#and had a bath drawn up for me when i got home from work

[luveline]

hi!!! i have a request for roommate!spencer where he's injured during a case and reader show up at the hospital because she's his emergency contact but the team is really confused wondering who's this stranger fussing over spencer. hope you like it, love you!

thank you for requesting honey!! love you<3 fem!reader

“Close your eyes,” you command, voice all blown up and grand, already smiling. “Close your eyes, Spencer.” 

“No.” He squints groggily. “What are you doing?” 

“Close your eyes.” 

“No, Y/N, what are you doing?” he asks. 

You shake your spray bottle at him. He sighs a long-suffering sigh and finally admits defeat, his tired eyes shuttering closed all too easily. You rest your knee on the side of his bed and hear the metal squeaking at your added weight, your hand gentle as you cover his forehead. “You have greasy hair,” you say sympathetically. “This is gonna feel much nicer.” 

You blast him with dry shampoo, his brown hair turning white with powder. You drop the can in his lap and set about rubbing the powder into his hair until the grease is soaked up, and his hair feels less miserably lank. 

“When are they gonna let you shower again?” you ask quietly. 

You’re still touching his hair. More for him than you, you hope he feels comforted, but mostly you just wanna affirm to yourself that he’s all in one bruised piece. Your heart still aches as much as it did when you got the phone call in the first place —Spencer Reid’s next of kin? 

You suppose that’s you. 

“I don’t know.” 

You take his hair back into his current parting. “Well, let’s hope it’s soon. How are you liking the sponge baths? Are they awful?” 

“Humiliating.” 

Just outside of Spencer’s hospital room, Hotch and JJ stand together with a bag of essentials. They’d drawn to a sudden stop when they realised Spencer had company. “Who is that?” she asks. 

Hotch, used to knowing everything, frowns very deeply. He doesn’t know who you are, but from the way you’re touching Spencer’s hair and face, he should. 

JJ sounds a little put out. “She doesn’t work here.” 

“No, I don’t think so,” Hotch says. His frown lightens as you laugh and scratch Spencer’s hair back behind his ears. 

“Is it unkind of me to think he didn’t have any friends?” JJ asks. 

Hotch knows Spencer has friends. He’s summoned Spencer from chess games and fan clubs, picking him up occasionally on the way to the office on cafe sidewalks as he waved goodbye to a glasses-wearing bibliophile, often in coats too big for them or with hair in need of a trim. Spencer attracts the unconventional because he, as anybody in this line of work tends to be, is inordinary. So JJ probably is being unkind, but Hotch knows what she means. 

You look completely regular. You settle on one thigh on his bed while the other keeps you up and put your hand on his chest, chatting breezy words they can’t hear through the glass.

Spencer curls into you slowly. 

“You’ll be home soon,” you say, rubbing his shoulder, “don’t worry.” 

Hotch’s eyebrows rise of their own accord. He and JJ excuse themselves for coffee before they’re spotted, and when they return, you’re gone. “Spence, who was that girl?” JJ asks. Hotch notes the slightest line of jealousy tugging under her curiosity. 

He sounds as though he could use some more pain medication, and a good night's sleep, but he’s proud as he says, “That’s my roommate. I told you about her.” 

“Ah, your roommate,” Hotch says. 

“What’s that mean?” Spencer asks. 

“Nothing, Spencer,” Hotch says, using the young man’s first name in a rare show of affection. “That’s just an irregular word for it. I haven’t heard it in a while.” 

JJ laughs. Spencer hides his face with both hands, a smudge of lip balm on his hand shining under the stark hospital fluorescents. “I’m too tired,” he complains. 

Hotch hadn’t seen you kiss him, but he can imagine how it might have happened, how you’d leaned in for a kiss on the cheek goodbye and Spencer overwhelmed himself thinking about it. Or maybe it’s just an innocuous smudge. Maybe it’s nothing at all. 

“We live together,” Spencer mumbles. “I couldn’t afford to live by myself at first, it’s D.C.” 

“And now?” Hotch asks. He knows Spencer is on good enough money to afford an apartment by himself these days, a big one. He has no dependents. 

“Didn’t seem fair… She’s nice. She’s, like, my best friend.” 

“Don’t let Morgan hear you say that,” JJ laughs. 

Hotch isn’t sure she gets it, but he does. “Well, you can ask her to come back. We have work to do.” 

Spencer pretends he’s hesitant to pick up the phone. Your reply is an immediate beep. Hotch knows a good friend when he sees one. 

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

[targaryenluvs]

Idk if you are taking requests currently, but if you are…

Could you write a similar fic to our little dove, where Coriolanus doesn’t kill Lucy. I would’ve loved to see more of them arguing over who gets to spend time with the reader, and all three of them spending time together.

Or maybe a different ending where Lucy takes reader to pick up katniss with her. And whilst Coriolanus is in the cabin lucy convinces reader to run away with her… but Coriolanus finds both of them and takes them to the Capitol with him.

OUR LITTLE DOVE,, ALT ENDING

pairings: dark!lucy gray x fem!reader, dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader, coriolanus snow x lucy gray

summary: you reunite with your dear songbird after the games, but it seems the capitol has followed her home, and taken an interest in the two of you. but it seems lucy gray is willing to share you with a certain peacekeeper, even if you aren’t.

a/n: here’s for all who wanted a different ending! the full fic is here ( our little dove )this is just a detour for everyone who wasn’t happy with the ending! DONT READ IF YOU HAVENT READ THE FULL FIC!!!

the trek back to town had you dying. it usually didn’t take so long but with coriolanus’s arm practically glued to you, the sun beating down on your trio and your dress sticking to you? fainting seemed very fun right now.

the entire routine was rushed, food stashed, no goodbyes to your family nor friends, just lucy and coriolanus wanting you on the train asap. they’d sprung their plan of going back to the captiol on you quite abruptly once you reached town but at this point you had no hope in your body of escaping them. so you obliged and followed like a lost puppy.

being in the capitol was worse.

you were completely and utterly alone. coriolanus was busy running the country, lucy was always working and you always seemed to be stuck on your windowsill. staring out onto the streets as the world passed you by. stuck in a prison of marble and luxury.

at first you had to endure lucy and coriolanus’s never ending arguing, always over you. when you still had an inkling of freedom. “are you kidding me? you chose what she wore yesterday lucy. will you just back the fuck off?” lucy’s jaw was dropped open, “excuse me? she was my-” coriolanus’s head tilted back as he dragged his hands over his face, “oh my god how many times are you going to use that? who the hell got her here huh? who provides for all of us? sure as hell not you. now don’t make this any harder. she’s wearing the red dress.” you sat there the whole time, just waiting for someone to notice you.

it always led back to you. but apparently kidnapping you and uprooting your life wasn’t enough since after time the duo fed off of eachother, delusions enlarging. seemingly everyone was out to get you, be with you, but you were theirs. coriolanus wasn’t president long enough yet to go around killing people without raising suspicion and alert towards him and as much as people did respect him, he couldn’t exactly go around killing everyone who looked at you and lucy even if he wished to. so he settled for the next best thing. keeping you away from them, out of reach.

and here you ended up, alone.

you had everything you’d ever dreamed of yet it all meant nothing. you were a shell of your old self and the two of them knew it. but all they cared was that you were with them. whisperings of the president having two lovers were imminent, lucy gray the victor, and the other. the unknown. and you weren’t sure if they’d ever know you. if anyone knew who you were, what you looked like let alone your name. even the staff of your prison did what was necessary, nothing more nor less. food, water, changed bedsheets and drawn baths was all the interaction you had with people that weren’t corio nor lucy.

you wanted to die, anything was better than living the same day over and over. the little flickers of hope came in the form of broken promises whispered during the dark nights, barely heard over the heaving breaths originating from yourself and the other two. promises of people, of the sun and temporary escape from here. but you’d learnt not to believe them.

“sweetheart, it’s not good for you to sit there all day. come, eat.” coriolanus asked demanded from the doorway of your library. the book at your feet long forgotten. coriolanus led you to the dining room where lucy was already eating. “there you are baby. somethin’ wrong?” lucy’s eyebrows were creasing as she took you in, empty eyes, emotionless face, slumped shoulders. you were nothing like the girl from twelve.

y/n l/n. sweetheart to almost everyone. a smile on her face as she went about her day. opening up to people and allowing others to lean on her. making sure her friends were okay when she noticed the slightest shift in feelings. always the lover. the carer.

but the girl who stood in front of her was so different and it broke her heart.

but she knew if she wanted to repair you she’d have to let you go. and as the three of you cuddled together in bed, your soft breaths lulling coriolanus and herself to sleep, she knew it was worth it, as long as you were here.

how selfish! she thought, but at the end of the day.

you’re our little dove.

#hunger games x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x lucy x reader #lucy gray x fem!reader #lucy gray x reader #lucy gray baird x reader #dark!lucy gray baird x reader #dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

[willowser]

thinking of coming home to katsuki after a bad day and just. the weight of his presence is so strong yet so gentle and warm that you break down at the door and he’s all panicked because what the hell. just asked why you were so quiet and suddenly there’s sobs. would fuss over you the whole night. firm in taking care of you but his love is so gentle and tender. need him.

oh anon 🥺 my dearest 🥺 you've been holding it in all the way home bc you're so uncomfy !! and stressed !! and your clothes don't feel right on your skin and your head hurts and you feel anxious and irritated and and and 🥺 and when you get home, katsuki's there, earlier than you expected him to be—which also makes you upset, bc you wanted to have something ready for dinner by the time he got home 🥺

and he just kind of. glances up at you from his phone—some email he's writing; doing work while at home like always—and says a gruff, "hey," to which you don't respond 🥺 you just frown at him in the doorway, all crumpled 🥺 bc he's not supposed to be home yet !!!!

but 🥺 he's so soft in his sweatpants and hoodie and he looks relaxed 🥺 and you're finally home and—you are glad, really, that he's here too, so that you can change into sweatpants and sit on the couch with him and be relaxed and cozy 🥺

and he's just wrapped up in what he's doing, for the moment, so he asks you, "y'comin' in or what?" without looking up, and when you're still silent, he looks up to see your face drawn down and your mouth all open and you're covering your eyes bc they burn with all your tears.

and you're right he does panic LOL full on flips his phone out of his hands, socks sliding across the hardwood as he hurries over to you.

"oi, oi," he softens his voice, but there's a practiced urgency in it, a firmness in his grip when he pulls your hands from your face. "'s'wrong, huh?" and when you don't open your eyes, he gets close, enough to bump his forehead against yours gently. "oi, look at me,"

you weakly shake your head, and you're only able to imagine how awful your makeup has smeared. all your tears have made you instantly congested, and you almost don't even want to talk lest you get too snotty.

but katsuki doesn't budge, and so you breathe enough to say,

"i just had a bad day,"

and it's so pitiful LOL but once he realizes you're not hurt or in immediate danger, he just sighs and stands back up straight, before wrapping an arm around your neck and squishing you to his chest. he takes the bag off your shoulder and sets it on the ground and helps you out of your jacket, and then he makes you sit down on the couch and drink a big glass of water LOL

and he does take care of you 🥺 makes you dinner and doesn't let you argue with him about it, lets you cuddle up to him and stays off his phone as much as he can, leaves work at work, and then he gets in your bath without you even having to ask 🥹

HE'S A SOFTIE I ADORE HIM SO TY FOR GIVING US THIS IDEA 🥹🥹🥹

#absolutely panics LOL #and has to refrain from being like 'oh thank god' when he finds out you're not hurt LOL #ofc he doesn't want you to be sad 🥺 but he sees so much shit on the daily that he *can't* fix #so i think he feels like. alright alright i got this we're fine 🥹 #i WANT HIm #✿ ask willow #✿ theme: domestic bakugou #✿ thoughts: bakugou #q

[moog-rt]

GO TO HELL

[Lucifer Morningstar x Fem!Reader]

➨ Prologue

Next: Chapter One

Premise:

You love your friends. You really do. But sometimes it needs reminding when one of them accidentally sends you to Hell.

Despite falling into the hands of Hell’s loveliest princess, finding a way back to the world of the living proves difficult as you tiptoe around its king.

Warning(s): blood, future nsfw (possibly?)(not in this chapter)

If you'd prefer to read on Ao3, here is the link:

Otherwise, enjoy!

♡ ♡ ♡

PROLOGUE

You were careful not to puncture the plastic biohazard bag as you struggled to fit it in your backpack. Your friend owed you big time for this one.

You enjoyed your job, but having to stay overtime was not the way you would typically choose to spend the free hours of your day. Unfortunately, one of your overachiever coworkers was closing as well, so you had to wait even longer than expected. She only left after you insisted on taking over her closing duties.

It took some convincing. You had to thoroughly explain how desperate you were to get out of some macho-man movie the guy you were seeing insisted on watching with you. It was a half-truth. You had no plans to spend any amount of time with him that night, but he had been heckling you for the past week about that fucking movie. Regardless, it did the trick since your coworker’s fiancé was obsessed with the same one, and she proceeded to go on a full rant about how much she loathed it.

All that matters is you successfully got her to leave, finished closing in record time, and finally got that damn biohazard bag zipped up safe in your backpack. With that, you were out the door and on your way to help your friend in their “time of need.”

Which basically translated to, “I need materials that are hard to acquire ethically, and if you love me, you’ll help.”

When you asked what on Earth they would ever need such a thing for, they told you they recently decided to dip their toes into the occult. What exactly that meant, you weren’t sure, and you didn’t want to know. You were just eager to drop off the biohazard bag and head home. You could see a nice hot bubble bath in the near future. Maybe a book and a fun little drink as a treat.

The brief walk to your car was surprisingly pleasant. You didn’t feel as though you were heading home in the middle of the night anymore as the days were growing longer. And it was that perfect temperature where you could wear a t-shirt or a sweater and still feel comfortable. Spring was at last beginning to bloom.

The sun was just about to set as you pulled up to your friend’s apartment building, which was thankfully only a short drive away from your workplace. You scaled a few floors until you got to their door. There wasn’t even a chance to knock before it swung open, and you were yanked inside by the collar of your shirt.

The room was dark save for a few dozen pillar candles that were lit around nearly the entire perimeter of the living room. The kitchen countertop was littered with all kinds of spices, some in containers, some in ominous Ziploc baggies, and most just spilled out across the faux granite. Looking closer at the floor in the center of the open room, there was a star with a circle around it drawn out in what looked to be salt or sugar. In the middle of it was a large black candle with a pile of what you assumed were the herbs from the counter surrounding it.

“Do you have it?” Devon asked as they pulled your bag from your hands. “We’re almost out of time. I got as much ready as I could, but this is the longest step.”

“I’m sorry. We? There is no we when you’re trying to sell your soul to the devil or- Look, I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’m not taking part,” you said as you helped them carefully remove the plastic bag, bringing it to the weird seance circle-thing. You dreaded the moment they opened it. Some of its contents were rather fresh, but some were a week or two old.

“Nobody is selling anybody’s soul,” your friend scoffed, tearing open the plastic after failing to undo your rather tight knot. You were not about to have that shit leaking out onto your personal belongings.

They instantly recoiled. You’ve never seen their face so shriveled up before. You wished you had your phone out to take a picture. They sat there for a moment before taking a deep breath and reaching their hand towards the bag’s opening.

You were going to gag.

“Stop! What are you doing?” you shrieked, stepping up to their side to stop them from actually dipping their fingers in. “Don’t you have gloves or something?”

“Did you bring me gloves?”

“You didn’t ask me to bring you gloves.”

“Then no, I don’t have gloves.”

“Can’t you just leave it in the bag?” you asked, shaking your head in disbelief. Sometimes you seriously questioned your taste in friends.

“No, the book says I have to use it to draw these symbols around the pentagram,” they said, sliding you the crustiest, dustiest book you had ever seen in your life. When you picked it up, you were worried it would crumble away from the way it crunched as you gripped the pages. Many of the words were blurred, including a portion of the title, which appeared to be in Latin.

You couldn’t understand it, but you remembered them saying it was something to do with summoning a demon. According to Devon, they can help you out with finances, academics, romance… You couldn’t help but imagine some horned monstrosity threatening your boss into giving you a raise or breaking into your teacher’s office to change your test scores.

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this.” You carefully handed the book back to them and walked over to their desk where you knew they kept some basic art supplies. A paint brush should work fine so long as they sanitize the living hell out of it afterwards.

You sat down beside Devon and watched them slowly dip the white bristles into the biohazard bag. The paint brush came out nearly black, as if they were painting with tar, but as it was pressed to the apartment floor, it left behind streaks of crimson. You had to lean away from the overwhelming stench of it. Iron and rot.

Devon had explained to you that they were initially going to use whatever blood they could squeeze out of a steak from the supermarket. The only problem was the ritual specifically required it be human. Obviously, that only left them with two options: Prick their own finger (though they doubted that would be enough) or murder.

That was, until they remembered what you did for work.

You landed yourself a job in a medical facility testing blood samples for all sorts of diseases. Sometimes you only had to determine the blood type or whether it would be viable for donation. Once the testing was done, the blood would be discarded.

To Devon, this meant you had unlimited access to such a valuable ingredient in their twisted little plan. It took quite a bit of convincing before you finally agreed. You were worried about the possibility of losing your job. Can you believe that?

The final symbol was drawn out, and you were wondering why you were still there. You told yourself you would be in and out. You wanted nothing to do with this. Maybe it was just morbid curiosity? Never in your life, would you have thought you’d be helping your friend with some demonic ritual.

You decided it was finally time to take your leave as Devon began chanting in Latin. That was enough fuckery for one day. God knows you want no part in whatever their little séance results in.

You were barely able to get to your feet when the lines of salt began to glow an ominous red. The floor within the pentagram started to crumble away into what looked like a void as you noticed your shirt being gently tugged in its direction. You backed away, not taking your eyes off of it.

There was a blinding flash, then the room was filled with a shrill, ear-piercing noise. It was as if a thousand souls were screaming out at once. You’re sure you yelled out in alarm, though you couldn’t hear it. Covering your ears did little to dampen the volume.

You were jerked forward suddenly as the soft pull on your shirt grew fierce. Glowing red chains manifested around your waist with matching pairs of shackles around your wrists and ankles. Your eyes followed them as they led back to the pentagram. Whatever they were attached to on the other side was a mystery.

“Devon!”

Your cry went unanswered, and you spared a glance towards your dear friend. Their eyes appeared to have rolled back in their head, still chanting mindlessly.

The chains around you grew tighter, causing you to whine in discomfort. To your horror, they continued to pull you closer to the void. You tried with all your might to fight against it, throwing your weight back, legs stiffly digging into the plastic wood flooring in front of you. It was all for naught as your socks deprived you of any traction.

You only slid closer and closer to that gaping hole.

You screamed. You fell. You clawed at whatever you could get your hands on.

Then the ground beneath you vanished, and the world went silent.

