they think you want to break-up
includes diluc, kaeya, and albedo
> requested by anon: hello!! could i request for diluc, kaeya, albedo, (and childe, but only if that isn’t too many already!!) getting a break-up scare? like smth makes them think g/n reader is going to break up with them for one reason or another, and they try to convince the reader to stay with them?
np anon!! i’ve decided to do these three for now, but if anyone wants a pt 2 with childe and others (zhongli, xiao?), lmk <3
*remember, communication is key, guys !! good communication leads to a healthy relationship!!
you’ve been ignoring him for several days now
he doesn’t blame you, of course — not after he said such sharp words to you, no matter if he meant them or not
by the the start of the fourth day of you not speaking to him, though, diluc starts to think you might want to leave him for good </3
he tries to approach you a couple times, but you always quickly turn away or ignore him completely
he’s left you several notes on your doorstep apologizing profusely, but you still won’t face him
his heart breaks. maybe you really don’t want him anymore.
diluc knocks on your door hesitantly, his movements stiff and nervous. he honestly doesn’t expect you to open the door, so when you do, he jumps slightly, eyes widening.
he barely manages to say your name before you cut him off. “what is it?” you ask, the hurt still evident in your voice.
“i, uh . . .” he swallows, looking down. “i came to gather my belongings,” he mumbles.
“i’m aware i left some items at your place the last time i visited, so i assumed i should come get them, unless now isn’t an optimal time for you—”
“diluc, what in the world are you talking about?” he looks up at you, blinking. you stare back at him with a shocking amount of surprise in your gaze. “why would you . . . ?”
“you mean, you want to stay with me?” he asks incredulously, hope flaring in his chest. he sees you soften, quickly reaching out and pulling him in for a hug. “you . . . don’t want to leave me?”
you shake your head, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “no. no, of course not, i’m sorry for ignoring you, i should have talked to you—”
“i shouldn’t have said those words in the first place,” he interrupts, glad to have you so close to him again. “i’m so sorry.”
you pull back and put a hand on his cheek, smiling lightly. “why don’t you come inside? we can talk more, okay?”
he smiles back at you, the relief clear in his eyes. “of course.” he pauses before adding, “thank you, for giving me another chance.”
you shake your head, smile growing. “of course. how could i say no to my hero?”
the blush is evident on his face as you lead him inside, leaving his worries in the wind.
your words just seem to ring in his head days after the small argument the two of you had
“what kind of relationship is this? i barely even see you three days of the week nowadays, it’s like we aren’t even together!”
kaeya sighs, knowing you’re right — he’s been unbelievably busy lately, and most of the time, he forgets to tell you about any changes he makes in his schedule
which leads to a lot of missed dates and dinners
but you still love him, right? despite everything he puts you through? despite the hurt he inflicted on you . . . ?
kaeya decides he needs to win you over again, one way or another.
you look at him with a deadpan expression as he holds out the box of sweets expectantly, a painfully bright smile on his face.
“well?” kaeya prompts. “aren’t you going to accept the gift your wonderful lover bought you?”
you nearly cringe at the tone of his voice. “kaeya, this has to stop.”
he blinks. “wh-what?” he laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “i’ve no idea what you’re talking about, love, but—”
“kaeya.” he freezes, looking away. “what has been going on with you lately? the bouquets, chocolates, souvenirs — they’re piled up in my living room!” he winces. you grab his hands, and he slowly meets your gaze. “talk to me,” you plead.
“i just . . .” he hesitates, looking at your intertwined grasp. “i haven’t been the greatest boyfriend lately, have i? i don’t want you to leave me, is all.” he mumbles the last part, and you can’t help but look at him in disbelief.
“i would never,” you promise, looking at him with sheer honesty. “i know things have been a little rough, but we’ll get through it, okay? together.” he nods, a genuine, confident smile returning to his face.
“right. together.” he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “now, how about i treat you to a proper dinner?”
“no way, i’m paying. i need to repay you somehow.”
“kaeya. i’m paying.”
“whatever you say, boss.”
there have been rumors going around of you being unhappy with him
albedo would never have even found out about them if it weren’t for sucrose, who had nervously told him of the townspeople talking of you wanting to leave him
he takes the news pretty hard
he knows he’s not the greatest partner, but he’s trying
he does his best to make time for you, but it’s hard, especially when he’s so used to working alone in his lab
a lot of times, this leads to him not giving you enough attention, leaving you in the dark for days at a time if you don’t visit him yourself
honestly? he doesn’t blame you at all
maybe it’s time you find yourself a better lover.
he doesn’t move from his position in his seat, his head buried in his hands on the desk. insecurities have been eating him up all day — hearing your voice only makes them worsen. all he can think about are all the reasons why you should leave him.
you touch his shoulder and kneel beside him. when he turns to look at you with glassy eyes, the worry is clear on your face. “hey,” you start, voice soft, “what’s wrong?”
he shakes his head, sighing deeply. “it’s . . . stupid,” he mutters. “i’m being idiotic.”
“you’re not,” you assure, your grip on him tightening. “tell me what’s wrong.”
he lets out another shaky breath before turning to you fully. “do you ever feel i’m not . . . enough for you?”
“what? where is this coming from?”
albedo suddenly feels embarrassed, looking down. “there were people in town talking about—”
“they’re stupid.” he looks back up abruptly, eyes widening. you smile at him, and the confidence that radiates from it warms his chest. “who needs to listen to them when i’m right here? you’re the only one i need, albedo.” you can see him visibly sag in relief, the tension in his shoulders finally leaving.
he nods slowly, a small smile growing on his lips. “you really do know just the right words to say, don’t you?” you laugh lightly, pulling him in for a soft hug.
“of course i do.”
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“my child is completely fine” your child’s favorite fic genre is hurt/comfort
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- in the clamor and echoing noise of a crowded room, leaning on someone’s shoulder or stretched out to rest their head on someone’s lap, eyes shut against the lights, a coat pulled over them for a blanket
- quick and merciful at the end of a long daze of pain, the downward weight of medication taking effect at last, while a hand clutches theirs and a familiar voice whispers that it’s okay now
- weary from travel, warm at last and wrapped in blankets on a hard wooden floor, the fire softly crackling behind the grate, while wind rattles the shutters and their friends’ slow breathing nearby lulls them
- over and over again into a thin drowse, feverish, sweating and shivering, achy arms and legs too heavy to lift, the cycle broken now and again by the touch of cool damp cloth against their face and a spoon pressed to their cracked lips
- worn out after a long day, head forward onto folded arms laid on the table or desk, hair slipped down to hide their pallid cheeks, as someone lays a sweater over their shoulders with a light touch so as not to wake them
- to the sound of someone singing a song they barely remember from their past, but listening to it makes them smile, long years later - they’ll ask for the rest when they wake up...
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- Carrying them
- Cuddling them
- Singing to them
- Massaging them
- Taking their pulse
- Cupping their face
- Rubbing their back
- Spoon-feeding them
- Adjusting the blankets
- Rocking them to sleep
- Giving them a towel bath
- Thumbing away their tears
- Calming them from nightmares
- Laying a palm on their forehead
- Murmuring softly or hushing them
- Running a hand through their hair
- Lifting their drinking glass to their lips
- Brushing knuckles against their cheek
- Squeezing or kissing their nearest hand
- Keeping a bedside vigil so they aren’t alone
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An interesting facet of the hurt/comfort syndrome is that it is actually anti-violent. Unlike many violent escapist stories, such as the Ian Fleming novels, these tales tend to examine the unpleasant consequences of violence in some detail. They portray violence realistically and dramatize its full consequences. In these stories, the main character is hurt purely as a deus ex machina to permit the ”comfort” portion of the story to take place. Emphasis is placed on the love lavished by the comforter on the friend/lover who’s been hurt.
Connie Faddis and Becca Orokin on hurt/comfort as a subgenre that takes violence seriously, To Slay or Not To Slay, Interphase #3, 1976.
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(A special "Sherlock is poorly" request for a very dear friend who is in hospital.)
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Comforting/Soothing Dialogue Prompts
- “It’s going to be okay.”
- “I’m here, I’m right here.”
- “Breathe with me.”
- “I’ll help you.”
- “You’re safe.”
- “It’s not your fault.”
- “You’re not alone.”
- “Get some rest now.”
- “It was just a dream.”
- “We’ll figure this out.”
- “I’m glad you’re okay.”
- “I’m not going anywhere.”
- “There we go, that’s it...”
- “I’m not going to hurt you.”
- “You’re all I care about right now.”
- “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
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How to write softness
(if reposting, please use @irbelletti)
If you’re writing a book with a lot of action, battles, death, and blood, you should definitely add a little softness!
But how should you do it?
I gathered here a couple tips from great books I read that portray softness beautifully.
1. Get contrast
If your characters are grumpy and generally aggressive or cold, a fluffy moment is guaranteed to MELT the reader. Believe me, it does.
Make your characters show softness only in specific moments if they’re not super warm people, and only towards specific friends, members of their family, or their significant other.
It will give your story a lot more depth and will make the reader yearn for more.
2. Decide the degree
A little stroke or a full blown eight-minute hug?
Make sure the softness is appropriate to the moment (for instance, it’s weird for two people to start embracing and kissing if they’re in the middle of a literal war) and if it’s in character.
Remember that for colder characters a simple arm caress shows a lot, and will never be forgotten by either the other character (the reiver) and your audience!
Ideas for gentle softness can be:
Ask for consent to touch the other (meaning to caress them or kiss them)
Brushing leg against leg (or elbows, shoulders, arms)
smiling encouragingly from afar
asking if they’re okay
moving closer without saying anything
resting their arm on the other character’s shoulder
protecting [keep reading]
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Don’t Dream It’s Over
Some hurt/comfort for you all.
The bedside lamp is on. It’s going to take another millennia for Crowley to get used to having a bedside lamp. It’s more common for him to saunter into his dark bedroom and immediately go to sleep- he’ll even put on a pair of pyjamas, if he’s feeling especially luxurious. Bedside lamps don’t usually factor into his routine. Not exactly required, with night-vision.
But now, his routine has changed significantly. It’s made room for a certain angel, who likes having a bedside lamp on- who likes being able to see what he’s reading, before turning in for the night.
Crowley buries his face in his pillow, where it’s blissfully dark and the light doesn’t irritate his eyes. It’s not just this that he’s had to accommodate; no, it’s Aziraphale’s very striking lack of sleep, as well. Aziraphale will sit there with a light on for hours, reading beside Crowley, not sleeping until he decides he may as well. Sleep is not something either of them need; it is something that Crowley enjoys significantly more than Aziraphale; it’s something that Aziraphale has decided to “try out”, like a new hobby, since Crowley moved in and miracled a bedroom.
On top of that, Aziraphale has, in his own words, decided to “do this whole sleeping thing properly”. Crowley has had to make room for hot chocolate or decaffeinated tea before bed. He’s allowed blankets and extra cushions and Egyptian cotton sheets. They have a linen cupboard for all of it. His normal, wallowing sleeping habits have been entirely disregarded.
He is very much alright with that.
“Are you awake?”
Crowley lets out a long, sleepy breath. It makes his face hot, where it’s pressed against the pillow. “Mmmph.”
“Is the light keeping you awake? Be honest with me, Crowley.”
Eyes still closed, Crowley rolls his head so he can speak, words unmuffled. Relatively. “S’fine.”
Truthfully, it’s all taking a lot of getting used to. The reason he hasn’t argued with Aziraphale is because he likes having him here. He loves having Aziraphale here, and that makes all the bright lights and sickly sweet bedtime drinks tolerable. (Tolerable. He will never admit to them being nice.) That doesn’t mean that it isn’t sometimes a bit unsettling. There’s still that very large part of himself that’s uncomfortable, unsettled with being happy. After all, it’s natural to feel wary of the unfamiliar.
He yawns. His jaw unhinges slightly, and he corrects it so as not to inadvertently slip into his snake form. “What you reading,” he mumbles.
Though his eyes are shut, he hears Aziraphale put his book down on the bed sheets. Perhaps looking at the cover. “Brideshead Revisited.”
“I know. I’m an old bore.”
“Mm. We knew that already.”
Aziraphale tuts. “Thank you.”
Crowley doesn’t smile, but he feels it in his chest. How little has changed, despite the fact that everything has changed.
He cracks open an eye.
A bright, yellow light glows on the other side of the bed. It fractures around Aziraphale’s silhouette. Like a halo, but more artificial. No, when Aziraphale shines, he shines brighter and more beautifully than an Ikea lamp. Right now, Aziraphale has returned to his book, legs stretched in front of him under the sheets and reading glasses perched at the end of his nose. Tartan pyjamas with a red trim. Unlike Crowley, Aziraphale is comfortable with being comfortable. At least, he’s better at it than him; it suits him better.
