#and after the match he gives this incredibly vulnerable answer about how hard it's been these past few months for him to be himself

[crossedcourt]

Not this footage of Carlos crying in the back of the Indian Wells buggy before his match yesterday single handedly launching my villain era.

[barbwritesstuff]

Hey again! I just wanted to write cause I FINALLY had the time to read the actual released version of Blood Moon. It was so nice to experience it fully polished!

Also, reading it all in one go allowed me to really think about it more deeply, and I realized one of my favorite parts of the story is one I've never really seen people talk about... I think it's fascinating how after the Alek's death, for a very "naturally Alpha-oriented MC", the pack seems to instinctively follow them from the get go. Like, it feels incredibly natural, like it's the right order of things. Simply because the MC knows what to do - or at least seems to know - and is willing to actually take things in their hands. I feel like in moments of vulnerability like this one, having someone who can be an "anchor" really helps. And in that moment, if the MC has the heart of an Alpha, they can be that anchor. Strangely enough, that segment is one of my favorite parts of the story despite being so "unassuming" in a way (well, it's an important and painful part of the story, but it's no big epic moment, no romantic moment, no stuff like that), simply because of how strongly we can feel what the pack must feel and the natural power shifts in it.

Another part I REALLY adored and that wasn't in the last WIP I had read was the epilogue. It was such a short segment, but I really think you outdid yourself with it! It felt incredible to read!

That aside, I also had three questions, if you don't mind me making this post even longer than it already is:

When meeting Farro for the first time at the gathering, if the MC shakes his hand and smiles, Farro is momentarily "taken aback" by MC's smile. Is it because he saw the similarities with Jay when he smiles? Or did he simply think MC looks good when they smile?

When all the pack moves in the den after Alek's death, it's said Marco leaves his room so Nikolas and Grace can take it. If Marco is in a relationship with the MC and the MC agrees to that, does he move into the MC's room at least temporarily, or does he pick a different place? It's never specified, and it's hard to get a true answer just from reading the story.

Last one is a bit different... I like to think once shit really dies down after the battle and everything that follows it, my MC will ask if Marco wants to marry him. But there is one thing I've been thinking about - I think one thing my MC would really care about is to make himself a sort of "semi-matching" tattoo before they get married - blue roses. Basically, something to match, but not to be identical. He'd really want to have this tattoo already on him when the marriage actually happens. Assuming that, obviously, this isn't done "to please" or anything like that, and something my MC REALLY wants for himself, what would Marco's thoughts be about that? (and yes, one of my reasons of asking that is me needing to know for when I feel inspired to draw my MC)

Sorry for this way too long ask! Thanks and have a great day!

I'm so glad you got a chance to play the polished version of Blood Moon and that you enjoyed it. Those are some of my favourite moments too. 💙

To answer your questions:

Farro is used to people being nervous around him because of his size (and because he's a shy mountain man that doesn't spend a lot of time around people he doesn't know). If you seem friendly and relaxed, he's surprised by how easy and pleasant this conversation is going.

Marco is only giving up his room for the duration of the siege. Long term, Marco would like to get a job and an apartment near the den. If he's in a relationship with MC, then they can join him there.

Marco would be thrilled and honoured if MC was interested in getting rose tattoos like his. I think he'd think that was really cool.

[h0tchner]

Something More (Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader)

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: Written as a request for the loml, Abby! (@heliotropehotch!) "Could I have a hotch x reader request thats got a love confession- maybe a hurt comfort scene where the reader is maybe torn up about something like self deprecation or some cop makes an off-handed compliment and he cups her cheeks and wipes the tears away? Pretty please 🥺"

word count: 3.2k

includes: love confessions! hurt/comfort, protective!hotch, mutual pining!!!, kissing, a little teaser of sexytimes, work tension, BAU!reader, crying and other emotions, rude af deputies, fluff soooo much fluff

rating: 18+ (cursing, crude nicknames, suggestive sexual mentions, and brief explicit sexual content at the very end)

a/n: HELLO BESTIES! I hope you love this one! If you want a smutty part two, let me know. PLS (!!!!!) interact if you liked this fic; rb, comment, like and/or send me a request if you have ideas for future fics! i love y’all! - rivka💞

some pals tags: @arsonhotchner @laurensprentiss @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie

“It’s time to give the profile,” Hotch announces.

Six words. One sentence. Zero hesitation.

“Go and gather everybody in the bullpen,” he directs Spencer, who nods and quietly exits the conference room to collect your team and the rest of the Sherrif’s department of this small, Wisconsin town.

You stand on the opposite side of the table from your boss, looking at him expectantly. Hotch meets your gaze. His tongue darts out from between his lips as he glares at you from beneath thick lashes. You wait for your instructions, but the instructions don’t come. Rather, you both stand there in a staring contest, unmoving.

You can’t help but feel bare under his scrutiny, but this feeling is nothing new. Every time Hotch looks at you, it feels as if every fibre of your being is on fire. It’s been this way since the very first day you started with the BAU, and, over time, the flame has only burned brighter.

You and Hotch have grown close over the two years you’ve been with the team: closer than he’s been with any of his other agents, even Rossi. It all started with one long night spent together in his office, sharing cold Chinese food, scribbling away at mountains of paperwork. It was then, sitting across the desk from him, laughing at his incredulous reaction when he dropped some Lo Mein on an After-Action Report, that you knew: you were in deep. From then on, your Chinese food office “dates” became a regular occurrence. And then, those regular occurrences transformed into other regular occurrences; to name a few: rides on the jet, side by side, sharing soft glances and tired smiles after hard cases… holding hands to comfort each other when emotionally vulnerable… and even bringing you your favourite coffee on mornings that you’ve needed an extra boost. All these little moments of kindness and care are what made you fall in love with him. You would cross the line from coworkers to more in a heartbeat if you knew for certain that he felt the same way about you. But you refuse to take a risk on losing what you currently have with Hotch for the chance at something more.

The way that Hotch looks at you now, tall and commanding, feels very much like something more… it’s incredibly intimate. He’s effectively stripped away all the layers of protection you’ve built up to do your job with one pointed glance. What you don’t know is that he too feeling the same way, and is toeing a line between being your boss, being your friend, and being your “something more.”

Hotch breathes out hard through his nose. You watch as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he does. His jaw ticks. He shifts on his feet.

“I want you to sit this one out,” he says.

“Hotch?” You question, puzzled. Nothing about this day has prepared you for him to say that. You start racking your brain, trying to figure out why he would give you such a ridiculous order. Did you piss him off somehow? Did you play-flirt with Morgan too much in the car? Overlook an important lead? Did he not like the coffee you made him this morning?

Looking over at him, you swear he almost looks conflicted… but it doesn’t last.

“This is not up for debate. Do you understand me? You’re sitting this one out.” He repeats, steadfast.

“I don’t understand, what did I do wrong?” You ask more defensively this time, wishing he would give you more information. Something, anything besides the “SSA Aaron Hotchner” routine he was pulling on you now.

“I never said you did anything wrong.” Hotch moves forward a step, finally breaking eye contact, opting to gather files and loose papers into his arms.

“So, then what it is?” You cross your arms, stepping forwards as well, challenging him with your posture.

He doesn’t respond, nor does he look at you. Instead, he lumps more files into his arms before rounding the table, moving swiftly toward the door.

You have never, ever disobeyed one of his orders because his orders have always made sense… until now.

“Hotch,” you say sternly, your stubborn feet moving to stand between him and the exit before your logical brain can stop you.

He’s practically up against you, cornering you between his solid body and the old wooden door. His height dominates your shorter frame, and the heat coming off his body is positively criminal. Your heart flutters in your chest as he stares you down, calculating his next move.

“Out of my way, Agent Y/L/N.” He breathes out, tensing his jaw.

“Fine,” you stutter, “just tell me why and then I’ll let you go.” Your confidence wavers as you’re a little taken aback by his official use of your title and last name.

You’re hurt, confused… and he knows this. No matter how hard you’re putting on your tough-girl FBI face, Hotch can see right through it. He knows this order is unjustified, but he has his own reasons: reasons that he can’t get into. Not now.

Hotch lets his eyes dart to the side, past your head, not daring to look you in the eyes. He wills himself to be gentle.

“I can’t tell you, but I need you to trust me. Sit this one out.” He verbalizes, looking at you a little softer now. His face relaxes a little more into the Hotchner you’ve come to know: the one who calls his son every night to read a bedtime story, the one who grins every time you beat him in chess.

You two stand there a moment longer, your heart racing from the heat of the quarrel and your current proximity to your Unit Chief.

Hotch opens his mouth to say something else, but a knock on the door behind you stops him in his tracks. You step aside and he whips open the door; a very apologetic Spencer stands behind it.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Spencer says, clearing his throat awkwardly, “but everyone is ready in the bullpen.”

“Thank you,” Hotch nods, stepping forward to leave, but you grab a hold of his arm.

“Hotch,” you begin, not entirely sure what you want to say.

“Later,” he answers, finishing the unspoken thought.

With that, he’s out the door and you’re left alone with only stale coffee and a bunch of disorganized files to keep you company.

You close the door behind them with a sigh, letting yourself rest against it again, closing your eyes for a moment in defeat. Three days on this case. Three days of hard work, interviews, and research just to get benched in the end zone. You wish that you didn’t love Hotch, because maybe if you didn’t, it would be easier to disobey him. Opening your eyes again, you scan the quiet room. Then, something in front of you catches your eye and you get an idea.

On the table rests one of the precinct’s phones. It is all too easy to use the conference feature to listen in on one of the other phone lines: specifically, one in the bullpen.

You grin and rush over to the device, feeling a little bit sheepish for not listening to Hotch, but you push the buttons anyway, and bring the receiver up to your ear.

At first, all you hear is the shuffling of papers and muffled voices. You take a seat, leaning back in your chair like the cat who caught the canary. Several more moments pass of bureaucratic white noise, but then, someone speaks.

“Where’s the slutty one?” A male voice whispers.

“Oh, Agent Y/N? Probably on her knees somewhere waiting for her boss to come back.” A second male voice snickers back, matching the volume of the first.

You gasp, the phone slipping out of your hand, landing on the table with a loud thunk.

Scrambling, you grab it again, your other hand coming to rest over your open mouth.

“Don’t know why he wouldn’t let us use her as bait. This whole case could’ve been wrapped up and done by now if we just stuck her in a skimpy dress and shoved her out on the street.” One of them muses.

“Obviously because he’s sleeping with her.” The other mutters. “Agent Hotchner looked like he was going to take your head off when you asked him about it. Thought he was going to deck you for suggesting disguising her as a hooker to lure this guy out.”

“Yeah, he did. She looks like the victims, though. Bet she’s a whore like them too.”

“Deputies, we’re starting.” You hear a third voice pipe up. This time it’s one you recognize: it’s Hotch. “This is your final warning. I don’t want to hear another word out of you for the rest of the day. Not only is this wildly inappropriate, but it is insulting and vile. If I hear either of you speak about, look at, or interact with Agent Y/N, I will make sure you are both charged with harassment and fired from this department. Is that clear?”

With that, your eyes nearly pop out of your head. The deputies mumble something back, but you can’t hear over the sound of papers rustling.

Stunned, you set the phone back in its holder and force air into your lungs.

Waves of thoughts come crashing down on you. You have so many questions and so many answers and it’s all just… too much.

Suddenly, you know that you need to be anywhere but here.

You stand, shoving the chair aside and burst out of the conference room, fuming. You power-walk down the hall, and past the bullpen, focused on getting yourself outside and into the fresh air. Understandably, you don’t look up as you pass the profile briefing, so you don’t see Hotch’s brow furrow at the sight of you. You also don’t see him hand his papers to JJ, excuse himself, and race to follow you out the front door.

Once you’re outside in the parking lot, you look up at the cloudy, grey sky, and the tears start to fall. You feel guilty and angry; part of you wants to run away and cry, but the other part of you wants to walk straight up to those men and kick them straight in the dick. They not only called you vile names, but they also called the victims – those poor, dead women – the same. You sniffle, thinking about how Hotch stepped in and protected you, stood up for you.

Hotch… the thought of him makes you cry a little harder.

You start to pace around, kicking gravel as you went.

Were you that obvious? Was your crush so rampant that two low-level deputies in the middle of nowheresville picked up that easily on how you really felt about your boss?

“Fuck you two,” you curse under your breath to nobody as you choke back sobs. You kick a large piece of gravel as hard and as far as you can, but it doesn’t help.

“Are you okay?” A voice prods from behind you, gently, hesitantly, as if not to spook you. It’s a curt baritone, laced with concern. It’s Hotch.

“Hotch,” you breathe, turning to face him, furiously wiping tears away from your eyes.

“What happened?” He frowns, stepping closer to you, a comforting hand reaching forward to take yours.

Any other day you would grasp it contently, letting him console you. Today? All you can hear are the deputy’s comments. Sleeping with her. Whore. On her knees. You’re embarrassed and ashamed, so, you involuntarily step back.

“It’s nothing,” you put your hands up, looking down at your feet.

“Y/N,” Hotch says, his heart pounding in his chest.

You look back up, locking on his beautiful, angular face. You see every feature clouded in a haze of sorrow and concern.

You know you must swallow your pain and try to get it out. He wasn’t about to let you off easy.

“You… they… I…” you begin, but never finish your sentence. Instead, you start to cry again.

Wordlessly, Hotch moves to cup your face in his hands. They’re large and slightly calloused, encasing your cheeks as his thumbs gently swipe away the tears. His soft eyes search your watery ones; despite your better instinct, you bring your hands up to rest on his chest. You feel his breathing hitch. One of his hands moves from your face to cover your smaller hand against his chest. The two of you stay there, just like that, for another handful of heartbeats. You focus on his hands and how warm and safe they make you feel. Soon enough, you stop crying and gather the courage to speak.

“I heard them.” You whisper, not trusting yourself to say another word. You know that Hotch knows exactly who “them” is, and exactly what it is that you’ve heard.

His brow creases and his hand grips yours tighter. He cleans another tear off your cheek, and then lets that hand down to ball in a fist at his side.

“I’m going to kill them.” Hotch states, furious and heartbroken.

“Me first.” You sniffle.

Your boss sighs, giving you a heartfelt look. Leave it to you to make a joke at a time like this.

“I told them this morning that if I ever heard them say another thing about you, I was going to have their badges. I should’ve kicked them off this case hours ago.” He huffs, closing his eyes, letting his other hand, the one that was covering yours, drop down to his side.

You know this look all too well. You know he’s blaming himself.

“It’s not your fault,” you offer, smoothing your hands over his chest to settle on his upper arms. “Hotch, look at me.”

He doesn’t at first, but eventually, he opens his eyes. His hands open and close at his sides, as if he’s fighting them to be still.

“I’m sorry.” He breathes out. “For everything. For handling this how I did.”

“I’m not.” You chime in, feeling braver, calmer now that you’re here with him. Your comment earns a quizzical glance and a slight head tilt from Hotch, urging you to go on. “You stood up for me. You honoured me. You respected me. You protected me. You –“

With a fierce momentum, your next sentence is swallowed by Hotch’s lips pressing into yours. His hands come up to rest on your hips, and then circle around your waist to pull you closer. He’s warm and soft and intense; you whimper into the kiss, moving your hands to rest on the back of his neck and card in his hair. The kiss is over far too soon for your liking, both of you needing to pull back and inhale.

Hotch looks at you with heavy eyes, hands gripping your hips. He smells like coffee and pine, with a hint of something spicier. Everything about him is overwhelming yet grounding.

“Finally,” you whisper, hands clasped around his neck. “It’s about damn time.”

“It is,” is all he musters, still dazed by the audacity of his own actions.

“Aaron?” You lick your lips, feeling his hands squeeze you tight at your use of his first name.

“Yeah?” He can’t help but start to smile, showing off his adorable dimples and crinkled lines around his eyes.

“I love you; do you know that?” You say in earnest.

Aaron giggles, giggles at your confession, and then attacks your lips again, making you yelp at the surprise. His lips detach from yours only to pepper kisses on your tear-stained cheeks, jaw, and forehead.

“I love you too,” he breathes out, giddier than you’ve ever seen him. He looks like a kid in a candy shop, and it makes your heart leap into your throat.

Just then, a car beeps on the road, startling you two. You’re suddenly reminded where you are, and why you’re here. The thought of having to go back inside makes you groan, and you bury your head into his chest for a moment. He hums into your hair, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

Reluctantly, you pull yourself off his chest to look up at him.

“Forget about them,” you say, “go finish giving the profile so we can close this case and get the hell out of this town so you can take me home and show me how much you love me.” You smile at him, pulling him in for another, lighter kiss.

He grins against your lips, meeting you for another smooch.

“Yes ma’am,” Hotch replies, giving you a kiss on the tip of your nose.

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

Three months later, you and Aaron are coming down from your highs, sweaty and blissed-out after an amazing lovemaking session. After the team wrapped up the case and made it back to Virginia in one piece, you and Hotch went out to dinner the next night. He took you to dine in at the Chinese restaurant that you both usually ordered from on those nights you both spent pining and yearning in his office. It was… perfect. He was perfect. Just as your friendship had blossomed, so did your relationship. One date led to another, one gesture turned into more, and you and Aaron settled into life as a couple with ease. You hadn’t brought up the incident with the deputies since it had happened the afternoon that Hotch had followed you out to the parking lot to wipe away your tears.

Now, as you lay in his arms, wrapped in his strong, loving, embrace, your mind wanders back to their words. However, you don’t feel animosity toward them, rather it makes you giggle.

“What’s so funny hot stuff?” Aaron cracks open an eye and smiles down at you. One arm is tucked underneath his head, and the other is tracing patterns on the bare skin of your shoulder.

“Oh, just that case we had in Wisconsin a few months back.” You nuzzle deeper into his chest with another laugh.

Hotch frowns, recalling the memory, thinking about the way those awful men spoke about you.

“How is that funny?” He asks, hesitantly.

“They called me a whore.” You say nonchalantly, peering innocently into his amber eyes. You bring your palm up to swipe across his cheek softly, feeling the light stubble of his jaw underneath your fingertips.

Both of his eyes are open now, and his hand motions cease their patterns on your skin. He’s confused, and the face he’s giving you is downright adorable. It makes you giggle again.

You detach yourself from his grasp and sit yourself up, carefully shimmying down the bed. Aaron’s eyes never leave you.

You nestle yourself between his legs and look up at him with a smirk.

“They were partially right.” You offer, studying the small changes in his face, watching as his eyes glaze over with lust for the second time that night.

“I am a whore.” You pout suggestively and flutter your eyelashes. “A whore for you, Hotch.”

He shakes his head at you in amusement and chuckles, but it quickly turns into a deep, throaty moan as you wrap your lips around the tip of him.

As you start to bob your head on his already hardening length, you think to yourself: as much as I hate to say it... someone should really give those two deputies a raise.

[junisfics]

All This Time — Armin Arlert (4)

series masterlist

Pairing: Armin Arlert x Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Series Summary: Reader messages her best friend Armin late one night while she's drunk and needy, but will she remember the things she said to him in the morning, and if she does... will she regret it?

Party Summary: The morning after causes a temporary scare, but once Armin realizes he actually has you… he refuses to stay away

Content: Fluff, Smut / Nsfw 18 +

Content Warnings: Unprotected Sex, Very Slight Choking, Creampie (No Breeding)

You awake with an arm wrapped around your waist, and it’s not yours. It’s Armin’s, and this time you know it’s his, you know that body that’s pressed up against your back and you know the legs that are intertwined with yours.

He’s warm against you, and there’s an overwhelming feeling that washes over you that you can only describe as content.

You could hear him softly breathing, his face nestled into the back crook of your neck. His left arm is draped over your waist and snaked under your shirt so his palm rests against your stomach. His other arm must be curled up between the two of you because it’s nowhere in your sight. 