Next Chapter

#lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #Lucifer Morningstar x reader #Lucifer magne x reader #fem!reader #demon summoning #occult #study your rituals people #there’s no Lucifer this chapter #I’m so sorry #please forgive me #Lucifer coming soon

[noria-sweetie]

WALLY DARLING X READER ONESHOT - AN UNFORSEEN FRIENDSHIP

GO BACK HOME? | GO TO NEIGHBORHOOD!!

Part 1 - Part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7 - part 8 - part 9 - You

You and Wally have been friends for a while now, and life was very good!! Wally was a sweet little guy!! He was easy to care for and he helped out around the house when he could!! He was nice, caring, considerate, open minded, and very adorable!! You loved having him around. But, it wasn't always like this.

You see, you were a regular citizen, you paid your taxes, you went grocery shopping, you took care of bills, and you relaxed at home. Life was a little boring, especially when you had moved out. You weren't used to doing things on your own 24/7, so it got lonely at times, but you pushed through. But you did wish that your life had something worthwhile.

You were walking to the store one day, going to get a light snack, when you saw what looked to be a child, if not a toddler running around the back of the store. They seemed happy and safe, but they didn't have a parent with them. You worried for them, as terrible thoughts ran through your brain. Your heart out heighted your logic, and you decided to get involved.

The closer you got, the more you realized that this 'child' wasn't a child at all. They were far too properly dressed for one, sure private school and church on Sunday were a thing. But, you didn't have any private school within your area, and it was Wednesday. You continued to approach, trying to get a grasp on what it was you were seeing. They had blue hair that was up in.... a cinnamon roll like shape....? And weirdest of all were the pants and the yellow skin.

You stopped walking towards the creature, and you decided to observe it for a moment. It seemed joyous and golly, running around and playing in the rain puddles. It didn't seem dangerous. It was, in fact, childlike and very innocent. So you decided to approach it. Once close enough, you crouched down to their level. From the tone of voice, it was a male. He seemed to be giggling at something. He didn't notice you, so you decided to pick up a small stone, and you threw it.

The clacking of the rock made the little guy look around, and he saw you. He didn't seem fearful of you, but he was rather shy. He placed his hands behind his back, and he rocked on the heels and balls of his feet. You stared at him, just observing him. He seemed to be.... a toy? Like a doll of some sorts. You almost didn't want to believe it, but just from the lack of nose, the fabric looking skin? It was just confirming that he was a walking and living doll.

You nearly wanted to run away from him. The sight of him was adorable yet slightly scary, but you held strong, and you spoke to him first. You wouldn't feel right knowing that he was left out here all alone. "Hi... I'm (Y/N)... what's your name?" You asked the little guy. He stayed quiet for a moment longer before he looked up at you bashfully.

"Why, I'm Wally... Wally Darling... I'm pleased to meet you, (Y/N)" He said. You seemed almost lost in a daze. He sounded like one of those cartoon characters from the late 60s. It was trippy, but you didn't dwell on it. You then smiled brightly at him, trying to hide your emotion from him, and it seemed to work as he smiled back. He had a charming little smile.

"Well, Wally... what are you doing out here?" You asked him, looking around the area, seeing if he had an 'Owner'? He looked down, and he shrugged. "I'm lost, and I saw this puddle, so I started playing with it." He answered. You stared at him, and your heart practically melted on the spot. He really was like a child, just out here, all alone, wondering from place to place, and drawn to the littlest of things.

Your mind was made up, and you stared at him with a determined stare. "How about this, Wally... Why don't you come home with me?... This way you can have a bath, a change of clothes, and you'll be in a safe place too." You offered him. His bashfulness left almost immediately, and he beamed at you with the brightest smile you ever saw. "Home!? You'll take me home!?" He asked excitedly. You smiled down at him, and you nodded your head.

He practically vibrated where he stood, and he cheered. "HOT DOG!! I GET TO GO HOME!!" He cheered as he bounced around happily. You chuckled at his curtness. 'This is going to be so worth it.' You thought. After he calmed down, he looked at you, and he beamed. "WHEN DO WE GO HOME!?" He asked excitedly. You stood up straight, and you placed your hands on your hips. "Well, we can go home now, actually. Now that I'm looking at you better.... you're going to need a bath, Wally."

You said as you observed him. His shoes were untied and covered in dirt, his pants were covered in dirty stains along with his cardigan, and his hair had small twigs and leaves. His face was miraculously clean. He looked down at himself and he looked back up at you with a shy smile as he placed his feet together, and he held one hand behind his head, and he hid the other behind his back. "Oh yeah... I guess I am a bit dirty." He said embarrassedly.

You smiled and shook your head at him. You held your hand out for him to take, and he stared at it in confusion before he looked up at you. A sweet smile was on your face as you looked down at him. "Come on, Wally.. Let's go home." You said sweetly. His eyes seemed to gloss over before he blinked, and he beamed up at you. He grabbed your hand, and he walked with you. A cute little bounce in his step as he walked next to you. He was small, coming up to your hip if not your waist, but you strangle liked it. It was a part of his little charm.

Together, you both walked home, and from there on, your new life began, and an adventure started for you both. It's gonna be wacky and full of surprises, but it was all worth it. You and him both made a friend that day, and you both hoped it lasted forever.

GO BACK HOME? | GO TO NEIGHBORHOOD!!

#welcome home fanfiction #welcome home #welcome home arg #welcome home arg fanfiction #welcome home wally darling #welcome home arg wally darling #wally darling #wally x reader #wally darling x reader #wally x y/n #wally darling x y/n #welcome home x reader #welcome home x y/n

[padfootagain]

Old Crush

Hello ! Here is a request that was sent my way by an anon : ‘Great! So I had this idea for a Ben imagine... So you were a big fan of Ben since you saw him in the Narnia movies, and you had a crush on him for years. Now, years later you're dating him but you never told him about knowing who he was before meeting him nor about this crush you had on him/his character (does that have sense?😅) And somehow he finds out and he's mad about it because he feels betrayed that you lied and he thinks you are only dating him because of who he is. But a happy ending, please!’

Thank you for sending in a request, anon! I hope you enjoy what I’ve written for you!

I hope you all like this! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Ben Barnes x reader

Warnings: a bit of angst. Hurt/comfort. Fluffy ending. (the ask was perfect to use some interviews about Ordinary Day so… because I don’t know but whenever he speaks about being enough my heart just goes dfiejierjiejri)

Summary: Ben didn’t know that you were a fan of his already before you started dating, and when he finds out, he doesn’t like it at all. All his insecurities are suddenly brought back to life…

Word Count: 3156

Ben's Masterlist - Main Masterlist

It was a beautiful day, odds were in Ben’s favour to spend a lovely afternoon with you.

Lunch in the sun on your balcony, in your shared home, eating a tasty meal and drinking some fine wine. He glimpsed at the shining ring on your finger as the gem caught the sun and glimmered even more than usual, while he listened to you ramble about something exciting that happened at work. And it was perfect.

Perfect. Everything about this moment, about you, about the two of you… was perfect.

He wasn’t claiming that it wasn’t hard sometimes, because it was. You butted heads, you fought from time to time, you got annoyed at him and he got mad at you. He was away often and you weren’t always around. Sometimes, it was rough, but it was worth it. That was what Ben meant when ‘perfect’ popped into his mind to be written on everything around him. No matter what, he was certain you were the one. No matter what, he was certain he would fight for you. The two of you would make it work, no matter what. Because you were everything he wanted, and he was enough for you.

Him. Ben. Not Ben Barnes, not the actor, not the fame, not the money… just… him. Simple Ben who overthought everything, was too cautious sometimes, had only a vague idea of what a meme was, loved goofing around, and made a mediocre chili that he claimed was amazing. You loved him, and he knew it. He knew that if tomorrow he dropped everything and walked out of the glamour and fame you would hold his hand and give him a bright smile and ask ‘okay, where are we going, then?’ And it made it perfect. To be enough made it perfect…

A dreamy smile formed on his lips at the thought that this was going to last forever. You were signing up for a lifetime together. Endless supplies of banter, of conversations that lasted till dawn, of cuddles on the sofa, of kisses in a kitchen bathed with dawn, of hands holding on each other as if they never wanted to let go. Endless supplies of silly fights forgotten on the pillow, of eyes opening to the sight of the other sleeping, of boxes of chocolate brought home every day for a week every month, of flights caught to close the distance, of faces drawn in pixels and voices distorted by phones, of painful goodbyes before climbing in a cab.

All of it, good or bad, was about to last for the rest of your lives, together. A couple of months more to wait until you would both say yes and be each other’s for a lifetime…

Sometimes, he wondered if things would have been different if you had met under different circumstances. Instead of bumping – quite literally – into each other in this supermarket… what if you had met and started dating knowing who he was? Would he have opened up so easily then? Would he have let himself be drawn to you with such a force?

But then again, you didn’t know who he was back then. And he was thankful for it. He hadn’t had to worry about the fame, about you being earnest, about money… none of that mattered, not between the two of you.

He was just Ben with you, and it was enough. And you were just Y/N, and it was enough.

“Are you even listening at this point?”

Ben shook himself out of his dreamy state, looking away from your shimmering ring and up to your eyes again. He wanted to drown in their colour forever…

You were amused more than annoyed, head tilted to the side and a playful smile on your lips.

“You’re talking about Francis breaking the coffee machine. Again,” he answered with a cocky smile. “Of course, I’m listening, love.”

“You seemed to have zoned out for a moment,” you explained before eating the last bite of your dessert.

“Was just… kind of lost in thought, I guess. But I was listening.”

“What were you thinking about? You were smiling, it ought to be nice.”

His smile widened, something mischievous and flirtatious added to the crooked gesture.

“I was thinking about this,” he answered, nodding towards your ring. “And about all the naughty things we’ll do on our honeymoon.”

You laughed, choking on the piece of fruit you were eating. And God, did he adore that sound…

“And… what kind of thoughts these might be? Are you making plans?” you asked back, flirt lowering your voice too, and Ben couldn’t help the way his heart jumped in his chest at the sound.

“I am, actually,” he fought back, leaning a little across the table, a dangerous glint darkening his black eyes. “I have a full list, at this point… of things I’m going to do to you.”

He noticed your sharp intake of breath, and leaned back in his chair, winking at you in a seductive way, making you nervously giggle.

“Can’t wait for that, then… Can I get a preview?”

Ben let out a loud laugh, shaking his head.

“No way, I’m keeping that for later. We should relax this afternoon.”

“Sex is… relaxing…”

“No…” Ben shook his head, amused.

Instead, Ben ended up doing the dishes while you settled on the sofa and looked for something to watch on TV. You went through the channels, until Ben’s face appeared on the screen.

“Oh! Honey! You’re on TV!”

Ben chuckled, putting away the last plate before walking inside the living room to join you. Indeed, his face was on the screen; a shaven, much younger version of himself.

“Oh, it’s Narnia,” he said with a fond smile on his lips as some of his friends appeared on the screen as well.

He sat by your side on the sofa and immediately snuggled against you, rolling his eyes as you whistled when he was on the screen again, playfully catcalling him.

“My… my… look at this handsome guy, right there!” you teased, pinching his side, and Ben couldn’t help but blush.

“Not bad, huh? Is he your type?” he asked, playing along, the red reaching the tip of his ears.

He tried hard to refrain a grin, but he couldn’t.

“Definitely! He looks a little like my fiancé, you see?”

“Oh, I see…”

You both exploded with laughter, unable to keep a straight face for much longer.

“You are definitely my type,” you went on. “God… even then, I had a crush on you!”

Ben frowned, looking at you questioningly.

“What do you mean?”

He squeezed your thigh, the feeling of your body against him reassuring.

“Well… even as Caspian, I had a crush on you.”

“When?”

His frown deepened, and he couldn’t help the way his heart sped up all of a sudden. Because… you couldn’t be meaning that. You didn’t know who he was when you met…

“I mean that when I watched Narnia for the first time, I had a crush on Caspian. So… on you… kind of.”

“But when did you watch it?”

“When it came out! I went to see these movies with some friends at the time.”

You seemed puzzled by his reaction, and perhaps it was normal for you to do so. You frowned, the small crease forming across your brow. And perhaps it was but logical for you to react like that, but Ben didn’t think so. Instead, he merely stared at you, frowning hard, almost glaring, his jaw clenched tight, all of a sudden…

“What?” you asked, even more taken aback as Ben sat up, letting go of you completely.

You knew him before you met. You knew who he was that day, in the supermarket, and during your first date and…

You had a crush on him already? What… if you knew who he was then… had you ever been interested in him back then? That rainy afternoon when you bumped so hard into him in this supermarket he fell over?

He couldn’t control the way his heart was racing, the growing feeling that was crushing his chest more and more. This feeling, so painful, of… betrayal…

“Ben? What’s wrong, honey?”

He got up at the sound of the nickname.

Was it real? From the beginning? And why had you not told him you knew who he was? What was your plan? Were you… were you lying about the two of you?

“You’ve never told me,” he spoke at last, voice low and shaking with an anger he struggled to control.

You shrugged; and Ben hated you for it. Because everything was crumbling around him, his mind was spiralling, and you were… shrugging?

“What about it? I love these movies. Haven’t watched them in ages, though…”

“When we met… when we went on our first date, you never told me you knew who I was.”

You frowned hard, failing to understand why he seemed angry now, why his voice was so low, a rumble of upcoming thunder.

“I didn’t recognize you at first,” you admitted. “Not in the supermarket. Not before you told me your full name, and that you were an actor.”

“That was on our first date! Why didn’t you tell me then?”

But again, you shrugged, at a loss for words. And he could see it in your eyes: that you didn’t understand what was happening, why he was mad, what you had done wrong.

Ben tried to take a few deep breaths, in an attempt to slow down his pounding heart and to clear his head. But it didn’t work well…

“What does it matter, anyway?” you asked, and Ben scoffed in response, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“You should have told me…”

“Why? It was ages ago… who cares?”

“I care!” he replied, raising his voice, the announced storm finally reaching the surface, making the air heavy and filled with electricity.

“I don’t understand,” you admitted, keeping your voice low and calm, but it didn’t soothe Ben’s anger.

“I thought… You said you hadn’t watched anything I was in. You lied!”

“I didn’t lie! At the time, you had just finished working on the Punisher, and I hadn’t watched that.”

Four years… that was too long ago, he couldn’t remember the exact words that were spoken. And perhaps you were right. Perhaps you had never claimed to have never watched anything he had been in but were only unaware of the project he was working on at the time. Perhaps he had been the one distorting your words a little. But it didn’t matter. Ben was still angry, even if he might be in the wrong.

Because it meant that… how could he trust you now? How could he know that you were the one? That he he was enough?

“Did you go on a date with me because I’m an actor?”

It was your turn to be hurt, he read it in your eyes.

“What?”

“Did you accept to go on a date with me only because I’m an actor? Just for the clout?”

“How dare you!” you protested, standing up as well, hurt mingling now with anger. “Of course not! Who do you think I am?”

“I don’t know… I’m not sure to know that anymore…”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought you went on a date with me, and then became my girlfriend because you… not because of the fame, or the money or…”

“Of course, I didn’t! What’s next, you’re gonna call me a whore and claim I only slept with you for money? I don’t need your money, and I never have!”

“I didn’t say that…”

“You’d better not! Besides, let’s bring your ego down a notch, because you might be talented, but you’re not a superstar either, Ben.”

“No need to be mean.”

“You’re basically saying I’ve slept with you for money! How is that not insulting?”

But Ben was less and less convincing at hiding his hurt behind his anger. Because there were tears at the corners of his angry gaze, and a shakiness in his voice due to a tightened throat; and if he clenched his jaw and fists now, it was to hide the fear that crept within his heart.

Because if you had fantasized on this person he wasn’t… was it what you saw in him? Was it what you saw at the beginning, at least?

Because he thought that he was enough, but then again… was he? Had you fallen in love with him or with the image of him you already liked?

“What about the fantasy of it then? What about that crush on someone I’m not?” he spat, holding onto the rage to hide the fragility he longed to forget.

“What are you even talking about?”

“Was I a fantasy to you?”

“What?!”

“You heard me.”

“What do you mean ‘a fantasy’?”

“Well, I don’t know… Apparently you had a crush on me before we even met! Or, to be more precise, you had a crush on someone I am not.”

He expected you to keep your voice high, maybe to raise your voice even more. But you didn’t. Instead, he was taken aback as you visibly relaxed, as your gaze softened, as you heaved a sigh.

“Ben… what’s wrong? For real?”

“I told you what was wrong! You lied, and now… I don’t even know if this is real anymore. Us. Our whole relationship… we were supposed to get married!”

“Were?”

“I don’t know anymore.”

But he regretted these words as soon as they passed his lips. Because despite his stupid doubts, he loved you with all his heart. You were the one, he knew it.

Why was he pushing you away like this, then?

But you didn’t fall for it, didn’t follow him down this path of anger he was opening for you. Instead, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly, and he was so taken aback that he didn’t protest, nor moved away.

“I love you,” you said, your voice soothing again, warm and reassuring, your natural tone. “I love you more than anything. And this has nothing to do with your job, or with whether or not I liked Caspian years ago. I fell in love with you on our seventh date when you got us lost on our way to the beach because you have no sense of direction whatsoever.”

He rolled his eyes, but you weren’t fooled. You could feel the muscles of his back relaxing under your hands.

“I love you, Ben. You know I do. So… what is this all about?”

He shrugged, looking away so you wouldn’t see that he was holding back tears.

How could he say it? That he was terrified all over again that one day you would change your mind. That one day, you wouldn’t think as him being enough…

Because it happened before, but you didn’t really know that. It happened, over and over again. Because people expected him to be someone else, and they fell for his public image at first, for a fictional character, and then they woke up next to him and they just… disappeared. Because disappointment always drove people away.

But this time around, it was different. You were different. You made him feel so safe, so confident, so loved… if you turned up to dismiss him just like the others, Ben wasn’t certain he would be able to overcome it this time around.

But he couldn’t tell you that.

It was okay, though, he didn’t really have to. You read it in his eyes when you caught his gaze for a second before he could look away once more, you noticed it in his clenched jaw and the slight shaking of his hands, you saw it in the fear that he tried to hide still but was painted in every crinkle of his handsome face.

“There’s no need to push me away,” you spoke in the softest voice, and he felt safe all over again. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving. I’m happy with you. And I don’t care about anything but being with you. With the real you. The one waking up way too early on Sundays, and who gets lost everywhere he goes, and always has to make lists for everything, and sings all the time, and cuddles me every morning, and worries about our tickets way too much when we leave for a vacation and… You. Just you. I just want to be with you, Ben. Everything else doesn’t matter. Okay? Do you understand? I don’t need anything more, as long as I can spend my life loving you.”