Crowley lies there, one eye looking. Breathing slowly and silently. A little like when he’s a snake, hiding in the grass; he doesn’t want Aziraphale to notice him watching, committing this to memory. Maybe, if Crowley looks longer, watches longer, memorises this, he’ll convince himself that it won’t all disappear.
Inevitably, Aziraphale does look away from his book. Bright eyes looking down at him. He blinks, and his expression turns into pure love. A look of adoration that only an angel could nail so perfectly.
“Darling boy,” Aziraphale says gently.
Crowley watches Aziraphale’s hand come to stroke his head. He closes both eyes for a moment and feels it.
“You should sleep,” Aziraphale whispers. His thumb stroking the hair out of his forehead. “Otherwise you’ll be a terrible grouch tomorrow.”
Crowley snorts. “Cheers.”
“You know it’s true,” he chastises quietly, humour in his voice.
It’s warm. And he’s forgotten that his eyes are closed. He’s forgotten everything except the feel of Aziraphale’s hand on his head. He barely hears Aziraphale when he says:
“I’ll be here when you wake up.”
It’s so hot. Hotter than Hell, and he should know.
It’s hot enough that his tears boil his skin and his throat goes dry. His body is evaporating. And he’s pulled further into the bowels of the furnace, where the flames wriggle more freely, like they’re laughing. He’s pulled further in and he watches the shop, this corner of his heart- he watches it crumble, dancing in Hell orange.
“AZIRAPHALE! AZIRAPHALE FOR GOD- FOR SA- FOR SOMEBODY’S SAKE WHERE ARE-”
Something explodes. Something happens that means he’s suddenly thrown across the room but he doesn’t know how. His mind will only take him as far as you’re on the floor. You’re looking at the ceiling. You’re alone, now.
It’s so hot. It’s hot, so why is he shivering? Why do the tears keep coming, where are they coming from- everything should have dried up, everything has disappeared- everything inside him has been scooped out and cooked and smashed. The brittle, hollow person that he is. A fragile little glass demon, molded for evil, made empty and aching. Filled with traitorous love for an angel. There’s nothing left inside him now. They’ve taken it all, emptied him again.
“Somebody killed my best friend…”
It’s so hot. It’s hot and he’s burning and he feels ash and smoke clog up his throat. He kneels amongst the rubble. But that’s not what makes this feels like hell.
He could stay here forever. What good would it do to leave? What good would any of it-
He can’t see through the fog, the tears, the smoke, the sleep-haze of his mind. He doesn’t need to see.
Like an electric shock- he hears himself gasp- he jumps upright- convulses with deep breaths- his whole body shakes.
“Crowley- oh, Crowley. It’s alright. It’s alright-”
It’s only then that he begins to see what’s around him- the yellow light of the bedside lamp, the sheets tangled at his feet. Aziraphale, sat in front of him. Huge, anxious eyes trying to make contact with his, a weak smile on his lips.
“You’re here, you’re, you’re, you’re-”
And before Crowley even realises that he’s said this aloud, he’s brought into a tight hug. His own cold, clammy skin pressed against Aziraphale’s cheek; soft eiderdown hair in his vision.
“I’m here. I’m here, dearest.”
He feels Aziraphale’s hand on his head, gently stroking through his curls. He feels another pressed firmly against his back. Held there, as if to stop him from drifting away. And that’s what brings him back- that’s what brings Crowley back to the moment, what makes the scorching heat on his skin disappear and the hollow feeling fill again. That’s what brings him back to now, to a world where Aziraphale is alive, and he feels the sob of relief rise out of him.
His fingers dig into Aziraphale’s back, and he clings on for dear life.
“You’re here, now,” Aziraphale soothes. “It’s alright now.”
Crowley is still shaking. He’s shaking because there’s that bitter little animal inside of him that doesn’t believe Aziraphale, that’s angry at him for telling him something so stupid, gnashing it’s teeth at the idea of trusting and relaxing and the suggestion of not being on high alert.
It makes him dizzy, how fast he pulls away from Aziraphale and stands up.
He backs away from his angel. His angel looks back- calm. Prepared. Hands raised like a lion tamer. Kneeling on the bed, amongst a cloud of bedsheets.
“Don’t,” Crowley growls. Backs away a step further. Aziraphale’s serious eyes fixed on him, hands on his tartaned knees. “Don’t. Don’t.”
“Alright,” Aziraphale nods slowly. Expression neutral, quiet. “Alright.”
“You have- you don’t- don’t, jusssssssssst don’t, don’t say it’s alright now, ssssstop saying alright.”
Aziraphale listens. Crowley grips the material of his pyjama top in his hand, as if to tear it off, although he doesn’t. He’s trapped and exposed all at once and he wants to shed his skin like he’s still a snake.
“You don’t know, sssso you can’t say it’ssss alright because you don’t know, you don’t know what’ll happen or what the next ineffable-f-fucking-plan issssss or, you- you can’t, it could all go wrong any minute and you could disappear again just like lassssst- like lasssssssssssst- like-”
None of this really feels like it’s happening yet. It’s the middle of the night, nothing feels real, he doesn’t trust that Aziraphale’s really there and this feels like the dream. This feels like the moment that will disappear, not the burning bookshop. Oh yes, the burning bookshop feels like it’s been branded inside of him forever. But this-
“Thissss- thissss- for FUCK’S sake. This. This is transient. It’ssss not. It’s.”
“Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice breaks, so he swallows. His expression breaks too, so he corrects it. Body bathed in gold light and shadow. “Crowley.”
“Don’t pander me, don’t say those thingssss.” He hears his own voice break now. Feels his face contort with tears. Feels his hands grip the material of his pyjama top again, clutching like a child. “Don’t lie to me. Nothing’sss alright forever.”
“Things have changed,” Aziraphale replies quietly.
“NOTHING changes!” Crowley shivers, a whole body shiver. “Six thousand years should have taught you that by now, angel- Heaven, Hell- they’re never gone, it’s never over-”
“Is that what you were dreaming about,” Aziraphale asks, brows raised and eyes sad. God, Crowley’s made him sad. He can’t cope with it. He feels that snarling animal in him falter, whimper. “Is this about Heaven and Hell, Crowley? Because,” Aziraphale shakes his head uselessly. “I don’t know what to do about that. I’m so sorry. I’d do anything to make you feel safe, darling boy. I don’t know how I can do that, not yet, except tell you that I’m here. I’m here.”
“You died, Aziraphale.”
Crowley gasps a shuddering breath. Aziraphale’s eyes flutter and widen in horror and understanding.
“You died. You discorporated, died- however you want to look at it- they killed you and you were gone and I was alone, and I didn’t- I was going to let the world burn for it, angel. I was going to let all of it burn and I was going to go with it because you weren’t here-”
“There’s no point in any of this, being here, there’s no point of wine or music or Bentleys without you and you just disappeared. You died, you let yourself get killed and you bloody well left me and I- I- you were gone, angel, you… You and me. How can I believe this’ll stay?”
Aziraphale’s up from the bed faster than he’s ever seen him move before. And Crowley goes to meet him- throws himself into Aziraphale’s hug the moment he’s on his feet. They stand there in the semi-dark room and hold each other, Crowley’s choking, coughing sobs filling the little room. There’s a half empty cup of hot chocolate on his bedside, and the marshmallows have congealed. Aziraphale’s book is on the floor, pages open. And he feels the damp of Aziraphale tears on his shoulder.
“My dear. My dear, dear, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice wobbles and strains. Like a bow shuddering along the strings of a violin. “I love you so much. With everything I have.”
Crowley presses his face against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I love you,” he croaks.
Crowley clutches. Aziraphale’s hands press tighter against Crowley’s back.
“There is no way in Heaven, Hell, Limbo, Earth or whatever dimension God may have devised that would stop me from being by your side. If I’m discorporated again-” Aziraphale sighs. “I’d do anything to come back to you. I’d find you no matter what, Crowley, just like last time. Do you understand?”
“I’m sssorry for making you cry,” Crowley whispers.
“Crowley, do you understand? You must know that I’d never leave you, not really. Never.”
His angel is so soft, so gentle to hold. He doesn’t fracture or break like Crowley does. He bends and pillows the blow of every painful thing. His arms are around him and he feels held.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale says. “My love. You don’t have to trust me yet-”
He feels sick with guilt. “I do-”
“I understand, Crowley,” Aziraphale says. And then he pulls away a little, enough that he can look at Crowley, enough that he can see Aziraphale’s watery blue eyes and blushing pink face. His hands cup Crowley’s face. “I understand you may not believe it yet, but it’s true. No matter what happens, I’m here. I’ll find my way back to you.”
Their foreheads meet. Fresh, hot tears pour down Crowley’s cheeks.
Aziraphale wipes them away, swallows loudly and takes a deep breath.
“Come back to bed,” he says gently.
They both do. Crowley carefully kneels on the bed, lies down on his side and curls up into Aziraphale, head on his arm. He lies there and feels his shaking body still, feels Aziraphale’s lips press against his sweaty forehead and stay there. Not quite a kiss, but something kinder.
The room is quiet with their slowing breathes, naturally falling in sync. Crowley’s eyes stare at the tartan pattern of Aziraphale’s pyjamas, the buttons close enough in his vision that they blur.
And then Aziraphale moves, just a little- stretches to his bedside table and takes a book. Crowley doesn’t move to give Aziraphale his arm back. Nor is he going to sleep any time soon. And so he allows him one hand only to open the book and prop it open against his knees.
“The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex,” Aziraphale reads. “Their estate was large, and their residence was at Norland Park, in the centre of their property, where, for many generations, they had lived in so respectable a manner as to engage the general good opinion of their surrounding acquaintance…”
Crowley doesn’t question it. He doesn’t see the point in arguing, not when the sound of Aziraphale’s voice fills the hollowness. Aziraphale reads Sense and Sensibility, Crowley’s head on his arm and a hand tracing gently along his arm. They lie like that for hours, Crowley quietly listening, arm slung across Aziraphale’s stomach.
Eventually, the light begins to wink through the crack in the curtains. It starts with that light blue almost-morning sky, then with the watery yellow of the winter sun. Crowley watches, Aziraphale’s voice filling the silence; he listens until it feels real. As real and as natural as the rising of the sun.
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au where five lied about his age
au where the apocalypse actually killed all life—including plants and insects—so there was literally nothing to eat
au where the commission picked five up after only a couple of weeks because he was dying of starvation
au where five was constantly treated like a child at the commission because he was way younger than everyone else there
au where when he finally got back to his siblings they were all grown up and he decided he couldn't risk being treated like a child again and not being taken seriously about the apocalypse
au where five lied about his age
edit: no need to ask me if i'm ok with you writing fanfic based on this—i officially give blanket permission to go crazy with this and do whatever the hell you want, i fully endorse it
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Lost Time ❤️(Reid Request)
Summary: Reader and Spencer spend their mandatory leave taking the Spring Break Spencer never got to have. (See Requests Here)
A/N: This piece has been a long time coming. It bounces back and forth between Spencer and Reader’s POV!
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: Smut/Angst (NSFW, 18+, Happy Ending)
Content Warning: Mutual pining, dub con (sexual assault – reader victim w/ non-canon character), self-hatred, penetrative sex, unprotected sex
Word Count: 11.2k
It was that time of year again. The BAU was taking its annual leave. The two weeks, which almost never actually lasted two weeks, where the office would be empty. For most of the team, the time was a blessing; their days would be spent with significant others or family, friends, or fame.
Not me, though. For me, it meant two weeks away from the only friends I really had. The days would be spent in the park playing chess or at cafes, lazing around and counting the seconds until I could stop pretending like I had anything else to do. I didn’t mind it that much, really. I was used to being alone, and it wasn’t like it would be forever. If it had been another year with another team, I might have even looked forward to the time off.
But it was hard to be happy about it that year. It was impossible, really, to look forward to days where I wouldn’t see her. Especially knowing that she would probably be spending the two weeks having the time of her life with her absolute piece of shit boyfriend.
I couldn’t explain that to her, though. I couldn’t give away just how lonely I was or just how much I absolutely hated that horrible asshole. So, when she caught my elevator on her way out of the building, I asked the question I already knew the answer to. At least I wouldn’t have to wonder.
“So... what are you going to do on your time off? Do you have plans with your boyfriend?”
