#if you read out the small text beneath each name you will read their True Names and summon them

[aiweirdness]

dalle3 will help you learn the reindeer

"Please generate a grid with illustrations of each of Santa's reindeer on plain white backgrounds, with the name of each reindeer printed clearly below it."

#ai generated #dalle3 #chatgpt #christmas #reindeer #if you read out the small text beneath each name you will read their True Names and summon them

[jobean12-blog]

That's the Way Love Grows

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Beefy!Plant dad!Bucky AU)

Word Count: 1,687

Summary: You and Bucky have your first official date this weekend but he can't wait to see you so he shows up at your apartment on his bike...a dream come true.

Author's Note: Missed him so I wanted to write a little something with plant!dad Bucky again! Hope you all enjoy! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰 You can see the shirt he is wearing HERE.

This is part of my plant!dad Bucky AU. It can be read alone but here are the first two stories for him:

Rooted in Love

Love in Bloom

Warnings: soft and sweet fluff and plant talk

‘Hey doll face. What are you doin’ right now?’

The moment you see his name your whole face lights up just like the screen of your phone.

‘Just being lazy.’  You reply and send him silly emoji’s to go along with your text.

‘Well….’

The next message comes through and you wait, staring at the text bubbles for what feels like an eternity.

‘I’m outside your building.’

You drop your phone and run to the window, pushing the curtain aside and looking through the glass.

He’s leaning against his motorcycle, long legs crossed over the ankle and his leather jacket pulled tightly around his biceps.

His fingers twinkle with a wave.

You open the window.

“You wanna go for a ride?” he yells up.

You stare at him for a beat, trying to sear the image into your brain and then answer back with, “yeah I do!”

You don’t even have to think twice about it.  

He whoops and throws a fist in the air.

“Make sure you wear jeans and a jacket doll.”

A few minutes later you appear at the double doors of your apartment building. Bucky rushes over and pulls one open, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees you.

“You look gorgeous.”

Your thank you is lost when he steps into your space and drags you into his chest, kissing you hard and fast.

“Sorry,” he murmurs when he pulls away.

“For what,” you whisper, leaning into him.

You toy with the zipper of his leather jacket and then slowly pull it down, spreading the sides open to look at his shirt.

“I had to see if you had another funny plant shirt on,” you giggle.

You smooth your hands over his chest, mostly just so you can feel the hard muscle beneath, but also so you can read the print on the fabric better.

“Things I do in my spare time…” you start. “Water plants,” and you press your finger to the first picture of a potted plant on his shirt. “Repot plants, propagate plants, buy plants, rearrange plants…” Each time you read it’s with a press of your finger and as you get closer to his abs he starts to laugh.

“I’m kinda ticklish,” he admits.

You pay him no mind and take extra care to wiggle your finger over the last picture and it’s text.  

“Talk with plants,” you finish with a smile. “That one is my favorite.”

He smirks and slides his arm across your shoulders, walking you toward his bike.

“Speaking of plants…” he hums. “There’s something I…”

As you get closer to the motorcycle you press a hand to his chest to stop him.

“Wait.”

Your words make him swallow hard.

“Our date isn’t until Saturday,” you say quietly. “Are we still on…or?”

His brows draw together and he crushes you against him. “Doll…”

He kisses you again, slow and sweet this time but it steals your breath just the same.

“I know we have our date this weekend, but the moment I left your apartment the other day, all I wanted was to see you again. I couldn’t wait any more. So I thought we could go for a ride.”

His confession makes you melt further into him.

“Ok,” you breathe out. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

He takes your hand and pulls you the rest of the way to his bike, holding up a finger as he turns to his saddle bag and opens it.

“I have something for you,” he says.

He takes out a small bag and reaches inside it. When his hand reemerges he’s holding a small potted plant.

Your smile grows as he begins to explain what it is.

“It’s from my jasmine plant. I repotted this piece in one of the cat planters I got from Etsy…thought you would like it.”

He starts to look slightly shy, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand as his eyes fall to the plant.

“Bucky,” you squeal. “It’s amazing! And so cute! I love him!”

“Phew,” he laughs. “And don’t worry I can help you take care of him.”

“Ok good, because I know jasmine smells beautiful and I’d love to have one in my apartment.”

With one more quick kiss he places the plant back in the secure bag.

“Should I bring him up?” you ask. “I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“I always carry my smaller plants on my bike. As long as you position and secure them right, it’s fine.”

With a lopsided grin he kisses your cheek then grabs his helmet.

Lifting it up he carefully places it on your head and buckles the chin strap.

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine,” he answers. “I won’t go too fast.”

With that he grabs the zipper of your jacket and pulls it up to your chin then throws one leg over his bike with an easy swing.

He holds his hand out to help you on the back and you immediately wrap your arms around his chest and press yourself into his back.

“Hang on,” he says, “and if anything is wrong just give me two squeezes.”

You nod into the soft leather of his jacket and hang on tight.

He revs the engine and pulls away from the curb, being mindful about his speed and remembering that you’re putting full trust in him to keep you safe.

He’s in complete control and the ride is smooth as he traverses the curves of the streets until the Brooklyn Bridge lights up the night sky as it comes into view.

The smell of salty air hits your face as you get nearer to the ocean and when he slows down and rolls into a darkened spot under the bridge you can hear the water break against the rocks.

He shuts the engine and plants his feet on either side of the bike and then reaches down to tap your leg, signaling you to get off.

With careful movements you put one foot on the ground and do an awkward hop to get your other leg up and over the seat without hitting him in the back.

You manage not to hit him but your legs are slightly wobbly, still vibrating from the ride and your knee buckles.

“Eeeek,” you screech, the sound echoing under the bridge and causing some hidden pigeons to squawk and flap away to a safer spot.

Your fists grab handfuls of air but Bucky somehow manages to dive and catch you around the waist with his metal arm.

“You okay?” he asks, his grip tight.

He waits, staring at you with concern in his eyes.

“I’m good,” you say on an exhale.

He relaxes slightly and releases you to adjust the handlebars and put down the kickstand. Once the bike is secured he gets off gracefully and helps you out of his helmet.

You look around and smile. “This is an amazing spot.”

“Isn’t it,” he echoes. “Just lemme get a blanket.”

He opens the saddle bag and sifts through it.

“Can you please check if my plant is ok?” you ask, smiling sweetly when he winks at you.

“Just fine doll,” he tells you after he shines his phone light into the bag. “Now come ‘ere.”

He takes your hand and leads you over to a clearing closer to edge of the water.

“Careful here, watch your step.”

He assures your footing with a firm hand at your back and once you’re settled on the blanket he follows and makes himself comfortable.

“Thank you for comin’ with me tonight doll.”

“Thank you for asking me. It’s beautiful here.”

You look out over the water, the city lights shining like diamonds across the vast blackness and dancing along the small waves.

“Yeah it really is,” he murmurs.

You can feel his eyes on you and realize that he’s complimenting you instead of the stellar view.

A small laugh bubbles up in your chest. “Have you used that move before?”

He drops his chin to his chest and chuckles. “Aw man. I haven’t but it’s that bad huh?”

You run your fingers along a strand of hair that’s fallen in front of his face before tucking it behind his ear.

“Not bad at all. In fact I think you’re really sweet.”

His eyes bore into yours. “I think you’re perfect.”

His hand reaches out to trace your lips, the pad of his thumb rough against their softness and once he’s relished in their flawlessness he slides his hand along your jaw to cup the back of your neck.

The small space between you disappears and you press your lips to his. Your hands weave into his hair and you gasp out his name, the sound igniting him. His tongue slips past your lips but he takes his time, teasing and nipping even as he tastes you.

He pulls you closer, sliding you into his lap and smoothing his free hand up your back.

The shock of bright lights shines through your closed eyelids and you jump in surprise, breaking the kiss. You lay your hand over your squinting eyes as Bucky looks over his shoulder, hissing at the brightness.

The car stops for a moment, the headlights boring into your small hidden space, and then thankfully it turns back to the street and drives off, returning you once again to the quiet of the night and the sounds of the ocean.

Bucky turns back to you, your eyes meeting.

“Hey,” he whispers as he traces the curve of your jaw.

“Hi,” you answer before peppering his scruffy cheek with kisses.

When your gaze finds his again he asks, “will you watch the sunrise with me?”

You nod and then wrap your arms around his neck, snuggling against his shoulder and breathing him in. A breeze blows over the water, carrying the chill of night and you shiver in his arms. He tucks you closer and grabs the blanket to wrap it around you both.

“I promise I’ll keep you warm,” he whispers as his head dips and he brushes his lips to yours.

@book-dragon-13 @hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @kmc1989 @lizette50 @buckysdollforlife @blackwidownat2814

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #beefy bucky #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #plant!dad bucky #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #plant!dad bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #beefy!bucky x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader

[vilhelios]

— ; OH, HOW THE MIGHTY FALL (IN LOVE)

to the very depths of hell, i will tumble down with you // alt title: help! the demon i summoned is a cutie... STARRING: demon!kaeya x reader GENRE: fluff, slight horror, hurt/comfort, demon!au CW: written in all lowercase + small text, not beta read! slight body horror (eye imagery), blood & injury, slight religious themes

i.

pavo ocellus.

a million and more eyes emerge from the darkness, akin to the fake ones that adorn the blue and green feathers of male peacocks. they all blink, sometimes in unison, sometimes in a haphazard pattern. you stare at them all, and they stare back - some squint, some glare, some are glassy and seem to see nothing. it doesn't matter. they all see right through you.

i want to make a pact with you.

somehow. somehow, you've gotten the words out. there is something about this space, now, that weighs onto your bones - an oppressive force that wishes for nothing more but to grind your flesh and sinew to pulp and feast upon your soul. a heartbeat thrums loud in your ears and you know it to be yours, fluttering with fear. even this beating heart knows that this is a mistake. it is too late now.

those thousand eyes inspect you, then four more, blue irises and slit pupils and all, and they all peer into your soul. this is no prideful bird, you gulp, but a serpent. you have summoned a snake, and it will see through you. it will coil around the things you hold dear, choking them out of life. it will find the cracks you thought you’ve hid safely away and unravel each and every one.

it will eat you alive.

but first, it laughs. a chilling thing that rumbles in the ribs of the body it has claimed as its own. and then, it speaks. the words fall from its lips like a gavel to hardwood, ushering in your death sentence.

then it's a deal.

· · ·

ii.

it has begun calling itself kaeya alberich.

to blend in, you assume, because you know you too would raise an eyebrow if a stranger introduced themselves with a name as outlandish as pavo ocellus. when you had confronted him about it, he had smirked - an easy, crooked thing, canines in full display - and said; well, isn't it much less of a mouthful?

so you let him have this moment of self indulgence, warily settling into this masquerade. it is a pretty name, at least: kaeya alberich. the syllables roll from your tongue and you watch a smile creep onto his lips - it doesn’t reach his eyes. he whispers, later in the day: if you ever need me at your side, you know which name i answer to.

in your time of need, whisper only his true name and he will come running.

.

it can take on multiple forms.

it seems to favor just one, though. one with sun-kissed skin and soft, dark hair and a singular, piercing blue eye. his horns have shrunk away, though if he fiddles with his curls enough you can spot the shrunken, pointy stubs peeking out from his scalp. cruel claws have been whittled down to form deft, slender fingers and gloved palms. there is a coldness in each knuckle, you notice, on the rare occasion where he’d twine his hand with yours in an act that you could only hope feigned affection. those hands are not soft and warm, calloused and cold, but you suppose there is comfort in that too.

you remind yourself that it is not a home that you will find there, but a bastion.

an eyepatch lies atop where his right eye would be. in a fragile moment, something you’re scared to call weakness, he allows you to peel away the cloth. his fingers gingerly guide your own to unravel this one part of himself, and beneath are the eyes that peer into your very soul. you find yourself staring back at them, just as you had the legion all those months ago, and you think it is your imagination when he shrinks away. perhaps he cannot tailor it, or maybe he simply chooses not to, but the cluster of eyes that sprout from that hidden socket remain as they do in his true form.

( he sneers, then, venom pooling in his words, though not meant for you; aren’t i quite the sight? )

it is the eyes that remind you that he is merely masquerading as human.

.

it is… insufferable.

but you knew that already.

kaeya alberich, pavo ocellus, demon of secrets. whatever he wishes for you to believe, serpent or peacock or hound, he is insufferable. having to deal with him for a year was by far your greatest feat - as miserable as that may sound - and you do not think you look forward to more of them with him.

the mere thought of him elicits a sigh, an annoyed furrow of your eyebrows, a faint sting in your hands. you find yourself staring at the mark on your palm most days, tracing over its inky lines on others - an eye with a cross for a pupil. it is nothing short of a dreadful reminder: you are bound to him for as long as your soul may toil in the cold depths of hell.

( you ignore the little voice that whispers: maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. )

· · ·

iii.

another case file.

when you had offered to help out with jean’s workload, you didn’t expect there to be as much as there was. you think you’ve seen enough profiles and paperwork to last your fickle lifetime, though you suppose it wasn’t as boring as it would have been - what with all the supernatural involvement, and all that.

slumping in your seat with an exhale, you find yourself going over this week’s bounties. a little girl that had somehow bound herself to an angel - and began calling him her older brother, to his confusion - and a particularly irritating demon that had begun infesting a nearby bank. engrossed in your growing mountain of paperwork, you don’t notice the knock at your door, or the way kaeya slithers in, or how he watches you with an amused glint in his eye.

“as much as i love getting my beauty sleep,” he starts, and his voice is like thunder in a silent field, leaving you jolting up in your seat, “it’s not very nice of you to keep me in the dark, hmm?”

you cock your head to the side, a little more than confused, and kaeya, observant as he is, catches it right away. with a sigh, and a gentle flick of his beloved crystal earring; “you haven’t exactly discussed why you summoned me.”

“oh, i didn’t tell you?”

“unless my memory fails me, no.”

“have i told you what i do for a living?” you start, nodding at the file splayed open on your desk before looking back at kaeya, staring into his one cerulean eye. just in case, he could always just peer into your soul and get the answer himself.

“you’re part of the ordo favonia, correct?” you nod, watching the demon hum - not unlike considering his playing cards. “i must say, you continue to surprise me.”

“sooner or later, i’m going to be assigned jobs that i probably can’t get done without you.” you could already think of a number of things, from gathering secrets - his specialty, probably - to actual combat. “so even if my boss didn’t like it very much, i made a pact with you.”

he stands there for a while, suddenly finding interest in his hands, before breaking the silence; “what an odd solution.” and for a second, you wonder if he’s concerned - maybe even a little - but he looks back at you with an expression you can’t quite read.

“i suppose it’s nothing i can’t handle though, eh boss?”

· · ·

iv.

kaeya alberich, pavo ocellus, bleeds red.

albeit darker than yours, it is red that stains his skin. maroon stains the skin on your fingers and palms and seeps into the cotton balls and bandages that pool at the bottom of the nearby trash can. you whisper soft apologies against his skin at his every wince, but you continue pressing the cloth onto and around the nasty gash just below his ribcage. it is, thankfully, not as bad as it looks.

when you hear him hiss, your gaze snaps upwards to meet his. kaeya doesn’t bother putting on a brave face now, but he gives you one of his small smiles. you are acutely aware of the way his hold on your arm tightens.

i’ll be fine. he murmurs, brows furrowed, and thank you, by the way.

there is a horrid thing that wells up within you when you see him like this. it is the pit that forms in your gut, the heaviness that collects in your eyes, the quiver of your lips. you think it’s guilt, or pity, something in between, or none of those things at all. you had said it yourself: sooner or later, this would become a daily occurrence - there are some duties you were given that only kaeya could handle. it’s why you summoned him in the first place: your soul for a vassal. and he is nothing short of the vassal you’ve been looking for; your loyal, cunning kaeya.

as you wrap clean bandages around his figure, it is realization that creeps up on you. a sinking feeling, a rock that falls into the pit that has manifested in your very soul. a slow and ebbing revelation;

you’re terrified for him.