You could have gone on, but Ben suddenly wrapped his arms around you as well, finally reciprocating your gesture, and he held you tightly, so tightly you could hardly breathe, but you didn’t mind.

You heard him sniffing as he buried his face into your hair, breathed deeply the sweet scent of your shampoo.

He was being ridiculous… this was ridiculous… You were right. You loved him. And he loved you… God, he loved you so damn much, it physically hurt…

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, trying to calm down, anger slowly being replaced by this sense of fragility he was desperate to avoid. “I didn’t… I’m sorry. It was pretty ridiculous, right?”

“It’s okay.”

“I… I guess I had a little… insecurity crisis for a moment.”

“Yeah, I got that. I don’t really understand why though.”

“It’s just… I’m afraid sometimes that people don’t like me as much as they like the idea they have of me. Do you understand?”

Slowly, you nodded, he felt your head moving against his cheek and shoulder.

“I see. But I don’t care about that. I love you for who you are.”

It was his time to nod.

“It’s just… I’m worried sometimes that one day you’ll realize I’m just me, nothing more. And that… I’m not… that I can’t get you more than that. More than me.”

“But you’re everything I need, Ben. You’re enough. You’re so much more than enough, actually.”

Finally, he smiled, grinned even, you felt the gesture against your skin as he pressed his lips to your temple.

“I feel very stupid. I’m sorry,” he apologized in a whisper.

“It’s alright.”

“Are you mad?”

“No, I’m not. I think you could have handled that better, but it’s okay. Do you still want to watch a movie with me?”

He chuckled, pulling away just enough to gently hold your face in both his hands, and kiss you for a rather long time. If any trace of anger had remained in your heart, it was fully gone after this loving gesture.

He offered you a grateful smile when you finally opened your eyes again.

“I will always want to watch movies with you, my love. Even when I act like an idiot.”

***************************************

Taglist: @reg-arcturus-black @wolfmoonmusic

#ben barnes #ben barnes x you #ben barnes x reader #ben barnes x y/n #ben barnes fanfiction #ben barnes fanfic #ben barnes oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #writing

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 38

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible. 

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

I made myself paranoid all day. At work I avoided going down the long hallway to the isolated bathroom for as long as I could. I had been in that bathroom more times than I could count without a thought. My coworkers were right there. There was no chance this mysterious lady killer was in our building. Still, I felt anxious, peed quickly and hurried out there.

The same thing happened on the ride home and the stop for gas. I wanted to get out of there. I felt like death was a dark hanging cloud over the area and I just needed to go. My parents practically begged me to come home, but I assured them that a “girl’s weekend” away was the best thing for me. I didn’t know when I planned to tell them about my much-older boyfriend - who happened to be my professor. I was planning on leaving that detail out.

My eyes hit the rearview mirror as I cruised around. I was tempted to swing through the Dunkin Donuts drive through for a quick pick-me-up, but my nerves even talked me out of that. I couldn’t stop thinking about Trevor and his odd behavior as of late.

Could it be him? Was he actually sneaking up behind me the night he got into it with Dr. Miller on the sidewalk? Would he ever be crazy enough to follow me up this way?

I was suddenly thankful I had put my social media on private. At least there was a digital barrier, not that that would help me in the physical world. When I was certain no one had followed me home from work, I made the turn up the driveway to Dr. Miller’s mansion. I still couldn’t think of it as ours. I probably never would, even if I was lucky enough to marry him one day.

When I got there, the gate was open and I could see him loading up some luggage into the back of the pickup truck. He gave a wave and after parking I greeted him with a quick hug and a kiss.

“You okay?” He asked me, putting a hand on my cheek.

I nodded. “This just feels surreal.” I sighed, “I’m glad we’re getting out of here for a few days. “I need a break from the gloom and doom and the death.”

Dr. Miller nodded and pulled me in for a hug, kissing my forehead. “Now will you consider dropping Dr. Stevenson’s class? I don’t want you on campus.”

“I’m paranoid everywhere,” I admitted, glancing up at him. I shook my head with a little laugh, “I was nervous going down the hall to the bathroom at work today after they told me about the third body.”

“I get it. It shakes you up. If it didn’t there’d be something wrong.”

I looked up into his eyes and we shared another peck of a kiss. My eyes stayed locked on his as I stared up at him.

“What?” he asked.

I gave a half-smile. “Nothing. I’m just thankful I have you.”

Dr. Miller smiled back, “Let’s get the last couple things and we’ll hit the road.” He grinned and tugged on my sleeve, “Don’t forget your bathing suit.”

The ride to the resort gave me time to decompress. With each half-hour that passed, I felt the weights of Woodbridge falling off my shoulders. We alternated taking turns listening to songs we chose, talked about anything except for the murders and even played a silly game from passing cars’ license plates at the tail end of the trip.

And then, by nightfall, the gorgeous, illuminated snow slopes came into view as we made our way through the final stretch of the Vermont countryside. It was even gently snowing as we pulled onto the grounds of the resort. Another perfect winter wonderland.

“I wish I knew how to ski,” I said with a laugh, “This looks awesome.”

Dr. Miller, linked his hand with mine as we cruised down the long, bumpy driveway. “Well, there’s always time to learn. I think there’s a hill for snow tubing if you’re up for it.”

“No way.” I knew my face perked up like a small child at the thought of tubing down a hill.

“Way.” He chuckled at my reaction.

We found a parking spot and made our way to check in.

“I wonder who’s here yet from the wedding party,” Dr. Miller said aloud. We approached the front desk of the on-site hotel. “Here for the Brennan-Miller wedding,” he told the woman behind the counter.

“Ahh, yes.” She grinned to herself and glanced up at him. “What’s the name?”

“Joel Miller.” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet, handing her a card to put on file for the room.

After punching in the information to the computer and retrieving a pair of key cards, she looked back at us with a smile. “You’re on the top floor, room 522. Pool is on floor one. Gyms are on every even numbered room. Continental breakfast runs from 6-10 every morning.”

“Great,” Dr. Miller said with a nod. “Thank you. Have any of the other wedding guests checked in?”

“I can’t really tell you that,” she said, but whispered, “A few of the rooms have already been claimed but I can’t tell you who.”

He chuckled when she winked. “Thanks so much.”

“Enjoy your stay.”

I gave a friendly goodbye wave and made our way with our luggage toward a visible elevator. When we got inside and the doors closed, I glanced over at Dr. MIller.

“You know what being in this elevator alone with you makes me think of?” I wiggled my eyebrows at him, and he took the hint, giving in to a laugh.

“I know what you’re going to say.” Dr. Miller pulled me for a playful kiss.

“You had me wrapped around your finger that first time I had a drink with you.”

“I probably shouldn’t have said what I said, “ he told me, still with a sly grin.

“Yes, you should have.”

Our lips met again and we kissed until the little bell rang and the doors swung open at floor five. We both read the little golden plate on the wall across, tell us with numbers and directional arrows which way to go for room 522. 

Each window along the way gave a snapshot view of the slopes, where skiers and snowboarders still whipped around in the dark under the display of bright lights. It was a cool, new atmosphere that I wasn’t at all used to - but would be happy to embrace.

At 522, Dr. Miller placed the key card up to the slot and a blinking green light let us know we could enter.

“Here we go.” He glanced over his shoulder at me with a wink and I trailed him inside. 

Just as I had suspected, the room was another little slice of heaven. King sized bed, small kitchen, small hot tub on an enclosed balcony. When I walked into the bathroom I called him in. 

“This shower has like four shower heads,” I exclaimed, “And two more down by your legs.”

“Well, I know what our first activity should be.” Dr. Miller huffed a laugh and gripped his tongue between his teeth.

“We haven’t tackled that one yet.” I wrapped my arms around him and we indulging in making out for a moment. “I really could use a shower.”

“Well, let’s not waste any time.” Dr. Miller unzipped my jacket and then reached into the pocket of his when his phone buzzed. He read the text aloud, “Meet for drinks in the lodge at 8?”

“Carol?” I asked him.

He nodded. “It’s seven-fifteen now.”

“Plenty of time.” I grinned and unzipped his jacket now. In a jokingly sexy manner I slowly took off mine to reveal the striped sweater I still had on from work.

Dr. Miller laughed out loud and did the same, giving another wink for good measure.

I then tiptoed toward the shower and cranked the lever, almost immediately sending a pool of steam into the small cubicle when I shut the door.

I proceeded to strip down in front of him, flicking my lacy thong toward him with my toes and he hummed a, “Mmm,” of approval.

“I see you’re in a lighter mood,” he pointed out the obvious, still grinning as he removed his jacket and tossed it out the door onto the floor.

“I know a way to make it even better.” I opened the door to the shower and the pitter patter of the water grew louder.

When he joined me inside, the stress of real life all but disappeared. Dr. Miller was the perfect medicine for that. A getaway with him was just icing on the cake.

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandijo17 @shotgun-shelby @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @macaroni676 @acciowolfstar1 @smolbeanzzz @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @bandluvr97

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#joel miller x y/n #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x oc #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x f!oc #joel miller x fem reader #joel miller x original character #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro x reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x fem reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x oc #pedro pascal x ofc #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal gif #joel miller gif #tlou fanfiction #professor joel

[vampyrsm]

⚸ 'Save Your Tears.'

⚸ Synopsis - The End is never truly the End.

⚸ Pairing - Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

⚸ Warnings - MDNI. Reader referred to as a woman. Domestic violence (not between Bakugou & Reader), no quirks, non-canon au, heavy angst, angst with comfort, murder, descriptions of wounds, blood, tending to wounds, alcohol consumption, discussions of grief & death, questioning of morals.

⚸ Word Count - 8.5k

⚸ Author's Note - Not 100% beta read, I apologise for some spelling mistakes. I wrote most of this at 1am & extremely tired. I'm also not going to tag the things that are huge plot spoilers, but everything that may be triggering/needs the proper content warnings has been included above.

I know I'm not giving much away but I really want you to read this for yourself and have your own thoughts on this. Please enjoy and don't forget to tell me what you think! Also posted on AO3.

It was loud here. It was always loud in this house. You never knew peace and quiet, never had the chance to relax. It was foolish to believe this man—this monster could ever know what love is. He was terrifying once the door closed and the curtains were drawn, he was no longer the cheerful smile and caring boyfriend but rather he turned into the volatile, malicious man who was currently digging the heel of his boot into the white wooden door separating the both of you. 

It wasn’t meant to go like this. A gentle disagreement that spiralled out of control the second you got home. You were just out for dinner with friends, or rather, his friends. You never saw your friends anymore, he said they weren’t trustworthy and you believed him. You had said you didn’t want to go for more drinks after dinner, that you felt sick from the food — not a total lie, but also not entirely false. You did feel sick and you didn’t want to go for drinks, not because of the food but because when your boyfriend had a few drinks in him … consent didn’t matter to him after that. 

Of course, he had to keep up appearances. Gently kissing your knuckles, feeling the temperature of your forehead and cheek, all to live up to the image of being such a good boyfriend. But you knew it was a ruse, a warning for what was to come. You weren’t meant to disagree with him, you were meant to always say yes and follow him everywhere.

You were right, as usual, as soon as the door to the house was closed it was like being bathed in the icy waters of the Antarctic. Your blood was frozen solid, and the air felt charged. You could feel his glare through the back of your head, this wasn’t going to end well for you. At first, he was slow in his approach, methodical with his steps so as to not spook you too quickly and you’re ashamed to say it worked. 

His hand was always quick, grabbing at the nape of your neck to slam your head first into the old oak door frame. There was a sickening crunch, your nose felt like it had been stuffed with tissue paper and smashed to pieces with a sledgehammer. His words were violent and angry, they always were. Filled with enough curse words to make a sailor blush, he never held back. 

He screamed at you, “How dare you fucking embarrass me in front of our friends?!” but you didn’t understand how it was embarrassing. You simply didn’t want to go drinking, you didn’t want to end up hurt and yet here you were. Nursing your broken nose and staring at the way the blood dripped in thick droplets onto the pristine white carpet. You picked this carpet out, it was the one thing you were allowed to do when he forced you into the new home for the both of you—your new prison.

It was a flash after that, a flurry of punches and kicks until you had managed to slip under his arm when he was winding up for something that would definitely have you unconscious and vulnerable to him. You should’ve made a dash for the door but something in your mind told you that he probably locked the door already, he always knew to cut off your escape routes before he did any real damage. 

So the next best bet was his study, it was right next to the open plan kitchen and living room — a place where he could keep an eye on you whilst working. The door had a lock on the inside to keep you out but tonight, it’d be used against him. He wasn’t happy about that, of course, and you could see the anger on his face even through the frosted glass window on the door. 

The window behind you was your best next chance of escape, and the sound of his boot kicking into the door was enough to spring you into action. You scamper across the wooden floor, fumbling in the dark for the latch. The windows of the house were old, they were the ones that slid upwards and the latches always got caught. It resisted on the first two tugs but it seemed at least lady luck was on your side tonight as the window creaked before sliding up and up—

“No you fucking don’t.”

A hand in the hair on the back of your head has you yelping, the pain in your head only gets stronger when he starts to drag you backwards on the floor by your hair. Your palms graze through the broken shards of glass, and you get a glimpse of the door that had protected you for a mere moment to see he had shattered the glass window to get to the lock. 

He shoves you hard onto the floor, your head rattling from the sudden pressure before he’s straddling your stomach. Both his legs hold you in place for him to do whatever he deems good enough to be your punishment for not only embarrassing him but daring to run away from him. His fists are lethal, punches that could make even a grown man cry from the force behind them. 

They’re laid on thick and fast against your face, your cheeks when your head turns, his fingers wrap around your throat when punching simply isn’t enough. You have nowhere to look but his face, he looks calm despite what he’s doing. His eyes are lowered to meet yours, his lips set in a fine line whilst his fingers squeeze and squeeze.

Your fingers grasp uselessly at the floor next to you, trying to grab anything — something to leverage yourself on to throw his weight off, but instead, something slices your fingertips. Glass. You feel along it frantically as your vision starts to blur and darken, it feels like your head is full of water and your lips ache from the pressure he’s putting against your windpipe. 

It’s quick. The way his face morphs into one of shock and then agony, the spray of blood is quicker though. It shoots out of his neck like a fountain, your hand still holding the glass in its place deep inside his neck. He jerks back, just as you withdraw the shard of glass and it causes the gash to widen. The glass slices effortlessly down and around the front of his throat, dousing you in the sticky red that turns your once pristine dress into a deep crimson. 

His blood is warm, and it’s all you can focus on when he falls to the side still clutching his throat in his final moments.

You had to get out of here. You had to leave. It would only look like you did it when someone inevitably calls the police for all the yelling and screaming. Your feet were wobbly beneath you when you finally got them under you — just what had you done? You killed someone, you killed your boyfriend. It was self-defence but you still did it, you could’ve stabbed him anywhere non-fatal but you didn’t. You wanted him dead, you wanted him to leave you alone forever. 

The cold night air sticks to the blood sprayed across your face and body, making it grow tacky where it was the thickest. The street is empty save for the cars that had been parked there all night, you could take his car but they’d only trace it, trace you. No, you couldn’t take his car. 

So you run.

You run until your calves ache, until your lungs burn with each heavy air intake. You run until the blood on your skin is dried and cracked, finding a home in your pores. Everything hurts to the point where you feel nothing at all. Your mind spins and it’s nauseating. With each aching breath you take, it becomes harder and harder to breathe. The ache in your throat makes the bruises that had already started to form make their presence known, you can feel the ghost of his fingers squeezing and squeezing until you can’t breathe—... you can’t breathe.

A pair of hands grasp the tops of your upper arms, holding you in place when you scream and squirm to get away–to get away from him.

“Hey!” A voice calls through the fog of your mind, sharp and deep. Those same hands are warm on your skin, they hold you so differently from how you were used to. They were soft, uncertain and yet they weren’t letting go. Reassuring.  “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

That same fog slowly clears from your eyes with each slow blink, until finally, you can see the person before you. It’s hard to see them in the dim light of the overhead streetlight but you can see the worry in the ruby red of his eyes. An odd colour for eyes, you thought absentmindedly, but they were so captivating to stare into. The yellow hue of the light gives the blonde hair on his head an ethereal glow, like a halo. 

Another shake to your shoulders as you once again meet his eyes, and you can see him processing all the bruises and broken skin on your face. The bruises around your throat are barely visible beneath the blood caked into your skin, and still, he doesn’t shy away when he asks again if you’re okay. “Is this your blood?”

“..No.” An answer that would have any sane person running away or perhaps even calling the police, but instead the man just nods as if he understands. 

“Alright, let’s get you back to–”

“No!” The man’s eyes widen at your sudden raise in volume, but he doesn’t back down nor does he show if he’s uneasy. “Please. I can’t–...I can’t go back.” 

The stranger stares back at you, the silence stretching between you both until a shrill siren makes you jump in your skin. He glances over his own shoulder to see a multitude of police cars and an ambulance speeding down a nearby street until they disappear from view. 

“Please.” You whisper this time, and the man nods at you. He rolls his shoulders, shucking the thick green parka off of his shoulders until he drops it over yours. It’s warm and has the faintest smell of coffee and caramel. It’s comforting, it smells like home – your real home, back with your mother who tried her hardest to protect you from the harshness of the world. You wonder how she’d feel today knowing how things turned out for you. Maybe you can tell her one day.

“My place isn’t too far from here, I guess you wanna get cleaned up?” His hands linger on the collar of the coat, holding it in place so that the fuzz of the fur brushes against your battered and bruised cheeks. He waits until you nod before dropping his hands, taking a few steps backwards and you follow without thinking. Always the follower. 

The walk isn’t long, but the ache in your thighs makes it seem longer. Every step after the last is tiring, and you know you’re lagging behind but the man says nothing. If anything he slows his natural gait to walk by your side, even offering the crook of his arm when you stumble over your own feet. Whilst your body slows with fatigue, your mind runs at a mile a minute. You know it won’t take long for them to figure out what happened, you were the only person who lived in that house with him, and you were missing from the scene of the crime. 

The apartment complex the stranger lives in is small, probably only housing two or three different households. Wordlessly you follow him along the gravel path, the small garden lights bathe you in a white light that feels like you’re under inspection. Every speck of blood practically shimmers in the light, exposing you to the world for your transgressions. Yet there is no one to judge you for your sins, no one who screams in fear at the sight of your battered and bloodied face – no one to ask what had happened other than the blonde stranger who leads you into his apartment.

It’s nice inside, cosy yet also empty at the same time. How was this place something but also nothing at the same time? It had no hints of being lived in other than the small white lily in the now darkened window-sill in a pretty white pot. Its petals even from where you stood in the doorway looked like pure snow, soft as the skin of a babe’s cheek. The ambient light of the warm amber lamps gives it a soft glow, and you yearn to stroke the tips of your fingers against its petals. 