(Y/n) looked at me with an expression I could only describe as utterly bewildered. For a second I thought I must’ve said something wrong, but then the thought came to her with a jolt.
“Oh! No, we...” she trailed off, her voice getting significantly softer and sadder, though she tried to hide it with a laugh. “We broke up, actually. Like two weeks ago.”
Don’t look happy. Don’t look relieved.
“Oh, I’m sorry. You didn’t say anything to me about it.”
With a gentle jab of her elbow into my side, she teased, “Aren’t you supposed to be a profiler or something?”
I’m such an asshole.
There was no avoiding the butterflies in my chest and the way my shoulders straightened from the news. The fact she’d touched me made it even worse, and my entire body practically swayed to chase after her.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Please say no. He doesn’t deserve our time.
“Nah. It doesn’t matter,” she mumbled with a shrug. It gave me some hope that she’d maybe finally listened to my, granted, vague advice about her abysmal taste in men.
That hope only lasted a matter of seconds before it was crushed.
“He was probably too good for me anyway.”
“I don’t think that was it.” The bitterness laced through my words so powerfully it stained my tongue. I regretted it only to the extent that it hurt her, but that hurt seemed fleeting and minimal compared to the way a smile eventually bloomed over her cheeks.
It looked a little too sad for my taste. Still beautiful, though.
I wanted to watch her hand as it started to stir, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her smile for even a second. Even as she pressed her palm to my cheek, I only barely strayed to look into her eyes.
With a heavy sigh, she said, “Why can’t more guys see me with Spencer tinted glasses?”
If they don’t look at you like I do, they don’t deserve you. I thought the feelings louder, hoping that she could hear them. Considering she let her hand fall, I don’t think she did.
“Honestly, I just want to... get away. You know?” she started, recognizing the confused look on my face before she thought about how to explain. “Like in college when you got dumped by your shitty boyfriend who cheated on you. You just spend the next holiday vacation on a beach somewhere getting your heart broken by another douchebag.”
There was an awkward silence after she finished, but only because I was trying to figure out if that was really all the context I was going to get. When she started to pout, I panicked.
“I relate to absolutely none of what you just said,” I said to explain the silence, “But I think I get it.”
It was a lie, but she didn’t bother pointing it out. I got the impression I’d only managed to make her feel worse by reminding her that these kinds of things only seemed to happen to her.
The elevator reached the garage, and she waited for me to step off before she followed. Deducing that she was going to see whether or not I hung around, I made a point of only stepping out of the way of others before I turned my attention completely back to her. I really, really didn’t want her to leave yet, even though I had no idea what to say.
She looked comfortable in the ambient noise of the wind caught between the cement. I let myself hope that I played some small part in that feeling.
“Maybe I’ll just go by myself. That’s not pathetic, is it?”
My laughter was probably not the result she was hoping for, but I couldn’t help it. The idea just seemed so silly. “No, you’re not pathetic,” I stated like the fact it was. “If I did it, it would be pathetic. But you? No.”
Her whole body reacted to my voice, her arms jumping up in an excited wave before she shouted, “Oh! Spencer! What are your plans?”
Okay, don’t sound pathetic.
“I don’t have any. I was just going to see if I could finally look into some new theories and catch up on recent scientific journal releases.”
Or, worded differently, I would be sitting on my couch and imagining how much better it would be if you were there with me.
(Y/n) narrowed her eyes, drifting closer to me until our arms were pressed against each other. I tried not to let her see how quickly the contact drained the air from my lungs.
“Can you do that from the beach?”
“What?” I asked, just hoping to keep my mind focused on her words instead of the way she spun around to grab hold of both of my hands.
“Come with me!” she cried so excitedly I thought my heart might burst.
I wanted to tell her yes immediately, to throw myself into her life in any capacity she would have me. I wanted to sweep her off her feet and take her away to a world where she would know love unlike anything she’d experienced before. But my brain had latched on to the most recent red flag in the sea that was her romantic preferences.
“With you? To the beach?” I asked first, to clarify. My heart ached when she bounced her head and held tighter to my fingers. There was no nice way of saying the next part.
“Go with you to... get your heart broken by some guy? I don’t know, (y/n), I might get in the way of that.”
Her body language faltered, but only for a second before she brought back the same enthusiasm from before I pointed out the gaping hole in her plan.
“Come on! It’ll be fun!” she urged through a bright, toothy grin, “You’ve never had a spring break experience and I’m the perfect wingwoman!”
That last word felt like a punch to the gut, yet another reminder that even in a world where the two of us ran off into the literal sunset together, it was never as a couple. She would always belong to someone else.
But how could I say no to her? How could I look at her, bouncing on her toes and hands wrapped around mine, and not want to follow her? How could I hurt her and pretend like I loved her at the same time?
I heard myself say it before I realized what had happened. (Y/n) looked equally concerned that she heard me wrong.
“Okay?” she repeated.
“Yeah…” I answered, letting the words come slowly in the hope it would make them sound more genuine. Because they were. “I’ll go with you.”
“Really?” She was bouncing even quicker, knocking both of our bags against each other and eliciting a rather embarrassing giggle from myself.
“I can’t promise I’ll be the best wingman, but I’ll be better than a college girl... I think.”
There was no second-guessing what I’d said, or worrying about whether it was too weird, because as soon as the words left my mouth, she had thrown her arms around me. I caught her in my own, not bringing her closer through sheer force of will. Instead, I let her adjust the pressure exactly how she wanted to and cursed my satchel for getting in her way. But she didn’t even seem to notice, burying her face in my shirt and mumbling the words against the fabric,
“Thanks, Spencer. You’re the best friend in the world.”
Don’t look hurt. Don’t let her see how much it hurts.
Avoiding the thought as best as I could, I cleared my throat when she started to pull away. “You know I hate the beach though, right?” I started with a bit of a whine. Before I got any further, she cut me off.
“Alright, fine,” I sighed, “You win.”
But from where I was standing, I wouldn’t exactly say that I lost.
The crisp white sheets of the resort hotel weren’t new to me. I swore, no matter how many stars a place had, they all used the same bleached-out supplier. I guess I just hadn’t really had time to think about how much they sucked when I was exhausted from work. And the few times I did go in my free time, I was usually way more distracted by the other person in the bed with me.
Maybe that was why the sheets felt so strange then. Because while I wasn’t at the beach alone, there would be a set of two doors between me and him.
“It feels weird not rooming with you,” I announced to the man who stood on the other side of the threshold, carefully cleaning the wheels on his suitcase before he would let it touch any other surface in the room. The action made me smile because for a brief moment I forgot just how strange it was.
I was just so used to his idiosyncrasies. I actually quite liked them.
“I’m just on the other side of the door,” Spencer chuckled, pointing to the barriers that had remained wide open since we’d arrived.
“Yeah, but, I don’t know. I’m used to staying in the same room as the team, you know?” I tried to argue.
It didn’t work.
“Not really? We usually stay in our own rooms?” he returned with knitted brows and another nervous laugh. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to deflect or if he was actually just oblivious to my very poor attempts at flirting. I figured it was probably the former and let it go. After all, I wasn’t really his type. And considering he wasn’t a raging asshole, I guess he wasn’t my type, either. No matter how badly I really, really wanted him to be.
“Fine, then. I guess you won’t get to cuddle with me tonight,” I said with a triumphant huff.
That time, the laugh he gave was genuine, fading off into the calm, comforting feeling flowing between the rooms. “I’m not really what they call a ‘cuddler,’” he explained simply. Unfortunately for him, I knew him a lot more than he gave me credit for.
“Oh, I don’t believe that for a second.”
The boy who begged to share a blanket with me on the jet couch could not convince me that he would not love a proper cuddle. No way.
Almost sarcastically, Spencer challenged my conclusion with his own observation. “I don’t know, I’m pretty stingy with physical touch.”
I figured it wasn’t worth the argument when I could see from his little smirk that he knew I was right, anyway. Because it was true that Spencer was usually stingy with physical touch with most people— but not with me. Most of the team would get the semi-regular hug from him. I’d even been told by JJ that he’d taken even less time to take that leap with me. It didn’t mean anything, though. He’d grown a lot since he started at the BAU. He was just a different person. It wasn’t anything special about me. Which was why I didn’t linger on the topic, instead shifting it to the remarkably more relevant.
“What about sunscreen?”
Spencer, the non-cuddler that was apparently still fixated on cuddling, didn’t catch on. With an adorably confused look, he asked, “What about it?”
Again, I was too used to him to be surprised by his obliviousness. I held the bottle up to him as I tried to lessen the smile on my face as I clarified, “Will you help me put it on?”
“S-Sure,” he squeaked. That time, it was less obvious if he was trepidatious because he was uncomfortable with putting it on me, or if he would have reacted that way to anyone. He had just told me he was stingy with touch, after all. But he came to me too quickly for me to be concerned. I also saw the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat when I finally pulled off my shirt, revealing my back and shoulders to the man who had definitely seen them before.
I wrote it off as him being a gentleman, but it was hard not to feel a little uneasy at how badly his hands trembled when they did finally touch me. I told myself it was just because he wasn’t used to touching half-naked women, but I had no reason to believe that. Spencer didn’t talk to me about his love life… at all. Trying to spare my feelings, I guess.
The same preservation couldn’t be attributed to me. Without even thinking about the sultry nature of the noise that escaped me as he rubbed my shoulders, I drawled, “Your hands are so warm.”
If he was trembling before, he was positively shaking now. Still, Spencer said nothing. He just kept trying to smooth out the stripes of white down my lower back that arched at his touch.
“What’s it like having big hands?” I asked, hoping the terrible conversation choice would help distract us from the way my ass pressed against him.
Spencer was too far gone. Despite the constant clearing of his throat, he managed to finish as quickly as possible and practically threw my coverup back at me before turning away.
“I’m not sure I understand the question,” he mumbled, taking a seat beside me and crossing his legs in a very transparent manner. I didn’t want to think about the effect touching me had on him, but I couldn’t help it. He looked so pathetically polite while he tried to distract himself by poorly applying sunscreen on his arms and face. Like I would blame him for being a man who was attracted to a woman’s figure.
There was still little reason to dwell on it, though. Instead, I just took his hand that had run out of sunscreen and resorted to nervously ruffling his hair. When Spencer looked up at the contact, all he would find was my palm flattening against his, slowly stretching out our fingers to see how different they were.
“Have you ever seen Tarzan?” I asked, unable to hide my inspiration for too long.
“Can’t say that I have.”
It wasn’t that surprising, considering. But it was an unforgivable thing, nonetheless.
“Let’s watch it tonight,” I suggested, intertwining our fingers and pulling him back off the bed.
Spencer laughed as he fell forward, apparently no longer insecure about any signs of attraction. I wondered if it was because I had a similar effect on him as he had on me, but I didn’t ask. No, I just pulled him closer, wrapping my arm around his waist in a very poorly conducted waltz that involved almost no movement. He played along, anyway, moving his two left feet and almost crushing mine in the process.
“I thought you wanted to go find some… ‘douchebag’ to break your heart,” he muttered between missteps.
“I figure I have all week for that,” I sighed, leaning forward in the hope that it would lead to him holding me closer. When it did, I realized that I’d made a mistake. Because the second I was caught in that embrace, I knew I’d never want to leave.
“You never know when someone might come snatch you away from me,” I whispered into his shoulder that smelled of sunscreen and home.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be around,” he reassured me.
I wanted to believe it. I wanted to think that he would always be there. But the truth was that it wouldn’t be fair to him. I wasn’t what he needed and we both knew it.
Spencer Reid had enough pain and heartbreak to last a lifetime. The last thing he needed was another mess.
“Come on,” I said as cheerily as I could with the regretful thoughts demanding my attention, “Let’s go to the beach.”
And as usual, he didn’t put up a fight. He just followed me with that same solemn smile and his hand holding onto mine for dear life.
Despite the setting, (y/n) reminded me more of a faerie or a sprite rather than a mermaid. I decided this after about the third hour of watching her prance along the beach. Between the radiant smile and laugh that seemed never-ending and the way her skin was already practically glowing from the kiss of the sun, it was impossible to draw any other conclusion.
Then again, the way she managed to drag me out into the ocean was definitely siren-like. There were few other explanations for how she could convince me to step into the vast unknown that was the ocean.
That being said, I didn’t regret it. Not even a little bit. How could I when it made her so happy? Even as the waves pummeled us until we were rolling along with them, she never stopped smiling. She’d emerge from the depths with an excited shriek before clinging to me like she was a second skin.
