#getting to hear the beat of their hearts and their slow rhythmic breath while they sleep in my arms | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

masterwords · 9 months

Text

echoes in my head

Summary: Hotch doesn't want to fly back to Quantico with the team. He says it's because of his ears, but maybe it's a little more than that. And maybe what he learns is a lesson in what it means to be home. (Coda to 4x02 - The Angel Maker)

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Words: 5.1k

Warnings: mention of sex, injuries from canon, grief (this is an angst fest with a soft ending)

AO3: echoes in my head

Notes: THIS IS MY 300TH CM fic! Well, okay, let's be real...I've deleted a lot of them over the years (shhhhhh) and there are tons floating around Tumblr that never saw AO3 because I'm notoriously bad at organization but...for the sake of excitement...this is my 300th CM (Hotch) fic on AO3. 180th Hotch/Morgan fic. I've surpassed 500k words for 2023 with this fic, too. So for all of those reasons, I thought it would be fitting to have it be an Angel Maker fic, a Mayhem fic, because that's my bread and butter. This is a slightly different take - a quieter one, no dramatics, just reflection, sleep and a soft place to land. This is the first of many one-shots that will fit into the Restless Heart universe. Thanks, as always, for indulging me!

I listened to a lot of Dwight Yoakam while I wrote this. That should set the tone.

I've got bruises on my memory I've got tear stains on my hands And in the mirror there's a vision Of what used to be a man

I'm a thousand miles from nowhere Time don't matter to me (A Thousand Miles From Nowhere | Dwight Yoakam)

Restless Heart Masterlist

There isn’t much to do between Ohio and Virginia, not for one broken down man and a government SUV. There were plenty of places he might stop if he had Jack with him, quirky little tourist traps and amusement parks that stretched up into the skyline and hummed electrical tunes in the distance. But one man, all alone, with a pounding headache didn’t hear the siren song of the amusement park and didn’t hear the call of the tourist traps. In fact, this man didn’t hear much of anything. There was the slow, rhythmic beating of his heart and the shattered, shaky breaths, and the fog. The way his right shoulder clicked in its socket when he extended his arm to the side, the way his heart stopped when he unlocked the SUV, the way his internal monologue sounded a lot like static.

The night before, he’d broken his cardinal rule. He showed up one Derek’s hotel doorstep with every intention of staying. Of sleeping in his bed. They never did that – it wasn’t like they’d discussed it, made a list of rules, it just made sense. Work and home didn’t mix, they couldn’t mix. But the case was over, and they’d opted to stay another night because the town didn’t have a bustling airport. They weren’t going to insist the one tiny little airstrip be manned for their departure during off hours just so they could get back to their metropolis, back to their desks and their paperwork and the next case. They could wait until sunup when the staff arrived and take a much-needed breather. He’d tried to sleep, to lay on his bed and stare at the ceiling counting flecks of foamy popcorn texture, counting and categorizing stains by size shape and color, counting the drips from the leaky faucet in the bathroom. The world was muffled through his painfully ruined ears, and lying in the strange stillness of his room had sounded like heaven but quickly became hell when his thoughts took over. The physical assault had almost been preferable.

He closed his eyes and saw Kate lying in the street. “Am I moving my legs?” Only it was barely her in this vision, she was already dead. She was gray and speaking through lifeless lips. It was her voice, her body cold, the light in her eyes gone. It was horror, plain and simple. He didn’t know what to do with any of this. Where to put these thoughts. She deserved better.

So, Derek’s doorstep it was. He figured if he was going to get any peace at all that night, it was going to be lying beside Derek and breaking relationship protocol would be worth it. It was.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked with a towel draped over his shoulder. He was getting ready to shower, the water was already running and the sound of it made Hotch feel almost peaceful for the first time in days. The smell of sandalwood and eucalyptus, Derek’s open bottle of body wash in his hand, made his senses swim.

“I’m interrupting, I’m sorry,” he said quietly, letting Derek pull him inside. “I couldn’t sleep. My head.” He didn��t finish the sentence, and by the look on Derek’s face, he didn’t need to.

“I’m heading out for drinks with Prentiss in a little bit. There’s this cowboy bar down by the precinct that had a mechanical bull and we had this bet about where that bastard’s remains were...anyway, I won. She’s gotta ride the bull.”

Hotch smiled and nodded. “You’re going to ride it too.”

“Damn right I am. I’d invite you to join us but…”

“I wouldn’t be any fun.”

Derek didn’t argue and Hotch wouldn’t ask him to just to save his wounded pride. “I’m gonna hop in the shower, you wanna join me?”

Hotch had never, not once, turned down a shower. The steam from the bathroom billowed out from beneath the door and called to him. “Sure,” he said quietly as Derek headed toward the bathroom. Their shower was quiet, soap suds and water spray and Hotch closed his eyes and relished the feel of Derek’s slippery skin against him. They held each other there for what felt like forever, lost in the timelessness of water. “I could stay here all night,” Derek whispered against Hotch’s good ear. “But Prentiss is gonna be here soon and the last thing she needs is to see this. Let’s go lay down for a bit first.”

Derek, who knew exactly what Hotch had come for, got himself ready to go out to the bar while Hotch slipped into some of Derek’s sweats and a t-shirt. He hadn’t brought his own things, hadn’t really known what his plan was except to be near Derek. Luckily for him Derek brought sweats and pajamas, though he rarely wore more than his underwear to bed. They were more of a precaution, in case of a shared hotel room with someone other than Hotch. It wasn’t often they had to share rooms anymore, but Hotch was glad that Derek remained prepared for such an event anyway as he slipped into clothes that weren’t his. Clothes that smelled like home.

“You look like you’re gonna pass out the minute your head’s on the pillow.”

“That’s the plan.”

As they lay down, Hotch couldn’t help feeling overcome with gratitude. Everything in the world felt harder since Haley left, but the one thing that he hadn’t managed to screw up yet was this. With Derek. He almost had, he’d come dangerously close to lighting it all on fire, but Derek was too stubborn to allow it. He fought for it when Hotch couldn’t, and he still couldn’t completely understand it all.

“I’m not flying back with the team tomorrow,” Hotch said quietly as Derek wrapped around him beneath the covers. He was wearing crisp jeans and a soft sweater; he smelled warm and green like a summer evening. Like lying under the stars watching fireflies blinking in the trees, like listening to the owls hooting and the frogs humming.

“You gonna drive?”

Hotch hummed in response, already half asleep.

“Want me to drive with you?”

“No,” Hotch whispered, closing his eyes. He felt Derek stiffen a little behind him and he pressed his back in closer. “I just think I need a little time alone. To think.”

“Yeah, I got you. What are you gonna do?”

“Drive.”

“Not gonna stop and smell the roses?”

“No.”

He fell asleep shortly after, curled up in Derek’s summer sun warmth and didn’t hear when Emily knocked on the door or the conversation they had in hushed whispers as Derek pulled on his boots and left.

The room was quiet and steamy, the air thick after their shower and it held him in place for longer than he thought – hovering somewhere between sleep and awake, dreams and void. When Derek got back, a little drunk and a lot smelling like cigarettes, they took another shower together. Hotch, whether asleep or awake, found himself able to do little more than just lie in the bed not moving. He hadn’t been still like this in so long, letting his bones sag heavy in the middle of the bed, that it almost felt luxurious if not for the pain in his head. That persistent jackhammer pain, the screaming siren wail in his ear that made it hard to focus. Derek had asked him that morning if he wanted his glasses, made a crack about him getting old, because he was squinting through a particularly painful ear-scream brought on by nothing louder than a few cops telling a joke and laughing feet away.

Derek’s voice, the volume and the pitch, hurt his head as he told stories about Emily on the bull, and getting on it himself. “I knew it,” Hotch whispered with a smirk and Derek shrugged, continuing without a break or a breath. It was 2am, they had succeeded in shutting he place down. “Even Rossi joined us,” Derek said at the end. “He laid down some bills tonight. You shoulda been there.” They both knew that wasn’t exactly true, but the sentiment wasn’t lost on Hotch. Derek had wanted him there and that made him smile.

The shower was hot, almost too hot, and Hotch would have been content to stay under that water for hours except Derek was doing that sleepy eyed thing he did when he’d had too much to drink and was about to pass out standing up. “Let’s go to bed,” Hotch said quietly, turning off the shower and angling Derek out of the tub and toward the towel rack. It took him almost five minutes to get Derek dried and into the bed, not bothering with clothes for either of them this time. It felt like wasted time when the alarm was going to go off in just a few short hours.

Derek was still a little drunk when he woke up, that kind of hazy half-asleep half-buzzing bleary-eyed world that seemed unreal and was glad when Reid and Prentiss made comments about his driving. It afforded him the perfect excuse to toss the keys in the direction of someone who wouldn’t be a danger behind the wheel without having to admit that was what he’d been hoping for. He watched from beside the vehicle, chugging his second bottle of lukewarm water as Hotch took the plate of baked goods (the sight of which turned his stomach) from the Sheriff and told Prentiss and Rossi he wouldn’t be flying back with them. Feigning disinterest, he looked the other direction, absorbing the last of this town in the middle of nowhere, glad to leave it behind. He offered Hotch a small wave before getting into the SUV. They’d already said their goodbyes – first in the shower, and then under the sheets. It was fast and sloppy, and he had the distinct impression that it hurt Hotch more than he let on, but it was Hotch whose hands and lips and desperate little whimpers initiated it, and it was his moans and his quiet pleas that sealed the deal. Derek would have been content to stand beneath the shower with all the cotton in his skull and kiss forever. But then, he had still been holding out some little hope that Hotch would change his mind and ask him to come along, to drive with him and keep him company but he held firm.

He had to do this alone.

But now, as Hotch drove down the endless stretch of highway with nothing very interesting to look at outside of various colored road signs begging him to stop and enjoy the best pancakes, the best pie, the biggest hamburger in the world, he didn’t think much of stretching it out instead of just getting home. Dave had given him a list of places he recommended, restaurants and places to stop and have a look around, a little bed and breakfast set on a sprawling farm, but the further Hotch drove, the less he wanted anything more than a locking door and a bed. It didn’t matter where or how nice or what the service was like, he planned only to use the bed. He hadn’t had a real night of sleep in over a week.

After four hours of driving, he found a roadside hotel with a diner attached and called it good. It was barely 2pm, he wasn’t even sure they’d let him check in yet so he wandered into the diner for a cup of tomato soup and some garlic toast. It was the first real meal he’d eaten in days and it hit his stomach like a rock. There was a little sign on the counter as he paid letting him know that hotel check-in began at 3pm and he could take care of that right along with his check, one stop shop – there wouldn’t be anyone in the hotel office until 6. He smiled at that and asked for a room and a piece of chocolate cream pie to go, figuring at the very least if anyone asked whether he treated himself he could at least mention that he’d gotten himself some pie. It was weak but it was something.

The room wasn’t bad, not as bad as he’d been expecting. He and Derek had stayed in worse, being sent out on the road for weeks at a time doing police training and custodial interviews. There were no bells and whistles, nothing that had been updated since about 1975 by his estimation, but it was clean. And quiet. There were no strange sounds, nothing clicking or squealing or rumbling, just the soft white noise of the mini fridge and the heater beneath the window churning out as much dusty warmth as he could make it do. He sat down at the foot of the bed and began the arduous process of forcing his body to bend to his will for the simplest tasks like getting his shoes off. Every joint was stiff, his bones ached, his head was a cement block on his shoulders. He hid it well through sheer force of will but when he was on his own and didn’t need to perform for people who looked to him for guidance, even Derek to some extent, he moved slow and methodical, making room for the long pained breaths as he hinged forward at the hips to untie his shoes and then used his toes to nudge them off. Getting blown up is no joke, he knew that, but every time it happened it seemed to take longer to recover. Of course it was rare he was this close to the explosion; he hadn’t been up close and personal since Adrian Bale in Boston and he was much older now. Things didn’t heal as fast. Or maybe he just paid it more attention now.

Sleep came surprisingly easy once he’d checked the locks, set the heat as high as he could stand it, glanced out the window at the bright blue afternoon sky, at his SUV (not exploding), at the parking lot. Sleep came easy and hit hard. He woke once and cracked an eye open, squinting bleary and foggy until he saw that it was 3am and promptly closed it again. His alarm went off a half-hour before check-out time and his body said no, absolutely not, so he picked up the phone and told the front desk he would be staying another night.

He didn’t wake fully until 4pm, and he woke with no memory of having called the front desk. There was a quick panic in his chest when he saw the time and it didn’t click in his mind that he’d called until he reached for the phone, until his fingertips grazed the beige plastic and then it came back. He’d been asleep, off and on, nearly 24 hours and he still thought he could force himself back under if he really wanted to but he was hungry. No, not hungry, starving. The pie only teased him – it was divine, silky and sweet, a little bitter from the dark chocolate shavings, just the right amount of savory from the fresh whipped cream that had begun to melt and weep over the edges. It just made his stomach growl angrily by the last salty crust crumb, so he grabbed his keys, slipped on his tennis shoes, and made his way back to the diner. It wasn’t until he walked inside that he realized he was wearing nothing but one of Derek’s t-shirts and his sleep rumpled slacks. Luckily for him, he was the only patron in the place. The only other living souls (of the human variety, anyway, he’d seen a few flies in the windowsills and a cat milling around outside the front door waiting for scraps) were the waitress and the cook who looked like they saw their fair share of tired disheveled folks because they didn’t even bat an eye. He sat in the booth at the back, the view of the restaurant stretching out before him, and took in the kitschy charm of the place. There were trophies in a case on display near the metal skeleton of what once had been a small salad bar. Trophies that proclaimed them to be co-ed softball champions year after year after year. He wondered at that; how many teams played? These small towns had a way of feeling invisible, barren, who could possibly live here? But if you looked hard enough, you saw a whole new world. His father had played in a recreational men’s baseball league growing up, sponsored by law firms and restaurants and grocery stores. He and Derek tried to play for the FBI’s rec team, but their schedules made it hard to commit fully. Hotch’s innate ability to get hurt on cases didn’t help either.