“C’mon, let’s get you clean.” The man offers, drawing your eyes away from the white lily and he has a saddened look in his eye when he meets yours. Did you genuinely look that awful? Perhaps you did, the dull ache in your nose stings when you think about it too hard and your lips feel numb. You just nod, following quietly along behind the man who had yet to offer you his name.

You watch him from behind as you traverse closer to the bathroom, his shoulders are broad and well-defined even under the black hoodie he’s wearing. His hands are buried inside the pocket of his hoodie, a relaxed and calm air around him despite leading a total stranger covered head to toe in blood that didn’t even belong to them into his bathroom. He lets you stand in the doorway quietly as he goes about setting up the bathroom ready for you to be cleaned. 

He offers you a look that invites you into the white bathroom, it’s almost blinding when he flicks on the overhead light that floods the room. You turn to look in the mirror, to assess just how much damage was truly done to you but the man’s hand wraps around your forearm. It’s enough to make you jump in your skin, your hackles rising with the ghost of your boyfriend's hands wrapping around your throat. 

“It’s best if you don’t.” His lips are set in a fine line, eyebrows furrowed – he’s serious. Was it that bad? “Don’t look, I mean, it’ll only upset you more.”

That made sense, you supposed, perhaps your mind hadn’t quite caught up with the events of the evening just yet. So you just nod your head, letting his hands move to help you up onto the counter with your back to the mirror. The blonde set the first aid kit down next to you, unboxing a few items that you know will be unpleasant when the time comes to use them. 

“‘M gonna wipe the blood away first, will make it easier for me to get to the open wounds.” 

“Why?” You ask quietly, watching how his eyebrows come together in confusion whilst wetting a washcloth in the warm water from the sink just off to your side.

“Why do I need to clean fir–”

“Why are you doing this?” It felt rude to cut him off, but the man shows no anger at how you cut him off, instead his features relax a little in understanding. 

“Why not?” He offers you a question to your own. He shrugs his shoulders alongside it. “It’d be pretty fucked up of me to ignore someone who needed help.”

You smile a little at his words before hissing at the ache in your jaw, and his eyebrows knit together again in worry. He forgoes speaking to you any further, opting instead to focus on cleaning you up. The way he strokes the washcloth along your skin is featherlight, careful of the bruising and cuts along your cheekbones and the obvious one on your nose. He strokes it along your cheeks, gently along your lips. The sink next to you is slowly turning a reddish hue each time he rinses the cloth to go back in. He finishes the cleaning with a gentle side-to-side motion along your forehead before bringing the cloth gently down to the bridge of your nose.

“I won’t sugarcoat it, this is gonna hurt a lot.” He finally speaks again, the deepness of his voice is jarring in the tense silence of the bathroom and yet it lulls you into a sense of safety. A certain element to it tells you that this man won’t harm you, and you can trust him to get you through this next part. 

“Don’t blame me if I accidentally hit you or pinch you then,” you smile a little easier than before and the man mirrors a slight grin back to you. 

“I’d like to see you try, those little hands and feet aren’t gonna do shit to me.” You snort at his words but you can’t stop the pang of guilt in your stomach. Your hands had done something; you held that piece of glass and took someone's life. You did that, just you. 

“Hey.” The man nudges your knee, ducking his head down to meet your eyes. “Sorry, shitty joke. I’m not the best with that shit–”

“It’s not you, don’t worry.” And now it’s his turn to snort, his eyes drifting back down to his hands as he opens up the antiseptic wipes. 

“Like I haven’t heard that one before.” There’s a twinkle of humour in his eye when you meet his gaze again, and it’s easy to ease back into the comfort of just the two of you being alone in this room. A sanctuary away from the harsh reality of the world that’s awaiting you just beyond the door. “Alright, hold still. G’nna hurt like a bitch.”

The second the wipe comes in contact with your skin, you jolt. It hurts a lot more than you were anticipating and you have to steel yourself for the next time he wipes away at your skin to fully clear out the wounds. He manoeuvres you with gentle fingers, gently set at your jaw to turn you to the left and right to make sure he’s gotten everything before he hooks them beneath your chin to tilt you to look up at him.

He’s absolutely gorgeous, for the lack of a better word to describe this benevolent stranger. His skin is flawless, and the red of his eyes has little flecks of brown in them. The slope of his nose is mesmerising, he was truly made in the image of beauty. It begged the question as to why his house seemed so unlived in, did he have no one to come home to? That just seemed impossible for someone as breathtaking as he was – was there something you were missing?

You hiss again when he presses a butterfly stitch down across the bridge of your nose, his own nose wrinkling at the visible discomfort he’s causing you. 

“All done, I’m gonna guess you want to get out of those.” He points at your clothes, and you look down again to see the material stuck to your skin. It’s cold, and wet, the sensation makes your skin crawl in remembrance of just what had transpired. “I’ll go get some of my stuff, you can finish cleaning yourself up right?”

“Yeah, thanks.” You offer a smile when he nods his head, he makes short work of throwing away the dirtied cloth and empty boxes before he’s gone. 

You’re left in the eerie silence of his bathroom, you can’t even hear the outside world from here. It leaves you susceptible to your mind. The dreaded thoughts that condemn you for what you had done – telling you over and over that you were going to be found. Punished. Locked away and the key thrown away. 

You didn’t want that, you didn’t want to be punished for something he had done. No one would believe you if you said it was in self-defence, if anything it looked like he was the one who was defending himself. No one was there to tell the judge and jury what really happened. You’d be found guilty with no one to save you.

It feels like you’re drowning, choking on the guilt that bubbles up in your throat. Something grabs at your throat, squeezing and squeezing until you feel a similar ache in your lips and a fuzzy feeling behind your eyes. Your hand scrambles to get whatever is off of your throat, nails catching against the raw bruised skin but it’s fruitless. You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe. You can’t–

“Hey.” 

It’s a deep intake of breath, one that has your lungs inflating until they hurt and your head tilting back to greedily take as much as possible. There’s no pressure around your throat anymore, just the feeling of your own cool fingertips pressing against the bruises that had started to blossom against abused skin. 

There’s a knock on the door, some shuffling of socks on wooden floorboards. “You okay in there? Do you need help?”

“N–No.” You clear your throat, coughing to clear the uneasiness in your throat. “Sorry, was getting undressed.”

He’s silent on the other side of the door for a moment, and you wonder if he’s figuring out if you’re lying or not. “Okay, sure. I’m gonna open the door so you can take these clothes, alright?” 

He waits for your consent to open the door, and when he does he’s true to his word. He sticks just his arm through with the pile of clothes he has to offer, you take them gratefully and just like before he’s closing the door to leave you alone. 

This time you don’t hang around to hear what your mind might have to say about your little freakout, so you start to peel off the sullied clothes from your body. You take extra care to not drag your dress against your face when you change out of it before letting it drop onto the white tiled floor with a wet plop. It looks so wrong on such pristine flooring, an imperfection; a sin.

Though you don’t allow your thoughts to drag you beneath the icy depths once again, you set a simple goal in your mind – to clean yourself and then change into new clothes. It’s easier to remove your ruined underwear when you disassociate yourself from what really happened. Your clothes were simply just wet, not dripping with blood. Your skin was just caked in mud, not cracking with blood. It was just easier to let go. 

The sponge is smooth against your skin once you run it beneath some warm water, letting the rivulets of watered-down blood slide along the smooth expanse of your chest until you’re clean. You glance at the clothes that were given to you by the man who took you in, it seems to be a basic combo of grey sweatpants and a nondescript black t-shirt that looks soft. Your fingers brush along it, feeling the fabric beneath dried fingertips before you take it to slip on over your head. 

Getting dressed was much quicker now you were clean, but you were presented with another problem; these clothes were far too big for you. They dwarfed you which had both good and bad sides to it. Good being it hid the fact you had no clean underwear beneath. Bad meaning you had to roll the waistband of the sweatpants up three times and cuff the legs to make sure they didn’t slip down.

Now all you had to do was face the man who most definitely would have a million questions for you. He had every right to know just what had happened given he was harbouring a criminal. The thought however doesn’t bring you as much dread as it should. This stranger had taken you in without any second-guessing, he had cleaned your wounds and provided you with new clothes. Perhaps he would see your side of things, maybe he’d even understand and now hand you into the police when you tell him the truth.

The bathroom door creaks when you open it, much to your dismay, your face crumpling a little at the obvious attempt to sneak out without being noticed immediately. Yet there is no voice asking you to come forward, or questioning if you need anything. In fact, it’s quiet, a silence that settles against your chest and melts into your skin. It’s comforting, and slowly it coaxes you out of the bathroom and further into the house. 

Each step you take back the way you came confirms that the man isn’t waiting for you to emerge from the bathroom. Instead, you find the living room of his apartment to be completely empty, even the kitchen from what you can see seems to be barren. It’s odd and it should worry you but it doesn’t. You focus your mind on looking around at your surroundings. It definitely confirms what you had thought when you first arrived – it looked unlived in, or just extremely clean. The sofa looks like it had never been sat on and just plucked straight from a showroom. 

Even the rug beneath your feet felt new, like it hadn’t gone through the hardships of someone dropping coffee or food on it.

It was strange, to say the least. You venture towards the bookshelves lining one wall, and there doesn’t seem to be a speck of dust on the old oak bookcase and yet the books look old. Older than you, you’d wager. Was this guy a clean freak who liked to collect old literature? You lean in to take a closer look at the titles, some of them rubbed off from years of use you presume but even the ones you read are in a different language. Latin perhaps? You can’t tell. So he was a man who could read—speak?—Latin.

Maybe you should be more scared of the man who was nowhere to be seen.

Something catches your eye on the wall next to the grand bookcase. You have to take a step back to see it in its entirety – it’s a grand oil painting and it may just be the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. You’ve seen plenty of knockoff paintings being spoken about on TV shows where they go to auction off old things they find in their attics but this screams authentic to you. Which only begs the question; just how did he manage to get such a thing like this in his house?

“Fall of the Damned.” A voice is behind you, deep and yet quiet so as to not scare you. Yet it fails as you jump out of your skin, clutching at your chest as if to stop your heart from leaping out. The man makes no move to laugh at the fact he scared you. When you look at him, he’s staring up at the grand painting with a strange look on his face. He looks almost wistful, perhaps even reminiscent.

“The original from 1620.” 

“But I thought the original was damaged. An acid attack–”

“No, that was a fake. But this is the real one.” He’s certain in the words he speaks, leaving no room to argue with the fact you were very certain that the original had been damaged in the 1950s. 

You look back at the painting, and there are certainly no markings of any damage to it. You can see the individual strokes of the paintbrushes the closer you look; it most definitely was authentic. But this thing was priceless, so many people had tried to replicate it or reproduce it in their own image but they could never match the beauty of this. The jumble of bodies tumbling from Heaven merge together the longer you look until it looks like a stream of white meeting the fiery pits of the abyss.

“How do you even have this?” You ask quietly after a spell of silence, turning back to finally meet the burning gaze of the man who towers over you.

“A friend gave it to me.” He offers, and he must see the disappointment in your eyes when he doesn’t provide the full answer. “He told me that it would suit me well.”

Perhaps it’s best to not push for a further answer, whoever he was speaking of didn’t sound like much of a friend with the way he had spat out his words. Maybe an old friend, someone who wanted to gift this as a jab at the blonde.

“Anyway. How you feelin’?” He asks you, his shoulders relaxing a little when he takes you in fully cleaned to the best of your ability. 

“Fine. Better now that I have clean clothes, thank you by the way.”

“Don’t mention it, I wouldn’t want to be stuck in bloody clothes, so.” He shrugs before sinking into the untouched sofa, his massive frame takes up a good portion of it and you can’t help but stare a little. He makes no move to speak again, instead, he leans forward to swipe the bottle of wine he must’ve placed there before he caught you staring at his artwork. 

He still does not speak when you watch him pour two glasses of red wine, the red liquid swirling and settling in the pristine glass before finally, he meets your gaze, offering up a glass for you to take. A small part of you tells you to not drink in the presence of an unknown man but you can’t find it within you to reject him, something alluring in the way his face is completely relaxed – he poses no threat to you. 

When you take the wine glass from him, he leans back into his spot on the sofa with his own glass and swirls it between fingers that seemed to have done such an action over and over. 

“So–”

“I don’t know your name.” You blurt, nerves finally bubbling up your throat in a form of a barked question that has his eyebrows raising for a second in wonder if he really hadn’t told your name thus far. You busy yourself with a sip of the dark red liquid.

“Bakugou Katsuki.” He sips his own wine as you do before continuing. “What about you? Only fair I know the name of the woman I saved.”

You supposed he had a point, and you offered him your name. He seems to roll it around in his mind for a moment, a small nod of his head seems to be all you’ll get in return. 

“So, Y/N.” Your name slips free from his tongue so easily, the rich timbre of his voice imbues your name with a sense of regality. “I won’t outright ask what you’re running from, but do I have to be worried about the police turning up to my door because I’m harbouring some axe murderer?” 

Your lips twitch downwards into a frown, and you move to settle into a spot not too far but also not too close to Bakugou. He wasn’t too far from the truth. 

“Not an axe murderer.”

Bakugou hums deep in his chest at your answer, the noise reverberating in the glass of wine as he takes another deep sip. 

“Ex?” Your face crumples involuntarily at his easy guess, the ache in your throat returns tenfold when you try to stop yourself from crying. You hadn’t really cried once, had you? It makes your face ache, your eyes sting with confessions of just what you had done and this poor man next to you had no idea.

“Dickhead probably had it comin’, I’m sure he’s out there licking his wounds like the sad fuck–”

“He’s dead.” It feels like ash on your tongue to admit it, but at the same time, it feels like a deep breath on a spring morning. It feels both refreshing and restraining at the same time; to admit to something as ghastly as the murder of someone who had treated you as less than dirt is a perplexing feeling. 

“Oh fuck,” Bakugou adjusts himself next to you a little, sitting forward so he can see your face a little clearer. “Did you do it?”

You simply nod your head, expecting Bakugou to leap up from his seat and immediately call the police. But instead, he stays still, contemplating what to say next. 

“He hurt me,” you breathe, sucking in a harsh breath like you’d been submerged under water. “He hurt me so much, I couldn’t–... I couldn’t stand it anymore. I wanted to get away, I needed to. I was scared that if I didn’t get away he’d really do it this time. He was going to kill me this time, I’m sure of it. I didn’t want to die by his hands and he got away with it–” 

There’s a warmth draped around you, a heaviness that forces you to crumple inwards on yourself when the crying really starts. A hand on your shoulder coaxes you into a clean warm shirt, your face pressed into the fabric doesn’t do much to mute your crying. That same hand rubs up and down against your arm, comforting you in a way no one had in a very long time. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his chin tucked against the top of your head when you find refuge in the safety of his neck. “You deserved so much better, I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

That’s what you wanted to hear, even if you didn’t realise it. You needed someone to acknowledge your pain, your hurt. It was hard to believe now that you deserved better with how it had all ended up, but you didn’t have it in you to argue with the man who was still gently cradling you into his body. You’re not sure how long you cry into Bakugou’s neck but eventually, the tears stop. It leaves you feeling empty, and your face tacky from the tear marks that stain your face. 

“Better?” Bakugou asks finally, clearing his throat of the emotions that were soaking into his words to the point where his voice cracked. His voice rumbled against your body, a deep resonating sound that helps ease you back from the precipice of despair and back into reality. 

You have to awkwardly peel yourself away from Bakugou, cringing at the wet patches on his shirt and the slight tinges of blood from where you had buried your face against him. “Yeah, thanks.” You have to look elsewhere, hoping he doesn’t mention how you ruined his shirt. 

Thankfully he doesn’t, a simple “Fuck it,” leaving his mouth and instead he leans forward to grab the bottle of wine taking a long swig directly from the bottle before offering it to you.

“Let’s have a toast,” you take the bottle for him slowly, confused at where he could possibly be leading with this. “A toast to a better future. One without assholes, one where you can do whatever the fuck you want and no one will give a shit.” 

A part of his small toast felt like he was directing it to himself also – like he wanted to be free of whatever shackles were chaining him to the past. But still, his toast sounded good. Something you could get behind and hope for, maybe the future does hold something better for you. So you raise the wine bottle when he raises his own glass, tapping the two together.

“A toast to a better future.” 

Bakugou watches as you drink from the wine bottle, his own lips hovering just by the edge of his own glass before he finishes it all in one go. A deep sigh, of relaxation or vexation you’re unsure, expands his chest before he relaxes back into the sofa to stare at the grand painting that looms over the both of you like a bad omen.

“Bakugou?” He only grunts in response. “Do you believe I’ll really have a better future?”

His head turns on the back of the sofa, staring over the slight fat of his cheeks to catch your own gaze. He’s quiet for a moment, a long moment that has you fidgeting in his gaze. Why was he so silent all of a sudden? Did he simply say that to make you feel better? It would make sense – perhaps that’s the only way he thought he could ease your mind when in reality you’d be spending the rest of your miserable life behind bars. 

“Yeah,” Bakugou finally replies, “I do.”

And once again, the conversation comes to a silent end. Your mind wanders for a moment, your gaze set on the small lily on the window ledge. Even from here, you could tell how well-nurtured this flower was, the petals practically glowed in the moonlight that streamed through the window and spilled out across the floor in pale beams. The man next to you didn’t seem quite like the type of person who cared for a plant so well, it was the only thing in this whole place that seemed out of place.

You venture over towards the flower, and all Bakugou does is move his legs to allow you to pass. You can feel his gaze on your back the closer you get to the flower, and now within reach, you can truly see its beauty clearly. The white pot it lays in is pristine, hand-painted from what you can tell when you lean in to take a closer look. The lily itself has the type of smell you’d expect of a flower; green and earthy, yet there’s the oddest subtle spice that lays beneath all of that. It’s baffling. 

The purity of its white petals has you envious of a plant, it is without blemishes and yet here you are; stained for all of eternity by the hands of someone who had grown greedy and cruel with your life. It aches the longer you stare at the flower, wishing you could somehow steal its light and store it away in the void that had opened up in your chest. Yet despite its purity, there is a single curled-up petal nestled into the dirt beneath. It’s browned with decay and it’s curious as to why its owner would go to such lengths to care for it but not remove the dead petal.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Bakugou says from his place now over by the door. You hadn’t even heard him get up and move but you’re thankful for the distraction from your petty envy. 

“Is that a good idea?” 

The question makes him stop midway putting his black leather jacket on. Did he not consider the fact you were most likely a wanted criminal by now? 

“You’ll be fine as long as you’re with me, now c’mon. It’s too stuffy in here and I wanna go to the park when there's no extras roaming around.”

He waits patiently by the door when you slip into your previous shoes, they weren’t nearly as bloody as the rest of your old clothing which you were thankful for. Bakugou locks the door behind you both before he extends a hand out for you to take, you look up at him to question why he’s asking to hold your hand when you stop. He has a soft red hue to his cheeks, a blush perhaps or maybe the alcohol is just settling itself beneath his skin. 