You don’t feel the need to move for quite some time, just laying with him with your eyes closed and face nuzzling into the pillow. You feel his chest rise and fall steadily behind you, and you try and match your breaths to his. But Armin’s are too slow, too even, and you can’t do it.

You savor his warmth and his touch for a while longer before growing apt for food and water. So, when the sun just begins to set down the horizon, you slip out of his arms, out of your bed, and bring yourself to the floor and towards the kitchen.

You estimate that the two of you laid there for at least a few hours given the sight of dusk. Armin came over in the early afternoon and depending on how long… that… lasted determines how long the two of you slept. 

You try your best to remain quiet as you shuffle about the kitchen, getting yourself a glass of water and opening the pantry for cleaning supplies to attempt to clean the mess of baking goods you had spilled about the floor earlier.

You smile at the domesticity of the whole thing. Armin’s been in your home before, he’s been in your room before and he’s had dinner with you before; but it was all different now. It felt better like this, him sleeping in your bed as a lover as you clean the kitchen.

Armin felt like home, is what you realize. That him being here, was him fitting himself in as the final piece of the puzzle. His little puzzle piece was always there, it was always existent, but somehow it had found itself lost under the table and tucked away in a corner. You’d been the one to drop it, but Armin had been the one who had placed himself in a place where he’d be unable to find.

But you found Armin’s little puzzle piece, and you slipped him right into the spot where he was missing. And you were finally able to see the bigger picture: that he always belonged there, and that no matter how many other pieces you tried, they wouldn’t be able to fill the spot as he does.

Armin awoke alone in your bed, and it took him a few moments to realize it was so. And as he was blinking his eyes open and processing why he was in your bed, he realized that he was the sole being in it. His heart sunk upon recognition, all the way into his stomach, and he was temporarily panicked in thinking that you’ve left him once again.

His spirits perk up a little when he hears faint clattering around from outside your room. So, Armin slides out from beneath your sheets and makes his way over to your bedroom door to peek out of the crack in it.

He can’t see much, but he can see you traveling in and out of his frame of vision. You seemed to be gathering things, followed by putting things away, and ever so often he could hear the running water of the sink.

Armin pulls back the door to leave your room, trying to remain quiet to prevent himself from scaring you. Once he steps out, he can make out what you’re truly doing. You’re cleaning your mess from earlier; the floor already seems to have been wiped clean of any sugar or flour residue, and you were continuing to file away jars while keeping others out. You had also pulled out a new bowl.

You were trying again.

Armin smiles to himself as he quietly makes his way over to you. You nimbly moved things around, so focused and precise with what you were doing. You slinked around the kitchen so skillfully that Armin could almost chuckle at the contrast it was compared to yesterday when you were stumbling around.

His heart pitter-patter’s around in his chest when he realizes you’re still wearing what he gave you earlier: his computer sciences club tee-shirt from highschool and cute little maroon panties that hugged the curves of your backside so well.

That was his now… you were his.

And, yes, it was partially the fact that you were prancing around half-dressed that got him hard again, but more so was the fact that you were doing so as his. His girl was comfortable enough to be walking around half-naked in her kitchen while he was home with her.

You didn’t kick him out this time, you didn’t change into something more presentable, because there wasn’t anything to be worried about. He didn’t put a shirt on because there was nothing for him to be worried about.

There was no awkward stage between the two of you. You’ve known each other and have loved each other for as long as either of you could remember, the only difference now was the fact that you’ve revealed it.

You were comfortable enough in this intimacy to be willing to be physically vulnerable with him. And Armin couldn’t get enough of it.

“What are you making?” He asks, making his presence known to you.

You turn to look up at him, keeping your hands on the silver bowl in front of you. You give him a sweet smile, looking down at the task at hand before looking back up.

“Dessert,” You shy away from him, turning back down to the bowl.

“Same thing as yesterday?” He asks, stepping to the other side of the kitchen island from you. 

He watches you intently, looking at the way your fingers curl around the side of the bowl and the wooden spoon. He looks over the array of baking goods you’ve kept out and pulled together, then he looks at your face; your tongue between your teeth as your stir.

“Maybe,” You let out a little laugh, feeling heat come to your face.

You were both standing in front of each other, making a cake, half-dressed, after you had just woken up from a post-fuck nap. You were smiling like an idiot, Armin’s face turning pink, as you both ignore the obvious flirtatious tension that’s beginning to form.

“I could have helped you clean up your mess, you know. It’s why I came over in the first place.” He says, occupying himself by straightening out the jars into a line.

You nod, “I know, but… I created the mess, so I should’ve been the one to fix it.”

Armin knows you aren’t just talking about baking, you’re referencing earlier. He can tell you feel bad about it, but he doesn’t need to hear an apology from you again, he never needed an apology in the first place.

“Okay,” He says softly, giving you a sympathetic smile and ending the conversation there. 

He doesn’t want to argue with you anymore, even if it’s not even arguing, he truly doesn’t want to dwell on things that are already solved. He knows that you know how he feels, and he knows how you feel, and he doesn’t feel the need to talk about it anymore if both of you know the truth.

You’re a team now.

“Do you want to help me with this instead?” You ask, looking up from the bowl and across the island to him.

He nods without verbally answering you, his eyes and face soften and you can see the muscles in his chest relax as well. His cheeks and neck are still flushed a pretty pink, and his body’s warm as he makes his way around the counter and beside you. He takes the spoon in his right hand, his bare chest pressing against the right side of your back as he reaches around you.

You can feel his head hovering above your right shoulder, his cheek just barely pressing against your temple. And although his whole body isn’t pressed against you, you can feel the presence of it behind you. 

Armin Arlert was flirting with you, and you were loving every second of it. 

Who knew he could get like this? He was so painfully subtle, but so obvious with it at the same time, he was playing innocent but somehow still exuding confidence. It was so incredibly attractive.

There was no need for him to be toying with you or trying to win you over, he’s had a claim on you, whether he was aware of it or not, since junior year. But he was doing it anyway like he was making up for all the times he wasn’t able to do so before.

You hope he can’t feel your body heating up in front of him or see the girlish smile that’s teasing at your lips due to his flirtatious intentions. You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbles around in your chest, threatening to escape. It just felt so different now, it was so much more intense now that he knew what he was doing.

You could feel yourself getting weak in the knees as he takes the spoon from your hand, remaining behind you as he stirs, his presence heavy. His left hand comes to your hip, remaining on top of the tee-shirt.

“I’ll always be here to help you, you know that right? In every way.” He says quietly, lips brushing against your ear as he speaks.

“I know,” You mumble, tilting your head to make contact with his cheek, and sinking into his touch. Your tensed muscles relax as you let your back rest against his chest.

You could stay like this forever, just with him, finally able to be with each other in the way both of you have always wanted. You don’t need to make anything official, you both already know, last night made whatever you two had official enough. 

You liked being like this. It felt true and real and raw, and you couldn’t ask for anything more. You were in your kitchen, in your home, with your lover, making a cake at dusk. It was liberating, exhilarating, and had your entire body feeling like it was floating.

You almost giggle when Armin hands you the spoon back, releasing it so he can fully stand behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, clinging to your torso like a little puppy. He turns his head and leans down slightly to rest his cheek between your shoulder blades. He lets out a deep exhale as he does so, him now being the one to settle into your warmth.

He stays latched onto you while trying your best to continue pouring in ingredients, arms around your torso, and hands fiddling with your tee-shirt. You’re quite productive for a while aside from the occasional bulky awkwardness of his arms around you while you’re trying to move around. But He moves accordingly to make sure he’s not in your way, sometimes he’ll detach an arm from you to move something out of your way or organize something.

How deprived he must have been from your touch if he’s one to latch on like this. He could have always asked you to be close, even in the past when neither of you knew what you wanted from each other, you would have still shown him the affection he needed from you… you wish he would have asked. Maybe you would have told each other the truth quite sooner if you had decided to settle for the physical intimacy.

Armin doesn’t care anymore. He’s forgotten all about the time he’s had where you were just at his fingertips, staying out of his grasp. He now lives, his conscious is steady in the now; where you’re in his arms. All he knows is that you’re in his reach, and you’re letting him pull you in, and he wants you closer, and closer, and closer.

His body is flush against yours, now preventing you from any progressive or purposeful movements. And his hands have slipped themselves underneath the tee-shirt, feeling up and tracing over the smooth skin of the upper sides of your thighs before coming above the fabric and holding your waist.

He just wants to feel all of you all at once, like he had a quarter of the day ago. But it wasn’t just the sexual aspect, he didn’t care for that. It was a plus, yes, but what he really wanted was the vulnerability and intimacy of it. He had no desire for the pleasure that came with or the satisfaction. He just wanted you, and he wanted all of you… with him. Whatever came with it was just a bonus.

His hands slide over the soft skin of your stomach, squeezing the plush flesh on occasion. He can feel the way you shiver in response; the little trembles he pulls from your body with his gentle touch. He can feel your goosebumps prickling against the soft skin of his hands and forearms as they continue brushing against your body.

You can feel his hips grinding against the meat of your ass, not intentionally looking for pleasure, you can tell he just wants closer. It was like he was trying to melt into you, two bodies becoming one. 

“Already?” You tease with a light giggle, setting down whatever occupied your hands to brace yourself against the counter.

He was hard against you, cock already throbbing and desperate for more. He’s never wished so before, but now he truly wishes didn’t have a dick… it always made things sexual when they didn’t need to be.

“Sorry — can’t help it,” He mumbles, pulling his head up so he can nuzzle his face into your neck, pressing kisses to the fragile skin before tucking his head into the crook of it.

He continued to feel over your body sensually, palms sliding over your stomach, your thighs, occasionally retreating between the two of you to squeeze the flesh of your ass before returning to your front to play with the waistband of your panties. The ones he picked out for you.

His touching had you already embarrassingly weak in the knees, all wobbly and unsteady as you latched your hands onto the edge of the counter for some kind of support. The task at hand was completely discarded, as you were focusing all your energy on keeping upright. 

Heat was swirling around in your stomach, pooling between your thighs as you feel Armin’s cock grinding against your ass. His lips were back on your neck, pressing soft kisses below your ear as he was mumbling something that sounded like ‘I love you’. 

And you could only return the admission. Tiny whispered ‘I love you’s escape your lips as you needily push back against his hips, aiding his lazy grinding.

He wasn’t trying to ask for anything more from you, he was satisfied with his feeling over your body and the little kisses on your neck. But you were giving him more, you were feeding into his desire

His teeth are nipping at your neck now and his hands have pushed the fabric of your shirt up past your hips. You’re softly moaning at the feeling of his cock brushing up against your barely clothed cunt and your eyes have fallen shut with your head rested back onto his shoulder.

And when his hands play with the hem of your panties from behind, fingers tickling the fat of your ass as he tries to pull the fabric aside to rut his still clothed hard-on right against your dripping cunt, you only aid his growing desire.

“Need you inside,” You breathe, reaching behind you grip his hip, feeling around only for a moment for his waistband before pushing it down his thighs, “Now.”

Armin grows hasty at your plea, suddenly getting knocked out of his lazy state of just wanting to feel your skin and into another mindset where he just wants to fill you. He wants to give you whatever you want, he wants to help you… in every way.

He takes his hands off of you only to push his sweats and boxers down his legs, just enough to for his cock to slap up against his stomach. And you’re already going to work at your undergarments, grabbing ahold of the inner hem of your panties from behind and tugging them aside to expose yourself to him. 

Armin doesn’t hesitate to grab ahold of the base of his cock, the other hand gripping your waist tightly as he slides the head of his dick through your cunt.

“You’re — you’re so wet,” He mumbles, getting lost in the way your slick coats his dick so nicely. He’s in awe that your arousal is due to his doing.

“Can’t help it,” You whimper, mirroring his earlier words and rutting back against him, desperate for his cock to slip inside you.

Armin pushes inside you steadily, with a low groan leaving his lips as he does so. Both of your bodies tremble and you can feel your arms shake beneath your weight. His fingers press into your hips, gripping them tightly as his head falls back onto his shoulders. His eyes squeeze shut as his jaw falls open, trying to prevent himself from prematurely cumming again.

How much change a few days and some honesty can bring a relationship. Your intimacy in the past was limited to lengthy hugs, cheek kisses, and falling asleep on each other while watching movies. And now you were letting him take you from behind, over your kitchen counter… raw. 

“God, Armin, you’re so big,” You cry, grinding yourself against his hips in a desperate attempt to adjust to this angle. You swear you could feel him in your stomach, literally shifting around your fucking organs.

He pulls out slow, shutting his mouth and taking his bottom lip between his teeth, furrowing his brows and exhaling through his nose. He tilts his chin down to his chest, cracking his eyes open just enough to be able to see the way your cunt stretches around his cock and clenches around the length of him.

You were slicking him up so nicely and enabling his dick to slide back into you so smoothly that it has a moan ripping from both of your throats. You fall down to your elbows, for your arms are no longer able to hold you up the way you need them to and splay your palms across the counter.

He opted for a steady pace once more, fucking you slow and long over quick and shallow. He loves the way you squirm when he reaches his hilt, unable to take his cock so deep, and the way you mewl out in the painful pleasure it brings.

But he wanted to take his time as well. He wants to cherish this sexual intimacy; take it whenever and however he wants it now that it’s his.

“Fuck — do you like it like this, from behind?” His voice strains as he leans over your body, his bare chest pressing against your back and his lips back against your ear. 

He’s warm, overpowering, and for a moment, you feel small both mentally and physically. His words hit you like a train, and you're sent melting once more, cunt squeezing his cock again while tremors wrack through your body.

It wasn't dirty talk, but it was talking. It was confident talking with lewd undertones, from Armin of all people. And it had your entire body lit on fire. You were subconsciously rocking back against his hips, trying to get him deeper and trying to pull more of anything from him.

“Yeah?” He asks again, murmuring against your skin and sending goosebumps across your flesh.

“Mhm,” You nod, barely able to pick your head up.

“I can feel it, you know, when you get tighter,” He seethes, pulling out but filling you again with a little more force.

It sends your front knocking against the counter and your arms reaching out in front of you, blinding searching for something to grab onto. But it only causes your forearms and elbows to bump into jars and bowls, spreading them across the counter.

You can't stop the choked-out moans from escaping, even though you've taken your lip between your teeth in an attempt to muffle them. 

“Fuck — you feel so good,” His right-hand reaches around your front, sliding up your stomach until it reaches your right breast. He squeezes it softly, using his thumb and forefinger to pinch at the nipple.

You gasp at the sensation, jerking upright, your back hitting his chest and hands coming back up with you to hold you up. It sends your whole body buzzing in reaction, the final drop of water that sends everything spilling over.

“Armin, fuck fuck fuck,” You choke, left hand flying back to his hips.

He’s going harder, deeper, and you swear you feel the head of his cock bumping against your cervix. It hurts, hurts so fucking good. And he doesn’t let up, but you don't want him to.

Then, the hand on your breast continues up your shirt, over your heaving chest until it rests at the base of your neck. It doesn’t squeeze, he doesn't go higher to grab your throat, he just holds the area where your chest meets your neck. 

“I — I’m gonna cum,” You stutter, nails etching into the skin of his hips where your hand remains latched to.

He continues to rock his hips against you, pulling you a little father upright until your right hand no longer has a hold on the countertop and your fingers are just brushing against the granite. He’s pressing on your chest to keep your back to him, refusing to let you squirm away. 

“Please, cum for me,” His voice goes soft again, ditching the sharp confidence for whiny pleading.

You struggle for thoughts, mouthing out words that aren't there, but somehow Armin manages to hear an “Inside — cum inside me,”

His hips stutter for a second, and only a brief wave of panic washes over him as he realizes he's not going to be able to pull out even if he wanted to. But then he remembers that you're on birth control. Christ, he's even picked your prescription up for you once or twice.

“You want it?” He asks, breath hot against your ear.

“Yes, please, please, please,” You beg

So, only after a moment of hesitation where he takes the time to hope you take your pills, he grits his teeth and buries his cock inside you until you’re yelping as you cum around his cock. The way you clench around him is what finally tips him over. And with a shaky groan and stuttering hips, he cums inside.

You can feel your stomach heat up from the inside out, in more ways than one. You can feel his release pooling around hot and thick inside you, and it sends warmth spreading all throughout your body. 

Your fingers are tingling with electricity and your legs are visibly trembling as you suck in air. Armin can feel your pulse fluttering sporadically beneath his fingertips, and every inhale and exhale you take shifts his forearm atop your chest.

He gives you a few moments to catch your breath, releasing his hand from your throat and dropping both of them down to steady your hips. Your palms meet the countertop once more, and you have to lean over them to stop yourself from crumbling to the ground.

He can feel his cum seeping out of you, dripping down the length of his cock. And when he pulls out, it’s almost unsettlingly slick around him.

“Shit —” He hisses, sharp pleasure running up his stomach due to the overstimulation.

He hears little gasps from you as you lean over the counter on your tip-toes, head lolled forward and still breathing heavily. Your panties are still pulled to the side, the fat of your ass keeping you exposed. And once his sweats are pulled back over him, Armin reaches out to pull them back in place.

“I love you,” You say, voice still a little shaky in your post-orgasmic state. You don’t look back at him while you speak, but Armin still looks at you.

“I always have,” You continue, “And… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just — I love you too much to lose you over it.”

“I know,”

“Stay with me,” You straighten up, pushing your hair out of your face as you turn around to him.

“I will,”

Armin grabs ahold of your wrist and gently pulls you to him. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and there’s not a moment of hesitation where you don’t do the same. Your face is pressed into his chest, still warm from earlier, but you don’t mind. 

You don’t ever want to go without his warmth again, in both a physical and spiritual state. And you won’t have to, because he feels the exact same way.

He holds you, with his lips pressed to your hairline and arms holding you tight, only pulling away to speak playfully.

“Let’s finish dessert, yeah?”

[doctorstethoscope]

Brown Bear || A. Hotchner x Fem Reader

Hello my loves, this is a double whammy, because it’s for @ssahotchswife‘s soft Hotch Saturday AND for @anxiousblanketqueen’s birthday challenge! 

prompt: reading to your baby!

warnings: insane fluff, discussion of pregnancy, mention of morning sickness, injury mention, aaron hotchner being completely wrapped around a baby’s finger

word count: 1.7k

You and your husband hadn’t slept for more than six hours at a time in one month, two weeks, and four days, not that you were counting. Okay, fine, so maybe you were. But to be fair, it also had been one of the most incredible six weeks and four days of your life— the number of days since Alexis Haley Hotchner had entered the world. She was worth every sleepless night. 

The past six weeks had been total bliss— both of you on parental leave, Aaron dropping Jack off at school every morning and then coming home to “his girls,” as he had affectionately dubbed the two of you. You’d spend the day together, getting to know the little girl who had stolen both of your hearts in an instant, and then Jack would come home after school and complete your family unit. He couldn’t be more obsessed with his baby sister, and it melted your heart to watch his little fingers push hair out of her even little-r face.

So when Alexis’s coos woke the both of you up at 3AM, you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at her. How could you be, when she had come into the world and made everything so perfect? You sat up in bed to go get her, but Aaron threw a tired arm out.

“I got her,” he mumbled, inching himself up to a seated position. “You did the last one.” He says as he tries to delicately disentangle himself from you. 

He stumbled out of bed and across the hall into the baby’s room. You hear him simultaneously from her nursery and from the baby monitor on the bedside table as he crosses to her crib.

“Hey, angel, it’s okay. Daddy’s here.” He whispers as he cranes into the crib to pick up Alexis. “Shh, daddy’s got you.” He says, hoisting her up against his chest and placing one large hand over her back. 

She’s quiet after a moment, content to be pressed against her father’s chest as he softly bounced around the room to calm her. You couldn’t see her face through the monitor, but you knew her well enough to know that her quiet did not mean she was back to sleep— you were sure that when Aaron checked her big eyes would be wide open and staring up at him. 