“What can I get ya sweetheart? Coffee?? You look like you could use a whole carafe.”

He wanted to say yes – god he wanted coffee so badly, but his body said no. He needed more sleep somehow, this was just a break. “Tea, if you have any. Please.”

“Comin’ right up. You know what you want to eat or need more time?”

“I’d like the tuna melt with potato salad, and a slice of the chocolate cream pie to go.” Yes, he would now be able to proclaim that he’d been truly wild...he’d gotten himself two slices of pie. He was living dangerously.

The tea came as a cute little set – a personal pot full of scalding water, a caddy full of various types of tea, and a little dish of sugar packets. He flipped through the colorful array of tea packets until he found one that didn’t have any caffeine and decided that would have to be good enough. While waiting for his food, he breathed in the astringent, herbal steam as his tea steeped – there was chamomile and vanilla and lavender, not exactly his favorite flavors but if sleep was his goal then sleep he would get. His mind wandered back to New York, back to the street. The silence, the smoke-filled air, how surreal it was and how long it felt he was alone on a whole new planet. He’d seen the footage, watched the way the explosion blew him off of his feet, sent him flying through the air in the shape of a flock of geese, he saw the way his body hit the asphalt and somehow, inexplicably managed to pull himself upright not long after. It looked like something out of a zombie movie, all broken misshapen limbs that work independent of one another, getting upright only to fall back down over and over. He couldn’t remember any of that. He watched himself on the screen going through these motions and had no recollection of it. In fact, the first thing he really remembered was asking Kate to repeat herself. “What?!” he’d asked, like the world suddenly came into focus and his mind returned to his reanimated body. He was doing what he was trained to do, what his body did naturally, he was helping. He responded when people were in trouble whether his head was in the game (or even in the area code) or not.

“Sir?” the waitress’s voice broke through the waking dream and he blinked up at her stupidly. He was doing a lot of that lately, losing full moments in time. Forgetting or just never knowing, they both felt the same. “Sorry for startling you – here’s your food. Can I get you anything else?”

He looked down at his plate and thought about how hungry he was very seriously before deciding. “Could I get a bowl of soup? Whatever your special is today.”

“French onion.”

“That’s fine. Thank you.”

He managed to eat it all and make his way full and content back to his room. He probably could have eaten more, if he was being honest, but knew he shouldn’t. After a shower and a few answered texts (there were a lot of people who were threatening to come and drag the state of Pennsylvania looking for his mangled corpse if he didn’t answer soon) he fell right back into an easy sleep and didn’t wake until his alarm told him to in the morning.

There was a physical map laid out on his bed while he ate his slice of pie for breakfast and brewed the terrible hotel room coffee. The headache that felt like a scratchy wool blanket stuffed behind his eyes told him he needed some caffeine or he might just die, and by any means necessary became the mantra as he tore into the little foil packet and filled the carafe with water from the bathroom sink. He stared at the map, at the stretch of highway that remained between where he was and where he was going, wondering whether he was going to make another overnight stop or if he’d just get home. He’d missed every sunrise and every sunset since heading out on his own, hadn’t taken a single beautiful picture of something that moved him, he’d just been sleeping. Everyone told him to stretch it out, to feel, to process, to experience and all he could seem to do was lie horizontal with his eyes closed. He would return home after days with nothing to show for it.

Ultimately, he decided to play it by ear. There was a part of him that felt a little reckless, egged on by Strauss’ demand that he tell her exactly when he’d be back or if he was taking an extended leave “as I suggested last week, mind you, Aaron”...he didn’t have the patience for that. He might just drive to Atlantic City and send her a photo of him in a casino. Okay he wouldn’t do that, he hated gambling, but there was a small part of him that found it amusing enough to imagine that it got him through a good fifty miles of driving on that feeling alone.

That first fifty was nice, but the next fifty sent him down a different path entirely. He started to feel sick with grief as he approached the Maryland state line. A song, a wave of nausea, Kate’s voice, the smell of ozone and gasoline. He pulled over and breathed through the worst of it with his hazard lights on, his forehead pressed against the cool leather steering wheel. But he didn’t cry. He realized, as he came through to the other side, that he hadn’t cried yet. Not for Kate, not for himself, not for any of it. Jessica had once told him, after his father died, that he needed to cry. “Force yourself,” she said. “If you’re not sad about your dad, think about something that would really make you sad. You need to cry or you’ll explode. It’s like letting off steam, depressurizing.” He never did find a way to cry for his father, either. He’d cried for Sean, for his little brother growing up without a father and with a shitty older brother who was already too busy with his own life to be anything more than another person breathing down his neck when he made the wrong choices. That cry hadn’t felt good, it wasn’t cathartic, it was exhausting and made him feel sick. It turned out, he didn’t like being depressurized.

He didn’t cry, even after all of that. Even after feeling that painful tightness in his chest, that squeezing in his lungs, the racing of his heart. Even after his eyes burned. He just got back on the road and started driving, passing the last logical turn that could still take him to Atlantic City, leaving that little fantasy in the dust. He headed south now, toward Virginia, toward home. His chest got tighter, until it was hard to breathe and as he passed streets filled with hotels, with beds for him to rest his weary head, he knew for sure it wouldn’t be as idyllic as those first two nights. Something had changed in him there between the first fifty and the second, something had changed at the Maryland state line. Something broke, and now he felt wrong. Being alone was no longer relaxing but almost scary. He’d become somehow vulnerable there on the side of the road, wide open and raw. If he stopped to check in to a hotel he might just burst out in tears and scare the hell out of the poor front desk attendant who did not deserve that during their shift.

He thought about Derek and he drove, put his foot on the gas and pressed his car above the speed limit just enough to make himself believe he’d be there sooner. He’d make it before total breakdown. It was happening whether he wanted it or not, he was just about out of time.

Passing his own apartment, he almost stopped. His eyes were cloudy and red raw, his contacts scraping and moving every time he blinked his salty teary eyes. The crying had begun slowly, just a few tears leaking at the outer corners that he could swipe away and pretend that was it, but then his lashes were wet and the red yellow green of the streetlights caught in the tiny crystal droplets. He really should have stopped but Derek’s house wasn’t that much further. He could make it.

The car came to a full stop not in front of Derek’s house, but in his driveway. He pushed up as close to the motorcycle as he could and got out and away from the SUV as fast as he possibly could. It had become almost suffocating, and he couldn’t bring himself to lock it. Not happening. To push the button on the fob, to hear that sound, it would be absurd. His shoes clicked on the cold sidewalk under the pale early evening moon, he’d made record time and when his fist pounded on Derek’s door it was with such intensity that he felt ashamed. This was the first sunset he’d been awake for in days and he was missing it, laser focused on the task at hand. He pounded urgently, and sucked in one two three chest rattling breaths. Derek was going to fly to the door thinking there was an emergency only to find this shell of a man, pathetic and crying, on his stoop. No emergency, no danger, just a man who can’t figure out how to process his grief like everyone else – it either didn’t exist or he was falling apart and there was no in-between. He was thankful, at the very least, that the second option was rare.

“Aaron,” Derek said, opening his door. Clooney was at his feet immediately, tail wagging, tongue lolling to one side, looking about as dopey as any German Shepherd had a right and Hotch couldn’t help smiling through his tears. Clooney turned his dark eyes up at Hotch and almost seemed to be begging him to pat him on the head, a plea that Hotch couldn’t turn down. He let one hand drop, fingers dragging over fur, scratching at his bony forehead. “I thought you were staying out another night.”

He shook his head, words failing him completely, and practically fell into Derek’s arms the minute they were open to him. Derek wrapped him tight, one hand at his neck, the other behind his shoulders, kissing the warm place behind his ear that smelled like hotel soap and salty tears. Hotch buried his face in Derek’s shoulder, in the scent of onions and garlic, the smell of dinner cooking. The smell of home.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay man...come inside. Dinner’s almost ready, you wanna help me make the biscuits?”

“Sure,” Hotch whispered, swiping at his eyes the minute he was moving forward. Like it had worked before, like wiping them away would stop them. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

Derek just laughed and shook his head. For someone so incredibly brilliant, who was so in tune with everyone around him, he could be incredibly thick when it came to introspection. “Uh, I do. The whole last week just came over you. Finally.”

“I suppose.”

“Oh. You suppose. He supposes, you hearin’ this shit?” Derek was talking to Clooney now, walking at a brisk pace toward the kitchen with Clooney on his heels. He was barefoot, in a tank top and basketball shorts, his ball cap backward, warm and relaxed and everything Hotch loved and needed. Hotch stopped and watched them as he stood, gathering himself, stilling his breath, knowing he was home. And that was the only place for him to be. Not Atlantic City telling Strauss where to shove her medical leave paperwork, not out on the road in some nondescript hotel and diner, not some fancy Bed and Breakfast with cocktail hours and sheets that Dave said were among the most luxurious he’d ever slept in. Not commiserating with cows and goats on sprawling idyllic farms, taking pictures of sunsets. This was home. Where Derek was, where Clooney was, where he could call Haley in the morning and ask if he could have Jack for the day. (Of course, she would say. Because she could use a day to herself, and he could use a whole lot of Jack’s little snorting toddler laugh.) Where he could listen to Jessica tell him he needed to cry to release his grief over Kate or ask him if he’d eaten anything, where she could mother him because his own never really had.

“Let me make the biscuits,” Hotch said finally, clearing the thick emotion from his throat. He’d likely spend the rest of the night crying off and on, if the past was any sort of indicator. Once it was open it was hard to close back up. He would smile and cry and eventually find his way through this path of grief, but it wasn’t going to stop him from living his life. And more importantly, it wasn’t going to stop him from saving dinner. “Your biscuits are always like rocks. Go do something else.”

Derek looked at Clooney with a sly grin, like he’d just won something. “You believe this guy? He’s here five minutes and taking over my kitchen.” Clooney let out a little bark and Derek laughed. “Yeah. Okay. He’s right, my biscuits do suck. I’m glad he’s home too. Even if he is an asshole.”

#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #clooney the dog #hotchgan #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch x morgan #mayhem angel maker arc my forever love

16 notes · View notes

janaknandini-singh999 · 9 months

Text

Manmeet headcanons coz yes

( @ezs-diary thanks to you now I can't stop thinking about Girl Krishna™ trope)

She's a punjabi kudi who's literally Geet's twin (OFC?) and has all the iconic romcom movies and dialogues memorized. Despite her bubbly, chaotic side she has a strange calming charm to her when she doesn't even need her sweet honey words to draw people in. Og srk fangirl, loves all genres of music, especially upbeat and lyricals, adores animals, fav season: spring.

Radhya: likes ghazals, lofi music, meera ke bhajan, secretly watches romantic movies (especially tragedies) and cries in her room, Manmeet finds her and Radhya would expect that she'd laugh at her but she'd just kiss her tears away, Radhya would push her away at that but secretly blush so hard, she lives in Manmeet's colony who secretly follows her everywhere, especially on shopping (even for the grocery) "WHAT are YOU doing here?" Radhya takes her to the side on the street, whispering urgently.

"Wouldn't you like me by your side always? Am I not good company?? :(" Manmeet with puppy eyes and sniffs "Ok.. if you don't want me then I will go-"

Radhya catches her wrist, looks away, then at her and sighs "It's- it's not that. It's just-"

Manmeet smiles, twisting her trapped wrist softly and wrapping its fingers around Radhya's and asks in the most innocent voice "Then what is it? Just say it hehe!"

Radhya groans, looks away and scratches her neck "Fine, you're fine."

Manmeet blinks her eyes "I couldn't hear that.. what?"

"I DO LIKE YOU."

Manmeet jumps and shrieks. Radhya going red and holding her down "Shh, what ARE YOU DOING NOW? Everyone will look at you, fool."

"LET THEM! LET THE WORLD KNOW YOU LOVE ME WOOHOOO!," Manmeet gets out of her hold "I am a fool but I'm a fool for YOUUU."

Radhya facepalms, secretly smiling.

At night, Manmeet slips by to kiss her goodnight and Radhya would be tired. She yawns and Manmeet grins "Long day?", coming to her while rubbing something in her palms "Champi time!"

Radhya would get her head and shoulder massaged and yawn again.

"You should sleep."

"Yes, I'm exhausted but I'm unable to fall asleep for some reason." Radhya grumbles and then looks over at Manmeet, smiling faintly "Kuch sunaa do?"

Manmeet beams "KYU NAHI-" clearing her throat. Suddenly, Radhya would settle herself on Manmeet's lap and close her eyes - making Manmeet blush this time before continuing. She'd hum at first building a light, dreamy tune and it'd take everything for Radhya not to dance even though the rhythm was so slow so she'd instead tap her fingers against Manmeet's thighs along with the tune, making Manmeet's breath catch and making it difficult to even begin singing now so she'd take out her flute and start playing it. Within a minute, Radhya stills into a rhythmic composure, her head buried deep and face completely hidden away in Manmeet's lap, snoring lightly. Manmeet smiles at that and kisses her forehead, pulling up the blankets on her and turning off the lights

With Vaidarbhi: loves art and poetry, analyzes controversial cinema and drama and is a sucker for old school romance, comfort movie is Shahid and Amrita's Vivah, writes secret love letters to Manmeet but delivers it herself by saying

"My brother sent this for you."

Manmeet smiles, nodding and opening it "I confess I do have an effect on people but I'm not sure your brother is one of them."

Vaidarbhi nods back, looking at the ground, turning around to leave.

"Vaidu!" Manmeet calls out

Vaidarbhi's heart skips a beat as she turns around in an instant

"Just wanna say that.. never be afraid of anything, sweetheart. I'm always with you." Manmeet winks

On the day she was getting forcibly married, her heart echoed back these words of the love of her life to her and she wrote a final love letter, revealing her true identity at last.