She said it was just because I was taller, but we both knew she was a better swimmer. I let the horrible excuse go because I really, really didn’t want her to let go. Even after my skin started to turn red under the ruthless star, I didn’t want to leave if it meant I would have to exist without her holding me anymore.
But, of course, eventually she tired herself out so much that even I couldn’t keep her up. We still took our time drying off and settling back onto land. We reminded ourselves just how different things were out here, separate but still together. I still didn’t feel lonely, though. I couldn’t when she refused to let go of my hand the entire way back to the hotel. She didn’t have the excuse of the waves anymore. She didn’t have any excuse at all, actually. I don’t think she needed one, either.
Once we got back to the hotel, though, we had to split up. Our showers seemed so long, even though I knew realistically that we had taken the usual amount of time one would expect for two tired sand-covered people. I just wanted to see her again. Every second away from her was agony.
Not that it was all that different from the time I spent with her. Loving someone unattainable is pretty goddamn exhausting. And as it turned out, I wasn’t the only one feeling that way.
“I’m exhausted!” she whined as she threw herself directly into the middle of my bed, “The sun drained me.”
And of course, in my traditional fashion, I couldn’t be normal for five seconds in response to what was definitely not meant to be a question. So, I immediately burst into a rant to distract myself from the fact that not only was she laying on my bed, but she was also doing so in the tiniest pajamas I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
“It’s actually really fascinating why that happens. Aside from the usual predictions like dehydration and overexertion, the sun also makes you tired because the warmth increases your heart rate and metabolic rate, even if you’re just sitting. And that’s not even considering the sudden introduction of melatonin after you’re removed from the sunlight.”
There were only a couple of avenues to take in response to my nonsense. She could, as usual, acknowledge and dismiss what I’d said, or, if she felt particularly brave, she could engage. The former usually came with a bit of a sting, but this time was… different.
“Come lay down,” she slurred.
She gave a breathy, sultry chuckle as she responded, “Is there someone else here?”
But I couldn’t, right? She couldn’t mean it. It had to be a joke. Why would she want me to lay with her? I mean, she was in my bed. But still — was this a pity thing? There were a million insecurities bubbling to the surface, and I almost listened to them.
All it took was one powerful enough thought to overtake everything else. It was the simple and overwhelming realization that this might be my only chance. There were certainly few other opportunities like this one, with her sleepily begging me to join her while she writhed around on the sheets that I’d brought to replace the hotel issue.
She didn’t know that part about me and hotels. She’d never stayed in my room long enough to find out. She’d definitely hadn’t laid in it, and definitely not with me there, too. So I did it. I seized the day and literally every ounce of confidence I could muster in my body and I joined her.
… Kind of.
Although I didn’t lay down with her, I sat on the edge of the bed. It was close enough that I hadn’t outright rejected the offer, but far enough away that I could test the waters and ensure she really knew what she was requesting. It became very clear to me very quickly, however, that she knew exactly what she was doing. She also made sure I knew that she did not appreciate my hesitance.
With both hands, she grabbed hold of my arm and used all of her strength to literally drag me into the center of the bed. Between my nervous, awkward laughter, I somehow managed to scramble up onto the mattress before she dislocated my shoulder in her insistence.
Once I was there, though, I couldn’t laugh anymore. I couldn’t breathe. My lungs had completely given up any semblance of functioning the second she rolled over to face me. Our noses brushed against one another and her breath fanned over my lips. She smelled of mint and purity, and I was losing any control I had managed to maintain this far.
But while my eyes were stuck on her, she looked away from me with no effort at all. I guess she decided that there were better places to be, because she sunk into the sheets and nuzzled her face into my chest so quickly that I almost worried she’d slip from my arms entirely. But she didn’t. She stayed there, pressing her ear against my chest and undoubtedly being deafened by the pounding of my heart.
“Wow. You are warm,” I nervously chuckled, hoping to muffle the sound.
“So are your hands. Still,” she mumbled back without budging at all.
I could say the same for the lump in my throat, which refused to move no matter how hard I tried to clear my throat. Deciding that I’d rather suffer than disturb the girl half-asleep on my chest, I just croaked out a weak, “So what now?”
“We still have to watch Tarzan,” she grumbled. It was admirable, really, how dedicated she was to the half-baked plan, considering I could practically hear her snoring.
“Are you actually going to be able to stay awake that long?”
“Of course. I’m an adult,” she sneered, “I don’t need naps.”
Unsurprisingly, she was wrong. So wrong in fact that by the time the first music note hit, she was already fast asleep. It bothered me less than I thought it would. In fact, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest were even more comforting than the gentle thrum of the musical score.
I drew the rest of the words against her skin with gentle strokes across her back, wondering how in the hell a cartoon about a man convinced he was a gorilla could so perfectly describe the strength contained in the woman in my arms.
Because there was nothing that I wanted more than to protect her. I wanted to keep her right there, the one place I could shield her from any of the men who wouldn’t love her right. I wanted to feel her breath against my neck and her heart gently matching with mine.
I took in the moment to the best of my ability. I barely watched the movie, too caught up in the sight of her at her most vulnerable. I selfishly wished she would realize just how much better she slept in my arms and want to do it more often. But I knew that was silly. She was just tired from the beach.
This was a once in a lifetime event, and I needed to remember that. But it was so hard to not wish for more. To not hope and pray and beg whatever gods that might exist to recreate this moment over, and over, and over again.
But of course, it didn’t work. After a while, she started to stir in my arms just enough to alert me that she’d woken up.
“Is the movie over?” she said through a dramatic yawn. After that was done, though, she just returned to her previous position with her cheek pressed tightly against my chest. That was, until I regretfully caught her attention with the honest answer.
“It ended… an hour ago, yeah.”
She shot up so quickly that our faces almost collided. I prevented disaster by a couple of seconds and a few laughs at the state of her hair after she’d fallen asleep in such a ridiculous angle. I was sure mine was just as bad, but she was too sleepy to notice.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” she whined like it was all some massive inconvenience instead of exactly how I’d wanted to spend the entire trip. Luckily for me, I didn’t have to tell her that. I had a fantastic explanation that also doubled as the perfect cover.
“If you’ve been asleep for longer than 30 minutes, you shouldn’t wake up until after the 90 minute mark so your body is able to complete one sleep cycle, so you don’t wake up feeling groggy.”
“I don’t know…” she trailed off. I saw the mischievousness forming in her eyes, but I was powerless to stop it. Per usual, I was weak to her whims. Then, with an accusatory yet playful tone, she snickered, “Spencer Reid, I think you enjoyed cuddling with me.”
When I scoffed, she took it as yet another challenge. This time there was no clever comeback or caution. No, she threw herself on top of me with enough force that her impact knocked the little air from my lungs.
“Admit it!” she dared. It wasn’t until I shook my head ‘no’ with my lips pursed shut that I realized our noses were touching.
“Fine,” she grumbled, narrowing her eyes to focus more on the impossibly close quarters. Whatever she found there must have been convincing, because she let out an exasperated sigh before she conceded with one final threat. “Your secret is safe with me.”
My hands made their way to her waist without my instruction, but I wouldn’t have stopped them even if I could have. The little gasp of breath she took in response fueled something dangerous in me. I felt the familiar tightness forming, but couldn’t bring myself to make her move. She was still on all fours, hanging her face above mine and letting the cutest little flush form over her cheeks. I had to wonder if it was from the position or because she felt that feeling, too.
Regardless, I had to do something to break us from this moment before something happened that I would regret.
“I appreciate your discretion,” I finally replied in a register lower than I’d expected. The rumble it produced in my throat was just enough to make my mouth move closer to her. But just before they touched, just before she closed her eyes and gave in my prayers, she turned away.
Barely audible and entirely out of breath, she quickly rasped, “I’m starving.”
The disappointment I felt wasn’t nearly as suffocating as I thought it would be. Because as much as I’d rather have kissed her and consumed her until there was nothing left of us, I knew we’d have to face the real world again eventually. And I still had the rest of the trip left, right? There would be other nights.
“Let’s get food,” she said as she stood up, leaving my bed a little bit colder in her absence.
I shouldn’t have been surprised when it stayed that way. If I’d really wanted her to come crawling back to my bed that night, I should have begged her to. But I didn’t. I gave her the space I assumed she’d need and simply enjoyed her presence from whatever distance she created.
Still, I couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when she wished me goodnight and left the door between us open.
There would be other nights.
I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. I’m not really sure why I decided to pursue some of them. Most of them, really. But there is always this feeling deep in my gut that tells me the mistake is inevitable. So certain, so sure, that the energy taken to try to avoid it would be even more fruitless than my attempts to pick up the disaster in its wake.
I’ve made a lot of mistakes. It was inevitable one would happen this week.
But something about this time was different. Normally when I had someone else on my bed, I was at least able to enjoy the warmth of their skin pressed against mine. His hand on my back should have been comforting, a reminder that for the brief period of time that he stuck around, I wouldn’t be alone. This encounter would be the glue holding together the broken pieces I barely recognized as myself anymore. I’d done it so many times before.
So why did his hands feel so cold? Why were his fingertips sharp despite dull nails, and why did the gruff sound of his voice whispering my name feel the same as metal scraping against a chalkboard?
He didn’t kiss me, and for once I realized that I didn’t want him to.
With one hand against his chest, I applied just enough pressure to hopefully catch his attention. When nothing changed, my voice came out, too meek and too scratchy to sound like an order.
“Actually, I don’t think I—”
He kissed me then, but the alcohol on his tongue tasted more like acid.
“Wait,” I mumbled, pulling my face away but still able to feel where he had touched me. Louder and harder, I cried, “Stop, I just—!”
His hand grabbed hold of mine, and for a brief second, I realized why they felt so cold. My mind replayed Spencer’s palm pressed against mine. I thought about how perfectly they interlocked. It’s cheesy to say it was like the pieces of a puzzle, and truthfully, it isn’t entirely true.
Because puzzles have imperfections. Our hands didn’t.
But my hands were pinned against the bed under someone else. I looked into his eyes and I saw something that terrified me. I saw myself, splayed out with a self-inflicted vulnerability. I looked away because the darkness felt less painful than facing myself. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t. They were too busy, too stuck on the soft yellow glow coming from under the door.
I heard my name, but it sounded so far away. It sounded wrong. It hurt. The hands on my body felt like scratches on a sunburn that didn’t exist. My lungs filled with the smell of regrets that I still had the chance to end if I could just make myself move.
“Please!” I croaked, and something in the way he returned a laugh told me that he was choosing to interpret the desperation as the opposite of how it was intended.
Self-preservation was a powerful thing. Self-hatred was stronger. Until that night, I was convinced that there was nothing strong enough to combat it.
But then the light flickered away, drowning me in a darkness and pain so overwhelming, the fire in my stomach burned through my throat until the words burst out like plumes of smoke.
“I said stop!”
My eyes snapped back up to meet a disgusted rage in a stranger’s eyes, snuffing out the newfound confidence and leaving me paralyzed underneath him once again.
“I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to yell,” I blubbered, regretting the words before they ever even touched my tongue, “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have—”
I hated that I meant them, and I hated that he knew that. But to his credit, he abandoned me almost immediately. I realized that his hands weren’t as cold as I’d previously thought, and a guilt shrouded my thoughts and prevented me from noticing the way the light in the room next door had turned back on.
“I’m sorry. I just… I don’t really feel well. I guess the sun and alcohol aren’t a good mix,” I joked, chasing after the wrong person out of fear and shame and something else.
“Whatever,” he mumbled, gathering his things with a haste that hurt me even though I wanted it to be over faster.
My thoughts ran separate from my mouth, pathetic pleading to the man already halfway out the door, “Maybe I can call you later.”
The door slammed shut just hard enough to rattle the paintings practically nailed to the wall. I wondered if it was possible that the force was also the reason tears dripped from my chin, but I knew I couldn’t blame him for that.
It was my fault. I made a mistake. And this time, I had an audience.
My eyes fell to the sliver of light still peeking under the door beside me and I felt the nausea crash into me much like the waves against the shores we shared together earlier. The seasickness spread, making my vision rock and my breath catch as I suffocated under the weight of what I’d done.
With my hands and forehead pressed against the door, I hoped he’d be able to hear me when I quietly called, “Spencer? A-Are you still awake?”
Silence followed, but I could still hear him within it. I could hear him weighing his options, trying to decide whether it was worth it.
Eventually, he answered, “The door is still unlocked on my side.”
“Oh… Right,” I breathed, letting numb fingers flip the latch and pull the door open to reveal his, still slightly ajar, just as we’d left it before.
