head again. He steps closer to you, moving one of his hands to cup your cheek. "Come back to the ship with me, love. And I can show you how much I truly love you."

Heart soaring at the pet name, you lean into Sanji's touch, nodding.

"I want nothing more."

Smiling gently, Sanji caresses the skin of your cheek. "And Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you look absolutely beautiful."

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #op #op x reader #op x you #sanji vinsmoke #sanji vinsmoke x reader #sanji vinsmoke x you #sanji x reader #sanji x you #black leg sanji #op sanji #one piece sanji

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mellowyellow236 · 5 months ago

Text

How would the TWST boys act when they’re jealous?

This is Heartslabyul and the Misc Characters section- Links are all here: Savanaclaw/Octovinelle, Scarabia/Pomfiore/Ignihyde, and Diasomnia. All characters are meant to be interpreted as romantic. The reader is gender-neutral. There may be mild spoilers as to who overblots and other facts. Some of them might have Yandere tendencies, though nothing graphic or descriptive and always very mild, they’ll be marked with a ‘Y’ if they do. Mainly because sometimes the boys are calm and talk through their feelings… And sometimes they go down possessive insecurity-included spirals. If anyone has anything to add or any questions, please leave a reblog or comment! Requests are open if anyone wants.

Heartslabyul:

Riddle Rosehearts - Y (For pre-overblot section only)

Pre-overblot, Riddle manages to fit a lot of jealousy inside his tiny body.

Talking with someone he doesn’t like? He’s declaring that it’s off with their head because they broke a rule. Someone else is flirting with you? Oh no, the hedgehogs aren’t in order, he needs you to come help him fix them. Is someone doing anything in your presence that he dislikes? THE RULES STATE THAT ONE MUST NEVER TAKE THE KING AWAY FROM THE QUEEN!

He’s willing to make up new rules just to keep you there with him. He’s lost so many friends because of his mother, but this is a feeling just for him. You understand, don’t you? You know what he feels and you’re willing to stand by his side? Forever? You’re the only one who can. You need to promise you’ll be his king, you’ll never leave him.

Post-overblot and he’s much more calm. At least, he’s calm by his standards. He’s still… A bit over the top at times. He wants to make sure that you actually love him, that you’re not going to leave.

But more than that, he’s worried that he’s too clingy. Are you tired of him focusing on you? Are you thinking secretly that he needs to grow up? Do you think he’s sidetracked, as his mother does? Do you think that he needs to change again? Is he too lax this time, is he boring? Is it a chore to entertain him? Are you planning on leaving?

Just reassure your poor redhead. He wants to be the best he can be, and he wants to be that with you. He just needs to be told that you really do love him and want to be around him. Maybe give him some kind of signal so he can tell you how he feels without needing to outright say it and listen to his concerns whenever he comes to you.

Trey Clover -

Trey wouldn’t get jealous under normal circumstances. He trusts you, assuming he’d like to or is dating you, and that’s that. He’d only get jealous if someone was genuinely hitting on you, and you just… Didn’t notice or care.

While he prides himself on his ability to keep a cool and level head, the moment he sees you with someone else, watching them touch you on your arm and compliment you the same way he does. No, he compliments you even better!

“You’re so pretty…” He can call you beautiful, jaw-dropping, stunning, or awe-inspiring! “My dear,” You’re his sweetheart, his life, his heart and head, his darling cookie! “I think we should go somewhere more private…” Okay, maybe he’s too much of a gentleman to tell you that- he believes you should take the relationship st your own time and he’s never said that to you around others where you could be pressured- but he could at least say it with more class!

Trey’s annoying, maybe even seething. But still, tell the person you’re uninterested and take a step back. Even punch him in the face, if you’re that pissed! Trey would do it if he weren’t vice-housewarden! Just don’t tell Riddle and it’s all good!

If that doesn’t work, or if you don’t do anything, he’ll easily swoop in to ‘save you’. He’ll hand the guy a treat, wrap his arms around you, and pull you off to the kitchen with him to “help with some baking.” He will even use his unique magic on the guy if he doesn’t get the hint- Well, on the treat he gave them. No one likes gross-tasting foods, especially ones catered to the thing you hate the taste of the most.

Cater Diamond -

Outwardly, he’ll come up to you and chat. Who’re you with? Hey, Cay-cay’s got a quick Magicam post to take, could ya come over here real quick? Just take the photo, you don’t have to be in it or anything! Unless you wanted to!

He’s calm and collected and barely bothered. Why would he be? He’s got nothing to worry about and he knows you like him and that you’d never do anything to cheat or be with anyone else! At all!

Internally he’s curled into a ball and crying. Is he not good enough? He can be. He promises! He’ll be whatever you need, whatever you have to get! Please, just stay with him! Don’t leave!

He needs some reassurance. Don’t let him sweep it under the rug, no matter how hard he tries. Please, just tell him it was all a misunderstanding. Thank him for being there with you. Please.

Cater’s terrified you’ll leave him. Is it slightly unhealthy? Yes. Maybe. Totally. He’s been begging for crumbs of your attention every chance he gets, in his own way. But if you find it in yourself to be charitable… Please, just put up with him?

Ace Trapolla -

If nothing else, Ace is a brat, in every sense of the word. He’s a bit rude, obnoxious, and naive to certain social cues. He doesn’t follow rules and he’s not interested in learning them. He’s selfish, too. But especially selfish with your time.

Ace will try to call you away at any time if you’re with someone else. What do you mean, Jamil needs some help preparing dinner? You’re going to need some help getting out if things go like they did last time! So, you better invite him along, too. He’ll be a great help! Besides, Jamil’s in the basket with him, they’re wonderful friends! There’s no way that you two will get kicked out with Ace here, considering how you’re a major klutz with anything sharp and would get totally sent away without him.

He’ll come up behind you if you’re talking to someone. Snaking an arm around your midsection, dipping his hands to clutch your hips, and watching the person who was once talking to you. He might be laughing, but he’s also squeezing you and subtly insulting them. Or, he thinks his being subtle, but if you weren’t being held by him, the other guy would have punched him by now.

His fingers dig into the skin around your hips as he pulls you away from them, the smirk on his face slightly darker than the lighthearted boy you normally know. Once you’re all alone, he stuffs his face into your neck, taking a deep breath. No matter what you tell him, he only savors you for a second, before giving you a little push and telling you to thank him for saving you from such a jerk.

But if you were to pull him back in and thank him… Maybe he’ll tell you what’s bothering him- If you’re lucky. Maybe. Or you’ll just get an extra long and tight hug.

Deuce Spade - Y

Duece is a sweetheart who tries his best not to get jealous. Really, he tries! He’s on track to be an honor student, and honor students can calmly talk about their feelings with the person they like. So, that is what he will do… After he roughs up the perpetrator a bit.

Just a little! Or a lot… Or just until you stop him, or Riddle’s nearby… Don’t worry, he wouldn’t hit someone just for flirting! They were trying to touch you… They had a hand on your waist, and were pulling you closer… It looked like they were even trying to kiss you! What was Duece supposed to do? Let them? He couldn’t bear it if anyone did anything to you!

Deuce is protective. You can handle yourself, he knows that! But he used to fight a lot, so he could do it better. Besides, you’re new to this world! You might not even be able to tell when someone’s flirting with you until it’s too late! He has to be there to protect you, or else what could happen? Could you be hurt? Emotionally or physically harmed? He can’t bear to think about it!

He’ll pull you away, much like Ace, if he can’t control himself most of the time. But the moment you’re touched? He’ll fight whoever does it. Tell him not to and he’ll tone it down, yes, but the glare from a former delinquent is still enough to send most people back with their tails between their legs. Of course, when you’re looking, he’s all smiles and rainbows. He’s your guard dog, don’t worry about it! He’s just making sure no trash gets close to you!

Besides, you have him, and all of your friends! Like Ace, Deuce, Trey, Cater, and maybe even Riddle! You two share a friend group, isn’t that great? If anyone ever bothers you, he’ll always be there to stop them! No one will take advantage of you while he’s here!

RSA+NBC:

Neige Leblanche -

It all starts when Neige sees you at a shared event. He’s been so excited to see you, but before he gets there, he finds Vil’s there with you. He bites his ruby lips and his hands are shaking as he watches the other man wrap his arms around your waist and pull you close enough to whisper something in your ear. Normally, when you laugh he’s so happy, but now it feels like there’s something yucky about it.

It takes a while before Neige even knows what he’s feeling. It’s like something is slithering around his insides, pitting at the bottom of his stomach and sometimes threatening to come out his throat. Even when he goes up to talk to you, he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

It isn’t until you pull away from Vil to hug you himself that he realizes it’s jealousy. Only once it’s away does he know that your affections were its only cure, and its cause was always when what he so desperately wanted was flung off to be given to someone else.

He stays very close to you for the rest of the night. He tries to make sure those feelings that he knows but doesn’t yet understand how to tame don’t come back. He gets your number and whatever social media you’re willing to give over, and he’s overjoyed from it. It’s his own little prize, his own little gift from the world now sitting in his pocket.

He doesn’t get jealous often after that- After all, he knows that you’ll take care of him if he needs it. He can trust you, after all, you’re his one true love. The royal he was always looking for, the person to rescue him like a knight in shining armor, riding in on a snow-white horse. He can trust you, right?

Rollo Flamme - Y

Rollo gets jealous very, very easily. He’s seething, filled with rage and misplaced care, attempting to tie you down or up or any other way. Trying to tie you to him, no matter how much you kick and scream.

You know that he needs you, don’t you? Well, he does. Honest to the god he worships, he does. He’d swear on his name faster than yours, if only because his honor means nothing while yours is a pure as mountain snow. He’d write you name into his skin if only you let him, he’d steal every inch of you away and keep it all pure, forever and ever.

So when he sees you with a mage, he can’t help but get jealous. How could he not? You’re wondrous. Illuminatingly stunning, bursting his heart as fireworks do in the sky, filled with beautiful, burning passion. And he is merely a magic user. He is no more worthy of you than they are, but for them to think otherwise… He will not turn a blind eye to those who desire to do something horrid to his darling.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle x reader #trey clover #trey clover x reader #cater diamond x reader #cater diamond #ace trappola #ace trapolla x reader #duece spade #duece spade x reader #neige leblanche #neige leblanche x reader #neige x reader #rollo flamme #rollo x reader

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hyuny-bunny · 1 year ago

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skz + types of p*rn they watch (w/links) pt 1. hyung line

MDNI (+18) content warning: p*rn, nsfw links, mentions of rough sex, use of female anatomy, breeding, spanking, choking, fingering, oral (f receiving) most afab reader terms.

a/n: if the links are not working for you, you may need the app as most are not compatible with a web browser

pt 2. maknae line

chan: he's definitely watching twitter/x porn. as for what side of x he's on all depends on the mood. he definitely seems to stay on a more "vanilla" side. probably has a keen interest on size kink and breeding videos. but what they all have common is riding. it gets him so riled up seeing ones shot in cars because the next time he sees you it's all he thinks about. he'd love nothing more then to have you riding his dick, his hands holding your hips in place, eventually snacking a hand to lightly you choke and bunching your skirt in the other hand while you sloppily bounce on his cock. maybe he's taking you out to a nice dinner & movie but once your back in that car he's practically begging you to sit on his cock.

"baby, i need you so bad. come here, ride me, need to feel this pretty pussy on me."

breeding

riding

minho: there's so many things i could say about him. i don't think he necessarily needs porn to get off or actively looks for it, but i do think he loves being able to send you links that either remind him of the both of yours sexcapades or things he wants to do to you. i feel like he watches a lot of overstimulation, spanking, BREEDING, and just a sprinkle of voyeurism. i think he gets really turned on by the ones of girls in pretty lingerie wearing collars with bells, so every movement makes the bell ring. he almost collapses to his knees when he gets home one day to see you wearing the collar he bought, the one he'd been hiding and waiting for the right moment.

the only thing on your mind is the feeling of your sopping wet cunt being suffocated by minho's cock. he's got a fistful of your hair in hand, pulling you up from your pillow before landing a hard smack on your ass, never letting up on his thrusts.

overstimulation

spanking

changbin: another one in my books that loves size kink porn. not because i think he likes someone smaller, but more so the fact that he likes the feeling of being able to make someone feel so small. in seo changbins biceps, we trust. i think this one in particular will have him pleading with you to let him try it. you might feel reluctant because of any underlying insecurities at the though of feeling like you're "too heavy" (there's so no such thing to him) . it isn't till he's got you lifted up against the wall with no holding you either than his arms & shoulders, his mouth lapping away at your pretty cunt, any worries you ever had dissipated along with your ability to use your words.

"bin-binnie please i-i can't hold on much longer" a string of whines follow suit. he's been at it for a while and you've already had two orgasm but he's relentless. all you can hear are his groans and the squelching sound of his tongue abusing your cunt. he lifts his head up from between your thighs with you hand webbed in his hair, mirroring your worn out lustful look.

size kink

making you feel small

hyunjin: to me, i think hyun goes either of these two ways. he's the most depraved man known to walk this earth that loves it sloppy, messy, wet and downright lustfully filthy. the latter also leads me to believe he's not big on porn, prefers either his imagination or his OWN videos. one he's recorded (with your consent + encouragement) while you've done it together. he needs the passion of either love or the passion of wanting to make the either cum so hard they've gone to heaven (preferably both). if he's watching videos, his favorite ones always have the girl shaking and crying in pleasure by the end. he needs to see the passion, lust to be able to get off. when it's you, it's different, if anything it brings him back to those moments to fully remember the need between the two of you. that being said he's heavy into breeding/cumplay and semi restraining. he loves seeing the hands held behind the back and holding someone in place while they fall apart in his lap + cock.

it was supposed to be a quick kiss, which turned into heavy petting, and now he's brought your leg over his hips. the panties you were wearing discarded somewhere in the room, one arm is wrapped around you holding you tightly to his chest while his other hand is at work. his middle & ring finger are knuckle deep thrusting into you and he's groaning into your neck sucking hickies in all your favorite spots.

semi restraints

playing w you in his lap

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nathanbatemanfucker · 3 months ago

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Vanilla Tobacco

summary: would you ever be enough for joaquin?

