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Hi jade I have a hotch request! But u can do with any of the other boys too if you prefer! It's a bit personal but a few years ago someone kissed and then groped me without my consent and now I'm too anxious to kiss anyone even when it's someone I like :( would be willing to write a cute lil hotch comfort fic where may be he goes to kiss reader and she seizes up and just hotch being so patient but also angry on her behalf

Hotch sees you, and he gets this unshakeable happiness that starts in his hands and moves its way through him. He feels young, like he could take you dancing, or send you drinks from across the bar. 

You might accept them. You’re smiling at him from around the stem of a cherry, the corners of your eyes crushed together in a dark smudge of lashes. He waits a beat before taking the stem and pulling against your lips, where it snaps. This is hilarious to you —you giggle infectiously behind your hand, turning away from him and back again, almost like you’d wanted to do something and thought better of it. 

He’s doing that all the time lately. He wants to kiss you more than anything, feel the bubble of your laughter on his lips, and taste the sweetness of your drink where it lingers. Your mouth is stained black cherry as you swallow, and touch his arm in thanks. 

Now, he thinks to himself carefully, is the time. There’s no better time to kiss you than this. You’ve said yes to the date, teased him in the car about his being the nervous one, and you’re smiling at him with that slight sparkle of excitement. He assumes it to be an invitation, and it’s his mistake. 

Hotch takes your cheek into his hand, too focused on remembering how it feels to want to kiss someone to realise the look on your face until you’re turning into his hand. Not just turning, hiding, angling your shoulder away from him, and then pulling away from his hand completely. 

Hotch thinks, oh. Thinks, fuck. Thinks he should’ve asked first, because now you’re trembling, the most minute of shakes wracking your arm where it’s still on the bar, your fingers white wrapped around your glass. He caught you off guard. He’s missed something big. 

Hotch drops his hand from your face. For a moment, there’s a raw quiet between you, like you’re trying to decide who should talk first but neither is brave enough to actually decide. 

He knows this might be wrong again, but he touches your arm, resting his fingers flat and gentle against your skin. Slowly, he rubs a line over your skin and the fine hairs on your wrist. “What’s wrong?” he asks quietly. It can’t be about him. Hotch is confident in his ability to profile emotion even if he’s messed this up, so he knows it’s not necessarily him. You’re upset. “Are you okay?” 

“Fine.” 

“I’m sorry,” he apologises without reluctance. Even if your reaction isn’t purely from his action, it is him who spurred it on. 

You touch his wrist with your pinky finger. He doesn’t know if it’s purposeful or accidental. 

“Honey, are you alright? You’re shaking.” 

You don’t talk for a while. He can almost see you putting your words together, blushed lips parting before you speak. “A few months ago, this man I’d never met kissed me, and then he grabbed me. I mean, he groped me,” —you mumble the last part, eyes steadfast on his chest— “so I don’t think you’re gonna do that to me, but I get stressed out sometimes.” 

“You’re anxious it will happen again.” 

“It wasn’t fun.” 

“No, I wouldn’t think so.” 

He cares about you beyond wanting to kiss you, and hearing someone’s hurt you makes him furious, but it also makes him sorry. He has to tamp down the urge to hug you. He reminds himself to ask. 

“Honey, can I hug you?”

“Sorry, I’m being awkward,” you say. He shakes his head. You take a half step forward. “Please.” 

Hotch is careful to hug you kindly. No squeezing or rough hands, just a hug. “I’m sorry for trying to kiss you without asking. I thought you… I read the situation wrongly.” 

“No, Hotch, I did want you to kiss me. I still do.” You curl your hand at his side. “Sorry. I just need some warning.” 

“I can tell you days in advance,” he promises. 

“You aren’t mad?” 

“Of course not. Not at you… I don’t suppose you know the man who assaulted you?” 

You pull away from him ever so slightly, bringing your gaze to his face with a similar shade of tentativeness. “Does it matter?” 

“Only if you wanted me to do something about it,” he says. “But otherwise, no, it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry either way. You deserve to be treated with dignity and respect and it’s not fair that that happened to you.” 

“Kind of heavy for a first date,” you laugh. 

To his relief, it’s a real laugh. He thinks he might’ve said the right thing, and he’s glad for it, his arm still held carefully behind your back, the lights of the bar hot against his neck. This would’ve been an unfortunate time and place to have upset you worse, and to express his regret.

“I really am sorry. Let me know if there’s something I can do.” 

You lift up on your toes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you. I’d love another drink, if that’s okay.” 

He orders you another cherry vodka sour with extra cherries, and after a warm half an hour in which he tries to prove he can be trusted to treat you gently, you fold your arm behind his back.

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You see…. He has this…. Vein, on the left side of his neck. And I would like to just live in that exact spot 🫠

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I like calm men. Men who don’t shout or break things when they’re mad. Men who tell you exactly how they feel. Men who communicate. Men who talk you in a gentle, low voice telling you what made them mad or what you did wrong, but never blame you and make you feel bad about it.

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“just five minutes.”