On the mandap just as she was taking the last phera, someone whistles loudly and calles out her name. Vaidarbhi immediately recognizes the voice and makes a run for it. Suddenly, the groom stands up and horror etches itself on Vaidarbhi. But he tears down his disguise to reveal Halveer, Manmeet's brother. "GO! I'LL TAKE CARE OF THEM." as he plunges into the crowd going wild around them.

Manmeet revs the engine of her bike as Vaidarbhi jumps on the seat behind her, crying happily and clutching her waist tightly from behind.

With Parth: he loves sports, Shreya Ghoshal and old Bollywood, meets with Manmeet regularly in the gym.

"Nice to see you here! But Mann.. you don't gym?" Parth shakes his head, his hair wet with sweat swaying in the process

"I come here for you, handsome." Manmeet whispers in his ears and giggles, knocking Parth out of his senses and freezing him as usual.

She pulls his cheeks aggressively and tightens her grip on his shoulder, trickling her hand downwards and squeezing his biceps. "Do pushups."

Parth is merely able to nod and takes his position. Suddenly, Manmeet jumps on him, almost breaking his bone.

"AAAOOOWW" he screams

"Now do it!" Manmeet says as if nothing happened

Parth smiles, suddenly forgetting all about his pain and does as he's ordered. He starts off and keeps on doing it on super speed like a machine. After dizziness strikes through, Manmeet steps up wobbling and smiles nervously, patting his head "Good boy!"

#desiblr #desi aesthetic #desi #desi tag #desi culture #desi stuff #desi academia #desi dark academia #desi girl #just desi things #krishnablr #gopiblr #krishna #fem krishna #desi wlw

14 notes · View notes

writeyourownadventure · 9 months

Text

PART VI

notes | part i | previous part | poll winner: . . . . .

Rocking.

Back and forth you go, as soft and loving as a mother’s embrace. Your surroundings are warm, and you are so, so tired and safe. Back, forth. One, two. Happy, steady, calm.

Your eyes crack open slowly.

It’s not dark. Not really. Maybe it is, and your eyes are just well adjusted from how long you’ve been staring into the gloom. Maybe the fog off the water is glowing, slightly. No— there’s no fog. There’s no water. It’s just you.

You’re on a boat. (You’re in your mother’s arms.) There’s someone weeping quietly. (There’s a sweet lullaby.) There’s clammy air pressing in on you. (You’re swaddled in your first blanket.)

You’re dead.

(You’re safe.)

You shut your eyes.

Rocking. Back and forth. Gloom, light, who is that weeping? Gloom, rocking, gone.

The world vanishes into silence, and you hear your heart beating, steady and rhythmical as a clock. Your heart shouldn’t be beating. You’re… Where are you?

The thought slips through your fingers and you stare, and you listen, and—

Your heartbeat. One, two. One, two. One, two. It’s there, it’s steady, and you push yourself to feel for a pulse. It throbs beneath your cold fingers, and your mind starts to clear as you focus on it.

One, two.

You’re dead.

That doesn’t explain where the hell you are, though.

The fog makes it difficult to see more than a few feet away, but you’re not alone, here — your companions stare listlessly ahead. The crying has stopped, now, but there’s someone rocking. Soon, she too, grows still.

Your body is mud as you stand, finger pressed tight to your pulse. One, two. You need to leave.

A chortling behind you takes you a second to register — a slow, unthreatened laugh. It takes you two heartbeats to turn, and three to properly look at what’s in front of you.

Nothing, is the answer your eyes give you, to begin with. Empty space— you press harder on your pulse and focus on that little string of light. There’s rags and what might, beneath, be a person, and they’re laughing at you.

“Where am I?” you ask, and no words leave your lips — a whisper of sound might have trickled past, but it’s lost into the fog before you can think of registering it.

“Where am I?” you repeat, and it’s a hopeless question, the echoes of laughter ringing in your ears.

It’s playing with you. Listen to yourself.

It’s the clearest thing you’ve heard in days, and the jolt is hard enough to make you blink and take your first, shuddering breath. It slips between your lips and mist mingles with fog in humid air, and something in you says, That’s not right.

Good, coaxes that voice, that disembodied part of you. Listen to that. Breathe and live and move. You do not belong here. Not yet. Not while part of you still lives.

The skeleton is staring directly at you, and the thought that it’s been there, rowing all along, laughing at you makes you stumble backwards, tripping over legs and bodies and sightless, uncaring forms.

“Where,” you say, and this time you can hear your own voice, reflected back at you over the black waters in all directions, “where am I?”

The skeleton laughs, and pale blue flames erupt in its eyes. “It’s been a while since I’ve had one of you, my dear.”

#choose your own adventure #creative writing #fantasy writing #writeblr #writers of tumblr #writing #am writing #writeblr community #unreality tw #death tw

4 notes · View notes

itwasrealtome · 10 months

Text

Uncharted Love — Part One

— A New Kickoff

•••

Chapter two

Adrenaline Rush

"It's ironic how you feel most alive when your heart skips a few beats."

— From author and poet, Atticus.

•••

The early morning sun painted the city streets with a gentle golden hue as Ellie pedaled her road bike towards Willow Brook library. A light breeze rustling the leaves on the trees, carrying with it the promise of a new day. With each turn of wheels, the blonde could feel the cool morning air against her skin, a refreshing contrast to the warmth that would soon envelop the city.

Her road bike tires glided over the pavements, creating a rhythmic hum that seemed to sync with her own heartbeat. The familiar route to her workplace had become a comforting routine, a moment of solace before the bustling activities of the day took over. Plus, it meant she didn't have to drive with Carter, one hand around her seatbelt and the other clinging to the handle.

As she navigated through the streets, her thoughts meandered, each pedal stroke helping to clear her mind. She realized the place didn't matter much. It could have been San Francisco, Los Angeles, or right here in this new city, the feeling of freedom remained the same. And with that, a little peace of mind.

With some extra pedal strokes, the library's grand facade came into view, its mid-modern architecture standing in stark contrast to the residential world around it. Ellie slowed down, her gaze shifting from the towering windows that hinted at the vast collection of knowledge within to the almost empty parking lot, where a few vehicles she had learned to recognize were already parked. To no one's surprise, Carter hadn't arrived yet, probably still snoring at the bottom of his bed.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, Ellie unstrapped her helmet and shook out her hair, letting the wind tease away any remnants of sleepiness. She locked her bike on a frame, hooking the key to the carabiner that hung from her jeans before she made her way to the personnel entrance of the building.

The library's interior was a different world altogether, the hushed ambiance differing from the bustling city outside. Ellie knew the chance she had to savor the tranquility of the establishment before it opened. It was too early to hear the quiet chatter and page-turning, but she could already picture the crowd taking over the place. In a little over an hour, the youngest children will be taking over the activity tables, while the older ones will be dipping their noses into the day's news and large print novels.

Ellie would be lying if she said she didn't have a favorite floor after those two weeks. Witnessing students storming tables and scattering books and documents all over it was a sight she adored. She couldn't help the wave of nostalgia washing over her every time she stood on that floor. Looking back, she missed college and wondered if she'd done the right thing following this path. Should she be lucky, she'd be stationed on this floor in the afternoon, away from noisy children and bitter customers.

For the time being, only her own footsteps echoed through the corridors. She followed the same path up to the top floor she did on her first day, greeting any of her colleagues already on hand. Her desk, amidst the others, appeared more furnished than at first, with stacks of books and documents filling the void. Also, Carter had successfully invaded her space with a picture of them taped on her pencil cup. He had insisted on immortalizing the moment in front of their new desks, a smile on each of their faces. It wasn't much, but Ellie was glad she could just lift her eyes and get a glimpse of her friendship with the young man.

It never failed to bring a smile to her face.

Slumped into her office chair, she took the time to observe her surroundings and take them in. Take in the way the morning sun reflected its rays on the wall clock's silver hands that showed nine o'clock. The way the desk opposite hers always seemed messier than the others. The way she could easily see the cultural manager's already highly focused expression as she worked in her office.

In the quiet, she found a certain comfort she had no memory of. Her loft was silent too, but here, it was different. All she had to do was look up to find someone to talk to. The smell of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air, overpowering the fine musty odor Ellie couldn't seem to get rid of. And, she could keep her hands busy, deep in thought, without hurting herself doing who knows what kind of restoration work.

With a yawn, the blonde decided it was time to honor her own promise. She shuffled into the break room, her steps barely making any sound on the polished floor, as her eyes zeroed on the coffee machine like a sailor spotting land after days at sea. It had been her dream for days, tempted daily by the warm smell that haunted the corridors of the library. Something that could barely be called coffee was no longer enough to keep her going, and if she kept downing it every morning, she was convinced she'd end up sick.

With a sense of purpose, Ellie approached high-tech office equipment, the anticipation of that first sip of caffeine infusing her with a renewed sense of energy, even as she stifled another yawn. Brows furrowed in concentration, she tried to make sense of the array of buttons and levers before her. With an ounce of hope, she placed her cup in the right place, pushing a button as if to set the contraption in motion. The machine only made a faint sputtering sound, followed by an eerie silence, prompting the young woman to kick the floor with her foot in frustration.

—Oh, come on, now!

As if her persistence alone could coax the stubborn machine into submission, Ellie jabbed at the buttons a few more times, muttering some complaints under her breath. She stared at the device in pure annoyance, her hands slightly shaking in agitation. All she wanted was a cup of coffee. She had graduated with a bachelor's degree, couldn't she operate a simple piece of machinery?

—Hey there, need some help?

Startled, she turned to find Johanna leaning against a nearby countertop, a mix of amusement and worry dancing in her eyes. Ellie offered her a sheepish grin, her cheeks taking on a pinkish tinge of embarrassment.

—I'm starting to think this thing has a vendetta against me.

The cultural manager's laugh rang out, warm and inviting, as she approached with an air of easy confidence. Ellie couldn't prevent a smile from forming on her face at this sight. She watched as the brunette's deft fingers navigated the array of buttons, her eyes widening in awe when, with a swift motion, a stream of rich, dark, coffee began to flow into the waiting mug.

—H-how did you do that?

—Years of practice, my dear. Johanna winked, a proud smile curving her lips.

Ellie let out a soft sigh, one of relief and recognition. As the brunette handed her the mug, their fingers brushed in a fleeting touch, sending a shiver down the youngest's spine. Ellie cleared her throat, the pinkish complexion returning to her cheeks. She hoped it would hide the unexpected jolt of electricity that had surged through her at the contact.

—Thanks, she managed, her voice a little unsteady. I really needed that.

Johanna leaned back against the counter, her posture relaxed as she regarded Ellie with genuine interest.

—Tough day? she asked as if the sun hadn't just risen.

Ellie took a tentative sip of her black coffee, her gaze distant as she considered the question. If she were to briefly evaluate her life, she'd say that sometimes she doesn't even know if it's her own head she's carrying on her shoulders anymore. She missed the last few years of her life, when she was able to do what she always loved. Now, her little pleasure was to start the day with a coffee she hadn't even been able to brew herself.

—Tough life..?

Her questioning tone brought a smile to Johanna's face. The brunette nodded in sympathy, her hand patting Ellie's shoulder with the aim to comfort her. It wasn't much but the youngest could actually feel a wave of warmth wash over her as if her world was regaining some of its colors. She embraced the feeling, hoping it would help reload her social batteries a little.

—I remember you mentioning a new beginning, how are you adjusting?

Once again, Ellie took the time to considered Johanna's question. No one had asked her since she moved to the city. Not even Carter had taken the time to worry, probably too busy with whatever was keeping him on his toes. Yet, how could she blame him knowing what he went through on a daily basis? Being alone was much better than that.

—It's different, shrugged Ellie. Not exactly what I had in mind for myself, but... I'll get used to it.

—I'm sure you will. Don't forget, life is not meant to be linear. You'll find your own path anytime soon.

With another pat on the shoulder, Johanna nodded for Ellie to follow her through the corridors. They walked at a slow pace, chatting a bit more about that new beginning which seemed to upset the younger woman more than she cared to admit. She confessed some matters she had kept to herself until then, including the fact that her loft remained a battlefield, or that the only people she saw on a daily basis were Carter and her co-workers. Of her former life, she had no news, as if it had never existed.

At the anthill's gates, Johanna took the time to reassure Ellie one last time, bringing a smile to both their faces, before slipping away to her own office. Eyes glued to her back, the cultural manager returned to her room, exchanging a few words with other colleagues on the way.

Meanwhile, behind her, the blonde found her own desk too, the smell of hot coffee giving her a boost of courage. She was almost settled, her mug resting on a colorful underside, when a voice she knew all too well came through.

—Hi-ya boss, feeling good? Carter asked Samuel, whom he had already warmed up to. And how's my favorite partner today?

He fell back in his seat, eagerly gazing at Ellie over their laptops. She plunked herself down a little further in her seat, mug back in her hands, as she rolled her eyes at the sight of her friend's goofy grin.

—Like I'm your favorite.

—No, you're right.

He pushed himself up on his chair until he reached the back of the desk facing his own. One of his arms wrapped around Ellie's shoulders, while he raised the other to point in the direction of a certain office. The young woman eyed him sideways, unimpressed by what she would call yet another desperate attempt.

—She is my favorite. I'd give anything for you to swap desks with her.

—Dream on, you dum-dum! Ellie withdrew his arm from her shoulders, pushing him away. She'll never be that into you.

Carter feigned immense pain, a hand slamming down on his chest. From what Ellie could remember, he'd taken acting classes throughout his school years. She didn't have the heart to tell him he still had work to do if he wanted to reach Hollywood. So she arched an eyebrow, a sneer hanging from her lips.

—You do realize this is a woman we're talking about, not one of those college girls who used to chase you all the time, right? Carter nodded, quick-witted. She is a grown woman, with two children, who went through a terrible divorce.

—That's what I say, she needs a man.