· · ·

v.

you feel it, then, his heartbeat.

the rational part of your mind scolds you, a parent to a child; of course he has a heartbeat. it’s not special, not in the slightest. all demons have heartbeats, angels and gods too, perhaps. it doesn’t change the fact that these hearts could very well be rotten things, beating for all the wrong reasons.

and you think this is it; you’ve finally launched yourself off the deep end and into the abyss, to have associated a pulse and a heartbeat to goodness. and yet, when you place your hand on his chest and feel the gentle thrum beneath his skin, you cannot help but be entranced. his heart beats.

“you feel it, don’t you?”

you nod, only half registering his words. at that, the demon laughs, a rumbling in his chest that conceals his heartbeat for a moment. when you shift to cup his cheek, kaeya leans into the touch with a purr - like a housecat, you think - and the cluster of eyes he had hidden away glint when they catch the moonbeams just right.

“you really are something, aren’t you?” he starts, voice silk and words honey, and you think you hear an inkling of a chuckle in the back of his throat. “to think it’d be you.”

“what do you mean?”

there’s a sparkle in his eyes when he looks at you, a grin splayed across his face - a real one, that has your heart stuttering. the warmth of his skin leaves that of your palm, and you blink when he presses a kiss to your temple. it’s simple and sweet - the very antithesis of the kaeya that you've gotten to know, all confounding and sly - and when your brain processes it a bit more, you think you’ve gotten a fever, a warmth humming under the skin of your cheeks.

“well love, if you must know." he says, voice teasing yet soft and comforting in your ears. "it's not everyday that this heart beats for someone."

a/n: first post of the year (?) and first genshin post! spooky little thing to celebrate halloween!!! i'm sorry it's been so long, but i can't promise it'll be any different... i also can't promise a lot of tot content just because i haven't played in a while... but anyway, this is a little kaeya fic that's been rotting in my head and in my docs to celebrate the many things that have happened since i made this account! one day mihoyo will give me my demon!kaeya skin (because they love him so much...) but i will be content with haitham, wrio, and kaeya's thief fit. i hope you enjoyed this lil fic—demon!kaeya is one of my favourite concepts <3 !!!

art in header is “Sisters of Clouds” (1994), Adriana Diaz

#genshin impact headcanons #kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich x reader #kaeya fluff

[mercy-burning]

Affection

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer and Y/N decidedly hate each other. But when a near-death experience puts one of them in a coma, their mutual hatred might have to take a backseat— Or will it? Category: Angst / Happy Ending! + Humor and a lil bit of Fluff Content: Strong language, Reader is in a coma, mentions of injury, kissing Word Count: 2.6k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: This one’s for Pom’s ( @imagining-in-the-margins ) September Writing Challenge, Enemies To Lovers! I have another one coming up as well, but this idea wouldn’t get out of my head ever since I watched The Abyss with my dad and I had to get it out 😅 I hope you like it!!

———

I swear to fucking God, if this motherfucker really thinks he—

That was the last thing Y/N thought before she was knocked out cold.

With her line of work, it was natural to assume that she was thinking about the unsub, but unfortunately the criminal she and her team were tracking down was the farthest thing on her mind. Spencer would have chastised her for it— letting something else cloud her thoughts while she was in a dark alley, alone, and with a serial killer on the loose.

"You should be smarter than that!" she could hear him say in that high pitch he always carried when he was upset— especially with her. "If you don't get yourself killed one of these days, then it'll be the rest of us!"

Thinking about it made her blood boil.

"It's your fault," she wanted to tell him. "I had to blow off some steam because you were pissing me off!"

The only thing was... She couldn't tell him.

Well... She could.

He just couldn't hear her, because no one could.

It was like some stupid, cliché movie, where you found yourself standing over your dying body and having to choose whether to live or not. It seemed like the obvious choice, to fucking live, but... Y/N found herself wandering around her hospital room, yelling into the void and attempting to jump back into her own body.

Nothing was working.

And when Spencer showed up, his face red and his hair and clothes all messed up, she wanted to scream at him.

"Hey!"

Nothing. He was practically lifeless as he drifted to the chair next to her bed and sat down. It was nearly impossible to read from his expression and body language how he was feeling, and that alone was enough to make her angry again. (Not that the anger had really gone away since waking up next to her comatose body, of course.)

"Hey! Dumbass!"

Still nothing.

As Spencer just blankly stared down at Y/N's bed, she decided she'd had enough.

"SPENCER FUCKING REID, IF YOU DON'T HELP ME RIGHT NOW I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL HAUNT YOUR ASS UNTIL THE END OF ETERNITY, AND I'M GONNA LAY FAT, STINKIN' GHOST SHITS IN YOUR SHOES, DO YOU HEAR ME? AND—"

"I hate you."

It was a bold enough statement to stop Y/N in her tracks, no matter how quietly he'd mumbled it. She knew for sure that he didn't like her, after years of constant bickering and dirty glares and whatever else, but... The word 'hate' was like a knife that sliced through her joking rage and stopped the whole world around her.

If she wasn't already out of her own body, she just knew she would have felt her soul leave.

Spencer didn't hate anyone. Not that she was aware of, anyway. He found nearly everyone delightful, and vice versa... But for some reason, he hated Y/N.

She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, well... Feeling's mutual, I guess..."

"You're stupid, and reckless, and you don't think. And you're a goddamn nightmare to work with... You know what— You're a stone-cold bitch."

His words made her physically step backwards, and it felt like if she were a cartoon, there might have been steam coming out of her ears.

"Yeah, well jokes on you, you make it easy," she seethed. "Fuck you!"

"How... How dare you..." he continued, anger reddening his face.

Y/N watched as he balled his fists and leaned in a little closer to her body, his voice tight and strained. "How dare you walk into my life and boss me around and make it impossible to breathe... From the moment I met you, you've brought out this... this fire in me that I can't put out no matter how hard I try, and it's insufferable—You're insufferable, and I hate you, how dare—"

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off by a shortness of breath. Spencer breathed in, loud and choked, and the next breath he let out was nothing short of a sob. His eyes squeezed shut, tears rolling down them and his hands clutched the bedsheets with a vigor and rage that Y/N had never seen from him, even in all the years she'd spent visibly getting on his last nerves.

"N—No," she choked out, feeling her throat tighten. "Don't... Don't turn into a sappy mess on me now, do you hear me, Reid? You hate me, don't... Don't..."

"I don't hate you," he whispered, wiping his eyes and reaching out to grab her lifeless hand. "I hate that you make me feel this way, but... I could never hate you..."

She wanted nothing more than to be able to squeeze his hand back, to tell him, not even necessarily with words but with a simple gesture, that she was right there and wasn't going to go anywhere.

She just... had to figure out how to make that true.

Still, Spencer kept going, a small laugh bubbling up through tears and phlegm. "But I will hate you if you die, because I just know you're gonna come back and haunt me for eternity... Probably... shit in my shoes or something."

Y/N barked a laugh that was true and pure... Happy, even.

The genius may have acted like he hated her, but it turns out he knew her pretty well, perhaps even fondly in one way or another.

To think— All those years she spent seeing him sneer at her, feeling his glare burn into her soul, the amount of times she caught him making faces or inappropriate gestures behind her back, all of it... And the whole time, he was probably doing it with a little flicker of fondness deep within the confines of his heart, which he swore to fill with nothing but hatred for her.

The thought made the little flicker in her own heart burn brighter.

As she wandered closer to her bed, beside Spencer and in front of her own body, she reached her hand out to see if she could touch his face, to give him something...

Even though she had no luck, something shifted when he spoke.

"Just... Come back to me, please? I know I'm not good at apologizing, but if it means I get you back... I swear that I will make up every horrible thing I've ever done or said to you. Just... Please don't leave me."

He laid his head down in his hands and tried not to cry again, every said horrible thing replaying on a loop in his brain like some kind of taunt. He wished more than anything for a chance to make it up to Y/N, and now he might not ever be able to.

"You think I'd leave this mortal earth without getting the chance to kick your ass?"

Everything was so fuzzy and light and brimming with these high emotions that Y/N almost didn't realize she was saying these words and Spencer was hearing them. She almost didn't feel the warmth of her bloodstream beneath layers of skin, the beat of her heart slowly coming back to life at the sounds and smells of the hospital room.

She almost didn't realize that Spencer was grabbing her now, his warm hands covering her cold ones and bringing them back to life as well.

"Screw you," he breathed with absolutely no malice to be detected in his voice.

They shared a smile so bright, no one would have been able to guess that they never got along.

TWO WEEKS LATER

Not only was she stuck at home doing nothing while on suspension (Yes, it turns out that storming off into an alley and not paying attention while on the job, just because a co-worker pissed you off, can get you suspended by Chief Strauss), but Y/N was also being visited by a daily rotation of her co-workers and friends and family, and her house was nearly covered in flower bouquets and baked goods.

It was a nightmare.

The sentiment was nice, sure, but if she had to move one more vase, she was going to start throwing them.

God, maybe Spencer was right, I am a stone-cold bitch...

Thinking of him also put a little damper on her mood.

He hadn't been to visit her once... And she figured that after their nice little moment at the hospital, he'd at least stop by with flowers or an "I'm glad you're not dead!" call, but there was nothing on his end. Not even a text message or a letter.

But for all she knew, their small moment of kindness could have been a figment of her concussed imagination.

Please, she thought, if I brought it up to him he'd probably just laugh in my face.

Rather than a laugh, Y/N heard the bright sound of her doorbell, which normally would have meant a fun unexpected visit or a date she was getting ready for, but by now it only meant another vase of flowers or a pie from a neighbor she still didn't remember the last name to.

Either way, she answered the door with as polite a smile as she could muster, and instead of finding a vaguely familiar neighbor or acquaintance, she found Spencer.

Though, to be fair, he was holding a bouquet of flowers.

"Well, this is a surprise," Y/N drawled, crossing her arms. "I don't even think you've ever been to my house."

She was surprised to see him nervous around her, rather than irritated. And she would have found it endearing had they not been practically mortal enemies from the moment they met... She was suspicious.

"O—Oh, yeah... I know, I just thought... I wanted to come see how you were doing... These are for you."

He held out the flowers, which were truthfully the pretties set she'd received, and it irked her. Because of course he of all people would be the one to tell which kinds of flowers she'd prefer.

"Thanks," she said, taking them from him and allowing him the space to come inside. "Watch out, it's a maze in here..."

While she looked for somewhere to put the flowers on display, she could feel Spencer looking around her space, probably profiling what he could behind a sea of flowers.

"Hm."

Y/N sighed. "What?"

"Nothing. I'm just... I'm surprised this many people actually like you."

Despite the nature of his observation, she found it comforting. That level of playful contempt was what she was used to, and it brought a sparkle to her eye as she turned to face him. "Ha... I'm not a complete bitch, you know."

"Sure."

Between the growing grin on his face and the smirk forming on her own, Spencer and Y/N found themselves falling back into a familiar rhythm. And yet, something about it was still... different.

So much so that Y/N felt honest-to-God butterflies in her stomach when he approached, hands retreating from his pockets and head tilting off to the side. His expression held that look he got when he was trying to figure someone out, usually an unsub. She hated to admit it to herself, but a little part of her always found that side of him extremely attractive.

And now that it was right in front of her?

She didn't know what to make of it.

"What?" she snapped, looking for an excuse to hide any and all attraction she was feeling.

Spencer stepped back a little, breaking away from whatever trance he'd just been in. "God, why do you always have to do that?"

"Do what?"

"You push away every single show of affection! Any time I'm trying to be nice, you just act like it's some big inconvenience to you!"

Y/N laughed. "Ha! That's what that was? Just now? When you insulted me, and then started stalking towards me with that look you get when you're interrogating an unsub? That's what you call affection?"

"That's not... That's not what that was!"

"Oh really? Then what was it?"

"It was part of the routine! Banter! Y—You know, that's our thing! We insult each other, and we act like we hate each other but we... We don't, really..."

The longer he went on, the faster her heart raced. This was the moment in the movie where he inevitably blurted out that he loved her, and in turn she would either kiss him or slap him, or slap him and then kiss him...

But Y/N was still feeling rather playful despite the swarm of butterflies in her stomach begging for some relief.

"Oh?" she prompted, taking a slow step closer to him. "We don't?"

Spencer seemed to get red immediately, and he avoided her eyes. "U—Uh... Well I... I thought... Maybe I read it all wrong, a—and I'm sorry if I did..."

She'd been getting closer meanwhile, and now they were practically toe-to-toe. He did his best to ignore her, taking a few steps back until she cornered him against the front door. And with the way he wasn't doing anything to get out of his predicament, she took that as his acceptance and took another leap.

"What..." she cooed, crawling her fingers up the front of his chest like a spider. "You like me? Hmm?"

When he finally looked down at her, she allowed herself to smile, albeit slowly and with calculation.

In a flash Spencer went from nervous to fed-up, weight seeming to visibly lift from his chest as he sank against the door. "You're messing with me..."

"It's so fun."

"You know what, screw you."

"Is that a promise?"

"Maybe it is. What are you gonna do ab—"

She didn't let him finish.

In an instant, Y/N lunged forward and pulled him down for a kiss.

Even though she thought he might have tried to take control of the situation, he ended up surprising her with a wanton moan as his hands clutched at her sides, holding on for dear life. Their bodies and tongues collided in a mess of years worth of pent-up tension, chaotic and wild and fiercely beautiful in a way that put even the greatest first kisses to shame.

And of course, Spencer had to go and ruin it.

He pushed her away and looked almost panicked. "W—Wait, are you even cleared to do this?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, reaching out for him again. "I'm fine."

"Y/N, you were in the hospital! I thought... I thought you were..."

She appreciated the sentiment, but with her entire body on fire from his touch, she decided she needed more of it. "Yeah, but I'm not... I'm very much alive, and you know what?"

He blinked back at her, watching carefully as she leaned in close to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"It's because of you. You make me feel... more alive than I've ever been."

"And... You're not messing with me this time?"

With a laugh,  Y/N shook her head and leaned up to brush her nose with his. "Nuh-uh... But if you'd like to, I'd love to mess with you in a more fun way. And maybe I'll even let you do it back..."

Spencer hummed, feeling himself gravitate towards her more with every passing second. "Deal."

He barely got the word out all the way before she was dragging him through the maze of flora and contained food and into her bedroom, where piece by piece, their hatred and fondness for one another combined to create the most exquisite of nights.

———

PERMANENT TAGLIST:  @elldell1204 @muffin-cup @calm-and-doctor @slutforthegubes @rainsong01 @yourmisosoup @liveloudwriteloud @reidsconverse @la-vie-en-amour1 @edgycowboy666 @averyhotchner @centiaaa @lizziechaseee @coffeeandendlesswords @usuck @spenxerslut @ssacalumsg0lden @emilyprentisslittlewhore @takeyourleap-of-faith @reidyoulikeabook @spencerreid9 @b-a-utiful @jareauswifey @flipperpenguins @pansexualthing @donald4spiderman @awesomebooklover17​ @shemarmooresfedora @izraahh1 @bakugouswh0r3 @singularityjc @xoxospencerreid @thatsonezesty13 @big-galaxy-chaos @mggskneescrews @youabitchhhh @spencersjello @moonlight-2-6 @starrylang @foreveryoungxx3 @spencerreidscoffeecup @morganwilliams  @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @gubswh0re @mrsobrien888  @umbreonwolfy 

TAGS NOT WORKING: @ayla-1605 @loveeee@2134 @emilyprsntiss

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment and I’ll get on it right away!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds angst #enemies to lovers

[scuttling]

Paper Rings

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 10,191 Tags: SFW, Fluff, Literature, Friends to lovers, Everyone thinks they're dating, There was only one bed, Some angst with a happy ending, Confessing love in the rain, TW fire and blood/wound Summary: Some of my favorite tropes rolled into one cute fic inspired by Taylor Swift's Paper Rings. (lyrics and music) Link to A03 or read below! “Good morning, my friendly neighborhood crime fighters,” Penelope says as she enters the briefing room, wearing a dress that is bright bubblegum pink, with fingerless gloves and glasses to match. You, Derek, and Spencer groan your replies, because you just got home from a case last night, with less than seven hours between arriving at your apartment and returning to the office, and that is everyone’s least favorite thing.