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Seeing in Colour Masterlist

!!! Please DM me if you’d like to join the Seeing in Colour taglist (currently closed) or the general Eddie Munson taglist, and please please please specify which taglist you'd like to be on. Thank you!!!

Chapter 1 - Seeing in Colour

In which Eddie Munson and Y/N find their soulmates

Chapter 2 - Green (The colour of Hope)

Hope -  Feeling of expectation and desire for a particular thing to happen.

Chapter 3 - Honey (The colour of Curiosity)

Curiosity - A strong desire to know or learn something.

Chapter 4 - Orange (The colour of the Determined)

Determined - Possessing or displaying resolve.

Chapter 5 - Ivory (The colour of the truthful)

Truthful - Telling or expressing the truth; honest.

Chapter 6 - Blue (The colour of the Change)

Change - Make (someone or something) different; alter or modify.

Chapter 7 - Lavender (The colour of Similarity)

Similarity - The state or fact of being similar.

Chapter 8 - Grey (The colour of Difference)

Difference - A point or way in which people or things are dissimilar.

Chapter 9 - Charcoal (The colour of Rock and Roll)

Rock and Roll - A heavy beat and simple melodies.

Chapter 10 - Cerulean (The colour of Adventure)

Adventure - An unusual and exciting or daring experience.

Chapter 11 - Scarlett (The colour of Lust)

Lust - A sensuous appetite regarded as sinful.

Chapter 12 - Onyx (The colour of Betrayal)

Betrayal - The action of betraying one's country, a group, or a person; treachery.

Chapter 13 - Tawny (The colour of the Lonely)

Lonely - Without companions; solitary.

Chapter 14 - Royal Blue (The colour of Friendship)

Friendship - The emotions or conduct of friends; the state of being friends.

Chapter 15 - Orchid (The colour of Wisdom)

Wisdom - The quality of having experience, knowledge, and good judgement; the quality of being wise.

Chapter 16 - Emerald (The colour of the Ambitious)

Ambitious - Having or showing a strong desire and determination to succeed.

Chapter 17 - Apple Green (The colour of Peace)

Peace - Freedom from disturbance; tranquillity.

Chapter 18 - Frost (The colour of New Beginnings)

New Beginnings - Starting anew.

Chapter 19 - Blush (The colour of Love)

Love - An intense feeling of deep affection.

Chapter 20 - Daffodil (The colour of a lifetime)

Lifetime - The duration of a person's life.

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You can’t wear hair ties around your wrists when you’re around Bo.

The indents and marks he sees you rubbing at once they start to constrict blood flow and you have to take them off would trigger his trauma and make his wrists throb in memory. His icy blues would zoom in on the hair ties marring your skin and his face would contort in anger, in pain, in grief for what his life should’ve been. Bo crumples before you, and it’s so simple to bring him to his knees. Literally, if you’re not careful.

He hates it, actively hates it, when you wear hair ties around your wrists, and he’ll rip them off you. Doesn’t care if his nails get you in the process. He wants them off you.

“Get these fuckin’ things off you before ya’ gimme’ a heart attack, yeah? M’not foolin’, Y/N. Off. Now.”

Re-enacting his trauma on victims is a choice, albeit not always a fully conscious one, but seeing his s/o obtain angry looking marks from something as innocent as a hair tie would do Bo in. He can’t stand it, he just can’t.

He’d rather see you dead than see you bear marks of his horrific life, for even a second.

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LOOK AT HIS FACE I CAN’T—

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cum come get y’all juice ig

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"What'd I tell you, huh? Isn't your work more real now? Ma would be proud. Yeah, she'd be real proud."

bonus:

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“why me? out of everyone you could’ve chose. ”

for vinny 👀

I can't remember which prompt list this was supposed to be from ahhh I'm sorry!

VINCENT SINCLAIR X GN READER

This one is sort of NSFW, it mentions you having sex and stuff, but there's not any sexual contact, discretion advised

Decided to use she/her for Vincent in this one, sorry if that bothers anyone

--

The heat of your climax was still thrumming through your body as you relaxed into the musty sheets of the cot. It wasn't the first time you'd had intimate contact with Vincent, but this was different than those quick, confusing touches and stolen kisses; different than writhing lazily on the couch and finishing in your pants. This had been long, hot, involved, overwhelming ... meaningful.

You closed your eyes against the pleasure still racking your body, breathing out slowly and relishing the warmth of Vincent's arms. Her breathing was ragged though she tried to control it, and she was so close you could hear her pulse. A strand of her hair kissed your face and trembled with every heartbeat.

The way she was clutching you to her chest, the way her fingertips gripped you, it almost felt like she was trying to confirm you were real. That this had actually happened. Like she was saying Don't leave, you're mine.

You certainly didn't plan on leaving. You were perfectly content, floating in the dark haze behind your eyelids and enjoying your favorite Sinclair's scent and the ticking of her pulse.

The pair of you stayed that way for a while, but soon - too soon - Vincent's warmth left you. As she shifted and slowly rose from bed, you felt her rather than saw her. It was a few more seconds before you opened your eyes to the soft candlelight.