You were right. Aaron shifted so that she was cradled in his arms and he could see her face, very much awake and enamored with her father. 

“Lexie, my little love, “ Aaron cooed out as he settled in the rocking chair in the corner of the room. “It’s not time to get up yet. Mama and daddy need a little bit more sleep to keep up with you and your brother.” 

Lexie blinked up at him, unconvinced by his pleas. 

“Okay, sweet girl. One story, but then you have to go back to sleep.” Aaron answered the question that Lexie couldn’t possibly articulate as he reached blindly for a book off of the shelf next to the rocking chair. She couldn’t even ask for what she wanted, but Aaron was already helpless to do anything but give it to her.

“Brown bear, brown bear, what do you see?” 

You let out a contented little sigh that no one could hear. You had loved Aaron’s voice since the moment you met him, but listening to him read to Jack and Lexie was always special. He was softer with them, more vulnerable than he was with the team. You could hear his love for them in every syllable. 

“I see a red bird looking at me. Red bird, red bird, what do you see?” 

He’s so quiet with her, so gentle, and you can’t help but remember the way you stunned him into silence when you told him about her for the first time. 

Aaron was away on a case when you found out, off in Michigan or Nebraska or somewhere else that was decidedly not your home in Virginia. 

You thought about calling him, but you wanted to see his face when he heard the news. Wanted to be able to pull him into your arms and thank him for choosing you, for choosing to let love in again when life had told him over and over again that doing so was a mistake. You wanted to thank him for this incredible life.

It was late when he finally came home. You had tried to stay up, but the morning sickness had you awake early most days and you were exhausted. You stirred when the bedroom door clicked open.

“Aaron,” you mumbled out, not sure if you really said it or if you just dreamt that you said it.

“Shh, it’s me. Go back to sleep. Love you.” He said, already divesting himself of his suit coat and his tie. 

“Turn the light on.” 

“Honey, I’m alright.” 

It was a habit the two of you had developed— he would never tell you if he was injured on a case, so you insisted on giving him a once-over when he came home, making sure he was all in one piece. Aaron pretended it was ridiculous but he’d never tell you how much your tender touch would warm him from the inside out, how it would bring him back to the bright and soft place in his heart that he saved for you, and how it would pull him out of the darkness he worked in day in and day out. 

“Turn on the light, please.” 

Aaron obliges you, flicking the switch as he unbuttons his shirt and tosses it in the general direction of the hamper. You squint against the harsh light after just waking up. By the time you’re brave enough to fully open your eyes, Aaron is at your bedside in just his boxers, awaiting his examination with a fond smile. You rise to your knees on the mattress, running a gentle finger over the planes of his jaw and nose before giving him a quick kiss. You missed him. You ran your hands over his shoulders and down his arms, inspecting his chest and finding only the regular nine scars. 

“Turn around.” You tell him. 

“The unsub confessed. I didn’t even draw my gun.” 

“Well then this should be quick,” you quipped back, and he turned with a roll of his eyes and a smile that betrayed his affection. 

As promised, he was completely unharmed, and he turned to face you again. 

“Can we go to bed now?” He asked, moving in closer to wrap his arms around you, his hands settling on your hips.

“Aaron,” you said, raising your hands to his face and placing your thumb where you knew his dimple would appear at your next words. “I’m pregnant.” 

Sure enough, your thumb slotted right in. He couldn’t bring himself to form any words, but his beaming smile spoke loud enough. You couldn’t help but match it. There was a long beat before he spoke.

“Really?” He whispered, after a moment.

“Yeah, honey. Really,” you confirmed. 

“You’re sure?” If he wasn’t smiling so big, you might have mistaken his hesitance for fear. You knew better. 

“I haven’t been to the doctor yet, but I’m eight for eight peeing on sticks. I bought every brand at the drugstore. So I’m pretty sure.” You confessed with a little giggle.

He’s kissing you before either one of you can say anything else, and it’s perfect. He’s home, and he’s here, and he’s perfect, and you’re going to have his baby. He’s wrapped up in your arms and you’re wrapped up in his and you’re pretty sure you could just stay like this for the next nine months until Alexis makes her appearance. 

Aaron’s snore, loud enough to be heard from both the monitor and your half-opened door, distracts you from your reverie. You smirk a little as you swing your legs out of bed and cross the hall. 

The book is propped up open against Aaron’s chest, his arm occupied with cradling your little girl and his other hand splayed over her slight frame. Luckily, she’s asleep too, and you begin your quest to remove them from each other without waking either of them. 

Aaron, ever the anxious sleeper, wakes with a start as soon as all nine pounds of Alexis are taken from his arms. You shush him before he can say anything. 

“You fell asleep, baby. Go back to bed.” 

“Could’ve dropped her.” He murmured, not pleased with himself, and you let out a dissatisfied little tsk as you place Lexi against her crib mattress. 

“You had both hands wrapped around her. You weren’t gonna drop her. She was fine.” You corrected him.

He rose from the rocking chair and tugged at your hand. “You coming?” 

“I just want to look at her a little bit longer.” You tell him

“You know, you aren’t supposed to be awake at all. Sleep when the baby sleeps.” He chastises with absolutely nothing behind it, settling in to wrap his hands on your waist and tuck his chin into your shoulder. 

You watch her for a moment, or two or three. It’s hard to tell. You could look at her forever. 

“Thank you,” you both say after a moment, and turn to each other with exhausted little smiles. 

“Come on, let’s get back to sleep before we get sentimental and weepy,” Aaron teases, tugging you back towards the bedroom. 

“It’s a little too late for that, love.” You tell him as you climb into bed, scooting towards the middle of the mattress so you could wrap your arms around him and place your head on his chest. He just places his lips against your forehead by way of response, falling back to sleep before he can move away. You sigh that contented little sigh again, and Aaron’s arm pulls you in closer to him. He really had given you the perfect life. You couldn’t wait to repay him with baby number three.

[spideyspeaches]

Heart made of glass ↬ t.h

A/N: Beta read by the lovely @hollandcrush​ !! <3<3

Request (Summary): can you please write one about Tom, who is on the filming process of cherry and has some emotional problems because he feels that his character is already part of his life, so he comes home very angry and in a bad mood, so he just snaps and creates a big fight with the reader and just says things that he obviously didn't meant, you know very angst, and at the end just very fluff.

Hope you like this anon! Lemme know your thoughts heh <3<3

Warnings: breakdowns, slight vomiting but it’s not graphic. I’m not in any way romanticizing or sexualising breakdowns. 

WC: 2k+ 

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Masterlist || Taglist

Tom was an ambitious guy. He took his roles seriously, no matter what his character was and who he played. It was an admirable trait, the way he both enjoyed his work and worked hard to earn a high place in such a place as Hollywood. 

You always took pride in how amazing and accomplished your boyfriend was, your heart swelling whenever you heard his name being mentioned in events and interviews. You enjoyed how he tried to diversify the movies he worked in. 

("I've been playing the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man for so long, it's about time I play someone different now." He once said in a Jimmy Kimmel interview. You were watching from the audience, smiling as the audience roared in affirmation. 

"Well looks like you took quite a big leap from playing a superhero." Jimmy said, smiling at the audience with his paparazzi smile. 

You knew the question was scripted, quite harmless, but you still noticed how his shoulder stiffened, his smile not wavering once. 

"Well yeah, I used to be a superhero and now I'm a heroin addict." He joked, winking at the audience as he ran a hand through his nearly hairless head.

He cried himself to sleep that night, burying his face in your chest as you shushed him. )

It always worked in his favour, with the incredible support his family and fan base provided. And he was always so humble about it. 

Filming Cherry, however, was way different than he thought it would. With filming Cherry came consequences that he didn't necessarily like. He knew what he was bringing on himself and his family when he was first introduced with the script.

(Contrary to popular belief, he didn't actually give out spoilers, it was just small promotional stunts that kind of took over as his reputation to spoil minor details.)  

The process was intense, getting into the mindset of "Cherry" was taxing, and people were beginning to notice it in him. He was more restless, tugging at his non existent curls when he thought no one would notice. 

He was more clingy, more appreciative of your body and you, letting you know that there was no sexual intent behind his acts of caressing your waist at random times. You didn't notice the change in his behaviour. 

He had always been like this, watching you with the most gratifying gaze a man could muster, his pretty brown eyes like globes of whiskey, staring at you with a muffled expression. You didn't notice. 

There had always been a cutting edge to his voice, you knew and adored it. Behind the British actor who played Spider-Man, he was your Tom. Your Tom who gave you forehead kisses and baked cakes with you and made silly playlists that reminded him of you and you of him, your Tom who worshiped the ground you walked on, your Tom, your Tom and your Tom.

(Sometimes you envied that he was an actor, so good at hiding any emotions he felt, it came easy to him, just another fake emotion like he was a face behind the camera.)

He was never aggressive towards you. Never. Even on tough days, he was soft, caring and understanding to the point where it made you mad, immediately making you feel guilty. He worked so hard and yet here you were, blaming him for being nice, never standing up for himself.

"Uh, Tom, Tom stop, wait." You grunted, pushing his shoulders as he scrambled away from you at your discontent. 

You held his face, his breath hitching, hyperventilating as he tried to get himself together. 

Ever since he had started filming Cherry, he had been away from you. And now that you were finally here, he had been all over you, making love to every inch of your skin, like it was a holy grail he had to find, caressing your warm skin under his fingers making you shiver as his nimble fingers wandered. It was the intimacy, sexual and quasi-sexual, that made you realise, that there was something wrong.

Sex- it had been a constant in your life other than Tom. But of course, you didn't live on it. It was but a fuel that strengthened your relationship, it was about discovery and showing your vulnerable sides. It was a reminder of the coffee dates and baseball matches. It was loving, gentle and raw, like a gentle breeze caressing your face.

But this, this was different. And you noticed. This, what you had been doing, it was fucking. It was aggressive and needy and it felt good, but at the same time, it felt different.

"Baby?" You asked softly, trying to meet his eyes in the dark lit trailer. It was late, way past filming times, the only time you got to see his vulnerable side. 

You should have been in his hotel room, but you were in his trailer instead. All alone in the all encompassing darkness, it made your heart stutter beats. 

"Baby speak to me. What's happening, who's doing this to you?" You ask once again, holding onto him firmly this time, his squirming frame making you loosen your hold. You didn't care that you were naked, he had already seen it all. 

Fiddling with the rough sheets, he huffed a heavy breath. And that was all it took for the dam to break. 

"Tell me how do you feel baby, you're starting to scare me." You urged. All you got in response was his muffled sobs. Pulling him forward, you let his head rest on your bare chest, rivulets of tears sliding down your warm skin, almost burning you like acid, his tiny hair tickling you, a very contrasting feeling. 

"I can't do it. I can't take it anymore." He sniffed, wrapping his strong arms around you, shivering at the contact. It was a cold night in Cleveland, and you were naked and he was crying. You were berating yourself for not noticing. 

"What can't you take anymore?" You hold him, tracing circles on his buzz cut hair, just the way you did when he had his curls. 

"I feel like I'm becoming him. I don't like it at all, I try and try but I can't." He sobs, shoulders hitching with each sob. You felt your heart break, the sounds of his cries sending daggers into your skin. 

How could you have not noticed? The lively sunshine of a man was almost an empty shell. The interviews with former drug addicts had been excruciating for you, pity, disgust, sympathy and every other sinful emotion swirling in your mind. 

You couldn't believe that you hadn't thought about Tom, of what an effect it would have on him. 

"Bub, listen to me, carefully," you said, shushing him as he continued to look at you, teary eyed and red nosed, snot dripping out of his nose,"you listen to me. You're strong and resilient and nothing like him okay? He's not you. You're Tom Holland. You're brilliant and brave and amazing okay?" 

"But I don't feel that way!" He said, his aggressive stance surprising you, "he's- he's…" 

"He's what?" You asked, a little too impatient. Muttering a sorry, you rub your palm on his cheek, kissing the soft, moist skin.

"I don't feel so good." He croaked, getting up suddenly, making a run for the washroom. You rushed after him, watching him as he heaved into the toilet. Rubbing his back, you muttered affirmations, curling besides him as he sat on the ground, his back to the cold wall. 

You got up to switch on the lights, feeling his hands tugging yours, a soft "stay" coming out of him. 

"Better?" You asked, feeling him now against your collarbone. 

"I shouldn't be this affected, this- this isn't fair. I'm overreacting, I'm sorry I worried you baby I swear I didn't mean to-" 

"Shh, Tom first of all, you're not overreacting okay?" You smiled, kissing his nose, moving towards his brows and his forehead, "It's perfectly reasonable. The role you're playing...It's not exactly picking daisies. Fuck you're playing a heroin addict Tommy, a broken soldier with PTSD, a breakdown was inevitable. It only shows that you're human." 

"Really?" He smiled, it looked more like a grimace, a plea for reassurance. 

"Yes, really." You said, booping his nose, eliciting a giggle from him,"now, you better go to bed mister, you have an early shoot don't you?" You playfully scolded, kissing his lips, laughing as he carried you bridal style. 

"Tomorrow will be better." You whispered, kissing his eyelids, already closed, chest moving rhythmically as you counted his pulse, making sure he was completely asleep before slipping on your clothes, covering him with the thin quilt. 

***

"Is everything okay on set?" You asked casually, watching the crewmates work tirelessly in the daylight. 

You were standing next to Ciara on a prop jeep, fiddling with the water bottle held in your hand. 

"Hmm, as okay it can be with two people playing drug addicts." She shrugged, looking at you with a small smile. 

"Are you okay?" You asked, turning to give her your full attention, remembering your boyfriend's breakdown yesterday. 

"It gets… intense at times. Some scenes are hard to play, but we're okay. Mostly." She answered, taking your water bottle and chugging the water. 

"I'm not a therapist, but you can talk to me, you know?" You smiled, holding her shoulder as she gave you a bashful smile. 

"It's been tough on Tom. He's more aggressive, nearly had a breakdown during a scene." She said. 

"Yeah, that.. that happened yesterday too." 

"It was time, a person can only hold so much right?" 

"Yeah." 

You pondered her words, wondering if you could do anything to curb this. 

"I think I need help." He said one day while you were eating dinner. Harry, who was sitting next to you, looked up from his plate, giving you a knowing look before clearing his throat. 

"I'm gonna get some water." He said, waving awkwardly at you and getting up. You took that as a cue to scoot closer to Tom, running your hands through his camel hair. 

"That's very brave of you hun, asking for help." You smiled, kissing his cheek softly. You felt him smile, sliding closer to you, holding you by your waist. 

"I learnt from the best." He muttered in your hair, kissing your forehead. 

You felt his love that day, felt the way he ran his smooth fingers on your waistline, sliding across your thighs with care and softness you hadn't felt in a while. He was healing. It was a process, it took time but it happened.

***

You were walking across the library, his hand in yours, your hearts beating in silence. 

"How was your appointment?" You asked, shivering in the cold air. You rubbed your palms together, bringing your jacket closer to your chest, huffing the cold air. 

"It was good, much different from what the media portrays. She even showed me this meme she thinks you would like, look." He said, bringing out his phone to show you the saved meme. 

You laughed at his eagerness, kissing his lips as a final gratification. 

"Well it looks like you're having a great time. You have another scene left to do today in the evening so we better scram." You reminded him. 

You always did that, remind him of his schedule, reminded him to take a breath when he felt like he was drowning. You reminded him of home and what he had to look forward to.

"Why can't we have a lazy day today?" He whined, kissing your neck, making you giggle as it tickled. 

"You know you can't do that hun, you already took three days off." You snickered, poking his sides. 

"Well that sucks. I just want to spend my day with my girl, is that too much to ask?" He smiled, kissing your forehead, one hand holding yours, swinging back and forth, the other holding a large cup of coffee in a tight grip. 

You reached to loosen his fingers, taking a sip, slurping loudly, making him laugh. You decided you liked this laugh much better, it was breathy and free, a melody to your ears. 

You noticed how he was more relaxed and back to being that ray of sunshine. Back to being your Tom.

Thanks for reading! also as a side note- here’s a similar fic @itsallyscorner​ !!

[candychronicles]

heavens // t. keigo/hawks

A/N: my take on the roommates theme for the bnharem collab! honestly didn’t know where i was going with this one and it seems a bit random/rushed so i apologize in advance but hope you enjoy nonetheless! 

CHARACTER PAIRING: Takami Keigo/Hawks x F!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,491

WARNINGS: oral (f!receiving), some language 

SYNOPSIS: despite his growing popularity, you two remained steady roommates, which confused you to no end. what was his true motive in keeping you around? 

And they were roommates! Click here to read more!

Hawks was an interesting character to say the least. when you first moved in, you weren’t all too sure what to expect. he was, at the time, a fairly popular hero, but nowhere near the status he held today. he was charming, suave, friendly and it seemed genuine at the time. things went downhill quick though as his popularity rose and along with it, his annoying, god-like tendencies. 

what you didn’t understand was why he kept you around after all this time. you didn’t necessarily need to live with him still, but as he got more popular and therefore gained more money, the areas he lived in grew nicer and nicer until you were on a gorgeous top floor penthouse with a stunning view, all for the price of your original, dingy apartment. what you could afford on your own would be nowhere near the luxury that he was offering. that’s why you stayed, but you weren’t sure why he offered to let you continue to stay with him after all this time.

sure, you were friends, got along for the most part and when you didn’t, stayed out of each other’s hair, but he didn’t owe you anything and you certainly didn’t want to feel like you were in his debt. yet something attracted the two of you together continuously despite it all. 

what you didn’t know was that Hawks very much enjoyed having you around. you’d deny it until you were blue in the face but he heard one too many times you touching yourself in your bedroom, muffled moans matching those of the girl or guy he was fucking that night. he often did his best to give you a show, cursing, spitting, hitting, anything he could do to rile you up, get you to hear the lewd sounds coming from the apartment. you acted like you didn’t know what he was talking about, scoffed when he invited you to join him or give you his own private show and acted like you didn’t know he was doing that all on purpose just to tease you. 

truth be told, you pushed all those thoughts aside when it came to him. he was attractive, very much so, and also very unattainable, in your eyes anyways. his god-like complex was annoying at times but also very warranted. he was popular with everyone he met-children, women, men, the elderly, hell, you don’t think he ever met a dog that didn’t like him. he was strong, powerful, commanding of the quirk he weld so well. his personality was nothing short of smooth, like honey over ice cream melting on your tongue. you felt so incredibly drawn to him that your brain absolutely shut out any idea of it, giving yourself no hope that he would ever reciprocate the pure feelings of desire you felt towards him. after awhile, your convincing became reality and you began to question everything, desperate to detach yourself from his enigmatic ways. 

hey sweetheart, will be gone for most of the day. left some money for groceries and a little extra for whatever you want. don’t miss me too much

-H

you scoffed at the note pasted to your refrigerator, neon pink glaring at you in the morning sun trickling from the balcony window. he had been gone a lot lately, sometimes bringing home people at night, mostly crashing straight on the couch before he had even gotten a chance to change clothes. you acted like you didn’t miss him, miss his presence, the lingering touches that you swore were just him being an ass and making fun of you, but in reality, you missed the hell out of him. the domesticity that he showed when it was just you two vulnerable late at night, tired from a hard day of work, it made you realize that he wasn’t a god all the time after all.

that thought didn’t change your mind about his attainability, however. in fact, it only seemed to spur your ideals on more, convincing yourself that a man who could be so vulnerable and yet so strong was one who deserved more than what you could give. it would never be you and you were content with that fact, or so you thought.

your day was long and grueling, working patrols and small missions as a pro hero. you were likeable enough but when it came down to it, you didn’t care to be popular, didn’t care to make a ton of money or be interviewed by dozens of people a month. you just wanted to do your job and keep people safe and at the end of the day, that was what you accomplished. 

it was nearly midnight when you returned home, the elevator dinging closed behind you as you walked into the penthouse. the lights were still off, everything in place from this morning, which meant that Hawks had not arrived home yet despite him being gone for nearly the whole day. anger bubbled up underneath your skin. you knew he didn’t owe you anything, you knew you were nothing more than roommates, but sometimes feeling so isolated and alone in this big space with no one to talk to or do anything with left you antsy and annoyed. in simple frustration and retaliation, you locked the balcony window, forcing him to come up the elevator like a dignified man, bringing his nightly fuck in through the lobby instead of sneaking them inside like he often did.

it was nearly six am before you were woken up to a loud thud, the door smacking against the wall. you sighed, allowing yourself to calm down before you tried to go back to bed, but before you got a chance, a knock sounded at your door.