At first, all I saw was an empty room. It wasn’t until I pushed the heavy door open that I spotted him, his forearm pressed against the wall and his head resting on it. But the most painful thing about it all was the way his chest heaved with heavy breaths that sounded just like mine had earlier. Like he was still caught in the fray he hadn’t really been a part of.
I don’t know what made my arms seek him out, but they did, wrapping around him despite tremors and trepidation. Spencer didn’t move; his body remained frozen in place but still shaking until he let out a deep breath that felt connected to my own lungs.
Then, he turned within my embrace, enclosing me in a familiar warmth that extended beyond the physical. His fingers, while undoubtedly tighter and more insistent in their grip on my shirt, didn’t hurt.
It felt… safe, which was terrifying in an entirely different way.
“Do you want to watch another Disney movie?” I heard myself ask, muffled in the soft fabric of his shirt.
Again, Spencer paused, his answer coming slow and strained. “Sure,” was all he said. But there was another answer in the way his hands never completely left me, lingering on my arm and guiding me with absolutely no signs of force until we both stumbled into his bed.
Within his hold, there was nothing but a comfort that induced its own guilt from my selfish indulgence in him.
And I thought to myself: Why do I do this? Why let myself feel something that could never actually be mine?
“Are you okay?”
The question caught me off guard, and I opened my eyes to see Spencer staring back at me from the other pillow.
“What?” The syllable broke in my mouth, and I cleared my throat before I continued, “What do you mean?”
“I heard you... you…” he crackled. The words must have stung him as harshly as they hit me, because he never finished the thought. Instead, he pulled me tighter to him until there was no avoiding the red-rimmed eyes that were still filled with nothing but empathy as he repeated, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied. He knew it was a lie, but he didn’t say anything. He held the words back with his tongue between his teeth and his jaw steeled shut.
“You know how I am,” I laughed nervously, “Can’t really blame him for leaving, can I?”
Spencer’s nostrils flared and his teeth ground together. The tension permeated every inch of him, but he never let me feel the pain that forced the words between still tight teeth, “That wasn’t your fault,” he said, “It is always okay to change your mind.”
Butterflies flooded the spaces that desperately craved air, leaving me only able to shrug unsurely before I whispered, “I guess.”
“It is,” he said again, the words harder to ignore when they were spoken with his whole body holding me like I was made of already cracked glass, “Always.”
I bit down on my lip and tried to laugh, but all that came out were almost silent sobs. He caught the tears that flowed down cheeks still hot from the sun and embarrassment, but he had no air in his lungs, either. Together, we struggled to find oxygen in the too-small room, knowing damn well that breaking apart would be easier, but not wanting to let go.
Somewhere within the battle of wills and worn out hearts, I managed to slur, “I’m sorry, Spencer.”
He waited until I was comfortably nestled against him, my face hidden from him while his hard-beating heart beat clearly against my ear. It wasn’t until he knew I could feel the way it sped up when he asked, “For what?”
There was no verbal answer provided, and I told myself that the fact he didn’t let me go was already more than I deserved.
I’d always hated the beach. The sand stuck to everything, and the crashing of the waves, the incessant cawing of the seagulls, and the chatter of tourists created a cacophony of sound that I’d simply rather be without.
But I had never come to the beach at night, and I had never come to the beach with her. It took less than an hour for me to fall in love with the rumbling water that seemed farther away when the sun wasn’t glaring off of it.
The moonlight, pale and unforgiving, was drawn only to the woman lying beside me on the blanket. I was so lost in the way her profile somehow seemed flawless that when she turned to see me, I didn’t even try to hide my shameless staring. A gentle curve appeared on her lips, and I couldn’t decide if it was because she was flattered or uncomfortable. She looked too beautiful for me to think it was the latter.
“Tell me something about the stars,” she said, breaking the silence and drawing my attention back to the sky if only for a second.
“Like what?” I asked. There was so much to say, but my breath seemed better spent on her than the fiery gases light years away. I looked back at her, and her following words reflected what I saw.
She didn’t expand on the thought, and I followed her eyes to the sky and considered what natural wonder might compare to the vision next to me.
“Okay… Well, you see that star?” I settled, scooting closer to her and tilting my head to the side so that we were almost touching.
“I think so?” she laughed as she closed the few inches between our shoulders. “The one that looks brighter than rest.”
“That’s Sirius A, meaning ‘glowing’ or ‘scorching.’ It’s also been designated ‘canis majoris.’ It’s the brightest star in our sky, only outshined in our perceptions by the full moon and the International Space Station. But in reality, it is more than twenty times brighter than our sun. It just doesn’t feel that way, since it’s 8.6 light years away. Which is actually pretty close, considering.”
Normally when I talked this much, people would either tune out or tell me to shut up. (Y/n) wasn’t most people. Not only did her eyes stay wide and full of wonder fixed to the sky, but her hand also strayed over my lap until she found mine to hold on to.
After only a little bit of hesitation, I took the offer. She laced her fingers between mine like they were always meant to be there before whispering, “Keep going.”
I wished she wasn’t talking about the stars. I wished she was talking about us. But I knew better than to assume that, and so I continued with my impromptu astronomy lesson.
“It was one of the oldest recognized stars, and ancient civilizations like the Greeks and Polynesians used it to track the progression of Summer. It’s actually where the term ‘dog days’ comes from. It was the entire basis for the Egyptian calendar, although they called it ‘the Nile star.’”
“A star by any other name,” she interrupted with a goofy smile.
She was the only person who could interrupt me as much as she did and yet never hurt my feelings. It was like it was her way of showing that she was still listening. I wouldn’t complain even if it wasn’t. I just loved hearing her voice, especially half-breathless and threaded with laughter.
“Exactly,” I mumbled, even though what she’d said made little sense in the context. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was her smile that never waned, even as I continued. “That star was what would signal the rising of the river that would revitalize their lands. A symbol of hope and life.”
“What a well-loved star,” she sighed. The sound reminded me of the waves still rolling in the distance. I wanted to stop the lecture and point it out to her, but I was worried that comparing her to something as vast as the ocean might come off differently than I intended.
But what I really meant was that she was so breathtakingly beautiful. So full of life and strength and perseverance. I wanted to liken her to the ocean because of the way I found myself caught in the riptide of her. The way I had been lost in her since the moment I met her.
I stayed there; my mind stuck in the gravitational pull of her until she tore me away from it with a question I would’ve already answered if I hadn’t been distracted.
“Does it have any planets?”
I cleared my throat and my mind before I gracelessly answered, “No. Well, probably not. We aren’t really sure, but it’s probably too young for that.”
“How lonely,” she mumbled back. The answer turned her smile to a frown, and I tried not to blame the stupid star for making her sad. I didn’t stop myself from blaming the people who had hurt her, though. There was nothing to stop me from resenting anyone who ever made her feel alone.
I just needed to show her that even when it felt that way, she wasn’t. I squeezed her hand just hard enough that she broke from her reverie. She didn’t look at me, though, and I had my suspicions that she didn’t want me to see the sadness in her eyes.
“It’s not exactly lonely,” I explained, hoping that the literal truth might serve as some sort of metaphor, “It has a companion star, although astronomers didn’t find it until much later. And one day it’ll probably have planets that orbit it, too. Just like ours.”
Just like us, I wanted to say, but I was scared to be too bold.
I’m right here, I called to her from my thoughts when she turned to face me. Our noses were almost touching, and I felt that same soft breath ghost over my lips as she spoke words I could barely understand over the sound of my heartbeat.
“Do you think people will lay on the beaches of those planets and tell beautiful stories about our sun?” she whispered into the little space that remained between us.
“If they’re lucky,” I replied, my words crackling like softwood in a fire.
Be bold, something in me called, or be quiet forever. And I must have lost my mind, because I wanted to listen to it. I watched as her gaze bounced between my lips and my eyes, and I swore I heard her giving the same desperate plea.
Be bold right now, it said even louder, or be quiet forever.
“If they’re really, really, lucky…” my voice trailed off, but my free hand found its way to her cheek that was still warm from the earlier sun. As I stroked her cheek, she came closer, her lips just barely touching mine as I finished, “they’ll find someone even more beautiful to share that moment with.”
I think that she smiled in response, but I couldn’t be sure. Because as soon as she had the chance, she closed the space between our lips. Just like that, she kissed me like it was the most natural thing in the world. She let go of my hand, but only so she could lace her fingers through my hair and pull me closer. That action alone made me gasp, and she took full advantage of the opportunity by sneaking her tongue between my parted lips.
Meanwhile, my hands struggled to decide how to hold her. Eventually, they settled on not holding her at all. Instead, the two of us rolled until I had her pinned beneath me on the blanket. I would’ve felt bad about the escalation if she hadn’t already wrapped her legs around my waist like the cutest little koala. Her whole body clung to me the same as the sand, and I found myself hoping that I would also find her everywhere.
The first time she moaned into my mouth, my heart nearly stopped. It sounded so much smaller than I imagined, so gentle and shy and not at all like the rest of her. I wanted to hear it again, and again, and again, until it echoed in my mind like the crashing of the waves.
“Spencer,” she purred against my lips before she even took a breath. That sound was even more beautiful than the last. Her hands, too, were wandering from my hair down my back. She arched her own until our chests touched, and I wondered if she could feel the way my heart reached out for her.
I didn’t trust myself to say her name without it sounding like, ‘I love you,’ so I kissed her, instead. I kissed her with all of the passion and admiration that had stayed locked inside of my chest for over a year, and suddenly I wondered how it had ever fit. There was no stopping it anymore. I didn’t want to.
I didn’t want to stop kissing her, but I had to. Like every supernova in the endless oblivion, the moment reached its inevitable end gracelessly and with a bang. This bang, though, was actually the persistent blaring of a car alarm somewhere in the distance. Although not deafening, it was enough to shake us both from the moment.
The two of us had already reacted exactly like our job had prepared us to when we realized that we hadn’t driven to the beach. By that point, it didn’t matter that it wasn’t our car, because the momentum had come to a screeching halt.
“We should probably head back, huh?”
She said it so nonchalantly that I wondered if she could still feel me on her lips the way I still felt her on every inch of my body. She wasn’t even looking at me, her eyes stuck to the blanket as she fiddled with her top and her hair and tried to pretend like nothing had happened. Like we hadn’t just lost ourselves so much in each other that we forgot all about the stars.
“I have sand on basically every inch of my body,” she chuckled as she brushed the particles off of her. It felt like she was trying to do the same to me.
“Yeah, sure,” I forced the words out like they didn’t hurt, “Let’s head back.”
I used to love this part of the beach. After spending all day in sand and sun, I looked forward to stepping into the shower and watching the evidence of a day well spent flowing down the drain. It felt cleansing. It made me feel new.
But this time, there was no relief as sand fell and disappeared at my feet. Because in that moment, all I saw were failed attempts to wash Spencer from my skin. A fruitless attempt to force myself to forget the way it felt when he kissed me.
It felt wrong.
The plushness of the robe didn’t feel like a comfort or a luxury. It felt like a costume, an attempt to hide away and hope that Spencer wouldn’t see just how hard I’d tried to avoid this exact situation.
But the second I stepped over the threshold into his room, I couldn’t avoid the truth. His eyes roamed over the exposed skin of my legs but stopped on my face. He looked at me, unlike any man I’d ever met. So full of such a pure adoration that it made my chest ache. It reminded me of just how lonely it felt when he wasn’t there.
I approached him with steps full of trepidation but lacking any regret. How could I think this was wrong when my legs moved towards him without my permission. My body sought him out so clearly and strongly that I couldn’t deny myself the pleasure derived from his company.
So why was it that my hands reached out, but stopped before they touched him? They stayed suspended just beside his face, begging him to do something to take the last step to close the distance between us.
He didn’t. His hands came to mine just as slowly as I’d come to him, and he led them away from his face and down to his chest. Silently, he pressed our hands against his heart like the harsh beating held a morse code message for me. Words in a language I didn’t understand.
I was so frustrated that I had to bite my tongue to hold back tears that slipped out, anyway. That was the only thing that tore Spencer’s hands away from mine. He wiped them away with so much tenderness I could only cry harder. Gentleness was such a foreign feeling that my body must have mistaken it for pain.
A different kind of pain. An ache that I wanted to throw myself into and drown in. A feeling so overwhelming that there was nothing else except for the two of us, lost at sea and hoping to never find land again.
“Break my heart, Spencer,” I whispered, surprised to hear my own voice but glad to have broken the silence. “Kiss me again.”
I could see the thoughts behind glassy eyes, that same desire to let go of the control and the fear. But his words betrayed those thoughts, and with a sad, pathetic voice, he answered, “I… can’t.”