She - she and her had come so surprisingly easy since Vincent had told you - stood facing away from you, her slightly wavy curtain of hair falling around her bare shoulders. She was entirely bare, in fact, and you studied each scar and freckle on her toned body as she approached a nearby table.

You observed with interest as she snuffed out the candles on the very corner, then opened a leather-bound book. With a quiet sigh, she scribbled something down with her left hand while the right rested, loosely curled, on the table.

What note she could be taking right after your first time having sex, you had no idea, but you couldn't help your curiosity. Slowly, you sat up in bed, still watching her.

Jonesy took that as an invitation to jump from her dog bed up onto the cot, and the jingling of her tags drew Vincent's attention. She glanced over her shoulder, acknowledge you and Jonesy, then turned back to what she was writing.

"Vincent?" you said after a moment. "Everything okay?"

She nodded but didn't look back. After a moment, she reached for the recently snuffed candle and jostled it, letting the still-hot wax run over her knuckles.

Given how tense her shoulders were, you had no choice but to take this as a sign that things weren't okay at all. You carefully slid your feet out from under Jonesy and stood, tugging your underwear on before approaching. After a moment of hesitation, you touched Vincent's shoulder.

Again, she didn't turn to look at you, but she sighed and set her pen down. Before you could get a peek at what she'd been writing, the book was closed, and she turned toward you.

"Why me?" she signed limply, like it took an incredible amount of effort to put the thought into words at all. "Out of everyone you could have chosen?"

The question stopped you in your tracks, but she was looking at you expectantly, her blue gaze as analytical as it was pleading. You stuttered before saying, "What do you mean? Bo is awful and Lester is so ... short tempered."

Vincent searched your gaze. It was clear that she wasn't convinced, but she took a breath and signed again, "Not out of everyone in Ambrose. Out of everyone. You could have anyone in the world."

You doubted that was true, but that she thought so meant more than she knew. You exhaled softly and lifted your hand, cupping the cheek of her mask. She'd kept it on the whole time - had actually stopped you from removing it - but that was okay. Whatever made her comfortable.

"I don't know how to describe it," you said at length. "Why does anyone want anything? How could I not be ... in awe of you?"

Vincent stared a moment. "How? Why?"

"You're like a snake, or a spider, or a siren. Something deadly and beautiful. And being close to you ... that's special."

A pause. "I'm not special."

"You are, though. You don't have to reject that just because your mother used to say it all the time. You don't have to pretend it's not true because it makes Bo feel like shit." You leaned in, placing a kiss to the mask's chin. "Come back to bed ... and I can show you just how special you are to me."

Vincent stared again. Then, decisively, she placed her hand in yours, letting you pull her close and lead her back to the warmth of your embrace.

"Don't leave," you mumbled, running your hands down her arms. "You're mine."

#oh god vincent sinclair she/her pronouns making me feral #so good #she/they vincent sinclair im sobbing #vincent sinclair x reader

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Roadkill

Lester x Male

He/They/Man used.

2300 words.

Slight animal gore mentioned

Lester gets a temporary co-worker.

Working for the county and picking up roadkill was the perfect job for Lester Sinclair. He only had to answer to his boss, the work was easy enough and he could help his brothers with the town. It was the perfect job, one he had done alone.

"Partner?" Lester questioned, staring at the paper his boss handed him. The small trailer was hot, the tiny fan on the desk was loud as it pushed the hot Louisana air around.

Lester's hands trembled slightly. He had come to the office, his normal routine of handing in the paperwork for the week. His boss had stopped him, inviting him into the cramped space with too many filing cabinets.

"The kid needs to learn the ropes, they all can't be naturals like you." His boss said, before going into a coughing fit. He slammed his fist onto his chest, huffing before he reached for his cigar, inhaling it. "Three weeks. Then we will send him past 45."

Lester swallowed, his mouth dry. "Ain't there somebody else?" He looked up hopefully.

"Ain't no one want it. It's yours now. Don't like it, you can find work elsewhere."

Lester gripped the paper, crumpling it into his fist before he glared at his boss. He shook his head. "Fine." He gritted out, trying to control his anger.

"Thought so. He will be here on Monday. Pick him up and drop him off here."

The words barely registered to Lester as he turned on his heel, leaving the office with a slam of the door. His anger had rose to this throat, burning it.

It was chased though, by fear. How would he explain this to Bo?

His weekend was wasted, his nerves twisted his stomach this way and that. He had never worked with someone. What would they be like? Would they ask too many questions? Would they look down on him like everyone else did?

Sunday he drove his truck back to his childhood home, his mud-caked boots stomping up the weather-worn stairs as he brought a key out, pulling open the screen door, letting it bang into his shoulder as he unlocked the door and stepped in.

"Bo?" He called out, pulling his key out and pocketing it, his fingers playing with the grooves as he shut the door behind himself. "Vinny?"

"In here!" Came the shout of his brother, as he stepped into the living room. Bo was in his recliner, his feet were up, a hole in his sock. The beer cans did not go unnoticed by Lester as he inhaled a breath, pulling the crumpled piece of paper out, and thrusting it in his older brothers direction.

He waited, Bo's scowl turned into a glare as Lester set his shoulders stiff, waiting for him to scream, to throw something.