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

contents: 18+/NSFW/MATURE/MINORS DNI, smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f!receiving), internal angst, yearning, insecure!reader, fluff, love confessions

wc: 3,115

an: this fic idea came to me while i was listening to vanilla tobacco by eloise 🫶🏾

danny ramirez characters masterlist

You and Joaquin spend more time together than you expected to, but that feeling creeps in when the first streams of light peak through his curtains.

That feeling is exactly what you’d been worried about when you and Joaquin first started.

Since the beginning, you felt like Joaquin was out of your league. Not because you weren’t in one of your own— you had plenty to offer—but because you’re just a civilian. It feels silly when you really think about it, but you don’t have any special abilities, no training, and you certainly aren’t a mechanical or quantum genius.

You’re just a person. A normal person with not much but yourself to give. And while it was a lot to give, would it be enough for someone like Joaquin? You weren't sure.

It’s what you’re thinking about when he stirs beside you. You quickly close your eyes, trying to settle back into the mattress but Joaquin can feel the tension in your muscles as he stretches against you.

Lips brush the spot beneath your ear and his voice thick with sleep but smooth, “Buenas días, cariño.”

“Buenas días,” You murmur softly, sinking back against him when his arms circle you.

“What’re you thinking about?”

“Hmm?”

“You were awake, probably laying there worrying about everything under the sun. So what was it today?”

He’s observant. Too observant in this case.

“Nothing important.”

He taps your hip, prompting you to roll over to face him. “It’s important if you’re worrying about it. C’mon, querida, lay it on me.”

“It’s just…gallery stuff,” You say hesitantly. “There’s an artist I’m hoping to hear back from.”

It isn’t a complete lie, there is an artist you would die to have in the gallery you help manage. But it’s the weekend, you know you’ll hear back eventually. With Joaquin, you don’t have the courage to ask the right questions.

“I’m sure you’ll hear back from them soon. They’d be lucky to be working under you. I mean look at that,” he points to a piece you painted that’s now hanging on his wall.

You hadn’t planned to give it to him though your relationship with him had inspired it. He’d come over one day and begged you to give it to him, not knowing he’d been the inspiration.

Your cheeks warm at his praise, at the meaning of the piece, unbeknownst to him. Shaking your head you insist, “That’s nothing.”

“It’s from your hands,” He counters, eyes warm.

His faith in you and your artistry make your heart race a little, that feeling returning. You try to swallow it down, distracting yourself by running a hand through his soft hair. “If you wanted in my nonexistent pants, you could just kiss me.”

His eyes go from warm to scorching, and he pinches your thigh playfully. “Maybe I wanted to compliment you first. I get to do that, you know.”

You’ve got him right where you want him, and you know that with his touch, with his kiss that all those worrying thoughts will fade to the background.

“Compliment received. Now what?”

The depth of Joaquin’s hunger bleeds through when he leans in to kiss you. His mouth is insistent, entitled as he kisses you deeply. He pushes you back against the sheets, both his arms coming up to pin your wrists down on either side of your head.

“Vamos a alistarte para mí, ¿hmm?” He asks, his lips brushing yours with every word.

“Mhmm, yeah,” you breathe, kissing more firmly at his mouth.

He returns your kiss for a few seconds before he takes your bottom lip between his teeth, biting gently. He starts a trail of these bites downward, your neck, your breasts, tummy and eventually thighs as he spreads your legs wide.

His mouth stays that way even as he eats you out; eager and demanding. He knows exactly what to do to get you to shiver and whine, his tongue alternating between sucking at your clit and dipping inside you to taste more of your slick. This combination takes you high quickly and once you’re relaxed for him, he slides his cock inside of you in one thrust as he kisses you gently.

With each roll of his hips, the tip of his cock feels like it’s kissing your womb, like he’s trying to dig himself further inside you.

“Joaquin, fuck,” You whine, one of your hands gripping his hair roughly.

He groans as pleasurable pain bursts against his scalp; he welcomes the way you sometimes pull his hair or bite the muscle of his arms. He bends to kiss the tip of your nose, shushing you. “Shhh, yo sé. Just take it for me, hmm, amorcito?”

You let out a gasping breath, nodding softly. It feels like he’s in your guts, in your throat but taking him is what you want. What you both want. “Okay,” You breathe, trembling beneath him as the band inside you winds tighter.

“Hold me close, querida,” He coos, finding more stable purchase on his knees so that his thrusts can come quicker and harder.

It’s a familiar dance that your bodies fall into, hips kissing in a rhythm that bring you both closer to the prescipe of your highs. Joaquin’s mouth is always busy, either praising you with how well you take him or leaving bites along your neck and shoulder.

You fall apart around him, biting your lip to hold in the wanton groan.

Joaquin bends to take control of your lips, shaking his head as he does. “Quiero oírte,” He mumbles against your lips.

It’s impossible then for you to resist; how could you deny him what he wanted if it was in your power?

Your body shakes beneath his, squeezing his cock tight as you whimper and moan beneath him. While you’ve always felt self conscious about how loud you can get, Joaquin has reassured you that he loves it. You should believe him with how quickly he unravels as your moans spill into the air.

He kisses you deeply, licking into your mouth trying to swallow your sweet sounds as he fills you with his cum.

You’re exactly where you want to be— surrounded. By the scent of sex and Joaquin, by his warmth and his praise. By his desire.

—

The next time that feeling shows its face is just a couple weeks later. You woke up with a start, your brain playing games with your heart even as you slept. The sight of Joaquin soundly asleep in your bed should’ve helped but it sent you further into a panic.

You love him, that much is sure. But could you ever tell him? Would you be enough?

Slowly, you reach over to grab your phone off the nightstand before slinking out of bed and into the kitchen. You call one of your closest friends, Eden; they’ve been privy to the entire journey Joaquin. They know how much you care for him.

As usual you skip the pleasantries, too far in your frenzy. “I have to end things with him.”

Eden has been quite patient with you despite your flip flopping nature. Even now. “Why’s that?” They ask, like the two of you haven’t had this conversation multiple times now.

“You know why.”

“I know why you think, but like I’ve said before I don’t think that’s true.”

“He’s a superhero.”

“And you’re somebody’s too. Managing a gallery at your age isn’t something that just happens, usually you’re just assisting.”

“Yeah, but I’m not saving anyone’s life.”

“No one’s expecting that from you. Least of all Joaquin,” They reason easily.

“I just don’t want to disappoint him. Maybe I haven’t yet, but I probably will and I think that would hurt more than me just ending things while we’re ahead.”

“Are you really ahead if you’re in love with him?”

“He doesn’t know that I’m in love with him. That would scare him off too I bet.”

“Did you call me so I could confirm your delusions or challenge you?”

Your voice grows softer as your words grow more vulnerable, “I don’t know, I just— I woke up in a panic and when I looked at him I had to face everything that I might lose. Waking up next to him means more than I ever thought it would.”

Eden’s tone is much more tender when they speak again, “Honey—“

“Querida? You in here?” Joaquin calls, his voice sounding much closer than you would like.

If you could hear him so easily, could he hear you?

“I have to go, he’s up. I’ll call you later,” You hang up just as Joaquin appears in the hallway, giving him your best reassuring smile. “Mornin’.”

He tilts his head, hair fluffy and mused. He studies you for a moment. “Que pasó?”

“Nada. Fue Eden.”

“They okay?” He asks, slowly closing the space between the two of you.

“Yeah they’re totally fine.”

His gaze lingers a beat longer than usual and for a moment you think he’s going to say something that confirms he overheard. Instead, his hands cup your cheeks, and he examines you further, his eyes so soft and warm. “You okay?”

You shut your eyes, leaning into his hands with a soft hum.

“Eyes open,” he challenges.

Silently sighing, you open your eyes, finding his gaze toxicating and grounding all at once. “I’m okay. Dame un beso,” you whisper.

Joaquin is still at first, and you can feel the way his eyes dig into you, searching for whatever you’re trying to hide from him. Whatever he sees, if anything at all, he must not be ready to talk about. Or maybe, he’s respecting your autonomy.

The way his hands cradle your face changes into something nurturing and delicate. “Besos a la orden—pero solo porque me lo pediste bonito,” he teases.

His kiss is much like it always is, unyielding and hypnotic. He has you pinned against the counter with nowhere to go. If your hands are any indicator where they’re clutching at his shirt, there’s nowhere you want to go anyway.

As always, you and Joaquin work together seamlessly, your hands moving up to thread through his hair as his move down to grip your hips and hoist you on the counter.

“What do you want, hmm? Who?” he asks, breathless from thrusting himself into the cradles of your thighs.

“You,” you mumble clumsily into his mouth, too occupied with tasting his tongue.

“Soloamente yo?” he grits out, nipping at your lip.

There’s a new and charged intensity in the way his mouth is against yours, the way his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips.

There is no hesitation in your answer. “Yes.”

“Porque?”

“Hmm?” you hum in confusion, breath catching in your throat as his fingers slide into your panties to find your clit.

Why do you want him? What kind of question is that— why wouldn’t you want him? The true question is why does he want you? But you aren’t allowed to slip into that thought pattern, his voice bringing you back to the present.

“Porque?” he asks again but he doesn’t let you respond. He keeps talking, his voice and fingers relentless. “Porque tu eres mía. Entiendes?”

“Si, soy tuya,” you whine as two of his thick fingers slip inside you.

—

It’s been a few weeks now since that day. You’re still thinking about how intense Joaquin was that morning, wondering what had gotten him so riled up. He had spread you across your kitchen counters and kept you pinned there with his fingers and mouth for minutes on end, eventually dragging you down to the floor to lose himself inside you. Whatever that was felt like a new piece of him you had unlocked, carnal and passionate. The thought sends a shiver down your spine— it feels like you can still taste him and feel his touch.

There’s a knock on your door and Joaquin starts to tease you right off the bat, “You always daydreaming on the clock like this, querida?”

You jump, grateful that you had decided to take your work back to your office instead of working in the lobby with how distracted you seem to be.

Scrambling, you reach for some papers in an attempt to look like you’re working. “Oh fuck, Joaquin. Hi. Hey, what are you doing here? I thought you were out of town.”

“We finished up early.” He leans on your desk, bending to place a kiss on your forehead. “I’m here because I want you to get dinner with me. You down?”

“Definitely, but I’m not off for another hour.”

“An hour, huh?” He looks at his watch, squinting. “I could make something shake in that hour. I’ll pick you up then.”

“O-okay,” you confirm before glancing over to your computer screen.

He clears his throat, and you meet his gaze again. Teasingly, he says, “Dame un beso, princesa.”

His words bring heat to your face but you can’t help but smile whenever Joaquin teases you; it’s so him. You stand from your desk, palms pressed into stacks of paper and sticky notes so you can press your lips to his. His hands find your waist and he nearly drags you over the desk, just succeeding in curbing his eagerness to be with you. It makes your head swim and for a moment you forget you’re at work.

The shrill of your phone cuts through the sensual haze and he pecks you on the lips on last time. “I’ll let you know when I’m back.”

You’re able to let yourself slip into a groove when there’s another knock at your door.

You don’t even look up, continuing to type the email you’re writing. “Joaquin, it definitely hasn’t been an hour.”

“So it was him!” your coworker, Daniella squeals. “When he asked for you at the reception desk I thought it was him. Jeff said it wasn’t.”

Jeff makes his way into your office with Daniella on his heels. “I thought he’d be the type to keep romance in the inner circle. Date another avenger or something. How’d you bag the Falcon?”

“We’re just getting to know each other,” you suggest.

“That’s not what he said at the desk,” Jeff retorts.

“Yeah, he said he was your boyfriend,” Daniella sings.

“Well he wasn’t gonna say he’s my booty call. Can you guys let me work, he’s gonna be back to pick me up.”

“Oooo, he’s taking you for a ride on those wings?”

“Dani—“

“Maybe an autograph?” Jeff cuts in.

“Out. Both of you.”

They know you only use that tone when you’re dealing serious and scurry out of your office. You get a decent amount of work done and when an hour has passed you pack up and make your way into the lobby. Joaquin is studying a set of quilts hanging from the ceiling, his back to you. You quickly make your way past the reception desk, ignoring the kissy sounds that Daniella and Jeff make as you walk by.

“Prompt as ever, Torres.”

He glances over his shoulder at you with a grin. “Always. C’mere. Para ti,” He hands you a bouquet of wildflowers before grasping your free hand to pull you close. “This is one of your artists, yeah?”

His question derails you from questioning him on the flowers. “Yeah, the one I was worried about.”

“Told you you’d get it done. Listas?”

“Listo.”

Joaquín takes you to a place you’ve both been a few times, a dining hall comprised of food trucks by the water. There’s collections of picnic tables to sit out, a dessert corner, and even a dance floor.

After making a game plan to get one thing from each truck, you both take your respective routes and agree to meet at a table near the dance floor.

It’s a struggle not let your mind wander as the two of you catch up, telling the other how the last week has gone while munching on your buffet. Jeff’s words had amplified you worries about not being enough for Joaquin.

As always, Joaquin notices but this time instead of confronting you, he wants to give you reassurance. He had heard your conversation with Eden all those weeks ago and in turn could identify when you were getting in your head about your dynamic with him. After some thinking, he realized he was ready to put those questions to rest for the both of you.

He finishes his bite, wiping his fingers before he rests a hand on top of yours. “Dance with me.”

“Joaquin…”

His mouth sets into a pout, eyes going wide. “Please, querida?”

You let out a resign sigh and start to stand, “Fine.”

There’s a slow song playing once he guides you to the dance floor, and he pulls you close, tucking you against his chest.

His mouth brushes your temple when he finally speaks “You’re distracted.”

“I’m not.”

“You barely touched those curly fries, and we got them because you begged.”

You shrug, looking up at him with a frown. “So maybe I’m a little distracted. Work has been a little nuts.”

“It’s not about, oh you know, your conversation with Eden?”

It feels like someone’s poured cold water down the back of your shirt. You stand straight up, creating a small gap between you despite being linked by your hands. “What conversation with Eden?”

“The one where you worried about being enough for me— which you are,” he murmurs.

“No it’s not about that,” you lie.

“Then it’s about the loving me part?”

The nonchalant manner in which he brings it up has discomfort festering in your chest. Did he think it was funny? That your love for him was so inconsequential that he could talk about it like it’s the weather?

“Joaquin I don’t want—“ you start defensively, but he cuts you off.