You can’t deny that her typical sunny disposition makes you smile a little bit brighter, but you’re still exhausted, and even your usual extra large travel mug of breakfast blend is barely taking the edge off.

That’s probably why, when Aaron enters with trays of steaming espresso drinks from the cafe down the street, and a striped box of donuts, you act like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Oh my god, I love you. Thank you, I love you.” He got an array of basic drinks based on everyone’s usual orders, and you scan for one that has something with latte, but he takes one out and hands it to you, smiling when you take a sip and sigh—okay, he’s smiling with his eyes, but you are well versed in his body language and facial expressions, and he’s practically grinning at getting your order (triple one pump hazelnut extra hot latte) correct.

You are not the only one to notice.

“Get a room, you two; it’s just coffee,” Derek says, taking the white mocha from the tray and drinking half of it in one sip. “Now if you tell me there’s a bear claw in there, I’ll confess my undying love too.”

“I don’t know; I asked for an assortment,” he says, and it’s clear he did, but your cup has your name on it; you cover the ink with your hand and take another grateful sip. “I do know there’s a plain glazed in there, though,” he says a bit lower, just for you, and you smile, give his wrist a squeeze, and dive for it before Jennifer Jareau can get her hands on it.

That’s all the morning meeting consists of—bickering and bantering and caffeine and carb consumption—and when the group disperses, you follow Aaron to his office and sit down in the chair across from his.

“Thanks again for breakfast. You definitely raised the morale of the troops,” you say with a sip of your perfect latte, and he shares the hint of a smile.

“You’re welcome. It helps that you’re all so easy to appease.” He flips open his bag, pulls out a small, worn, paperback book, tosses it toward you. You pick it up, run your hand over the well-loved cover, and hum.

“The Call of the Wild—this made it into the Aaron Hotchner Nightstand Collection?” He arches a brow.

“It’s so overrated that it’s underrated; no one ever actually reads it, they just assume they know what it’s about. It’s a great book, if you’ll give it a chance.”

“Hey, you’ve read all of mine without complaint; of course I’ll give it a chance.” You take the last, sad sip of your latte and stand up, point out the door with your thumb. “Speaking of, mine’s still downstairs on my desk. I’ll be right back.”

Exchanging books started as an offhand comment one night, on a flight home from Georgia, when he’d mentioned that he never buys new books, only cycles through the same ten or twelve he’s been reading since college. He knows what he likes, finds something different in the text each time he reads, and you’d found something so profoundly beautiful about that that you’d asked for the list. You wanted to know more about the books that tug at his emotions enough that he’s read them day in and day out for over twenty years with no boredom in sight.

He’d done you one better, said he’d be happy to lend them to you, if you’d like, and that was an offer you couldn’t refuse. Seeing college-aged Aaron’s notes in the margins of battered paperback novels was a prospect too good to be true.

Of course, you couldn’t accept the gesture without returning one of your own, so you’d offered to share your favorite books with him too, only... you don’t exactly give him your favorite books. You purposefully buy the cheesiest romance novels you can get your hands on, pass them off to him while he hands you poignant, classic novels that have won literary awards and Nobel prizes.

Today’s is called Lord of Scoundrels, complete with a shirtless man on the cover, kissing a woman with dark, flowing hair and a light blue dress; you snicker the whole way to your desk and back up to his office—earning curious glances from the rest of the team—and when you drop it on the desk in front of Aaron, you watch closely for a reaction.

As usual, he doesn’t really give you one, just flips the book over, skims the summary on the back, and nods.

“Sounds interesting,” he says, and your heart does a little flip.

He could easily hand the book back, laugh in your face, refuse to read something so clearly out of his wheelhouse, but he thinks these novels are important to you, and he never fails to read them, offering his favorite parts the same way you do for his.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t.

“I think you’ll really like it. Sebastian and Jessica start out kind of indifferent toward each other, but the more they interact, the more they find they have in common. It’s very acquaintances to friends to lovers, if you’re into that.” He looks up with an expression you place as uncertainty, even if you’re not quite sure the reason for it. You smile softly. “I should get to work, but thanks for the book. I’ll see you at lunch?”

It’s been so nice lately that you started taking your lunch outside, sitting on a bench beneath a huge, shady oak tree, and Aaron had taken to doing the same; you both quickly realized it was stupid to sit outside together, apart, so you meet up in the bullpen now and walk out side by side, spend the hour talking about your books or the team or Jack or life in general. He shakes the uncertain expression, nods his head.

“Of course. Thank you,” he says with a wave of the book, and you head back downstairs to start your day.

You’ve become mostly accustomed to the feeling, but it still surprises you a little when all that gets you through the day is thinking about your next conversation with Aaron. A week later, you’re on a case in Pittsburgh, and you and Aaron are paired up to room together. That’s nothing unusual—it seems like you’ve been rooming together more often than not lately, which is fine by you; he’s tidy, quiet, always interested in a late night snack, pretty much the perfect roommate—but when he opens the door and you step inside, the single king size bed in the middle of the room takes you by surprise.

“Uh… do you think it’s a mistake? Or maybe they just ran out of doubles?” you suggest; he's kind of frozen in place, and while it’s not ideal, you know it’s not actually going to be a problem. You’ve shared a bed with JJ before, and Spencer, and even though you don’t feel the same way about them as you do about Aaron, you think you can manage a couple nights in close quarters.

“Probably just ran out of doubles,” he agrees after a moment; he doesn’t bring up calling the front desk to ask for another room, so you don’t either, just hang your clothes and head into the bathroom to change into your pajamas and do your nightly routine.

It’s a little awkward at first, and you don’t know why; over the last six months or so, he’s actually become your closest friend on the team, and conversation usually comes easily, but silence settles over the room uncomfortably as you slip between the sheets on your side of the bed.

He goes into the bathroom, does his own nightly routine, then comes out in his pajamas and turns on CNN.

You take out your book, pay no attention to Aaron, but the longer he sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the news ticker on the television screen but not actually watching it, the more you wish he’d just get over himself and come to bed. If he’s trying to wait for you to fall asleep, he’s going to be waiting a while.

“So you were right; I love Buck,” you say as a way to start some conversation, to bring some normalcy to this unusual situation. You hold up the book you’re reading, the one he let you borrow. “His struggle between remaining loyal to his owner and answering the call of the wild—I love dogs, but I never imagined a book about a dog could be so moving.”

He turns back with a soft smile, then switches off the tv and heads over to his side of the bed; he pulls back the comforter, slides between the sheets, meets you toward the middle of the bed.

“I told you you’d like it; what chapter are you on?” He leans over to look, so close it wouldn’t take much to lift a hand and brush it over his hair; it looks unfairly soft, and part of you wants to card your fingers through it, to tug on it and mess it up a little. He probably wouldn’t even mind if you did.

“Chapter 7—I only have a few pages left.” You snuggle more comfortably against your pillow, lean into his shoulder, and move the book so it’s more evenly between you. “Want to finish it with me?”

He does, and you read silently at a similar pace; he reaches up to turn the pages, and you think about how these hands have flipped through this book so many times before, what he might have been thinking, feeling, while reading. It’s a more intimate act than you’ve shared with anyone in a really long time.

When you finish the book, you sigh, let the feeling of reading a really great story envelope you; you turn to face Aaron, and he’s looking at you… and then there’s a knock at the door that startles you both.

He gets up, walks over and checks the peep hole, then opens the door.

“Are you sure?” you hear JJ ask, and he steps back so she can enter the room; when she sees you tucked snugly into the middle of the bed, she shoots you a soft smile and mouths you’re welcome, which makes absolutely no sense without context. You’ll have to bring it up to her later and ask what exactly you’re supposed to be thanking her for.

“So you said the detective called?” Aaron prompts her, and she looks away from you, nods.

“Yes, he wanted me to ask if we could have a few agents meet him at the second crime scene tomorrow instead of the precinct, figured it could save a little time.” Aaron looks confused, like he doesn’t see why this couldn’t have waited until tomorrow, but he ultimately agrees.

“Sure. You, Reid, and Prentiss can head straight there, if that’s what he wants. I’ll let them know in the morning.” JJ nods, and looks over at you, and then back at Aaron, who makes a kind but curious face. “Was there something else?”

“Huh? Oh, no, that’s it. I just didn’t want to forget. I’ll let you guys go—enjoy the rest of your night,” she says with a smile and a wave, and when he closes the door behind her, you both exchange a look.

She’s definitely acting a little weird, but it’s late, so you give her the benefit of the doubt.

You scoot over to your side, put the book on the nightstand and switch off your lamp; Aaron climbs back into bed and switches his off, too, and he turns to face the wall while you lay on your back and stare at the ceiling.

It takes about half an hour, but he falls asleep first; you turn to face him, watching his back, following the rise and fall as he softly breathes in sleep, and the peaceful rhythm lulls you into submission, and you drift off as well.

When you wake up a couple hours later, he is on his stomach with his face pressed into his pillow, and you are draped over his back with your cheek against his t-shirt. It’s soft, and warm, and smells like him, and you glance at the clock and realize it’s too early to do anything but get comfortable and fall back asleep, so that’s exactly what you do.

The next time you wake up, to light creeping in between the curtains, Aaron is no longer in bed, but you’re holding his pillow, still warm beneath your cheek. He doesn’t act weird when you get up and start moving around, just pops out of the bathroom with his toothbrush dangling from his mouth.

“Got you a latte,” he says around it, gesturing to the desk and the pair of paper cups that sit on it, and you grin.

“Seriously, you’re my favorite human,” you answer, and you grab your coffee and lean against the doorframe, sipping and sighing until you’re a little more clear-headed. “Sorry if I crushed you; guess I was restless last night. I usually don’t move around that much.”

He just shrugs, spits out a mouthful of foam into the sink.

“You didn’t crush me. I’m pretty solid, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed,” you tease, looking at him over the lid as you take another sip. “Now hurry up and quit hogging the bathroom if you want to leave here at a decent hour.” He rinses, zips up his toiletry bag noisily for dramatic effect, and slips past you, rubbing a hand over your unruly bed head as he goes. The day passes quickly, with lots of interviewing witnesses, following dead-end leads, and bad police station coffee. When Aaron calls it and tells everyone to get some dinner, you all split off into smaller groups—Spencer and Derek go for Chinese, JJ and Emily opt for pizza, and you and Aaron end up at a retro diner with burgers and milkshakes and a plate of fries between you to share.

“I think we should be focusing more on the docks,” you say, dipping a fry in ketchup and taking a bite. “Even if that’s not where the bodies end up, it seems to be where the unsub is meeting with the victims. We could stake it out tonight, maybe. If you want.” You never want to step on his toes, because he is the boss, the leader, even if you’re friends too; you try to be careful how you phrase things, especially in front of other people, because you don’t want your comfort to look like disrespect, however unintentional.

“That’s a good idea. You and I can head down there after this; I’ll let the others know to patrol nearby, in case we need backup.”

He dusts off his fingers and pulls out his phone, types out a text, and you look around the restaurant—the place looks like it was ripped right out of the 50s, with a checkered floor and lots of red vinyl, a shiny jukebox in the corner. Out of place is a flatscreen tv behind the counter; during the day, when it’s busier, it might play news or sports, but you two are the only ones here at the moment, so the staff is hanging out beneath it watching a movie. It’s Titanic, you realize, when the iconic ‘Rose floating on a piece of debris’ scene plays, and you snort, take a long drag of your chocolate shake.

“I always hated this part. They could have found a way for him to survive, too. Unnecessary death for the heartache factor,” you say, and Aaron looks up from his phone to the screen, makes a sound of contemplation.

“I always thought it was kind of romantic. When you love someone, you’d do anything for them to be okay, even at your own expense. Even if it’s stupid.” You look over his face, study the features you know like the back of your hand, and you guess you can kind of see that, but you can’t say that, so you just sigh.

“I suppose you think Romeo and Juliet is romantic, too,” you tease, and he looks back at you, rolls his eyes.

“It’s very much of its time; it's a lot harder to suffer a miscommunication like that these days. And there is something to be said for star-crossed lovers—people who shouldn’t be together, for one reason or another, but can’t help but drift close anyway.” You swirl your straw in the metal cup, thinking briefly of how that happens to describe the two of you, and when you look up at him, you think you see a hint of that same thought on his face.

More likely, that’s just wishful thinking.

“I like the sword-fights,” you say to lighten the mood, and he laughs, and you both polish off the rest of your food and then head for the docks.

Two hours in and absolutely nothing has happened, but just when you’re ready to complain, or suggest playing I Spy or something, there’s movement from one of the shipping containers to your right. You nudge Aaron, point to the container, and you both creep closer, trying to make out the situation.

When you’re just around the corner, it’s clearly two men fighting, but you obviously don’t know if this is your unsub, two random guys having it out on the docks, or what, so you mutually agree to wait until you have some kind of sign that this is your guy. When one of them pulls out a hunting knife that looks vaguely similar to your murder weapon—as close as you can tell in the dark, anyway—you raise your guns and identify yourselves as FBI.

The unsub drops the knife, but fists his hands in the other guy’s jacket, manhandles him to the edge of the dock, and shoves him into the water, then jumps as well. You swear, and Aaron takes off his jacket, throws it on the ground, then his phone on top of it, and looks back at you.

“Stay here and call for backup,” he instructs, and then he jumps in too; you call the team from your comms, get a response from Emily, and then toss your phone onto Aaron’s jacket and follow him.

He, of course, went for the victim first, so you look for the unsub, who is not visible above the water. You completely submerge yourself, feeling for more than looking for him, because the water is cloudy on a good day and pitch black at ten o’clock at night; when you pop your head up for air, you see Aaron getting the victim up onto the dock, and the unsub bobbing a bit further out. You swim to him, limbs aching, and he seems to know it’s time to give up.

He’s winded, gasping for breath, so you keep him above the water to your own detriment, dragging him by his wet jacket instead of cuffing him, because you’re not trying to kill the guy or lug his unconscious body back to shore. You just barely keep your own head above water most of the time, coming up for big gulps of air when absolutely necessary.

You finally make it to the dock, and your team has arrived, so Derek pulls him out of the water, makes sure he’s alright, and puts some cuffs on him. Aaron’s hands are on you right after, getting you up on the dock, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

Despite the warm spring breeze, the water was freezing, and you can feel your teeth chattering. He rubs your arms for warmth, crouches down to look you seriously in the eyes.

“Thought I told you to stay here,” he says with an arched brow, a scowl you can tell is more concerned than angry. You wet your frozen lips and try your best to smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack.”

He looks at you like you’re an idiot, but fondly, if that’s possible, then hugs you so tightly, guides your face to press against his warm neck. How he’s not teetering on the edge of hypothermia is anyone’s guess.

“Your lips are practically blue. Stupid,” he murmurs, but his mouth dusts over your temple in what is unmistakably a kiss, and when you’re able to feel your lips again, you reciprocate, press them a little harder against his throat while you shiver in his arms.

It doesn’t mean anything except I’m happy we’re both alive. Probably.