—Yeah, Carter, a man! Ellie resumed mockingly. Not some college boy who can't even get to work on time.

The young blond turned his head eagerly towards the huge clock. It was already a quarter past, and he was indeed late. A grunt left his mouth as he pushed his chair back to his own desk. He took out most of his belongings, tearing a chocolate bar wrapper in the process.

—I can work on that, he mumbled, his teeth biting off some of the delicacy.

For the rest of the morning, Ellie tried desperately to ignore her friend's wacky ideas. Plunging her headphones into her ears once her lunch break had begun, she let Samuel take charge of Carter for once. She ate in the solitude of her desk, her gaze occasionally wandering to Johanna who seemed oblivious to the time, still locked in her office under the blue light of her computer's screen.

In the early afternoon, she had the privilege of settling in on her favorite floor, soon filled with students in search of knowledge. She appreciated the calm, the way everything seemed to be in its place. Closing her eyes, she could almost feel herself back in the college library, all the noises reminding her of the many long evenings she'd spent there.

It certainly wasn't the life she'd imagined living at that age, but it was a blessing all the same. Something she knew she could work with, no matter for how long. It was better than anything she'd known in the past, better than what should have been her own home, even better than than the hardest sides of college.

As she made her way to her desk for the last time of the day to collect her things, Ellie decided to give herself a chance. It was a new beginning, and as Johanna had reminded her, life was far from linear. With an open mind, she'd surely be open to life's surprises, like the delicate package waiting for her on her desk.

She took it in hand, gently, turning it in each direction until a small card fell from the ribbon. The ink was shiny black, highlighting the curls of the writing. The blonde couldn't tell who it was from at first glance. It was definitely an unfamiliar script.

The card simply read:

"For your adrenaline rush. — J.A"

XXX

Taglist:

@womenlovingwomen-imagines @emskisworld @sammi1642 @marvelandotheruniversesloveradhd @wittygutsy

#Unchartedlove #newkickoff #chapter two #elliewalker #Willowbrookstory #sapphic novel

1 note · View note

quadruple-whammy · 1 year

Text

Metal Lickers

I understand why my brothers fell asleep to Metallica when we were road tripping 14 hours as a family.

I can’t say my uncle got me into Metallica, because he didn’t, but I think I inherited my appreciation of them from him. He taught himself to play guitar, listening to Metallica in his bedroom. I gifted him a Metallica shirt for Christmas one year. Now he primarily plays mandolin in bluegrass bands. As I listen to and enjoy Metallica I have to recognize that there has to be something in my blood that is naturally drawn to this type of music. It was in my uncle’s blood, too.

Currently, as I write this, I’m sitting in a movie theater watching the global premiere of Metallica’s latest album, 72 Seasons, while drinking a chocolate Oreo milkshake. There are at least 80 other people in here. I saw two Hellfire shirts and I’m wearing my jean vest.

To be clear, I don’t mean my brothers (and myself) fell asleep in a bad way.

I also understand why people in the 80s might’ve called metalheads a brainwashing cult.

Firstly, my friend and I joked that Metallica feels like a weighted blanket. The way the deep bass and bass drums kind of pound with your heart and there is never a break in the sound and you’re always hearing something is like when you’re wrapped up in bed with no air holes letting in the cold air. Metallica is warm. Most metal music is, but I think Metallica does this effect best, which is why I like them best.

Call me basic.

Secondly, there is a rhythmic-meditative sort of factor in the way James downpicks and Lars bangs on bass and toms and even hi-hat. Factor in Robert’s lock-in on bass and you have a nice rhythm section that can put you into a trance and, eventually, put you to sleep. It’s not dissimilar to butterfly tapping (look it up) or focusing on taking slow and equal breaths; mimicking the beat of a mother while still in the womb. There has to be some sort of cathartic reasoning to this sort of chug-chug-chug beat that Metallica and other metal artists use as their own personal therapy.

Rhythm is everything.

Lastly, this is moreso for me. It’s the familiarity of Lars’s drums and the consistent chugging of James and Kirk’s downpicking. It lets me know that I am safe, that it is a comfortable space for me to be in. When I was in middle school, I had a brief stint where each morning I would hit shuffle on Metallica’s Spotify profile (as I had not yet convinced my dad to get Spotify Premium for the family). From that, my mom awarded me Metallica’s black album for Christmas that year. I grew out of that Metallica phase relatively quickly; for lack of better words, my music taste hadn’t quite evolved or matured to them yet.

But it has now!

I hate to admit it but I can’t say Eddie Munson didn’t get me back into them. Like, I was already kind of revisiting them. But I’ll be damned if that Master of Puppets sequence in Season 4 Vol. 2 didn’t thrust me to the nearest record store to buy Master of Puppets on vinyl.

#memoiries #creatively written #queuetip #Metallica #in the topics #metallica in the topics

0 notes

kainscape · 3 years

Text

Slashers with an S/O who talks in their sleep

@chibizombiebehindyou: Could you do the slashers (including Asa and Jesse) with a reader who talks in their sleep?

A/N: Decided to do this in a short prompt type of writing piece so I can practice writing short stories without going way overboard

A/N: okay maybe it’s not as short as I thought but hey, it’s not over 2 pages- yeah no it’s pretty lengthy 💀 and it’s not proofread ‼️

Bo Sinclair

It was a consuming and bone-breaking job that the Sinclair brothers did. Therefore, sleep was never guaranteed. But, with you? You decided on your own that you would keep yourself awake to see Bo come home in one piece. He always brushed your worry off as your so called obsession with him. After a few times of butchering your sleep schedule, it wasn't long before you were fast asleep when Bo retuned home. He made his way up the stairs, shedding his boots at the top. Discarding his mechanic coveralls, he was left in a stained but washed grey t shirt and his boxers. He had heard some quiet mumbling but didn't really look into it. The noise had vanished as he pulled back some of the old cover, slowly resting his body beside you. You had looked dead asleep, your body contracting slow and steady breaths. Exempt your mouth moving and forming words. He smirked, realizing you were taking in your sleep. He had some assumptions about it when you would ask questions with no reasoning. He wasn’t too worried. He propped himself up on his elbow to look over at you. “What do you mean you didn’t see it?! It was as big as your ass dude!” That’s something he’s never heard before. He couldn’t help but genuinely laugh at your behavior, shaking his head until he heard his name. “Well, Bo, what else do you want me compare it to, your dick!? Yeah right.” His face deadpanned, furrowing his eyebrows. He scoffed, turning over dramatically as he rolled his eyes. He faced away from you, biting the inside of his cheek. In the morning, he might tease you or ask questions around what you said. Either way, he’s not bothered by it.

Vincent Sinclair

It had been a long day for the boys and you within Ambrose. What a better way to go to sleep cuddled up together and arise later in the day by Bo? Of course, you were always first within the bed, already dead asleep and dreaming of whatever your mind wander to. Vincent kept awareness of where the creeks were in the floorboards, avoiding them so he could peacefully lay in bed next to your sleeping form. Yet he heard some prominent mumbling coming from you, serving closer and gently easing up the blankets to slip in. He had removed his mask already, carefully turning to face you. You had your arm over your eyes, mouth open and moving from incoherent sentences. But one was clear as day, “I’m convinced Vincent uses Gucci conditioner and shampoo, my god.” You mumbled a few after that but he was utterly confused. Why were you talking about that weird brand you had showed him once, and why did it correlate to your dream?? He shook his head gently, scooting closer and resting his arm across your waist/stomach, pulling himself against your form until he fell asleep to your rhythmic breathing. Sometimes, he’s entertained by your night time conversations.

Lester Sinclair

Your boyfriend had a fairly easy job compared to his brothers, but when there were visitors piling up after one another, it took a whole lot longer to come back home to you and your shared bed. The frogs and cicadas were a whole lot louder than usuals, but it was like a lullaby to you by now. Which queues the small mumbling escaping your mouth. He was quiet when he came, but of course, Lester wasn’t the best at silence. Luckily you were to lost in your dream to realize he was already snuggling in beside you. He had took notice of your nonsense sentences from time to time, not that it bothered him. If anything, it was an entertaining thing to listen to before going to sleep. It gave him a sense of what your brain really thinks of. “Lester… if I dressed up as roadkill… would you pick me up too?” He tried so damn hard to stifle his laugh, his body almost shaking as you formed a stupid grin on your face. Lester took in a deep breath, biting the inside of his cheek as he buried his head into the side of your neck. “Sure, hun’” he was sure to keep his words to a hush, taking note to your shared silence. There was a comfortable coldness that covered your bodies compared to the blistering heat outside. What a way to end the day.

Will Graham

Go to work, panic, panic some more and get no sleep. This was Wills routine even with you trying to hassle him into bed. He was always focused on something, or just simply to stubborn to let himself rest for once. But tonight, he had one hell of an excuse. Jack had kept him for a lot longer than both of you would like. But you knew what you signed up for when you accepted to go on a date with Will. You figured out after multiple nights of fruitless attempts at staying up and waiting for your boyfriend, you just gave in and went to sleep on your own terms. This gave Will the opportunity to overthink in peace without the guilt of making you worry. The job had took a huge toll on his physical capacity, leading him to shrugging off his clothing while he made his way to the side of the bed. He rubbed his eye, yawning as he lifted the blanket to the new queen bed you guys had bought, giving more room for dogs and the two of you. He stopped his motions, watching closely as you turned your body towards him. You were mouthing words but they were quiet and blotched. Will slowly slid underneath the covers, feeling his body sink in the end to a relaxed position. He had took not of your sleep talking, not bothered by it. To be honest, he likes to hear what you would say when you weren’t conscious of it. “I wish we had one of those stress powered lightbulbs…” A very quiet and short chuckle made its way out of you, “of course it’s for you, you could probably power Russia with how much stress you have.” And with that, he scoffed and turned the other way, mumbling to himself before attempting to sleep.

Jason Voorhees

Jason always makes sure you’re getting enough rest for your health. He’s adamant about you being your best self with a healthy body and mind. But, he’s never really surprised to see you up waiting for him time to time, honestly he can’t complain. He loves seeing you there in the cabin with the fire still going as you greet him with that beautiful smile. It’s truly warming for him. The rest of the nights, you’re always in the dark comfort of your shared room, resting atop the creaking bed and under the quilt blankets. The cabin door whipped open, quickly caught by the giant hand wrestling against the harsh winter wind. He tried his best to quietly close the door, pushing the lock in place he had added after a break in from a trespasser happened. He observed the room, laying his machete within the kitchen sink after shedding his jacket and laying it on the chair around the wood table. Expertly avoiding the creaks in the floor, he gently pushed open the bedroom door, slipping in without a sound. There was a severely dim light coming from the window, which shadowed over your face just right so he could see you. Jason had took off his boots while he listening to the common small talk from your sleeping form. You guys had decided to look in all the cabins, landing on the jackpot of a bigger bed so you could have more room. Therefore, it wasn’t a huge hassle for Jason to slip into the bed without the alarm of waking you. You were turned away from him, slow breaths from to body. The hockey mask laid on the dusty end table, facing up as Jason looked down at you. A small smile formed on his lips, listening as your talking grew a little more coherent. “Come on Jason, you got all that cake.. and you’re not gonna give me none?” His smile slowly faded, realizing what you meant by ‘cake.’ It ha mentioned before, especially when you went out of your way to slap his ass and look him in eyes to say, “a whole damn bakery back there..” Jason took it on himself to get used to it, not bothered by the comments. He shook his head, inching down so he could pull you closer to his chest, a very strong arm wrapped around you.

Michael Myers

There’s never a sleep schedule with the two of you. There’s times where Michael is out for days at time, retuning only when your asleep and unknowing. There are those very rare times like this one where you’re aware of Michaels presence in the bed while you drift of into sleep. He’s definitely not the type to pull you close or make a move to hold you, but he’s not going to push you away if you wrap yourself around him. Which is where you lay on his chest, listening to his eternally calmed heart beat as you knocked out. It had took a damn long time, but you achieved the privilege of seeing Michael without the infamous mask you grew accustomed too. His eyes usually zeroed in on the ceiling, waiting until he need to close his eyes came. But this time, he looked down at you shifting a bit in his chest, a few words spoken. “I really don’t know how people can’t smell you form your hiding places.. I can literally smell you before you walk in a room.. it’s not a good thing either.” His eyebrows furrowed together, trying to understand why you were composing about how he.. smelled. Yet here you are, your face completely shoved into his chest. He gave you an unimpressed eye roll, turning his head on the pillow for an attempt at some sleep. He found it rather amusing that you would speak whatever you thought without restrictions when you would sleep talk. Something to quietly tease you about.

Jesse Cromeans

He had already experienced your sleep taking, the cameras in his house capturing anything you did. Sometimes you asked questions or said random comments, all that made Jesse smirk or silently laugh. He had also taken notice to the earlier times you went to bed, your stubborn idea to stay up and wait for him dying down. He didn’t mind this, satisfied with your healthy sleep schedule returning. He set the tapes in a box for tomorrow’s checking. Jesse eased open the bedroom door, a small ray of light traveling across the room to reveal the bed you laid in. The black silk sheets covering your sound figure. He pushed the door back closed, taking off all his work attire to be left in his boxers and undershirt. He shimmied underneath the covers, slowly scooting closer to your body. Of course, there were some unconscious words to be shared. “I just realized I’ve got to sleep in every room…” there was some silence before you spoke again, “why?… look don’t even worry about.” There was humorous tone in the last sentence, one that felt oddly genuine for someone asleep. He shook his head, smiling while he took in your scent that comforted him. His hands caressed any exposed skin as the room fell silent, including his mind as you both shared a deep sleep.