His palm is soft against your own, much larger, yes, but all the more comforting. He must be thankful for you not saying anything as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze before he’s guiding you back out the way you come. Each step is as nerve-racking as the last, this feeling that someone is waiting for you around the corner to snatch you up and lock you away. 

You’re thankful for the fact Bakugou had offered to hold your hand as he encourages you to keep pace with him, to not fall behind as he guides you out into the cold night and down the dim street towards an unknown location. There is no one you encounter on the way to the park, the streets are desolate and quiet as everyone slumbers in their beds unknowing of who is walking by.

The park itself is pitch black save for some street lamps that light the occasional park bench along the winding path that traverses from one side to the other, Bakugou must sense your hesitance to enter as he gives you another gentle squeeze. “It’s fine, no one’s here.” 

You somehow doubt that he knows that, there’s no way for him to know that the park is completely barren. There are probably some teenagers messing around late into the night against their parent's wishes, or perhaps a homeless man that seeks a quiet night's sleep on one of the many benches. 

Alas, you still follow him through the large iron gate that squeaks when you pass through before it rattles behind you with a jarringly loud noise. Despite that, no one comes out from hiding in the dark shadows and no one shouts at the two of you for being out so late. 

Now in the park, Bakugou slows his walk enough to enjoy the cool night air, to tilt his head back as he peers up at the overhanging moon and the clouds that shroud it in a gentle white blanket. He seems at peace here, like his mind can finally unwind and the alcohol in his system helps with sorting through whatever may be troubling him.

“Do you regret it?” He speaks once the two of you come to a standstill in the middle of the path, only the overhead street light illuminating the both of you. “Do you regret what you did?”

It’s a sucker punch of a question, it hurts to think about if you truly regret it or not. Your eyebrows come together in a deep frown, and you turn to face Bakugou who also does the same to you and you’re surprised to see he’s also frowning down at you. 

Although, when you think about if you did or did not regret what you did. You’re torn between two minds; part of you regrets the fact you had taken another human's life but at the same time… you ponder the question if he was really a human anymore? Did he deserve to be treated as one if he did not treat you the same? He beat you whenever you defied him or shoved you into the boiler closet when you had accidentally cut the vegetables the wrong way.

He didn’t see you as human, he lost his right to be a human the moment he laid a hand against you. 

“No.” You finally reply with the word breathed out with a small white cloud that fills the space between the both of you. Bakugou is silent as he fully takes in your choice, his nose wrinkles a little when he frowns again before he turns his head to look away from you.

“I want to show you something.”

And he’s moving before you can question just why he had frowned at your answer and changed the subject so sharply. Your steps are hurried behind his as he tugs you along, further and further down the path before he’s suddenly diverting into the thicket of trees to your left. It has a shot of fear racing through your veins, your hand squeezes tighter around his own as he continues to traverse through the unknown darkness. 

All at once the darkness fades away for a blinding bright light, and you’re forced to shield your eyes away with your spare hand and curl yourself into the arm of the man who had been pulling you through thorns and sharp branches for the best part of two minutes. 

You come to realise that Bakugou has also stopped. You peek around his jacket arm, squinting at the bright white light that slowly fades away to reveal …  a security light. Confused, you start to take in your surroundings. By the looks of things you’re in a garden, the grass is overgrown and filled with a mixture of weeds and wildflowers, some wilting and others blooming. The birdbath that you assume must’ve been the centrepiece is filled with brown water; neglected for years and unused by any birds since the owners had turned their backs on their garden.

“Where are we?” You finally ask, turning your head back up to look at Bakugou who is staring straight ahead still.

You follow his gaze, and immediately you try to jerk your hand out of his own. You try to tug and pull will all your might to escape the ever-tightening grip he has on you. How dare he! He betrayed you, he pulled you into a false sense of security so he could what?! Take you back to your home?! How did he even know where you lived anyway, how did he know and why did he do it? 

“Let go!” You all but scream, tears once again blurring your sight. “Please, let me go! I don’t want to go back!” 

“Please,” Bakugou pleads, his word sounds wet – like he’s crying as well, and the sharp intake of breath he takes is enough to confirm that perhaps he really is. “Don’t fight me, just follow me and it’ll all make sense.” 

“No!” But he’s moving again, and you’re forced to come with him. It feels like your lungs are filled with water, and your throat feels like it starts to shut the closer you get to the backdoor of your house. “Bakugou, please!” 

He isn’t listening.

“Bakugou, listen to me!” 

The door is open and the sense of dread increases tenfold.

“Katsuki!” 

Finally. He stops. But it’s far too late, you’re both past the threshold and you’re forced to stare at the red patch on the pristine white carpet that looks more cream now. His fingers slip away from yours but it’s like you’re in a trance the longer you stare at the stain that grows duller and duller the longer you stare at it, there are no shards of glass littering the floor. 

In fact, as you look around the house is completely empty. Barren. There are dust sheets over the expensive marble kitchen counters, the doors have been removed and there are no light fixtures. What? This didn’t make any sense, it was your house you’re sure of it but it felt like an empty husk.

“I don’t… I don’t understand, is this some sort of sick joke?” You whirl on your heel to stare at Bakugou whose face is crumpled in what can only be described as agony, the white of his eyes are red with unshed tears. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“Why–”

“I shouldn’t have taken you in when I found you. I was told to never do that, I was meant to lead you back here at the start! To help you find peace but I couldn’t do it. It hurt too much to see you crying and pleading with me to take you somewhere safe, I thought I could keep you safe from all of this!” His words seem so out of place on the brute of a man, his large shoulders bunch up with each heavy breath he takes to stop the tears from overflowing. 

“But you looked so happy when I said I think you would have a better future. You’d never have a better future with me, not really, you would always have that longing you feel in your chest right now. That emptiness that isn’t ever really gone until you move on.” 

“Katsuki–... What are you trying to tell me?” His words in truth scare you, nothing he’s saying makes sense and yet it does. That feeling in your chest is true, and you’ve felt it from the moment you stepped foot out of this house just hours ago. 

“You died!” He yells, a sharp intake of breath has him nearly hunching over as if he was punched. “He killed you, right there. And no one ever found you.”

“I don’t… I don’t believe you, that makes no sense. I’m right here! I can feel that I’m right here.” Your hand presses to your chest but even then, it feels cold. You can’t feel the pitter-patter of your heart beneath your fingertips. 

“I wouldn’t lie to you, I could never lie to you.” His hands are warm when they press on either side of your face, cupping your cheeks until you look into his eyes. He looks heartbroken. As if his world has collapsed in on itself and he may never see the sunrise again. Perhaps he may never get to see it again, much like you, you’re unsure just who Bakugou Katsuki really is but the way he’s holding you is undeniably intimate. 

“Do you remember when I said I truly believe that you could have a better future?” You nod in his hands, and he nods along with you. “You still can have a better future, I can give it to you.” 

His fingers dig a little into the plushness of your cheeks, clinging to you as if you may slip from between his fingers like sand and he’s unready to let go of you just yet. 

His face is so close to yours that you’re greedily breathing in the warmth of his breath, your noses brush with a slight raise of his chin. He’s asking for something; for permission, you realise, and you wonder if this is truly how it all ends. 

His lips are just as soft as you imagined, they’re undeniably warm compared to the coldness of your own. Bakugou is greedy when he kisses you, his hands clutch that much tighter until you’re forced to feel the ache in your jaw. He breathes in when he can, only to dive straight back to your lips – to bite on your bottom lip until you allow him in. But you pull away before you let him in, and he’s forced to press his forehead to your own.

You meet his longing gaze once again to ask one final question.

“Did he survive?” Your question clearly catches him off guard, his eyebrows furrow and his hands loosen for just a nanosecond. “Did he get away with killing me?”

“...Yes.” 

You expected that answer and yet it still hurts to hear, that he had gotten away with it and would most likely get away with it again and again until the hands of Death cradled him the same way Bakugou cradles you now. Something deep inside of you tells you that you can’t settle for that, you can’t let him have the last laugh nor can you let him believe that he got away with discarding you so easily.

“I can’t truly have a future as long as he’s still out there.”

Bakugou grows silent once again, the natural red hues of his eye dull as the tears dry up and his lips drop into a slight frown.  “Is that what you’re asking for?” 

“Yes. It’s my final wish.” 

And Bakugou just nods solemnly, he knows what this means for both him and yourself. It hurts him that you feel like you’d be unable to move on without this one final thing, and still, he must obey your final wish. After all, he wouldn’t be the Angel of Death if he ignored the plea of an innocent. 

… Somewhere in the city, in an empty apartment that sits lonely. A white lily wilts, one of its beautiful petals curling as the decay spreads until it falls into the dirt below. A lily that once had three petals has been reduced to two as the Angel sacrifices his own salvation in order to save yours.

#tw domestic violence #cw domestic violence #cw death #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugou x reader

[delopsia]

del pls i am DRUNK and i would like to know your interpretation of how bobby and/or rhett would take care of reader..

i was at a work party and they had bowling and free drinks so everyone who wasn't driving was kind of getting lost in the sauce and the only reason there aren't typos is because i am using auto correct

i just want bobby or rhett to take care of me :(((

I assume we're talking about how they would care for a drunk Reader t.t I apologize if I interpreted this wrong, lmao. I've been doing that a lot lately.

Bobby is one swift breeze away from wrapping you in several layers of bubble wrap. He thought he was keeping a good track of how many drinks you'd had over the night, but at some point, you got three of the same thing, and he misread it as you taking forever to finish one drink. So now here you are, drunk, on his watch, and it's got him a little frazzled. How did you slip under his radar? He was next to you this whole time!

You don't actually remember how he got you out into the car, but at some point, you find yourself sitting in the passenger seat, being fed little pieces of food from your favorite fast food joint. The privilege of choosing the size of your own bites was revoked when you choked; it's Bobby and his plastic knife against the world.

He doesn't let you out of the car until he's made his way to the other side, curling an arm around your waist and walking you to the door. Tripping and falling? Not on his watch. Absolutely not. Hell, you can't do anything by yourself. Even when you wake up in the morning, he refuses to leave you alone while he feeds you a few painkillers for your migraine.

Bobby doesn't drink these days, but he certainly remembers what it was like to wake up with a hangover. He's got the curtains drawn shut to avoid letting the sunlight worsen your headache, speaking in quiet, hushed tones. Do you want him to go get you anything? Food? A new plush? One of his blankets? How about some snuggles in bed? Whatever you want, he'll go and get it for you 🌼

Rhett is...uniquely helpful? He's had his fair share of drunk nights and vicious hangovers; it's happened so many times that he's memorized all the things that help ease the pain of waking up the next morning. To be fair, it was partially his fault that you had too many; he tends to forget that not everyone has an alcohol tolerance like he does. What you don't realize is that three drinks ago, he started filling your cup with water.

All the restaurants in Wabang close before ten, but there are plenty of gas stations with a sort of 24/7 food situation. Not the healthiest, but it's quick enough for Rhett to feel okay with leaving you in his truck while he runs inside to get you a few snacks. Gatorade, something fried, french fries, chips, and at least one kind of mini donut. It doesn't matter to him if you don't finish anything; the whole idea was to get something in your belly.

Rhett's funny in where, he's not in a huge rush to get you home and in bed. He'll take you on a slow drive around town or through the field to see the cattle to give you some time to gather your bearings before he tries helping you out of the passenger seat. It always starts with him trying to help you walk, and without fail, ends in him carrying you into the house. All it takes is for you to trip one(1) time, and you lose all walking privileges.

To be fair, he does try to get you to bathe before letting you fall aslepe, but it's entirely hit and miss. Sometimes you knock out on the couch while he's running the water, others, you nod off in the bath. Very rarely does he manage to keep you awake long enough to see the bed. You can't help it; he's muttering to you in those low, hushed tones, stroking the back of your neck, and it's just so hard to keep your eyes open any longer.

Very rarely do you wake up with anything more than a mild headache come morning. It's the cowboy effect 💐

With them together, you've practically got no hope of being left alone once your head begins to spin. Where Rhett easily notices when you get a new drink, Bob's got a better idea of when to step in. It's a little harder to trick you into drinking your water, so Rhett will do this funny thing where he'll order you something, drink half of it, and fill it with water. No, they don't know why it tastes bland all of a sudden. That must be a sign that you've had too many.

The best part of all this is when Bob gets forced into the middle seat. You're guaranteed to have the passenger seat because, in the event you get sick, you can just open the door.

Problem: Bob doesn't know how to act when he's in the middle.

His legs are awkwardly split, one on your side and one on Rhett's. Bringing them in would put them uncomfortably high up, but spreading them further would get in the way of Rhett and the pedals. His shoulders keep bumping into you, and this flimsy seat belt over his lap feels like it'll snap if Rhett hits the brakes too hard. He's so stiff that you can steal his glasses, and he won't kick up a fuss. It's free amusement, to say the least.

Coming home is practically the same. Rhett handles getting you in the bath, Bobby fusses over getting water in your system, and feeds you little pieces of your snacks. You're lucky if your feet touch the ground more than twice the entire night.

Please be prepared for dramatic re-enactments of your antics come morning.

#tw food #tw alcohol #bob floyd #rhett abbott #robert bob floyd #rhett abbott x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader x rhett abbott

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Congratulations on your milestone!

If it’s not too late, I’d like to request Spencer/Reader post prison with this lyric.

“You’re the cure, and your eyes have dug me out of my grave more times than I could ever count. You’ve always been the one to breathe me back to life - The Cure by The Movielife

Thank you.

Oh how I love post prison angst! And this was the perfect song for, thank you darling!

You’re the Cure

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary - you’ve always been the ray of light in Spencer Reid’s often dark life. But in the wake of his incarceration, can you be his cure?

CW - past drug addiction, past parental abandonment, mentions of Maeve arc, prison arc, emotionally distant Spencer, break ups, bad mental health, mentions of not eating and bathing, an almost relapse, heavy drinking, maybe one swear, tears, hopeful ending.

WC - 4.4k

Spencer Reid had never seen himself as someone who needed saving. Being forced to grow up at ten years old when his father abandoned him and his sick mother, had a way of instilling in him that when things went wrong, he could only rely on himself. 

His drug addiction only went to further perpetuate the notion that he was on his own. Even when his brain was muddled by the dilaudid he knew his team was aware of what was going on and not a single one of them ever said anything. 

So Spencer got used to fending for himself, keeping his emotional issues internalised. He loved his friends but he learnt not to count on them. As such he made a habit of keeping his cards close to his chest, never letting anyone in fully. 

Spencer Reid could only truly depend on one person and that was Spencer Reid. 

But then he met you. 

You admittedly joined the BAU at the worst possible time. Spencer was off work while he dealt with the grief of losing Maeve and he heard all about you through stories from Garcia and JJ. Both women described you as a bouncy, happy-go-lucky, ray of human sunshine. And to be perfectly honest, that filled Spencer with dread. 

It was one of the darker moments of his life and the idea of someone coming in and trying to force their light onto him was the last thing he needed. Spencer liked to deal with his trauma by wallowing in it on his own, he didn’t need other’s trying to cheer him up, to drag him out of the shadows. He wasn’t looking for someone to try and make it better, to take his pain away. 

And then you showed up and you breathed him back to life without even realising you were doing so.

From the moment he met you he had instinctively gravitated towards you, like you were magnets of opposing poles who were inherently drawn to one another. But his wounds caused by Maeve’s death were still so raw that he wasn’t in a position to open his heart up again. 

So the two of you fell into a wonderful friendship, probably the best one Spencer had ever had in his life. You were the light to his dark, the sunshine on his cloudy day. You were the first sip of coffee in the morning, the crisp pages of a new book. You were his favourite song. 

You were his cure. 

The whole team joked about the two of you, often referring to you as work husband and wife. Truthfully what you had was essentially a romantic relationship minus the intimacy. And at some point Spencer found the scars start to heal and his heart began to open up again without his realising. 

Almost two years after you joined the team, when Spencer kissed you for the first time, it was like the most natural thing in the world. 

You’d been leaving work together one night and you offered him a ride home like always but somedays Spencer enjoyed taking the metro to clear his head after particularly long days. 

He walked you to your car nonetheless and as you were saying goodbye he leant in and kissed the corner of your mouth as though it was something he did all the time. And then he kissed you again, this time directly on the lips and the strangest part of it was how it didn’t feel strange at all.

You never talked about what it meant but you didn’t need to. The next time the two of you went to the movies he slid his hands in yours as you walked towards the theatre. He spent the night with his arm protectively around your shoulders while you snuggled against him. 

And outside of your door after he walked you home, he kissed you again, this time much more passionately. You’d subsequently invited him in and the two of you finally took your relationship to a whole new level. 

You never defined your relationship per se. Somewhere over time Spencer started referring to you as his girlfriend and it was just so simple. 

Your relationship had grown and blossomed as though it was the easiest thing in the world, like you’d always meant to be together. Up until he’d met you, Spencer’s life had been full of complications but you were the least complicated thing in the world. 

You were the full stop to the end of all his paragraphs, you banished all the darkness from his life. You were the cure for everything that ailed him. 

But then he was arrested. 

Being locked in a cage for two and half months for a crime he didn’t commit brought all those demons out of the shadows that you had chased away with your light. He was sure even your sunny aura couldn’t bring him back from this. 

And after his release, he started shutting down. 

It started in small ways, ones in which you didn’t even really notice at first. Conversations became more one sided, his casual touches were few and far between. Then he started leaving for work earlier and earlier and you started getting used to waking up alone in an empty bed. 

During his stints of mandatory leave from the BAU you barely saw him and you knew that was by design. It became apparent that he was avoiding you, pushing you away along with the rest of the team. 

But you weren't the rest of the team. You were his partner, you shared a home together; a life together. You were once able to pull him out of any hell he was going through without even really trying. But this time he seemed so lost you worried he’d never find his way back to you. 

Even when he was home, mentally he was elsewhere. Perhaps he was still stuck inside a prison cell at Milburn, or maybe he was trapped in a perpetual nightmare that revolved around Cat Adams. 

You tried to comfort him, to offer him a reprieve from his dark thoughts but after so many attempts you gave up trying. There was only so much you could do and to be perfectly honest, you didn’t think there was any way of freeing him from the clutches of his monsters. 

Seven months after his release from prison, the two of you called time on your relationship. 

You moved out of his apartment and in with Penelope as a temporary measure while you found your own place. You took an indefinite leave of absence from the BAU while you worked on piecing your life back together. 

You didn’t see or speak to Spencer for several months that followed the break up. You made Penelope promise you not to tell you anything pertaining to him, it wasn’t your job to worry about him anymore. And even thought it killed her to do so, Penelope agreed to do this one thing for you. 