His confusion made his nerves wrangle into a knotted mess as Bo looked up at him, then back at the paper before he crumpled it, tossing it into one of the cluttered corners.

"Bah." He scoffed out as Lester shifted on his feet.

Bo looked back up at him. "Thinking I would be pissed didn't ya?"

Lester paused, before he nodded his head vigorously.

Bo waved a hand before he polished off his beer.

"Can't control what your work does. Just don't bring 'em around here." His sharp blue eyes stared at him a moment longer before his attention went back to the tv as he screamed at the game.

Lester stumbled back out of the house, relief flooding his system as he took a breath of air, the stale scent of cigarettes and the sickly sweet smell of beer leaving his nose as he got back in his truck and left the small town full of misery.

Only when the truck's tires touched the the state-mandated black top did he let the tears fall, a huff and a hard sniff as his fingers fumbled with the radio dial, turning up the music as if it would hold the ability to tune out his feelings.

He parked his truck bright an early, as he approached the plain white trailer set up on a dirt lot. He spat off to the side as he walked, his head down. He reached the door, pulling it open and stepping in. He went down the short hallway, his work boots echoing around him before he opened the door to his boss's office, his eyes landing on the new person.

They had stood up, gazing back at him. They were a bit taller then him, but he was used to that, as he let his eyes wander over their features before resting on their outstretched hand.

He extended his own, as it slipped into the grip, the hand was warm but strong, he could see scarring on it, and on the knuckles.

He looked back up at them as they let go, his Boss eyeing them both.

"Listen and learn from Mr. Sinclair. Don't fuck it up."

Lester watch them nod before they moved, the chair screeching as they bumped into it as they moved to leave.

The radio played quieter then what Lester would have liked, but he wasn't alone to enjoy it.

His partner was taking up the passengers seat, the man's attention was to the road, the wind making the charms around his truck bang against each other.

Lester had been anxiously expecting them to ask questions, but the man was oddly quiet, and if Lester didn't think about it, he could almost forget the man was there.

His attention went back to the road, as he pulled the truck to the side, seeing a carcass in the road.

He slipped out of the truck with practiced ease, as he heard the other door slam, both men approaching the animal.

It was a big buck, it's leg was shattered, and it had a deep wound on its stomach, a pool of crimson underneath it as it laid there, still alive.

"Awh hell," Lester murmured. He glanced to the other man. "We have to put it out. It can't recover from those wounds."

He watched for the man's reaction, expecting for him to be uncomfortable, as most were. It was his own surprise when the man stepped forward, drawing a knife from his hip, he squeezed the grip before his eyes met Lester's as Lester felt a jolt to his stomach.

"What do we do?"

That was the most the man had spoken to him. His voice was an even pitch, smooth, as Lester cleared his throat.

"You don't want to knife it, takes too long and is too messy. I got a rifle in back."

Lester turned on his heel, heading for the locked box on the bench in his cab, as he brought his keys out, opening it and pulling out the weapon.

He walked back to the animal as he checked the gun.

"Me or you?" He asked casually.

"You." The man said with a slight nod.

"You shoot before?" Lester ask as he took aim, closing one of his eyes.

"Yeah. Every winter my Pa would take me out. We would hunt gators."

The man's words surrounded Lester before they settled in his stomach. A bird called, and the wind blew, before Lester squeezed the trigger.

The noise was loud, scaring the nature around them.

Lester pointed the rifle down as he looked to the man. "Alright, let's load it."

The weeks went by, as Lester learned to relax. They had started to talk more to each other, first about small things, but their conversations grew.

The music got turned up, as Lester learned that they had a soft spot for it. He had learned that his partner had siblings too. A sister and a deceased brother, killed in the war.

He had learned that the man carved wooden figures, and when Lester showed interest, he started bringing them with him.

They were driving yet again, after stopping at a small diner for lunch. That became routine too, as the man had pointed out a little roadside diner not to far from their patrol. The coffee was burnt, and the food was greasy, but they kept coming back.

The windows were down, the air blowing into the cab, the sun shining down on the road, making the day warm. Lester's gaze kept darting back to the man, to his hands nimbly carving an animal, the shavings falling to the floor. He watched the man's knuckles, the glint of the knife. His gaze went to the man's arms, the curve of his biceps, how the sun made his skin glow.

He darted his eyes to the road and back, his gaze landing on the man's neck, the bob of his throat, the edge of his jaw. The man's eyes were now his focus, as he had turned to Lester. A grin broke out over the man's face, as he held out the squirrel he had been working on.

"Here."

Lester took it from him, his eyes darting from the road to the creature as he let off the gas, his fingers moving the small animal around as he gazed at it.

He moved to hand it back, as the man shook his head, flicking his knife closed.

"Nah, keep it." His head turned away, eyes closing as he shifted his legs, putting his boots up on the dash.

Lester knew he was tired. He was working three jobs, all to support his sister and her kids, after her husband ran out on them.

Lester knew so much about this man, in such a short time.

His chest ached with something he couldn't understand as he smiled at the squirrel before he tucked it into his breast pocket, right over his heart.