Asa Emory

It wasn’t something he really cared to take notice about, never really sleeping at the same time as you due to his large amounts of work he took on. It was to the point he would drift off into a dreamless sleep on his desk. Not that you could really do anything about it with his stubborn view point, so you kept to yourself and went to your bed without him. Well, went to bed also meant brining a pillow and blanket down to Asas work place and sleeping the the chair. You just wanted to feel your boyfriends presence before you fell asleep. He only looked up for a few before looking back down at the scatter of papers, shuffling though some before writing. You made yourself as comfortable as you could get, sighing as you let your body relax. The sleep came easier than expected, the few sniffles sounding in the room letting you know Asa was still there. It was oddly comforting. A flash of worry did strike you, the worry that your sleep talking would annoy him, causing you to have to leave. But it was worth the few bits of it. Asa sighed, running his hand down his face as he battled the tired feeling back. Lending back in his seat, he crossed his arms while looking up to you in the leather chair. Without a warning, a question was asked out loud from you, “What color box would I get if I was one of your butterflies?” He tilted his head, furrowing his eyebrows before humoring himself by answering, “Red. To match the original one.” It seems like your dream had answered for you, the words quiet on your tongue as your chest arose slowly. Asa took in another breath before rising to his feet, walking over to you. He brought a hand up to your resting face, his thumb brushing your drink. What a beautiful butterfly you would be.

#bo sinclair #slashers #house of wax #lester sinclair #slasher #vincent sinclair #slasher x reader #x reader #fan fiction #bo sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x s/o #jason voorhees #jesse cromeans x s/o #asa emory x reader #michael myers x s/o #will graham x reader #hannibal 2013 #will graham

649 notes · View notes

genshin-fluff · 4 years

Text

Zhongli & Childe - Hugs.

Zhongli

In public, he’ll keep his hand gently wrapped around your waist, and nothing in the world would make him let you go. Whenever you two pass by a crowd, his grasp become more steady, more decisive as he squeezes you closer to him so he wouldn’t lose you; whenever he feels you straying slightly farther away from him, he’ll pull you back against him. Doing this comes so naturally to him, and he does it so nonchalantly each time, as if it was obvious that his hand should be around you all the time.

His hugs tend to feel endless, soothing and relaxing, as if every part of him was longing for you and for you only. It’d be as if time froze still, the world remaining silent as you’d feel his warm arms wrapped around you, tracing circles on the small of your back, squeezing your body closer to his, engulfing you in his warmth. He’ll place his chin on your head and he’ll close his eyes, exhaling deeply, relaxing into your embrace as you’ll listen to his heartbeat. It feels as if his heart was about to explode, ceaseless, rapid and irregular beats drumming against your ear before they’d start to slow down, becoming reassuringly slower, steadier, relaxing to listen to as Zhongli melts into your hands. He was well aware of what was happening, and would simply whisper apologetically “Please excuse my heartbeats, y/n. I don’t know what has taken over me.”

After a while, you’ll feel his hand caressing your, from the top of your head down to the nape of your neck, repeating this motion again, again and again, in a seemingly endless stream of gentle, loving strokes. It feels soothing, calming, and, in response to his touches, you’d nuzzle your head deeper into his chest. Sometimes, he will sink his fingers into your hair, sending a wave of goosebumps down your body as he tries to untangle all the stray strands, before he’d continue his path, caressing your head in slow, rhythmical motions: up and down, then up and down, then up and down once again.

During those tender moments, he’ll often go on long speeches where he tells you how thankful he is to have you in his life, how he didn’t know that love could feel so good and how glad he is to be able to learn from you. He’ll tell you that he sometimes doesn’t know if his actions hurt you, and will ask you to tell him straight away if he did something wrong.

Whenever he is in this vulnerable phase, he loves it when you pull away from his embrace, only for you eyes to frantically search for his as you gently grab his head into your hands, running your fingers across his warm skin, telling him that you love him and that he couldn’t ever hurt you. He’ll place his hands over yours, squeezing them as he’ll mutter a “Thank you”, his lips curled into a gentle smile, his face serene and peaceful.

Childe

In public, he won’t hold back on anything, mainly because he doesn’t care about the other people: all of his attention is only on you. He’s a cuddle machine, and he’ll hug you with every opportunity that he gets, nothing is off the table. He’ll surprise you with back hugs whenever your attention is on something else, wrapping his hands around your upper body, locking you into a tight embrace as he places a chaste kiss on your cheek. “Hey, y/n, I’m right here, I hope you didn’t forget about me” – he’ll playfully scold you.

He loves it when you cling to his body, resting your head on his chest. That’s his sign to wrap his arms around you, teasing you for not being able to have enough of him. He’ll place a soft kiss on the top of your head, resting his cheek on your hair with a serene smile on his face as his hands run up and down your back.

The night before leaving on a mission, he’ll often have you sitting on his lap. He will rest his chin on your shoulder as his arms wrap around your waist, hugging you closer to him. That’s when his hugs start to feel needy, long and clingy, as if he wants to bind this moment to his mind, to carry it forever with him. The closer he holds you, the closer he feels to you, and, sometimes, he’ll keep you so tightly into his arms that you will end up running your hand through his hair, pulling his head closer to your ear as you ask him to loosen his grip a little bit.

He knows he’ll miss you when he’ll be away, but will you miss him too? Oh, how much he wants to hear you saying it, to cast away any worry that he may have, to reassure him that everything will be exactly the same when he comes back. He’ll bury his head into your shoulder, relieved that you can’t see his face as he’ll whisper in a brittle voice “Can I ask you to miss me, y/n?”. His voice stings, and you can feel him holding his breath, awaiting your answer. As soon as you reply, reassuring him that you’ll miss him voraciously, you’ll feel his warm breath against your skin as he’d exhale in relief, squeezing you closer to him. He’ll lift his head and he’ll chuckle awkwardly, embarrassed at how bold he was, trying to poke fun at the situation “You didn’t have to reply so fast, y/n”. However, those feelings are fleeting and won’t linger for more than one second, his expression changing in a split second, his eyes hungrily tracing your jaw, his heart fluttering relentlessly. He’d grab your chin, tilting your head towards him as he’d start trailing your jaw in kisses, slowly going for your mouth. He’ll run his cold thumb over your bottom lip as he’d whisper huskily “You have no idea how much I love you”, before he’d lock his lips to yours.

#genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #zhongli #genshin impact x reader #childe #zhongli x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #zhongli headcanons #childe headcanons #zhongli imagines #childe imagines #zhongli scenarios #childe scenarios #genshin x reader #genshin impact imagines

3K notes · View notes

i-am-robie · 3 years

Text

Thanks to @coffeeshib for letting me steal the amnesia + wife prompt... I couldn’t help myself. This is not what I thought would come out (content warning for canon typical violence and injuries), mostly this is just Kara being a whole entire idiot and Alex facepalming and Lena just being glad Kara is there for her, as her fake wife while she recovers from another quarterly attempt on her life:

“Supergirl! You have to go!” Alex is yelling at her as they roll Lena into the emergency room at National City General, but Kara is rooted to the spot - she can’t look away. Lena is pale, too pale, and there’s blood all over her dress, cuts and scrapes and bruises already blooming on every piece of exposed skin. She isn’t moving, isn’t breathing on her own right now; the only air making its way into her body is through the ambu bag being operated by a nurse, as women and men in scrubs crowd around the moving gurney, shouting orders. And all of that is terrifying enough, but it isn’t the thing that’s paralyzing Kara.

The reason Kara can’t move, the reason that she is barely breathing, is that she can’t hear Lena’s heart.

“Kara.” Alex is closer now, she steps gently in front of her sister, dropping her voice so that no one else can hear her. “Kara, you have to go, they’re getting away.”

“Alex - “ Kara takes a step forward, as if to walk around her sister, to head towards the doors that Lena and the medical team are disappearing behind.

“I know, Kara, I know,” Alex says, gentle and quiet. The doors shut, and Kara’s eyes snap away from it to her sister's face. Alex looks as terrified as Kara feels; she’s wearing an expression Kara has only seen on her before when it’s Kara who’s hurt. “You can’t do anything for her right now. But you can get the guys who did this.” She reaches for Kara’s arm, squeezes - the pressure is grounding. “You need to go. You need to go right now.”

So Kara goes.

__________________

She returns seven hours later, after dropping the men who carried out the attack on Lena at the DEO and declining to help in the interrogation. She nearly killed them, doesn’t think she has the stomach to listen to them talk. She’d still been in the field when the hospital reached out to let her know that they’d been able to stabilize Lena, restarting her heart, but that she hasn’t woken up yet. Alex had relayed the message to her, but now Alex only shakes her head when Kara asks if there are any updates.

Her sister pulls her aside when Kara says that she’s going to hospital to talk to the doctors, telling Kara quietly that she needs to go home and clean off her suit. When Kara looks down, she sees that Alex is right. She’s covered in blood - some of Lena’s, some of it the men she’s apprehended, none of it hers. It makes her want to sob.

But when she gets out of the bathroom after showering, pulling on soft joggers and a hoodie, Kara finds that she can’t settle. Every time she closes her eyes, every time she blinks, she sees Lena’s lifeless body in the rubble that had been her office, can feel Lena in her arms the moment her heart stopped, and the fact that Lena is supposedly stable doesn’t help at all because she hasn’t woken up.

What if she never wakes up?

Suddenly, Kara can’t breathe. Her chest is tight, the walls of her apartment seeming to flex and close in on her. Her heart rate speeds up and she’s taking choked half-breaths, clenching her fists and blinking away tears.

She can’t lose Lena like this, not after she worked so hard to get her back. Kara looks at the clock. It’s just after midnight. This is definitely not visiting-hours at the hospital, and Lena’s not awake anyway - but Kara needs to see her. Needs to know she’s alive.

Needs to hear her heartbeat again.

It’s all of this - the panic, the desperation, the single-minded focus on getting to Lena - that Kara will blame later when she’s trying to explain what happens next in the weeks to come.

The hospital is deserted except for the staff when Kara walks in through the main entrance and goes up to the ICU where she knows Lena will be. She heads straight for the desk at the front of the unit when she arrives, and introduces herself to a nurse before asking if she can see Lena.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Danvers,” the nurse says, and she does sound sorry in the face of Kara’s distress, “visiting hours aren’t until ten a.m.”

A man in a basketball sweatshirt and jeans walks past them, he scans a small badge that says ‘VISITOR’ in capital letters on a machine at the end of the desk, and nods at the nurse before he disappears down the hallway.

“He’s visiting,’ Kara tries, her voice bordering on frantic, “he’s visiting and I need to see her, you don’t understand, I’m not going to be okay if I don’t see her. Please, just let me...”

“I’m so sorry, honey, it’s immediate family only after hours.”

“I’m her wife,” Kara blurts out. “Please. I’m her wife.”

“You’re her…that’s not in the notes…” The nurse trails off, looking down at the computer in front of her.

“I’m her emergency contact, I’m her wife, please.”

““Oh, yes,” the nurse starts nodding, “I do see that marked here, they called you when she came in. Hmmm...Someone clicked the wrong box under ‘relationship to patient.’” She moves her mouse and clicks on something, then looks back up at Kara. “I’ve fixed that for you, Mrs. Danvers. Let me print you out a visitor badge so you can just scan it in next time.

Kara can feel her panic recede a little. She’s going to see Lena. The nurse takes a blank badge and feeds it into an electronic printer. She hands the finished product to Kara, then gets up and gestures for Kara to follow.

“Now,” the nurse starts as she walks Kara down the dark hallway, the lights on half since it’s night, “she looks a little rough, but I assure you, she’s receiving the very best care there is. Normally you would have been called for consent before we initiated the hypothermia protocol, but since she had an advanced directive on file already, the team went ahead and started it.”

Kara’s barely listening to her, has started to strain her ears for the only sound she’s wanted to hear all day. She nearly collapses in relief when she finds it, below the beeping and the whirring and the buzzing of the machines, unlike any other beat in the building. Lena’s heart is steady, slower than usual, slower than Kara’s ever heard it, but it’s there, rhythmically thumping away.

The nurse brings her to a halt in front of a patient room, Lena’s name on the board outside with a bunch of notations that mean nothing to Kara. She’ll ask Alex to translate.

“She’ll be cold to your touch, that’s alright,” the nurse continues. “The key right now is to try to stop or slow any of the damage she’s suffered as a result of going into cardiac arrest. She lost a lot of blood, and her left femur is broken, along with her right ulna, but there are a lot of reasons to be hopeful. We’ll know more in the forty-eight to seventy-two hours once the protocol is complete.”

Kara refuses to think about most of this. Lena is alive. She’s alive and she’s right on the other side of this door. She clears her throat. “How long...how long can I stay?”

“As long as you like, dear. We’ll round on her in the morning and if you’re still here you can talk to the attending. Also, we’ll be in to check on her, but most of the monitoring is electronic since she’s in a medically induced coma for at least the next two days. There’s a chair that reclines by the bedside, I can grab you a blanket?”

“Please,” Kara says. She stops with her hand on the door, turns back to the nurse. “Thank you.” It comes out wobbly.

“Of course.” The nurse smiles at her. “Go on in, I’ll be right back.”

_____________________

Kara’s woken up by the medical team the next morning during rounds, just as the night shift nurse had promised. She blinks awake and rubs at her eyes, stretching and going to stand up when the team enters.

“Hi Mrs. Danvers, we saw you’d arrived,” a tall woman in a white lab coat says, walking over to Kara on the far side of the room and sticking out her hand to shake. “I’m Dr. Sheldon. We’ll do our best to bring you up to speed now, I’m so glad you were able to make it last night.” She gives Kara a warm smile. “Believe it or not, it really does make a difference when patients are supported, even when they aren’t aware of it.”

The team walks her through their care plan for Lena, how long she’ll have to remain like this before they start the re-warming process, what they’re concerned about and what they’ll be looking for. Her arm and femur have been set and immobilized, but it’s likely that the femur will need to be rebroken and repaired surgically if and when Lena does wake up. Given the invasiveness of the procedure, the delicacy of her present condition, and the unknowns about her cognition, that decision will keep.

When they leave, Kara texts Alex. If the doctors think that it will make a difference for Lena’s recovery to have her here, then she’s going to stay. She’s owed time off anyway. This is the best use of it she can think of.