I felt my dreams slipping through my fingers, even though my hands held tightly to his shirt. Everything I’d ever feared was coming to life in front of my eyes, and I tried to fight the inevitable with everything I had.
“Why not?” I begged in the form of a question.
“Because it means something to me,” he replied, and I felt the familiar words like a punch in the gut. I’d felt them before, but he still felt the need to explain it to me like it wasn’t currently tearing my soul apart at the seams, “Kissing you means too much to me.”
I laughed. It was a breathy, exhausted chuckle that made his frown falter for just one self-pitying second before our eyes locked again and he saw the full force of the feeling behind it.
“Then do it,” I said with an almost silent whine, “Please.”
I should’ve known better. It would take more to convince him than thinking things really hard. But the mere thought of spilling my heart out to him was its own kind of paralyzing. My mouth wouldn’t move, and while his lips opened and closed, he also couldn’t make the words come through. Until they did, weak and scratchy.
“I can’t do it unless… It means something to you, too.”
The words, spoken by a bona fide genius, were simply too stupid to acknowledge. I couldn’t even formulate enough words to explain just how ignorant they were. So I didn’t even try to string together a sentence filled with the frustration and admiration I felt for this absolute idiot in front of me. No, I just forced my way through the little space left between us until our lips met again.
They were so much shier this time, our hands inching by instead of flowing freely over one another. His breath came out hard, and our cheeks slid against one another with salty tears. They were the evidence of how much our bodies were overflowing with love, unable to contain the feeling any longer.
The kiss was shorter, too. It ended abruptly, with my lips breaking away to take in a shaky breath and force out an answer, just in case he needed it. Because he deserved to hear it.
“It does mean something to me. It always would have.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” he whined back, his pitch wavering with his hands that still weren’t entirely comfortable holding me like this.
I thought about the question because I didn’t know the answer. I closed my eyes hoping that it might clear my mind and make it easier, but even then, all I saw was him. I was faced with all the lies I’d told myself to keep us apart. There was no denying that I’d loved him for a long time, and if I was really being honest, I’d seen that same love reflected in his eyes. But I ran away from it and into someone else’s arms. Always someone who I knew would never look at me like he did.
Then the words came, through small sobs and with a life-altering wave of relief. The truth came out, genuine and untainted and raw.
“We accept the love we think we deserve.”
And he tried to accept the answer. He tried to see what I saw in myself, but his eyes were too clouded, too colored to see me exactly how I was to him. He looked at me like I was perfect exactly as I existed in that moment, because to him, I was.
“You deserve so much better than that.”
Those were the last words he spoke to me before our bodies crashed together like waves on the shore, always returning to kiss the surface of sand that would mix with the water to create something new. Spencer didn’t just kiss me. There was something else there, too, something deeper than a meeting of mouths.
For once, I didn’t try to identify it. I let the feeling flow through me, opening my mouth to him and feeling the way our bodies started to tangle together faster with each passing second. I barely registered his hands tearing my robe open, noting how I didn’t feel even the slightest tinge of fear as I stood bare before him.
His arms wrapped around my waist felt more comforting than any fabric, and when he spun us around, I fell back onto the sheets trusting that he would follow me. Which, he did… after he took a few seconds to appreciate the sight he’d worked so hard to have displayed for him. But seconds were all that he allowed himself, with hands too excited to find me again.
We tore the last barriers away in a mess of clothing and covers until we were back to where we were on the beach, with him hovering above me and protecting me from everything else. Within the confines of his arms, I felt safe in a way I’d never experienced before. My breath got faster to match my heart, and Spencer must have seen the way it made me shake. Because he kissed me again, returning me back to equilibrium before he spoke the unavoidable truth again.
“You’ve never let anyone love you right.”
But the meaning behind the words was lost on me, my mind too stuck on one word to move past it. My thoughts paused, but my body continued to explore the way it felt to slide against his. Somehow, my skin burned hotter with each second I got closer to asking him the question I needed him to answer.
“You… love me?” I finally said aloud, granting myself the grace to stop all movements while I waited for his response. It came seconds later, with a full-hearted enthusiasm presented with a little bit of a laugh.
“Yes,” he whispered through it all, “I love you.”
I bit down on my lip, but the laughter came through, anyway.
“You love me?” I asked again, just hoping to hear it again.
Spencer understood the request, and right before he kissed me again, he repeated the words. “I love you,” he said, again and again, each time our lips broke apart enough to allow him to speak.
“I love you,” he said for what must have been the millionth time before I could manage to return it.
My “I love you” was returned through uncontrollable giggles, urged on by his lips tickling my neck and his hand working its way over my stomach with soft, barely-there touches. There was so much joy, so much love, that by the time his hand landed between my legs, I’d almost forgotten what was going to happen.
It had never been like this before.
Everything shifted when he brushed knuckles over my sex, reminding me of what we were about to do. The laughter stopped, but it wasn’t replaced with an apprehension or sadness that I felt so often. It was pure, unadulterated joy so unfamiliar to me in this context that I’d almost interpreted it as a mistake.
But then he said it again.
“I love you,” he said, and the anxiety transformed to lust that couldn’t be sated by his finger delving between my folds. My back arched to meet him, and his mouth chased after my lips to make sure that we were never too far away from one another. The slow movement of his hand mimicked the softness of his tongue as we freely explored the new parts of each other.
“Please,” I slurred, earning a chuckle from the man above me.
He knew what I was asking for, and although his retreat was slow, it was in the best way. My body continued clinging to him for as long as I could, begging for his return however he would allow. When the head of his cock pressed against me, I felt my lungs cease all function. I froze, trying to memorize exactly what it felt like to be in this moment with him before everything changed.
“Spencer…” I sighed, relishing the way the name tasted on my tongue.
Before he began to sink into me, he gave me one last assurance. “I’ve got you,” he promised, “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
And despite the words sounding so honest, I still had to ask, “Do you mean it?”
He didn’t mind. He never did. That impossible, wonderful man would sing my praises until his voice wore out and he was forced to write them on every surface he could find.
“God, yes, I would do anything to make you happy.”
The words were paired with more feathery kisses and an unbearable pressure as he entered me so slowly I thought I might scream. I tried to pull him forward, to bring us together faster, but Spencer stubbornly took his time. I could feel his lips curve into a smile against my throat that forced me to return my own, trusting that he would feel it all the same.
“You do,” I answered just in time to be cut off by his hips swiftly snapping forward, entering me with a momentum that carried through my whole body. A deep, guttural moan tore through my chest that so strongly contrasted all of the noises we’d made so far. It was a desperate, animalistic sound that demanded an equal energy from him.
It was a challenge that Spencer was ready to meet. He wasted no time in increasing the force behind each movement. With one hand resting against my cheek and the other digging into my hip, we continued to blend together into a new creature made up of cries of pleasure and overwhelming relief.
Each passing second felt like a lifetime that would still never be enough. There was so much happening that my mind couldn’t decide what to focus on, instead choosing to let my body act of its own accord and Spencer’s guidance.
It was… easy. He commanded each of my muscles with nothing more than a glance. Like he could feel every part of me. I swore it was like his soul held my heart in his hands, helping it beat in harmony with his own until we couldn’t tell them apart. He read my mind and answered all of the fears and the thoughts until there was nothing left but happiness and home.
He felt my ending before I’d even noticed it was approaching, and somehow, he created an even gentler touch as he asked, “Are you ready?”
There were no words I could say to explain the feeling, and I knew he didn’t need me to speak to understand, anyway. I nodded and let our lips catch together again as my body tensed around him.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, and I believed him.
I gave in to the pleasure and the safety of his embrace. Still, even in the greatest heights of pleasure, I never lost the clarity in how it felt to be held by him. When my vision went white, I saw his eyes in the light. My nails dug into his skin and pulled him over the edge with me until we were shaking messes of euphoria and catharsis.
His movements faltered as he filled me with a warmth that spread beyond the physical. I felt the very essence of our beings twine together so tightly that they would never be separated again. He found a home in me, and I held onto that feeling until our bodies collapsed together and brought us back to the hotel room bed.
But even as the yellow lights and strange artwork became obvious again, I didn’t feel any different than I had seconds before. Because that feeling wasn’t forged through atmosphere or alcohol, as it so often was for me.
I still felt at home because that was where I was.
The feeling persisted even after we fell into bed together again, silent and seeking each other out among the sheets. His embrace was more insistent, hungrier in a strange contradictory way. I had a couple theories why, but I had the grace to let him off the hook… sort of.
“Alright. Admit it.”
“What?” he murmured into my shoulder, burrowing his face in my chest like he could actually melt into me if he tried hard enough. But he couldn’t hide from the I-told-you-so I was chasing.
“Fine,” he sighed after a moment of pouting that got him nowhere. “I like cuddling with you.”
“I knew it.”
“You did,” he happily chirped. If you’d told me even an hour before that Spencer would accept his defeat in grace, I would have never believed you. But there he was, openly admitting that I had been right all along while proving my point.
I pried him away from my chest because I needed to prove to myself that it was all real. That Spencer Reid had really told me that he’d loved me. I needed to see the love in his eyes to convince myself that happiness was really possible and within my grasp. And when he looked up at me, he told me all of that and more with a dopey, lovesick smile.
“I…” The words caught in my throat, fighting past one last obstacle. My heart stubbornly held its final wall up, trying to prevent me from giving Spencer all of me.
But I wanted to. I wanted him to see the ugly because I knew he would still find it beautiful. I wanted him to feel the weight I’d carried for so long because, despite skinny arms and a fit test that would beg to differ, I knew he was strong enough to carry it.
“I didn’t realize it could be like this,” I finally admitted, smashing through the theoretical brick to find Spencer patiently waiting on the other side with open arms.
“That’s okay,” he promised, “I’ll never let you forget it.”
(Tell me what you thought of this piece here!)
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Needy/Vulnerable Dialogue Prompts
- “Stay. Please.”
- “I -- I need you.”
- “I can’t lose you.”
- “Please don’t go...”
- “I think I need a hug.”
- “Could you hold me?”
- “Can I hold your hand?”
- “Don’t leave me like this!”
- “Will you come with me?”
- “I can’t do this without you.”
- “Just a little longer? Please?”
- “I just don’t want to be alone.”
- “I don’t want to go without you!”
- “I just needed to hear your voice.”
- “Can I sleep in here with you tonight?”
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Donald didn’t make it off the island, but he never stopped trying to get home.
A collection of sketches I drew back after the season two finale first dropped because I had a lot of unresolved Donald feels fndjfvd
McDuck Enterprises is sending a shipment overseas. The only problem? Their course takes them straight through an area that has, as of recently, developed a bit of a Bermuda Triangle reputation. Any ship that passes through a certain radius will find itself out of control as it picks up speed and veers off course. But the terror of controls that won’t respond and a steering wheel held by some unseen force, only last until the ship escapes the radius and everything goes quiet. Some crew whisper that they’ve seen a sailor, clothing torn and feathers wild as he stares, unblinking, at the horizon; but those are nothing more than rumors.
Scrooge isn’t about to waste expensive fuel with a long detour around the area because some specter wants to take his ship for a joy ride. Obviously, the best solution is to travel with the cargo ship and solve whatever mysteries the area throws at them. They’re the Duck-McDuck family, after all, there’s nothing they can’t handle.... right?
God these are so incredibly angsty on their own fhfjjf
I feel the need to mention I am NOT a tragedy kinda gal. Any and all angst a draw will always come with a happy ending.
If Duckworth can live a normal happy life as a ghost butler, than Donald can live a normal happy life as a ghost dad.
Donald Duck is so gd stubborn not even death can keep him from his family, but he’s stuck in a loop, as he continually tries and fails to get home. He’s a being born from the intense desire to get back to his family, and he’s so single-mindedly fixated on that task that he can’t even notice that they found him. They’ll just have to figure out a way to snap him out of the trance he’s in.
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after five years being palpatine’s errand boy, vader has grown tired of life
(few days later)
redeeming vader au masterpost
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Angsty h/c trope prompts:
Some angsty hurty trope ideas for anyone in need of an inspiration kick off to torment their favs with:
Character A takes a bullet for Character B.
Character A takes a bullet for Character B, but it’s a through-and-through and Character B gets hit anyway and now they’re BOTH bleeding.
Character A wakes up with no memory of Character B, who is now their caretaker and has to look the love of their life in the eyes and see no recognition whatsoever.
Character A is stuck in a timeloop that resets with their death.
Character A is stuck in a timeloop that resets with Character B’s death.