It was the last day, as he pulled into the dirt lot. After the weekend his partner would be assigned to a different area.

He would be alone again, and even though he knew he should be relieved he couldn't ignore the sadness that weighed his shoulders, or the bitterness that coated his tongue.

Bo always said he got too attached to people too easily. Lester knew he was right. Abandonment issues, stemming from his childhood. He was a hick but he wasn't stupid to his own flaws.

His boots hit the dirt as he slammed his door, heading to the stairs.

"Lester."

His head turned, looking up as his name was called by a familiar voice.

He allowed himself to gaze over them, as they flicked their butt into the dirt, the trail of smoke leaving their lips. A grin was on them, making his chest hurt as they met him halfway.

The paper they handed over was read slowly, then again, then a third time.

The man before him seemed sheepish almost, as they scratched the back of their head.

"If ya don't want to, I can ride with someone else."

Lester swallowed, his breath faint as he looked at the man before him, the sun highlighting their hair and kissing their skin as he found himself breaking out into a grin.

"Now why would I get rid of my best partner?" He joked, slinging his arm over the other man's shoulders as he went on tiptoe, his smile wide and goofy.

He could see the flush of the other man's cheeks, as he turned his head, both of their faces close together.

"You mean it?" His voice was barely a whisper in the air, as Lester's gaze went down to his lips, the slight stubble surrounding them.

"Yeah." He said, frozen in the moment. He thought they would slip from his arm, step back, regain some space from him but instead they spoke, clearing their throat.

"I don't have to work tonight." Their eyes darted away then back, their throat bobbing as they huffed a sigh, their eyes on him as he blinked, his own face feeling warm. He let his arm trail off of their shoulders, but didn't move any further.

"Yeah?" He said, his question acting as a filler as he saw how nervous the man suddenly was.

"Yeah." A bob of his head, a scratch of his arm as he glanced up at him. "Thought maybe, we could get a beer afterward?"

Their voice rose like a bird catching a draft of wind, as Lester watched their eyes dart away.

"Hell yeah." Lester chirped, clapping the man's shoulder as he nodded. His hand lingered before he dropped it.

The man broke into a grin, his cheeks flushed. Lester's chest felt strange, but he matched his grin easily.

"Ya ready?" He asked, nodding to the truck.

The man nodded, his boots scuffing the dirt. The doors slammed and the vehicle roared to life, as it pulled out onto the road.

"Want to grab lunch at the usual place?" Lester asked.

"I found a better one to try out." The man said as the truck went down the empty road.

"What, you tired of their food already?" Lester teased.

"Burgers ain't supposed to swim." The man joked, his voice sounding light, mixing with the music.

Lester turned his head to look at him, a jolt going up his spine as his eyes met the other man's, his gaze as soft as the smile that was on his lips. They stood like that for a moment, before the man spoke.

"Eyes on the road, Les, 'fore you kill us both."

Lester snapped out of it, clearing his throat as he brought his gaze back to the road.

"Damn shame that would be." He muttered.

He could see the man bob his head. "Yeah, don't want to miss that beer with you."

Lester felt his face pull up into a grin as they carried on, the music surrounding them.

#absolutely crying #lester sinclair x reader

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playful biting and knuckle kisses with bo and gn reader? 🥺

yes 🥺🥺🥺

physical affection prompt: kissing knuckles & playfully biting

SFW | Word Count: 681 | Bo Sinclair x GN Reader

“Come on, that your best swing at me?”

You grinned to show it had been a playful gesture, once again ducking out of his shadow when he had tried to sneak a peck on the lips; his way of attempting to de-escalate the roughhousing you had tried to spur on. Despite huffing through his nostrils, wanting to cross his arms at you but unable to let his guard down, he wasn’t snapping at you just yet.

He was seasoned to this sort of thing. He grew up with Lester, after all.

Bo had been standing idle in the middle of the shop while you scampered around him, a bemused glower in his eyes but a smirk unable to keep from his face as you once again got your wrist caught before it could even get close to grabbing his side or touching his chest in another half-shove to try and get him to goof off.

When he had enough, he finally grabbed your shoulders in a flash of movement, being as gentle as Bo Sinclair could manage as he spun you and pulled his arm around your neck. Not close to choking, but enough to make you gasp aloud. When his other hand came up to cover your mouth, you had let your teeth meet them in a gentle squeeze of your jaw, feeling the weathered skin and the hints of his bones between your teeth for a fleeting moment. You were even surprised at what you were doing, but you met him with the same care as you didn’t even come close to breaking the skin or leaving marks.

Still, his hand jerked away with the moment he recognized the hot breath on his skin. “Hey! You just bite me!?” Bo’s brow furrowed as he craned his neck over your shoulder, looking at you with lidded eyes and an expression that tried to be tough. He was good at it normally, but not when you looked back, face flushed and eyes already taking on an apologetic gleam.

You noticed the way his hand was now securing over your collarbone, falling down from your neck to hold you against him in a more comfortable fashion. All he had wanted was for you to slow down, after all. The bitten hand had retreated to set on his hip, waiting for the answer in silence. You finally swallowed, noticing the dirty taste of whatever was under the hood of a car now sitting in your mouth as you cringed out, “Maybe your h-hand was going somewhere it shouldn’t...”