“Te quiero también. I do. I wish you would’ve told me sooner. Or maybe I should’ve been the brave one, no sé.” He stops, raising a hand to your cheek so that you have to meet his gaze. “But it’s true, I love you too.”

“You do?” You ask skeptically.

“I do.”

“So what does this mean? That you really are my boyfriend?”

He laughs, holding you a little closer as he starts to to sway again. “Your coworkers are chatty.”

“They were bursting at the seams. Jeff wants an autograph.”

“Only if he’s not a pain in your ass.”

“He’ll be one if I don’t get it for him.”

“Then sure, mi amor, I can oblige,” he agrees, kissing your mouth, your temple, your forehead.

You rest your head more firmly on his chest, feeling much less restless. He loves you too. You’re enough for him. He needs you too.

“Thank you, Joaquin.”

“Always.” He assures you. After several moments of reverent silence he speaks again. “Y’know you haven’t said it back, so I’m just wondering if—“

“Yes, Joaquin, I still love you.”

“Just checking,” He murmurs cheekily.

must be 18+/have age in bio to be on the nsfw joaquin torres taglist!

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ahqkas · 7 months ago

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Hey! Can you please write headcanons for Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim where they get jealous when reader ignores them for some other guy? (They haven't confessed to her yet because of their issues) The reader is also very oblivious to their feelings and doesn't understand why they are acting weird around her male friend. Thanks 😘

♯BABY COME HOME 2 ME . . . he’s jealous !! (fem!reader)

BRUCE WAYNE

bruce had perfected the skill of keeping his emotions under wraps, but when he saw you chatting animatedly with clark kent of all the people, his jaw tightened, and his usual stoic demeanor grew even colder. he didn’t say anything outright, but his silence became louder, his responses clipped and curt

he spent an unreasonable amount of time analyzing every interaction you had with the superman. he didn’t want to be jealous, but he couldn’t help dissecting your body language, the tone of your laughter, and how often you glanced in clark’s direction. the world’s greatest detective is undone by a simple smile exchanged between you and the man of steel

so he started subtly trying to one-up clark whenever you were around. If clark complimented your choice of book, bruce casually mentioned that he had donated an entire library to that author’s hometown. if clark suggested grabbing coffee, bruce offered to fly you to paris for the best croissant you’ve ever had (competitive much)

he became strangely territorial, appearing wherever you and clark happened to be. need help with research? bruce suddenly has all the resources at his disposal. want to attend a charity event? bruce personally invites you as his guest. his subtle possessiveness confused you, but he waved it off with a dismissive, “i was in the area.”

despite being oblivious, clark catches on pretty quickly. he teases bruce about his attitude, whispering, “you know, she’s just being friendly,” during a team meeting. bruce’s only response is an icy glare, but inside, he’s frustrated that even clark can see what he won’t admit

bruce started making dry, sarcastic remarks when clark’s name came up in conversation. when you mentioned how nice clark is, bruce grumbled, “nice? sure. but can he solve an international financial crisis in a single night?” you think he’s joking, but that man is 100% serious.

DICK GRAYSON

dick prides himself on being the laid-back, easygoing friend, but when he sees you laughing at one of wally’s cheesy jokes, something tightens in his chest. his usual smile falters for a fraction of a second before he forces it back into place. you don’t notice, but wally does, smirking knowingly

he starts teasing wally in a way that’s just a bit sharper than usual. “wow, wally, that story gets funnier every time you tell it,” he says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. you laugh along, oblivious, but wally raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying dick’s discomfort

he becomes oddly competitive, especially when wally’s abilities are involved. if wally races ahead to grab you something, dick will casually say, “sure, he’s fast, but can he do this?” before doing some ridiculously impressive flip that leaves you clapping. he’ll shrug it off like it’s nothing, but he’s secretly watching to see if you’re impressed

dick starts overthinking every little interaction. did you laugh harder at wally’s joke than at his? does wally text you more often? he gets caught up in his own insecurities, wondering if maybe wally is a better fit for you—someone fun and carefree, without the baggage he carries

wally, ever the troublemaker, starts leaning into the situation. he’ll throw an arm around your shoulder or wink at dick while you’re not looking, just to see how far he can push him. dick plays it off with a tight smile, but his fingers twitch as if he’s resisting the urge to yank wally’s hand away from you

at some point, wally corners dick with a smug grin, saying, “so, when are you going to tell her?” dick tries to deny it, but wally isn’t fooled. “come on, grayson. she’s oblivious, not blind. well, actually, she is blind to you, but that’s your fault.” dick groans, knowing wally won’t let it go, ever

later when you two actually get together, wally makes sure to get in the last word, casually saying, “took you long enough, grayson. you’re lucky i’m such a good wingman.” dick rolls his eyes, but for once, he doesn’t argue

JASON TODD

jason is naturally broody, but when he sees you laughing at one of roy’s jokes or leaning closer to hear him better, his usual scowl deepens. his arms cross tighter, his jaw clenches, and his responses become more gruff and sarcastic. you think he’s just annoyed in general, but roy knows better

he doesn’t want to feel jealous of roy—roy’s his best friend, after all—but he can’t help it. he knows his friend is charming and easygoing, and it eats at him that you seem to enjoy roy’s company more than his. he hates himself for the bitterness, but he hates how much he cares even more

he starts pulling away, telling himself it’s better to let you be happy than to deal with these feelings. he’ll find excuses to leave the room when you and roy are hanging out, claiming he has “important red hood business” or muttering, “you two don’t need me hanging around.” his absence feels colder than his usual aloofness :((

jason tries to compete with roy’s charm in his own way. he’ll offer to help you with things before roy gets the chance—fixing something in your apartment, teaching you how to defend yourself, or lending you his jacket when it’s cold. his gestures are quieter but filled with meaning, though you only see them as jason being his usual protective self

roy catches on to jason’s jealousy almost immediately and starts poking the bear. he’ll intentionally sit a little closer to you or tell stories that paint himself as the hero. jason’s glare darkens every time, and roy smirks like he’s won some unspoken game

his friend eventually pulls him aside, half-teasing, half-serious. “you’re going to scare her off if you keep growling like that, jaybird,” he says with a grin. jason denies it, grumbling, “she doesn’t feel that way about me, so what does it matter?” roy shakes his head, muttering, “you’re hopeless,” but decides to give you two some space

“took you long enough. it was written all over jaybird’s face.”

TIM DRAKE

tim isn’t the type to show his jealousy outwardly, so at first, he tries to brush it off. he tells himself he’s being irrational, but every time he sees you smiling at conner or laughing at one of his jokes, it’s like a knife twisting in his chest. he sits there, silently sipping his coffee, pretending it doesn’t bother him

instead of confronting his feelings, tim buries himself in work. whenever you and conner are together, tim conveniently has “important research” or “a mission to plan.” he thinks distancing himself will help, but in reality, he’s just overthinking the situation in the safety of the batcave monitors

tim’s usual polite demeanor starts to crack, and he can’t help throwing in a few passive-aggressive comments. if vonner makes a lighthearted joke about being a hero, tim mutters under his breath, “yeah, because we didn’t already know how amazing you are, conner.” you laugh, thinking tim’s just being witty, while conner gives him a confused side-eye

when you and conner are deep in conversation, tim randomly interjects with obscure facts or strategic insights to redirect your focus. “did you know the alignment of the stars tonight is perfect for an alien incursion? just saying.” you smile and ask him to elaborate, giving him a brief moment of relief that he has your attention again

conner, being tim’s best friend, catches on pretty quickly. he notices the way tim’s eyes linger on you a little too long or how his voice drops when you mention conner’s name. instead of teasing him outright, conner starts backing off slightly, giving tim room to shine

you start noticing tim’s strange behavior—his avoidance, his sudden snarky remarks about conner—and ask him what’s wrong. he insists it’s “nothing,” but the crack in his voice gives him away. still, he’s too guarded to admit what’s really bothering him

later after tim’s confession, conner gives him a playful nudge and a knowing grin. “see? told you she’d feel the same way. maybe now you’ll stop staring at her like a lost puppy.” tim groans, muttering something about how conner’s the real puppy, but he’s secretly relieved—and grateful—that his best friend had his back

after your heart-to-heart, tim’s confidence starts to grow. he’s still awkward at times, but he’s more willing to share how he feels, even if it’s in small, thoughtful gestures. and when conner teases him about finally making a move, tim just smirks, knowing he’s the one who has your heart

ADDITIONAL NOTE! if you like my work, please consider reblogging and / or commenting !! thank you if you do 🤍

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galene-gothic · 7 days ago

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𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾’𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌

ˏˋ༻ʚ♡︎ɞ༺ˎˊ˗ PAID SERVICES PATREON

SUMMER SALE ˖ TIP JAR

Note: In regard to their relationship with you.

⊹ ! ೀ Pile 1 ꒱

So, I wanted to see their pros and cons in relationship with you but I’m picking up on before the two of you get together here. I’ll just be pulling more cards to understand everything. Do you have a tendency towards possessiveness? Your future spouse is going to be highly capable of handling that. They’re going to be very communicative and quick to dissolve such issues by resolving them. You’ll receive quick communication from them often because they’ll know just how insecure you can get. They’re going to have a crush on you but will be quite shy when it comes to you. It’s like, they’ll be unable to process or express their feelings which is going to cause for the potential of the connection to not manifest initially but they’ll have a very innocent crush on you. They’re going to have similar childhood wounds to you or even if they’re not going to be similar, the triggers may be similar causing for a connection to come about naturally. Also, they’re going to be very good at manipulating you but not maliciously, it’s like, they’ll know the best way to get you triggered for you to activate and live out your potential, and you’re going to have a pretty good read on them so you’ll know what they’re trying to do but they’ll know how to make it come off unintentional and you’ll just let them get the benefit of the doubt xD. They’re going to be processing an ending at the time that you’ll meet them so they’re going to be scared of the unknown. I’m picking up on genuine wounds from them. You will enter their life in this time and they’re going to be a bit sensitive, and vulnerable at the time so it is going to be especially triggering for them to feel affection towards you because it will activate their childhood issues and more innocent, and delicate wounds making them even more sensitive and vulnerable.

So, they’re going to be scared of the unknown. They’ll be fearing the crossroads or struggling to make a decision due to the fear of pain as well because they’ll not yet have properly healed from past hurt as it is. They’re going to feel a strong tension with you and will have the ability to understand, and connect with you very soulfully. Like, you know those people who just get you on a psychic level? That’s how they’ll be with you but oddly enough, they’ll not be able to understand what exactly is coming through to them about you and you’ll remain a mystery to them. They’ll have their set of insecurities, worries and pain as we know by now but I’m picking up on the same energy from you too. For some of you, maybe they’ll not be the one who will have gone through everything mentioned above but you, but since I’m picking up on a shyness and fear of the unknown, and holding back from them. I believe that it will be mutual for many of you. You may be going through an ending or you may have not gotten over a past ending that caused you a lot of pain so you may be quite fearful of the future too and closed off to them due to your own wounds, and insecurities but it will be because of how vulnerable you’ll be feeling and how you’ll be worried about getting manipulated because you will be able to pick up on their manipulative tendencies, and how convincing they can be. Mostly, they’ll try out different techniques to help you so you’re going to give them the benefit of the doubt despite any resistance. When it comes to cons, you might remain friends for quite a while. Maybe because you’ll start off as acquaintances and friends, you’re both going to friend zone each other or they might friend zone you first, or you might feel as though they are doing so.

I find it so funny because ‘shy’ by Jai Waetford is the song that is coming through. They might not make much effort to spend time alone so despite the potential, you might feel like they’re a bit out of reach especially because they might come off very present. They’re going to seem present when they’ll be interacting with you but you’re going to feel like you’re getting mixed feelings from them. “Do they like me? Do they not like me?” Is the energy that I’m getting here. They might be a very busy person juggling a lot of responsibilities so you might not even bother them and for some of you, they’re going to have to make a choice because they might give too much priority to work and might not want a commitment yet or might not be ready for it or might literally have another love interest. You cannot stand feeling like an option so that is likely only going to slow down the process of things and make you more closed off to them but they’re going to feel really whole with you, as if they belong with you. If there is in fact, another person involved, I don’t think that their feelings for them would be even a quarter of the feelings that they’ll have for you but they’re going to have to awaken first, make a choice, judge things properly, choose to belong to you, choose to connect to you and that may take some time. You’re going to have the ability to have similar values but it’s like, you’ll also not. Due to timing, they’ll contradict and oppose your values, and you’ll not like that. You’re going to doubt your compatibility and values, and that will only make commitment harder. It’s like, despite the connection that you’ll share, you’ll rarely be on the same wavelength.

When you’ll want to talk to them, they might not want to do so, when they’ll want to talk to you, you may be in a bad mood, when you’ll want commitment because you’ll feel strongly towards them despite any fears, they might be unable to give you that and when they do want a commitment, and are choosing you wholeheartedly and are willing to take accountability, learn, and do better, you might be close to fully convinced that your values are too different and that you’re not compatible so you may not want commitment. I’ll start with their pros once you’re in a committed relationship with each other. They’re going to feel like they don’t belong anywhere. Like, even if they’re grateful to people for being there, they won’t feel that genuine, heartfelt, warm, familiar and family-like connection with them but they’ll do so with you so they’ll greatly value you. “My heart is not here without you (it’s no fun without you here), I can’t live without you.” They’re going to feel like home to you and they’ll feel at home with you. They’re going to need alone time but might overthink, create limiting beliefs, feel powerless and just overall struggle with negative thinking, and when they might take alone time, sometimes you might overthink but even when they’re alone or/and resting, they’re constantly going to be thinking about you. I’m getting that you’ll be the first person who they’ll think of when they wake up in the morning and the last person who they’ll think of before they go to sleep. They’re going to understand your sensitivity and will be extremely empathetic, and loving so they’ll create a very beautiful and loving relationship with you in which you’ll both feel really whole.