Two hours later, the door opens, and Kara looks up from the bed, relieved to see Alex standing there, holding a backpack with the food and change of clothing Kara asked her to bring.

“Oh gosh, am I glad to see you,” she says, letting go of Lena’s hand and standing up. She walks around the bed to where Alex has stopped.

“Yeah, yeah,” Alex says, and she’s frowning at Kara. “You have some fucking explaining to do.”

“What?” Kara stops abruptly.

“What?” Alex parrots. She narrows her eyes. “Are you being serious…?” At Kara’s confused expression, Alex rolls her eyes and reaches behind her to shut the door. She walks over to Kara, pulling some take out from the bag and handing it to her, before pulling up one of the swivel chairs a doctor had been using.

Kara takes the food and goes back to her seat.

“So?” Alex prompts.

Kara looks up from the styrofoam container, already having broken apart her chopsticks. “So what?”

“What do you mean...Kara!” Kara freezes, chopsticks frozen in midair clutching a piece of kung pao chicken. There is real frustration and confusion in Alex’s voice. “Imagine my surprise when I sign in at the front desk and the nurse says that my sister-in-law is stable right now. Wanna tell me why the fuck you’re playing house to visit your best friend in the hospital?”

Kara sets the chicken down. “Alex…”

“Kara, you have ten seconds to explain why the entire staff thinks you and Lena are married and the answer had better not actually involve marriage or I swear to god I’ll…”

“They wouldn’t let me in to see her!” Kara bursts out. “I got here last night and I needed to see her, Alex, I needed to. And apparently it’s immediate family only and I panicked, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Alex says, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes. “I know Lena is important to you, but Kara, you could have waited ten hours and seen her.”

“I couldn’t.” Kara looks down at her food, not hungry anymore. “Alex, I couldn’t. I almost had a panic attack after you sent me home last night. I couldn’t wait.”

“Oh kiddo.” Kara looks up at that, all the frustration is gone from Alex’s tone. Her sister lets out a sigh. “Lena’s going to get through this and she’s going to get better. And when she does, you have got to tell her how you feel.”

“She’s my best friend.” Kara’s mouth twists. This is not a new conversation, but the stakes seem higher with Lena in the bed beside her, unconscious and battered.

“She is,” Alex agrees. “But she could be more.”

And oh, Kara wants more with every fiber of her being. But more than that, she wants Lena in her life, wants the easy love and affection they’ve finally gotten back to. And she’s been worried about rocking the boat.

“And by the way,” Alex says, pulling her back to the present, “lying to medical professionals is not a good look.” Kara grimaces and ducks her head.

“I know,” she says, glancing at Lena, the ventilator moving her chest up and down slowly. “But they said it’s good for Lena to have someone here, talking to her, holding her hand, even if she doesn’t know. And you know Lillian isn’t going to do that. And Lex is the one who put her here...just let me do this, okay?”

Alex hums. “You’re so lucky I didn’t blow your secret.”

Kara looks over at her sister. “Thank you.”

“Some of us are actually good at lying under pressure. I’m surprised you didn’t tell them she was married to Supergirl.”

“Well I wasn’t dressed as Supergirl.”

“Thank god for small mercies.”

______________________

Lena doesn’t wake up for the next three days.

In the interim, all of their friends visit, but Alex has already warned them about Kara’s new relationship status and other than Nia’s constant giggles, no one comments. Kara doesn’t leave the hospital. She keeps vigil in the chair, occasionally leaving for short periods of time to go down to the cafeteria, or to stretch her legs.

On day four, Alex convinces her to at least go to the DEO to shower and check in with J’onn about the duties he and M’gann are covering for her.

She’s just getting ready to head back to the hospital when her phone rings.

“Mrs. Danvers?”

“Yes?”

“This is Dr. Sheldon. Your wife has woken up and she’s being evaluated now by neuro, but we wanted you to know first thing.”

Kara has to sit down in the middle of the DEO, the concrete hard and probably cold underneath her, but it’s better than the alternative, which was just going to be letting her knees give out. She closes her eyes tightly. “I’ll be right there.”

She flies back to the hospital, landing in a nearby alley and running into the building with just a touch of superspeed. She makes it onto the unit just in time to see Lena’s care team leaving her room and turning down the hall to the next patient, and as much as Kara wants to get an update from them, the urge to see Lena herself is too much. She walks through the open door and nearly runs into a nurse, who’s moving some of the equipment out, now that Lena is conscious. It’s a nurse Kara is familiar with, her name is Bernadette, she’s been on shift the last two days. Her eyes light up when she sees Kara.

“Your wife is here,” Bernadette says, over her shoulder before Kara can stop her. She smiles warmly as she turns back to Kara. “I’ll leave you two alone.” She slips past Kara and into the hallway.

“My…” Lena’s eyes go wide as she sees Kara standing helpless in front of the now closed door. Her voice is still scratchy from the extubation. Her hair is greasy and all over the pillow, her right arm and left leg are completely immobilized, there are wires running through the top of her hospital gown, her whole body a tapestry of garish purples and greens and stitches. But she’s awake. Kara has never felt more relieved in her entire life, but it turns to ice in her veins as Lena struggles to speak, clearly confused. “My - my - oh god.” Her eyes start to fill with tears and Kara panics.

“No, Lena, no, it’s not - “ she starts saying, taking quick steps towards the bed.

“Oh god, oh god, Kara,” Lena chokes out, twisting a little in bed and flinching, “they said I only lost a week, they said my memory seemed okay, that there’s no - ”

“We’re not married!” Kara yells out trying to stop the clear spiral Lena is on. Lena’s eyes go wide, but she does stop looking like she’s about to start sobbing. “We’re not married,” Kara repeats, in a normal voice this time.

“Then why…”

Kara winces. “I might have told the hospital staff that we are. Married, that is.”

Lena looks wary, small and weak and confused in the bed, and she’s frowning a little at Kara now. It doesn’t even matter, though, because the feeling of seeing Lena awake is returning with every word she speaks, and Kara feels something in her chest open up. She has to resist walking over and climbing into bed with her and holding her, knows she needs to explain first.

In every single way Kara played out this moment all week in her head, not once is this how it went - she wants Lena to be smiling, to be okay, or at least as okay as one can be after coming out of a medically induced coma, with a number of near catastrophic injuries still to be dealt with. She certainly didn’t imagine she’d be contributing to the disorientation and isolation Lena’s projecting right now.

Lena’s eyes dart around Kara’s face. Kara takes a deep breath.

“The first night you were here, I had to see you.” She starts twisting her hands together, takes another step towards the bed. “And it was late, and even though I’m your emergency contact, they said no after hours visitors except for family and I panicked.”

“You panicked.” Lena sounds like she’s unsure how panic would lead someone to pretend to be married, and honestly, now that Kara is having to explain the decision, she’s not really sure either. The only thing she knows is that she doesn’t regret it. Would do it again, in fact.

“I knew if they thought I was your wife, they’d let me in to see you. And Lena, I had to see you. I had to. You were - “ Kara cuts herself off, can feel the tightness in her chest, closing around her heart like a vice. “Your heart stopped before I could get you to the hospital. The last time I saw you, I didn’t know if - “ A small sob works it’s way up her throat, and Kara’s eyes are burning. She feels a tear break free from her lashes. “I needed to hear your heartbeat.”

An unreadable expression crosses Lena’s face as Kara takes the seat by her bed that she’s occupied for the last week. To Kara’s great relief, Lena reaches out her left hand, lays it on the edge of the bed, palm up. Kara grabs for it with both of her own.

And Rao, the feeling of Lena’s hand, still cold, but undeniably warmer, squeezing back when Kara grips tightly - she doesn’t know how to describe this feeling. It starts a fresh wave of sobs in her, of relief this time, rather than terror.

“Hey,” Lena says, punctuating it with another flex of her fingers around the back of Kara’s hand. “Hey, I’m okay. I’m here. You saved me. I’m okay, see?”

And really, that just makes Kara cry harder.

“I’m supposed to be comforting you,” she chokes out.

“You are,” Lena says, disengaging their hands and bringing her fingers up to Kara’s face, wiping at the tears. “You are, god, I was just thrown. I thought...I thought, it doesn't matter what I thought.” She tries to laugh and ends up flinching.

“Oh no, are you okay, should I call the doctor?” Kara immediately reaches forward, lays a hand on Lena’s hip above the sheets and wipes furiously at her face with the other.

“It’s the broken ribs,” Lena grits out, jaw flexing as she drops her hand away from Kara’s face and back onto the bed. “Fuck that hurts.”

“I’m just so glad you’re awake,” Kara says, leaning forward again and brushing some of the hair out of Lena’s face, trying to tuck it behind her ear.

That’s how Bernadette finds them when she returns, Kara gently touching Lena’s forehead, and rubbing her hip, the two of them so close that Kara might as well climb in next to her.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says, smiling at the two of them. “The attending would like to pop in with the head of ortho to talk about surgical options for your femur. Should I tell her to come back later?”

Kara moves to stand up, she doesn’t want to delay anything about Lena’s care, but Lena reaches for her hand again, and Kara’s powerless to do anything but lace their fingers together and sit back down.

Lena takes a shallow breath, “Can my wife stay?”

My wife. Hearing it come out of Lena’s mouth does something to Kara that feels a little dangerous, makes the room spin a bit. Her heart feels as if it’s expanding and being squeezed at the same time. My wife. My wife. My wife.

“Of course, she’s more than welcome to stay,” Bernadette says. “It’s probably a good idea, actually, now that there are care decisions to make.”

_____________________

“Let me get this straight,” Alex says, her head in her hands. Kelly reaches out to rub her back. “You’re still pretending to be married, and Lena is playing along with it?”

Kara nods. They’re sitting down in the cafeteria while Lena gets a sponge bath, something that Kara is trying very hard not to think about. It’s been nearly three weeks, one major operation, and thankfully no more complications.

And Kara has been here through it all. She’s started leaving for blocks of time during the day (it turns out she didn’t have a month worth of vacation saved up and Alex had nearly had an aneurysm when Kara asked if she was allowed to use family medical leave act time), but she’s spent nearly every night in the hospital with Lena since. The medical team loves them, has started talking to them about how devoted Kara is. Maybe Kara’s playing into it a little, bringing flowers, and Lena’s favorite foods, and always, always touching her in some way when she’s in the room.

“You know they’re going to build her discharge plan around you, right?” Alex squints at her. “Have you considered that?”

Kara flushes. “Actually,” she brings a hand up to rub at the back of her neck, adjusts her glasses for good measure, “we’ve agreed that I’ll just move in with Lena for a little while. She can hire someone during the day, but I’ll be around at night and I can help with the rehab. So, um, it’s fine.”

“You’re both fucking idiots.”

_________________

“I’ve been home for an hour and I’m already regretting every choice in my life that’s lead to this point. This is humiliating.”

“Oh my gosh,” Kara laughs, “no it isn’t.”

“Kara, you’re washing my hair in the kitchen sink because I can’t even wash myself right now with this fucking cast and brace on.”

Kara grins, squirting shampoo onto her hand and setting the bottle down on the marble countertop. Lena is sitting in the wheelchair, left leg propped up on the supports. She’s leaning back with her head over the edge of the sink, rolled up towels supporting her neck and her eyes are closed. She’s frowning, but it’s the frown she wears when she’s trying too hard not to smile. It makes Kara want to kiss it right off her face. She takes a deep breath, instead.

Kara is just so grateful that she gets to see Lena like this, hair stringy from the hospital, oversize sweatshirt with one sleeve bunched up over the top of the lime green cast on her right arm. The post-surgical femoral fracture brace looks uncomfortable, but Lena hasn’t complained about it at all. So, fine, maybe this nearly debilitating urge to kiss her best friend, to ask her if the last few weeks could be real, instead of fake (not the marriage part, not now, anyway, but the relationship part sure), is getting more and more intrusive. That doesn��t mean Kara can’t continue to ignore it until Lena’s better.

She finishes washing Lena’s hair and if she takes extra time massaging in the conditioner and making sure the water temperature is absolutely perfect, well, that’s just being a good caretaker. She sets Lena up in her bedroom, then goes back to the kitchen to clean up

“Ok, Lena,” Kara says, walking back into the bedroom. “You officially have zero edible things in your apartment. I’m going to make a list and head to the grocery store for supplies, ok? Your next meds can’t be taken on an empty stomach.”

“You’re underestimating my iron constitution.” Lena frowns unhappily in bed. “We can just order some, you don’t have to go.”

“I’ll be back in a jiffy, okay?” Kara smiles at Lena.

Sure, they could order groceries, but she wants to go get them, to pick them out herself, and bring them back. It makes her feel so good to be able to do things like this: wash her hair, go get groceries, make her something to eat. The best part of this whole terrible ordeal is that she’s gotten to take care of Lena, to show her, not just tell her, how important she is to Kara. It warms her up from the inside out.

“You sure I’m allowed to be by myself?” Lena teases, breaking Kara out of her thoughts. “I haven’t been left to my own devices in weeks now. Just imagine all the trouble I could get into.” She raises an eyebrow.

Kara laughs and shakes her head, drawn closer to Lena like a magnet. Lena’s tucked into bed, leg propped up on pillows to keep the brace comfortable, two books on the nightstand beside her, a glass of water within easy reach, and the next round of medications in a small porcelain bowl that Kara repurposed from the kitchen. Her hair is still wet from being washed, and although there are dark circles around her eyes, and her cheekbones are too sharp from the weight she lost in the hospital, Kara doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything more beautiful than Lena right at this exact moment.

She walks over to the bed and sits down next to Lena, reaching over to move the glass of water back from the edge of the nightstand and onto a coaster. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll bet you a whole order of potstickers that you’re asleep when I get back.” She reaches across Lena, adjusts the towel covering up her pillow to keep it from getting wet.