Spencer had allowed himself to get swallowed up in the darkness and this time even your magnificent light wasn’t enough to cure him.

***

Three months after the break up you still felt just as fragile as you did the day you moved out of his apartment. Your heart had taken a beating, it was bruised and battered and it would take a long time for it to heal, you knew that. But after three months you thought you might have made some progress. Instead you were still stuck at square one.

You’d moved out of Penelope’s last month into a tiny little studio apartment not far from Dupont Circle. You hated it if you were honest, but it was better than continuing to put Garcia out by sleeping on her couch. 

You hadn't been back to the BAU since the break up and had recently started looking for other jobs. You’d interview at the DC Field Office and were hopeful to get an offer, but it would be bitter sweet. You loved the BAU, you didn’t want to leave, but you knew you couldn’t work with Spencer again. Not with the way your heart shattered everytime you simply thought his name. 

You were trying to move on, it was all you could do. But what you didn’t realise was Spencer living in a whole new level of hell. 

***

The final nail in Spencer Reid’s coffin was when you moved out of the apartment. And what made it a harder pill to swallow was the fact it was his own fault you’d done so. 

He’d thought he’d been protecting you by bottling up his emotions and not dragging you down into the pit created by his time in prison. He thought if he didn’t talk about it, it would go away. This was one thing you couldn’t shield him from, one thing he needed to work through on his own the way he’d grown so accustomed to doing before he met you. 

But he’d pushed you too far, right out the door. And from there his life simply spiralled out of control. 

He left the BAU, just up and quit one day without any warning. He knew it was terrible timing with you taking a leave of absence but he couldn’t stop himself. He woke up one day and decided he’d had enough. 

For the months that followed he didn’t leave his apartment much at all. He wasn’t eating properly, wasn’t showering as frequently as he should and barely sleeping more than a couple of fretful hours a night. 

To be alone with himself like this for eternity would be agony. Without you there to breathe him back to life his appetite for living died. 

On one of his rare trips outside of the four walls of his tiringly lonely apartment, he brought a vial of dilaudid. He kept it in the middle of his coffee table for weeks, unopened, just as a reminder that he could take it if he wanted to. 

But thankfully it never did come to that. Instead of getting high, a particular rabbit hole he may never find his way out of, he drank. 

In actuality, it wasn’t much better and he knew that. Just because he’d never had a dependency to alcohol before didn’t mean he couldn’t develop one, clearly he was susceptible to addiction. But drinking was the only thing that helped numb the pain, aided in distancing himself from his tormented thoughts. 

Without you the demons were able to sneak closer and he lived with them among the shadows. You were always the one to shoulder the brunt of his misery but now he had to face it alone because he’d pushed you away. The lightness in your heart that he had always envied was gone, casting him forever into blackness.

He needed you here, the cure when his thoughts turned to cyanide, when he was going out of his fucking mind. 

He’d been drunk for more days straight than he could count and with each passing day the dilaudid grew more tempting. He moved it from the coffee table more often, rolling the vial around his hand, tapping his nails against it; contemplating the sweet release that would come with just one hit. 

But it never would be just one hit. 

The things he’d seen and done in prison haunted his every waking breath and seeped over into the small window of sleep he managed. He was never going to be the same after that experience, it had hardened him in a way he never realised possible. 

It had created a shell around his heart, a solid armour snugly encasing the organ in order to protect himself from his own emotions. But ultimately it hadn’t just been himself his emotions had been locked away from. 

In the seven months you stayed by his side after his release he hadn’t once been able to tell you he loved you. It only occurred to him after you walked away that he hadn’t said that to you since the morning he’d left for Mexico. 

In seven months the most physical contact the two of you had was a few occasions when you’d dared to place a kiss on his cheek. You hadn’t kissed properly, hadn’t been intimate, hadn’t even so much as held hands since before he made the decision to go to Mexico. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t think about it. There were multiple times he’d almost initiated something, almost drawn you into his body when you were laying in bed side by side yet miles apart. But he always stopped himself.

The sad fact of the matter was: Spencer didn’t trust himself to be with you anymore. But in order to survive in prison he’d had to become someone he didn’t recognise and it wasn’t so easy for him to shed that new persona. And as if to really drive that point home, when he’d had Cat pinned against the wall with his hand around her throat, he knew he would never trust himself with you again. 

The darkness was inside of him now, leaching into every pore. If he was the kind of man who could have killed Cat, or Scratch, and slept well afterwards, who’s to say where he would draw that line? 

As much as he missed you with every strangled beat of his shattered heart, keeping you away from him kept you safe. And he only ever wanted you to be safe. 

But without you, he may well meet his demise at the bottom of a bottle, or the bottom of a vial.

You were the cure. Your eyes have dug him out of his grave more times than he could ever count. You’ve always been the one to breathe him back to life. 

And so maybe it was inevitable that he called you, perhaps it was a feat in itself that he’d managed months on his own. But when he found himself on his bathroom floor, half a bottle of whiskey clouding his brain and a needle full of dilaudid in his hand, the only thing that was going to stop his relapse was you.

He didn’t expect you to answer but he prayed you would. And maybe someone was looking out for him, maybe there was some kind of higher power smiling down on him because you answered after three rings. 

“Spencer…” your voice was barely above a whisper as you spoke his name. Just those two simple syllables from your lips wrapped him in a blanket of your warmth. 

“H-hi Y/N.” His own was hoarse, run down. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken out loud and it showed. 

Tears rolled down his cheeks, heavy and thick as the hand holding the needle trembled. 

“Did you…did you want something?” Your voice held the weight of the pain he’d cause you and made even more tears fall. 

“Uh…” he stared at the needle, brushing his thumb along the plastic tube. This was so unfair of him. He couldn’t do this to you, drag you back into his mess like this. He knew if he asked you would come running in a heartbeat. But it wasn’t fair of him to ask. “It’s nothing. Forget I called.” 

“Are you sure?” Your tone was riddled in concern. 

“Y-yeah. Sure. V-very sure.” He stuttered, choking a little on his own tears. 

Before you could reply he hung up the phone before he could change his mind and beg you to come and save him from himself. He tossed the device aside and focused on the needle. He leant back against the bathroom wall, pulling his knees up to meet his chest. 

The cool tile on his bare feet was a nice repreve, but the dilaudid would be better. 

His shirt sleeve was already pushed up to his elbow, the tie was already secured around his bicep. The needle was full, all he had to do was press it into his waiting vein and all of his problems would melt away. 

But this was one grave he may never be able to dig himself out of. Once he relapsed there would be no going back, no getting sober this time. But his sobriety didn’t mean as much to him as it once had, and perhaps it was worth succumbing to his demons for a chance at peace.

***

Despite how hard he tried to sound like himself, it was easy for you to see through Spencer’s thinly veiled lie. And as much as you didn’t want to involve yourself anymore, you couldn’t help yourself. 

Taking care of Spencer Reid came as naturally to you as breathing. You didn’t intend on doing it, and most of the time he didn’t need looking after. But you did it anyway in small, every day ways. 

You did it in the way you made him coffee every morning before work. You did it in the way you ran your fingers through his hair after a stressful day. You did it in the way you grasped his hand when he needed something to ground him, when you offered him a soft smile of encouragement when he needed it. 

He’d always called you his cure, as though you were the antidote to all the horrors in the world. He’d told you that your smile was the sweetest medicine, that your mere presence in his life was therapeutic. 

So if there was any way you could help him, even after he’d pushed you away and caused you to leave, you would find it and you would do it. Which was why after he hung up on you, you were quickly jumping in your car and driving across town to the apartment you used to reside in. 

The door wasn’t just unlocked but it was open a crack. Immediately your heart started to race and you were so glad you hadn’t officially quit the BAU yet and you were still in possession of your firearm. 

Your hand shook as you pulled the weapon from your holster, nudging the door further open with your shoulder. You made quick work of taking in the room. It looked to be ransacked, like someone had broken in and turned the place upside down in search of something. 

You held your breath as you silently started across the room, manoeuvring in and out of piles of debris left behind in someone's wake. You headed towards the closed bedroom door, gun pointing right ahead of you. You focused your hearing but thus far couldn’t make out any distinctive sounds. 

Pushing open the door, you found the bedroom in much the same state as the living room. You tried not to allow yourself to get sentimental as your eyes swept across the unmade bed and you thought back to late nights and early mornings snug beneath those sheets with Spencer. The bed that was so big but you’d never know it as he always kept you as close as humanly possible. 

The bathroom door, like the front door, was open a crack and a light pooled from inside. It was then you heard the sound of haggard breathing punctuated by loud sniffing, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to well and truly stand to attention. 

As you listened to the unmistakable sounds of a grown man sobbing, you lowered your gun and tucked it back in your holster. 

A deeply disturbed and troubled man had ravaged this apartment but it was not the work of some petty criminal. Spencer had turned his home into a reflection of his own tortured mind, you had no doubt. 

You were somehow more tentative after you knew someone hadn’t broken in. You had never seen Spencer cry before, he always liked to put up a tough exterior, probably something to do with him being the baby of the BAU for so many years. 

You’d seen him vulnerable, probably more than he’d ever let anyone else see him, but you’d never witnessed him with his walls stripped away completely. And honestly, the thought of it scared you a little. 

But no matter how scared you were, despite how much he had hurt you, you pressed on. 

You inched open the bathroom not wanting to startle him and found him on the floor, hugging his legs to his chest and sobbing into his knees. But the truly terrifying part was the vial and needle discarded at his side. A silk tie was fashioned into a tourniquet around his arm.

“S-Spencer?” You gasped, covering your gaping mouth with your hands. 

He stiffened and slowly lifted his head from where it had been buried in the fabric of his slacks. His eyes were red rimmed and tears silently streamed down his cheeks. His hair drooped lifelessly onto his forehead and his face clearly hadn’t seen a razor in months. 

He somehow looked even worse than when you visited him in prison. 

“Why are you here?” His voice cracked and his words were slightly slurred. 

“You didn’t sound like yourself on the phone. I needed to see you with my own eyes.” You heard the sadness in your own tone, unable to hide it. 

“I’m not myself.” He exhaled a breath that sounded like he had been holding it in for years. “I haven’t been since prison.” 

You swallowed, daring to take a few steps further into the bathroom. Spencer let his legs fall and stretch out in front of him on the linoleum and you slid down to sit next to him, the only thing separating you was the drug paraphernalia. As if reading your mind he exhaled again before he spoke.

“I didn’t take it.” He wouldn’t look at you, instead he looked down at his hands. “I wanted to, but I didn’t.” 

“Why are you slurring then?” You watched the side of his face. He clenched and unclenched his jaw several times. 

“Whiskey. Not dilaudid. I swear.” 

“I’ve never known you to drink.” Of course it was a relief that he hadn’t taken the drugs, but hearing that he was drunk wasn’t a whole lot better. 

“I hadn’t had a drink in nearly ten years. I gave it up around the same time as I quit dilaudid, I guess I worried it would become one vice replacing another. But I needed something. And alcohol was the lesser of two evils.” He was still slurring but he was surprisingly coherent. 

It didn’t surprise you in the least that Spencer could still string a logical sentence together when he was inebriated. 

“Why did you call me, Spencer? Of all the people you could have called, why me?” You whispered as though you weren’t entirely sure you really wanted an answer to that. 

He finally looked at you, glancing to his side with his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip in contemplation for a moment or two as though formulating a carefully curated answer. But really, the answer was incredibly simple. 

“Because you’re my cure.” He shrugged, his tears had dried up but the stains on his cheeks remained. “And right now I am in desperate need of remedy.” 

“Spencer…” You sighed, your own eyes misting over with tears. “I was always here for you, you could have talked to me about anything but instead you shoved me aside and tried to deal with things on your own.”

“I’ve never been very good at asking for help. I’ve only ever been able to rely on myself. People leave. People aren’t reliable. But you…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “You brought the kind of sunshine into my life I could only dream of. You have saved me in more ways than you will ever know. Your mere existence in my life has been more help to me than I can explain to you. That’s why I call you my cure, because it's the best way I can think to describe what you are to me.” 

“I knew you would be different after prison, Spencer. No decent man can go through an experience like that and come out unchanged. But in your bones you are still the Spencer Reid I fell in love with.” You tried to tell him much like you had countless times in those torrid seven months. You hoped this time he might actually hear it. 

“I’m really not sure that I am, Y/N.” He raked his fingers through his tangled hair with a meek shake of his head. 

“I am.” You nodded. “I’m sure. Spencer, whatever you had to do inside was for your own protection. It was every man for himself and you did what you did to survive. And Cat…? After everything she’s done to you, I wanted to strangle the bitch too.” 

Spencer’s eyes widened, looking a little like deer caught in headlights. He was gnawing on his bottom lip haphazardly as he stared at you. 

“Really?” 

“Yes, Spencer.” 

“Do you really think I can come back from this?” 

“Yes, Spencer.” You repeated, defiance in your voice. “And I’m going to help you. Whether you want me to or not. Because my love for you is stronger than the pain you caused me. I will be by your side, showering you in light until there is not even a sliver of a shadow for your demons to hide in. Let me be your cure, Spence.” 

You reached out your hands towards him, palm upwards and fingers spread to create enough space for his own to slot between them. He glanced between your face and your hand a few times before his lip quipped up ever so slightly at the corner in a small smile. 

And then he reached for you, his fingers finding those spaces between your own that always seemed like they were made intentionally to fit his. It was as though someone had crafted you both perfectly for each other. 

Spencer had never been a believer in higher powers but it was the only reason he could fathom for how you had found him. 

In a world consisting of nearly eight billion people, what were the chances of the two of you meeting? What were the odds of two perfectly imperfect people finding each other and slotting together in such an inconceivably faultless way? 

As you sat there hand in hand, Spencer knew he would do anything to keep you by his side for as long as he lived. Even if it meant allowing you to see all his flaws, all his cracks. Because he was certain now you would love every one of his broken pieces. 

You were the light casting away his shadows. You were the air being breathed into his lungs. You were the thread holding him together. 

You were the cure. 

#milestone celebration #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n

[slut-for-evans-stan]

I've got you.

Pairing: Pete Brenner x reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: fluff!!

Summary: after a bad day at work, the reader comes home to her husband Pete who showers her with his love, making her forget all her worries.

(I feel that aside from all the douchiness, Pete is a softie and a very caring lover)

Requested by: @maximeverstappen

a/n: this is my first ever fic in years and I've no clue how stuff works on Tumblr. This is not proofread, please pardon me for errors if any! I tried my best :')

Please like, comment and/or reblog, it'll make me really happy <3

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

To say her day at work was exhausting and grueling was an understatement. From the moment y/n stepped foot in the office, something or the other kept going wrong, and most of it wasn't even her fault but being the Team player she was, she took a big part of the blame on herself.

To add to her misery, while in a hurry she almost tripped down the stairs, the impact of trying to regain balance hard on her left ankle but she had no time to pay attention to that, rushing to get her superior's signature on the required documents.

Y/n was so caught up with her tasks that she didn't even bother having anything for lunch, just wanting to get done with all the workload so she could relax.

Around 4:55 pm, she breathed a long sigh of relief shutting off her laptop and settling her belongings, having finally finished all the work that was in her cup for the week. All she wanted now was to go home and cuddle with her husband till she fell asleep. After locking up her cabin and telling her

"see you tomorrow"s

to fellow colleagues, she left the office walking to the parking lot and getting in her car to drive off.

Once in her car, she checked her phone for the first time since she left for work this morning, seeing about 10 missed calls and texts from her husband, Pete. They'd usually facetime each other during their lunch breaks, eating together and talking about how their day was going so far but today she didn't get the opportunity to do that either. Y/n opened his chat and told him that she's on her way back, apologizing for not calling or responding to his texts and that she had a terrible day at work. Starting her car and playing some calming music she set on her way back home.

Around half an hour later, Pete heard the sound of her car, smiling to himself, excited to finally see y/n after a busy day. Before she could even ring the doorbell, the door to their home opened and she was welcomed with the sight of Pete looking ever so handsome in just his pajamas. Dropping her handbag, y/n immediately jumped right into his arms, hugging him and he held her tight and stayed like that for minutes. When they parted, she had her hands around his neck. He saw tears in her eyes and caressed her face, planting a soft kiss on her lips and temple, smiling, and softly whispered

"It's okay baby, it's okay. I've got you".

He held her hand leading her inside their home. As they entered the living room, y/n was greeted by the warm scent of dinner being prepared in the kitchen, which made her very aware of how hungry she was. Right after Pete had received y/n's text, he'd made up his mind on making her feel better in whatever ways he could. He turned y/n around and said

"Dinner will be ready soon sweetheart, I've already drawn the tub for you, why don't you go ahead and take a nice, hot bath to soothe your muscles? ".

Y/n hummed quietly, planting a kiss on Pete's cheek, smiling to herself wearily as she made her way to the bathroom.

As she soaked in the warm bath scattered with fragrant rose petals, feeling her tension begin to ease, Pete knocked and came in with a glass of her favourite wine, setting it down on a sitting stool beside the bathtub, making her whisper a soft

"thank you baby"

and he planted another soft kiss on her forehead and left. She could hear the sounds of Pete chopping vegetables and stirring pots in the kitchen, making her stomach rumble in anticipation.

After a while, y/n got out of the bathtub, dried herself, and changed into comfortable clothing- Pete's maroon hoodie and a pair of shorts, feeling a little better. As she emerged from the bathroom, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated, the soft glow of candles lead her to the dining table, where a playlist of their favourite songs played in the background, creating a soundtrack for their evening. She found Pete waiting for her at the dining table which was adorned with fresh flowers, and a handwritten note expressing his love awaited her, tucked beneath the dinner napkin.

She sat down with a suprised look on her face, and said

"How did you manage to do all this is in such a short time?"

with a cheesy grin and a wink he replied,

"My love for you makes me efficient in a way I can't explain."

As soon as he opened the pot's lid, y/n squealed happily, seeing that Pete had made her favorite chicken stew for dinner, a string of thank yous falling from her lips. Pete fed her the first bite of food and she groaned in satisfaction at the delicious taste, saying

"Gosh you are the best!"

making him chuckle and respond

"I know".

Savouring each bite, she did a happy little dance as she ate, her stressful day at work long forgotten. Y/n couldn't help but notice the way Pete looked at her with so much adoration and love in his eyes, making her wonder how she ever got so lucky to have found him.

"You know, babe" he said,

"I've been thinking. Why don't we take the day off tomorrow and have a relaxing day with each other, not having to worry about anything?"

Y/n's heart swelled with gratitude and she nodded eagerly.

They finished their dinner, chatting and laughing together. They then watched a few episodes of the show they were currently invested in, while Pete gently ran his fingers through y/n's hair, massaging her scalp, making her doze off. He then carried her bridal style, to their bedroom and gently put her down on the bed, under the blankets and got in himself, holding her close, falling in a deep slumber.