They’re going to feel strongly towards you and will support you heavily. They’re going to be contemplative and might spend alone time thinking about you so that they can do what’s best for you, and guide you. They’re also going to have many wonderful insights and thoughts. They’re going to create a very abundant relationship for you, one in which you can feel safe and happy, and free enough to share your fears, sensitivities and truly, and deeply love. When it comes to their cons, let’s just say that their charm won’t magically disappear so there will often be third party situations even though, they won’t be unfaithful. So, I’ve been getting this for a while now but they’re going to possess great communication skills and their vocabulary might be really good, and they’re going to be a real charmer. They’ll have incredible leadership abilities and that is going to cause others to feel a certain heat around them, it’s going to cause them to feel attracted to your spouse and that’s going to be a source of stress, and overthinking for you. They’re a very passionate person and with that comes impulsivity but they’re going to honour you as their divine counterpart so they’re not going to get engaged in or let any passion grow towards anyone else. They’re going to be very action oriented, a go getter and well admired so they’re going to receive tons of romantic attention but they’ll not feel passion towards anyone else, and they’ll have tons of integrity and will be too busy talk to anyone enough for things to grow as well.

They’re not going to change so they might give off the wrong impression by seeming open and curious to others. There’s a certain level of playfulness that I’m picking up on but it seems to be very innocent. They genuinely won’t be intending for things to be taken any other way. They’re going to seem very present to the people around them so others will develop feelings for them and might misunderstand things. It’s funny because most of them are going to be very ambitious so it may be difficult for them to give you time at times. They’ll have a lot of love for you but they’re going to be very busy as a person. Even so, some of them, they’ll tire themself out with work or still trying to manage and maintain the relationship properly so they’re going to contemplate things a lot, and might struggle with resting and might be forced into it. Another thing that I’m picking up on is that if it’s work that burns them out, they might feel really vulnerable, contemplative, overwhelmed yet apathetic about not being able to give you time. They’re also going to be very dominating, will crave truth and communication at all times, and will want to lead the relationship so that might lead to clashes but I still feel like they’ll do a really good job with it. Another thing is that they might demand clarification if you’re too busy or were too busy and you might not like it. I hope that you liked the reading. Thank you so much for reading, much love and take care.

⊹ ! ೀ Pile 2 ꒱

So, I decided to pull ten cards each for the pros and cons in sets of five each, and guess what? For the pros, two of the same cards came out in the same position as they did previously i.e. the second and third card out of five cards. You might be the type to stress and get so paranoid that you genuinely start believing that your fears are true even if logically, you’re aware that they aren’t. One such fear and belief that you seem to possess is that your partner might not be over their past, might not have moved on from it. I’m not sure if you think this way already but you will in the future when you’re with your spouse and they’re going to alleviate your worries by reassuring you that that’s not true, and that they’re completely over their past. They’re not going to be blindly romantic. Some people are so in love with love that they become blind in it and do not really know how to love for real due to over romanticism but they’re going to be different. They’re going to believe in equal give and take in relationships, and will be incredibly service oriented. I’m getting that they’ll have been of service to people in the past and will have been on the giving end, receiving nothing at all so they will have developed deep trauma themself, they’ll have been paranoid too and might still be, and will just deal with fears, beliefs and thoughts that they’ll genuinely feel to be true but they’re going to want to heal this side of themself for you, and the betterment of your relationship.

They’re going to be seeking true peace by releasing negative thoughts, beliefs, feelings and habits. Due to how service oriented they’ll be, they’ll want to be with a giver who they can give to wholeheartedly with a feeling of safety. They’re going to not want to have to question the genuineness, feelings and love of the other person, and the connection that they share/shared with their significant other due to how they’re always giving, giving, giving without receiving anything for themself. It’s not even about receiving for them, it’s about the principle of it. Like, “this person is willing to and trying to do this for me, they might love me after all” and that causes them to feel safe enough to give as well, you know? Another thing is that because they don’t go around getting romantically involved with just anyone, they’re going to be incredibly obsessive when in love with you. Some people are charming and flirty, and know how to make their sweet and flirty words sound genuine but your future spouse is not going to be like that. Some of you might doubt the genuineness of their words but they’ll mean a lot of what they’ll say. Obviously, you’ll share sweet nothings where you might ask them something ridiculous like “would you still love me if I was a worm?” And they might say yes even though if you actually were a worm, they’d probably walk from on top of you, crushing you with the weight of their shoes with no awareness of it at all xD.

So, something like that, they’ll not mean but when they say something like “I’d die for you”, “I’d live for you”, “I’d kill for you” and “I’d do anything for you.” They will actually mean it. You’re going to pretty much consume them, they’re going to be addicted to you. I’m picking up on that Camila Cabello song ‘never be the same’. I’m especially picking up on the part that goes “just like nicotine, heroine, morphine. Suddenly, I’m a fein and you’re all I need, all I need. Yeah, you’re all I need. It’s you babe and I’m a sucker for the way that you move babe, and I could try to run but it would be useless. You’re to blame, just one hit of you. I knew I’ll never, ever, ever be the same.” Another part that I’m picking up on is “you’re in my blood, you’re in my veins, you’re in my head.” They’re going to be a passionate person and will feel passionately towards you. I’m getting that the both of you will maintain really good physical connections in which they’ll be really cooperative with you. They’re going to teach you things, in the bedroom and outside it, and are also going to learn from and about you so that they can experience your physical connection at the highest, and most passionate form possible. They do have a tendency towards moodiness though but I feel like you’d like it because it came out in the pros section. Maybe, they’ll be the sulky kind of moody or maybe you’ll also be moody.

They’ll be able to handle your moodiness due to their own tendency towards it. They’re going to be a fair and respectable person because they’ll be very respectful, and will treat people equally. I’m getting them being kind and of service in general, not just towards you, and that’s a pro because that means that it’s a character trait of theirs. Some of you sometimes think that you’re moody, intense, overthink and that you would overwhelm your romantic partner but you won’t have to worry about that with them because they’ll not just leave you. They’ll have a strong sense of direction for the relationship and will want to make it work as much as possible, and they’re going to be driven to put in the work. They’ll also be action oriented and a go getter in life itself, they’re going to have goals that they actively work on pursuing and their sense of direction, and drive is going to influence you to be the same way. They’ll teach you a lot but will also be willing and consciously look to learn from others, experiences, feelings, and situations. Their humility, drive, passion, attachment and love for you, willingness to do, willingness to learn, and ability to teach, all of it is going to be something that you greatly respect and admire them for. When it comes to cons, they’re going to really complex. They’re going to love you a lot and will be possessive of you. They’re going to be intensely in love with you and will be obsessed, attached, and addicted to you so they’ll want to be around all the time.

When they will feel jealous and possessive, they’ll become moody and guarded or moody, and clingy and usually the former will lead to the latter. They’re also going to contemplate a bit and will feel really dissatisfied, questioning the relationship, and if the intensity, love and loyalty is just one sided. The possessiveness will be very intense from their side and possibly from both sides. They’re going to know that they can’t control you but they’ll want to keep you hidden away from the world so that no one can look at what’s theirs. Obviously they won’t do it (hopefully not) but the feeling of possessiveness is going to be THAT intense. They may feel insecure about the stability of the relationship and the family, love, and stability you share if you receive any external attention at all so that is going to be a point of tension but it’s just that they’re going to be very happy and satisfied with you, and will simply just want you to feel the same way about them and your relationship with them. They’re going to be yours, completely and so, they’ll fear that you might not be as committed and devoted to them on a very soulful, and deep level. It is not just “I’m committed to you so I’ll not do anything to sabotage it” kind of commitment that they’ll want from you but the kind in which you’re completely inaccessible to others. They won’t want you to isolate yourself but if you’re in a heterosexual relationship and they’re the man.

They’ll want you to be friends with just women and not even let other men breathe near you. It is not toxic though. Like, I’m not sure how to explain it but they need to be the one and only because they want to devote themself to their spouse the same way, making them the one and only. “Other women? Who are they? Why would I interact with them? I belong to only one woman in every way.” They will not want a simple committed relationship, they will want a deeply devotional one in which there is a very apparent distance between you and other men, and you do not intend to close that distance because you fully belong to them and do not wander at all or even feel the need to have guy friends. Many of them will not mind male acquaintances as long as nothing flirty happens but if something even casually flirty happens, it is going to wound them deeply. People might often misunderstand them due to how intense they are and how deeply they love. Possessiveness and jealousy are really pure emotions, they come from a very pure place but instead of trying to understand that they want to find the space to devote themself to one person and one person only, people might write them off as toxic and possessive because they want the same for themself so it is coming through as a con. I hope that you liked the reading. Thank you so much for reading, much love and take care.

⊹ ! ೀ Pile 3 ꒱

Your future spouse is not going to be too stuck in a routine or will make it flexible for you. They’re doing to feel like they belong with you and you’re going to feel the same way. They’ll create a safe and happy environment for you in which you feel supported because they’ll care about you deeply. Your relationship is giving off the energy of a devoted knight and a queen. You’re going to be their dream come true and they’re going to be genuinely happy in your relationship. They will be accepting of your differences and will be keen on making it as beautiful as they can. They’re going to enjoy being around you so much that they may break their routine to come and see you or might come, and see you even if they’re tired from working. There’s a big emphasis on quality time here. You know, when a queen asks for a knight to show up, he will show up in her court so when you’ll ask for them to show up, they’ll do so too (if they can). Also, acts of service. They’re going to do things for you without any proper routine. They’ll just do it even if the timing is off. For example, if you are pregnant and ask for them to bring you something at midnight. If you’re able to wake them up, they’ll get up and get it for you even if all they want is to be able to fall in the soft, warm bed, and drift off to dreamland. Basically, they’ll be at your service at all times. They’re also going to be quite observant and curious as a person. They’ll ask questions or observe situations and people closely as they will be keen on learning, not just from you.

They’re going to be mentally stimulating and will have their talkative moments that will strengthen your bond through strengthening of the mental connection. They’re going to see you as a grounded and mature person who’s also friendly, generous, and has a big aura but they’ll see that you are sensitive and struggle emotionally at times so they’ll deal with your emotions in a compassionate manner. You’re going to be a very loving and empathetic person, and will be able to suppress your emotions really well a lot of the times but when it gets too much, your raw side is going to come out and they’re going to try to tame it with love, empathy, and compassion. They’re going to have a lot of hope for the connection but they’re going to be putting you on a pedestal. It keeps on coming through that you’ll be their dream girl/dream guy or whatever. They’re going to have a lot of appreciation for the sides of you that are visible after you’ve stripped off i.e. when you’re vulnerably yourself and literally naked. They’re going to love your body in all its glory with nothing on. They’ll make you feel like a dream because that’s what you’ll be to them - a muse. “Cards on the table, we’re both showing hearts. Risking it all though it’s hard.” ‘All of me’ by John Legend. Even if they don’t create anything, you’re still going to be their muse. They’re going to try not to be egoistic and will avoid conflicts, will be very forgiving, and will try to make amends with situations. They’ll also be remorseful if they act egoistic at any point.

They’re going to want to create a space for you in which you don’t have to change yourself i.e. a space in which you still thrive, a space in which you’re still grounded, generous and warm, and don’t have to dim your light. They’re not going to be a stranger to heartache and sorrow. They’ll genuinely be worried about losing you. In the past, they could have been negatively affected by someone else’s decisions so that is going to be something that will have left wounds. They’re also going to feel remorseful, guilty and sad if they make you feel sad :,). Another thing is that, they might look through your phone or overhear something about you and someone else at some point during your relationship or/and marriage, and that could make them question the solidness of the relationship, causing sorrow. There could be someone that seems to be attracted to you so they might be worried that you could be attracted to them too, that you could feel more happy with them, that they might bring out a more happy and vibrant side of you or that you might impulsively do something with them, or even if you don’t, you could be suppressing the desire to. So they’ll feel sad about that. Now, onto the cons, they’re going to be delusional. What seems to be happening here is that they’re going to become controlling when they’re confused and genuinely believe that someone wants you when this someone talks to you a certain way or texts you. They’re going to lose their mind and will become very ruthless when such things happen.

They see you as someone with a lot of potential, someone who’s at the top and someone who everyone wants so they’re genuinely going to believe everyone wants you so they’ll get defensive due to confusion or because they’ll believe that you might not choose them. Actually no, they will want to be the only one, they’ll be mad that you even have another option. Even they themself will have many options so even they’ll have to choose between the potential to feel like the only one and their loyalty to you. They’ll love you but they’re going to be non confrontational and may not communicate until they absolutely cannot handle it anymore, and communicate in an overwhelming and aggressive manner. They’re instead going to contemplate, get nostalgic about old days, feel dissatisfied, might get distant, will have a negative focus and will feel bored, and apathetic too. They’re going to be really worried about the breach of contract, breach of fairness and loyalty so they might end up acting out in unfair ways themself. This can be avoided if you do everything in order to reassure them. They are going to need to feel like the only one. A monogamous relationship with complete devotion is very important to them and they’re going to be able to maintain it but if they feel like the relationship is not living up to their dream and ideal of monogamy, love, and devotion, they will start questioning everything. They’re genuinely going to believe that everyone wants you so that’s going to be a point of tension too because they’ll get jealous. I hope that you liked the reading. Thank you so much for reading, much love and take care.

#pac reading #tarot pac #tarot pick a card #pick a card reading #pick a card #pick a photo #pick a deck #intuitive readings #pac

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kiwriteswords · 8 months ago

Note

Hey, may I request a Hotch x Reader age gap story, where she's in her late 20s and not a BAU member. I think it would be a nice little twist into their dynamic, also he's such a daddy. Much appreciated and thanks in advance.

The Girl Next Door

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: I had a dream about Hotch being my neighbor the other day that sort-of inspired this one! Thanks for the request!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 8.1k

Tags/Warnings: Age Gap, Romantic Tension, Alcohol Consumption, Alcohol Mention, Insecurities, Mentions of Canon-Typical Plot Themes

Sypnosis: When you move into your new apartment, the last thing Aaron Hotchner expects is for his quiet, orderly life to be disrupted by his intriguing new neighbor. At first glance, you seem like a contradiction—poised, accomplished, and wise beyond your years, yet far younger than anyone else in the building. As a profiler, Aaron prides himself on his ability to read people, but you defy easy categorization, stirring something in him he hasn’t felt in years.

The day you moved into your new apartment, Aaron Hotchner wasn’t expecting much beyond the usual polite introduction. A quick hello in the hallway, a nod of acknowledgment over packages left at the concierge desk. But when the door across from his opened, and you stood there with a warm smile and an extended hand, it was as if something jolted awake in him.

“Hi, I’m your new neighbor,” you said, your voice confident yet gentle, the kind that demanded attention without trying. “I hope I’m not intruding. Just wanted to introduce myself.”