That night in bed, he faces the wall, and you stare at the ceiling, but you wake up with your nose against the back of his neck. The way he’s breathing tells you he’s not asleep, and when you wrap your arms around him, he holds them tight. Things don’t change after Pittsburgh, and that’s okay. You are comfortable with the way things are, and you love what you have—lunches under the oak tree, the exchange of books, late night texts when you both can’t sleep, hands brushing when you walk to the parking garage, glances shared across the jet. All those things make it easy not to focus on what you don’t have, what you’re not even sure Aaron would want anyway.

You exchange books again on Friday at lunch: he hands you Beloved by Toni Morrison, a book you already know and adore, and you hand him Ravished by Amanda Quick.

“Dubbed the Beast of Blackthorne Hall for his scarred face and lecherous past, Gideon,” Aaron shoots you a glance—“that’s purely coincidental”—“was strong and fierce and notoriously menacing. Yet Harriet could not find it in her heart to fear him. For in his tawny gaze she sensed a savage pain she longed to soothe... and a searing passion she yearned to answer.”

You hold back a smile.

“It’s a modern retelling of a classic story—Beauty and the Beast,” you add, taking a bite of your sandwich. He looks you over like there’s something he wants to say, but he just tucks it under his arm and steals a piece of melon from your lunch.

“I have Jack this weekend, so I probably won’t get to read much, but it sounds intriguing.”

“Well I hope you like it when you read it. Tell him I said hi; it’s been too long since I saw him. I bet he’s looking more like you every day,” you say, popping a piece of melon into your mouth. He smiles softly.

“A little, but Haley says she sees her father in him, and I have to agree. We may have to wait a few years until he looks like me; he’s too cute for that now.” He doesn’t sound self-deprecating, just fond, but you can’t let a comment like that stand, regardless.

“You’re cute; the difference is that kids are cute all the time. You’re an adult, so sometimes you’re handsome, sometimes you’re cute, sometimes you’re hot… it can be hard to reconcile.” This time, he looks you over with something light and playful in his eyes, and it’s something you want to explore, but the timer on your phone goes off, indicating that lunch is over, so you just exhale softly and pack up your things.

You don’t talk much after that—his Fridays are usually busy with meetings, and he leaves in a hurry to pick up Jack, which is understandable.

Emily, JJ, and Penelope invite you out for drinks and dinner—“because we know Hotch is busy,” Penelope says, which has literally nothing to do with your weekend plans, but you don’t correct them—so you don’t linger either.

You go out for Italian, so you are sleepy and full of wine and pasta by the end of the evening, and you smile at your friends.

“Thanks for inviting me out tonight, guys. I had a really good time.”

“Of course,” Emily says, taking her last sip of Pinot Noir. “We barely see you anymore; it was long overdue.”

“Definitely,” you agree. “I should really try to drag my ass out of bed more often.” You can’t help it, though, that after a long day, your bed and a good book just call your name. You’ve always been introverted in that way. JJ laughs softly, chin in her palm, elbow on the table.

“Honeymoon phase. Give it another couple months and you’ll be past that.” You do have a new memory foam mattress that has made sinking into the pillows and blankets all that more indulgent, but you didn’t think JJ knew about that. And you’ve never heard of a honeymoon phase for a mattress before.

“Eh, I don’t think so. There’s literally nothing more satisfying on this earth.” The three of them exchange an amused look, but your phone vibrates, and that catches your attention; you smile when it’s Aaron, sending you a photo of Jack with a toothy grin and his hands covered in fingerpaint. You look up to the sound of chairs scraping against the floor.

“Alright, we’ve lost her. See you all Monday,” Emily says, pulling you in for a hug; when she steps back, she smiles. “And tell Hotch we said hi.”

“I will,” you promise as you hug the other two. You hang back a moment, type out a reply—Looks like you’re having lots of fun without me!—and get into your car to head home.

You change into comfy clothes, drink a glass of water, and climb into bed with Beloved, and at around 9:30 you receive a reply.

Having the most fun we can without you. Maybe next time Jack is over, we can tempt you with dinosaur chicken nuggets and fingerpaint?

You smile, the happiest you’ve been all night—and that’s saying something, because you really did have a great time—and send back, It’s a date. Come Monday, you’re feeling pretty good, well-rested and relaxed from probably too much time in bed, but Aaron looks upset when he walks into the morning meeting. He keeps it short and sweet, and everyone disperses quickly, giving you sympathetic looks as you hang back to try to have a word with him. He clears off the white board, tidies up the table that doesn’t need tidying, and you place a hand on his back, gentle and comforting. He sighs, and you can feel the tension leave him almost instantly.

“Hey. What’s bothering you?” you ask softly, leaning around to try to catch his expression; he looks tired, sad, and maybe a little conflicted, leans into your touch.

“Taking Jack back to Haley’s was rough last night; it always is, but yesterday was really bad.” You know a little about this from weekends past, how Jack always cries when Aaron has to leave, how he feels terrible about it for the rest of the evening, but it must have been extreme for him to still be so upset. “And Haley…” He sighs again, runs his hand through his hair. “It’s like it’s one step forward, two steps back with her sometimes.”

“Why don’t we go sit in your office and you can tell me more?” You want to continue discussing this—that’s what friends are for, and he’s clearly in a bad state emotionally, you think it could help—but he just shakes his head.

“No, I… it’s okay. I don’t want to weigh you down with my problems.” You take your hand off his back, lean a hip against the table and look up at him.

“I’m not just your friend when it’s all easy breezy, lunch in the sunshine, talking about our favorite books,” you say with a sad smile; he reciprocates a little, which is more than you expected. “I’m here when things are complicated, when you have bad days, too. The Monday blues especially.” One of his hands rests on the table, and you cover it with yours, lean in to press your forehead to his shoulder. “Let me be here, okay? Even if all you need me to do is listen.”

It takes a moment, and his eyes are wet when he finally responds; he inhales deeply, nods, and brushes his free hand over your head in something of a hug, murmurs a rough, “okay.”

You sit in his office for an hour—which, again, is more than you expected—listening to him talk about his weekend with Jack, how heartbreaking it was to take him back to Haley’s, how he tried talking to her about taking him more often and she just wasn’t sure she could trust him to do what he says he’ll do. He understands where she’s coming from, knows he’s been unable to keep his word in the past, thinks he doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt; he hasn’t asked for advice, seems to just want to vent, so you just listen.

“Then I mentioned you, that you might come for dinner next time he’s over, and she was worried about that,” he says, exasperated, and you frown.

“Why would she worry about that? I’ve been around him lots of times.” It doesn't make sense, because Haley has always been nothing but sweet to you; Aaron looks up at your question, and it seems a little like maybe he hadn’t meant to say that part, though you can’t imagine why.

“It’s just different now… because he’s older,” he says after a brief moment of hesitation. “She doesn’t want him getting attached to someone who might not always be around, you know.” You sigh softly, because if that’s all it is…

You lean forward, take his hand, squeeze it tight.

“I’m always going to be around, Aaron. I can talk to her, if you want, tell her that.”

“No, it’s—you don’t have to do that.” He squeezes your hand back, closes his eyes for a beat. “Just hearing you say it, it makes things easier. I’ll talk to her again next time.”

You talk a little more, and he seems a lot better afterward, even if he is a bit less expressive during lunch; you figure any progress is good, but it makes you sad to see him so down, so naturally, you formulate a plan to help get him back to the Aaron you know and love.

At the end of the day, when he makes his way to the bullpen, you spin around in your chair, take him by the sleeve.

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” you say in no uncertain tone of voice. “For a few hours. I’ll bring you back for your car.” He agrees with a fond look, and you lose yourself in the expression for a moment, then stand up, grab your things, and walk with him out to the garage.

Rush hour traffic is what it is, and you leave Aaron in charge of the music, which means you get The Beatles and The Who, Rolling Stones and Neil Diamond, and you’re both singing along and so much happier by the time you pull into the parking lot of the bodega nearest your apartment.

“Just running in for provisions—be right back,” you say with a grin, and when you return with two paper bags of loot, he looks at you like you might be his favorite person in the world with an age in the double digits. It’s a look you love putting on his face.

“Do I get to see what provisions you’ve acquired?” he asks, teasing, but you shake your head and tell him he’ll see it when you get there.

With a pit stop in your apartment to grab a blanket and a few throw pillows, you take him up to the roof and get things ready for your makeshift picnic. There is white wine, still mostly chilled; cubed cheese, far from gourmet but no less delicious; crusty french bread that was fresh this morning but at this hour is a little extra crusty; blueberries, because they didn’t have grapes; dark chocolate, because you share a fondness for it; and paper cups for the wine.

Aaron takes a look at your bounty, spread over the blanket, and smiles the first real smile you’ve seen all day.

“Fancy,” he teases, and he takes off his jacket, gets on the ground with you. You pour each of you some wine, pop a blueberry in your mouth.

“No, but I thought a meal—and I do call it that loosely—under the stars might do you some good.” You lift your paper cup and tap it against his, brush your fingers over his hand. “To the best boss, best dad, best friend I could ask for.” You take a sip, but he doesn’t at first, watches you with something simmering behind his eyes.

“Do I get to make a toast?” he asks after a few beats, and you smile, nod, and hold up your cup. “To the only person stupid enough to jump into a freezing cold river after me. To the only person I would consider eating a bodega dinner with. To the only person who sees me the way you do.” You both take a sip, which is hard to swallow around the lump in your throat. He looks into your eyes, then breaks the dark chocolate into slivers and hands you a piece like he didn’t just say the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to you before.

You eat, and talk, and drink, and when you’re done with dinner you put everything back in the bags and lay back on the blanket, side by side, and stare up at the stars. The moon is high and full, shining while the stars twinkle around it, and you can’t think of a single time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“This was really perfect,” Aaron says, almost a whisper, after about twenty minutes of companionable silence. “I can’t thank you enough for being there for me today.” You turn to face him, hands curled up under your chin, and he turns toward you as well. He’s so handsome in the moonlight your heart almost aches.

“You don’t have to thank me. I just wanted to see you happy.” You feel your eyes well up with tears, because he deserves to be happy; you sigh, blink them away, and he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead, rests them there for a long time. When he eventually pulls back, you bring a hand to his hair, brush it back at his temple, and then the creaking of the door makes you pull back, sit up.

It’s your neighbor from 422, who you’ve seen on the roof a handful of times, sneaking away from his wife to smoke a cigarette. He squints in the dark, recognizes you, and waves.

“Hey, 418! You’re not alone tonight.” Aaron sits up too, and you laugh softly.

“Nope, but we were just leaving. The roof is all yours.” Aaron stands, pulls you up, and you grab the blanket and pillows while he grabs the bags, and the two of you head back down to your place.

It’s after ten when you get the groceries put away, and you stand next to Aaron in your small kitchen, contemplating what you want to say next. Your mouth betrays your brain, says what you’ve been thinking but weren’t quite sure how to approach.

“It’s late; I know I said I’d take you back to your car, but you could stay here if you want. I have a spare toothbrush, and I know you have a spare suit at the office, and it’s not like it’s the first time we��ve shared a bed before.”

You’d completely understand if he’d rather go home—you hate when your plans are changed at the last minute, and you prefer to do your full nightly routine for your sanity’s sake—but he only nods, and you lead your way to the bedroom, show him the master bath.

You are in your pajamas, tucked into bed, when he comes out in his boxers and undershirt; he hangs up his suit in your closet where you’d left him some space, then climbs in beside you. He looks over at you, then past you, at your nightstand, which has a stack of books on it—none of them romance novels. You grin, busted after months of book exchanges, and he leans over you to look at the titles.

“Persuasion, To Kill A Mockingbird, One Hundred Years of Solitude—Beloved.” He looks from your copy of the novel to his, which you hold in your hands, and you shrug sheepishly.

“I like reading the notes you put in the margins,” you say meekly, hoping he’s not angry, but all he does is laugh.

“Let me guess: you don’t actually like romance novels.” He leans back against your pillow, and so do you, resting the book on your lap.

“I mean, I don’t not like them… but I’ve been buying those just for you.” The smile on his face is brilliant, and only makes you yearn for him more; things you have been purposefully not feeling are flooding your heart and mind and body now, with him so close, laughing over this stupid secret you’ve been hiding for so long. “And you, sweet man that you are, have been reading them, and discussing them.” You put your hand on his shoulder, and he ducks his head to laugh again.

“Since we’re being honest… I didn’t read all of them. I tried,” he says when you act offended, shoving the shoulder you’re resting against, “but some of them were so bad. I just flipped through, found something I thought could pass as my favorite part, and hoped to hell you didn't ask too many questions.”

You both laugh until you’re breathless—he is so different from how he was this morning it makes you want to cry—and when your laughter dies down you look at each other, sharing breath, two heads on one pillow; is it any wonder you bridge the distance, pull him close for a warm, gentle kiss?

When you break the kiss, you are instantly worried about what Aaron will do—you aren’t drunk, aren’t even tipsy, so you know he can’t be, so much bigger and more solid than you, but will he think it’s a mistake? He kissed back, you’re pretty sure, but maybe that was an accident, something done on autopilot—

He leans in for a second kiss, mouth deceptively soft, and you curl your arm around his back, press into it with lips desperate not to let this end now that it’s started. When you separate, you are both looking into each other’s eyes again, breathing a bit heavily, and you meet in the middle for a third kiss, the best kiss you’ve ever had in your life.

That kiss ends when you yawn in his face, and he chuckles softly, leans over and switches off your bedside lamp; you smile at the ceiling, and he wraps his arms around you, presses his lips to your shoulder, and tells you good night. The next day, the two of you arrive at work early so he can shower and change into his fresh clothes without anyone on the team noticing—not that you think they would really care, but they’re nosy, and a little annoying, so you both agree that’s probably for the best.

You don’t talk about the kisses, even though they’ve been the only thing running through your mind since they happened; you promise to discuss it at lunch, though, and that’s such a sweet, romantic prospect that you think you prefer it better that way anyway.

Only, you don’t ever get to lunch, because there’s an urgent case in Minneapolis, an all hands on deck situation, meaning even Penelope joins you on the jet. You debrief on the flight, hunker down in the conference room, and split up to cover more ground; you barely get to speak to Aaron the whole time you’re there except to be given instructions and to fill him on what, if anything, you’ve learned.

You don’t even make it to your hotel that night, working around the clock to catch the people responsible for terrorizing the city. It takes not one, but almost two full days, and when you board the jet on Wednesday evening, everyone is dead on their feet. You barely remember the flight or the trip home, and you fall onto your bed fully clothed and crash just like that.

Thursday is your birthday, which you almost forgot, and so you assumed everyone else would too. You should have known better, because even if your team can be annoying, they are still your friends, and they love you, so you are well and truly spoiled.

You are treated to a latte and bagels from Emily, purple cupcakes with silver sprinkles from Penelope, a piggy back ride from Derek, a book of poetry you’ve had your eye on from Spencer, and a card from JJ—really, it turns out, from all of them.

“Enjoy a romantic getaway on us?” There’s some kind of certificate in the card, and when you flip it over, you discover that it’s for a hotel and spa that offers couples massages, mud baths, intimate aromatherapy? You arch a brow. “Uh, thanks, guys. Are you trying to tell me something here?” JJ’s face falls a little and she points to the card.

“It’s a romantic getaway. For you and Hotch? Since things have been so hectic lately,” she says, but your ears are kind of ringing and your brain is stuck on the for you and Hotch part.

“Oh. Um. Sorry—it’s just kind of soon, I think? How do you guys even know about that?” you murmur. The two of you haven’t had time to discuss Monday yet, and you haven’t spoken a word to anyone; you wouldn’t have guessed Aaron would have either, but there is a gift certificate for a romantic getaway in your hands, and you’re kind of spiraling.

“Well come on, we haven’t exactly been pretending we don’t know,” Emily says, and you can feel the confusion in your features when you look up at her. “And you guys haven’t been exactly secretive. We’re happy for you, though.”

“I mean, we haven’t been secretive, but we haven’t really had a chance to talk about it yet. It’s only been three days.” You are met with looks similar to the one on your own face.