“what?” you asked irately, not in the mood to entertain him and his antics.

“why’d you lock the balcony window?” he asked simply, arms crossed. 

as you sat up to answer, you noticed his calm demeanor not so calm anymore. his chest was flaring up and down, body wobbly, and he reeked of alcohol.

“so much for a calm night,” you muttered. “i locked the door because i didn’t want to hear you fucking any of your whores while i was trying to sleep.”

“oh baby, you know you like it, like the sounds i make, the words i say. all you have to do is admit it and i can be all yours.”

“you wish bird brain,” you spat back at him, done with the conversation as you shimmied yourself back into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin and promptly shutting your eyes, ignoring the feeling of his stare burning into your brain.

“i do wish. i wish it were you i was fucking. i’ve wished that since the day i met you, all excited and doe eyed, ready to take on the world and all of its challenges. you never let my fame get in the way, never treat me any differently. you’ve been by my side throughout it all and yet you won’t let me get too close to you. why is that? afraid i’ll break your heart little one?”

you sat back up again quickly only to realize that he had moved to the foot of your bed. he sat down, taking off his boots and shucking them on the floor only to crawl practically into your lap, snuggling into your thigh.

“i won’t break your heart. i’ll only hurt you if you want me to, which i know you do, at least a little bit. but i’d n-never hurt your heart. you’re too precious for that princess, so sweet to me, so so angelic. and yet i can hear your moans through the walls, practically feel you arching off your bed as you chased your high, desperate for a release, wishing it were me who was touching you instead of your own fingers. i can do that you know. all you need to do is say the magic word and i’m yours. no more fucking other people, just me and you. i’ll spoil you rotten, anything you could possibly want and it’s all yours. you’d never have to worry about a thing again, yeah? what do you say?”

your heart hitched into your throat at his babbling confession. surely he wasn’t serious, right? it must’ve been the alcohol talking. you knew that if you said yes he was just going to tease you and tell you that he was joking and never wanted to see you ever again. you were just sure of it… but, in the off case that he was being serious… you couldn’t mess this up.

“yeah, okay,” you replied, voice hitching in your throat as you agreed with him.

you waited a few seconds for the harsh sting of a reply but nothing came. you cast your eyes down to see Hawks passed out, clinging to you as if his life depended on it. sighing, you flopped back down onto the bed, heels of your palms pressed into your eye sockets, brain full of thoughts as you tried to sift through your feelings. eventually you just gave up and passed out against the cool sheets of your bed, too tired to deal with the emotional turmoil you were putting yourself through.

when you woke up the next morning, Hawks was no longer against your thigh but rather plastered to your side. you weren’t sure how you ended up being spooned by the lanky man but it wasn’t necessarily the first time you had cuddled. your brain began working against you almost immediately, convincing yourself that the previous night's events were nothing more than a drunken spur from your roommate and that he did not, in fact, want to be with you.

with those thoughts in mind, you began to wiggle your way out of his grasp, nearly making it out of bed before you felt a hand shoot out and grab you by the wrist. 

“where are you going beautiful? sleep with a man and then ditch him before he even gets a chance to wake up? how heartless of you.”

“oh shut up, you know damn well that we did not sleep together. in fact, you came in here at six in the morning just to simply annoy the hell out of me. now that’s what i call heartless.”

“we didn’t sleep together but we could’ve,” he teased, fingers rubbing gently up and down your arm as he attempted to coax you back into bed, but your mind worked on overdrive, simply not believing that he was interested in you at all. 

“why do you always like to make fun of me, huh? does it give you some sick satisfaction to dangle hope like that in front of my face only to snatch it away from me if i ever say yes?” you spat, getting sick and tired of his games.

“princess, i’m not lying to you, nor am i making fun of you. i would never offer something like this if i wasn’t serious. i want to take care of you in any way i can-emotionally, sexually, financially, anything you need, i want to give it to you. i was trying to drop you hints, give you the space to come to your own conclusions but it seems that i miscalculated how that pretty little brain of yours works. instead of believing that i was seriously flirting with you, it seems as if you thought that i was making fun of you instead. how funny that the mind works like that sometimes. i must admit i was a fool for not seeing it sooner, but now it makes so much sense.”

“what are you rambling on about?” you asked, furrowing your brow in confusion as you tried to make sense of the fact that he was not only dead serious about wanting to be with you but also psychoanalyzing your thoughts at the same time.

“how you would always get mad when i brought people home but never said anything to me, how you always scoffed at my sweet words, would never take money from me despite me leaving it very clearly for you, never getting too close to me despite living together for years. i’m honestly dumbfounded that i didn’t realize sooner. you’ve been in love with me for a long time too, huh? except, unlike me, you truly never thought you had a chance.”

“u-uh, yeah, i-i just, Keigo, what are you really trying to say to me?”

“sweetheart, be mine, wholly and fully in every way possible. let me take care of you like i’ve always wanted, always tried to do. this isn’t some joke or elaborate ruse, i’m not lying to you or trying to hurt you in any way. i really, truly want to be with you.”

you exhaled heavily, not realizing you had been holding your breath the whole time, searching his eyes for any sign of a lie, not finding anything except sincerity and hope.

“okay,” you relented, nodding your head. “yeah, if you say you’re not lying to me, i’ll trust you. i just, i don’t know. i never realized that you actually liked me back. i never would’ve guessed it in a million years. never would’ve thought i would hear any words like that come out of your mouth let alone so sincerely.”

you looked down, twiddling your thumbs as you contemplated the situation once more, but before you could let your brain get the best of you, Hawks placed his slender fingers underneath your chin, lifting your face up so that you could peer at him. he leaned forward slowly, foreheads pressed together.

“is it okay if i kiss you?”

you nodded your head, squeaking out a quiet “yes” before surging forward to place your lips on his, desperate to feel him, desperate to quiet the negative voices in your head and surround yourself with him instead.

he matched your pace eagerly, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck to pull you forward even more, his own desperation leaking through the kiss. he was so enamored with you, the way you smelt, your mussy hair, the sparkle in your eyes, the feeling of your soft lips against his own. it was almost too much to handle. he hadn’t been with anyone in awhile, preferring to wait it out and confront you when he had the courage to do so, and he felt himself getting more and more antsy as time went on. he wanted to respect you, treat you with the dignity and honor that you deserved, but in that moment, all he wanted to do was ruin you and mark you as his own.

“baby, you need to tell me if i go to far, yeah? i just want to make you feel good, never uncomfortable. let me take care of you like you deserve,” he panted, adjusting himself closer to you.

“i trust you Keigo. i’m yours.”

he groaned at the sound of you, of how pathetic and weak you were towards him, how you trusted to be vulnerable around him, trusted that he would take care of you. he had never wanted to ruin anything so badly in his life and he was going to do his best to make sure you knew you were his.

the kisses turned more sensual, tongues dipping in and around each other, exploring one another for what felt like the first time ever. for you, it had been awhile, telling yourself that you were too busy to be sexual with someone else when in actuality you had been craving a certain blonde all along. for him, this was something entirely new and special. he never got the chance to be truly intimate with anyone, let his guard down, want to please his partner more than himself, but you were different, special in the fact that you loved him for him and no other reason than that. 

“please Keigo, i need more,” you whined, fisting at his shirt as you tried to pull him impossibly closer to your body. 

“anything for you princess.” 

his shirt came off first, a delicate process he mastered years ago. he reached for your own shirt, fingers playing at the hem as he once again asked permission. you replied by pulling it off yourself, exposing your breasts to him. he immediately latched onto your left nipple, hand coming up to pinch the right, gently coaxing you to lay back down on the bed as he followed, hands and mouth never leaving your body. he laved you with his tongue, leaving a trail of cool moisture in its wake, sucking and biting at every soft spot he could think of, wanting so hard to hear you moan. 

“that’s it baby, don’t be shy. i want to hear you moan, say my name.”

you responded with a groan as his hand came to rest on your clothed cunt, feeling the wetness through your shorts. he smirked at the realization that you did truly want him as bad as he wanted you and the thought had his cock straining in his pants. it wasn’t long before he had freed himself from his confines, watching the way your eyes drank up the sight of him through the filtered light. 

gently, you reached out your hand to paw at his cock, marveling in the way it twitched at the slightest touch. you were enamored by him, all of him. before you kneeled a greek god willing to worship you, a mere mortal. you didn’t know what you did to deserve this but you figured you’d spend the rest of your life thanking the heavens.

“don’t worry about me right now, yeah? let’s just focus on making you feel good,” he cooed, reaching down to gently tug at your shorts.

you lifted your hips up without question, allowing him to pull the fabric down your body, your underwear coming along with it. he greedily watched as your slick stringed against the fabric before snapping. he was amazed that he could make someone so wet just by kissing them and was more than curious to see how soaked he could get you by the end of the morning.

he slowly dropped himself down to the edge of the bed, positioning himself between your thighs. kisses were placed to the soft flesh on your legs, pinching and nipping along the way, relishing in the squeals and moans you let out of your mouth. experimentally, he licked up your slit, watching how your breath hitched and your hands grasped the sheets below you, desperate to hold onto something. he licked again, this time using one of his hands to hold you down and the other to come and open you up. you responded immediately, back attempting to arch off the bed at the already intense situation.

he started up a steady pace, watching each little movement, breath, moan, grasp of the blanket to analyze what you liked best. he was enraptured with you, everything about you. you were so strong, fighting crime like it was nothing, doing anything you could to keep citizens safe and yet here you were, putty in his hands, baring your heart for him, trusting that he would take care of you.

the pressure inside of you slowly built up. it was like an intense heat you had never felt before, white hot and pulsing inside your abdomen. you clutched the sheets, your thighs, his hair, anything you could to purchase yourself to this earth as he brought you closer and closer to the promised land. finally, with one final lick, you came, crying out his name in a symphony of praises, singing to the high heavens.

he watched as you came done around his tongue, how your breath labored, eyes screwed shut, face flush and face twisted in pure pleasure. it was a magnificent sight to see, you so relaxed and carefree, enjoying every feeling that flooded over you.

when you had finally come down and your breathing began to even out, you opened your eyes to find Keigo still nestled between your thighs, head resting gently on you.

“how are you feeling love?” he asked, pressing a kiss to your hip.

“like i just left this world and came back,” you answered truthfully, laughing at his proud expression.

“are you okay? is there anything i can get for you?”

“no, Keigo, i think i’m okay,” you answered truthfully.

for the first time in a long time, you felt at ease. your body was relaxed, your mind foggy from the pleasure and you had the man you loved staring up at you like you were the only thing in this world that mattered.

“good, i’m glad you’re okay because we’re not done here. lay back down baby bird, let me make you feel good.”

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

The Sensitivity of Horses, Part 2

A sequel to this story, which you'll probably want to read although I don't think it's strictly speaking necessary to make sense of this one. Eagle-eyed readers will note that this is not the other story I posted an excerpt from earlier. That one is still coming. I was just in a Hangman mood.

Pairing: Hangman Adam Page x OFC

Word count: 1,338

Content advisory: sexual content (non-explicit)

You try to stay out of sight, mostly. It’s not entirely possible, of course, there are plenty of people who know who you are, although, you can’t help but notice, a lot who don’t. The place is growing. He’s part of something exciting, exactly like he deserves. No one is rude to you. You’d thought that maybe they would be but the worst you get is that some of them look at you funny, like you’re an old part being inserted into a new car. You don’t fit. You’ll screw everything up. 

In private, they won’t be so cagey. They’ll laugh and whisper among themselves. What the hell is she even doing here? Didn’t he leave her? I knew she’d come back begging. Fair enough. You deserve their scorn. You deserve his. 

Your first glimpse of Adam hits you in the gut. You knew it would but it’s still enough that you have to steady yourself against the wall. He’s still so beautiful that you can’t believe he was ever yours, let alone that you screwed things up. Oh how you screwed things up. He was feeling broken and you took a hammer to him but here he is now looking like a golden god with that title and his friends. So much better off without you. It’s incredibly selfish what you’re doing, showing up here. 

It’s a while before he’s on his own, a while that you have to hide in the shadows because there’s no way you’re going to approach him when people who care about him are there. They’d throw you out on your head before you said more than a word to him, which is probably a good instinct. But eventually he’s left alone and in the open, grabbing himself a bottle of water from catering and that’s when you approach. 

“Was starting to think you were just going to spy on me from a distance all night,” he sighs without looking up at you. 

On top of everything, it hurts to know that you’ve been so clumsy and obvious. 

“I thought about it,” you answer truthfully. “I wasn’t sure if it was a great idea for us to talk. Or for me to be around you at all.”

He shrugs. “It probably isn’t.”

That’s when he looks up and, once again, you feel your knees turn to water. Those big, vulnerable eyes, blue like a field of cornflowers, flash at you and all you want is to wrap him up under your wings and protect him, except that what you need to protect him from is you. 

“I guess you’re here now,” he grumbles. “Might as well talk.”

He brushes past you and heads down the hall without another word and you trail after him. It would be better for both of you if you left. You shouldn’t walk with him into his dressing room. But you do. 

He keeps his back to you when you enter and your eyes drift longingly over the curve of his perfect ass, which is when he glances back. He gives you a hard look before he drops onto the little sofa. He hasn’t had a match tonight. He hasn’t even had to get into his gear. But he still gives the impression of being exhausted.  

“What’s up?”

“I… I brought the papers,” you stammer, reaching into your purse and taking out the hateful bundle. 

“You couldn’t have just had your lawyer send them over?”

“I could have, yeah.”

He rolls his eyes and takes a long swig from the water bottle. His tongue swipes his lips quickly when he puts it down and you feel an immediate stirring in your core. He notices that too. 

“Figured you’d be at home taking care of ol’ Kenny,” he smirks. 

That shot lands. You deserve it. 

“Do you seriously not know?”

He gives a mirthless half-laugh. 

“I heard things didn’t work out with you two.”

“He dumped me about a month after you did.”

“Wow. Didn’t realize it was that quick. He really was just using you.”

Again, this is no more than you deserve. 

“Yup. That’s exactly it. I couldn’t deal with what you were going through, so I had an affair with a guy who seemed like he might actually be interested in me, you found out, and as soon as Kenny realized he might actually have to be in a real relationship, he kicked me to the curb.”

Adam glances down but you still notice how his face twitches in anger. Is it at you? At Kenny? Is it possible that there’s still a part of him that hates to hear that you’ve been hurt? 

You open your mouth to speak but he leans forward and snatches the divorce papers out of your hand before you can. He glances through them and, predictably, lets out an exasperated sound before tossing them on the table next to him. 

“They don’t work if you don’t sign them,” he snorts. 

“I know.” You can hear the wave of tears rising in your voice and focus on not giving in. You don’t want him to think that you’re trying to manipulate him by crying. “I just thought…”

He glares right at you, every emotion flowing through him in full view. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I have a pen.”

You fumble through your bag until you find it and reach over to grab the papers, but he grabs hold of your arm before you can reach them. He holds you like that for a second before pressing his face against the inside of your arm, pulling you ever so slowly closer. The contrast of his soft lips and the coarse hairs of his beard sends every one of your nerves into overdrive. You feel yourself start to tip forward but he rescues you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you onto his lap. 

You can’t look at him, not yet, so you run your fingers lightly over his face and bury yourself in his neck. He squeezes your hips and lets his hands move just under the hem of your shirt. The feeling of his fingertips on your sensitive stomach sets you off and you kiss him, aggressively, with everything that you’ve been holding on to for the months you’ve been apart. The most terrifying thing is that he responds with just as much passion, even though he shouldn’t. 

The familiar, thrilling feeling of his hardening prick through his jeans has you grinding yourself against him, and he responds by pushing his hands further up, over your bra, teasing your nipples until you think they’re going to cut right through the fabric. 

“That what you came here for? You wanted a goodbye ride?”

“No,” you sob, giving into the need to cry, “I don’t want a goodbye anything.”

He leans back and wipes your face with his thumb. 

“So what do you want?”

You let your hand drop and run over the outline of his belt buckle for a few minutes before answering. 

“I want my husband to believe me when I say that I’m more than sorry, and that I would never do anything like what I did. Never again.”

He stares into you for a long moment before pulling you in to kiss you again. The taste of him is so comforting and at the same time so arousing that you just fall into it, losing yourself until he pulls back a little. 

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he whispers, caressing your neck and collar bone. 

He looks up at you again and nods a little. 

“I understand,” you murmur. 

With a deep breath, you start to push yourself away but his grip on you tightens. You lean down and press your lips to his again, running your palm roughly over the bulge in his pants and moaning softly into his kiss. 

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” he repeats, pulling away just slightly, “but I think I might want to try.

[thefanficmonster]

Inky Memories

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Drug Use (Past), Domestic Violence (Past), Shoplifting (Past)

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: Tattoos can reveal a lot about a person. What will Y/N’s tattoos, which she has kept hidden for so long, reveal to Corpse? Will it change anything between them?

Requested by Anon. If you’re reading this you know who you are 😊 Thank you for the request, hope you like what I did with it. Sorry if I made it too angsty! And my most sincere apologies for publishing it so late. Enjoy XOXO ❤

“Guys, come on now! I’m not hiding anything!“ I laugh, looking up from the comments to the camera, “You know how much I hate being embarrassed! Believe me when I say these tattoos are EMBERRASSING. I got them while I was either drunk or in my emo phase and I’m not too proud of them.“

I’m currently doing an Instagram live Q&A session that I scheduled last week. I do one every month and it’s my favorite way of connecting with my audience. An hour of chill lo-fi and questions and answers. I get really excited every time I schedule the session. My fans are such amazing people and they are all so supportive, funny, intelligent...I could go on and on about their positive qualities. One thing I’m not too fond of is their persistent curiosity. Here’s why.

Yesterday, while streaming, I got an unexpected pain in my forearm. Instinctively, I lifted my shirt sleeve to see what was wrong, flashing a few tattoos at my viewers in the process. I’ve never mentioned my tattoos to my audience, not even my boyfriend, actually, so to have this much attention on them so suddenly makes me want to hide them even more. People started commenting on them during the stream and I tried to dodge the majority of the questions, but I knew they would be inevitable during the Q&A. If the session hadn’t been scheduled for like a week at that point I maybe would’ve postponed it until the dust settled. 

“I have several. Not only on my arm.“ I only answer these vague questions. I avoid the ones that are asking details like what is depicted with the tattoos and what’s their meaning, bla, bla, bla.

Here’s the thing. I got my first tattoo when I was fifteen at this shady alley tattoo shop and I’ve been obsessed with tattoos since. I made a deal with myself to get at least one every year.

Needless to say, I’m twenty years old and have almost the same number of tattoos. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ashamed of them. And I lied when I said they were embarrassing. I am quite happy with them, the way they look, at least. Each of them represent something different. Unfortunately, they are representative of some dark and depressing times. Times I want only the fewest of few people to know about.

“Yes, he’s here. You can’t see him, but he’s waving. He says hi.“ Corpse is the perfect distraction. My viewers love him just as much - maybe more - as they love me. 