When she pulls back slightly, she’s startled by how close Lena’s face is to hers. Lena is looking at her with such unadulterated fondness, that Kara can’t help reaching up and tucking a wet tendril of hair back behind Lena’s ear. “I’ll be back so soon you won’t even know I was gone.”

“I always know when you’re gone,” Lena says, the corners of her mouth lifting up, her eyes crinkling lightly. Kara’s hand has drifted from Lena’s ear to the back of her head, her thumb brushing gently at the soft skin just below Lena’s jaw.

When she retells the story of what happens next later, Alex will roll her eyes and mutter under hear breath, but Kara will swear this is the truth: without even thinking about it, she leans forward and kisses Lena on the lips, quick and soft, then stands and turns to go, pulling her phone out of her pocket so she can start making a grocery list.

“You can drop the act now,” Lena says, a little stiffly.

“Huh?” Kara whips around, more at Lena’s tone than at her words, and looks at her in confusion. Lena’s face is bright red.

“Kara, we’re - I’m home, there’s no hospital staff to convince anymore.” She sounds a little upset and Kara, feels her forehead crinkle as she replays the last several seconds in her head: she moved Lena’s water, adjusted the towel behind her head, smoothed Lena’s hair, and…

“Oh Rao, oh gosh.” She takes a step forward, then back abruptly, as she realizes that she’s just kissed Lena on the mouth. She puts one hand on her forehead and the other on her hip, spins in a small circle. “Lena, I’m so sorry. I didn’t - ”

“It’s fine,” Lena says, her voice sounding calm and even now that Kara is having a meltdown, but her heart is doing some sort of high speed gallop in her chest and it’s giving Kara the impression that this is not actually fine.

Oh no, oh gosh… “Lena, I’m sorry, - ”

“I get it.” Lena cuts her off, holding up a hand to stop her. “The whole act, it’s a hard habit to break.” She drops her hand to the bed and laughs lightly, picking at the blanket. “Honestly I’m surprised we made it this long without accidentally doing that.”

“Accidently. Yes.” Kara’s nodding so hard, she feels like her head might come off. “It was an accident.” That might be a convenient way of putting it, but it doesn’t change the fact that Kara’s been wanting to kiss Lena, wants it to be as un-accidental as possible. And aren’t accidents things like tripping on the carpet, or spilling a drink at dinner? She may not have been thinking when she did it, but Kara knows there’s nothing accidental about that kiss.

But Lena’s giving her an out, and Kara can’t bring herself not to take it.

“I’m just going to - ” Kara gestures over her shoulder and then she flees.

“Alex, I kissed her.” Kara’s made it outside the apartment, but her heart hasn’t slowed down. She didn’t even bother making a list after walking out of Lena’s bedroom, just went straight to the elevator, dialing Alex before she’d even hit the lobby. Her stomach is squirmy, she feels like she might throw up.

“Finally,” Alex says, letting out what might be a relieved sigh.

“What do you mean finally?” Kara feels hysterical.

“I mean finally, idiot. Watching the two of you for the past three weeks has been the most painful experience of my life, I’m glad you finally did it.”

“She thinks it was because of the act!” Kara nearly yells. A man walking by looks at her, narrowing his eyes and giving her a wide berth. “She thinks it’s because of the act, Alex!”

There’s silence on the other end of the line for a moment.

“Kara Danvers, are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“No,” Kara wails. “I didn’t even mean to do it! Or, well. I meant to do it, but I didn’t know I was doing it. I was making sure she had everything she needed and then I was leaving to go to the grocery story and somewhere in the middle I kissed her! And she got kinda upset even though she said she wasn’t and she says it’s fine because it was an accident. And it was an accident, at least in the sense that I wasn’t thinking when I did it and god I didn’t even ask if she wanted to kiss me, but I meant it, Alex, I meant it.”

Kara can picture Alex right now: that tight, unhappy expression on her face, fingers pinching her nose between her eyes.

“Okay, I swore to Kelly I wasn’t going to do this, but that was before you lost your damn mind and kissed her.” Kara can hear Alex take a deep breath. “You need to go back upstairs right now and confess, Kara.”

“What?” Kara practically screeches. She spins in a circle. “No, this isn’t the right time. I’m supposed to be helping her, I’m supposed to be taking care of her, I can’t put this on her right now. What if she doesn’t feel the same, what if this ruins everything, what if - “

Thankfully Alex cuts her off. “That argument worked before you kissed her and decided to let her believe you didn’t mean to do it. And before you argue with me, you might not have known you were doing it, but you absolutely meant to do it, Kara.”

Kara is now facing Lena’s apartment and gently knocking her forehead against it.

“Kara, I heard that crack, stop headbutting the building.” Kara stops, keeps her forehead pressed to the cool limestone. Alex pauses, and her voice is gentle when she continues. “You gotta tell her, kiddo. You’ve been down the whole lying path with her before and while I don’t think this is the kind of lie that would cause her to try removing our free-will again, I do think that you guys decided on honesty as your way forward. You either own that, or you don’t.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right.” Kara squeezes her eyes shut. “If we can get through that, we can get through this.”

“That’s the spirit. And hey, if for some reason things don’t go well and you feel like you can’t stay with her? Kelly or I would be happy to swap out for you tonight. Just in case you need some space.”

“Thanks, Alex.”

“But Kara, I think you’re gonna be just fine.”

Kara doesn’t feel much better when she hangs up with Alex, but she knows her sister is right. She’s got to tell Lena.

And to be honest, Kara can’t imagine a world in which Lena would be upset with her for having feelings, regardless of whether they’re reciprocated. They’ll be able to work through this, even if it hurts for a while. She’s had friends fall in love with her before, and she’s always been able to keep them as friends afterwards. God, maybe Winn has some advice for me, she thinks.

So Kara takes a deep breath and goes back inside. Groceries can wait.

She’s trembling when she lets herself back into Lena’s apartment. It’s nerves, anticipation more than anything. She’s about to confess something that she can’t, won’t take back and it will change things between them, even if only for a while.

Lena looks up from her book when Kara makes her way back into the bedroom. She sets it down beside her hip on the bed and cocks her head.

“Well that was fast. Did Supergirl get my groceries?” She gives Kara a smile.

“I’m in love with you.” Well that’s one way to start this conversation. “And I didn’t kiss you accidentally.”

Lena’s smile drops, her eyes widening in surprise. Everything about her seems to freeze.

“Before you say anything, I need to get this out. I’m not telling you because I’m expecting anything. I don’t want anything to change, I mean, I do, clearly, but I don’t if that’s not what you want.” Kara squeezes her eyes shut and looks at the ceiling. She really should have thought this through. “I’ve known for a while, actually, I was just worried about what it might mean, if you didn’t feel the same way.” She drops her gaze back to Lena. “But then you almost died. And I pretended to be your wife. And I was planning on telling you once you’re totally recovered. Except then I kissed you without even thinking about it and I can’t lie about this, Lena. It isn’t good for either of us. So. Yeah. Just. Tell me what you need.”

Lena’s looking at her with an expression Kara can’t read, but she doesn’t look unhappy, or afraid, or upset...

“Kara, do you remember when that nurse told me my wife had shown up?”

“Yes,” Kara says, frowning, because she doesn't understand where Lena is going with this. “Of course I do, you were panicked that you’d experienced severe brain damage.”

Lena shakes her head, pats the space on the bed next to her.

Kara feels a weight lift from her shoulders: no matter how this goes, if Lena is asking her to come closer, then they’re going to be okay. She walks across the carpet.

“You’re right,” Lena says as Kara comes closer, “I was worried, but that wasn’t the only thing that made me panic.”

“What else was it?” Kara sits down and looks at her lap, bringing her hands together to fidget. She can feel Lena’s body heat next to her, but she doesn’t want to reach out unless Lena does it first. “Was it the idea of being married to me?” She laughs. She can laugh about this.

“No, darling,” Lena says. She reaches for Kara’s hands, smoothing her fingers across them to still them. Darling, that’s a good sign, right? “Kara, as terrified as I was that there was more damage, my first thought was that somehow I’d lost memories of us: of you falling in love with me, of dating and first kisses and someone proposing and a wedding.” Lena pauses and Kara stares at their joined hands. She hears more than sees Lena take a deep breath and let it out. “I’ve been in love with you for so long it broke my heart to think that those things had happened and I couldn’t remember them.”

Kara whips her head around to look at Lena. Her best friend is smiling, and her eyes are a little wet like maybe she’s overwhelmed and might cry and oh gosh, does Kara understand that feeling right now.

“You love me,” she says, feeling her own eyes start to fill with tears.

Lena nods.

“You’re in love with me,” Kara can’t help clarifying. This is something out of a dream.

Lena nods again.

“Can I…” Kara reaches for Lena’s face, trails her knuckles down Lena’s cheek and watches in awe as Lena leans into the touch. “Can I kiss you now?”

“Yes,” Lena breaths out, smiling, and it’s blinding. “But only if it’s not an accident.”

#this is not what I meant to be writing at all today and also it is much less funny than the tag ficlet but what're you gonna do?#robie writes #supercorp #WHAT'S PROOF READING I'VE NEVER HEARD OF IT DON'T @ME #tw canon typical violence

2K notes · View notes

t-o-m-hollands · 3 years

Text

Summery: You and Tom bet on who will touch the other first after he comes home from filming. Both refusing to give in you resort to some teasing measures to get the other one to break.

Pairing; Tom + female reader.

Themes: Light-hearted, lots of teasing. Established relationship. Fluff. Cocky Tom. Cocky reader too, let’s face it. They are both stubborn idiots. Lots of horniness all around. To be honest, very little plot and mostly smut. Bit of fluff as well though.

Warnings: Unprotected sex in established relationship. Masturbation. This work is strictly +18.

A/N: Not beta-read, I’m wine drunk and wrote this in like 2,5 hours so it is what it is.

It was such a stupid fucking bet and he wish he never agreed to it. It is all your fault, he decides, as he watches you bend over into downward dog, your breathing rhythmic and even as you stretch your beautiful body. He tries to look away from your ass, honestly he does, but you’re wearing those light grey yoga pants that practically has him drooling and the fabric is hugging your body so perfectly it would be a crime to look away.

Plus, he’s pretty sure that’s the whole point of you doing this, practicing yoga in the living room right in front of him as he’s supposed to be working. The whole point is to have him staring, so he doesn’t feel too bad about it.

It had all started the week before he was set to return from filming. He had teased you (and sure, in retrospect that was a terrible idea and he should have known better) had said that you would jump him the first chance you got, that he probably wouldn’t even get through the door before you had him out of his jeans. You had retaliated with an accusation that he would be the one all over you and obviously he had to deny that.

It had spiraled, neither one of you willing to give in and admit defeat and now here you are; a full day after his return and he hasn’t as much as hugged you.

Because whoever touches the other first loses the bet.

And now here you are, in front of him; wearing skin tight yoga pants and bending over.

A part of him, the midsection of his body to be precise, wants to just give in; to hand you the victory - fuck his pride. But the part of him, the rational part he likes to think, that has him bashing up golf clubs every time his dad beats him in a golf round; refuses to give in.

So what if he hasn’t seen you, hasn’t felt your body in over three months? Or that he now has your magnificent ass right in his face as he’s trying to concentrate on his dull emails. So what? He’s not faced by that, he’s a man of the world after all.

You lean forwards again until you’re on the ground, turn to your back and start to slowly but steadily push your hips up and down, in what Tom can only assume, is referred to as the ghost fucking position.

“Aren’t you supposed to answer emails?” You ask and he doesn’t even need to look at your face to know that you have a smug smile on your face.

“I am” he mutters, looking away from your body on the floor and back to his phone screen.

You laugh, and he pretends not to hear it, while you pretend that the visible hard-on he’s sporting doesn't make you want to climb into his lap and give in to both of your temptations.

The bet was stupid and totally his idea.

Tom comes out of the shower, drops of water still pouring from his wet hair onto his sculpted chest. The only thing he’s wearing is the white towel wrapped around his waist and the silver Rolex on his wrist. Seeing you standing in the kitchen and slicing tomatoes he sends you his widest smile.

And you thought you were playing unfair with the yoga.

He sits down by the bartop, all bare chested and golden. “Anything I can help with?” he asks as you place the tomatoes in the salad bowl. “A change of music perhaps?”

You throw a left over piece of tomato at him and it hits him square in the chest. He just smiles wider, completely unfaced. “Leave my dinner playlist alone, yeah?” You tell him, resisting the urge to give him the finger.

“So tense” he snickers and leans his head to the side, “I know what could help you relax.”

“Throwing more tomatoes at you? Because we need them in the salad, Thomas.”

He stands up and moves around the kitchen island until he’s behind you, careful as not to touch, framing you against the bench with his strong arms on either side of your body. You can smell him, fresh out of the shower, feel the warm radiate from his body; it is as he’s already holding you. He’s so close, it’s like every cell in your body is reaching out for him.

And it’s been so long.

Three months of twisting and turning alone in bed, of only your own hands as company and him on the phone screen as he encourages you; tells you how goddamn gorgeous you look fucking yourself for him. Three months of only seeing him on the phone; not being able to touch him and feel him for yourself, to taste his skin. To just see him spill all over his own hand instead of being there, catching it all with your tongue.

But it will have to wait a little while longer, because although you might love him, and the way he makes you feel, there’s no way you’re giving in just yet.

Slowly turning around, carefully as not to touch him, you reach for the bottle. “You can open this, since you wanted to help” you say and hand him the wine, “that would help me relax.”

He smiles, unbothered by his failed attempt at luring you to defeat, and steps back. You stir the pasta sauce, trying not to look at his bare chest as he’s leaning over the kitchen counter, looking for something. Finally he finds the corkscrew and sits back again at the bar table. He gets to work with opening the bottle, his strong veined hand wrapped around the throat of the bottle, as the other inserts the screw. His brow is furrowed in concentration and he’s biting his lip. Around his wrist the Rolex watch reflects in the light. Uncorking the bottle he pours blood red liquid into two wine glasses and hands you one before taking a sip from his own, brown eyes looking at you from over the rim of his glass.