“What do you mean, three days?” Spencer asks with a frown. “You and Hotch have been dating for almost two months. Right?” he says, looking at the others, and they nod, but it’s tentative. Your first reaction is to flush, and you close the card, fan your face with it.

“You guys think… You guys thought…” You look at them, then up at Aaron’s office; there’s no way he can know that you’re having a moment, but he chooses then to come downstairs, coincidentally. He’s smiling at first, but it falls when he looks at your face.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” He presses a cool hand to your hot cheek, flicks his eyes over yours, and JJ makes a noise; when you glance over at her, she’s gesturing between the two of you.

“I’m sorry, we were wrong? What were we supposed to think?” Aaron frowns, not following, and you take a deep breath.

“They got me a gift certificate for my birthday. To a spa. For you and I to have a romantic getaway, because they were under the assumption we’ve been dating… for two months.” The way he pulls back quickly makes your stomach ache a little, but you say nothing. You should have known.

“You say I love you,” Derek begins like he’s listing evidence. “You have lunch together every day. You’re always smiling at each other.”

“Seriously, some of the softest, gooiest smiles I’ve ever seen,” Penelope adds.

“You eat together on cases, you’re texting all the time when you’re not together.”

“I’ve been pairing the two of you up in hotels since I first figured out you were dating,” JJ says, and the whole ‘you’re welcome’ thing suddenly makes some sense. “I booked you that room with just the one bed so you’d maybe feel more comfortable about us knowing, so you’d see that we don’t mind.”

“You’re always looking at each other, always touching,” Spencer says. “In Pittsburgh—that was the first time you really hugged or kissed each other in front of us. We were trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but it was kind of a big deal.”

You look over at Aaron, try to gauge his reaction, but for the first time in a long time you can’t tell what he’s feeling. You can’t really tell what you’re feeling, either. Sadness. Worry. Loss? But what have you lost?

“We’re friends,” you say, even if it sounds weak to your own ears. “We’re… close.”

“We wouldn’t exactly make sense as a couple, would we?” Aaron asks rhetorically, and your heart clenches when he says that. He told you this morning that he’d made dinner plans for you, both for your birthday and to discuss the kisses, what they mean, where you go from here, but that doesn’t sound very promising anymore. “We’re just—”

“Star-crossed,” you say, but you feel like your eyes are vacant. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You’re stupid for kissing him, for letting yourself think he could feel the same way you feel, have felt for a while. Isn’t friendship enough? Don’t you already have this special bond so unlike what you have with anyone else in your life? Why press your luck? You know better than that. “We should get back to work.”

You don’t look at Aaron, so you don’t know whether or not he looks at you. JJ does, and you can tell she knows you’re upset, but she just nudges everyone on their way, and you take a seat at your desk—it’s covered in balloons and streamers, the Penelope special.

You’ve never felt less like celebrating.

At lunchtime, Aaron stops at your desk, and the two of you walk out to the bench, open your bags in silence. You’re almost halfway through the hour before he tries to speak.

“Uh. I. About earlier,” he finally gets out, looking down at his sandwich, and you shake your head even though he’s not watching you.

“It’s fine. We don’t have to.” You take a bite of your salad even though you don’t taste it. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. You are who you are,” smart, sweet, handsome, tender, caring, “and I am who I am.” Too quiet, too young, too impulsive, too silly, too emotional. He nods, looks at your face for the first time in a while, swallows.

“Right.” You’re due to exchange books back—his is on your lap, yours is on his—and he picks them both up. “I’m like this,” he says, holding up Beloved. “Faded cover, dog-eared pages, scribbles in the margins: middle-aged, divorced, a little broken, barely holding it together for the kid I don’t get to spend enough time with. You’re like this,” he says, holding up Ravished. “Fresh and glossy and shiny and new, with your whole life ahead of you, the whole world ahead of you. You could do anything, with anyone.”

You frown, because this is not what you meant, at all. How could he think that about himself, when the well-loved cover and the dog-eared pages and the scribbles in the margins are all the best parts of him?

“Aaron,” you say, but it sounds like pleading; you reach out to put your hands on his arms, but he pulls them back. His eyes are rimmed red, lips pressed together to hold back everything he’s not saying.

“I think lunch is almost over.” He packs up his things, leaves you with tears in your eyes and a wilted salad and a brand new romance novel you’re never going to read.

Later, he cancels dinner, says something came up, and you go home to your empty bed and watch Titanic and bawl your eyes out when Rose tells Jack she’ll never let go. Friday, you get another case. Weekend cases are no one’s favorite, but especially not yours, when you desperately needed that buffer of time away from Aaron to sort out your feelings and get back to some sense of normalcy. Instead, you’re flying to a small town outside of Nashville to catch a serial arsonist, and when you get to your hotel, you and Aaron are sharing a room.

At least there are two beds, this time.

You go with Emily and Spencer to a crime scene, walking around a house that was once picture perfect and is now all charred wood and ash, and you quickly tell yourself to get a grip and not look for metaphors for your own life while trying to solve a case. What kind of investigator are you? Pathetic, apparently.

You work until evening, and when it’s time to break for dinner, you buy a sad looking assortment of items from the police station vending machine and eat in the conference room by yourself.

It’s a good thing you do, because they get a call about the fire while everyone is still away, and you and a few locals are the first on the scene.

It doesn’t start out bad, mostly located in the back of the house, but you know how quickly these things can spread, and the fire department is working hard to put it out. One of the officers is talking to the family, and the mother is crying, so you come closer to figure out why.

“She said the daughter was supposed to be staying at a friend’s, but sometimes she changes her mind at the last minute and comes home. She can’t get ahold of her,” the officer says, and you nod, thinking.

“Where would she be? The front or the back?”

“Her room is in the front, second floor; if she’s here, that’s where she’d be,” the mother says, wiping her eyes with a tissue, and you tell the officer to stay with them, that you’ll take care of it. You talk to the firefighters—this town is so small there are only two that were able to respond, and they’re both busy trying to put out the fire, but they clear you to go in if you stick to the front of the building and get out of there as fast as you can.

Your team isn’t here yet either, too far out for comms to be effective, and you can’t get ahold of Aaron, so you make a judgement call and head inside.

The front of the house is so eerily normal it’s almost easy to calm your nerves and pretend the back isn’t in the process of being destroyed. You open the front door, run up the staircase, and call out for the girl; she answers, not from the front of the house, but the back—a bathroom maybe? Flames lick up the wall beside it, but you can get to the knob, and she comes rushing out, into your arms, terrified. You weren't expecting that, and you both fall back: your head hits off the floor, but she seems okay, so you tell her to run out the front door and find her mom.

You press a hand to the back of your head, and it comes back tacky with blood. There’s ringing in your ears for a couple of minutes, and then your favorite voice in the world comes through.

“Where are you? We’re here, where are you?” You’re getting hotter, and when you crane your neck up, you can see why: the fire is getting closer, creeping toward the staircase, creeping toward you. You inhale, cough, and press your walkie button.

“I’m upstairs in the hall; hit my head. It’s not safe.”

“I’m coming for you.” You groan. Stubborn man.

“It’s not safe, Aaron.” You hear the crackle of static, hope maybe he heard your warning and will wait until more firefighters arrive—but knowing him the way you do, that’s just wishful thinking. His voice rings out again, and despite the pain, you can’t help but smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack. Just stay put; I’ll be right there.” You close your eyes, drift in and out of consciousness; when you see him, all you can think is how ridiculously in love with him you are, and that you really hope you’ll be around to tell him. You are, of course, fine. Your head is the worst of it, even the smoke inhalation was mild, and the fire didn’t touch you, so there are no burns. Aaron doesn’t leave your side the entire time you’re being checked over, looks serious and concerned, though he smiles when the mother comes over and squeezes you so tightly you wince a little. It starts to rain, making the firefighters' jobs a little easier, and it feels oddly cleansing, after the day you’ve had. Someone offers you an umbrella, but you decline.

The fire is successfully put out, and the half of your team that didn’t respond to the scene responded to a call for suspicious activity, which ends up being your unsub. You are all happy no one was killed this time, and since you’re staying the night again, the group decides to grab a drink to celebrate. You don’t have a concussion, but your head still aches, so you pass, and Aaron passes with you.

You head to the hotel, park in the lot, but you don’t even make it halfway across before you stop, a hand on his arm.

“I need to say something,” you tell him, and he looks up at the dark sky like, right here? Right now?, even though you’re both already drenched. You nod, because if you don’t do this now you might never—almost dying always gives you an unhealthy amount of confidence, which you attribute to equal amounts of adrenaline and stupidity. “When we first met, I didn’t think we’d have a lot in common. We’re both quiet, but in wildly different ways, and I’m quick to trust and let people in while your guard is almost never down.”

He looks a little sad at that, and you realize you’re kind of doing what he did, putting the two of you into completely different categories, emphasizing the ways you don’t belong together. But that’s dumb, so you don’t give him time to focus on that for long.

“But being your friend, Aaron—the more time I spent with you, the more I came to feel like no one has ever understood me the way you do. No one has ever seen me the way you do.” Rain is pouring down all around you, beating against the pavement, flattening your hair against your head, but you don’t care. Regardless of his reaction, this is actually kind of perfect. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you—that was an accident, I admit. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You step closer to him, put your hands on his waist; he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t need shiny, glossy things; you're the one I want—faded cover, dog-eared pages, notes in the margins. I love you exactly as you are.”

He is gorgeous in the rain, water in his hair, dripping off his nose. His expression looks hopeful, and you pray to god that’s not wishful thinking.

“Say something, anything,” you beg, anticipation killing you, and he presses his hands to your cheeks and pulls you close for a deep, passionate, soulful kiss that says it all.

The words are nice to hear, though.

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you either,” he breathes against your lips when the kiss breaks. “I told myself it was just a crush, because someone so young and beautiful was paying so much attention to me, treating me like more than just the guy giving orders. But the more time I spent with you, the more undeniable it became. You are everything good about the world—bright, optimistic, caring, funny, sweet. How could anyone not fall in love with you?”

You swallow hard, lean up to press your lips against his again.

“When you said we wouldn’t make sense as a couple…” He shakes his head.

“That was just me chickening out. After we kissed, I was all but ready to ask you to go steady,” he says, and you both smile, because he’s such an old fashioned dork, but god, do you love him. “And then we found out that the team thought we’d been together for months, and you looked freaked out, so I freaked out. I’m sorry. I should have made us talk about it sooner.”

“Classic pointless miscommunication,” you say with a laugh, and he chuckles too, kisses you again.

“Let’s go inside and get dried off; there’s a birthday gift in my bag I’ve been meaning to give you.” He takes your hand, and you head up, duck into the bathroom to change into dry clothes, squeeze the water out of your hair. There is a small, flat, wrapped present on your bed when you emerge, and you smile, sink down to open it.

It’s Romeo and Juliet, a brand new copy, but when you flip through it, there are blue inked notes in the margins. Aaron comes to sit beside you, touches your face like you’re something precious.

“The course of true love never did run smooth,” he murmurs, and you smack him on the arm with the book.

“That’s from A Midsummer Night's Dream, and I know you know that,” you say with a grin. He nods in admission, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, lean in for a warm, loving kiss. When you pull back, it’s with a soft smile. “Give me my sin again?”

“My pleasure,” he whispers, and you sink into his embrace and promise never to let go. The following week, you both leave work at noon on Friday so you can enjoy your romantic getaway. You drive to the spa, and Aaron reads over the brochure on his phone with a tone you find hilarious.

“Mud bath—I’m not bathing in mud. That’s counterintuitive.”

“It’s special mud; more like clay,” you say, but he snorts, scrolls.

“Seaweed wrap—nobody is wrapping me in seaweed. That sounds like a nightmare.” You laugh softly and take your exit.

“It’s supposed to be rejuvenating. JJ recommended it.”

“JJ weighs fifty pounds. It would take all the seaweed in the Atlantic to wrap me,” he says, and you roll your eyes, jab your finger into his ribs.

“But what if I get to unwrap you?” you ask, eyebrows raised; you briefly glance over and he makes a face of contemplation.

“Okay, that’s a maybe. Intimate aromatherapy—what does that even mean?”

“I think it means we do something that makes us smell good and then we go back to our room and kiss and stuff.”

“Now that doesn’t sound half bad,” he murmurs. “Foot massage? I’m not letting a stranger touch my feet, that’s weird.” You look over at him, squinting.

“You literally plugged someone’s bullet wound with your finger yesterday, but someone touching your feet is where you draw the line? Will you do anything on the list?” He scrolls down it, and his extended silence makes you laugh.

“Meditation. Couples massage,” he says, reaching over to rest a hand on your thigh. “There’s a sauna.” You think of him, sweat-drenched in a fluffy white towel, and take a deep, calming breath. “I bet the room is nice; did you bring a book?” You smile indulgently, reach out a hand to brush through his hair.

“Yep. It’s called A Duke’s Wild Kiss…” He gives you a mildly withering look, and you lightly tap the bridge of his nose. “Just kidding. I brought To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf.” His answering smile is brilliant.

“Are you serious?” You nod, and he gestures to the backseat, where your bags are. “That’s what I brought, too.”

You spend too much of your romantic getaway in your room, but it is really nice; you do the couples massage, though, and aromatherapy, and the sauna, and then you take turns giving each other a foot massage while the other reads To the Lighthouse out loud.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t, but somehow you get to keep him anyway. A/N: Though I snuck in a few parts of a few different lyrics, two lines in particular inspired this fic: 'Now I've read all of the books beside your bed' and 'I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this.' A lot of my fics lately have incorporated books... guess I better get reading!

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #paper rings #inspired by #taylor swift

[silverrstarrr]

extra hand

Update note: Happy spring break loves! Here's a smut I never finished but I still wanted to post it. I'll be taking break from writing eren. I recently started simping for geto Suguru from jjk so😩

Okay, so this is my first smut. I'm just experimenting and playing around with things. I WOULD LOVE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM, but don't bash me bc I'm a little sensitive and then go off 🥲. Song? Um, don't get mad at me but killshot by Magdalena b. slowed n reverb and no guidance remix, slowed n reverb.😕🦴

Pairings: erenxf!reader, smut!

Warnings: fingering, swearing, idk??

"Fuck!"

You tossed your phone onto the nearby bed in the spawn of annoyance, watching the mobile device bounce up a few times, then settling down into the soft comforter. Why were you irritated? It was because he hasn't texted. Eren Yeager haven't texted you back.

Your relationship with eren was a toxic one. You weren't the type to romanticize or fetishize "toxicness" but here you are, putting yourself in one.

Eren was your boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend? The both of you used to talk, met at a dumb frat boy party. This should have raised red flags immediately but you guessed the alcohol was to blame for it.

You guys had a small heated makeout session in one of the corners, away from the crowd. Sadly your friend was vomiting all over the place and had to take your leave.

Slowly you started seeing each other on campus and exchanged numbers. He'd always flirt with you, crack small jokes and was a good listener.

Sometimes he made small gestures and teasing comments that made the tension between you two, very heavy.

You started talking to him more than usual. you were sure eren only gave you his number to call you anytime he was in the mood, which happened often. It was obvious he's been with other women before cause, phew, he knew how to put it down.

Despite being fuck buddies, he was always down to chat and talk about things. You adored everything about him. How unkempt his hair was, the way he'll always ask how you were feeling and was willing to help you–his beautiful jade eyes.

Anytime you were upset with him, he always knew how to catch your attention again. From all this, you caught feelings. Real bad. But eren didn't feel the same, well so you thought.

Eren was walking around campus with another girl, arm slung around her shoulder, him whispering sweet nothings in her ears as you watched her face get red and started laughing. He even took you on small dates to restaurants and hanged out at his dorm.

You stood there dumbfounded. He played you. You guys were never a thing, you didn't understand why you thought you'll be different, he's a fuck boy after all.