Character A and Character B are stuck in a timeloop together where they both keep dying.
Character A and Character B are in peril, and Character B is super out of it. They have limited survival resources (not enough oxygen, not enough warm layers, etc.) and Character A takes advantage of Character B’s lack of lucidity to make sure that Character B survives, effectively dooming themselves.
Character A is convinced Character B hates them, until Character B makes a sacrifice play to save/protect Character A at their own expense.
Character A is tortured, and Character B is forced to watch.
Character A is tortured, and their torturers wear Character B’s likeness while they do it.
Character A is forced to injure Character B, in order to prevent them from being hurt even worse.
Character A is forced to watch simulations of Character B dying over and over again.
Character A antagonizes their captors to draw their violence away from Character B.
Character A winds up inside Character B’s head and witnesses their worst nightmares/memories that they would never divulge willingly.
Character A kills the bad guy who hurt Character B so that Character B will be free of them without having their death on their conscience. (Character A believes their soul is already tarnished – what’s a little more?)
Character A dies. Character B turns to questionable forces (dark magic, time travel, etc.) to try to save them, at any cost.
Character A and Character B are trapped. Character A realizes that they’re badly hurt and may not make it out, but conceals the injury from Character B so they won’t panic.
Things have been good between Character A and Character B until Character B abruptly starts being cold and pushing Character A away. Character A is confused by this cruelty -- until they find out Character B is dying/in peril, and is trying to protect Character A
Character A comes across their enemy, Character B, injured and helpless, and chooses to help them. Character B is so flummoxed by being shown kindness that they don’t know how to react.
Character A tricks Character B into going on ahead, then seals the door/exit/tunnel/etc behind them, so Character B will be safe and Character A stays behind and faces peril alone.
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Any prompts for a caretaker trying to hush the injured/sick and probably delirious and out of it whumpee??
- “I’m sorry, I know it hurts.”
- “Sleep. I’ll keep you safe.”
- “It’s just water, honey, look.”
- “No, no, you need to lie still.”
- “Just relax, close your eyes...”
- “I’m here, I’m not leaving you.”
- “Shh, shh, it’s alright...Don’t cry.”
- “It’s okay, Whumpee, it wasn’t real.”
- “Whumpee, it’s me. It’s [Caretaker].”
- “Whumpee, you’re at home, you’re safe!”
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Having a relationship w/ Oikawa based on a bet and the gf heard it when the seijoh 4 talked about it making oikawa panicked when he knows his gf heard it.. ahh angst to fluff? Hehe thank youuuu
This was fun to write. :)
Betting on You
Pairing: Reader x Oikawa Tooru
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, a lil fluff
He couldn’t lose her, anyone but her. He shouldn’t have accepted the bet. Needless to say, Oikawa Tooru has a lot of regrets right now. Opening up and being vulnerable to his partner was thankfully not one of them, even if it had ended up with them crying in each others arms.
Mumbling incoherently, Y/N reaches out next to her in the bed, trying to find the warm body that usually occupied the space next her. Frowning when she feels only the bedsheets, she opens her eyes and squints. There’s no one next to her.
“Tooru?” she mutters softly, yawning and sitting up. He was always there, clinging to her, holding her close. Strange. She decides to wait for him, wanting his warmth to fall asleep with. The guy was like a living heater, which was useful during cold winter nights like this one.
Twenty minutes pass and he still doesn’t come back. Furrowing her eyebrows, Y/N sighs and pulls herself to the edge of the bed, slipping on a pair of slippers. She shivers a little when the cold air hits her skin, but continues slowly towards the door to their shared bedroom. Opening it with a quiet creak, she immediately hears voices. A little confused, she quietly keeps walking, stopping at the doorway to the living room.
She tilts her head in confusion when she sees Tooru laying on the couch, tapping away at his phone. It appears he’s on a voice call on speaker.
“Almost three months.”
“Honestly, none of us expected you to last this long.”
Her eyes widen as she hears familiar voices. Matsukawa and Hanamaki?
“You’re still keeping him to that?” Iwaizumi? What were they doing this late at night? The clock on the wall tells her it’s 2 in the morning.
“Obviously. I thought the money was pretty much guaranteed.”
“Can you blame us? He’s never kept someone around for more than a month.”
“Shut up.” Tooru's quiet voice reaches her ears. What money? What was going on?
“You’re not going to win.” comes Iwaizumi’s annoyed voice. “It’s Y/N.”
“Yeah, but before her it was also Mika-Chan and Yui-Chan and Hina-Chan and Aiko-Chan and-”
“Alright, I get it. Iwa-Chan’s the only one who’s on my side.” he pouts, cutting off Hanamaki’s annoying high-pitched imitation of him.
“We still don’t know why. You’re obviously going to lose the bet. It’s inevitable.” Matsukawa claim confidently
“I’ll win in a few days, if you haven’t noticed. Nothing’s gonna happen in a few days.” Tooru rolls his eyes.
“And then you’ll dump her?”
Y/N suddenly feels cold, and it has nothing to do with the weather. Dump her? Bet? WHat was going on? Her mind was racing. Tooru hadn’t indicated that he was unhappy, or wanted to break up. He was always telling her how much he loved her. Was he lying? She felt a little sick at the thought.
“Yeah, the bet was to keep someone around for more than three months. You’ll be done in a few days. What’re you gonna do then?”
“A bet?” she says aloud, her voice hollow with shock.
Tooru jumps and drops his phone, quickly turning around to see his girlfriend looking at him in horror.
“Y-Y/N-Chan...” he scrambles to his feet and ends the call, wondering how much she had heard. “I thought you were asleep?” he quickly moves towards her, reaching out to touch her shoulder. He freezes when she backs away, shaking her head in disbelief.
“A bet, Tooru? A bet?”
“What-? Wait, Y/N...it’s not what you think-”
“Keep me around? You were dating me for a...bet?” her voice starts shaking a little, as she remembers how mere hours ago, he was holding her, assuring her how much he loved her.
“Am I a game to you? A bet? Are you fucking kidding me?” She nearly laughs, because of course he would only date her for a bet. Of course.
He frantically shakes his head, reaching out for her again, but thinking better of it when he glares at him with eyes full of unshed tears. His eyes widened. This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. “Y/N-Chan, listen to me, please, let me explain.” he sounds panicked.
She clenches her jaw. “I should have seen this coming. Of course the Oikawa Tooru wouldn’t go out with someone like me.” She lets out a bitter chuckle at his stunned expression. Before he can interrupt, she pushes on. “Why would you, when you have girls, so much more perfect than me, throwing themselves at your feet all the time?”
“Y/N-” he’s trying desperately to get a word in, wincing when she raises her voice to overpower his.
“Mika-Chan and Yui-Chan and Hina-Chan.” she imitates, recalling the phone call. Tears she’s tried to keep at bay finally start trickling down and Oikawa’s heart twists painfully, knowing that he was the one who caused it. “Obviously, the only reason you’d consider me was because of a bet, a fucking bet, Tooru.” she cries out angrily.
“Y/N-Chan, listen to me.” he says seriously, grabbing her shoulder and looking her in the eyes. “I love you. I’ve loved you since the beginning. The bet means nothing to me.”
Her next word feel like a punch to the gut.
“Bullshit.” she whispers, before repeating herself louder. “Utter bullshit. You never loved me.”
“I did, I do!” he insists.
“If you did, it wouldn’t have taken a bet for you to ask me out!” she roughly shoves his hands off her. Taking a deep breath, forcing herself to ignore his hurt look. “It’s my fault too, isn’t it? I should’ve known better than to accept dating the Oikawa Tooru, the school heartthrob, notorious for playing around.” her words are laced with venom and self-pity. “There’s always gonna be someone better. Someone prettier, skinner, funnier. I was stupid for thinking you would ever fall for me.” All her insecurities come spilling out, accumulated from months of dating him, enduring the comments whispered under the breath by jealous students, girls openly flirting with her boyfriend. She was stupid to think she would ever be enough.
Pushing past him, wiping her sleeves across her eyes, she storms back into the bedroom, Oikawa at her heels behind her. She grabs her pillow and a blanket, turning back around and moving to the couch in the living room. She does her best to ignore her boyfriend's desperate attempts to gain her attention, begging her to give him a chance to explain. She sets up the items and lays on the couch, pulling the blanket to her chin and turning to face the back of the couch.
She refused to sleep anywhere near him. When he doesn’t stop talking she says coldly:
“Leave me alone. I want nothing to do with you.”
She pauses. “No?”
“Not until you hear me out.” He crosses his arms.
“I’ve heard enough.”
“It’s a misunderstanding. If you’d just let me explain-”
“I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.”
He was dreading that. He really does love her, so fucking much. He doesn't want to lose her.
“I’m going to sleep.” She had never spoken to him in that tone before.
She hears a sigh after a few moments of silence, in which he realises that she was going to be stubborn till the end. Y/N hears him walk away and she buries her face in the blanket, silently crying to herself. She freezes when she hears the bedroom door close with a ‘click’ and footsteps approaching her. She turns around a little, to see Oikawa sitting at the foot of the couch with his own blanket and pillow. He doesn’t look at her, focusing on fluffing his pillow and pulling his thicker, warmer quilt over himself. He was equally as stubborn and wasn’t going to leave her alone like this.
She scoffs and settles back down again, still crying. If he notices, he doesn’t comment on it. The two lay in silence for a good thirty minutes. Y/N had stopped crying, but was still awake because how the hell was she supposed to fall asleep after what she had learnt?
She’s startled when she suddenly hears Oikawa’s soft voice. “I love you, you know? I really do. Ever since I saw you in Chemistry last year. You caught my eye so quickly, and I flirted with you for weeks before you got the hint.” he laughs breathily. “You didn’t want my attention like everyone else, and I was curious. It felt different to be the one trying to get someone else’s attention.” he takes a deep breath, and she realises with a start that she’s never heard him this vulnerable. He probably thinks she’s asleep.
“I was planning to ask you out before and I told the others and they laughed at me.” he frowns at the memory. “The assholes thought I was kidding, that I wasn’t serious. Iwa-Chan was the only one who took it seriously. I don’t blame them, cause I’d only ever dated for fun before.” He breathes in deeply again, steadying his voice and Y/N’s eyes widen when she realizes he’s holding back tears.
“So when they bet that I couldn't last more than 3 months with you, I agreed, but only because I was going to ask you out anyway, and I intended on staying as long as I could. As long as you’d let me stay by your side.” He lets out a sad, watery chuckle, and Y/N feels her stomach drop. She never wanted to hear that sound from him again.
“I...shit, I don’t want to lose you. I can’t. You’re the only one for me. I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you.” A strangled, muffled sob, reaches her ears, and it takes all of her willpower to remain still.
“I’m serious about you...about us. You’re not a game, you never were. I just wanted to be with you. I want to be able to hold you again.” another muffled cry, as he buries his face in his hands. He’d never willingly let anyone see himself like this, not even Y/N. He was glad she was asleep.
“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, princess.” he stays where he is, sitting up leaning back on the couch, calming himself down, letting out soft hiccups every now and then.
Y/N is wide awake, thinking over his words. They had to be genuine, right? He had no idea she was awake. He had sounded so...real and vulnerable, nothing like the strong façade he usually put up in front of others. Taking her chances, she discreetly moves, eyes widening when she sees the state he’s in.
One of his hands is over his mouth, muffling his small sobs, Y/N wants to cry as she realises it’s probably so he doesn’t wake her up. His other hand is clenched tightly in his brown hair, his knees drawn to his chest. His face was blotchy and red and wet with tears. She’s never seen him like this. She moves and he doesn’t notice.
Sitting directly behind him, she gently grabs the hand in his hair, to which he nearly jumps out of his skin. Y/N would usually laugh at the reaction, if not for the way he was looking up at her. She eases his hand out of his hair and holds it, tugging him up to the couch. He hesitates, before climbing up, sitting on the cushion next to her.
“You-” his voice wavers, and he tries again. “You were awake?”
She nods, glancing at their connected hands, before staring at the ground. She hears his sharply take in a breath.
“Y/N...love, I meant it. I meant every word, I swear.”
“We’ll talk tomorrow.” she mumbles, tugging on his hand again, until they're both laying on the couch. She reaches over and grabs Oikawa’s quilt and pulls it on the two of them. She relaxes against him when his arms automatically wind around her waist and he buries his face in her hair, pressing small kisses on her. Each was an unspoken apology.
She knows he’s crying when she feels the tears hit her skin.
He knows she’s crying when he can feel her shaky, irregular breaths.