“Put a fucking shirt on, Thomas” you mutter, going back to chopping vegetables.

The song and dance of torturing each other continues for the following two days. What goes on between you can only be described as a red-hot war.

“Oh for fuck sake!” Tom’s voice booms over the living room.

“Too direct?” You ask, eyebrow raised.

“No, no not at all” he answers, voice dripping with sarcasm, “no please, keep deep-throating the banana, it’s incredibly subtle.”

Slowly he wakes, blinking into the dark night. The alarm clock on his bedside table tells him that it’s just after 2 am and for a few long seconds he stares at it.

A rustling of sheets beside him in bed and it hits him. He’s home, home in his own bed with you laying next to him, as it should always be. Except that things aren’t the way it should be.

Because of that stupid goddamn bet.

The sheets rustle again and he wonders if you are awake as well. But then he hears it; a soft moan.

Turning over in bed at lighting speed he stares down at you. “Are you fucking touching yourself?” He asks, heatedly.

Your answer is another soft moan as you look up at him, pupils blown wide and lips parted. Tearing of the duvet he looks down at your naked body, at you hand, covered in slick, moving over your clit.

Fuck.

He moves over, leans over you; his legs on either side of yours and his arm on each side of your face, carefully making sure that he isn’t touching you. A slight catch of breath is all the sign you give of having been surprised, your hand keeping it’s gentle pace.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, voice low in the quiet room.

“You” is your breathless reply, “you touching me.”

“Think this is how I would touch you?” He asks, snickering. He’s holding his body over you, looking into your lust-filled eyes. “I’d go much slower at first, tease you. Slowly move around your clit until your hips are bucking up and you're begging me for more”.

He moves his head, so that his lips are almost touching yours. Almost.

“You’re so good at begging after all” he murmurs against your lips, moving his boxer clad hips so that they almost touch you and you groan, your face telling of vexation and volatile bliss. But you do as he says, follow his instruction with the movement of your hand.

“Good girl” he whispers softly against your lips.

“Then I’d slide one fingers inside that wet cunt, still slow; still teasing.”

You whine, but you do as he says. Slowly you move one finger in and out of yourself, as the other hand is still circling your clit. “Need more” you moan but he just smiles.

“Such a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He teases with a devilish grin, tilting his head to the side, looking down at you with sparkling eyes. “But your hands are smaller than mine, so maybe you should add another finger.”

You insert your middle finger as well; and moan. “Faster” you beg, but he shakes his head and so a string of curses fall out your mouth and all he can do is smile at it.

“That filthy fucking mouth of yours” me mutters.

“Well if you shove your dick into it instead then this stupid fucking bet will be over and we’ll both get off.”

“You know, I’ve really missed your fantastic sense of humor while I’ve been away” he answers dryly, but with a smile.

“Tom” you whine. “I need more.”

He wants to kiss you so badly, to press his lips against yours and taste you; to remove his boxers and sink into you in one swift movement until your hoarse and wanton whines turn into satisfied moans, soft and sweet like honey.

“Go on then, darling” he says, voice huskier than usual in the dark night. “Speed up for me.”

You do, your body hungry for satisfaction, hunting your orgasm with determent, sharp movements.

“Fuck,” he swears, “fuck you’re soaked.” He looks down at your wet slit, your rapidly moving fingers, your hips bucking up to meet your hand. Looking back into your wild eyes he groans, his mouth still dangerously close to yours.

“The whole room smells of you” he moans, and it’s true. The scent of your arousal mixes with the scent of your perfumed skin and this is the closest he’s been so far to falter; to give in to temptation.

Your head is thrown back against the pillows, throat exposed, soft moans escaping freely. He wants to touch you everywhere, feel the softness of your skin with his rough hands, his wet mouth, his teeth. He’s breathing hard and he hasn’t even been touched, but he feels the want of touching you in his bones.

He wants to wrap his lips around your hardened nipples. To suck, bite, lick and kiss them until you fall over the edge.

“So fucking beautiful” he breathes out. Even if he had wanted to he wouldn't have been able to look away from you. “But it’s my hand your fucking, remember? Think I’d wouldn’t fuck you harder than that?”

And god, he wish it was his hand you were fucking, wish he could feel you come; hot and wet and pulsing around his fingers. Instead he is left to watch. Watch as the movements of your hand speeds up until fucking yourself with a carnal kind of need, until you fall apart at the seams; luscious bliss spreading over your features, and your tense body relaxes until you soften against the mattress; loose limbed and starry eyed.

And he is left to take care of the his erection all on his own.

A thin layer of sweat is covering his chest and his muscles are taut as he forces his arms to carry his weight into another push-up.

“Thirty-six” he groans out, his voice strained and deep from the physical effort, curls of brown hair falling over his face as he lowers himself to the ground again. “Thirty-seven.”

You couldn’t look away even if you tried, your eyes fixed on the muscles of his back, and the way they move as he moves.

You feel agitated and frantic and in that moment you want nothing more than to lay down beneath him; look up at him as move above you with swift, powerful moments. It’s beyond reason, the carnal tug inside you as you watch him and it is absolutely maddening that he hasn’t given in yet to his desire; because you know he desires you, have seen it in his dark eyes, always following you around the room, over the last few days.

But you are not going to be the first one to give in.

“Forty-two” he moans out, and the sound of his heavy breathing and deep groans vibrate somewhere far inside you.

You’re not.

You just need a change of tactic, that’s all.

The pub is packed tonight, but the more secluded pool area section is scarce of people. Tom sips on his beer, scrolling through instagram; waiting for you, as the speakers blast out ‘Galway Girl’ for what feels like the hundredth time since he came in. He’s been visiting a friend while you’ve been at work, having decided this morning to meet up at the pub after for a meal and a game of pool.

A text pops up on the screen, beside your picture. It simply says ‘Look up’.

He does. And fuck.

Oh, fuck no.

Oh, for all that is holy, surely you wouldn’t be that cruel to him.

Not the white shorts.

Not the white shorts you had worn last summer, the ones you know very well turns him on like nothing else. The ones you had worn that time when you had driven down to the beach on bonfire night; the time when you pulled him aside from the rest of the company and he had ended up fucking you against the birch wood tree just some meters away from all your friends, your shorts around your ankles and your nails digging into his back as you tried to bite back you moans.

Surely you wouldn’t be this cruel to him, because he’s pretty sure he’s going to die. He hasn’t had sex in over three months and you show up looking like this and he’s pretty sure he’s going to die.

He’s just not sure about whether this is going to be heaven

or hell.

He watches you as you walk through the pub with long confident strides, the goddamn heels you're wearing extending your legs, and the fabric of the white tank top stretching over your chest. Your lips are painted blood red, as if you are ready for battle.

He’s not the only one in the pub staring at you but you keep your eyes fixed on him, burning into his eyes, as you move across the floor.

“Honey” you greet him. “Got one of those for me as well?” You nod to the beer in his hand, frozen mid movement to his mouth.

“Why?” He asks, trying to regain the upper hand. “Feeling thirsty?”

You laugh dryly, looking down at his crotch, where he’s painfully aware a bulge is showing. Instead of commenting on it he hands you the other beer bottle he ordered and watches as you wrap your red lips around the opening, swallowing down. He feels warm all over in the stuffy pub and he pulls at the collar of his t-shirt.

He reaches for the cue sticks and hands you one. “Alright, darling” he sighs, knowing very well what kind of teasing hell you are about to put him through tonight, “let’s play.”

The playlist has gone from Ed Sheeran songs to Mumford & Sons and the pub is still packed with people, though the pool area remains empty apart from you and Tom. It's warm in there and Tom takes big gulps from his third beer of the night. He can feel sweat forming on his back, his brow, his chest.

You’re not helping the situation. Although he’s pretty certain that helping is opposite of what you’re trying to do.

“You’re so fucking annoying” he whines, as he watches you hit the white ball perfectly, resulting in two of your striped balls ending up in the pockets. He’s leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and mouth in a thin line.

He fucking hates losing.

“You know what you should do?” You ask, lining up against the table, arched back as you bend over with your cue stick; giving him a full view of your fucking fantastic thighs, “try to fuck it out of me.” You hit another perfect shot and a third ball goes in. You look over your shoulder at him, still bent over the table, and wink.

Standing up straight you turn to him. Swaying your hips to the music you lift the beer bottle to your red lips and you swallow a mouthful. Placing the bottle next to you on the side of the pool table you walk over to him, standing so close you’re almost touching.

Almost

In fact, you might as well be, for he can smell your perfume, mixing with the scent of your shampoo. Can feel the heat radiate of your warm body. It’s been so long since he’s held you and his entire body is painfully aware of it.

With your lips just centimeters from his you whisper; voice husky and low, “I know how bad you want me, honey.” You move your face so that you’re almost kissing the stubble on his cheek, mouth nearly pressed against it.

“You want my hands” you whisper again, looking up at him, your hand hovering right over his erection, carefully as not to touch it, and he nearly bucks out to meet your hand. He’s glad that the area is more secluded, part of the wall hiding the pair of you from view. It feels like there’s just the two of you in the entire world; might as well be for all he cares right now. A blush colours his cheeks as he stares back at you.

“You want my mouth” you breathe against him, your lips curled into an evil smile. “You want my tongue” and you lick your lips before biting it, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You wish I was on my hands and knees right now, so you could fuck my mouth.” you finish.

His skin feels tight and overheated, but he keeps his tone casual as he replies, “actually I wish you were bent over the table so spank that arse of yours, but sure, I wouldn’t say no to a blowie.”

“What’s stopping you? You think you can hold on forever? You know I’m not going to give in, Tom. You know me. Can you imagine going to sleep tonight? Untouched? Again?”

There’s no use he thinks as he plunges in for a kiss, pulling you tight against him; eager to touch as much as you as possible with impatient hands.

He tried to beat the devil at her own game and he lost.

“Think you lost, honey” you say between kisses as he’s pressing you up against the front door.

“Don’t give a flying fuck love, just keep touching me and I’ll die a happy man.” His voice is breathless and hoarse and his hands are all over you; as if he can’t get enough. Your hand is in his soft hair, holding on, as the other is cupping the bulge in his trousers, stroking him through the fabric as he whimpers in your ear.

“We should probably get inside,” you whisper. “Unless you want your neighbors to witness me give you a hand job on the front steps.”

He groans, but steps away from you. His hair is ruffled and his pupils are blown wide, spit from your previous kissing covering his lower lip. You imagine you look just as disheveled.

“Think you need to learn a lesson in delayed gratification” you tease, not being able to stop yourself.

His eyes go even darker and he takes a step forward again, cups your chin and looks you straight in the eye in a way that has bolts of excitement shoot up your spine. “Before the night is over” he says in a slow, gruff voice, “I will teach you all there is to know about delayed gratification.”

He digs in his pockets, pulls out his keys and unlocks the front door, guiding you in with a hand on your lower back.

He feels as if someone has lit a match under his skin. His whole body is screaming with vehement urgency for yours. His hands can’t get enough of you; his lips never want to leave your soft lips again. Your soft little noises are filling his head and he hardly even registers your hands unzipping his jeans; until you’re pulling them, alongside his boxers, off of him in a sharp tugging notion.

“Filthy girl, I fucking love you” he moans out between kisses as you wrap your soft hand around his hard cock.

He pulls at your tank top and for a moment your skin separates entirely from his as you step away, so that he can remove the fabric from you. Yanking at the goddamn jeans shorts he pulls them down around your ankles and you step out of them. Your underwear soon follows suit along with his t-shirt until you both are free of any inconvenient clothing.

He needs your warm and soft skin pressed against his, needs your soft little moans in his ear as he fucks into you, needs the taste of your sweet skin on his tongue.

He lifts you up on the bed and soon follows suit. Reaching down he slips a finger between your legs, feels how wet and warm and slick you are and groans loudly against your shoulder.

Lining up against you, cock in hand he looks at your lust filled eyes. “Next time I’ll go slow, yeah? I’ll take my time.”

Your answer is your hands on his shoulder, pulling him against you and he slips inside you with an ecstatic moan. You moan as well, wrap your legs around his hips. He starts moving, thrusting in and out of you with greedy dragged out jabs. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room and mixes with your whimpering mewls.

You are so hot and tight and wet around him and the pleasure is so intense it’s bordering on painful. His face is so close to yours, it is as if you are sharing breaths.

He wants to punch himself from denying himself this for several days when he already had to go without for months.

“Did you think your hands could stand in for mine while I was away? That it could measure up at all?” He asks you, voice thick with lust. He’s so full of want for you and you’re all soft noise and wandering hands. Your warm breath on his even warmer skin. His lips on your nipples; kissing, sucking, biting.

You writhe beneath him, unable to lay still as you buck your hips up to meet his; fucking into him. He’s not going to last long but neither is you and holding on is a losing battle. Like he said, next time he will go slower, gentler, softer. Drag it out for an entire night. But you both have too much built up pressure inside you to last now. He feels like a bomb about to go off, sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine, as he fucks into you with even greater force. You’re hot and swollen and hugging onto him so perfectly he feels like he’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t get to come soon.

But he knows that you are close. Feels it in your nails, dragging along his back, in the sharp movements of your thrusts, in your laboured breathing against his shoulder. He feels it in the way your cunt squeezes around him.

“I’m coming” you whimper and he wants to cry from the relief as he feels you spasm around him.

“Fuck” you moan out as your breathing calms down, and he’s holding you pressed against his chest. “Haven’t had a decent orgasm in months, I wasn’t prepared for that.”

“You really can’t function without me, can you?” he says with a smug smile and honestly, hadn’t you’ve been so blissed out you probably would have bitten him.

A/N: I honestly don’t know if any of this made sense. I’m drunk and tired and I’m going to bed. If you read it, please leave your thoughts.

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland smut #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader

658 notes · View notes