He hit you up later that night, wanting to have a sesh in his car. Your emotions were spilled all over the place. you messaged him back questioning about the girl he was with. You sounded so desperate and you hated it.

From the way you were texting he knew you've caught feelings and automatically cut you off.

You were shocked, you hoped for him to just clear things up and tell you those overly used line: "she doesn't mean anything". You know, what most guys tell their girlfriends after being caught cheating.

But that was 4 months ago. He recently got in touch with you two week ago. How dare he just try to slide back into your life as if nothing happened? you were beyond pissed but you still messaged him back anyways. What the fuck? You're just going to get hurt all over again. You guys were chatting for a good week and decided to meet at his dorm.

"Hey y/n, long time no see, huh." He said

you clicked your tongue. "So you just ghost girls out of nowhere and hit them back up whenever you feel like it?" you were absolutely irritated, you wanted to punch his stupid face.

Eren rolled his eyes and let out a tiresome sigh. "It's whatever, get over it. I messaged you back, correct? You should be happy."

He was high. You could already tell by the way he smelled and the reason why he texted you out of the blue.

"Fuck you, Eren." You stormed out of there with your blood rushing. You were so angry but wanted to cry so much. "Whatever"? Was he serious?

You immediately called an uber and went home.

You rented out an apartment with one of your friends from high school. They were out most of the time so you never really saw them.

Automatically, eren was blowing up your phone with text messages. You didn't answer them, and kept him on delivered.

Which didn't last long because early on, on Tuesday, you messaged him back.

He was obviously upset you left him up and dry for a week but got over it.

Now, you're here. Waiting for his reply once again, your last text message was three days ago. It was currently Saturday night, 6:48 pm.

He hasn't responded since Wednesday. Was he going to ghost you again? Maybe he found another girl to mess with? bzzt bzzt You instantly whipped your head back, and stared at your phone's now lightened screen. You had a notification,

From eren.

Unlocking your phone, you checked what he sent.

"Can you come over?"

"pls?"

You read, then reread, then read again. He wanted you to come over? he's doing it again. He's fucking doing it again. He responds three nights later, what the fuck.

You didn't respond at first. Just staring at the open conversations.

You guessed eren saw that you read his text and three dots appeared on the lower left, he was typing.

"y/n, I know I fucked up but please can you respond at least?"

Your thumbs swiped against the keyboard.

"say what? what do I owe you a response for?" You sat down on your bed as the blue bubble sent.

"my phone got messed up, I dropped in it in the rain on my way back from practice. It cracked really bad"

You studied the screen not knowing what to say. You couldn't tell if he was lying or if it was true. But it did rain on Tuesday, so his story wasn't completely untruthful.

"I'll be over in 10"

That's it, you gave in to him. You're just setting yourself up again for another heartbreak.

You decided to prepare yourself. This was going to be a long night

—

You had your jacket on as you stepped out the door. It was still winter, luckily the piled up snow died down.

You quickly jogged to your uber and entered inside. the driver took off shortly after you came in.

The drive was pretty short, he was only ten minutes away. you wished it was longer, so you could lecture yourself for the decision you made.

You hoped out the car and went inside the boys dormitory. His dorm was on the left wing, so you proceed towards that direction.

Eren shared a dorm with Armin, you hoped he was there just in case a heated argument happened because you had a feelings one would come.

Arriving at the hall where all the rooms were at, you walked down the hall checking the numbers, so you'll know which one was his.

You despise that you remembered it as you stood in front of his door.

You pulled out your phone to shoot him a quick "here" to notify your arrival.

Not too long after, a tall brunette opened the door, he immediately grabbed your wrist and pulled you inside.

The room was dim and dark, other than the dark purple LD lights.

You felt your back make contact with the door behind you, he snaked his free hand around your waist. He pressed his lips against yours, you could feel his impatience as he tilted his head slightly to the side to deepen the kiss.

He pulled away ever so slight and licked the bottom of your lip asking for entrance, so intoxicated by his lust you simply obeyed and parted your mouth slightly. His warm tongue slipping in exploring every inch of your mouth.

You ran your other hand over his black t-shirt trailing up to his neck soon afterwards interlocking your fingers in his brown locks. Although the kiss felt rushed it still made you melt, and gave a small throb down in your area. You slightly tugged on his hair earning you a groan into the heated kiss.

The butterfly’s in your stomach were going on a rampage and your heart was beating out of your chest. He slightly pulled away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your mouths together.

"...eren," you moaned slightly.

He was looking down at you, you were so stunning beneath him—face already flustered from one kiss. he wanted to here his name once more.

traveling down to your neck, he started showering it with wet kisses, and continued traveling down. He reached your collarbone and gave it a small bite, as the skin turned red, your grip in hair grew tighter. You were a mess, already ready feeling slick in between your legs as you rubbed them together, desperate for any sort of friction.

eren slid his hand upwards from your waist to your shirt, his soft hands grazed your bare skin—rubbing slowly, sending shivers down your spine.

you released another breathy moan as he continued at your neck. Hearing you moan was a blessing to him, he couldn't stop thinking about you ever since your last encounter.

He wanted to defile you, run his hands all over your body, touching placing only he knew he had access to—having your fingers intertwined in his long locks as he heard dumb founded mewls, begging him to stop teasing and give you what you wanted.

He pulled himself away from your neck, leaving you stunned at his sudden stop.

" why'd you st-" you were cut off by the jerk at your arm once again. He was taking you to his room as you trailed behind him, not saying a word.

Reaching his room, he pulled you inside, his lips crashed against yours once more, he kicked the door with his foot and closed it, locking the knob.

Your mind was fuzzy, you felt so heated and felt your pussy clench against nothing. You wanted him so bad, his impatience was rubbing off of you. But you couldn't bring yourself to tear away from his mouth, his lips felt so soft against your own. It made you feel wanted by him again, as if he never ghosted you and needed you this whole time.

Your back touched the soft mattress of his bed as he climbed on top of you, you were going haywire. you gave in to him with no obligation whatsoever and was dominanted in response. you can't say you didn't expect this from the moment he decided to text you.

His hands slithered up your shirt, pushing it up, grabing a hold of your breast through the bra. you smiled at his eagerness to touch you, how long has he been like this? using your elbows to support you, you raised your upper back from the bed as his other hand came around and unhooked your bra.

The butterflies in your stomach wouldn't stop, the warmth from his body felt attonishing against your own. sloppy kisses smothered across your lips, each break releasing a moan from one another, hearing throughout the room.

You laid back down as his hand large hands began fondling with your breast, your nipples were already hard from all the foreplay.

Eren hips started to grind against your pelvis,

"Fuck..." he moaned out, his face was already red, blushing like a dumb teenage virgin.

You break the kiss and sat up to remove your shirt, eren gave you space to do so–moving back a little. You tossed it on the floor, on the otherside of the bed, along with your bra, which was sitting next to you since eren took it off. You knocked you shoes off as well.

You immediately leaned towards eren wrapping your arms around his neck, lips already on his own, making him fall towards your direction—giving you a chance to wrap your legs around his waist. Your back made contact with the mattress once again and you moved your hips, grinding your heated core against his crotch.

"Dammit y/n...fuck, I can't stand this...when you do this to me."

Eren followed the same action as you. Releasing small moans and you both continued to dry hump one another.

You tugged at his shirt, wanting him to take it off. You didn't like it when you were the only bare and he knew this, a small chuckled erupted from his throat as he got on his knees–hands grasping the hem of the shirt, tugging it over his head.

You laid there in awe, he still kept his shape after all these months. You guessed those practices were really paying off. Your hand trailed up his torso, feeling his sculpture chest beneath your palm. His skin was so soft, you drifted your hand back down, passing over his abs.

"You like what you see?" he said smirking down at you.

"Shut up." you spat out.

Eren moved back down to your chest and took a hold of your breast, bringing his mouth to your nipple–while his other hand supported his weight. He gave it a long lick eyes flickering up at you, checking your reaction. His mouth was warm, his heavy breath touching your skin while he decided to play with your nipple.

You released small grunts as his red tongue swirled around your perked bud, closing his mouth then releasing it—leaving kisses and bite marks all around your breast. You were prepared for all the purplish marks you'll in the morning, you prayed you had your ointment at home.

Using his other hand, he slid his hand down your stomach, earning another moan from you. His touch felt so ethereal, this was what your body was craving for all these months.

His hand slid past your joggings, making contact with your cotton underwear. He dipped his fingers between your lips, gathering the slick that was leaking from your heat. His fingers brushed against your clit, as you moaned his name,

"eren—hnng, stop teasing—"

His only response was a smirk as he released his lips from your nipple with a wet pop sound.

"look how wet you are for me, hm? what happened to that attitude that you're so keen of?" his index finger continued to rub against your entrance, your clit getting some friction in the process. His middle finger plunge into your hole, sliding is easily from the lubrication of your wetness as he began pumping his finger in a steady motion, each stroke going deeper and deeper, stretching you out.

"nnghh—fuck eren..." your voice pitched at a higher tone for a moment.

you haven't felt like this is a while, his long digit fitted perfectly into your hole.

"hm? look how tight you pussy has gotten without me, can't wait to feel you around me."

Eren pulled his finger out, using his index to spread open your lips, then gathered some more slick as both fingers went inside.

He was prepping you up for his length, since you haven't had sex in a while. His fingers started to scissor you, both spreading out in your core—stretching you out even more.

Your hand immediately went for his hair and tugged at it with a grunt, eren moaned at your aggressiveness with his brunette locks.

"s-stop...mfhh." another soft mewl escaped your lips.

Eren pulled out his fingers and rested them in your panties.

"Stop?" He knew what you meant, he always does. his eyebrow turned to an arch, waiting an answer.

"m'didn't mean for you...to," you couldn't form a sentence, your mind was so hazy from the heated atmosphere between you two. you wanted his touch again, you hated the feeling of you clenching around nothing.

eren gave your chest a few pecks, then one at your neck close to your jaw.

"use your words, y/n." man, he was enjoying this too well. He missed this part of you so bad, having you a complete mess under his touch.

"I want you inside of me." The last word was spoken in a lower tone, you were embarrassed. Never knew you'll hear those words come from your mouth again.

"Good girl." He bought his fingers up to his mouth as he sucked on them, swirlying his pink tongue around his digits while directly making eye contact with you. Releasing them with another wet pop, he start to work on his joggers.

Moving off of you, he swing his legs to the edge of bed, pullng down his gray sweats as it hits the floor–slides it across the floor. He did the same with his boxers.

You did the same, taking off your bottoms along with your damp panties, placing it over with your other clothing.

erens cock slapped against his abdominal, precum already dripping from the slit of head.

He gave himself a few strokes, groaning loudly as he shifted back to your direction. Settling between your legs, he uses his hand to trace his pink tip between your folds, slipping between your lips constantly—gathering lubrication.

"m'mfgh...stop teasing eren," your chest was heavy with anticipation, you wanted him inside you so bad. His free rest on your bended knee, his fingers drawing circles.

"shhh, y/n—I know." He coos.

Finally, he dipped his cock into your seeping hole as your velvety walls draw him in–not giving him a chance to adjust from tight you were. You both moan in unison, feeling contentment, getting what you guys wanted you at last.

" hnng, you're so tight...shit," erens eye closed shut while he pushed the rest of his length inside you. Even after stretching you out with his fingers, you were still tight and eren enjoyed every second of it.

Once he was in all the way, his cock was a snug fit—he waited for you to adjust so he could move.

Your chest now heaving up and down, you give a little nod—signaling it was okay to move. Drawing his hips back, he slid out of your core completely and immediately thrusted forward entering back to your wet core.

Eren began thrusting into you at a steady pace as his both of his hands grabbed your legs, resting them behind your knee.

You knew it'll be a long night.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

update note: HAHAHA IM BACK GUYS MORE FANFICS. I'm finally on spring break 😭

#x reader #anime #attack on titan #eren headcanons #eren x reader #eren yeager #eren yeager x reader #aot x black reader #eren jeager x reader #eren jeager #eren jeager headcanons #armin x black reader #eren aot #eren yeager smut

[aelingalathyniusrailme]

Power recognizes power

A little power training gwynriel fic that came from me writing “if you find me at the edge, we’ll jump together.” and I was like this sentence deserves to be the title of something. plus throw everything (and by everything I mean that one sentence in the book) that you know about lightsingers away I’m just using the cute name. and yk there may or may not be some smut at the end. 

She was glowing.

She was glowing and Azriel did not mean she looked radiant or that she was overcome with joy, although she did and she was. Gwyneth Berdara was a living, breathing star. As if the spring equinox had come early this year.

Her skin lit up against the blackness of the sky and her hair burned bright with the ferocity of the hearth.

Gwyneth Berdara had stopped singing, the crowd was silent.  All eyes were on her but she was looking at him, her light, a beacon to his darkness.

His shadows yearned to go to her, he yearned to go to her. Instead, they both stayed stagnant, watching, waiting.

Azriel was had had enough, he dissolved from view and reappeared on the stage. Startled, Gwyn, took a step back and he stayed right with her, matching her step for step.

He gently tucked a stray piece of lit-up auburn hair behind her here, whispering, “It appears you glow, my love.”  

Gwyn, ultimately getting over her initial shock lightly pushed him on the shoulder, “Don’t do that.” She scowled.

Chuckling, he pressed his mouth to hers, in a soft, soothing kiss, forgetful of the audience behind them. As she relaxed beneath his touch, the glow became dimmer and dimmer until it ceased to be. Darkness returned and he stepped back. Gwyn took a breath and stilled. The nervous, passionate energy, that arouse when she sang, calmed for now.

Azriel turned to the crowd, “Due to the events that occurred here tonight, the performance will have to be cut short.” A soft boo drew his attention and immediately he isolated the noise. “Do you want to boo my mate again?” Azriel threatened coolly, his eyes narrowing.

Annoyed, she sighed and spoke to the crowd, “Oh ignore him, I truly am sorry for this interruption but I want to give nothing more than my best and right now I feel as if I can’t do that. the show will be rescheduled sometime next month, letters will be sent out with more information.”

He watched as the stunned and irritated faces slowly began disappearing. Some winnowing away, others taking the slightly more traditional door. Gwyn held her hand out to him. He took it, “So you’re a living lamp?”

“An astute observation.”  

“Is there any way I can convince you to rest now and figure this out later?”

She sighed, “It has been an especially long night.”

Azriel stared at her in disbelief, “did you just agree that you should rest?”

“Oh close your mouth, you’ll swallow a fly.” He responded by grinning at her and winnowing them away to their shared home.

Taking off his shirt he yawned not realizing how tired he actually was. It was still strange to him, being able to sleep so freely, without the looming fear of the past and what he couldn’t control. He stopped, realizing Gwyn had not moved from the door.

Gently he asked, “Are you coming?”

She looked at him blankly, lost in thought for a moment before she responded, “Um-yeah-later.” He was unconvinced so she tried again. “I think I’m going to stay out here and make some tea, maybe read a book.”

Azriel gave her a knowing look but did not push, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Az.” He tenderly kissed her cheek and walked to their room, immediately passing out on the bed.

—————————————————–

Azriel awoke at dawn and turned, unsurprisingly, to find the left side of the bed cold and empty. He sighed as he got out of bed, pulling on a pair of pants, mumbling. “Gwyneth berdara, you are going to be the death of me.”

Knowing there was no way she would be in the house but believing he probably should, he checked regardless and when he determined that she was in fact not in the house, he closed his eyes. When he opened them once again he found himself at the house of wind.

He nodded in acknowledgment, “Clotho,”

Shadowsinger. “The one and only.”

Is there something you require? “Just looking for that mate of mine. Any chance she’s here”

You know she is, and you know precisely where to find her. Ask what you truly want to ask. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “How long has she been here?”