They lay there, eventually falling asleep clutching each other tightly, both of them hurting on the inside. They would have to have a serious talk tomorrow, but both had a blooming hope that they would pull through.
Requests are open and Welcome. Thanks for reading!
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Kylux - The Starkiller Rescue “You Saved Me, Hux...”
Kylo and Hux just can’t help but keep saving each other...
KyluxBigBang2019 @kyluxbigbang “arranged marriage” prompt, art 3/4 for fic: “When No One Else Is There “ by Kittens (aka threewinterssnow)
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Fic: Fisticuffs 1/1
(gif created by @mrcavill )
Title: Fisticuffs 1/1
Rating: Some mature language and sexual imagery. Major Fluff and a good dose of hurt/comfort, marital bliss.
Word count: 2334
Summary: It should be against the law to pummel such a handsome face! But even as his wife, you can’t talk Sherlock out of bare knuckle fighting. He loves the thrill way too much, but not more than he loves you.
As a new revolution in the technology of photography began to emerge and become intrinsically entwined with the advancements in science and medicine, Sherlock was pleased that you had expressed an interest in taking up photography as a feminine pursuit.
He often remarked how he envisioned you making a name for yourself as a woman pioneer in the field and throughout your courtship, he brought related books and pamphlets for your amusement and perusal. His particular encouragement of you did not cease even after he asked for your hand in marriage.
Shortly before the wedding and as a honeymoon gift to you, Sherlock prepared to have a darkroom built in one of the spare rooms at the back of the house into which the two of you planned to move. He had commissioned the renovation in secret and ensured that you remained blissfully unaware of what was happening, keeping it under the guise of merely remodeling the house for his new bride and that the construction would take place whilst the two of you honeymooned in the Cotswolds.
Weeks after having settled into your newly married life, one evening whilst chatting quietly over late tea and cake, Sherlock had risen from his chair, taken you by the hand and led you to where the house smelt of new cedar and fresh wallpaper paste. When he opened the door and pulled you inside, you couldn't help gasping with delight as you surveyed the large room. Whilst Sherlock had not taken it upon himself to furnish or stock the room, as he professed to knowing absolutely nothing about the technology (which you knew was a lie, but you let him have it), he had made sure that the space was usable. There was a door at one end of the room that led to the darkroom and at the other end, by the french doors that led to a small walled off garden was little area where you could have subjects come in to pose for a portrait.
'I intend to have this be a purely scientific pursuit,' you'd told him, and when his fond expression told you that he didn't believe you, you laughed and put your arms round his neck to steal a kiss.
Maybe not /purely/ scientific, you thought. A little extra mad money from a few portraits couldn't hurt.
So you thanked your husband, gathered your skirts, darted up the stairs to the master bedroom shouting that you just had to thank him properly and the only way to do it was to be pressed into the mattress beneath him.
Sherlock was an enthusiastic and generous lover that you ran out of reasons to make love with him outside of just wanting to feel his elegant fingers inside you and his lips on your tender skin.
Most evenings after dinner, you could usually be found in that room either developing film, studying new techniques or taking photos of yourself as a test subject.
And, that one cool spring evening in April was no different. You had become engrossed with dismantling and rebuilding the mahogany and brass plate camera and hadn't noticed the time. Sherlock had been out at the gentleman's society club and the sound of the front door opening and then closing echoed through the house.
You looked up from your work and listened, hearing Sherlock's familiar tread on the front room floorboards. He sounded like he was coming in your direction and you immediately placed your hands against your hair to ensure that you didn't look as tired and frazzled as you felt. Heaving yourself up from the floor with a low groan, you stood, stretched and leaned over to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror that sat in it's gold frame on the floor across the room.
Dusting off the skirts of your tea dress, you went to greet him at the door, ready to kiss and welcome him home. Then the footsteps turned round and went in the other direction towards his study at the front of the house.
You felt disappointed, but it gave you some time to go to your wash stand upstairs and freshen up. You powdered, perfumed and re-pinned your hair and pleased with your appearance, you went back downstairs to the study.
The door was slightly ajar which signalled that, if desired, you were welcomed to enter at your leisure. When you pushed opened the door the woodsy scent of his pipe tobacco wafted towards you. Sherlock had not lighted any of the lamps and he sat in his chair by the low fire and smoked.
'Are you all right?' you asked, still standing in the doorway.
You kept your tone low and solicitous, for if he was in a foul mood, you didn't want to exacerbate it.
Sherlock's long, deep sigh was audible over the low crackling of the fire.
'I'm fine, darling,' he said sounding infinitely weary.
You closed the door, walked to the hearth and striking a match, you touched the yellow and orange flame to the white rectangular oil lamp wick. It spluttered a bit before the oil soaked material ignited and you slid the glass chimney into place.
The warm light filled the small room and as you tossed the match into the fire, you turned to your husband.
'Sherlock!' you cried, dropping to your knees by the chair and grabbing his cool hands which were bruised across the knuckles. 'What happened to your face!?'
In the glow of the lamp, you could now see a darkening bruise streaking across his cheekbone and another blooming around the corner of his mouth. His lower lip was split and bloody and you took personal offense that someone had the gall to pummel Sherlock's perfect face.
'Oh darling,' you cooed, reaching up to cup his cheek, and like a trained pup, Sherlock leaned his face into your touch, grimacing a little to show you that it still pained him. 'What have you gotten into? Were you out defending my honour?'
This earned a soft chuckle and he pressed his big hand over yours against his face.
Sherlock was quiet for a moment and you knew that he was gathering his words to exactly describe the dastardly situation and how he had to fight his way out of it.
'I ... Mycroft and I went to one of the sporting rooms this evening and I-- engaged in a boxing match.'
You sat back on your heels and stared incredulously up at him and it took a moment for a surprised laugh to wriggle its way up from your throat and out of your mouth.
Your respectable level headed husband had spent his evening in a combat pen with a brutish man!
'Oh,' you continued to giggle fondly. 'My darling boy.'
Rising, you leaned in to kiss the top of his head before leaving the study to retrieve the Strickland's arnica salve. You also mixed a little bit of brandy and water, tossed a clean towel over your shoulder and brought all items back to where Sherlock sat slumped in his chair.
You tutted softly and ruffled your fingers through his hair.
'Poor boy,' you murmured, handing him the small brandy which he took gratefully and swallowed down immediately.
You started to move away in order to fetch the low stool that you used to reach books on the higher shelves when Sherlock gently caught you by the wrist.
'Sit on my lap,' he said, eyes slyly bright and eager in the undulating lamplight.
'And, how do you expect for me to treat your wounds?' you asked playfully, sweeping your skirts aside and delicately perching yourself on one muscular thigh. "Whilst sat on your ever so inviting lap?'
Sherlock rested his hand on your lower back and let his head loll back against the high backed chair.
He encouraged you with a warm smile. 'I'm sure you will have no trouble figuring it out.'
'I think you want to be naughty in your infirm state.'
'And you would deny me your tender care?'
You made a show of wriggling against his thigh to make yourself comfortable and then cleaned his face with the water moist end of the towel. Sherlock hissed with discomfort and you cooed softly with sympathy.
'Of course not, darling, however, I do wonder how the other man looks.'
Sherlock popped one eye open to look up at you.
He tried to smile but winced as the motion reopened the split in his lower lip.
Seeing this, you frowned a little and leaned in to lightly touch your lips to his.
'Stay still. No smiling, darling.'
And then as if on cue, his lips curved into a smile and he grunted miserably, flicking his tongue out to lick at the deep red slash.
'I said no smiling!'
You laughed and continued to clean his face and then opened the small tin of arnica salve which was proven to treat surface contusions and bruises. With light fingers, you applied a thin layer of the grease along his cheekbone and then another layer to the purple and red bloom beneath the skin around the corner of his mouth.
Smiling a little, you enjoyed the silence that fell between you as you gently, massaged the arnica into his bruises until the skin absorbed it. You could see that it was comforting him as the wrinkles between his brows smoothed and calmed. Sherlock had long ago put aside his small glass and had worked his hand beneath your skirts and was absently stroking your bare thigh between your stockings and drawers.
'There,' you murmured and leaned in to kiss his temple. 'Right as rain. I ah, take it that you won your match?'
'Of course,' said Sherlock, sounding cocky and pleased with himself.
The warmth of pride rose in your chest.
Lowering your voice, you eased your fingers into his hair, 'Of course. And, how should my champion be rewarded?'
When he chuckled like a delighted little boy, you mirrored his pleasure.
You knew exactly what your beloved husband was going to suggest, but something exciting seized you.
Pressing the cap back onto the arnica salve, you gingerly got up from his lap, gathered your first aid items, and left the study. When you didn't return quickly, you heard Sherlock call out to you, beckoning you to come back. But, instead of returning to his side, you went to your own photography studio. Leaving the door open, you cupped a hand to your mouth and called, 'Sherlock! Come along, dear.'
It didn't take long for him to appear in the corridor and then make his way to where you stood in the doorway of the back room.
He glanced around the room curiously. He didn't generally make a habit of disturbing your private sanctuary uninvited and you could see that he was impressed with how the room was coming along. You smiled and rubbed your thumb across his cheek.
'I want to capture your...' you paused, teeth pressing down into your lower lip as you mentally searched for the word, before dropping your shoulders and lifting both your tightly clenched fists in a boxer's ready stance, scowling to show your intent.
Excitement sparked in his face and you laughed at your own antics, glad that your idea had not fallen flat in his opinion.
Snapping back into your usual perky self, you grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the room. Kicking the door shut, you ushered Sherlock to the small alcove where the portrait area had been set up, complete with painted canvas background detailing a pastoral view.
You positioned a slightly smiling Sherlock in front of the canvas and scurried to fetch the only other camera that was not in pieces on the floor.
It was a small handheld wood box and you carried it carefully back to where your husband stood waiting.
'Go on,' you giggled. 'We want you to look like a proper fighter. Off with your waistcoat and shirt.'
You watched him greedily, eagerly when he began to undress without complaint and a sigh of satisfaction escaped your lips when he was finally bare to the waist. Unobtrusively, you clenched your fingers at the sight of him. Sherlock was beautiful, strong, and decidedly masculine and you were seized with the desire to run your fingers through the hair on his broad chest.
You were sure that Sherlock was keenly aware of your appraisal of him. He was aware of everything when it came to you and you felt hot and suddenly aroused.
'How did I get so lucky with this handsome boy!' you cried and lifted the camera so that you could look down into the eyepiece and get the beautiful specimen of a man in focus.
However, although Sherlock allowed you to take a few photographs of him in his fighting form, he had other ideas. He walked towards you, reaching out for the camera with one hand and fitting his big hand about the back of your neck with the other. You let out a soft sweet breath and lifted yourself to kiss him. Vaguely, you heard him place the camera safely on one of the work tables
His deft fingers made short work of the buttons running down the front of your pale blue tea dress. You had only been wearing a simple chemise and not your stays beneath the dress and you were pleased to see him smile to find you soft and unbound beneath your clothes.
You pushed into his arms again kissing him, tangling your fingers in his curls to drag him down more possessively. Sherlock crouched just a little and swept you up into his arms much to your squealing delight.
'Yes, darling,' you cooed, cupping his face and kissing him gently. 'Go and claim the reward I promised.'
'I shall indeed,' Sherlock answered, sounding greedy as he carried you up to your shared bedroom.
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Do u have any like sleep deprived/exhausted whump? Or like a caretaker of an exhausted whumpee♥️
- The caretaker bringing the exhausted whumpee a meal in bed
- The caretaker classically shrugging off their jacket or finding the nearest blanket and draping it over the sleeping whumpee’s shoulders
- The caretaker catching the whumpee when they finally pass out from exhaustion and dragging them to the nearest soft surface
- The caretaker speaking to the whumpee in a soft, gentle voice while they’re helping them to bed, so they don’t make it harder for them to sleep by being loud
- The caretaker helping the whumpee into their pajamas
- The caretaker thoughtfully guarding their room/telling their friends to keep the noise down while they’re sleeping, making sure that nothing disturbs them
- The caretaker staying up with them when they have insomnia
- The caretaker doing the comforting things that they know will make the whumpee feel sleepy – brushing their hair, rubbing their back, massaging them, etc., until the whumpee can finally relax and doze off
- The caretaker finding the whumpee sprawled over their work and having to choose between letting them sleep there or risk waking them up while moving them somewhere more comfortable
- The caretaker reassuring them when the whumpee wakes up and panics because they overslept. “Everything is fine, I cancelled [responsibility], I told them and they understand, I took care of it, no need to worry.”
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