He scoffed at that, once again darting out to take the hand settled at your side. You squealed, wriggling at his touch until his arm constricted you again. Still, he was staring with a dull fondness, distant enough for his liking but still able to melt underneath your skin as he peered into your eyes, feeling your chest rise and fall under his grip. “You watchin’ me?” Bo asked, fingers intertwining with yours and making you look downwards. When you only hummed in affirmation, he shifted a little closer, the inside of his shoe brushing on the outside of yours as he lined up to stand straighter behind you. His voice fell to an even softer tone, a focused one he used when he knew you and only you would hear him.

“Here’s what you do when my hand comes up t’your mouth.” He muttered, a little sarcastic but with the slightest hint of a plea that made your form loosen against him, settling your shoulders into his warm chest. That he did allow, raising your knuckles to his lips and kissing each finger’s protruding bone, eyes shooting from your hand to your awed expression, a smirk once again trying to stay hidden as he peppered your knuckles a few times over.

You blinked at the gesture, your head falling back to set against his shoulder. He finally loosened his grip on you again, and scolded in the same soft voice, the words crawling into the shell of your ear.

“Know better next time, yeah?”

#sobbing this is so sweet #bo sinclair x reader

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cold fingers, warm hands

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: in past relationships, you've always been told you were too much when they called it quits. then you find the perfect man, and you don't want to mess that up too.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: relationship/personal insecurities, wee bit of angst if you would even call it that (talks of a breakup), swearing, suggestive language and i think that's it. pls notify me of any warnings i overlooked.

a/n: here’s a bit of a winter drabble. im in the cozy, cuddly mood & i wanted to get this out. i hope y’all enjoy! my inbox is always open for your sweet, perfect, and filthy ideas. also, the summary thing is new?? i just haven't updated my masterlist and am lazy lol. this is for all the peeps out there who have been told by their ridiculous and stupid exes that they're "too much." you're never too much. you are just the right about for someone who truly loves you.

minors dni.

masterlist

We should talk.

It was a simple text message from Bucky. Three words. Three fuckin' words that made goosebumps rise on your skin. You chewed at the green Starbucks stopper and uncrossed your legs from your comfortable position on the couch.

You've been all the right things -- you thought. Answering his text messages at an appropriate time (not within five minutes since it was received). You didn't babble on dates and made it know just a little bit of you at a time.

When you two slept together for the first time, you left in the early morning by just leaving a kiss on his lips. You didn't stay to make or enjoy breakfast. You put your own clothes back on. You didn't contact him until the next day.

You were sure you were doing everything right. Or at least doing the opposite of what your exes said was just too much.

okay.

should i come to your place?

Shit. Your nerves about his text message got to you and you didn't filter out how ridiculous it was to double-text. You also didn't filter out how inappropriate it was to invite yourself to his. You're killing a relationship that has just started.

No. I'll come to yours.

Shit, times two.

Still a bit anxious, you replied quickly, already breaking one of your rules:

when should i expect you?

Bucky had come into your life a couple of months ago. It's been good or what you thought was good. He was sweet, patient, attentive, and made sure you felt good (all around). You knew after the first date, he was the one. Then you got all in your head. It was too soon to think that. He would think you were desperate. You couldn't be more into this than he was. So you sat back a little and let the relationship be.

Yeah, you thought it was going good.

Then he sent you that text message on a Friday night, you wish you were spending in bed with him. Stop.

Just talked to Fred for bit. See you soon.

Fred. Your doorman.

Oh.

You jumped up, almost knocking over your tea. Double-checking that you didn't have any stains on your jumper, you smacked your lips at the tiny hole on your yoga pants.

But maybe changing your entire outfit would be a red flag, a little much to Bucky. The lazy and effortless wear was perfect for someone who didn't want to seem like they were trying too hard.

God, this suppression of your full self was getting hard.

You were combing the ends of your braids when there was a knock on your door. You let a little yelp escape you but swallow it down as your head to the door.

With a deep breath, you twist the doorknob and there he is.

Bucky was sporting a soft smile and a raincoat. You then took notice of the sound of rain hitting your windows and let Bucky in quickly. He shook off his boat and set them on the towel you kept folded by the door for that exact reason.

"Hi, sweetheart." He said. You got a whiff of his warm cologne and a slight citrus scent. The tip of his nose was a little red and you could tell he was a little cold. He must have walked most of the journey here because the subway stop was just across the street and there's just no way he would be this cold from that short walk.

You wanted to ask why he didn't take the train all the way to you? Why did he decide to walk? Why did he walk in the rain?

But you kept it all to yourself and just let him warm up on your couch. He made himself comfortable, grabbing the throw you kept in the living room, to toss over his legs. Meanwhile, you poured him a glass of water and offered him so hot chocolate.

He declined the latter and drink his full glass of water before speaking again.

"Maybe I should just get it out and say it, huh?" There was a small laugh on his breath.

Here it comes. The most perfect guy breaking up with you. Of course, you would mess that up. You always do.