He knows how easily I get overwhelmed by the attention and pressure of thousands of eyes on me and whenever I’m having a hard time while streaming all he has to do is walk in my recording room and just say the most random thing. Recently, his go-to phrase has been ‘Chicken wing’ and it always cracks up both me and my viewers.

Speaking of Corpse, him and I have been dating for over a year now. We moved in together a month or two before quarantine was officially a thing so we have been together 24/7. It’s scary how many things you can pick up on when you spend so much time with someone. That, of course, means he has noticed some of my tattoos. He has asked me about them, like why I cover them up and why am I so secretive about them and I’ve always been vague and indirect with my answers. He’s the sweetest and most patient person ever, so he has never pressed me with the questions, but I’m still hoping to gain the courage to reveal them to him someday.

“Thanks for tuning in, guys! See you tomorrow for my regular stream and next month for a chill hang out like this one. Love you, stay safe. Mwah!“ And with that the live video is done and I can finally breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Now we can order dinner“ I smile at Corpse who is chilling on the couch in my recording room. He looks up from his phone screen, returning my smile. “Were you recording a Behind The Scenes again?“

He does that often, not only with my Instagram lives but sometimes my streams as well. That’s actually how we revealed our relationship to our fanbases. 

He nods, “Yeah.” He pauses for a second, switching to a sitting position with his feet touching the floor. We’re almost at eye-level now. His arms snake around my waist as he pulls me closer towards him. I take the hint and settle in his lap, my legs on either side of him. “I admire how well you handled the pressure back there. I know how you feel about that topic.”

The small bit of anxiety that has started spreading throughout my chest disappears. He has that calming effect on me. Like my own personal safety blanket that’s with me at all times. “I wouldn’t have handled it so well if you weren’t here with me.” I say as I run a hand through his hair, moving a few stray curls away from his gorgeous eyes.

He shakes his head, making the strands fall back over his eyes, “It has nothing to do with me, Y/N. You are simply an amazing person, that’s all.“ His cold hand cups my burning red cheek, leaning my head down so our foreheads are touching. “Nothing could change my mind about it.“

That sentence causes a small pang in my chest. I feel like a manipulator. I’ve led this man to fall in love with me without knowing the past versions. I realize it’s incredibly manipulative of me to reveal my dark aspects only after we’re head over heels for one another, but I can live with it. If it were up to me, he’d never have to know. He would never have to find out that I’m not the amazing person he thinks I am. I have been broken countless times before and all my pieces are just glued in place. Not all of them are where they’re supposed to be and some of them are on the verge of breaking off. Just like a mirror. You can put all the pieces together but not only will you see the cracks, the shards can fall at any moment. 

My tattoos are to me as the cracks are to the mirror - evidence of my fragility and the many falls and breaks I’ve had throughout my life.

“Are you sure about that?“ I whisper, trying my hardest to engrave every detail of this moment in my mind because, after what I’m about to do, I’m afraid we might never be like this again.

The softness of his curls, his scent, his warmth, the way he makes me feel. I can hardly believe I’m risking losing all of that, but I owe him the truth.

I feel him nod against my forehead. I tense up and pull away so I can look him in the eyes. It’s hard for me to maintain eye contact especially when I’m fighting back tears. I can’t even say I’m about to lose him. I’m about to let him go. It’s up to him if he stays or decides that he deserves better.

No backing out, Y/N.

I grab the hem of my sweater and lift it up, revealing the many ink drawings on my skin. I discard the sweater on the floor, leaving me in only my bra meaning all my tattoos are on display. Not exactly all, I have some on my legs as well, but these are some of the most important ones. The ones which reveal most about who I used to be.

Corpse takes my hands, tilting my arms so he can take a better look at the tattoos that go from my wrists to the bend of my arm. His thumbs caress the tattoo on each of my wrists. “This one... “ I nod to my left wrist, “I got on my friend’s birthday. We both did. They’re matching.“ The tattoo depicts a heart with a keyhole. “She got the key.“

“I thought I had the key.“ He says, smirking up at me.

“You do now.“ I feel the pang again but this time it doesn’t go away. It’s a constant pain - a constant fear. Being scared of something inevitable is the most nerve-wracking feeling. It makes you feel small, helpless, like you’re standing aside watching your life be controlled by a force you can’t see.

Before he can break me even more, I go on, nodding to my upper arm, a little below my shoulder where there’s a rope tattoo that bends around my arm, its ends connecting in a bow, “I got this one after my shoulder healed.”

His brows furrow in concern as he tilts my head for me to look at him, “Healed from what?”

Here we go. Let the cat out of the bag. “Um....well...” I instinctively reach up to touch my shoulder, running my fingertips over the inked rope. “My dad wasn’t a very nice guy.”

I can pinpoint the second his heart breaks. I don’t want to hear what he has to say, I know it will kill me, so I just continue, moving onto the one on my other wrist where the word ‘Shadow’ is written in cursive writing, “This was my nickname in my friend group. I was the only one to never get caught shoplifting.”

The tears are gonna start rolling at any moment so I deliver the final blow, moving onto the most traumatic event, aka the tattoo on my collarbone of a heartbeat turning into a dead line and kicking up again, “This one I got after I woke up from my almost overdose.”

As if on cue, a tear falls from my eye onto his hand that’s still holding mine. My voice remains still, to my surprise, but I know it won’t be long before it too gives and breaks. I can’t look at him. I don’t want to see any sympathy or that look like he doesn’t recognize me. I feel like I’ve let both myself and him down.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?“ he asks me in a whisper. He sounds almost hurt. “You know you can tell me anything.“

I see another tear fall, “I know. I just...didn’t want you to think any less of me.“

Again, he lifts my head so he can look me straight in the eyes. He knows how much I struggle with eye contact and how much I hate crying in front of people, he knows how vulnerable I feel when someone’s looking me in the eyes or when someone sees me cry. He also knows that he’s the only exception to that rule. He knows I never feel out of place when he’s around. 

“Think less of you? Babe, you’re a fighter like no other. You picked you life back up. You did all that on your own. You’re a warrior, Y/N.“

I smile through the tears which are now ones of joy instead of fear and dread. “I was a dumb teenager, Corpse. I had no idea what I was doing. I just wanted to get a thrill and feel something other than pain. I know I went about it the wrong way but...” he gives my hand an encouraging squeeze, “And you’re wrong, I didn’t do it all on my own.” I release his hand so I can cup his cheek. His hand comes up to cover mine as I swipe my thumb on his cheekbone, “I met you a month after I left the hospital. The rest you know. I moved to a less druggie populated part of town and I repaired my relationship with my aunt. All that time, I was balancing between the need to relapse and the will to stay alive. After I met you, that balancing act was no longer a balancing act at all. I didn’t even think about my past anymore. I was more focused on what I could be. On what I have to be to deserve to have you by my side.” 

“You will always have me on your side, Y/N. Even when you don’t want or need me there.“ With both his hands holding mine he leans forward, connecting our lips. It’s a short kiss laced with nothing but love and adoration. 

As we lay on the couch, him asking about each individual tattoo I didn’t get to tell him about, everything just seems a lot easier. Like a big area that was previously dark has suddenly turned into the brightest point of our relationship.

“I need to get that key tattooed. It’s only appropriate.“ He says, his finger tracing the heart on my wrist.

“Or an ownership deal for it. That heart’s yours, you know.“ I laugh, lifting my arm to inspect the oldest painting on my body, “It’s your favorite one?”

“No.” he shakes his head, “This is my favorite one.” he leans down and kisses the heartbeat on my collar bone. “I’m so glad it started beating again.”

“I am too.“

@susceptible-but-siriusexual  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @hacker-ghost  @itsminniekat  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus

[boldlyvoid]

Only Time Will Tell | Part 2

18+

Summary: Fifteen years after a horrible breakup, Y/N and spencer figure out that time can heal almost everything.

Content Warnings: angst, parental death, mentions of cancer and suicide. Bi reader, bi spencer, recounting childhood relationships, slight angst, spencer's headaches, abusive relationships (not spencer and reader) blood tests, spencer's addiction issues, getting together, smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, switch spencer, sub reader, smut (not super graphic)

Word Count: 6.5K

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

When she wakes up she’s incredibly confused. She stares up at the bumpy stucco ceiling and Spencer laying on her chest and it feels like she’s gone back in time. He’s so snuggled into her, but her body is different than when she was 15, a lot different. He has a handful of one boob and his face on the other and she just shakes her head at the sight.

She kisses his forehead and strokes his hair and she lets it happen, because this is how she’s wanted to wake up every single day for the past 15 years. She’s spent just as long away from him as she’s spent loving him and she never realized how much it would hurt to think about it when she got him back.

She expected all the pain to go away, and while she’s a doctor and she knows way too much about the human brain, she still expected him to make her instantly happy. It wasn’t going to happen like that. Yes the hormones and endorphins were going to help, hugs and kisses and cuddles, sleeping beside him and hopefully sex… all those would contribute to making her feel happy, but at the end of the day her depression was always going to sit in the corner and attack when she was the most vulnerable.

Even with her last crush, it was good until she was alone. She’d cuddle with her all night with her lips pressed to her shoulder, wishing more than anything that she could feel that good forever… and it faded away when she realized she’d never have her. Unlike how she feels with Spencer right now.

He starts to wake up, also confused she guesses because he pulls away and sits right up with wide eyes and a horrified look on his face that just makes her laugh. “It’s fine, lay back down,” she pulls him back in and he settles, but the hand that was on her boob is now on her arm and he doesn’t say a word.

“How was your sleep?” She eventually asks, it’s the slightest whisper as she runs her fingers over his back the way he liked when he was younger.

“Really good,” he whispers back, “I haven’t slept this long in probably 15 years.”

“That makes one of us,” she smirks, “I sleep so much, it’s never refreshing but I sleep a lot.”

“I have really bad headaches, and no one can give me answers for them, I want to sleep but normally I can't.”

“What do you mean no one has answers?” She feels a little defensive, “have you had a brain scan or done blood work?”

“I’ve done it all,” he sighs, and she lifts him off of her.

“Do you have them here? Can I look?” She starts to worry for him, wanting to see everything she can and help him.

“Yeah,” he gets out of bed and rummages through his things, pulling out a few manila folders.

She grabs her phone and turns the flash on, laying it face down on the bed and shining up towards the ceiling, she takes out his MRI, a CT scan and holds them over the light one by one. “Your gray matter is so thick…”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“You’re a genius, tell me what gray matter does,” she teases, remembering how she used to use him as a google before Google was even invented.

“It's found throughout the central nervous system and controls movement, memory and emotions…”

“You’re a genius, I’ve always wondered how it would look,” she is fascinated with these normally, but Spencer’s is her favourite so far. “Your brain looks good, there’s nothing alarming, nothing out of the ordinary, but that doesn’t mean it’s all working right.”

He just hums along, she places them all back in their folders and opens his folder of paperwork, reading all his blog tests, “this is just basic stuff?”

He nods, “they won't test anything without reason.”

“Come to my lab? I’ll run every test in the book, you’re technically a schizophrenia research candidate so no one will care.”

“Really?” He looks almost excited, “I can take the morning off?”

“Okay,” she smiles, “let’s get ready then.”

She makes a phone call in Spencer’s kitchen, he’s still in the shower but Y/N’s completely dressed and ready for the day with the little supplies she brought in her bag. But she needs help.

“What?” The man answers first.

“It’s just me, put her on.”

“I’ve got this—Hello,” her best friend snatches the phone from him and answers with a smile she can hear, “how are you, bestie?”

“Hi Maeve,” she whispers with a smile.

“Why are we whispering?” She teases, “are you at someone’s house?”

“Yes,” she smiles, “I’m at Spencer’s.”

“No fucking way…” she whispers, “why didn’t you call me after your coffee date on Tuesday? I was so excited to hear about it.”

“I tried, but Bobby picked up and said you weren’t available,” she replied with a deep sigh, not hiding the fact that she hates Maeve’s fiancé.

“Oh,” she sounds ashamed and it makes Y/N feel bad for her, “well, how’d it go?”

“Good, we had a very PG13 sleep over the way we used to, It was nice waking up with him again, but I’m taking him into work today to do some blood work, I was wondering if I could send you some of his results? He’s getting headaches that he says are pretty debilitating?”

“Hmm, I’m free this morning once Bobby leaves for work, has he had any prior tests? I can come by and meet my best friend's best friend?” Maeve all but begs, that same pleading tone in her voice that Y/N loves.

“Of course, I’d never turn down a visit from you, I’ve missed you a lot,” she smiles at the floor, “and you’re really going to like Spencer.”

“I’m sure I will, do you think everything’s going to work out between you two?”

“I’m not sure yet,” her smile fades at the admission, “I don’t want to get my hopes up, but given the fact he texted me worried for my well-being and he’s been so adamant about hanging out… I’d like to say things are going back to normal.”

“Awe,” she swoons, “I love stories like this, you know that. I’m so glad you’re finally talking to him again, I thought I was going to have to bring you into my marriage, sister-wife style, in order to make you happier.”

“You could still leave Bobby for me,” she teases. “If this doesn’t work out, I still need a wife?” She teases and Maeve laughs and it makes her smile wide and toothy.

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” she whispers, “I’ll see you at work? In like an hour?”

“Do you want a coffee? We’re probably going to stop on the way,” Y/N offers, finally looking up from the pattern in the kitchen tile to see Spencer standing in the doorway.

“Just my usual,” she can hear Maeve’s smile, “but I’ll see you then, bye, love you.”

“Love you too,” she hangs up and stutters as she looks at Spencer, “I didn’t hear the water turn off?”

He’s standing there in a dark purple towel, one around his waist and one tightly wrapping his hair, he looks silly but she loves it. “Who was that?”

“My best friend,” she presses her lips together awkwardly, “she’s a geneticist, and if you have a deficiency causing these headaches she’s the best one to figure it out.”

“Thank you for caring this much,” it sounds so sad, she can tell he’s not used to this kind of effort being put in for him anymore.

“I’m very used to protecting you, it’s not something I can drop, even after fifteen years,” she reminds him, “I hate to think that you’ve had to do it alone for so long.”

“It’s been hard,” he agrees. “How is this going to work?”

“What?”

“Being best friends? Because as much as everyone on my team says they’re my best friend, I don’t feel close enough to anyone to give them that title anymore, not since I stopped talking to you,” it’s a lot to take in at a quarter to 8 in the morning.

Her eyes just go wide and she feels so bad for him, but at the same time, he did that to himself. He could have reached out, he could have stayed. There are lots of things he could do, and now the only thing she wants to do is let it go.

“Maeve means a lot to me, you’ll like her,” she steps into his space and pokes his wet chest, “she’s the only woman in her field, I’m the only woman in mine, we met at a talk a few years back and she’s been my person for so long.”

“Why couldn’t she go to get the time capsule with you?”

“She can’t leave the state,” Y/N admits, “she has a stalker and she won't tell me much, she doesn’t want me involved, she’s a little scared. And Bobby won't even let her answer the phone anymore, she’s why I reached out. She believes in fairytales and happy endings and after everything I’ve told her she said this love story has all the makings of a romantic comedy.”

Spencer laughs, “she’s not wrong.”

“She’s always going to be my best friend, but I can have two,” Y/N suggests, looking up at him and raising a brow.

“I don’t mind sharing,” he whispers.

It looks like he wants to kiss her and she desperately wants to lean in and let him, but he backs up. “I’m just going to change and then I’ll meet you back out here.”

“Yeah, course,” she lets him walk away and her heartbeat is audible in her ears.

She’ll always love Spencer, and yet a part of her wonders what would’ve happened if she had actually asked Maeve out that week before she met Bobby. Then she’d be able to go to the cops about the stalker, then she’d keep her safe all the time, and then again maybe she wouldn’t be here with Spencer trying to make it work if she was with Maeve.

It’s a lot to deal with at 8 in the morning.

She walks down to the building's garage with Spencer, he’s all dressed and ready for the day and he looks great. He dresses better than when he was a teenager, everything matches, it’s pressed and clean and he honestly could walk the runway like this.

And then she sees it.

“You still have it?”

“Shit,” Spencer whispers, “we can take the subway or a cab or something if this is triggering at all?”

“No,” she assures him, “I’m not triggered, just shocked that Amy still runs?”

“I’m an engineer, remember? I know how to keep her going.”

She runs her hand along with the blue paint of Diana’s old Volvo Amazon, who they appropriately named Amy when they were kids. She looks in at the backseat, the tear in the seat is still there from when the button on her jeans got stuck, the light in the radio is still burned out, unable to tell the time. The seats are just as comfortable, she turns on just as loud as before, and she never thought she’d say she missed the smell.

They stop at a coffee shop by the university, Spencer orders first and then it’s up to her, “can I get an iced coffee and—“

“A white hot chocolate with a blueberry tea bag in it? Absolutely,” the barista smiles, “anything else today, Y/N?”

“Not today, Katie,” she smiles, taking out the normal amount and a decent tip, “how’s school going?”

“Good, thank you for that study guide, I got a 92 on my last Bio test,” she’s unbelievably giddy and it makes Y/N’s day.

“that’s amazing,” Y/N makes the most basic small talk before joining Spencer by the counter.

“How do you know everyone?” Spencer whispers and nudges her shoulder with his own.

“I talk to people,” she nudges him back, “you’d be amazed by what happens when you let people in.”

Spencer hums, they watch Katie make their drinks carefully and quickly, putting them in a tray and handing them to Y/N with a smile. “Have a wonderful day.”

“You too!” Y/N calls back and waits for Spencer to get the door for them.

And then he opens the passenger door for her too. “So, I have to ask…” Spencer says as they finally get back in the car. He places his coffee in the cup holder, “were you and Maeve together at some point?”

“No…”

“Oh,” he drops it when he realizes it’s not a question she wants to be asked.

The rest of the drive is quiet, she sips her coffee and looks out the window and he taps the steering wheel the way he always used to do. “Have you dated anyone in the last 15 years?”

“Not really,” he shrugs, “I have been on dates but nothing’s really worked out.”

“Hmm,” she says before she drops it.

Pulling into her work, he parks in her spot and the two of them get out and begin their walk to the elevators and then he asks another question.

“So you haven’t dated or been with anyone since we broke up?” He looks a little shocked.

“Not really,” she shakes her head, “I don’t feel the need to? I’m not lonely, I’m busy.”

“Oh.”

The elevator dings and she walks out first, through the main hall and towards the lab. She puts on her coat and hands Spencer a blank one, “these are my Ph.D. candidates.”

Inside she has 4 students all dressed up and doing their work and Spencer waves awkwardly as they look up at him. “Good morning guys.”

“Morning doctor,” they reply in unison.

“My friend Spencer here has a genetic predisposition for schizophrenia so I’m just going to run the basic tests but he’s not going to be in any of the trials.”

“Sounds good,” one of them smiles.

“We’ll be in here if you need me,” she points at her office and Spencer follows her inside. “Oh, and Maeve is coming in as well, tell her to come right in.”

“Why? How many people have you slept with?” She suddenly closes the door, resuming their conversation immediately.

“Including you,” he does the calculations on his fingers, letting out a deep breath he was keeping in. “Elle, Ethan, and a handful of one-night stands…”

“That’s not too bad,” she shrugs and then she can’t help but laugh, “but Ethan? Really?”

Spencer nods with a smirk, “I told you I would one day.”

She laughs, remembering how much they hated each other. Ethan was a pain in the ass, flirting with both of them to piss the other off, especially when they were all on opposite mathlete teams… but Spencer did have a crush and she was secure enough in their relationship back then to just laugh it off, like she is now.

“How did it even happen?” She asks, taking out all the supplies from the cupboard, and returning to him with an elastic band.

“I went to see him in New Orleans because I was addicted to drugs and he’s an alcoholic and I wanted him to tell me not to waste my life away because no one else was going to do it.”