Since 11 pm. Exhaling, he muttered, “Why can’t that damn woman ever rest.”

Over excursion out of only stubborn will seems to be a similarity between the two of you. Azriel frowned slightly before smiling pleasantly, “It’s been a pleasure as always, thank you for your help.”

Clotho only nodded and Azriel began the stairs to the 7th floor.

It took a moment for him to find her, the shadowsinger was a trained spy, forced to observe and retain even the smallest of details, yet he couldn’t find a bubbly redhead in a room full of texts and stories.

Ah, no wonder he hadn’t seen her. Gwyn was surrounded by hundreds upon hundreds of books. She was drowning in literature, her hair was tied loosely in a braid with quite a few pieces falling out, there were dark circles beneath her eyes, and she was sporting the slightly insane look that came from a lack of sleep.

“Gwyn.” Her head jerked up in surprise to see him.

“Oh Az, Ok Ok, I promise I will go to sleep soon I just need 5 more minutes. I’m so so so close. I think I’m going to skip training today. Ok how about 2 minutes. 10. No that’s more. 10 sets of 1 minute. I just need 10 sets of 1 minute. I’m fine how are you?”

“Gwyn, my love, you’re delirious.”

She brushed him off, “What no I’m fine. I’m fine. Did I already say that? I can’t remember.”

Logic was never the way to deal with her insane stubbornness, so he tried a different approach. He pushed down his worry for her, and curled his mouth into a smirk, “I bet,” She perked up like a dog about to be fed, “that you can’t summarize everything you learned last night into,” he checked the clock. “15 minutes.”

“I could do it in 10.”

“Prove it.”

“And when I win?”

“I leave you to research. But if you can’t you have to go to bed.”

“Time starts now.”

Gwyn took a deep breath and began. “First I looked into where light magic is supposed to originate: the day court. Their magic is described as warm and comforting. Every single text I read described the magic the same way, as a sort of yellowish-brown light, like the sun. But the magic that came from me was more of an icy blinding light, like the lights from the stars rather than the sun. Also, as far as I know, I don’t have family from the day court so I looked into the family I do have. My family from the autumn court. However, we know that autumn court magic is fire, and what manifested in me was light not heat. My grandmother was a nymph so I thought well what type of magic do nymphs have. And the answer was severely disappointing, with basic plant magic being the most a nymph was able to do. I was stumped for a few hours before I realized. I’m basing my research on what I believe to be true not what I know to be true. I was told that I am a quarter nymph and because that heritage would explain my non-high fae-like features I believed that, for there was no reason for me not to. But what if my nymph grandmother was not a nymph at all. I flipped through dozens of books on faeries that have similar features, light magic, and/or can live on land and water. For the most part, I could not find anything, but then out of the corner of my eye I found a small tome on the history of light magic, the majority being all things I’d seen a million times before on the day court, but a passage no more than a page long, referenced ‘the lightsinger.’ Now what is a Lightsinger, you may ask? Honestly, I had no idea what or who they were so I found every book and story I could on them. The lightsinger’s, instead of being a title for a way to manipulate magic, like shadowsingers or daemati, were a race. A long-lost fae race said to be able to bend and create light with their voices and song. It’s said that they died out due to a conflict with the shadowsingers but every so often there are sightings of unknown nymph-like creatures in you’ll never believe where. The autumn court. Now I would only have 25% of lightsinger blood but magic is a fickle thing and some sources believe that when bred with high fae blood the magic intensifies.” Gwyn exhaled.

Azriel grinned victoriously, “It’s been 20 minutes.”

“Goddamn it, I didn’t even get to the interactions between shadowsingers and lightsingers.”

Now he was intrigued. “Well if you want to continue I certainly won’t stop you.”

“No no,” she yawned, “I lost which means I will be going to bed. But I do want to alter our deal slightly.”

“Oh?”

“I sleep now, you train me tomorrow.” The set of her chin and the look in her eye were enough to assure him of how serious she was.

“You want a male who specializes in darkness to help you master your light?”

“Certain theories believe that the mother gifted the light and shadowsingers their gifts to balance each other out and to remain harmonious.” She reasoned. “So yes there is no one I would want more to teach me.”

“I will not take it easy on you.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.”

“Alright Berdara, we meet Sunday at dawn, do not be late.”

“I’ll be there.”

——————————————————————————————————–

Sunday arrived and Azriel watched as Gwyn came down to the training ring in her leathers, with a white ribbon tied in her hair.

“Good morning Gwyneth.”

“So formal.” He shot her a look. “Oh alright ok my turn. Good morning Azriel, shadowsinger, spymaster of the night court, mate of the most amazing female to grace this planet.”

“Training is serious.”

“Of course it is. Shall we begin?”

“I want you to light up the room.”

“What? is it not already lit?”

He smirked and let his shadows paint the room black. Azriel himself became smoke, nothing more than a voice in the darkness.

“Az, az come on this is not funny.”

“Good, because it’s not a joke.” His voice came from every direction and every way Gwyn turned she was surrounded by endless nothing. “You must learn to sing the song of light the way I learned the language of shadow.”

“Speaking in vague melodrama feels like it’s not going to be that effective.”

Gwyn tried to back up only to find what was once the training ring now bled together with the depth of the sky.

“Let the light speak to you. Coax it, nurture it. Burn through the darkness and find the light.”

“How am I supposed to do that.”

Gwyn thought of the way Nesta harnessed her silver fire, the way her eyes became the flame itself. She concentrated and searched deep within herself, searching and looking for the light she knew she possessed.

All she saw was a hallowed chamber.

“No.” The word echoed throughout the room. “Our magic is not like others, we do not create out of nothing, we manipulate what is already there.”

“How am I supposed to manipulate if I’m in a room with no light?” Gwyn huffed frustrated.

“Just because the shadows are masking it, does not mean it is not there.”

He was so damn infuriating. She tried calling the light to her, she flexed her hands, she even tried speaking to it, all to no avail.

“As you said, magic is fickle and our elements especially. Light and darkness do not want to be bound or controlled, let the light be a friend, a companion, let it want to help, let it want to be influenced by your will.”

But how the fuck was she supposed to do that.

“Think of the first time it came to your call.” He whispered ominously. “What were you thinking. What were you feeling? Power often manifests through emotion.”

Singing. She had been singing. Was it really so easy that all she had to do was sing?

Turns out it wasn’t.

For hours she sang hundreds of songs. From songs in the old fae language that she sang at the priestess services to ones she had written herself. Nothing worked. Azriel had let her have a singular break when she desperately needed to pee and even then he was skeptical.  

He had left her to her own devices leaving his shadows to watch over her progress. When he returned he found Gwyn clutching her knees, rocking in the shadows. Her gaze was unfocused and she was humming to herself.

“You have officially broken me. I’m done.” She wanted nothing more than to sit in the library with her sisters and a book.

“No.”

Gwyn’s eyes snapped into focus, her breathing steadied, and she went predatorily still. “Excuse me.”

“You heard me. No.” Azriel laughed, a cold vicious laugh. “You asked me to train you. Gwyneth Berdara has never quit before and she certainly won’t start now.”

Gwyn was seething, but she remained quiet. “What?” He was toying with her. “A little darkness too much for you. Light up the room and we won’t have a problem.”

“Oh that’s right you can’t. 10 hours in and no light in sight. You’re pathetic.”

Her anger cleared her mind and in that moment of clarity a memory, buried deep within her, resurfaced as if it was resting, snoozing until its moment of need.

Gwyn was in her mother's lap, a black-haired girl sat across from her. Her voice pulled her attention. “My girls, Catrin,” She tickled her, resulting in a giggle from her lost sister, before she turned her head, “Gwyneth.” And also tickled her. Gwyn's small hands clutched at their mother, desperately trying to hold on. “My two beautiful daughters.” She sighed. “Your lives will be filled with so much darkness, darkness that you do not deserve. But I need you two to be strong, to stay with each other, and to find strength in the other.” ‘I don’t get it,” Gwyn whined.

“We are a part of a glorious and lost people, a people of light and song. But they fear us because they do not understand us.”

Gwyn and Catrin looked up at her, confused and innocent.

“It’s ok, you will. You know the song I sing to you every night before you go to sleep?” Gwyn and Catrin cheered, “Yeah.”  

“I want you to sing it with me, and I don’t want you to ever forget it. Can you do that for me?”

Their voices came together in a melodic lullaby. It was captivating and cold, those who heard could not look away. The song demanded to be heard, to be sung.

The words came tumbling out of Gwyn, they twisted around her tongue and lips as if finally home. Lost but not forgotten. Lost but born anew. Through the shadow and darkness, her eyes found the light, it heard her call and from every direction it found her. She pulled the brilliance of the stars to her and let the light paint the dark white.

The shadows retreated to Azriel who stood just two feet in front of her. Their eyes locked and he smiled, “there she is.”

The light flowed and flowed, and the room lit up in a blaze of pearlescent radiance. Her pale skin lit and she had once again become one with the stars.

But while the call came from her, there was another that drew her light forward. His shadows and her light curiously answered the pull. Finding each other between Azriel and Gwyn. One did not dissolve into the other like it should but instead mingled, swirling around each other in an almost playful manner. They became one from two opposites that never should have met.

As they blended together she felt a pounding in her chest and a throbbing somewhere lower. Her toes curled and she craved more. Their power was its own entity and yet connected to them. A push and pull, a desire to be close.

Azriel bridged the gap between them breathing heavily, pulling her against him as he’d never felt her before. “Az.” she gasped.

His eyes were on her lips as he licked his own, smiling, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so alive.”

“You’re the worst,” She said between breaths.

“I know.” And their lips met in a furious burst of passion.

He kissed her with a fiery hunger, a male starving. Her hands weaved through his hair, her fingers getting lost in the darkness. Gwyn wanted nothing more then to be lost in his darkness, as he wanted to drown in her light. Azriel gripped her waist, grinding his hardness into her causing her to moan.

“You make such pretty sounds for me.” He chuckled, ripping her shirt off.

“Fuck me.” It was an order, not a request.

“Gladly.” Their clothes were gone moments later. His kisses moved down her neck as he sucked and his fingers dipped to her cunt as he felt her. “Always so wet and ready for me.”

She wrapped her hand around his cock, “Always so hard for me.”

“Can’t help it.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.” He laid her down in the middle of the training ring and stroked his cock up and down her folds, pressing against her clit. “oh my god-fuck.”

With that, his control snapped and he buried himself to the hilt in her. Stroking once, twice.

He smirked, crooning, “look how perfectly we fit.”

His thrusts were slow and shallow, edging her on, basking in the feel of him in her, of her around him.

He then went harder, hitting her in the right spot every time, but Gwyn needed more.

“Faster.”  

“Your wish is my command.” Azriel fucked her hard and fast, and with every thrust she moaned in ecstasy, driving her hips forward, meeting him step for step.

“Oh my god fuck me.”

“Such a good girl, taking it so well.” He captured a moan on her lips, devouring her.

“yes, yes fuck.”

Where the light met the dark, was where Gwyn met Azriel. They were cocooned in a shell of power flowing between and all around them. They were a storm of blinding light and depthless shadow, the lines of what were and were not, blurred to just the other.

“Gwyn.” He groaned, nothing existed but them.

“Az I’m gonna cum.”

“Yes, my love, cum for me.”

Every thrust became sporadic and uncontrolled as if his pleasure had taken a mind of its own. He swirled his tongue around her nipple and ground her clit with his fingers.

It was all too much, Gwyn cried out as she came, her back arching, toes curling. Her cunt tightened around his cock as he fucked her past completion. She was everything and watching her cum was enough to send him over the edge as he emptied himself in her, collapsing on the ground next to her.

For a moment they were silent before Gwyn spoke, “would you like to hear what I learned about the interactions between Lightsinger’s and Shadowsinger’s” She smirked, “Apparently the sex is unlike even mate sex.”

“I can vouch for that.”

Gwyn laughed, and if it wasn’t the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

#gwynriel #gwyn berdara #azriel #gwyn x azriel #one shot #gwynriel one shot #smut #Gwynriel fanfiction

[riddlecrux]

Why rejection leads to the endgame: Rowaelin and Elriel comparison.

This meta is based solely on textual pieces of evidence that can be found through the whole ACTOAR and TOG series written by SJM. My observations come from the text and what was given to us, the audience, by the author of the book. This post is going to be about two very prominent scenes that occur to the main characters and how they are played in the books, setting-wise but also plot-wise. Of course, a small warning: this is strictly pro-Elriel meta, so if it isn't your cup of tea you are in the wrong place. Also: SPOILERS FOR TOG!

I would like to start this meta with a short preface about how I am going to approach the subject. The things I will be looking into are setting, wording, and emotional attachments. (With a sprinkle of speculations).

We will begin with Rowaelin and how the rejection scene developed. The plotline setting is after a very tense situation, which was confronting Arobynn.

Queen of Shadows, pg. 321

Rowan was done waiting. (...) The lamplight glinted off the combs in her hair and along the golden dragon on the dress.

Emphasis on: - hair - light, and how it glides across combs of Aelin hair - "glinted"

Also worth mentioning is how Rowan finally overcame his inner battle. He became impatient.

Azriel POV, pg. 1

Azriel couldn't stop it. (...) he found himself leaving the room. Entering the foyer. (...) and there she was. The faelights gilded Elain's unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn.

Emphasis on: - hair - light, and how it lightens Elain hair - "gilded"

Again, we have a male who is questioning his inner feelings and after an imminent mind battle, he decides to move and goes towards a place when he meets up with a female.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 321-322

She half turned toward him. (...) The look in her eyes—guilt, anger, agony—hit him like a blow to the gut.

(...) and though she tried to hide it, he could see the fear in her gaze, and the guilt.

Rowan can read Aelin without words. Just one look and he knows exactly what she feels or what hides behind her words - which often are laced with lies. Yet, he, Rowan was able to always see beneath the false facade - even before they were told about them being true mates.

Azriel POV, pg. 2

Lie. Well, the second part was a lie. He didn't need his shadows to read her tone, the slight tightening of her face.

Elain's large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days.

Azriel, just as Rowan can easily deduct lies underneath Elain's words. Him being a shadowsinger and spymaster could help him in knowing the truth, yet we have an emphasis on the fact that he didn't need his powers to realize and catch Elain's lie based on her tone and facial expressions.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 322

He watched her throat bob as she swallowed.

Azriel POV, pg. 2

He watched her swallow.

The same imagery, similar wording. Both males are focused on the females' emotions and their nervousness/trepidation.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 322

She rested her head against his chest, the tips of the bat-wing combs digging into him enough that he eased them one at a time from her hair. The gold was slick and cold in his hands (...)

Emphasis on: - Aelin initiating physical contact - piece of jewelry - golden color - Aelin's hair

Azriel POV, pg. 2-3

"Put it on me?" His head went quiet. But he took the necklace, opening the clasp as she exposed her back, sweeping her hair up in one hand to bare her long, creamy neck.

The golden necklace seemed ordinary -- its chain unremarkable.

Emphasis on: - Elain initiating physical contact - piece of jewelry - golden color - Elain's hair

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 323

She huffed a laugh that might have been a sob and wrapped her arms around his waist as if trying to steal his warmth.

He flattened his hand against her waist, his fingers contracting once as if debating letting her go.

We have Aelin seeking Rowan's touch, she is the one who pushes on the physical line between them. It's important to note that it's her constantly assessing Rowan, trying to close the distance between them. She's acting on her feelings and a need for closure.

Emphasis on the wording used by SJM: - "flattened his hand (...)"

Azriel POV pg. 3

Elain shivered, and he took a damn long time fastening the clasp.

Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch. Until his palm lay flat against her neck.

Emphasis on: - "until his palm lay flat (...)"