He shook your hand, taking note of the firm grip. His profiler’s instincts, so finely tuned, began to buzz. Your demeanor was composed, polished. You carried yourself as someone well-accustomed to holding their own in rooms filled with people twice your age. Yet, as he looked at you, he couldn’t reconcile your apparent youth with the sophisticated way you spoke or the fact that you could afford an apartment in a building like this one.

“Nice to meet you,” he replied, keeping his tone neutral. “I’m Aaron Hotchner.”

Your smile widened. “Aaron. Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

He would have guessed you were in your early to late twenties if not for the depth in your gaze and the way you seemed to study him, as though cataloging details in the same way he was. But still, you couldn’t be older than thirty, could you? How could someone that young afford this building? Hotch, ever practical, knew he overpaid, even with his federal paycheck. And he wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was because he couldn’t peg you, and as a profiler, that was frustrating.

Weeks passed, and though your paths crossed occasionally—quick hellos in the elevator or casual small talk in the lobby—Hotch found himself thinking about you more than he cared to admit. You were intriguing, beautiful in a way that made his chest tighten when you smiled, and far too mature for him to simply brush off as someone fresh into the adult world. But he told himself it was nothing. Jack, now a teenager, occupied most of his thoughts, and the idea of pursuing a neighbor felt inappropriate. Unprofessional, even.

Still, after a grueling case that left a bitter taste in his mouth and the weight of mortality pressing heavy on his shoulders, Hotch let Rossi convince him to grab a drink at the bar near the BAU.

It was a dimly lit, intimate place that felt quieter than most bars in the city. Rossi nursed a scotch while Hotch stared at his whiskey, his mind elsewhere. He thought of the case, the current emptiness that filled his personal life with Jack beginning to pull away into his own world, and then that’s when he saw you.

You were sitting at the far end of the bar, a glass of wine in one hand and a book in the other. The soft overhead light highlighted your features, and for a moment, Hotch forgot how to breathe. You seemed so at ease, lost in your book, unaware of the buzz of conversations around you.

“You’re staring,” Rossi said, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Hotch blinked, dragging his gaze back to his drink. “I wasn’t staring.” He almost mumbled it under his breath, feeling like a kid caught red-handed.

Rossi scoffed. “Sure you weren’t. Who is she?”

“She’s my neighbor,” Hotch admitted reluctantly. “She just moved in a few weeks ago.”

“Well, your neighbor has good taste in wine and literature,” Rossi remarked, glancing in your direction. “Go talk to her.”

Hotch shook his head, grimacing at the idea of making a move like that.. “She’s too young.”

Rossi raised an eyebrow. “How young are we talking?”

Hotch hesitated. “Late twenties, maybe. She looks young, but she doesn’t act it. It’s hard to tell. Either way, it would be inappropriate.”

“Why? Because she’s younger? Aaron, come on. She’s not a child.”

“I could be her father,” Hotch countered, his tone sharper than he intended; the words felt like poison on his lips. “What would she want with someone like me?”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, his expression amused. “You know, the younger ones have a way of keeping you young.”

Hotch rolled his eyes. “Not helping, Dave.”

Before Rossi could retort, you looked up from your book, your eyes landing on Hotch. Recognition lit up your face, and you smiled, raising a hand in a small wave. Hotch froze. The way you looked at him like you were genuinely happy to see him, made something in his chest ache.

“She’s smiling at you,” Rossi pointed out with a grin. “Now’s your chance.”

Hotch hesitated, his heart thundering in his chest. What would he even say? But then you beckoned him over with a tilt of your head, and for the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner allowed himself to take a leap.

Hotch lingered for a moment too long, his feet rooted to the floor as he debated whether to stay put or heed Rossi’s unsolicited advice. He wasn’t sure if it was fear, pride, or something else entirely keeping him from standing up. The thought of your smile, though—warm and inviting as it was—made the decision harder.

Rossi, ever perceptive, patted him on the back with a grin. “Go on, Aaron. I’m heading out anyway. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow at his friend. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”

Rossi chuckled. “Fair enough. Let me put it this way—don’t think about it too much. You’re allowed to enjoy yourself, you know.”

And with that, Rossi tossed back the rest of his scotch, clapped Hotch on the shoulder one more time, and left Hotch standing alone with his swirling thoughts.

He exhaled, trying to quiet the insecurities gnawing at him. What could he possibly offer someone like you? Yet the way you had smiled at him just moments ago—so genuine, so effortless—spoke to something deeper. Maybe you didn’t see him the way he saw himself: older, wearier, with too many ghosts lingering in the corners of his mind. Maybe you just saw…him.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Hotch pushed back from the barstool, his steps steady but deliberate as he approached you. You glanced up as he neared, your smile widening. That warmth in your eyes—it was enough to melt some of the tension in his chest.

“Hey, Aaron,” you said, your voice carrying the kind of excitement that made it seem like you’d been hoping he’d show up. You patted the empty seat next to you. “Join me?”

He hesitated briefly before sitting down, your proximity somehow calming and unnerving at once. The soft scent of your perfume wrapped around him, and he caught himself lingering too long on the way your lips curved upward when you smiled.

“Nice choice,” you said, gesturing to the glass he’d brought with him. “I’d guess it’s a single malt whiskey. Neat.”

Hotch tilted his head, impressed. “That’s right.”

You chuckled, holding your own glass of wine. “You don’t strike me as anything less.”

His lips quirked in a subtle smile. “And what does that mean?”

“You’re precise,” you said easily, leaning slightly toward him. “Thoughtful, composed. Someone like you wouldn’t order anything overly sweet or complicated. You keep things simple, but you expect quality.”

He blinked, caught off guard by how accurately you had read him. It wasn’t often someone did that, not even outside his work at the BAU. Yet here you were, confidently pulling back the layers he thought he kept well hidden.

It also caught him off guard because here he was, someone who was taught to keep himself a mystery while reading others, but it was now the other way around. You read him like a book while he could not put his finger on what it was about you.

“You’re observant,” he remarked, lifting his glass. “Not many people would pick up on that.”

You shrugged, your smile modest but pleased. “I like to notice things. It’s useful.”

“You could’ve been a profiler,” he said without thinking, then quickly added, “Not that I’m suggesting a career change.”

You laughed softly, and the sound settled in his chest like warmth on a cold night. “I think I’ll stick to what I do for now.”

“And what is it you do?” he asked, genuinely curious. Despite your shared moments in the hallway and now this unexpected meeting, he realized he knew so little about you beyond the fact that you were maddeningly intriguing.

“I’m in finance,” you said, taking a sip of your wine. “Nothing too exciting, but it’s steady, and I’m good at it.”

That explained some things—your confidence, poise, and ability to afford an apartment in his building. Still, he found himself wondering how someone your age could have such a solid footing in life.

“You’re impressive,” he said honestly, surprising himself with the admission.

Your eyes sparkled, a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you seem like the kind of person who doesn’t give out compliments lightly.”

He laughed softly under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re not wrong.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly from there, covering everything from favorite books to why this particular bar was a hidden gem. You were strikingly beautiful, yes, but it was your confidence and the way you carried yourself that held his attention. Yet, as much as he enjoyed your company, that familiar self-doubt crept in whenever the age gap came to mind.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” you said, interrupting his spiral.

“Just wondering,” he began carefully, “how someone so young ended up being so…accomplished.”

Your brow lifted slightly, and then you smiled, a touch of mischief in your expression. “Is that your way of asking how old I am?”

Hotch cleared his throat, a rare flicker of nervousness crossing his face. “I wouldn’t ask directly.”

“Well, for the record,” you said, leaning in just enough to make his pulse quicken, “I’m twenty-seven. And yes, I know I look younger. But I’ve worked hard to get here, and I don’t take it for granted.”

He nodded, letting your words sink in. Twenty-seven. It wasn’t that he was unfamiliar with the brilliance of those younger than him, he’d worked side-by-side with Reid, more years than he could count, but the gap still gave him pause. There was no denying the respect he felt for you, nor the pull that kept him rooted to your side.

You tilted your head, studying him with a playful smile. “Did I pass whatever test you were giving me?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You weren’t being tested.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you teased before lifting your glass. “To new neighbors, then?”

Hotch clinked his glass against yours, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “To new neighbors.”

As you both sipped your drinks, Hotch couldn’t help but feel that maybe Rossi was right. Maybe it was okay to let himself enjoy something—or someone—good for a change.

As the bartender passed by, you reached for your wallet, signaling for the check. Hotch, noticing, set his own glass down and spoke before you could finish.

“I’ve got it,” he said firmly.

You looked up, slightly surprised. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I insist,” he replied, already sliding his card across the counter to the bartender. “Consider it a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gesture.”

There was a flicker of hesitation in your expression, but eventually, you smiled. “Well, thank you, Aaron. That’s very kind of you.”

He nodded, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction as the bartender returned his card. It wasn’t just about paying—it was the subtle act of taking care of you. Even though he’d only known you for a short while, the protective instinct that came naturally to him was already stirring. His line of work had shown him too much about the world, and the idea of you walking alone at night didn’t sit well.

As you both stood to leave, Hotch glanced at you. “Where’s your car?”

“Oh, I don’t have one,” you said, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. “I take public transportation to work. I was just going to grab a cab home.”

Hotch frowned slightly. The thought of you waiting for a cab at this hour didn’t sit right with him. “That’s not necessary. We’re going to the same place anyway—I’ll drive you.”

“Aaron, you really don’t have to do that,” you said, but there was a softness in your tone like you were touched by the offer.

“I insist,” he repeated, his voice steady but gentle. “It’s no trouble.”

For a moment, you studied him, then gave a small, amused shake of your head. “All right, if you’re sure. Thank you.”

The two of you walked out of the bar, the cool night air brushing against your skin. Hotch instinctively slowed his pace to match yours, his hand twitching briefly at his side as though tempted to offer it. When you reached his car, he unlocked it and opened the passenger door for you.

“Chivalry isn’t dead, I see,” you teased lightly as you slid into the seat.

Hotch smirked faintly as he closed the door and rounded to the driver’s side. “Not entirely.”

The ride started quietly, the hum of the engine filling the space. You glanced out the window, watching the city lights blur past, but after a moment, you turned to him.

“So,” you began, “do you always offer rides to your neighbors, or am I just special?”

Hotch’s lips curved in a faint smile as he kept his eyes on the road. “Let’s just say I don’t make a habit of it.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” you said, leaning back in the seat. “But you didn’t have to. I would’ve been fine.”

“I know,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “But...I’ve seen too much in my work to feel comfortable letting you take a cab alone.”

You tilted your head slightly, curious. “What is it you do, exactly?”

“I work for the FBI,” he said simply, glancing at you briefly before returning his focus to the road. “Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

You blinked, clearly intrigued. “So you’re a profiler?”

“Something like that,” he admitted. “We study behavior to catch criminals. Serial offenders, mostly.”

“That explains why you’re so observant,” you said with a small smile. “And why you seem so serious all the time.”

He chuckled under his breath, a rare sound that surprised even him. “It comes with the territory.”

“Well,” you said, your tone thoughtful, “I think it’s a good thing. That you care enough to notice things, I mean.”

He glanced at you, caught off guard by the sincerity in your voice. “Thank you.”

The rest of the drive passed in a comfortable silence, the kind that felt natural rather than awkward. When Hotch pulled into the parking garage of your apartment building, he turned off the engine and looked at you.

“Thank you again,” you said as you unbuckled your seatbelt. “For the ride. And the drink.”

“It was no trouble,” he replied, his voice softer now.

You lingered for a moment, your hand on the door handle, before turning to him with a small smile. “You’re a good neighbor, Aaron.”

Hotch sat for a moment longer, his fingers gripping the steering wheel as he watched you head toward the elevator. Something in the way you said his name lingered in his mind, a warmth spreading through him that he couldn’t quite explain.

He shook his head slightly, snapping himself out of it, and grabbed his keys before stepping out of the car. By the time he caught up to you at the elevator, you were already pressing the button for your floor.

“Thought you were going to stay in the car all night,” you teased lightly, glancing over at him as the elevator doors slid open.

“Just taking my time,” he replied, his voice steady but faintly amused as he stepped in beside you.

The elevator ride was quiet at first, the kind of comfortable silence that seemed to follow your conversations. Hotch leaned against the wall, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, while you stood with your arms crossed lightly over your chest. He caught himself glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, taking in the relaxed way you carried yourself despite the late hour.

When the elevator doors opened onto your floor, you both stepped out and walked down the hall side by side. The muffled hum of the building at night—the soft whir of air vents and the occasional creak of floorboards—felt strangely intimate.

“I still can’t believe we live right across the hall from each other,” you said, breaking the silence as you reached your doors. You turned to face him, your expression playful. “Guess I’ll have to start baking cookies or something neighborly like that.”

He smirked faintly, a rare softness crossing his features. “I’m not sure I’d have time to return the favor.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll let it slide,” you said with a mock sigh, your grin widening.

You hesitated for a moment, your hand resting on the doorknob to your apartment. “Thank you again, Aaron. For everything tonight.”

He nodded, his dark eyes meeting yours. “It really wasn’t any trouble.”

As you unlocked your door and stepped inside, you glanced back at him one last time. “Goodnight, neighbor.”

“Goodnight,” he replied, watching as the door closed softly behind you.

For a moment, he stood there in the hallway, staring at your door. That same warmth from earlier crept through him, something he couldn’t quite name but wasn’t entirely unwelcome. Finally, with a small shake of his head, he turned and entered his own apartment, already wondering when he’d see you again.

The night you shared a ride home lingered in Aaron Hotchner’s mind longer than he cared to admit. He told himself it was nothing—just neighborly kindness—but the warmth in your voice when you said his name and the way you looked at him as if he weren’t just another face in the crowd were impossible to forget. There was something about you, something that stirred feelings he hadn’t allowed himself to entertain in years.

But life moved on. Cases came and went, the BAU’s relentless pace leaving little room for personal indulgences. Still, when he’d return home to the quiet comfort of his apartment, he often found himself glancing at your door across the hall, wondering what you might be doing, who you might be with. He chided himself for the thoughts—he was too old, too busy, and too set in his ways to be thinking of you like this.

It was a rare Saturday afternoon off when he found himself in the building’s mailroom with Jack. The teenager was practically vibrating with anticipation, tearing through envelopes in search of one in particular.