The next morning, Pete woke Y/n up with a cup of coffee, presenting her with a carefully planned itinerary for their day off. Their day began with a leisurely breakfast, laughter dancing in the air. He whisked her away to a spa day, their journey to the spa involving a scenic drive with the windows down, and her favourite tunes setting the mood. He had arranged for a personalized treatment, ensuring his wife felt like royalty.

During their drive to the nail and hair appointments, he engaged her in delightful conversation, peppering the day with shared laughter and stolen glances that spoke volumes. His heart so filled with love for her, cherishing every moment by her side.

They spent the rest of their day strolling down and exploring the city, hand in hand, simply enjoying each other's company while the world seemed to pause, leaving room for the warmth of their connection to fill the air. They laughed and joked just the way they did while they had just started dating, and Y/n felt all her stress and anxiety melt away.

They had lunch at a rooftop restaurant, enjoying the view of the city, walked to a park where they laid down on a blanket under a tree, watching the clouds roll by and listening to the birds sing. It was a perfect day and y/n felt grateful to have Pete by her side, grateful for the love and care he showered her with.

As the sun began to set, they drove back home and cuddled up on the couch together, with y/n's head resting on Pete's lap watching a movie and just enjoying each other's company. It was a simple, yet perfect day, and y/n knew that she was loved and cherished by her wonderful husband.

She looked up at Pete with affection in her eyes.

"I love you so much Pete. You're the best thing that has ever happened to me."

"I love you so much more my baby, You're my everything."

He bent his head down, their lips meeting in a passionate, loving kiss. They headed to their bedroom, falling asleep in each others arms, with smiles on their faces, knowing no matter how bad things got around them, they'd always have each other.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

a/n: I really enjoyed writing this fic! I hope y'all liked reading it too. I'd really appreciate if you'd comment any thoughts, suggestions or requests that you have! Thank you ^_^

#chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fluff #fluff #pete brenner #pain hustlers #pete brenner x reader #reader insert #love #couple #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fluff #y/n #chris evans one shot #chris evans character #female reader #my girl #chris x you #cute #chris evans x reader #chris evans characters #chris evans fan fiction #chris evans oneshot #marvel #requested #netflix

[heartcereql]

am i the girl that you dream of?

✩ xavier thorpe x f!reader

SYNOPSIS- all over the summer, xavier has been having dreams of a certain girl, who, much to his surprise, arrives at nevermore for the new school year. 

CW- lowercase intended, cursing, bianca and xavier don’t have any history, also divina may be a bit ooc since we didn’t get much of her. 

A/N- i know it doesn’t really follow pretty when i cry (the song i got the prompt from) but i loved how it turned out. sorry in advance, it’s pretty long LMAO. also feel free to send request for wednesday characters! :)

moonlight bathed her features. her eyes glistened, reflecting the stars. hands delicately mused, fingers interwinned, softly caressing the other hand. her chest rose up and down, inhaling midnight air, fueling her lungs with the pure atmosphere that surrounded her figure. 

dreams always felt surreal. but when she was in them? they went beyond that. xavier stretched his hand towards her. slowly, his fingertips grazed her shoulder. and then he saw. 

his vision suddenly flooded with flashing memories. dazzling blue lights, very muffled chattering, hands, lips, figures, were all his senses were taking in.

4:39 AM

xavier woke up covered in sweat once again. the sun wasn’t up yet. dim light from the stars came through his window. 

he hadn’t been thrilled about going home for summer holidays. he thought he’d be staying at ajax’s or be sent to a summer camp. he would’ve liked that. but his father had kept him home. all. fucking. summer. and then the dreams started to appear. the first one, he doesn’t even remember. he just brushed it off. but then they continued appearing. and he found himself enhanced. for almost two months, he’d drawn the girl from his dreams. wether it were only sketches of herwaist, or doodles of herparted lips. he even had an unfinished painting of her moonlit face in a big canvas. anybody who had seen his latest pieces would’ve thought he was a stalker. he was just trapped in his house. it only conforted him  how close the beginning of the new school year was. 

back at nevermore, xavier felt at ease again. getting back on track carried an euphoric feeling for him. settling everything in his dorm, catching up with ajax and rowan, cleaning his art shed, it all gave him a sense of belonging that he wouldn’t change for anything. the dreams even went away.

and, in one of his conversations, he found out. about your arrival. though, at first, he paid no mind to it. ajax had said something about two transfer students incorporating this year.

“yeah, one of them will be here in a couple days. i heard the other’s application is still pending or something like that” rowan added. 

“damn, does everyone know but me?” he said. he meant it as a joke, but, deep down, he was worried he’d been living under a rock the whole summer.

“it’s not that big of a deal” ajax shrugged “but most likely.”

xavier groaned and mentally face-palmed himself. he could’ve checked enid’s blog. idiot. 

✩✩✩✩

meanwhile you were talking to principal larissa weems alongside your parents. the woman before you had an elegant and intimidating beauty and her words came out graceful and confident. 

she’d explained how the school worked, what the classes consisted in and the insitute’s norms. your parents were delighted with weems, relieved she would be in charge of your security and safety. she seemed trustworthy. she inspired comfort, but also discipline and respect. 

“now, now, y/n, it is time for you to meet your roommate and she will give you a tour around school. i’ll leave you sometime with your family to say your goodbyes” weems spoke with a warm smile. 

your parents nodded and thanked her as she escorted you out of her office. 

✩✩✩✩

as you were seeing your parents’ car drive away, a presence approached you. you turned around to meet a girl with chestnut, shoulder lenght hair and pale blue eyes. 

“hey! you must be y/n. i’m divina, your roommate” she gave you an enchanting smile as she offered her hand.

“charmed to meet you” you smiled back as you shook her hands.

“i think your belongings have already been moved into our dorm, so let’s take a look at the school first, shall we?” she asked, linking your arm with hers as you nodded, delighted. 

✩✩✩✩

xavier was working on his latest project very near the quad. it had been half his and half weems’s idea. a mural adorning one of the walls adjacent to the quad. his mind ran free as he painted some details in a crow. 

as he changed some of his used brushes for clean ones, his eyes scanned the quad. some girls chatting in a bench nearby, a group of gorgons in the back of the quad, and then his eyes made their way towards two moving figures. 

was that divina? she indeed was. and she was talking to a girl, who was looking for something in her bag. she was not wearing the uniform. she must have been one of the transfers. xavier stopped whatever he was doing to take a proper look at the pair. 

as the new girl found what she was looking for, her face now exposed, xavier realised. it was you. the girl he’d been dreaming of all summer. too shocked to react, he could only watch you walk away towards thelxiepeia hall. 

✩✩✩✩

september passed by faster than everyone had wanted. 

you and divina had become quite close and she’d introduced you to bianca, yoko, enid and kent. you’d even thrown a slumber party at your shared dorm; the girls helped you settle in and decorate your side.

xavier, on the other hand, had been thinking of how to approach you, if he even should. he hadn’t wanted to be affected by it, not wanting to start the neverending cycle this past summer had been, filled with incognitas about you. but the dreams came back. and they were different. you actually spoke to him in this new dreams. nothing that he could comprehend though. sometimes you spoke in unsolveable riddles, sometimes in a language he couldn’t understand. 

“it is time for you to make the very first project of this semester” professor Cross, horror literature’s teacher anounced, earning a groan from all the students. “it could’ve been an exam, no need to be so dramatic. the couples assigned and the book assigned for each are displayed on the classroom door. have nice evenings!” and with that, he vanished from the class. 

you and bianca made your way towards the door. she was the only one from your friend group who had horror literature in this period. 

“i’m up here and you, oh here!” she pointed at your names.

she got paired with a girl named iris. your name was written nexto to ‘xavier thorpe’. 

“it’s perfect that i got Lovecraft. i mean, i’ve loved him since i was merely in the womb. i spent all summer reading-” bianca was rambling about lovecraft before you interrupted her.

“hey, b, who is xavier thorpe?” you asked her, fidgeting with a sticky note in which you’d written his name along with ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’. 

“you know that kid who’s painting a mural in the quad? that’s him. i think he’s super good at literature , so you’re gonna ace this” she responded, walking you to the quad.

as you and her were about to start a conversation as to which outfit you should choose for your girls’ evening out, someone catched up to you. 

“hey, you’re y/n, right?” a tall boy, with sharp features and long hair, asked, locking eyes with you.

you felt a sensation of déjà vu run through you as you could only nod, enhanced by his figure. 

“i’m xavier” the boy smiled. “we are partners for this project, so, um, maybe you want to schedule for some days to work on it?”

“sure, sure” you reciprocated the smile, taking in the way his made you feel. “i’ll catch you later, bi” you said to your friend as she nodded and walked away. 

“so, uh, when are you free?” he asked as you turned back to him. “for the project, i mean”

“i think i have this afternoon free, and next one as well, if it works for you” you spoke.

you sounded exactly like what he’d dreamt. your silk soft voice reverberating in his ears, sending goosebumps down his body.

“sounds perfect. library, 4pm?” xavier said, observing your features in the sun, rather than the moonlight, admiring you. not a product of his imagination. just you. 

✩✩✩✩

xavier got to the library at the very time he’d told you. scanning the place, he finally found your figure. your bag was placed in a chair, and you were browsing through the shelves, looking for some books. 

“hey” he greeted. 

words caught up in your throat when you looked at him. he loved the way your eyes fluttered around, finally settling down on his.

“hi” you responded. “so. i’ve been collecting a few books about poe, you know, so we can make a deep analysis on the piece”

“cool, cool. i feel like the old man has a lot of connotations-” he started.

“wait you’ve read the tell-tale heart?” you asked, smiling. you loved poe’s works.

“yeah, everyone should” he chuckled. “i find poe inspiring. all of his horror pieces itch all the right places in my brain” he shrugged, licking his lips.

“i love poe too. i went to a summer camp this summer about him and it wa...” 

xavier let your words run through his mind as he focused on your excited expression, talking about something you were so keen on.

both of you sat now next to each other, rambling about nonsense, enjoying the other’s company, your assignment long forgotten. 

✩✩✩✩

and so the two of you had to meet again the next day and over the weekend, rushing your assignment.

but neither of you minded it. you grew closer, learning about each other. xavier found out about your passion for astronomy and your connection to the night. and you learnt about his relationship with his dad and his coping mechanism: painting. you’d even seen some of them, and you were captivated by them.

 he showed you his ability and he’d swear your reaction was his favorite thing ever. how your eyes widened in suprise, lips parted slightly, an amazed smile making its way.

and he told you about his visions. he trusted you enough. 

✩✩✩✩

“and, you know, sometimes i have dreams, but they’re real. the people, the creatures are real” he said, almost a whisper. 

you two were walking around the school’s surroundings, october’s cold breeze hitting your rosy cheeks. 

“like visions?” you asked

“sort of. the scenarios are barely real, but the people i see are. and lately, this girl has been appearing”

“is she a sleep nymph? i heard of them once, they’re pretty cool” he could feel your eyes piercing him as he looked forward.

“no, no, i don’t think she is. at first i thought she was just something i imagined, but then i saw her” he looked down at you as he spoke. 

“what were your dreams like?” you softly posed the question.

“i saw her, laying down under the stars. i could only see her in a blue palette. and then, i saw her memories. and i just can’t get her out of my head” 

you went quiet. he feared he’d scared you, and he was about to start rambling apologies when you stopped walking and took his hand. 

“xavier?” you looked up at him “am i the girl that you dream of?”

his heart skipped a beat. he wanted the ground to swallow him. he couldn’t scape.

“how’d you know?”

“i’ve been seeing you too. in the stars.”

he stared at you blankly. so he hadn’t creeped you out. he finally reacted, smirking.

his hands made his way to your face, holding your cold cheeks. you looked up at him, hands around his neck. he wanted that moment, that sight to last forever.

he leaned down and kissed you for an instant. he pulled away, just to watch your features before you pulled him down and kissed him again, loving the feeling of his lips on yours, like they were made for each other. 

#xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #wednesday netflix #xavier thorpe imagine #heartcereql

[nhasablogg]

Your back beneath the sun, wishin' I could write my name on it

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Characters: Reid/Morgan

Summary: Spencer spends some time in the sun which reveals that he has freckles on his back. Derek becomes a little infatuated with them.

Words: 1.5k

It was July, a sleepiness stretching over the town along with the heat and dust which Spencer would choke on as walked out onto the melting streets. He’d never been a fan of July. Not a fan of summers in general. He couldn’t stand the heat, he couldn’t stand the thought of being forced to go home to an empty apartment, or to visit his mother who seemed to be worse after each visit, for weeks on end. Although he did admit he enjoyed the extra time he could dedicate to his own research, not that his job ever really stopped him from doing it anyway.

This July was different. This July contained Derek, clad in cotton shirts and bathing shorts and ridiculous hats and t-shirts with the words “I love Vegas” printed on them. “You have to stop buying those,” Spencer told him, rolling his eyes and hiding his smile as Derek straightened proudly after each purchase. “They’re just stealing your money.”

“I don’t care. I look good in them.”

Spencer had to admit there weren’t many things that Derek looked bad in anyway.

Another reason Spencer didn’t like summer was the frequent sunburns he suffered despite mostly hiding in the shade. There was always one careless weekend which left him pink and peeling. He’d gotten better at avoiding them as he got older. Sunscreen and hats and non-white shirts for protection, even while hunched over a book in the shade, although it got harder to stay out of the water with Derek Morgan there, who kept picking him up and running into the somehow still too cold waves as Spencer threatened his life. He was always laughing toward the end of it, after he’d come out spluttering and pointing and frowning in a way he knew wouldn’t last. Because of the trips to the lake and pool Spencer was exposed to the sun in short batches, leaving him with a quite nice tan for the first time in many years.

Derek was obsessed with it. “You have freckles.”

“I do?”

“On your back. Here.” He poked a spot just below Spencer’s shoulder blade. “Here.” Again on his spine. “Here.” 

The poke landed too close to his lower back this time and Spencer found himself jerking away. “H-hey! Don’t do that.”

“Why not?” He could hear Derek’s smirk without even seeing him. “Did it tickle?”

“Shut up.”

“Awe, come on. You’ve not shown this at all when I’ve applied sunscreen to your back. Have you been holding back on me?” He poked him again and Spencer couldn’t help the giggle that escaped this time. “Oh my god, you’re so cute. How is a grown man cute.”

Spencer twisted around and held up his hands. “Mercy.”

“Hmm, what’s in it for me?”

It would be so easy to say something along the lines of “a kiss” or anything like it, but this was all new, mostly unexplored, and Spencer wasn’t sure if that was too forward even though they’d kissed plenty of times by then. Maybe it was because they were both shirtless, Derek glistening with oil and water drops, tilting his head in a way at him that made Spencer blush.

He looked away, suddenly fascinated by the water. “You’ll never catch me,” was all he said and he was off, Derek laughing as he chased him into the waves and the freckles were forgotten for the time being.

*

“Are you asleep?”

It wasn’t late. 4:37 in the afternoon. The room was stuffy despite the rickety fan on the desk, the curtains were drawn in the hopes of cooling the room down, and Spencer lay there feeling Derek’s fingertips on his skin for ten more seconds before he answered. “No.”

Derek hummed, scraping his nails lightly over Spencer’s arm, up and down until he shivered. “I’m bored, but I’m too tired to do anything.” A poke to his shoulder. “You should entertain me, since I’m your guest.”

Spencer let out a laugh. “Is that how it works?”

“Yup.”

“We could plan where to go for dinner?” Spencer had to admit it was fun showing him around his home town, going to places he wouldn’t really go to himself as an old local.

Derek sighed. “Boring.”

Spencer turned to look at him. “Aren’t you picky.”

Derek suddenly grinned. “I know what we can do.”

Spencer’s heart skipped a beat. “What-”

Derek shoved him back to his side. “Stay still.”

“Derek.”

“I wanna connect your freckles. Find constellations.”

“Do you even know any constellations?”

“Sure. Orion’s Belt. Look, there it is.” He poked Spencer’s skin three times before lightly tracing his finger over the same spots again, making Spencer jump. “I said be still.”

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can. I believe in you.”

Spencer rolled over to his stomach and buried his face in the pillow, giggling into it as Derek kept drawing random patterns over his skin, from his shoulder to the curve of his lower back. Not all of it tickled, but it tickled enough that it left him a bit of a mess, unsure of when he would go for a sensitive spot. Giddy and jumpy. He could tell Derek was enjoying himself, although he kept up the pretense of connecting freckles and making constellations throughout the whole thing, laughing between his words.

“Please, it’s hot,” Spencer finally said when Derek remained at his lower back for a little too long, curling his fingers over both sides and leaving Spencer with little space to get away. He’d started sweating, which probably worked against him and made it tickle even worse.

Derek made a big show out of stopping. “Fine,” he said with a sigh, throwing himself down onto the bed again. “Back to being bored then.”

Spencer huffed and rolled over so that he was lying on his back, realizing he was exposing all of his other spots and feeling too tired to care. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Am not.”

“First you call me boring, then you torture me.”

“Mm, you loved it. I didn’t get elbowed a single time.” He scooted closer and pressed his lips to Spencer’s temple, despite his sweat. Spencer didn’t stop him, although he felt self conscious about it.

They remained silent for a moment, finding relief as the fan panned over them over and over. Spencer nearly fell asleep had his stomach not made the loudest sound known to humanity which had Derek cracking up.

“You hungry, huh?” he said, poking at it and making Spencer whine as he jerked away. “Let’s get ready for dinner then. Or do you need a snack first?”

“Will it be an actual snack or will you just offer yourself again?”

“You’re no fun, Spence.”

*

Derek applied sunscreen onto Spencer’s back with care the next morning, palms kneading into his shoulders and shoulder blades, fingertips pressing into his sides, none of it ticklish and yet Spencer felt on edge. He knew Derek was probably doing it on purpose, and he was expecting the eventual tickle that came as he finished, quick flutters over his lower back and the back of his ribs, making him let out a laugh which was too loud, too panicked, yet short-lived.

Derek was grinning when Spencer turned to glare at him, something about them not being alone at the tip of his tongue, but Derek swallowed it with his lips, fingers spidering up Spencer’s sides before settling at his neck, holding his jaw gently as he kissed him again.

It was already too hot that morning, and so Spencer would blame the heat for the way his face flushed when they parted. “Do you ever get freckles on your front?” Derek asked before he could say anything, and while Spencer didn’t reply they both knew the answer was probably yes. “Speaking of that,” he added nonchalantly. “Do you need help applying sunscreen to your belly? I feel like you’re not doing a good enough job.”

“I frankly feel offended even though I know you’re kidding.

“Who’s kidding?”

Spencer huffed and threw Derek’s stupid Las Vegas cap at him as Derek laughed. “You’re so annoying. I’m leaving you in Virginia next time.”

“Lies. You’ll miss me too much. Who will put sunscreen on you if I’m not here?”