“Wait, addicted? I thought it was just the one case?” Her whole body reacts, her heart drops and her breathing changes and she worries for him in a way she hasn’t felt in years. “Do you want me to do this in your hand so you don’t get triggered?”

He shakes his head, “no, it’s fine,” and then he takes a chip out of his pocket, “it was nice to not feel anything for a while.”

He hands it to her, it’s a 5-year chip and it makes her smile. “I’m always going to be proud of you.”

“I know.”

She hands it back to him and he puts it back where it belongs and the conversation dies there as she takes his blood and he looks away. She has a few vials, she puts his name on them and turns back to him. “Can I ask who Elle is?”

“She was on my team,” he presses his lips together and she knows there’s more in there.

“And?”

“She was shot and had terrible PTSD after, I checked on her one night and she was drinking and we got to talking about her feelings and she didn’t want to be alone… the next night she killed a serial rapist and claimed self-defence but I know she killed him because we couldn’t get justice for his victims. She put justice into her own hands, and then she left.”

“Do you live in a soap opera?” She teases, “damn, okay. I mean good for her, she probably thought if she was going to prison at least she could get some dick first.”

“That’s what I thought for a while too,” Spencer nods along, only slightly sad. “But then I thought about what I did to you, and I figured she didn’t need a reason to sleep with me and leave me, sometimes it just happens and there isn’t a good reason.”

“It’s different for boys,” she combats. “And you weren’t a virgin then, you were what? 24? You were almost a full-brained man.”

“I know.”

She needs to let it go, she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, “sorry.”

“You’re not wrong. The damage I must have caused isn’t something that heals fast,” he explains and it starts to feel like a profile. “You haven’t just not slept with anyone because you don’t want to. It’s because you’re scared. We were really young, we were stupid, and I hurt you to the point where you can’t let in anyone who will leave you. I’m going to keep saying I’m sorry even though I know I can’t remove the scars, they’re always going to be there.”

“I hate you sometimes,” she whispers, turning away from him and gripping the counter. “You didn’t have to read me like that. Not everything is your fault you know, I’ve tried. I’ve wanted to and none of the people I’ve dated were good enough and the person I wanted to sleep with the most found someone else before I had the courage to do anything about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

She turns back to him with a straight face, “I wanted to feel loved more than I wanted to be fucked. You damaged my heart, not my vagina.”

He tries not to laugh, biting his lips and yet the air that leaves his nose sounds like a laugh, she turns her attention back to him, playfully outraged that he would laugh. “You’re a dick.”

“I missed you a lot,” he smiles, “and I’m really glad you reached out.”

—

When Maeve comes in, Y/N wraps herself around her so tight that Maeve laughs. “Hello lovely,” she whispers against her and Y/N’s heart flutters just a bit.

“Were you safe?” Y/N worries and brushes her hands along her arms as she looks her over. “You weren’t followed or anything?”

“No,” Maeve assures her and hugs her once more, “you look so good, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you,” she rocks her back and forth slightly and then turns to introduce her to Spencer, who’s now standing.

“This is Doctor Spencer Reid, Spencer this is Doctor Maeve Donovan, my best friend,” Y/N turns to him and Spencer looks at her like he knows her from somewhere.

“wait—

“Journal of Behavioural Psych… I’ve already seen your brain,” Maeve fills in the blanks. “I didn’t reply to your email because I knew you were Y/N’s Spencer.”

“Oh…” Spencer can’t really believe it.

“And I had no idea you have schizophrenia in your family either…” she stares at Y/N with her brows raised.

“Stop,” she whispers under her breath. “I told you.”

“It was between Alzheimer's in Texas and Schizophrenia here,” Spencer repeats. “I always thought I’d be the one to cure it for my mom, but I’m glad it’s you.”

Maeve just smiles at him and Y/N can’t stop smiling at her, it’s surreal to have her best friends meet.

They all catch up with their drinks in her office. Sitting at Y/N’s desk and sharing their stories, Spencer’s medical issues, Y/N’s flight anxiety and Maeve’s stalker.

“I actually got this yesterday…” she takes a letter out of her purse and hands it to them. “I think I’m going to dye my hair brown and move out of Bobby’s apartment. And I might hide for a bit.”

“No,” Y/N shakes her head, “we can get Penelope and the rest of Spencer’s friends to look into this, please? Please you can’t hide anymore this is too serious.”

“This is classic stalker behaviour,” Spencer says as he reads over the letter a few times. “They want to murder you and then kill themselves… do they bring this up often?”

“Yeah,” Maeve agrees. “He has a thing with suicide he’s said I should just kill myself and spare everyone the stress…”

“Wait,” Y/N stands and flicks through all her paperwork, “that girl who you turned down for a Ph.D. handed in the same thesis to me about cell deterioration in people with suicidal ideation.”

“That sounds like it matches up,” Spencer agrees. “I think I can have Penelope email you some information on the student so you can take it to the police?”

“Thank you, Spencer,” she smiles at him and Y/N can’t help but feel like a third wheel somehow.

Because of course her straight best friend, who she’s been in love with for 2 years, would meet her ex-boyfriend and be instantly attracted to him. It’s her luck. And by the way, Spencer is smiling at her, she knows he thinks she’s pretty. She’s known him long enough to remember when he looked at her like that… she clears her throat and gets them to stop making googly eyes at each other.

“We have a flight to catch soon too,” she reminds him. “I’m going to go work with my students if you two want to stay here and talk to Spencer’s co-workers.”

“Yeah,” Maeve agrees quickly. “That sounds good.”

“Can I talk to you first?” Spencer asks, pulling her into the other room and closing the door.

“What’s up?”

“You’re jealous,” he reads her just as well as she reads him.

“And you think she’s pretty,” she bites back. “I’m not jealous, I’m envois. I wished for a very long time that she would love me back and all it takes is a single smile from you and she’s probably willing to leave bobby.”

“But she’s not you,” Spencer replies. “It’s not that easy for me to fall in love, you know that. It took us years to fall as in love with each other as we were and it never went away. Meeting her can’t replace how I feel about you.”

“We can’t do this now,” she stops him. “Sit on it, tell me tomorrow when we open the time capsule. Mean it when you say it, don’t just try and calm me down with your words.”

She leaves the room, walking right past Maeve and into the lab. Helping the first student to call her attention and leaving her best friends to mingle.

—

She has a nap on the plane, Spencer did too, their heads resting against each other as they slept through the turbulence and the crying babies, waking up for the landing and departure. They get a car for the weekend, and the drive to her parent's house is so, so, so quiet.

“I’m not ready for how weird this is going to be” She whispers.

“It’s not going to be weird.”

“Yes, it is,” she’s adamant.

Her bed is still there for them to spend the night in, so are her parent's and brothers' beds if he doesn’t want to sleep beside her. And the couches and the fridge and anything big that she couldn’t move out alone yet.

“Why? Because we have to sleep in the same bed again, because it’s the house with all our memories or because the time capsule has letters addressed to our kids?”

“Yes.”

They both laugh at her bluntness, “we were so hopeful back then.”

“We had no reason not to be,” he says. “Your parents were very good at reminding me that our dreams can come true if we work hard enough.”

“They were great parents,” she agrees. “I miss them so much…”

“Would it be weird if I went to the grave?”

“No,” she lets out a deep breath, “they loved you.”

He pulls onto their old street and her heart is in her stomach. She can’t believe they’re actually doing this, they’re actually together again at her parent's house. He pulls into her driveway, her dad's truck is still parked out front and it looks exactly the same as it used to.

They grab their bags, she opens the door and then they’re alone in her old house. “See,” she teases, “it feels fuckin weird.”

“It’s so cold,” Spencer whispers. “Not like freezing, it just doesn’t feel right in here.”

“I know,” she agrees, taking her things and heading up the stairs towards her old bedroom.

“It’s grey…” Spencer whispers as he enters the room. “What happened to the purple?”

“My mom was bored when she was recovering from the chemo and she wanted to paint, so we did it,” she shrugs, “it was a fun weekend.”

Spencer puts his things in the corner and somehow it feels like they’re 15 again. He used to put his backpack there, he’d kick off his shoes and dive into her bed, waiting for afternoon cuddles and a nap before dinner and then they’d do homework until her curfew when he’d walk back to his house and wave to her from his window.

He kicks off his shoes again and she just sits on the edge of her bed, watching him. He takes off his suit jacket and hangs it on the hook behind her door, another thing he remembered to do almost by instinct.

“It’s like you never left,” she whispers.

He nods, “can I tell you now that I feel the same way, that I miss being loved too.”

It’s way too early in the weekend to be here already. “No,” she whispers. “Don’t do this to me again, please? Don’t offer to love me if you’re not certain that you’ll stay.”

“No one can be?” He reminds her as he sits beside her on her bed.

“You dying and you breaking my heart are two very different things,” she replies. “It would be easier if you died.”

“How?” He looks offended.

“Because then no one else can have you,” she can’t look at him and the tears come back. It fucking sucks. It hurts and she’s embarrassed.

“It’s killed me thinking about you all these years, wondering if you ever replaced me. I spent my whole childhood dreaming about being your wife and then I had to just imagine you with someone else for the last 15 years and it sucked.”

He doesn’t reply.

She shakes the tears away, clearing her throat slightly, “we’re either together or we’re not. Pick one. I can’t be stuck in limbo anymore.”

“No, I can’t just agree to go back to how it was before,” he shakes his head, “I’m not going to live up to your expectations. We are two completely different people now, we can’t just pick up where we left off without us fighting about it. I’m never going to be the same to you as I was when we were kids because I don’t know who that Spencer is anymore. I haven’t been him for a long time and this Spencer is really bad at pretending.”

He’s more assertive now, he was never this confident to fight with her when they were kids and then again he didn’t have a reason to.

They were happy back then.

“Would you like to date again and get to know each other as we are now?” She compromises.

“What if you don’t like who I am now? What if I let you down?”

“You can’t,” she can’t help but smile. “Because even after everything that’s happened, just looking at you fills me with the same feeling it did when we were kids. You’re always going to be my best friend, no matter what, even if we don’t have the same interests anymore or if you’re a bit more annoying…”

It makes him giggle and that’s what she wanted, “see? Look at us? We can do this, we just have to talk about it. I’m open to the fact that you’re a different man now from your trauma and you’re accepting of the fact I’m incredibly damaged from mine, and that we might always be, but one day we’ll laugh about it.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be laughing,” he teases and it feels like it did back then.

“No? I’m going to bring it up to tease you then,” she warns him, “because you’re cute when you’re frustrated.”

“You’re also more annoying than I remember,” he teases her right back and moves in to tickle her the way he used to.

She’s still ticklish. And he still remembers where. He tackles her back against the bed and she tries to push him off but she’s already giggling too hard, eyes closed as she tries to squirm out of his reach. But his arms are somehow longer than before? He wraps around her and digs into her sides with a hearty laugh and then it becomes a hug.

She settles again and he’s still on top of her and her arms wrap around him. His face is in the crook of her neck and she rests her cheek on his head, brushing her jaw along his hair and breathing deeply. She’s missed this so much in the last 15 years.

“I still love you,” he’s the one to say it first and all the tension in her body drops.

“Thank god,” she sighs and holds him a bit tighter. “I still love you.”

There’s a weird feeling in the air, one she hasn’t felt in a very long time. Not since they were sitting in that field, in Spencer’s mom's car, trying to figure out how they were going to have sex in the back seat.

She kisses the top of his head gently and he kisses the side of her neck in return and her breathing hitches. So he kisses her again, this time on the pulse point and up towards her Jaw and her eyes close as she leans into the contact.

It’s been a very long time since he’s seen most of her body, and yet as he strips her clothes off and covers her with his lips, it’s like nothings changed. He did this the first time too, carefully kissing everywhere but with a lot more nerves.

“It’s been a very long time since I’ve done this,” she reminds him, “so please don’t stop.”

He laughs, kissing her cheek and looking down at her. “We’re doing this?”

She nods, “there’s no one here to stop us.”

“And no reason to stay quiet,” he teases back, looking around her room quickly, “it’s strange being back here.”

“We never actually had sex in here,” she whispers, pecking his lips softly and then realizing that’s the first real kiss they’ve shared in 15 years.

He lunges in and kisses her again, hand on her cheek as she rests back against the pillow, he slides a leg in-between her own, grinding against her softly as he kisses her, swiping a tongue along her bottom lip, he used to love making out with her.

They could make out for hours on end, hot and heavy, grinding together but never taking it anywhere. It was just as fun to them as anything else, up until they had sex for the first time. Then it was all they wanted to do, only back then they were both more scared of being caught than actually doing it, and it’s not like they hadn’t been experimenting with each other their whole lives.

They had baths together as kids, they spent a lot of time alone as children and they hit puberty at the same time… she’ll never forget the day they learned what masturbating was, they went home and tried it alone and reported right back to each other the next day.

It was always meant to happen, he was the only person she wanted to take her virginity back then. And she wasn’t mad at him for taking it and then leaving, she was mad at him for having sex with her a million more times before he left.

But he was always so delicate with her and she was just as soft with him, they loved each other and respected each other like it was second nature to them, and it was so easy to slip back into that. She knew everything he liked, he remembered what spots elicited the best responses from her. It was like they never missed a beat.

His clothes come off just as quickly as hers, she’s missed him so much over the years. Remembering their first time for far too long, thinking about him at the worst moments, typically right as pleasure overtook her. She’s been saying his name when she cums for so long it’s the only thing she knows how to do.

“Spencer please?” She whines as they grind together, her lips just as swollen as his.

She sits up and takes him with her, he kneels in front of her and she uses the free space to get off the bed and search through her suitcase. “I brought condoms for a reason,” she laughs as she hands them to him. “I figured this would happen at some point.”

“I did too,” he smirks, “but I also saw tonight that you’re on the pill?”

She nods and laughs, “you’re kidding?” She climbs back into her bed and suddenly she’s nervous, “I mean, yeah, we could? But how do I know you’re clean? You’ve slept with a lot of people since we were together.”

“6 isn’t a lot,” he retorts, “but I just thought I’d ask, I still want you to be the first person I do that with.”

“You’re asking and you can’t even say it?” She teases him, shoving him lightly and taking the condoms from him.

His whole demeanour changes then, “you’d let me fuck you raw?”

She forgets how to breathe then, simply nodding with her jaw dropped, mouth breathing, deeply, she’s shocked. She finally swallows, returning the moisture to her mouth, “yeah…”

“What else would you let me do?” He whispers, drawing her in closer until she’s sitting in his lap and running her hands down his bare chest.

“Anything,” she whispers back, “I’ve missed your touch.”

He hums, brushing his nose against hers before kissing her softly. “Do you think about me still?”

Of course he remembered when she told him that.

There was one day where he never came over, she was waiting and waiting and he wasn’t showing up so she eventually went over to get him. Finding him having an anxiety attack in his room, admitting to her and apologizing profusely for thinking about her when he masturbated the night before. He was afraid she would think he was gross and then hate him. When in reality she was thinking about him too.

She nods, “it’s hard not to when you’re the best I’ve ever had.”

“I’m all you’ve ever had,” he reminds her. Or at least so he thinks.

“No,” she shakes her head, “there was another guy in high school.”

“What?” He furrows his brows, “I thought you said you didn’t?”

“I didn’t really want to, but, I had sex with Kyle VanNuss? Do you remember him?” She asks carefully, scared that this is ruining absolutely everything when she was just so close to having him again.

“I hated him,” Spencer replies. “I’m sorry it wasn’t good.”

“it’s fine it was 12 years ago,” she laughs, “I really wanted to sleep with people, I would have loved to have been able to, but I need this first. I need to feel totally and completely safe and loved and appreciated, the way you make me feel.”

“Demisexuality is defined by—

“Don’t quote textbook definitions at me, I love you and only you and no one compares. Now if there’s a spencer-sexual term, that’s me, and that’s how I’d like to keep it,” she tries to keep a straight face but she ends up laughing and dragging him down with her.

He rests his forehead on her shoulder, arms around her waist, they’re so close and completely naked and it feels right, “this is all I want.”

She sits up a bit, reaching between them and gripping his cock at the base and he moans. He’s bigger than she remembers, he still makes such beautiful sounds as she strokes him and then she runs the head of his cock along her folds and he tosses his head back with another delicious moan.

“Put it in,” he requests.

She sinks down onto him with more ease than she thought she would, always so turned on by him, it’s easy. She bottoms out and rests back against his legs, sitting in his lap, holding him incredibly close. It feels like every single part of him is touching her and she still wants more. Reconnecting their lips, his hands move down to her hips to help her move, grinding and bouncing they make a rhythm that is completely theirs, it works and she’s so lost in him.

Moaning into his mouth, feeling his hands on her body, his chest against hers and his tongue in her mouth. It’s all she’s wanted for a very long time, and it’s overwhelming. She tries to hold herself together but it feels so good, she’s on the edge of every single emotion in the book as she rides him there.

She breaks the kiss to hold him tighter, kissing his shoulder before he picks her up and lays her back against the bed, crawling between her legs and sliding back in. It’s easier at this angle, he slides in and out so easy, his thumb is on her clit and his mouth on her breasts as she lays there, blissed out and moaning, a tear slips down her face and she quickly wipes it away.

It’s all a lot and according to him, he’s staying forever. This isn’t the last time it’ll happen, it’s actually the first of many, the first of forever, and only time will tell how long that forever lasts.

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[lonely-writer]

From the right in the gut list: “I just don’t feel anything anymore.” 🥺😘

Thank you so much for the ask!

TW: Mentions of death, alcohol mention, unwanted flirting/harassment, swearing, alcohol as a coping mechanism

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Female!Reader

Tags: Swearing, drinking, angst, lots of angst, harassment, caring!eddie, mentions of death, nurse!reader, guilt, depression, alcohol as a coping mechanism, talk about therapy

You had a hard day. You had a very hard day and you couldn't handle it anymore. You had lost a patient- no not a patient, you had lost a child and you had to comfort their parents while they sobbed over their child's lifeless body that you had failed to save. So you were drinking away the pain and suffering you had put a family through, the pain and suffering that that poor child had gone through, the pain and suffering that you were currently going through.

You were drinking alone at a bar at a place you didn't know, with a stranger you didn't like very obviously trying to flirt with you. Slamming back another shot of vodka...or was it tequila? Who knew at that point. You turned your attention to the man that was flirting with you and you gave him a disgusted look- or whatever you could muster up at this point without becoming a sobbing mess, "I'm nah interested." You slur drunkenly towards the man, though he doesn't seem deterred by your rejection.

"Aw c'mon princess, you're lookin a little down. I could make you feel a whole lot better." The man offers with a suggestive wink as he nudges your arm, had you been the least bit sober you might've slapped his hand away or called him a bastard to his face but at this point you've had at least two bottles full of shots and maybe your judgement isn't what it usually is but you honestly don't want to argue with him.

"Nah thanks...got a boyfriend." You answer flagging down the bartender for another shot, you should've been cut off a long time ago but tonight the bar is filled and the bartender isn't paying nearly enough attention to you and other patrons of the bar that have been drinking way past their limit. The stranger beside you doesn't seem to care that you have a boyfriend- which you don't, it's just the lie that you automatically go with to shake off anyone who tries to flirt with you. You're about to yell at the other patron but rescue arrives in the form of a very handsome looking, very buff looking man. You're not sure who he is but you're not opposed to the way he wraps an arm around your waist,

"Hey babe, is this guy bothering you?" The newcomer asks with a pointed look at the other man that has been grossly flirting with you, the man in question puts his hands up at the sudden appearance of your "boyfriend", once he's certain that the offending stranger has left he removes his arm from your waist and gives you a quick look over before taking the shot glass full of...whatever you were drinking...away from you.