“Anything?” Hotch asked, glancing up from his own stack of bills and promotional flyers.

“Not yet,” Jack muttered, his brow furrowed as he sorted through the last few pieces of mail. “Do you think maybe it got lost?”

Hotch shook his head with a small smile. “It’ll come. Just be patient.”

The sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention, and when he looked up, there you were, a cheerful smile lighting up your face as you entered the mailroom.

“Hey, neighbor,” you greeted, your eyes flicking between him and Jack. “And who’s this?”

“This is my son, Jack,” Hotch said, stepping aside slightly so you could get a better look. “Jack, this is our neighbor, [Your Name].”

Jack looked up from his stack of envelopes, offering a polite smile. “Hi.”

“Nice to meet you, Jack,” you said warmly. “You’re the spitting image of your dad, you know.”

Jack wrinkled his nose playfully, glancing at Hotch. “I hope not too much.”

You laughed, the sound drawing a small chuckle from Hotch as well. “What’s got you so focused on the mail today?” you asked Jack, noting his eager expression.

“I’m waiting to hear back about a summer art program I applied to,” Jack said, his tone hopeful but tinged with nervousness.

“Art? That’s fantastic!” you said, genuinely impressed. “What kind of art are you into?”

“Mostly sketching,” Jack replied, his shyness melting under your encouragement. “But I’ve been getting into painting too.”

“Well, I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you,” you said sincerely. “I’m sure they’d be lucky to have you.”

Jack smiled, visibly more relaxed in your presence. Hotch observed the interaction quietly, noting how effortlessly you connected with his son. It tugged at something deep in his chest, that mix of admiration and longing he was becoming all too familiar with around you.

“Oh, before I forget,” you said, turning to Hotch. “I’m throwing a little cocktail party at my place next Friday night to celebrate settling into the apartment. Nothing fancy, just a few friends and some good drinks. You and Jack should come.”

Hotch hesitated, his mind racing. A cocktail party? With your friends? He imagined himself standing awkwardly in a room full of people your age, wondering if he belonged there at all. But before he could respond, you added with a playful smile, “I really hope you’ll come. It won’t be the same without my favorite neighbor.”

The glimmer of hope in your tone, the sincerity in your smile—it made his chest tighten. Still, the self-conscious voice in his head whispered doubts. Would your friends think he was too old? Would you regret inviting him once he showed up?

“I’m not sure,” he said carefully, his voice steady but uncertain. “With my schedule, it can be hard to plan ahead.”

“Well,” you said, your tone light but insistent, “I’m holding out hope. And Jack, you’re more than welcome too. I’ll make sure we have something non-alcoholic that’s party-worthy.”

Jack grinned. “Thanks. I’ll see if I can convince him.”

Your laughter was warm, and it stayed with Hotch long after you left the mailroom, waving goodbye with a cheerful promise to see him soon. As you disappeared down the hallway, he felt that familiar tug again—part curiosity, part hope, and part fear.

Did he imagine the glimmer in your eyes the other night? The way your words seemed to linger just for him? Or was it possible—just possible—that there was something real here? Something worth risking the carefully constructed walls he’d built around himself to explore.

As Jack tugged his sleeve, reminding him they still had to sort the rest of the mail, Hotch shook his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. Whatever the answer, he couldn’t deny the pull you had on him. Maybe he’d find out next weekend.

Friday night found Aaron Hotchner in his office, the quiet hum of the BAU’s bullpen far below offering no distraction from the thoughts circling his mind. The stack of case files on his desk was unusually light for a change, and the rare lull in their schedule had granted him a night off. Yet, instead of heading home or unwinding with a book, he sat at his desk, his gaze fixed on the invitation you’d extended days earlier.

Jack was spending the night at a teammate’s house for a soccer sleepover, leaving Hotch without the comfortable excuse of parenting duties. But the thought of showing up at your party, surrounded by people your age, feeling out of place—it made him hesitate.

He was still mulling it over when a knock sounded at his office door. Looking up, he found Emily Prentiss leaning against the frame, a file folder in hand.

“Final report from the Clarke case,” she said, stepping inside and placing the folder on his desk. “You’re officially done for the night.”

“Thank you,” he replied, his tone clipped but polite.

Emily tilted her head, studying him with the kind of perceptiveness he usually reserved for himself. “You look…pensive. Something on your mind?”

For a moment, Hotch considered brushing her off, offering some vague comment about work or letting the conversation drop entirely. But then he remembered how much he valued openness among his team, a quality he wished they were better about embracing. Perhaps it was time to practice what he preached.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been invited to a cocktail party tonight. My neighbor’s hosting it.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, a slow smile forming on her lips. “A cocktail party? Sounds fancy. What’s the dilemma?”

“It’s not about the party itself,” he admitted. “It’s…her.”

Her curiosity sharpened, and she took a seat across from him. “Okay, now you have my attention. Tell me more about ‘her.’”

“She’s my neighbor,” he began, his voice even but hesitant. “She’s in her late twenties, successful, confident. We’ve talked a few times, and she’s…invited me tonight.”

Emily’s smile widened, though she kept her expression neutral enough not to tease. “And you’re debating whether or not to go because…?”

“Because I’m twice her age,” Hotch said bluntly. “Because I don’t want to feel like I don’t belong. And because I’m not sure if the interest I think I’m seeing from her is even real or if I’ve imagined it.”

Emily let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Hotch, you’re overthinking this. And so what? Age is just a number. What matters is the connection.”

Hotch’s brow furrowed. “It’s not that simple. She’s…young, full of life. I’m a widower with a teenage son and a career that doesn’t leave much room for anything else.”

“All the more reason to go,” Emily countered. “Look, you’ve spent years putting everyone else first—your son, your team, your cases. When was the last time you did something for yourself? Took a chance?”

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping to the file in front of him. Emily leaned forward slightly, her tone softening.

“Hotch, you’re allowed to let yourself be happy. And from the way you’re talking about her, it sounds like she could be someone worth getting to know better.”

He glanced up at her, a flicker of uncertainty in his expression. “What if it’s inappropriate?”

“Now, you’re definitely over thinking this,” Emily snorted, “You’ll handle it like you handle everything else—with class and integrity,” she said with a shrug. “But you won’t know unless you try. And who knows? Maybe tonight’s just a party, or maybe it’s the start of something more. Either way, you owe it to yourself to find out.”

Hotch let her words sink in, the weight of his own self-doubt pressing against the hope he’d buried deep. Finally, he nodded, a small, almost reluctant smile forming on his lips.

“You’re relentless,” he said, his tone carrying the faintest hint of amusement.

“It’s part of my charm,” Emily replied, standing and smoothing out her blazer. “Now go home, get dressed, and show up. And Hotch?”

He looked up at her, his brows lifting slightly.

“Make a move,” she added with a grin. “You’ve got this.”

As she left his office, Hotch sat for a moment longer, her words echoing in his mind. Maybe Emily was right. Maybe it was time to take a chance.

With a deep breath, he grabbed his coat and headed out, the decision finally made. Tonight, he would go to your party. And maybe, just maybe, he’d find out if the glimmer of hope he thought he saw in your eyes was real.

Hotch stood outside your apartment door, adjusting his tie as he willed himself to ignore the nervous energy thrumming through him. It wasn’t nerves, not exactly, but something close—a self-consciousness he hadn’t felt in years. The faint sound of laughter and soft music spilled out from your apartment, and for a moment, he considered turning around.

But then he thought of the way you’d looked at him, the hope in your voice when you’d said you really wanted him to come. That was enough to steel his resolve. He took a breath and knocked.

When you opened the door, Hotch’s breath hitched. You stood there, radiant, wearing an outfit that was the perfect balance of elegance and allure. It hugged your figure just enough to make his pulse quicken, yet the overall effect was sophisticated and tasteful. The soft light from your apartment cast a warm glow over you, highlighting every curve and detail.

“Aaron,” you said, your face lighting up with a smile that felt like it was just for him. Before he could say anything, you stepped forward and wrapped him in a hug, catching him completely off guard.

“Hi,” he managed, his voice steady despite the way your touch had sent a jolt of something warm through him.

“I’m so glad you made it,” you said, pulling back just enough to look up at him, your hands still resting briefly on his arms. “I’ve been wondering all night if you’d show.”

“I almost didn’t,” he admitted, his lips curving into a faint smile. “But I’m glad I did.”

You beamed at that, stepping aside to let him in. As Hotch entered, he took in the space, his eyes immediately drawn to the careful details of your apartment. It was stunning—every corner thoughtfully arranged, every piece of furniture and decor intentional. The warm, inviting tones of the room mirrored his own taste, but where his home was functional, yours was artfully executed.

Bookshelves lined one wall, filled to the brim with titles that made him want to linger and browse. His eyes caught on a few photographs interspersed among the shelves—travel shots, candid moments, and one of you laughing with someone who looked like an older family member. The charm of it all struck him immediately, and he couldn’t help but feel impressed.

“You’ve done an amazing job with this place,” he said, his tone genuine.

“Thank you,” you said, closing the door behind him. “I’m glad you like it. I put a lot of thought into it—wanted it to feel like home.”

“It does,” he said, glancing around again. “It suits you.”

You smiled at that, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then your expression shifted to one of curiosity. “Where’s Jack?”

“He had teenage obligations,” Hotch replied, a hint of humor in his tone. “A soccer sleepover.”

You laughed softly. “Of course. Well, I’m glad you could come. I know your schedule’s crazy, so it means a lot.”

He was about to respond when you gently touched his arm, guiding him further inside. “Come on, let me introduce you to everyone.”

He wasn’t sure what to expect as you led him toward the small group gathered in your living room. But as you began introducing him, your words caught him off guard.

“This is Aaron, my favorite neighbor and new friend,” you said warmly, gesturing to him with a smile.

Favorite neighbor. New friend. The way you said it was so easy, so unselfconscious, that it disarmed him entirely.

The group—five or six people, all older than he’d expected, not just a group of twenty-something-year-olds partying like he imagined—greeted him with nods and polite smiles. It was immediately clear that you surrounded yourself with maturity and wisdom, which made sense. You were wise beyond your years, someone who fit seamlessly into this crowd despite being the youngest by far.

Hotch felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders as you moved gracefully between your guests, checking on everyone while still managing to include him in the conversation. It wasn’t just your decorating style that impressed him—it was the way you carried yourself, the natural elegance and charm that seemed to radiate from you.

As the evening settled into a warm rhythm, Hotch found himself standing near one of your bookshelves, thumbing through the spine of a title that caught his eye. The sound of your laughter drifted from across the room, and he couldn’t help but glance in your direction. You were chatting animatedly with one of your coworkers, your smile radiant, your presence magnetic. He marveled at how effortlessly you moved through the room, making every guest feel like they were the most important person there.

A moment later, you appeared at his side, a delicate martini glass in your hand, the liquid inside a rich, dark brown.

“For you,” you said, holding it out with a mischievous glint in your eye.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, taking the glass cautiously. “And what exactly is this?”

“An espresso martini,” you replied, the corners of your mouth curling into a grin. “My specialty. I make a mean one, and I’m certain you’ll like it.”

He regarded the drink with a playfully suspicious look, tilting the glass slightly to inspect it.

“I know,” you said easily, gesturing toward the glass. “But I see you leaving in the mornings with your coffee cup. Think of it as adult coffee in a martini glass.”

He chuckled softly at that, his fingers brushing yours as he accepted the drink. “You’ve been paying attention.”

“Of course,” you said, your tone light but sincere. “Though, if this doesn’t suit your taste, I did pick up a whiskey I think you’ll like. It’s over by the bar.”

Hotch blinked, surprised. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You shrugged, your smile warm. “I wanted to. Besides, I hope this isn’t the last time we spend time together, so I’m sure we’ll enjoy that whiskey at some point—even if it’s not tonight.”

Something about the way you said it—the quiet confidence, the way you looked at him like he mattered—made his chest tighten.

“Well,” he said, lifting the glass slightly, “I suppose I can’t turn down a signature drink.”

“That’s the spirit,” you teased, nudging his arm lightly. “Try it. I promise it’s good.”

He brought the glass to his lips, taking a tentative sip. The rich, velvety flavor hit him immediately—the perfect balance of espresso, a hint of sweetness, and the warmth of vodka mingling with the coffee liqueur. He lowered the glass, nodding slightly as a small, almost reluctant smile tugged at his lips.

“It’s…better than I expected,” he admitted.

“Better than expected?” you repeated, laughing softly. “I’ll take that as a win.”

He shook his head, amused. “It’s good. Really.”

“I knew you’d like it,” you said confidently, your eyes sparkling. “It’s got just enough sophistication to suit you.”

He chuckled again, a rare sound that felt more natural in your presence than it had in a long time. As you stood beside him, the rest of the room seemed to fade into the background.

For the first time in years, Aaron Hotchner felt like more than just a profiler, more than just a father or a leader. He felt seen. And, for once, he didn’t mind indulging in the moment.

As the evening wound down, the energy in the room shifted. Guests slowly trickled out, offering you hugs and handshakes on their way to the door. Each one left with a warm smile, a testament to your natural charm as a host. Hotch lingered, sipping the espresso martini you’d made him, more out of a desire to stay close than a need to finish the drink.

You returned from the door after bidding goodbye to the last pair of guests, finding him still standing near the bookshelf where the two of you had shared most of your conversation that night. His shoulders looked more relaxed now, the edges of his stoic demeanor softened in the warm glow of your apartment.

“Well,” you said with a soft laugh, glancing around at the aftermath of the party—empty glasses, plates, and the faint echo of laughter still hanging in the air. “That’s it. A successful cocktail party in the books.”

“You made it look effortless,” Hotch said, his voice warm. “But I know it’s anything but.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you teased, giving him a playful nudge as you started gathering a few glasses from the table.

He stepped forward, setting his now-empty glass down and reaching for a plate. “Let me help.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” you said, waving him off. “You’re a guest. Go relax.”

“Consider it repayment for the drink,” he countered, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.

You laughed softly, shaking your head but relenting as he began stacking dishes with practiced ease. The two of you moved through the space in comfortable silence, cleaning up the remnants of the night. Occasionally, your hands would brush as you both reached for something and each time, he felt a quiet thrill that he was certain he shouldn’t.

When the room was mostly back to its pristine state, you turned to him, holding a dish towel and looking a little sheepish. “You didn’t have to do all that, you know. But thank you.”