"Are you-- do you want to break up with me?"

No, it wasn't you asking that. It was the perfect guy. Bucky Barnes. In a navy blue hoodie and sinful gray sweatpants, was asking you if you wanted to break up with him.

What?

So you said it aloud.

"What?"

"I mean," Bucky coughed," You just don't seem-- Fuck, I don't want to say the wrong thing... You just don't seem all that interested. I don't you to feel like you have to date me."

Your heartfelt like it was going to just beat out of your chest. If you could throw up in his lap, you would.

"What?" Is all you could say.

"I'm saying this wrong, aren't I?" Bucky's smile was uncomfortable and small," Are you into this? Us? Do you want to end it? Sometimes it feels like I bore you-"

"-No!" You almost screamed. Bucky's eyes widened and you were sure it wasn't from your volume but rather the fact that you didn't want to end this," I really like you, Bucky. I really, really like you." You cringed at yourself, hoping he wouldn't take that the wrong way.

He just smiled.

No, he actually grinned really big.

"Okay, okay. That's good," Bucky nibbled at his lip," But just answer this for me. Why are you so, I don't know, away from me all the time. If you want to slow things down, we can." Bucky's eyes were so innocent, so hopeful.

It's been clicking the entire conversation but to just hear Bucky say that, you knew you had to say something.

"I only know like your siblings' names and that you performed in a talent show when you were like 12," Bucky laughed," I want to get to know you. Why won't you let me get to know you?"

You were silent for a few moments before you felt a wave of tears manifest themselves. You scooted away from Bucky's outstretched hands and sniffled up.

"I've been told," You started. Deep breaths.

"I've been told I can be a lot. Crazy sometimes. I just," You shuttered, another rush of emotion coming on," I just didn't want to do that with you."

"Too much?" Bucky scooted closer to you," You could never be too much because sweetheart, I don't think I could ever get enough of you."

That made you sob. You couldn't stop Bucky's arms from wrapping around you and sinking you down into the couch. He left small kisses up and down your neck, then pressed his lips to your wet cheeks.

"Talk to me, beautiful. Talk to me."

"I can't," You don't even know how those words came out. You couldn't stop crying. Your throat burned. Your face was hot. You weren't sad. God, no.

You were relieved.

"Don't hold back on me," Bucky said," Don't hide away parts of you. I want them all. I want every single bit."

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a little known curse of being transgender is the urgent desire to change your name after watching approximately one (1) episode of a new television show and discovering a character with tgirl/boy/etc swag

#oh so true #oh god everyday

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Hi again! I’d like to request a Mark Renton x gn reader, preferably the first movie but it’s up to you! Just anxiety/depression comfort, Rent needs more good-feeling fics :) thank you!!

It's Okay To Not Be Okay | Mark Renton x GenderNeutral!Reader

Hey there! I hope this is to your liking and that perhaps it can help comfort you in your worse times, mate. <3 (Sorry for never writing in his accent, but I don't want to butcher it, rip). Hope you enjoy! :)

summary; You've spiralled and are having a panic attack. Mark is there to help you through it.

notes; TW // Panic Attacks; Anxiety and Depression; Spiralling; Self-Hatred; Abandonment Issues. Hurt/Comfort; Crying; Domestic; Fluff; Mark being a hella good BF.

As of late, your mental health issues have been really kicking your ass. You had trouble getting out of bed, which always triggered your anxiety because you really needed to get up and do something, but you just couldn’t make yourself go. It felt pointless.

You felt so heavy and tired at pretty much all times. No matter how many hours you slept, exhaustion has settled deep in your bones a good while ago. Frankly, you couldn’t remember the last time you actually felt awake, or rested. You couldn’t remember the last time you really had an appetite, or really felt something that wasn’t utter nothingness, or dread. It was a painful existence.

Mark has been out all night and morning, too, which that day just made you feel so much worse. On days like that – where he’s just been gone for too fucking long – you felt as though he doesn’t care about you after all. You were just a burden with your stupid issues anyway. Who would want that?

Self-pity certainly wouldn’t make him want to stay with you either, though.

Still, you couldn’t help but feel both resigned and incredibly anxious about how much often he seemed to stay out over night, coming back home to you less and less. It hurt. It worried you. For multiple reasons, too, as he’s been sober for a while now and you really hated the thought of being the cause for him to get back on Heroine or something. You knew how hard he tried and how much he wanted to stay clean.

Your chest felt so tight with these thoughts circling around your mind, it became hard to breathe. Looking down at your hands, you noticed them shaking. In fact, your entire body was busy trembling, as you felt sick and could barely breathe at all.

Really fucking great.

As you sat there, on your bed, leaned against the headboard, you tried to calm yourself. Every time you attempted to inhale deeply, your chest just started hurting and you coughed a little. Sickness overcame you in a rush then and you gripped your legs tightly, willing your body to stop being a dick.

When the door to your small flat opened, you flinched, your heart pounding so fast, you thought it’d jump out of your chest. Even while holding onto your thighs as tight as you could, you were just shaking all over, cold sweat running down our forehead. It was awful. You hadn’t had a panic attack like this in quite some time.