“You do realize I wouldn’t be spending nearly as much time in the sun if you weren’t here, right?”

“And that explains why you didn’t know you had freckles.” Derek poked his side. “Can’t wait until I get to connect them on your front. I’m gonna force you to sunbathe today.”

Spencer shoved him away. “I’m protesting.”

“Oh, you have no choice, pretty boy.”

“Stop acting as if you wouldn’t tickle me without the freckles anyway.”

“But this makes it much more fun, doesn’t it?” Derek grinned and Spencer blushed and they were soon in the water again before Spencer could even protest it.

Maybe Derek Morgan was making him like julys, after all.

#tickling #ticklish!spencer reid #moreid fic #moreid #criminal minds fic #tickle fic #n writes #your back beneath the sun wishin' I could write my name on it

[danielfuckingricciardo]

The Esteban and Fernando ones are good!

can i ask for Toto and song number 5, or Mick and song 16

I really hope all songs will be picked 🤗

Hi! Thank you so much for the request! ♥︎

(I am working my way through all of these, albeit very slowly right now! But I promise every single one of these will be filled eventually!)

I absolutely love this one, I feel like the wholesome vibes of this song completely match Mick’s vibe so well! I hope you enjoy this one!

(Your Toto request is also on its way! I’ll be sure to tag you when I post it ☺️)

Song 16 - Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown) // The Beatles

Pairing - Mick Schumacher x Reader

Word Count - 1.6k

Content Warnings - Swearing, serial killer references, mild sexual references

I sat on a rug biding my time Drinking her wine We talked until two and then she said "It's time for bed"

“It’s not much, but this is home. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll go get the wine.” You say, turning to Mick, whose eyes were busy taking in every inch of your tiny apartment.

He snaps out of his trance and nods as you disappear into the kitchenette to retrieve the bottle of wine you kept around for emergencies, and two glasses.

You turn around for a second, and take a moment to observe as your slightly tipsy companion struggled to remove his shoes. You can’t help but smile at his mannerisms, there was just something so endearing about him, which was what had initially drawn you to him earlier that evening.

Typically, you would never bring home strange men you had just met that night in a bar. You’ve watched enough true crime documentaries to know that a lot of them start this way, but with Mick, you just couldn’t help yourself. He didn’t seem like the type to seduce innocent women into bed only to chop them up into tiny pieces and feed them to his dogs. He was too sweet for that, too innocent. Gazing into those bright blue eyes of his you could tell that he had a good, kind soul. You wanted to stare into his eyes forever, and that’s why, as the bar closed for the evening, you found yourself asking if he wanted to go home with you.

You hadn’t meant it in a suggestive way. If bringing home strange men wasn’t your style, then sleeping with them immediately after meeting them was even more unlike you. Honestly, you just wanted to spend time with him. He was just great to talk to. He listened attentively, spoke so sweetly and succinctly, and he really understood your wacky sense of humour. You wouldn’t mind, of course, if the evening progressed towards something a little less friendly and a little more heated, but you were happy just to get to know him more, away from the loud music and passionate punters of the bar the two of you had met at.

Wine and your only two clean matching glasses in hand, you leave the kitchen and return to the lounge, where you see Mick sat on the floor, his back resting against the sofa, and a throw cushion in his arms squeezed tightly against his chest.

“You’re a floor person too, huh?” You say as you drop to your knees beside him, sliding in next to him and placing the wine and glasses beside you on the rug.

“Yeah. It just looked… comfy.” He says with a smile.

“Can’t argue with that. My landlord just had new carpets fitted and it’s like walking on a chinchilla.” You say with a chuckle.

“That’s a strange mental image, the poor chinchillas!” Mick says, and you both erupt into a fit of giggles.

“Have you ever stroked a chinchilla? It’s like petting a tiny cloud! Did you know that their fur is so dense that they can’t actually get wet because their fuzz retains the moisture for so long it can cause a skin infection for the poor babies.” You say, and Mick raises an eyebrow at you.

“So how do they get clean?” He asks.

“They take dust baths!” You say, and Mick nods.

“You sure do know a lot of things.” He says, and you chuckle slightly.

“Oh, it’s all pointless trivia, I assure you. Not all that useful in real life but I’m great at quizzes.”

“Got any more pointless facts for me?”

“Ooh, umm… Roman soldiers were actually paid in salt because back then it was super valuable. That’s where we get the word salary from, because salt in Latin is sal.” You say, and Mick smiles.

“Being with you is like having a glass of wine with Wikipedia.” Mick says, and you chuckle.

“I hope that’s a good thing and I haven’t like, totally freaked you out with my nerdiness already.” You say, and Mick shakes his head.

“Nah, I like it. I like you.” He says, and you can’t help but smile at his compliment.

“Wine?” You ask, gesturing to him with the bottle.

“Yes please.”

“I’m afraid it’s only the cheap, screw-top stuff. I’m sure you’re used to better.” You say, opening the bottle and filling his glass to the appropriate level, before filling your own.

“It all tastes the same anyway. I’m convinced wine experts just gaslight themselves into thinking otherwise.” He says, and you laugh.

“Conspiracy theory alert!” You chuckle, before taking a long swig of your beverage.

Mick takes a sip and pulls a face as he swallows.

“I’m starting to think maybe I just don’t like red wine.” He says, and you collapse into a fit of tipsy giggles.

“Does anyone? To be honest, I only buy red because I don’t have space in the fridge for anything else.” You say, and it’s Mick’s turn to laugh.

“I know some red wine guys. I’m definitely not one of them.” He says with a smile, and you shake your head.

“This really is a shitty red. I’m getting notes of pickle brine, paint thinner and… plastic?” You say, holding the glass up to your nose and taking a deep inhale.

Mick begins to giggle tipsily as you swirl the dark liquid around in your glass the way you had seen sommeliers do it on TV.

“The paint thinner is definitely the most prominent note.” He says, and you smile, setting your disgusting beverage down on the floor beside you.

“Hey, I just want to say, thanks for coming back with me. I know my cramped, dusty old flat isn’t exactly the sort of place you spend your time, but I was really enjoying talking to you and I guess I just didn’t want our time together to end before it had to, you know?” You say, and Mick smiles sweetly at you.

“No, thank you for inviting me. Your flat is lovely, it looks exactly like you.” Mick says, and you quirk your eyebrow at him.

“What on earth do you mean?” You ask, and he bites his lip in thought.

“It just looks like you! It’s cozy, and warm, and cute. And it’s full of books,” Mick gestures to the piles of open textbooks on the counter, “You know a lot of things, I think you’re full of books too.”

“I have read one or two books in my time,” You say with a smile, “I suppose my flat does look a lot like my brain. Slightly messy and unorganised and full of useless stuff.”

“Not useless, interesting.” Mick says, gesturing to your with his glass, and you roll your eyes.

“That’s not what people normally think.” You say, a slight sad look appearing on your face.

“Well, forget those people. You’re very interesting. I could talk to you forever.” Mick says, nudging your shoulder with his own.

“I could talk to you forever, too, but sadly, I’m gonna have to call it a night.” You say, offering him a small smile.

“Really?” He says, turning to you with a sad look in his bright blue eyes.

“I have work tomorrow, and it’s 2am, definitely past my bed time.” You say, standing up from your comfortable position on the floor.

“I suppose I’d better go.” Mick says.

He stands up and brushes his hand gently against yours, sending shivers through your body.

“Or…” You say, brushing your hand against his.

“Or what?”

“You could stay?” You suggest, and Mick’s eyes light up.

“I’d like that.” He says with a smile, and he takes your hand in his, properly this time.

“I don’t have a spare room or anything, so I guess we’d have to sleep together,” You say, your eyes going wide as you realise the implication of what you had just said, “I don’t mean it like that, I mean, we’d have to share a bed. Not that I wouldn’t want to sleep with you, of course, I would, in the future, only if you want to, though, but I’m so tired and… fuck I’m rambling. Sorry.”

You offer Mick a shy smile and he squeezes your hand.

“You don’t have to be sorry, you’re cute when you ramble. Let’s go to bed, okay? I’ll be the big spoon.” Mick says, and you nod, unable to speak. Instead, you just stare at him with awe in your eyes and a soft, sleepy smile on your lips.

Mick guides you to your bedroom and takes a seat on the edge of your bed.

“Do you want me to go outside while you change?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“It’s okay.” You say softly, and you unzip your dress, allowing it to fall to the floor.

Mick’s eyes travel up and down your body as you reach for your pyjamas and pull your oversized shirt over your head.

You turn around to see him looking and smile at him, before crawling under the sheets and wrapping them around your shoulders.

“You getting in?” You ask, and Mick stands to remove his shirt and jeans, before sliding into the sheets beside you and wrapping his arm around your torso.

“Goodnight, (y/n).” Mick says, and you take his hand in yours, wrapping it further around your body and giving it a small squeeze.

“Sweet dreams.” You respond, before peacefully drifting off to sleep.

#mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you

[captainpriceswife]

Self Indulgent Smut for today.

(named) tavtash ; pegging ; romance ; enjoy at your own risk (not for anything unsavory this is just very self indulgent)

There was a sense of calm about the city, now that everything had been miraculously saved. Rosalind was tadepole free, as well as her friends and had even garnered the favor of others in the realm of public opinion. Surprisingly her high standing didn't go down when her marriage to the former Lord, now Archduke Enver Gortash hit the Baldur's Mouth daily. She kept the headline page, framed in her study. The archduchess had spent the day as lazily as she could, thumbing through a novel that Gale had sent her with a note that she would find it facsinating. She did, but her mind was occupied, waiting for Enver to come home from another mission as Archduke. She set it aside when a courier come to her study, bowing more than once.

She rolled her eyes and extended a hand to take the letter, written on the prettiest cream parchment and a golden seal with an E+R upon it. Of course it was from him, it was so delicate that she paused looking at it, her heart warm. She cleared her throat, gesturing to the courier. "There's a coin purse upon the table by the main door, take ten gold for your troubles dear." The courier bowed and scurried off, a quiet thanks m'lady as a reply. She slowly, carefully opened the letter to find his messy scrawl and her heart skipped a beat.

She smiled at the letter, surprised at him to do such a thing. It was sweet and she wouldn't mind a quiet night alone with a book and some delicious snacks. She stretched, moving to pack herself a bag with a nightgown, a couple books and her favorite blanket. She donned his spare cloak, pulling it around her as she made her way towards the establishment. She quietly slipped into Sharess' Caress, avoiding too many glancing eyes before she was directed to her room. She smiled, it was exactly as promised, everything was beautiful and she heard the bath being drawn. She laid her bag by the bed, undressing and moving to the bathroom. She peered in, seeing a drow woman give her a wave before she left through the other door.

My darling, I hope this letter finds you well. I must apologize the way home is taking longer than I thought it would. I have paid, in advance, for the finest room down at the Caress. You deserve a night to yourself, away from the hustle and bustle of our lovely home. There will be a bath readied upon your arrival and nothing but the finest things waiting.

Your beloved,

Enver.

Rosalind was beyond delighted to step into the bath, relaxing as she soaked her muscles. Being the wife of the Archduke could be hard work, but it was lonely work when he was sent away to do his duties and she couldn't follow. She shook her head, shooing away such lonesome thoughts as she thought about him. Her cheeks flushed pink, imaging how nice it would be to have a bath with him when he returned. Time seemed to pass slowly, her body relaxed into the almost too hot water, but she managed by relaxing. She could have sworn she heard something, and she lifted her head looking towards the door back to her room.

She got up from the bath, rinsing carefully before wrapping herself up in a warmed towel. She opened the door slowly, making sure it didn't creak as it opened. Her eyes opened wide as she saw the source of the noise, her darling was draped across her bed. He was still clothed, wearing his beautiful gauntlets, but his pants were slipped down to midthigh. "Darling, I thought you were going to take forever in that bath." He purred softly, gazing at her from over his shoulder as one hand slipped down to give her a better view of his rear. She tried to think of something smart but instead murmured to him, "I missed you- all of you." This made him chuckle as he slowly and meticulously slipped his middle finger down the crack of his ass. "I can tell, you're eyeing me like I have eyed you so many times before- I decided I wanted to try something more... fun."

She quirked her brow, looking at him before walking towards the bed. She pulled a chair up, letting her hands rest on his thighs as he continued to slowly tease himself. His hole was glistening with lube and she couldn't bite back the groan that poured from her as he slipped his finger in slowly. "You love that don't you darling." His breath hitched from the pleasure, before he clears his throat. "There's a toy for you in the nightstand. I think it's to your liking." She wastes no time going to the nightstand, opening the drawer to find a golden dildo, ornate straps connected to it's base.

She picked it up, noticing the craftsman's ship was akin to his Steel Watch. "I see you made it specifically for me-" She purred, walking back over to grasp his hip tightly, kneading it. "I see you took my little request to heart, I am curious to see how you look since I know you like letting me finger you." She dropped the towel, causing him to groan as she's revealed to him. "I missed you. All of you." He grumbled into the bed as he turned his head. "And I you my dearest, always." She tapped his thigh, helping him undress slowly before waving the toy at him. "Help me with this please, it'll make getting it on easier." After a long moment of strap tightening and adjustments, the toy sat against her pubic bone comfortably.

She turned to the mirror, a jolt of deeper arousal radiating through her as she saw how she looked. She walked back over, finding the oil and covering her false appendage with it. "Were you preparing yourself while I was in the bath?" He nodded and sighed softly, "Do you like your surprise? Both of them-" His words are cut short as she grasps his hips, pressing herself closer. It's a nice position, the nice angle of his hips at the perfect height for her. "Are you ready?" He nodded softly, using one hand to spread himself so she could ease in. She pressed forward softly, slipping it in with such slow care that you would have thought this wasn't her first try. He moaned, head pushed into the pillow as she finally sank into him, he had planned to take control like he typically did but the feeling had him shivering and groaning. Once he was pressed back fully, thighs and ass flush with her body he groaned out her name like it was the most exquisite thing.

She felt like she was in a trance, the sound of her lover moaning and the feeling of their bodies pressed together in such a new way had her aching. She smoothed her hands over his hips, grasping handfuls of his plump ass slowly, her hands were unable to stay still. "You look so pretty like this love, such a sight-" He chuckled, wiggling his hips slightly with a soft panting sound, "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself- I'll make sure to repay the favor." The promise had her groaning, pulling her hips back slowly. She looked up, seeing him peek back at her with curious eyes. She was going to make sure this was memorable for the both of them. "Relax my lord," She cooed sweetly, soothing her hand upward to the base of his spine. "Let me soothe away your problems and your thoughts, I want you to relax."

His head rested back into the pillow as she started to thrust slowly into him, each time she slipped in deep it made him moan and press back against her thighs. For now her hands stayed at his backside, slipping and massing up in slow strokes as she thrusted into him deeper. "My beautiful Enver-" He moans louder, his hands grasping at the pillow tightly as she nudges into his prostate. It's overwhelming for them both, for different reasons. The way he moves and reacts has her aching, her slick arousal starting to dampen her thighs as he trusts. "You look so pretty taking my dick," He shifts slightly, inhaling to say something and she thrusts into his prostate again to quiet him. "You're doing so well, I might have to reward you-" He peers back at her, curious at her soft praise. He enjoyed doling out praise for her, knowing her kink was receiving praise but she looked radiant as she gazed upon him doling out such sweet praises. He felt weak in the knees, overwhelmed by pleasure and his desire for her.

"I would love that-" He manages to exhale as he presses back to meet her thrust, a moan louder than before spilling from his lips. She reached forward, draping her body against his and stroked his cheek. "I love you, I love you so much." She murmured against his skin, stilling her thrusts for a brief moment. "I love you too." He breathed out, feeling her slip back and grasp his hips with one hand. The other slipped down and grasped his cock, causing him to let out a desperate sound. She thrusted in time with her strokes, slowly working him up towards his orgasm. Each breathy moan and sigh was like a symphony of her own making, ready to commit this to memory. She knew the telltale signs of his climax, the way his hips trembled, his hands grasping tighter to the pillow.

"That's right sweetheart, I need you to cum for me Enver, show me how much you're enjoying your wife's pretty cock." Her tone was sweet, adoring even, and it made him shiver with delight. "Yes darling-" He moaned louder, the combination of everything hitting just right as he came, bucking his hips back desperately as she continued to stroke him through it. His sounds were desperate, his body trembling as he leant more into the bed. She stood there, her own thighs trembling from the effort and from how bad she needed to finish. He slipped forward slowly, moving to remove the toy before murmuring to her, his voice sweet and husky. "Come here-"

He guided her to the bed, holding her close against him so he could prop her thighs open. She sighed, a little dreamily, as he embraced her tightly. He kept one arm around her midsection, a gauntlet covered hand cupping her breast gently as the other slipped between her legs. She always delighted when he left the gauntlets on, the feeling of metal across her skin with his touch sending a thrill up her spine. He slowly moved his hand between her legs and purred into her ear, "I see that you enjoyed yourself darling, I should help with this." His fingers circled her clit slowly, murmuring into her ear, "Now I get to take care of you."

She squirmed against his grasp, rocking her hips up as she moans. One of her hands slips into his hair, grasping at it as her eyes close. She's so sensitive, already driven close to cumming from watching him come undone for her. He presses down slowly, slipping two fingers into her as he presses his thumb into her clit. The feeling of his (smoothed) gauntlet against such delicate skin has her almost coming undone already. "Enver- fuck-" She cried out, her hips pressing forward as she turns her head pulling his hair a little more. He chuckles, it rumbling slightly in his chest before he leans and captures her lips. His tongue swipes against her bottom lip, forcing its way into her mouth as she moans. He knows exactly each and every button to press, her pleasure as important as his own to him.

She can feel it approaching, the coil of arousal in her stomach tightening to a maddening feeling. He's claiming her mouth, curling his fingers inside of her slowly. His other hand pinches her nipple slowly, twisting it ever so slightly and it sets it all off. She pulls back, panting and drooling slightly as she orgasms, her hips pressing forward roughly. She cries out his name, pulling at his hair just a bit rougher as she does. They're quiet for a moment before he slips his fingers out slowly, pausing to lick them clean with a low hum. "I can tell you missed me darling, you came so much quicker than normal." She laughed, resting back against him with a radiant smile. "I missed you and I loved my surprise, thank you." He kissed her cheek softly, groaning as he adjusts slightly.

"Let's have them draw another bath, I don't feel like going home just yet..." She laughed softly, "I packed a nightgown and my book so I'm ready." He slowly slipped from the bed, laying her down gently so he could call for a bath. It was moments like this, nothing else mattered they could just be alone and enjoy each other as a husband and wife should be able to.

#my handsome young man ; enver gortash #tav x gortash #this is self indulgent i'm sorry #enver gortash #gortash bg3 #they're married ur honor #the wife writes #something spicy ; nsft