“It’s no trouble,” he replied, his tone soft but sincere. “I’m not much of a sit-back-and-relax type anyway.”

“I’ve noticed,” you said with a small smile, stepping closer to him.

The quiet that settled between you felt heavy in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable—just charged. Your gaze met his, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. He wasn’t sure what it was about you—the way you seemed to see right through him, the way you made him feel like he could finally let his guard down—but it made him want to say something, to do something, even if it was just a small step forward.

“I had a good time tonight,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I wasn’t sure if I’d fit in, but…it was nice.”

“I’m glad you came,” you replied softly. “I was hoping you would.”

The sincerity in your voice struck him, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. It wasn’t much, just a fleeting touch, but it was enough to make his heart race.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you tilted your head slightly, your gaze searching his face. “Aaron?”

“I…enjoy spending time with you,” he said, his tone careful but honest. “More than I expected to.”

Your lips curved into a small, almost shy smile, and you stepped just a fraction closer. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he said, his voice steady now.

For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you, the soft light of your apartment casting gentle shadows across the room. He didn’t know what he expected to happen next, but when you placed a hand lightly on his arm, your touch warm and grounding, he felt the last of his reservations slip away.

“It’s late,” he said finally, his voice low. “I should probably head back.”

You nodded, your hand lingering on his arm for a moment longer. “Thank you for coming. And for everything tonight.”

He gave a small nod, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Aaron.”

As he walked back across the hall to his apartment, he felt a quiet sense of contentment settle over him. It wasn’t a grand gesture or a dramatic moment, but it was something—a step forward. And for now, that was enough.

In the day that followed, Hotch pulled his go-bag over his shoulder when he noticed something out of place under his apartment door. A small, cream-colored card peeked out from beneath the frame. He bent down, retrieving it with a curious furrow in his brow.

It was a card, handwritten in neat, elegant script.

Aaron,

Thank you for coming last night. It was wonderful having you there—it made the evening that much more special.

If you ever feel like sharing that whiskey, or even just enjoying each other’s company (with or without alcohol involved, haha), give me a call. I’d like that.

Hotch stood there for a moment, the weight of his bag forgotten. He read the note twice, his eyes lingering on the small smiley face you’d drawn next to your name. It was a simple gesture, but it left him feeling both surprised and oddly warm.

He slipped the card into the inside pocket of his jacket, shaking his head with the faintest smile. The timing couldn’t have been worse—he had a flight to catch and a case that demanded his full attention—but for the first time in a long time, he found himself wishing he didn’t have to leave.

Duty called, and as the jet soared through the sky, Hotch pulled the card from his pocket and ran his thumb over the textured surface. He wasn’t a man who took chances lightly, and his initial instinct was to keep the card tucked away to avoid what could become a complication in his carefully constructed life.

But then he thought of you—the way your smile had lit up the room last night, the effortless warmth in your voice, and the quiet confidence in the note you’d left. You weren’t pushing; you were simply opening a door, one he realized he wanted to step through.

He stared at the number on the card, debating. Finally, he reached for his phone, texting you something simple but deliberate.

Aaron: Thank you for the note. I’m currently out of state on a case, but when I’m back, I’d like to meet for coffee.

He stared at the message for a moment, wondering if it felt too casual or too formal. But then he thought of you—your easy smile, your genuine warmth—and decided that simplicity was best. He pressed send before he could overthink it.

For the rest of the flight, his mind kept circling back to the text. He wasn’t sure if you’d respond right away, or at all, but the act of reaching out was enough to stir something unfamiliar in him. A quiet kind of hope.

You: Coffee sounds perfect. Just let me know when you're back, and I’ll make sure my schedule is clear. Be safe out there, Aaron.

When he read your reply, a small smile tugged at his lips. He slid the phone back into his pocket, leaning back in his seat. The case ahead loomed large in his mind, but for the first time in a while, there was something waiting for him on the other side of it. And for now, that was enough.

The case continued far too long, but Hotch finally stepped off the BAU jet just as the first rays of morning light broke over the tarmac. The case had been grueling—long nights, dead ends, and the weight of too many lives disrupted. But they’d managed to close it, and now all he could think about was the coffee date waiting for him.

The team moved silently, exhaustion etched into their faces as they grabbed their bags and headed for the SUVs waiting nearby. Emily caught his eye as they walked toward the cars.

“Plans for the morning, Hotch?” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

“Just coffee,” he replied simply, his tone giving nothing away.

Emily’s brow quirked, and a sly smile tugged at her lips. She knew it wasn’t like Hotch to not go settle back into the constraints of his desk, post-case. She had hoped he’d taken her advice when it came to you.

“Coffee, huh? Well, enjoy.”

Hotch gave her a faint smirk in response but said nothing more. He loaded his bag into the trunk and climbed into the driver’s seat of his SUV, his mind already shifting to you.

He hadn’t told you the details of the case, of course, but he’d sent you a text two nights ago letting you know he’d be back this morning and suggesting the café.

He arrived at the café with minutes to spare, parking his SUV and grabbing a quick look in the rearview mirror. He looked tired—there was no denying that—but he decided against going home to change first. Something about coming straight here felt more honest, like he wasn’t trying to put on a front. Besides, he doubted you’d mind.

When he stepped inside the café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around him, chasing away some of the lingering fatigue. He chose a table near the back, where the noise of the bustling morning crowd was muted. As he sat down, he checked his phone, confirming the time.

You’d be here any minute.

For the first time in a long while, he found himself anticipating something outside of work. And as he waited, he allowed himself the smallest flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something he hadn’t dared to imagine for years.

The sun cast a warm glow over the café, soft light filtering through the wide windows. Hotch had chosen a quiet table near the back, away from the bustling chatter of patrons. He arrived a little early, a habit born of years of precision and punctuality, and ordered a simple black coffee while he waited.

His gaze drifted toward the door as he wondered what to say to you. He’d thought about this meeting—about you—more than he cared to admit during the case. And now, with the moment so close, he wasn’t sure how to navigate the emotions that came with it.

The sound of the door opening pulled him from his thoughts, and there you were, stepping inside with an easy smile. You spotted him quickly and made your way over, looking effortlessly put together in a way that still felt warm and approachable.

“Hi,” you said, your smile widening as you reached the table.

“Hi,” Hotch replied, standing instinctively to greet you.

You set your bag down, glancing at his coffee. “Already ahead of me, I see. What’s your drink of choice?”

“Just black,” he said, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Nothing too exciting.”

“Classic,” you said approvingly. “Let me grab something, and I’ll be right back.”

As you stepped away to order, Hotch took a steadying breath. It was strange how easily you disarmed him with just your presence. When you returned with a latte, he stood again, waiting until you were seated before sitting himself.

“So,” you began, wrapping your hands around your cup. “How was the case?”

“Challenging,” he admitted. “But we managed to resolve it.”

You nodded, your expression thoughtful. “I imagine they’re all challenging in their own ways. I don’t know how you do it.”

He gave a small shrug. “It’s what I’m trained for. Though I’d be lying if I said it didn’t take its toll.”

“I can imagine,” you said softly. “It’s why I was surprised you even had the energy to come to my party last week.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “It was a good distraction. I’m glad I went.”

Your smile softened. “I’m glad you did too.”

For a moment, the two of you sipped your drinks in companionable silence. The warm atmosphere of the café seemed to cocoon you from the outside world, giving Hotch a rare sense of ease. But the weight of unspoken words pressed against him, and he knew he couldn’t leave without saying something.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said finally, his voice low but steady.

You looked up, your brows lifting slightly in surprise. “Oh?”

“More than I probably should,” he admitted, his dark eyes meeting yours. “I try not to let my personal life interfere with my work—or vice versa—but…you’ve been on my mind.”

Your lips parted slightly, and for a moment, you seemed at a loss for words. “Aaron…”

“I’m not saying this lightly,” he continued, his tone careful but sincere. “I don’t know where this is going or what it means, but I do know that I enjoy spending time with you. More than I expected to.”

A smile slowly spread across your face, warm and genuine. “I’ve been thinking about you too.”

That admission caught him off guard, though he didn’t let it show. He felt a quiet relief, a sense of validation for the risk he’d taken in being honest.

“Well,” you said, leaning slightly forward, your tone playful yet soft. “I guess that makes two of us who aren’t sure where this is going. But I think I’d like to find out.”

Hotch’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “So would I.”

The two of you sat there for a while longer, the conversation flowing easily as it always seemed to. For the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner allowed himself to consider the possibility of something more—and for once, he wasn’t afraid of what that might mean.

Tag List:

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@khxna

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@lover-of-books-and-tea

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#aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #reader insert #aaron hotch hotchner #hotchner #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner imagine #hotch #kiwriteswords #criminal minds imagine

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mahalachives · 3 months ago

Text

Part 6: The Mother Strikes Again

Azriel x f!reader

Genre: fated mates, rom-com, crack humor, eventual angst, eventual smut

Summary: Azriel never expected to finally meet his mate and to be… this.

A walking disaster with a talent for tripping over air, an uncanny ability to charm even the grumpiest Illyrian, and a knack for throwing herself headfirst into situations that require his immediate intervention.

She is warmth where he is shadow, laughter where he is silence. And worst of all? She makes him smile without trying.

Azriel, Are you Okay? - Masterlist

You couldn’t breathe.

Not because the River House was crowded—it wasn’t.

Not because the dress Lira had forced you into was too tight—it wasn’t.

But because you had just locked eyes with Azriel across the room, and something in his gaze had short-circuited your brain like a squirrel gnawed through the emotional wiring.

He stood half-shadowed, wine untouched in his scarred hand, watching you like he could peel back your layers without so much as blinking. His wings were tucked in, perfectly casual, but you caught the way they twitched when your eyes met his.

Like maybe—just maybe—he felt it, too.

“—don’t you think?” came Rhysand’s voice, breaking your Azriel-induced trance like a slap made of silk and judgment.

You blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

Rhys smiled. Slowly. Pleased. “I asked if you thought the eastern training grounds should be expanded for the new Illyrian recruits.”

Gods, just launch you into the Sidra.

“Oh. Yes. Definitely. Expand away. Stretch them wide open.”

You immediately wanted to curl up and die. Stretch them wide open?

Rhysand tilted his head, delight practically dripping from his expression. “How insightful. Especially since we’re not recruiting any new Illyrians this year.”

You choked on your wine. “I—I was being hypothetical.”

“Oh, of course.” Rhys took a slow sip of his drink, eyes twinkling with the kind of smug satisfaction that only came from being five hundred years old and still reveling in other people’s awkwardness. “Hypothetically distracted. Hypothetically staring at my spymaster like he’s the last piece of cake at a Winter Solstice party.”

“I was not—”

“You were.”

You hated that he was right. Hated it more that your gaze had already wandered back to Azriel. Again. Like your eyes had a mind of their own. A treacherous, Azriel-obsessed mind.

And then, as if the Mother herself had decided to punish you for every tiny moment of hope—Elain appeared.

Soft, luminous, springtime-in-heels Elain. With her perfect hair and radiant smile and infuriatingly effortless elegance. She approached Azriel like a breeze, leaned in to whisper something, and—

His shadows disappeared.

Vanished. Gone. Like they had collectively decided you’ve suffered enough and no longer wished to be witnesses.

And Azriel—he nodded. Set down his glass. Followed her out.

Just like that.

Something cold and sour twisted in your chest. You told yourself it wasn’t jealousy.

“If you’ll excuse me,” you muttered to Rhys, turning away before he could say anything else, before he could look at you with those knowing, pity-laced eyes.

That it wasn’t insecurity tightening like a vine around your ribs.

But the lie sat in your throat like a stone.

The balcony doors were cool beneath your fingertips, the spring air brisk and sharp as you stepped outside. You exhaled slowly, gripping the railing like it might anchor you to the moment.

You were fine.

This was fine.

He could talk to Elain. Laugh with her. Look at her. Go off to gods-know-where with her.

You didn’t care.

…Except that you did care.

A little.

Okay, a lot.

Because Elain was softness and grace and gardens in bloom. And you were… archives. You were ink-stained fingers and off-key humming and the kind of awkward that made people pat your shoulder like you were trying your best. Which you were, thank you very much.

You stared at the Sidra, pretending the river didn’t look like a temptingly chilly escape route. You weren’t going to walk into it. That would be dramatic. Unhinged. Pathetic.

You almost did it anyway.

“Don’t even think about it,” came a familiar voice behind you. Heels clicked softly against the stone.

You turned to find Mor, radiant and golden, strolling toward you with two glasses in hand and an expression that said you poor, emotionally volatile thing.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were absolutely contemplating river-based dramatics,” she said, handing you a glass. “Drink this. It’ll either fix your feelings or make you forget them long enough to dance on the table and humiliate yourself in a fun way.”

You took the glass with the hesitation of someone who had once made the mistake of accepting Cassian’s idea of “just a little something to take the edge off.”

“Is this safe?”

Mor grinned. “No. That’s why it’s effective.”

You took a sip. It tasted like peaches, fire, and the sudden realization that you might not survive this evening with your dignity intact.

Mor leaned her hip against the balcony railing, eyes scanning the ballroom through the glass doors. “So. Az.”

You immediately regretted everything. “Please don’t.”

“I’m just saying,” she said, taking a sip of her own drink, “that if he had stared at me like that, I would’ve dragged him into the nearest closet and emerged an hour later wearing his shirt and a new life perspective.”

“Mor.”

“What?” she asked, all false innocence. “I support you. I just also support drama. And maybe some light kidnapping.”

You sighed and sipped again. Harder this time. “He left with Elain.”

“Mhmm,” she hummed, unconcerned. “She probably asked him to help her move a flowerpot. You know how she gets when the moon is waxing and her begonias are emotionally unstable.”

You choked on your drink. “That is not comforting.”

Mor reached over and patted your cheek affectionately. “You’ve got this. Just breathe. Be mysterious. Look beautiful and unbothered. And maybe avoid Cass—he’s still smirking like he’s writing fanfiction in his head.”

You groaned.

“Drink, sweetheart,” Mor said, clinking her glass against yours. “There’s a whole evening ahead of you, and if you’re going to spiral, you might as well do it fashionably.”

The wine hit fast.

Too fast.