Renton came into your bedroom then. He was smiling when he opened the door, but as soon as his eyes landed on you and took in your pathetic form, it fell. You hated it. You hated to be the reason that his smile vanished. No, that wasn’t true. You weren’t the cause for that; it was your stupid anxiety. You had to force yourself to remember that.

“Baby? What’s goin’ on?” Mark asked, stepping towards your trembling self on the bed.

You looked up at him, and you could imagine the way your eyes must’ve shown the terror you felt. Rents eyes immediately softened and he sat down on the edge of your bed, putting his hands over yours on your thighs. Gently, he tried to loosen the grip you had on yourself.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” he spoke softly.

Nodding jerkily, you willed yourself to let go. He then took your hands in his, stroking his thumbs over the backs of each of your hands.

“Can I hold you in my arms?” Mark asked then, so gently and almost cautiously, that your breath stuttered a little.

He remembered that often when you were having a panic attack like this, you didn’t like being embraced. It only made you feel more trapped and constricted at times. You didn’t feel like that’d be the case now, though, so you just nodded again, your throat feeling too tight to get any words past it.

Mark climbed on the bed properly and sat down next to you, leaned against the headboard as well. He put his left arm around your shoulders and pulled you against him. When you shifted over on your side, your head rested on his chest, listening to his heart beat, as he wrapped both his arm around you. Gently, soothingly, he stroked your back and your upper arm. He was a warm, soft presence. Calming.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered brokenly.

You felt so silly for all this; so bothersome; so unworthy of his attention and help.

“What for?” he asked instead, sounding confused.

“All this. I’m just being stupid.”

“That’s not true, babe. You’ve got some illnesses. Doesn’t make you stupid. Doesn’t make this stupid. You need and deserve help. I just wish I’d been here earlier. I’m sorry for being out so much lately.”

“Where are you all the time anyway, Mark? I mean- If you’d rather spend time with your friends than here, that’s fine. I’m okay with that. I just worry, is all, since you never tell me,” you responded then, your breath hitching as anxiety really dug its claws into you then, so that you couldn’t breathe at all for a moment.

You were so scared of what he would say. You wished you had just said that he didn’t need to apologise, but since his absence was the reason you’ve been spiralling, you just couldn’t help yourself.

Renton sighed heavily, “Fuck, I’m an asshole. I didn’t mean to make you worry about us. I love you. I love bein’ with you. I’ve just been workin’ night shifts at an extra job I’ve taken on. Should’ve told you, but I didn’t want you to know.”

“Why not?” You looked at him then, sitting up a little, “I love you, too, though. Thank you. Still-“

“Well, money’s been fuckin’ tight lately, Y/N. I didn’t want you to worry about it – or feel guilty, especially. I just want you to be able to take your time, y’know? Get back on your feet with therapy and all, instead of pushin’ past your limits every day.”

You started crying.

Your eyes had filled with tears so quickly while he talked, and suddenly the dam just broke, as you sobbed violently, wrapping your arms tightly around his slim middle. Mark just held onto you, while you cried, rocking you back and forth gently and shushing you with soft-spoken sweet nothings.

Soon enough, your sobs calmed down to little hiccups, some tears still welling up and dripping down your face. Your entire body had yet to stop quivering, but the sheer panic you’ve been feeling in the past hour or so finally subsided.

“Rents, baby, I-,” you were at a loss, “Thank you,” you breathed, a soft, broken chuckle leaving your lips. “I’m sorry I thought anything else and worried about you not wanting me anymore instead, when all you’ve been doing was making sure that I can recover a little. Fuck.”

“Not your fault. I just should’ve told you and we could’ve avoided all this. You okay, though? I mean, you’re not having a panic attack over this anymore?”

“Aye.”

You sat up again, so you could be face to face with him. A soft smile sat on his face and you couldn’t help but to return it. Then you leaned forward and kissed him gently, resting your left hand on his chest, over his heart. He reciprocated the kiss tenderly, cupping the back of your head in his hand and pulling you further in.

For a couple of minutes this was all you two did – sharing tender, loving kisses, touching each other so gently, reassuringly. It calmed you down even more, assured you of his unyielding presence, his ever-present love. Even if your brain decided to be a massive prick sometimes and made you believe it wasn’t so, this was the evidence you needed and locked into a safe corner of your heart. That way, any time your thoughts turned against you, or you spiralled into a panic attack, you could remember this moment, this conversation, and those kisses.

“I love you so much, baby. It’s okay to not be okay and need help. I promise,” Rents murmured against your lips.

“I love you, too. Thank you for everything, babe.”

It would be okay, eventually. Even if it seemed so entirely bleak now, and maybe it would for a good while, you knew it wouldn’t be that way forever. As long as you had Mark by your side, you knew that everything would get at least a little better after all.

It was worth fighting for.

He was worth it.

#mark renton #tw panic attack #tw self hatred #YESSSS

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i just think gabe and charlie would have been friends, actually 😇🤝👩‍🦰

also my love to @pankracy for the gabe shirt rec, keep ‘em coming boyz

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