"Hey! Meanie." You pout and the handsome stranger chuckles,

"Not mean, you are incredibly wasted and need to be cut off. Since the bartender's busy I'll be doing that." He informs with a sweet smile, you try to match his smile but end up bursting into a fit of laughter. He joins in your laughter shaking his head with a smile, "You're very, very drunk whoever you are. Mind telling me your name?" The man asks as he orders a water to sober you up,

"'M Y/N." You answer and arch an eyebrow up at the stranger who has decided to take care of you waiting for him to introduce himself, he finally figures out what you're waiting for and he holds his hand out to you,

"Eddie. Eddie Diaz." You shake his hand and squint at him slightly because you're almost certain that you've met him before though you're not certain where from. He watches as you stare at him and can't help but grin slightly in amusement as you struggle to figure out where you know him from,

"I know you, jus don't know where from." You state after a few more moments of squinting at him. He laughs slightly and you find it infectious in your drunken state,

"You might have seen me around town, I work as a firefighter for the 118." He explains- that's when it hits you, he's one of the medics that dropped off the kid. The kid who died today. The kid that you had been drinking to forget about. Just like that you're upset all over again and want nothing more than to go back to drinking away your sorrows. Eddie the handsome firefighter seems to immediately notice the sudden dip in your mood and a concerned look crosses his face, "Hey, what's wrong?" He asks frowning slightly, internally you curse the fact that even when he's frowning he's obnoxiously attractive. You sigh and shrug hoping to brush off the melancholy subject, you don't want to relieve the day and you definitely don't want to explain to Eddie that one of the patients they brought in today had died, he doesn't accept that answer and pries again. "Come on Y/N, I can tell that you're upset. You're drunk, you're frowning, and that tells me you're upset." He explains when you open your mouth to argue with him- how the hell did he know all these things?

"You're good. Too good. Ya sure you're not some psychic?" You ask tilting your head to the side as if silently sizing him up. The firefighter, medic, psychic, whatever he is laughs in response and shakes his head.

"No, no. I'm not a psychic. Just really good at reading people, so tell me, what's wrong? Bad day?" He coaxes you to answer. Normally you would burst out into hysteric sobbing as you recalled the tale of today's past events but...you just feel numb inside now and want nothing more than to get this over with. With a heavy sigh you begin to tell Eddie everything, from the moment that the 118 had dropped the kid and his parents off to each time he coded on your table to the moment that his parents had to say goodbye to their only child. He's silent as he sits next to you and listens to this, taking in the information, processing it, and getting used to the fact that you have just dumped a massive mound of trauma on to him. Immediately you feel guilty and begin to apologize- you shouldn't have bothered him with all this. It wasn't his fault that the boy had died- it was yours, you didn't do enough, you could have done more, you should have done...something...anything to keep him alive so that he could still be with his parents and the image of them crying and mourning over their sons body wouldn't be embedded into your mind.

What he asks you next genuinely surprises you, "How are you holding up?" Gently he squeezes your shoulder, it's such a small yet genuine gesture that it causes your hardened resolve to finally break. Tears start to spring to your vision as you finally break,

"I just don't feel anything anymore." You admit which is hard, usually you're strong for yourself and your patients but there's just something about Eddie that makes you feel vulnerable. It's almost comforting. Lightly he wraps an arm around you and lets you cry into his shoulder. You and Eddie talk for what seems like an eternity, he helps you sober up and talks with you about getting a therapist. By the time the bar closes you're feeling just a tad bit better about yourself, you hadn't realized how late- or well how early?- it had become so you apologize to him for taking up so much of his time but he silences you with a small smile and wave of his hand.

"It's no problem, but maybe you could thank me over a cup of coffee later?" He suggests, you might just take him up on that offer.

[idreamofplaid]

Quieting the Demons Inside

Square Filled: Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Walker x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Cordell opens up to the reader, and his vulnerability takes their relationship to the next level.

Word Count: 1897

A/N: Written for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo. This can be read as a stand alone or as the continuation of Putting the Past to Rest.

He’d hinted at it, but never anything more than that. You knew it had affected him deeply. Whatever he’d done undercover had left a mark on this man, this man who was making you feel more and more each day like he was yours, but he couldn’t be yours completely until he told you the truth about what had happened.

Cordell was good at expressing himself physically in ways that words sometimes failed him. That’s what he’d done tonight. He had caressed you, running his hands over your body, moving them sensually over your hips and thighs until you were burning with need for him. 

He knew how to bring your body to a fever pitch of aching need until you were begging him for relief and release, and he never disappointed. He had filled you with his thick fingers, fucking you with them expertly, stroking over that spot inside you that made your vision white out. 

Your first orgasm was messy and loud.Cordell loved doing that to you. He enjoyed watching you come undone for him. It was deeply satisfying to him to hear his name on your lips when you squirted all over his fingers.

Once you’d had a taste of pleasure, then he turned things up a notch. He brought you to orgasm the second time using his tongue. He flattened it against your most sensitive parts, dragged it through your folds, and lapped up your juices while he told you how good you tasted. 

Cordell raved about your body, never had a man made you feel so beautiful or so desired. “You are so perfect, baby. You make me so fucking hard for you.” 

He told the truth when he was in bed. It was one of the things that made him irresistible, his lack of restraint between the sheets. When he got hard, he was rock hard, and the resulting erection would have been impressive to anyone who saw it. Cordell’s cock was long and thick, big enough to fill his massive hand when he wrapped his long fingers around it to stroke himself.

He was doing that now, knowing how much it turned you on to watch him. “You gonna let me inside you, baby?” The words flowed from his mouth in a slow easy drawl, deep and raspy, laced with lust.

You put your arms around his neck and pulled him to you. “That’s exactly where I want you, Cord, filling me up and stretching me, pounding me until I think I can’t take anymore.” You threaded your fingers through his hair and grabbed a handful. “Please do that to me,” you purred.

“Anything you want.” His eyes traveled over your body and your face, drinking you in. “You are a beautiful woman, Y/N.” He pinned your arms above your head, holding your wrists in place with one of his hands. With his other hand, he positioned himself at your opening.

He gave you a couple of inches and stilled, watching you. How long could you take it before you were pleading with him to give you more? Cordell’s eyes had darkened while he watched you, noting the way you responded to each movement of his hips.

He pushed in another inch; then he started to thrust fast and shallow, teasing you with it, giving you a taste of what you knew he could do to you. “Fuck, Cord. Give me all of you. You know I need you.”

“I need you too, baby.” He propped himself on his arms, caging you between them, and thrust into you, swift and deep. 

It was incredible, being this close to him. You felt the warmth of him around you, inside you. This was when he was the most vulnerable to you, when he was on the edge of his orgasm, it was more than just his body that was near to erupting. Cordell Walker was a man who let himself feel when he was having sex. He let go of all his inhibitions that his life required him at other times to have.

You circled your arms around his back, pulling him closer to you, He moaned your name, and then his grunts got deeper as the movement of his hips became erratic, signaling you he was close.

His come filled your womb in hot spurts, and your name poured from his lips. “Y/N. Y/N.” He could always make you fall right over that edge when he said your name that way, and you fell again.

This orgasm, with his dick throbbing inside you, releasing his load, was the most explosive one yet. Cordell continued to pump you through it until your walls stopped clenching around him, and your fingers released their grip on his back and shoulders. “That’s it. That’s my girl.” He whispered to you as you came back down from that peak.

His arms were close around you, and his hand was in your hair, holding the back of your head. You could hear him taking deep breaths. Cordell said your name again, then he slipped from inside you and moved down your body until his lips were hovering over yours. He kissed you, something beyond tender and just shy of desperate need for something your body couldn’t give him.

He lifted his mouth from yours and looked at you. He could make you smile, break your heart, and turn you on with his eyes. Cordell held secrets in those eyes; they were the home of unspoken pain, caused by the heavy burdens that he carried. 

A shadow of sadness filled his hazel eyes that had chosen to be a soft brown for you tonight, the color of caramel. He rolled off you, ran his fingers through his hair, and let his hand fall to the pillow above his head with a soft flop.

You turned to him and placed your hand on his chest with your very softest touch, not sure how he would react. “Cordell, what is it? What’s wrong?” He raised his other hand over his head and dragged both back down over his face, mussing his already sex mussed hair even more. 

“I…” That was all he said. He drew you into his arms and tucked your head beneath his chin. 

You lay there in the silence listening to him breathe, his arms wrapped snugly around you. Cordell lay his cheek against your hair, and after a few seconds you said, “Cord, tell me what’s going on. Please.”

You felt his cheek leave your hair, and you raised your head to look at him. “Cord?”

He pushed himself up so his back was against the headboard, and you sat up next to him. There was a shine of tears in his eyes, and he reached for you, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “You don’t know what I’ve done.” He dropped his hand and his head. He swallowed hard. “You should know. I need to tell you because….”

The seconds ticked past, and he didn’t say anything else. You reached for his hand and held it, waiting. Cordell tightened his fingers around your hand. “You don’t know who I am, Y/N. You don’t….” 

He lifted your hand to his mouth, kissed it, then held it against his lips. Cordell moved your hand so he could talk again, but he didn’t let it go. “I’ve pretended so much, done so many things I’m not proud of.” He looked straight into your eyes. They had turned the darkest of grays, untouched by blue, matching the storm inside him. 

“When I go undercover, it’s like I’m somebody else. “It’s...total.” Cordell emphasized the last word. 

Your eyes held his, silently telling him you weren’t afraid of what he had to say. “I’ve watched people die, and I’ve...been with other women.” He started to let go of your hand, but you reached for it and curled your fingers around it again. 

You combed your fingers through his hair, smoothing it back into place. “Cordell, I know you’ve been with other women while you’re undercover.” You gave his hand a little squeeze. “You told me, baby.”

He shook his head, closed his eyes, and raised his free hand to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. “It’s not what you’re thinking.” Cordell opened his eyes and dropped his hand from his face. “It isn’t like casual sex. I mean it is, but they don’t know that.”

He bent his head and looked at his lap. “Do you understand what I’m saying? I make them think I have feelings for them.” He raised his head to face you, and the expression in his eyes was pained. “I lead them on, Y/N, to get them to do what I want them to do.”

Cordell raised his hand, palm to the air and let it drop. “And this….” His eyes were pleading, grasping for some kind of redemption he thought he didn’t deserve. “I need you to know what’s happening between us is real.” He covered his face with his palms, dragged them down slowly, and raised his eyes to the ceiling. “I have made so much shit up...and made it believable.” His eyes found yours again. “That’s who I’ve been.”

You lay your palm onto his cheek. “Look at me, Cord. Been. Because that’s who you needed to be to do what you had to do. It isn’t who you are. Were you pretending just now?”

His answer was automatic. “No. This is real. That’s what I need you to know.” 

“I do know.” You straddled him, placed your hands on his shoulders, and started to cover his face in kisses. Your lips brushed over his beard as you kissed his cheek, moving down to the corner of his mouth before you put a single kiss on his temple. “I’m not pretending either, Cord. This is as real as it gets.”

You kissed him, slipping your tongue into his mouth while your hips ground against him to emphasize your point. One of his hands grabbed your neck at the base of your head, and the other was firmly planted in the middle of your back. “Y/N.”

He said your name against your lips again before he plunged his tongue deeply into your mouth. You reached down and wrapped your hand around his cock, stroking him back to hardness. 

Then you stopped kissing him, and rested your forehead on his. “This is real, Cord. It’s real.”

You lowered yourself over the thick hard length of him, and he filled you. Your arms were around him, holding him tight. Cordell rolled his hips upward, thrusting into you deeper. 

He kept saying your name while he moved inside you. You threw your head back, then buried it in the side of his neck. You kissed the muscle where his neck met his shoulder, whispering against his skin. ”You mean everything to me, Cord.”

With a stutter of his hips, and a deep grunt, he came inside you, filling you with the heat of his release. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. Eventually, Cordell’s breathing slowed; he softened inside you, and he held you even tighter.

His question was quiet in the still of the room. “Do you forgive me?”

Your answer was soft and sure. “There’s nothing to forgive, Cord.”

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @jules-1999​ @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @sammyimpala-67​ @queenoftheunderdark​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @timelordy-fangirl2​ @sweetness47​ @hobby27​ @awesomesusiebstuff​ @kickingitwithkirk​ @sandlee44​ @supernaturalgrandma​ @volleyballer519​ @outcastedangel​ @kdfrqqg​ @lizette50​ @sorenmarie87​ @lovealways-j​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @spnbaby-67​ @petitgateau911​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​

Walker: @sams-sass​ @girl-next-door-writes​ 

Thanks for reading and making my writer’s heart sing with your comments!

  Taglist is Open

[mrsbarnes107]

Secret of the Widow

-part ten-

Summary: Post Endgame time period. The team is healing, trying to navigate this new normal they’ve found themselves in when Bucky and Sam bring home a stray with an attitude and a secret. Will the broken team take her in? Or is it too much to bare?

Warnings: language, violence, smut, death, fluff, angst, blood

Pairings: Bucky x OC

Our footsteps thundered down the halls, narrowly ducking corners and vaulting stairs as we make our way to the containment unit.

"Do you have your suit?"

"No I didn't think I'd need it!"

"Shit. Okay. You stay back and find the one straggling okay? I know you're good hand to hand but without the suit your vulnerable and significantly weaker."

Luckily I always keep two knives strapped to my belt, so I toss one to Peter as we near the hallway leading to the prisoners.

"Aim between the ribs or the center of the throat. Don't stab yourself."

Just as we burst through the doors, the room shakes, pieces of the ceiling crashing to the floor, throwing us against the wall.

Immediately one of the bombers is on top of me, fist connecting sharply with my jaw. From the corner of my eye I can see Peter handling himself decently. With a swift knee to the gut I have the man under me, one knee pressing into his throat.

Before I can react, his fist slams into my stomach, sending my body further down his own. Taking advantage of my pause to get air back into my lungs, the man hauls us up and slams my skull against the wall then shoves me away.

Hot, thick blood crept slowly down over my brow, dripping into my eye, and flowing down my cheekbone.

With a sigh I plant my foot on his leg while hooking the other around his neck, throwing my body forwards. Bitches belong on their back, he seems to have not gotten the message.

Peter let's out a pained yell from across the room that has me leaping up, pausing to throw my knife straight into the piece of scums heart.

Before I can get to Peter the building is shaking again, a loud roar coming from the adjoining room. With a glance in the kids direction I can see Clint pushing him back while jackknifing the other bomber.

Heavy stomps make there way into the large room. A man well over six feet tall, covered in a billowing cloak, stalks towards me.

His face is obscured by a hood, but from what is exposed, it looks like a decomposing skull.

Black eyes meet my own, a low chuckle reverberating from his chest. "After a year of searching, here you are beautiful."

Not breaking eye contact I bend down to pull the blade from the dead mans chest, standing upright with my head cocked and a brow raised.

"I'm certain I would remember meeting you. Might I suggest a better moisturizer? You seem a little dry."

To the left Clint has disposed of the other prisoner, bow aimed at the beast before us.

The room is filled with black shadows, lit only momentarily as the red alarms flash in sequence.

As the man takes a slow step towards me Clint releases the arrow piercing the beasts arm. With a pause the arrow is snapped in half, point still embedded in the muscle.

Suddenly Clint is running at him, ducking into a slid between his legs while slicing the ankles. The large man grunts and turns as Clint swings a fist towards him. Immediately the man begins mirroring Clints every move. Matching each punch and kick, never once allowing the archer to land a blow. The avenger however was growing weaker with every hit.

With his back facing me, I jump onto his narrow hips, stabbing the blade into his shoulder, dragging it as far down his muscled back as possible. The gash is flowing with blood, covering my hands as the man throws my body to the floor, launching Clint into a wall across the room to land with a thud.

The beast of a man turns back to me, pure rage written across his dead face. "You're incredibly lucky I was ordered to bring you back alive, otherwise that pretty face of yours would be carved to pieces."

A second too late I see Peter sneaking up behind the man. His knife plunging into the mans ribs, likely grazing the heart. With a roar he falls to a knee, ripping the knife from his side. As he turns towards the boy I launch myself at him. Throwing my body weight into my punch, his head snaps to the side, his face glitching for a split second before I drag my knife up his abdomen. His large fist meets my ribs, sending me back a few yards.

He looks into my eyes and laughs as he turns to Peter, the kid stares up at him with doe eyes, terrified but standing his ground. I wish the idiot would run.

"However beautiful, him I can enjoy killing."

He launches his body at Peter, blood flowing down his back and chest, movements stuttering and slowed from his injuries.

A scream is ripped from my throat as I launch my knife into his open side wound and close my eyes.

I appear at the kids side within a blink, yanking him to me.

The last thing I see is the beastly man walking from the room slowly, his body red and weakening.

"I'll be back beautiful."

My eyes close again, opening to see Peter and I back in the lab.

***

Hours later we're sitting in the medical unit, me stitching up the boys as Peter looks at me with confused concern.

"Ali... did you know him?"

I press an alcohol cloth to Clints head, ignoring the dried blood sticking to my face.

"No, not in the technical sense. I'm pretty sure I know of him though. I called the team while you were helping Clint, they're on their way back, as is Nicky."

"O-okay, are we gonna talk about what happened earlier? In the lab?"

"Yeah Petey, we'll look at the video after the meeting. They'll be here in a couple minutes." With that I finish the last stitch and head out of the room.

Rounding the hallway I stop and fall against the doorway, a shuddering breath finally heaving from my lungs, tears welling in my eyes.

I was so fucking close to loosing them. And I'm so fucking tired.

"Ms. Romanoff, the quinjet has landed."

Letting out a deep breath I wipe my eyes and drag my body upright, forcing my legs to walk steadily to the conference room. Only faltering as I fall into the chair I sat in just yesterday.

After a few minutes Peter comes in, Clint hanging off his shoulder. They sit in the chairs to my right as I take a deep sip of my water, hopping it revives the little energy I have left.

"Hey Red, couldn't handle a few lowlifes without-" Sam playfully said as he waltzed into the room, pausing as he took a look at the beat up members in front of him, face becoming livid. "What the hell happened?"

Behind him stood Wanda and Banner, neither saying a word as they silently sit at the end of the table. Wanda eyeing me with curiosity, so I let her see the events herself.

She lets out a small gasp just as Bucky rounds the door, coming to a halt as his eyes meet mine.

Flashing a small smile I shrug, "At least you didn't do anything stupid."

That was definitely not what he wanted to hear it seems. His jaw looks like it's about to break from clenching so hard, his blue eyes cutting into me like steal as he slowly stalks forward.

He stops once his feet meet my own, bending down as his hand cups my chin, raising my eyes to meet his.

His gaze is terrifying. He looks murderous.

But his hand is gentle as he moves my head, eyes scanning my injuries. He growls from deep in his throat, "How the fuck did this happen."

***

After finally getting Bucky to sit down, albeit practically pressed against my side as his leg is hooked underneath my own, Nicky walks in demanding to know how a non-mission went to shit so hard.

I have Friday pull up the video footage of the containment room in the center of the table. All of us watching as Clint walked in and opened the cell, ordering the men out. All eyes glanced his way, but before anyone could speak the Clint in the video shimmered and turned into the beastly man.

Peter looked from the footage to me."He shapeshifts?"

"No. He projects a hologram. He likely walked past the guards straight through the front door."

I hold in a breath as I lean forward to move the footage to our arrival.

Bucky feels me tense in pain, his large hand coming to rest on my knee as his thumb rubs circles against the muscle.

Nicky stands to my right, his hand resting on the chair above my shoulder. Knuckles cracking as he watches me and the boys getting thrown around.

Bucks hand squeezes my thigh as if holding himself in place as he watches the fresh blood run down my skull.

The footage stops after I disappear with Peter from the room.

The team sits in silence for a moment, everyone staring at the paused hologram.

I take a sip of water and clear my throat. Jeez, I think Nicky is infecting me with his throat problem. "Well today wasn't boring am I right."

Nicky let's out a very burdened sigh as he shakes his head. I don't know why he seems fed up with me.