One second, you were quietly nursing your emotional damage on the River House balcony, trying to pretend that seeing Azriel leave with Elain hadn’t turned your insides into a soup of insecurity and delusion.

The next, you were standing on a dining table in the middle of the River House's very formal spring soirée, dramatically reenacting a battle that may or may not have been entirely made up and also may have featured a lot more dramatic flourishes than historically accurate swordplay.

Mor had given up on you. Entirely.

She was somewhere in the crowd, face buried in her hands, as you wielded a very fancy, catered poultry leg like a mighty sword.

“And then!” you bellowed, swaying slightly on your heels, “I single-handedly took down an entire battalion of—of, um—bad guys! With only my wits, my unparalleled combat prowess, and this drumstick!”

You raised it triumphantly. Some poor caterer looked personally offended.

A crowd had gathered.

Feyre, Nesta, and Cassian stood near the fireplace. Cassian was practically doubled over, laughing so hard he might rupture something. Nesta had her arms crossed and was muttering something that looked like “end me”. Feyre had a pained but weirdly fond look, like she was watching her toddler light something on fire and trying to decide whether to intervene.

Rhysand and Mor had fully stationed themselves near the dessert table and were watching the unfolding trainwreck with unfiltered delight.

Amren hadn’t moved from her seat in the corner, but she had acquired popcorn. Where she got it, you didn’t know. You didn’t ask.

Azriel, however, was simply staring.

Expression unreadable. Shadows curled around his shoulders like they, too, were judging you.

You forged ahead anyway.

“Did you know,” you slurred slightly, waving your turkey sword at no one in particular, “that Azriel is the most attractive person here?”

Silence.

Actual silence.

The kind of silence that sucked all the oxygen out of the room.

Mor made a strangled noise from somewhere in the crowd.

Cassian's laughter turned wheezy.

Nesta smacked his arm. Hard.

Elain—still somehow glowing and sipping tea like this didn’t concern her—arched one perfectly sculpted brow.

Azriel’s face? Still blank.

His shadows? Still twitching.

Your dignity? On fire.

Rhysand grinned. “Go on,” he encouraged, because he was an immortal agent of chaos.

You nodded solemnly. “It’s true. He’s unfairly attractive. It’s a crime. Someone arrest him. Put him in face jail.”

Cassian was now crying.

Nesta looked like she was considering pushing him into the Sidra.

Elain sipped her tea. Unbothered. Beautiful. Smelling like seasonal produce.

You, meanwhile, were full throttle into a wine-fueled meltdown.

You pointed directly at Azriel, nearly tipping over. “You. Have. A very. Nice. Face.”

Azriel blinked. Slowly. His wings twitched—just a little—and his shadows curled tighter around his shoulders, like they were trying to hide the fact that maybe the corners of his lips had moved.

Mor appeared beside the table and hissed, “Get down right now.”

“I’m not drunk,” you told her, swaying wildly. “I’m making observations.”

“Observations?” Mor scoffed. “You’re reciting a love ballad to his jaw like it belongs in the Hewn City Hall of Fame.”

“I have one more thing to say,” you declared, digging your heels into the table, which made an ominous creak.

“Please no,” Mor whispered, staring skyward like she was summoning divine intervention.

You pointed, blinking slowly. “You are very… very… emotionally constipated. And I mean that with love.”

And then—because the Mother was clearly on vacation—you lost your balance and tumbled off the table.

You braced for impact.

But it never came.

Instead, you landed against a solid chest. Strong arms. Warm hands gripping your waist like they belonged there. And a very unfair scent of cold night and cedar and oh no.

Azriel had caught you. Because of course he did.

You blinked up at him, face inches from his. “Oh,” you breathed. “Hi.”

His expression didn’t change—but his shadows stirred restlessly, like they were whispering gossip directly into his ears.

Behind him, Rhysand snorted. Cassian was fully collapsed against a wall. Feyre had her hands over her mouth.

Nesta looked like she wanted to slap you and him and probably fate in general.

Mor had backed into a corner and was mouthing I don’t know her.

“You’re impossible,” Azriel muttered, voice low and warm and, unfairly, just a little fond.

You grinned up at him. “You like it.”

He stared down at you, eyes dark and unreadable. His shadows coiled tighter. His grip stayed firm on your waist. His wings flared—just slightly.

And then his lips twitched. Barely. But enough.

Azriel sighed, like a man staring down the barrel of his bad decisions and finding them extremely attractive. “Come on, my unhinged little comet.”

And before you could say another word, he swept you into his arms—bridal style, because apparently you were leaning all the way into public humiliation now.

You yelped, then immediately melted into his chest with a pleased hum. “Mmm. You smell nice. Like shadows and judgment. Wait—are you blushing?”

“Cauldron give me strength,” Azriel groaned, carrying you through the stunned crowd.

From behind you came the sound of cackling, someone knocking over a wine glass, and Amren muttering, “I give it two weeks.”

As you were swept out of the room, your voice echoed back behind you—

“For the record, I do not regret this!”

Far above, in the realm unseen, the Mother watched with a knowing smile.

The wind whispered around her as she observed the scene below—the drunken declarations, the clumsy affection, the way Azriel's shadows curled toward you, seeking despite themselves.

She had woven many fates, shaped many lives. But few amused her as much as this one.

“Oh, child,” she murmured, voice like the rustling of leaves, the turning of tides. “You are more entangled than you know.”

A chuckle echoed through the heavens, light as starlight.

The Mother lifted a hand, tracing invisible threads that bound two souls together—threads that had been frayed and knotted, but never severed. They shimmered, pulsating faintly, as if recognizing the moment for what it was.

Her eyes twinkled. “Soon,” she promised. “Soon, you will see.”

And with that, the Mother leaned back, content.

Below, in the world of mortals, you were still smiling up at Azriel, utterly oblivious to the divine hand gently guiding your fate.

Azriel had known many kinds of silence in his life.

The tense stillness before a kill.

The solemn hush after a mission gone wrong.

The kind of silence that settled over the mountains after a battle, when the snow fell red and the dead could finally rest.

But this—this was different.

This silence was laced with something soft and unbearable. Not sharp like rejection, but quiet like a door half-closed. A space he didn’t want to intrude upon but couldn’t bring himself to leave.

He had carried you home in his arms after the River House party, your wine-heavy laughter long since faded into soft breaths and sleep-mumbled nonsense. His wings stayed tightly tucked, his steps careful, as though any jostle might wake you or, worse, shatter the fragile permission he’d been given to be this close.

You hadn’t told him to leave.

You hadn’t told him to stay, either.

So he’d done what he always did—read the space between words. The way you’d curled into his chest without thinking. The way your fingers had clutched his leathers before slipping into sleep. The way you hadn’t recoiled from him. Not tonight.

He laid you gently on your bed, the scent of your room wrapping around him like a memory. Tea leaves, old books, lavender. The scent of you. He lingered as he drew the blanket over your shoulders, fingers brushing the edge of the fabric rather than your skin, though his hands ached to.

His shadows stirred, curling over your pillow like they wanted to stay, too. Like they recognized this as home.

Azriel swallowed hard.

Across the room, a gentle bubbling sound drew his attention. Gregory, circled his glass bowl with renewed interest, fins flaring in iridescent display. The fish paused, seeming to study Azriel with one glassy eye, as if offering silent approval.

"Don't worry," Azriel whispered to the vigilant guardian. "I won't disturb her."

Gregory flicked his tail once before resuming his patrol of the bowl's perimeter.

You looked so peaceful in sleep. So unguarded. A stray lock of hair had fallen across your cheek, and his hand hovered—wanting, not daring. He wanted to tuck it behind your ear. He wanted to trace the line of your jaw, to memorize the small details he’d never let himself learn in daylight.

He wanted to stay.

But wanting was dangerous.

So he stepped back. Quiet. Controlled. Careful not to wake you. He turned toward the door, toward the shadows that always welcomed him back when the light became too much.

But the door didn’t open.

Azriel frowned.

He tried again. Nothing.

His shadows curled back, wary now. Curious. The faintest shimmer in the air told him it wasn’t locked by any hand—it was woven.

Enchanted. A soft, powerful magic humming in the walls, in the floor. Centered around you.

It was not meant to trap.

It was meant to protect.

And right now, it had decided he wasn’t allowed to leave.

A test, maybe. Or a mistake.

But Azriel didn’t fight it. He could have winnowed. Could have vanished in an instant.

He didn’t.

Instead, he turned slowly, gaze falling back to you.

You had shifted slightly in your sleep, a soft sigh escaping your lips as your brow furrowed, like your dreams were stirring. One hand curled in the blankets, as if searching for something to hold on to.

His heart cracked open just a little more.

This wasn’t rejection.

This wasn’t goodbye.

This was the in-between. The soft space where hope dared to breathe.

With a quiet breath, Azriel crossed the room. He pulled the chair from your desk and sat, his movements smooth, reverent. His arms folded across his chest, but his gaze never left you.

He would not wake you.

He would not cross that line.

But he would stay.

Just for tonight.

Because it was enough to sit beside you and pretend—just for a moment—that he belonged here.

And as the moonlight traced the edges of your face, Azriel let himself fall just a little deeper. Into the quiet rhythm of your breath. Into the memory of your laughter echoing in his chest. Into the unbearable sweetness of loving you in silence.

He had always been good at waiting.

The Mother watched, perched on a shimmering cloud, her divine gaze locked onto the scene below with deep amusement. She crossed her arms and let out a sigh of exaggerated exasperation.

“Honestly, for someone who prides himself on being so clever, he’s shockingly slow on the uptake,” she muttered.

Beside her, Fate, who had been lazily twirling a strand of destiny’s golden thread between her fingers, smirked. “I told you he’d try to leave. He’s stubborn.”

The Mother rolled her eyes. “Well, he can be as stubborn as he likes, but he’s not leaving that house tonight. Not on my watch.”

With a flick of her fingers, a golden shimmer cascaded down to Velaris, weaving itself around the door like an invisible enchantment. The wood solidified, unmoving, as though it had been rooted in the very foundation of the earth.

Fate chuckled. “I almost feel bad for him. Almost.”

The Mother waved a hand dismissively. “He’s going to thank me for this later.”

The Mother merely smirked, whispering mischievously, “Good luck getting out now, Shadowsinger.”

The Mother and Fate exchanged a victorious glance before returning to their celestial tea, waiting for the dawn—and for fate to finally, finally take its course.

Azriel woke with a start.

The air was thick with the scent of your home—tea leaves and parchment, soft and comforting—but something was wrong. His shadows coiled tighter around him, restless, their murmuring a frantic whisper in his ears.

Then he heard it.

A soft, pained whimper.

His entire body went rigid.

He turned his head, scanning the room, his heartbeat a measured rhythm against his ribs. You were still in bed, the blankets tangled around your form, your face turned away from him.

But your breathing was uneven.

Another broken sound left your lips, barely more than a whisper, but it sent something sharp and vicious through his chest.

You were dreaming.

No—not dreaming. Nightmare.

In an instant, he was at your side, kneeling by the bed, his hands hovering over your shoulders. He murmured your name, voice low and soothing, carefully avoiding touching you lest he startle you further.

“Wake up,” he urged softly. “It’s just a dream. You’re safe.”

Your brow furrowed, lips trembling. The distress in your face, the way you curled away from whatever nightmare plagued you—it was unbearable.

His hands itched to pull you into his arms, to shield you from whatever ghosts haunted you, but instead, he simply pressed a palm to your wrist, grounding you in the present.

Your entire body jerked at the contact, your eyes snapping open, wild and unfocused.

“Azriel?” Your voice was hoarse, laced with exhaustion and fear.

“I’m here.”

Your breathing came in sharp, uneven gasps, but his presence—his touch—seemed to steady you. Slowly, recognition bled into your gaze. Your fingers twitched against his, uncertain, hesitant.

Then, before he could think better of it, he brushed his thumb over your wrist.

A slow, steady reassurance. A silent promise.

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as though trying to chase away the remnants of your nightmare. Your lips parted, like you might say something—like you might ask him why he was still here, why he had stayed.

But you didn’t.

And he didn’t offer an explanation.

Instead, he just waited. Waited for you to breathe. Waited for you to decide what came next.

And for once, he let himself hope.

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Your heartbeat slowed, settling into something steadier, though your skin still tingled from the dream’s lingering grip.

Then, with a hoarse whisper, you finally broke the silence.

“I dreamed I was being chased by a horde of angry geese."

Azriel blinked. Slowly. “What?”

You let out a shuddering breath, still caught between exhaustion and residual panic. “It was terrifying. They had tiny daggers strapped to their wings. Like some kind of rogue assassin squad. I think one of them was wearing a miniature cloak.”

His expression remained unreadable, but you could see it—the minute twitch at the corner of his mouth. The faintest hint of amusement in his otherwise impassive face.

“I take it that explains the whimpering,” he said dryly.

You huffed. “You laugh, but one of them was glaring at me like he knew all my secrets.”

That almost did it. Almost. His lips twitched again, his shadows shifting around him like they too were barely holding back their mirth.

Then, against all odds, a chuckle—low, quiet, but undeniably real—escaped him.

You gaped. “Did you just laugh?”

Azriel exhaled sharply, his composure snapping back into place. “No.”

“You did! You totally did!”

“I assure you, I did not.”

You sat up, pointing at him in mock accusation. “The mighty Shadowsinger, feared by all of Prythian, just laughed at my nightmare.”

“I did not laugh.”

“You did.” You grinned now, feeling lighter somehow, as if the weight of your dream had finally loosened its hold on you. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t be able to resist either. Those geese were menaces.”

Azriel shook his head, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed him. “Go back to sleep.”

You flopped back onto your pillows with an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. But if I wake up screaming, you’re responsible for protecting me from the assassin geese.”

“I’ll do my best,” he murmured, voice softer now, lingering with something unreadable.

And as your eyes fluttered shut once more, you swore you felt it—the barest brush of a shadow curling around your wrist. A silent promise.

One he was not ready to put into words.

Yet.

Thanks for reading—I promise the emotional damage is coming, but for now, let’s enjoy the chaos. 💕

Author’s Note:

In my defense, the turkey leg was supposed to be metaphorical. But then the wine happened, and suddenly there were assassin geese, Mor was done with everything, and Azriel accidentally caught feelings and a drunk botanist. I regret nothing. Except maybe “stretch them wide open.” That one’s going to haunt me.

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