"Okay. We're going to ignore that little disappearing act for the moment while you tell me why the hell that guy seemed to want you so bad."

Buckys hand clenches tighter. Reaching down I lay my palm over is unwavering fingers and give them a soft squeeze.

"Friday, bring up a frame of Skelator please."

A grainy image of the decomposing man hovers in the center of the team. I nod at the photo as I take another drink, trying to keep from collapsing.

"To answer that very snarky comment I'm gonna have to also explain the uh the little 'disappearing act' as well."

I sit up a little straighter and push a clump of blood soaked hair from my face with a sigh.

"Having to go dark is a part of the job, we all know this. There's been a few instances where I've had to go underground for a month or so, like I said it's common in our line of work." I have to pause for a moment, trying to figure out how to best word my story. "You see, while the avengers were all tearing at each others throats after the accords, I was dealing with a group of terrorists in the mountains of Siberia. I suspected they were old Hydra members, however I did not expect getting trapped in a very well functioning base."

I glance up at Nicky, "You remember a few months ago when you asked why I went dark for six months before the snap?" A weak chuckle escapes my lips. "I was kind of taken by Hydra. The only reason I even escaped was because the snap."

Living up to his name, Nicky is looking at me with pure fury in his eye as he calmly berates me. "And you never thought to mention this?"

"There was a lot going on okay. Anyways, there were a couple others like me being kept there. Hydra was running experiments again-" Buckys body has been rigid since I mentioned being taken, but now his hand turns to weave his fingers in mine "-dozens of injections and tests, torture meant to stimulate a reaction to the serums. I was the only one to survive. And well, you saw what I can do."

"You teleport?" Sam asked with interest, concern hidden beneath the words.

"Um kind of I guess. I don't do it much, which is why I've never mentioned it. It takes a lot of energy. Like a lot. Just moving myself a few miles away requires a Barnes size serving of food and a short nap. Moving myself to another continent? I'm out within a couple hours. Moving another person? Well.." I shrug. "It's hard and it takes a lot. I can only jump to places I can visualize: my room, Tower of London, I can't just jump unless I've been there or have seen a photo."

"Have you practiced much?" Banner looked like he was running equations behind those glasses, trying to piece together an explanation.

"Not really, besides my time at Hydra I haven't used it much this past year. I think that's why today wiped me out so much."

I take another drink of water, draining the glass.

"Anyways, during my stay at the base I heard the doctors talking about a hired assassin a couple times. A man they have train new recruits and take out certain hits."

Bucky gives my hand a squeeze, his eyes never leaving my face.

"They call him Taskmaster. He has photographic reflexes, meaning he can mimic anyone's fighting styles, sometimes even their powers. I never got to see him and they never described him, but based off of what we saw with Clint and the fact that he's so adamant on finding me, I'm gonna guess he was sent by Hydra. And I think it's safe to also guess that the bombing from yesterday was to lure me out, while today's separated and weakened the team."

Peter gets up and pulls me into a soft, firm hug. Pulling away he looks into my tired eyes as I give him a smile. "Oh Petey-" "Shush and accept my thank you while I go get you some food." With a kiss to my check he jogs from the room.

[wizardingworld-imagines]

Lily - James Potter

Pairing - Young!James Potter x fem!Reader

Requested? - No

Word Count - 865

Warnings - Heavy angst, end of a relationship

A/N - An idea that popped into my head the other night. Hope you enjoy! (I’m so sorry for reposting this but I was having issues with tags but they seem to be working now!)

James and Y/N had been dating for months now, and she couldn't be happier with their relationship. Sure, he could be arrogant and obnoxious at the best of times, but that's part of his charm, his allure. They had known each other from first year when they were partnered in Potions. On their first practical experiment he ruined the potion, causing chaos and destruction of some equipment, but that is what drew Y/N to him. He was so different than any other boy she had ever met before. He had this uniqueness to him.

He treated her incredibly well. Always looking out for her, spoiling her whenever he could. The weekends were their favourite time, when they could spend time together outside of classes, and when they could sneak out of the castle and explore the grounds surrounding it. Her favourite time was in winter, when it was cold enough that she could steal his clothes without his complaints. Her favourite was his quidditch jumper, she often spent the evenings in it, curled into his side by the fireplace of the Gryffindor common room as he spoke with the other marauders. Everyone could see how content the couple were, or it seems everyone but James himself could.

Recently, Y/N had been noticing strange behaviour from James, particularly when a certain redhead was around. She barely had his attention anymore, most of his focus being on the gorgeous Gryffindor. Initially, she brushed it off as James being his usual charming and outgoing self, but as time progressed, Y/N felt less important to him. It was if he was so enchanted by Lily, that Y/N felt so invisible. First she noticed how James’ eyes seemed to follow Lily everytime she passed by. It was the not so subtle glances he gave her during lessons, the way he seemed to bring her up in conversation. Everything about Lily was perfect. How could Y/N not be jealous? Her relationship is failing, her boyfriend is falling for someone else, someone Y/N felt she could never compete with.

She tried to eliminate the fear of losing James, she always came up with rational excuses to why he was looking at Lily. Maybe he was looking at someone else and she just happened to be there too, maybe she had changed her appearance so everyone was looking at her to see any difference. Y/N would often tell herself they were just friends, he’s allowed to have female friends. But friends definitely don’t look at each other that way. All the times Y/N excused his behaviour, yet subconsciously she knew there was no reason for him to be acting that way. She knew her time with him was running out, she was losing more of him each day, and as she lost more of him, she lost more of herself.

~~~~~~~

The final straw came after a Quidditch match, when she found Lily wearing James’ jumper. She was sat in the stalls, watching the match and cheering him on. When Y/N approached him to congratulate him on his win, there she was. Standing there in his jumper, with James’ arm wrapped around her shoulder.  

‘James. we need to speak this instant’ Y/N said, her voice unwavering.

‘Y/N, not now, I want to celebrate this win! Come on, we’ll go back to the common room and have some drinks’ He attempts to persuade Y/N, hoping she hadn’t noticed Lily’s presence, when she was blatantly hard to miss.

‘No, James. We’re going to have a chat now’ Y/N said firmly, insisting. Sighing, James had no choice to accept. He gently grabbed Y/N’s arm and they walked away to talk.

‘You like her more than me, don’t you?’ Y/N asked, tears starting to well in her eyes. James went to talk, but Y/N interrupted. ‘Don’t try that with me James. I’ve seen the way you look at her. It’s like you’re mesmerised by her.’ More tears fall from her eyes. James stays silent, whatever he could say wouldn’t be able to comfort Y/N.

‘How long?’ Y/N asks. The silence was deafening.‘How long?’ Y/N demands, desperately needing to know the answer.

‘Always’ James responds, as quietly as possible.

That sent Y/N over the edge. ‘Was I just some joke to you? I bet you never even loved me, did you?’

‘Look, Y/N, you have a right to be angry-’ He starts.

‘Oh? I have a right to be angry? I know, James. Did you know how much I loved you? How much I did for you?’ Y/N said, raising her voice even further. The tears overflowing from her eyes, her vulnerability manifesting itself to James.

‘Forget it. I’ll never be good enough for you, will I? I’ll never be her, she’s perfect’. She inhaled deeply to catch her breath.

‘I hope you’re happy now, with her, you got what you wanted’ Bitterness laced her voice as she walked away from James, from the life she had and the person she was. The rain washing away her past, giving her new opportunities for the future.

[hold-my-hand-kuroo]

dating headcanons w/ tsukishima + yamaguchi

tsukishima

He’s not one to catch feelings instantly, so in order to get his attention and respect, you’d likely have to match his intelligence and wit. The build up to become friends is slow, gradual, but even slower when it comes to something more; however, when Tsukishima does realize that he wants to further your relationship with him, he’s the first to confess just to get it over with. He hates to waste his time and beat around the bush.

He’s extremely casual about it, and you almost agree instantly because he confesses in the same tone that he uses to ask you for answers to the math homework. Expressing romantic feelings is something Tsukishima struggles early on with during your relationship, especially in public. It’s not that he doesn’t like it per se, but even the idea of holding hands secretly embarrasses him to no end, and he’d hate to look uncool.

Dates are also casual, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him say the word “date” before. The two of you have hung out as friends prior, and nothing much has really changed, except for the fact that there’s more small, gentle, and quick touches and food sharing. Study dates and museum dates are Tsukishima’s favorites, but with a little begging, he can be convinced to go to louder areas. While he prefers quieter and more peaceful spots to give him a break from the loudness of the volleyball team, he just really likes watching you have fun.

The first kiss takes a while to come. Tsukishima’s aware that first kisses are a big deal, especially for someone like him who doesn’t open his heart very easily for many people. Feeling vulnerable for him takes a very long time. The moment he knows that he’s ready is when he finds himself spilling all his worries to you, and he sees that you aren’t judging or laughing since he usually always seems so put together. Sure, teasing him when he was fine was okay, but the moment he’s serious in confiding his thoughts and feelings to you, the best thing to do is to listen. If you’re with him in the moment, he’ll decide to kiss you right then and there; if you’re away and he happens to be texting or calling you, he’ll kiss you the next day when he sees you, but for sure he’ll be up all night thinking about it.

When it becomes increasingly clear that you’re there for his entire personality and not just his looks, Tsukishima feels more comfortable with teasing you. It’s not out of malice. He just likes poking fun at you to see all your reactions and is even more pleased if you can get back at him. He’ll pretend to be offended, but he finds your quick tongue extremely attractive. In multiple senses.

His favorite thing to do with you is just being close to you at home. He often comes home tired whether it be from university or work, so he enjoys Friday nights the most when you end up sleeping over. Watching documentaries with you in his arms is fair game, but he’s a sucker for taking baths together and having you wash his hair. He’ll always return the favor, though, and you two end up just relaxing in the tub until you’re all pruny.

yamaguchi

Unlike Tsukishima, Yamaguchi is most definitely the type to develop a crush immediately after seeing you for the first time. Don’t mistake that for him being shallow or easy, though! He knows that crushes based on looks alone will never get far, and instead tries hard to get to know you better, because he finds personality more telling of character than looks ever will. He’ll ask you about your hobbies and try to find a common ground with you. Even if you two have nothing in common, he’s just happy that you’re comfortable talking to him.

Even though he wants to confess first, Yamaguchi’s always the type to overthink and get himself nervous before he can actually say anything. He’s constantly plagued by the idea that you’re close to him only to get to Tsukishima, the better, cooler one in his opinion. That’s why, to reassure this poor soul, you’d have to confess first. His reaction is just a red face and lots of stammering, and it’s incredibly endearing.

He’s a super big fan of the “cliche” dating activities like going out for movies and after-school ice cream dates. Since he’s also intelligent, study dates are a must, but they’re light-hearted and never without your favorite snacks. Sometimes he’ll get too distracted by just how beautiful you look, and you’ll catch him staring with the fondest smile from time to time (all the time!!). He doesn’t think that accessories are his thing, but when the two of you buy your first set of matching rings, he decides that yes, accessories are absolutely his thing. Whenever he matches anything with you, his heart just swells with pride. 

Because he’s always been thinking about holding hands or giving you hugs from way before the two of you start dating, Yamaguchi’s actually surprisingly touch-starved. Once you start holding hands from him, he’s never not touching you gently. A sucker for hugs and kisses on the cheek, even if he gets easily embarrassed by them. Gentle physical touch is his love language, but he’ll always ask you for consent for everything, even if it’s been fifty years since you’ve been together. 

His heart just kind of crackles and breaks whenever you’re upset. He does his best to help you open up, always being supportive of you and encourages you to vent a little once in a while, because he knows how just letting it all out works wonders. He’s responsible too, so whenever you’re about to make bad decisions, he’ll always be there to talk you out of it.

Like Tsukishima, the first kiss on the lips takes a while. It’s not because Yamaguchi doesn’t feel ready; he’s more than ready and is very excited to kiss you, but he’s super scared that you’re not ready. He wants to make you comfortable and moves at a slow pace to ensure that you’re just as happy. When he finally finds the courage to kiss you, he asks you over and over and over and over-

You end up kissing him first. He’s practically over the moon, and from there on, he insists that he needs recharging via mouth to mouth contact, no buts about it. 

His favorite thing to do with you is to wake up on a weekend with you in his arms and proceed to cook breakfast together. He has a lot of dreams about a domestic lifestyle, but it’s really more about starting off the day with you by his side.

[curiosity-killed]

Hi....If you don't mind me asking, who are your favorite MXTX characters (top 5 from each novel)? And why? I'm sorry if you've answered this question before.

Aw of course I don’t mind! Though I feel like my answer is going to be a disaster bc I love these casts so so much aha let’s see:

✨ SPOILERS AHEAD ✨

MDZS/CQL

1. Wei Wuxian

Ah so I feel like this is obvious based on the sheer quantity of things I produce and the effort I put into hurting him 😅 but yeah! I love how much of a classical tragic hero he is and I love how much love he has and how that gets twisted around and shaped into a collar of spikes around his own neck. I saw gif sets of wwx before I ever knew about CQL and my reaction was “fuck. I’m going to love him” and I do! And I love that he does learn from his past and I love most of all that he learns to accept the love he is given and is able to make a happy ending in a place of being loved and held in respect and appreciation

2. Wen Qing

On the other hand, I did not expect to be like “mine now” with Wen Qing. Don’t get me wrong, the sexy immortal look got me but it wasn’t really till I started writing fic that I was like ohhhhh Oh Boy. Wen Qing is brilliant and ruthless, fiercely loving and aloof and cold. I love that she gets the lose-lose challenge of balancing what is right for her family vs what is right in the world, what she owes to her sect and what she owes to individuals. The golden core transfer is my favorite dubious science experiment in p much all media I’ve consumed. She gets to be so human—prickly and tough and also achingly gentle and afraid and putting on a tough face and sometimes still crying. “I’m sorry and thank you” ! Im!!

3. Jiang Yanli

The first fic I wrote for this fandom was literally “Jiang Yanli died no she didn’t” lmao I do feel like I underserve Jiang Yanli in that I often fall prey to using her to further the complexity that the male characters are permitted while denying her the chance to be given the same space for development and breath — something to work on! But in that, I really genuinely love how tightly she binds herself to her family and how she tries so hard to be what others need her to be—and then she does make a choice for herself and for a single moment at least, she gets to be loved and to be happy and to have this, a husband and a son and a place, for herself. And terribly I love how much she permeates the story still after death. She is the unspoken voice, the face turned from the camera but always still present, carried in the hearts and names and memories of the ones left behind

She deserved better but—I am weak for the tragedy of it all

4. Jiang Cheng

Another surprise (tho hardly surprising in hindsight): Jiang Cheng is just...horribly understandable. He makes terrible choices and his greatest heroism is undone by a choice made for him or, in the case of “killing the Yiling Laozu” is a lie. He is such a youngest sibling who doesn’t want to be the youngest until all at once, he’s the one in charge and he doesn’t want it at all. He is full of anger and hurt and so much love he doesn’t know what to do with it, doesn’t want it anymore, has no place to put all of its terrible, overwhelming flood.

5. Lan Wangji

I almost didn’t put Lan Wangji or Jiang Cheng on here and then I realized that this is sort of a list of characters I’m pickiest about in fic and...yeah. I think what I love best about Lan Wangji is his journey of grief and healing and through that, his decision to step into world. Where Wei Wuxian’s decision to travel and be removed from the cultivation world (in varying degrees depending on your headcanon preference lol) is really, really important to me, Lan Wangji’s decision to go from being an isolated lone agent working apart from the systems of the world to being involved and invested in changing those systems and working to make them better is also really important to me. I’ve talked before about how relatable Lan Wangji is to me (esp with regards to our interaction with the outer world) and there is something deeply hopeful and comforting about post-timeskip Lan Wangji being in his like mid-/late-30s and still making decisions and growing and changing and choosing to invest himself in the world and the future

yeah. i have thoughts here that I don’t really have the maturity, life experience, or articulation to put into words but Lan Zhan Good basically

TGCF

1. Xie Lian

suuuurpriiiiise!! Yeah honestly mxtx’s mains in TGCF and MDZS really just hit all my buttons basically. What appeals to me most of all about Xie Lian is, fittingly, how he is humanity taken to extremes. His capacity for incredible kindness and compassion is equaled with his capacity for cruelness and ruthlessness. His heaven-shaking highs are matched with calamitous lows. He is the hyperbolic of what it is to be human—and he is also the small moments, the wildflowers and the maple leaves and the mundane chores and the comfort of whispered conversations late into the night. I could quite literally go on for pages about what I love about Xie Lian but I am not Hua Cheng and can restrain myself LMAO

2. Hua Cheng

of all the characters on these lists, Hua Cheng is the one I’m pickiest about tbh! When I say I love him for similar reasons as Xie Lian I don’t actually mean this as being similarities between the two but the fact that both of them so richly convey mxtx’s points about the nature of humanity and what it is to be human. Hua Cheng is both the boldest and most arrogant of all and also the most vulnerable, the one who shies away from the truth because he’s braced for it to hurt and isn’t sure he can take it. He is gory blood rain and an umbrella to shelter a fragile bloom; he is a blade whose wounds only heal if he permits it and he is a sacrifice that he brushes aside as a fit of madness. *pats his head* this boy can fit SO MUCH inside him that he refuses to acknowledge

3. Jun Wu

Definitely my favorite antagonist in recent reading. I was doubtful of him from the start (something something issues with authority something something probably should talk to my theoretical future therapist shhh) but the unfolding of his reveal was so delightfully painful and exquisite that I was like “YES!!!” reading all of it. About the epitome of a satisfying plot twist imo. But about the character himself, I love how he parallels so many — Xie Lian in his rise and fall, his glory and disgrace; Hua Cheng in his fixation and ruthlessness; He Xuan in losing himself to the plot and not knowing how to move forward. I love that he feels beyond human in a way the others don’t—he’s so old and has gone through so much and he doesn’t feel things the way humans do anymore, doesn’t remember right how love squeezes the heart or how hate can exist without acting on it. I love that he thinks he knows how to control everyone and that it’s such mundane things that fool him: Xie Lian’s absurd stubbornness, Hua Cheng’s foolish faith, Yin Yu’s...emotional maturity??? Not Sure how to verbalize that one. But in the end, he is defeated by both the humanity of others and by his own—he’s so tired. He’s exhausted in a way that gods and ghosts aren’t meant to be. He is, under the armor and the masks, the curses and the power, human—benevolent and cruel, evil and good.

4. He Xuan

I love my fish man! No but really I love how He Xuan is so fixed on his one goal that he refuses to acknowledge anything else in his (after)life—which doesn’t make it go away. I love that he is left unmoored, purposeless through the very act of completing that which gives him purpose. I love his long con and the ways he clings to himself but loses himself not in the act but in the telling himself it’s an act. I love that he tries to be a moral man and then becomes a ghost king, a calamity. His reveal is also terribly badass and I do love his bone fish wholly unironically. Like I’m not going to get a He Xuan tattoo (for one thing I’ve been meaning to get a tattoo for 5 years and still haven’t gotten around to it) but also. B o n e f i s h

5. Mu Qing

Of course! The Jiang Cheng of tgcf lol Mu Qing (which my phone desperately wants to autocorrect to my Qing) is so...gah he’s such a mess! And he so fully commits to the belief that no one will ever see and understand him as he is but will always view them through their own convictions about him and his actions — which is simultaneously heartbreakingly lonely and also. Sir You Are a Clown. I genuinely think he’s owed apologies from both Feng Xin and Xie Lian for their treatment and assumptions of him and think that he would be HORRIBLY offended at the thought (while secretly touched? But like secretly even to himself). He will never explain himself and will just clam up tighter the more people accuse him and it’s such a self-sabotaging behavior and also so horribly relatable. I love u sir, you’re a disaster

SVSS I have not read but I do really like the moshang art 😂