In this setting, we have Elain who, once again, closes on the distance between her and Azriel. Just like Aelin she chooses to move along her feelings - which are obstructed from the reader's point of view due to the text being singular POV. It is her who slowly builds up the courage and makes Azriel touch her. Settle on her skin.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 323

She waited for him to pull back, but he just stared at her—stared into her in that way he always did. Friends, but more. So much more, and she’d known it longer than she wanted to admit.

Carefully, she stroked her thumb across his cheekbone, his face slick with the rain.

Aelin realizes her feelings. She comes with the terms of their friendship and its possible development - both she and Rowan started out on the wrong foot, yet they formed an amazing friendship. They built their relation slowly, surely with many heartful moments that bordered on the line of friendship and something more.

Emphasis on: - Aelin "stroking" Rowan's face

Azriel POV pg. 3

It had never gone this far. They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching.

Azriel's fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine.

Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture.

As in the Rowaelin case, Elain and Azriel also built their relationship from a friendship. It was formed during the very dark period of time on Elain's behalf - just like it was for Aelin's. Both Azriel and Elain found comfort with each other, they both started to enjoy the company of the other - sitting in comfortable silence. Yet, we have an idea that this friendship slowly started to bloom into something riskier, more emotional. Both, Azriel and Elain already had their first love ripped away, never fulfilled, and ending in a painful manner. And for the first time when we are inside Azriel POV, it confirms that they balanced on this thin line for a while.

Emphasis on: - Azriel "brushing" Elain's throat and nape

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 323

It hit her like a stone—the wanting. She was a fool to have dodged it, denied it, even when a part of her had screamed it every morning that she’d blindly reached for the empty half of the bed.

Emphasis on: - realization of desire - mornings in the bed - desperate search for Rowan in the sheets

Azriel POV, pg. 2-3

Prayed she didn't understand the shift in his scent. He had only allowed himself these thoughts in the dead of night.

(...) a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he'd done every night he’d slept there. Or attempted to sleep there.

Emphasis on: - desire - night and bed - looking at the gift from Elain on his nightstand

Both scenes and paragraphs signalize that both Aelin and Azriel fought with their newfound feelings. They were realizing that the friendship was slowly turning into something more - a feeling of desire to not only be close to the other person but also a desire to close the distance between friends and lovers.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 324

She lifted her other hand to his face and his eyes locked onto hers, his breathing ragged as she traced the lines of the tattoo along his temple.

His hands tightened slightly on her waist, his thumbs grazing the bottom of her ribcage. It was an effort not to arch into his touch.

Azriel POV, pg. 3

(...) his thumb sweeping in long strokes along the side of her throat.

But Azriel just stroked her neck again. Elain shuddered, drifting closer.

Emphasis on: - constant engaging in physical contact - touching vulnerable parts of the other person - answering to the touch

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 324

“Rowan,” she breathed, his name a plea and a prayer. She slid her fingers down the side of his tattooed cheek, and—

Azriel POV pg. 4

“Yes" Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them.

Emphasis on: - how the last word before the almost kiss is breathed - "religious" themes such as comparison to Rowan's name to the prayer - Mother (a "religious" figure) being present during this intimate scene between Elain and Azriel

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 324

Faster than she could see, he grabbed one wrist and then the other, yanking them away from his face and snarling softly. The world yawned open around her, cold and still.

He dropped her hands as if they were on fire, stepping away, those green eyes flat and dull in a way she hadn’t seen for some time now. Her throat closed up even before he said, “Don’t do that. Don’t—touch me like that.”

Rowan rejected Aelin in a brusque manner - and it wasn't necessarily because he didn't want to engage in expanding their relationship past the friendship. Rowan at this moment still lacks self-reassurance about how he should feel after Lyria. He is scared. It is something different than the feelings that restrained him from the kiss.

Azriel POV, pg. 4

Rhys's voice thundered through him, halting him mere inches from Elain's sweet mouth.

His stomach twisted as he pulled his hand from her hair and stepped back. Forced himself to say, "This was a mistake.”

We have Azriel who rejects the kiss because of Rhysand. It was not on his own terms. It was an order of his High Lord that involuntarily stopped him from kissing Elain.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 324

There was a roaring in her ears, a burning in her face, and she swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mean—” She backed away a step, toward the door on the other side of the roof. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “It was nothing.”

Azriel POV pg. 4

She opened her eyes, hurt and confusion warring there before she whispered, "I’m sorry."

He shook his head, unable to stand the bleakness he'd brought to her expression.

In both scenes, it's the female that apologizes. The one who initiated physical contact. Aelin apologizes twice, meanwhile, Elain is rendered speechless and hurt - and it's Azriel who assures her that it is she doesn't need to apologize. However, Elain is left alone without an explanation and Azriel can't stand seeing her like that.

Both scenes are built in a similar manner - we have friendships border lining on a thin line of something more. Both Elain and Aelin are the ones who initiate physical contact and are the ones who are "rejected", left hurt, and confused. Rowan and Azriel are battling their self-hatred and feeling of unworthiness that is very sound in both of their POVS. There is a lot of things that contribute to the rejection - especially their feelings. Rowan and Azriel feel the romantic pull towards their loved ones - they know that desire and their feelings are reciprocated. Yet, their inner struggles are in the way of fully accepting the fact that the female they yearn for is able to accept them.

More parallels:

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 322

He’d almost fallen to his knees when he’d first seen her earlier tonight.

Azriel POV, pg. 3

He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it.

Both males are on the verge of falling to their knees in front of Aelin/Elain. They are ready to submit to their loved ones.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 324

(...) understood that though she’d seen his eyes shine with hunger—hunger for her—it didn’t mean he wanted to act on it. Didn’t mean he might not hate himself for it.

In this chapter in Queen Of Shadows, we are presented with dual POV, both from Rowan and Aelin so it's easier to see what Aelin had felt when she was rejected. She tells the audience that she was aware of the fact that Rowan exhibited a desire for her. Furthermore, we have another instance of Aelin being able to understand Rowan without words. She knows that Rowan feeling lust for her might have resulted in him hating himself for that because of what had happened with Lyria.

Azriel POV, pg. 2

Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days.

We are obstructed from Elain's point of view and her understanding is explained by Azriel. He knows that Elain understands him. It's an important thing to remember since their friendship was built on the comfortable silence in which both of them bask. Elain and Azriel, just like Aelin and Rowan understand each other without words.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 337

He hated it. Hated that he couldn’t reach her when she was that person. Hated that he’d snapped at her last night, had panicked at the touch of her hands. Now she’d shut him out entirely. This person she’d become today had no kindness, no joy.

Azriel POV, pg. 2-4

(...) Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much.

He shook his head, unable to stand the bleakness he'd brought to her expression.

Both Rowan and Azriel don't want to hurt their significant other. They battle their inner demons, their inner self-worth problems while trying not to put the weight of it on Aelin and Elain. Rowan has his mind troubled because he, at this moment in the books, is still burdened with what had happened to his "mate". On the other hand, we have Azriel who can't bring himself to be in the same room as Elain and Lucien due to their bond. A mate that Elain doesn't want. Azriel's reaction to the mating bond is also very strange - he can see it and scent it. Which I believe should be very telling if we're taking true mate/second mate theories into consideration. So, overall the problem of both males stems from the notion of "mate".

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 345

Even now, he honestly couldn’t decide if he was amused or enraged by Rowan’s words—Don’t touch me like that—when it was obvious the warrior-prince felt quite the opposite.

Azriel POV, pg. 3

He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like. Her breasts. Her sex. He needed her coming on his tongue --

Rowan and Azriel want to indulge in their desire for Aelin and Elain. Both of them weren't able to do so because of the "rejection", yet we are presented with the fact that even the rejection doesn't mean anything as long as both males feel completely opposite to what they had told during the refusal scenes.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 348

Her scent hit him as she unbound her hair and nestled into the pile of pillows. That scent had always struck him, had always been a call and a challenge. It had shaken him so thoroughly from centuries encased in ice that he’d hated her at first. And now … now that scent drove him out of his mind.

Azriel POV, pg. 3

Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it.

Emphasis on: - the scent - how it affects the male

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 348

They were both really damn lucky that she currently couldn’t shift into her Fae form and smell what was pounding through his blood. It had been hard enough to conceal it from her until now.

Azriel POV, pg. 3

Azriel's cock strained behind his pants, aching so fiercely he could hardly think. He prayed she didn't peer down. Prayed she didn't understand the shift in his scent.

Both males explain to the audience that their desire and lust were and are something they are battling as well. Rowan and Azriel are anxious because of their own problems with self-worth that they are struggling to keep as a secret.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 348

He’d seen her naked before—a few times. And gods, yes, there had been moments when he’d considered it, but he’d mastered himself. He’d learned to keep those useless thoughts on a short, short leash. Like that time she’d moaned at the breeze he sent her way on Beltane—the arch of her neck, the parting of that mouth of hers, the sound that came out of her—

Azriel POV, pg. 3

He had only allowed himself these thoughts in the dead of night. Had only allowed his hand to fist his cock and think about her then, when even his shadows had gone to sleep. How that beautiful face might appear as he entered her, what sounds she'd make.

Emphasis on: - keeping the desire to himself - imagery of the female body - the sounds/moans

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 348

She was now lying on her side, her back to him. “About last night,” he said through his teeth. “It’s fine. It was a mistake.”

Azriel POV, pg. 4

His stomach twisted as he pulled his hand from her hair and stepped back. Forced himself to say, "This was a mistake.”

I think this is self-explanatory. The same words, similar situation. Rejection followed by a declaration of it being a mistake when the truth is that both couples are yearning for each other and want to be with one another.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 349

The desire hadn’t been what shook him at all. It was just … Aelin had driven him insane these past few weeks, and yet he hadn’t considered what it would be like to have her look at him with interest.

Azriel POV, pg. 3

Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent.

So close one deep breath would brush her breasts against his chest. She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open (...)

Rowan and Azriel didn't even think about the fact that their desire could be reciprocated- and more than lust they were shocked that Aelin/Elain would look at them with interest, longing, hope. They weren't ready to acknowledge the fact that they weren't alone in this spiral of emotions and feelings.

Moving forward we have the acceptance stage and romantic moments for Rowaelin in Queen Of Shadows. Of course in the case of Elriel we are limited to an extra chapter, however, there are still very prominent similarities in setting and wording.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 378

“Aelin,” he breathed. Not in reprimand or warning, but … a plea. It sounded like a plea. He lowered his head to her exposed neck and hovered a hair’s breadth away. She arched her neck farther, a silent invitation. Rowan let out a soft groan and grazed his teeth against her skin.

He let out another low groan, answer and confirmation and request, and the rumble echoed inside her

Azriel POV, pg. 4

“Yes" Elain breathed, like she read the decision.

Azriel's hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain's mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut. Offer and permission. He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers.

Both couples operate without words. In the case of Rowaelin we have: - a plea - a silent invitation - an answer - a confirmation - a request

In the case of Elriel we have: - an offer - a permission - a decision - a relief - a need

The same setting, very similar description, and usage of words. As I was saying, in the case of Elain and Azriel relationship we are obstructed from Elain's point of view due to the content being a bonus chapter. Yet, we can draw a comparison between both couples. Why? Because SJM structured both rejections in the same way. Rowaeiln's rejection leads to a relationship, later to a discovery of being true mates. Is it a coincidence? From a writer's point of view and an avid reader - I don't believe so. She structured both rejections, in the same manner, using very similar vocabulary and even the familiar setting. In the case of Elriel - Azriel's "rejection" is what essentially builds a start for their relationship in the next book. We also have to remember that in Elain and Azriel situation we have:

- a mate - political background - forbidden romance - compatible powers - blood duel - connection to Koschei SJM gave us a setup for the premise of the next book which we know is Elain's. Azriel and Feyre's POV focus on her, but we know that it's one couple per book. Which perfectly aligns with Elriel and their rejection and pining. In SJM universe such rejections as the ones presented are used to further develop a couple, not to bring it down. The parallels are evident and if you are thinking that she doesn't use foreshadowing and she doesn't focus on details I would recommend rereading both series and see that SJM is an expert in foreshadowing - even the tiniest bits of it come out through the series.

That's why in the cases of her HEA couples rejection means endgame.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 379

“This changes things,” she said, hardly able to get the words out. “Things have been changing for a while already. We’ll deal with it.”

#elriel #pro elriel #elriel meta #pro elain archeron #elain and azriel #azriel x elain #acotar meta #rowaelin #tog

[chokemeanakin]

I dont know if you are taking requests but if you are, could you please write something where reader has trouble masturbating, every time she tries she just CANT, so anakin (theyre just friends but they always had lots of sexual tension) helps her out and does it for her so she cums for the first time. THANK YOU!!!

A Dream Come True - Anakin Skywalker x fem Reader (smut)

Masterlist

Read it on ao3

Wc: 5.4k

A low warmth is rising in your belly, pulled from the depths by your wandering fingers. They’re working against your clit, rubbing it side to side, faster and hard, trying so desperately to remain in that warm haze of pleasure you’ve spent so long building up. It feels good, but you need more. 

The many late nights spent with your girlfriends cross your mind, and how you would sit by idly during each one as they discussed their own personal affairs in the bedroom. You were the least experienced, but listened in awe as they told you the latest on what their partners have done to surprise them in bed. How they made them scream and shake, their eyes roll back into their head, and cum all over until they couldn’t take anymore.

You were too embarrassed to admit you’d never felt that way before. You thought you were broken.

Which is why you’re here, fingers glued to your hard nub, rubbing furiously to try and get yourself to feel something. You do feel something, but it’s not earth-shattering, leg-shaking, eye-rolling like your friends had described. Frustration fuels your movements as you attack your clit, holding your breath, forcing the warmth to build and build and build--

Nothing.

Your arm aches with the strain as you halt your movements, chest heaving when you allow yourself to breathe. Self-pity outweighs your disappointment as the subtle warmth dissipates, any pleasure that you had given yourself slipping away. 

Broken, a small voice whispers inside your head. There’s something wrong with you.

What other reasoning could there be to explain why you can’t feel good? 

Maybe, you argue, there needs to be something inside. That was always a big topic of discussion with your friends, how they “loved being filled.” Gathering your wits, you move your finger down, exploring your folds until you find your opening. Squeezing your eyes shut, you push a finger in, wincing at the sudden intrusion. 

It stings more than anything, but you’re desperate so you decide to give it a chance. You’ve tried this before, and it’s never felt like anything more than a finger inside of you-- which is exactly what it is. And now, this situation proves to be the same. You feel around, hoping to find that spot everyone raves about, but your fingers are too short and the angle is weird. You push your finger in and out like how you think you’re supposed to, and it feels like nothing.

Maybe you need two?

You let another finger join the one that’s already inside, struggling to get it in. 

Ow, you wince as your body rejects the intrusion. Your heartbeat picks up, a sudden anxiety joining the whirlwind of exasperation and discontent that has come from this situation. Is it supposed to hurt this much? The remnants of the need to satisfy yourself are still present, so you try again.

Making it back to your apartment had been a relief this evening, as all day you had been battling a relentless urge down below. You’re not too proud to admit that your… situation… had been a direct result of spending the day with Anakin, a good friend of yours who needed help finding a data entry in the corner of the Temple library. The entry supposedly had something to do with a cloaking mechanism for battleships, and when you had asked why he needed it when the Republic already had cloaking mechanisms, he mentioned that he was trying to translate the same technique to his own personal starship. No battlecraft as small as his has that ability, and with a ship as fast as his, it would give him a huge advantage on the battlefield. 

You could listen to him talk about it all day.

You virtually had, as the data entry was just one small piece of paper-- a piece of scrap blueprint scrawled on a fragile, worried edge of some larger text, worn with time. You spent hours searching all over for it. Once you had finally dug it out of a dusty box in the deepest corner of the library, Anakin had lifted you into the air effortlessly, swinging you around as he hugged you and laughed.

You had walked home with a damp spot in your underwear, an undeniable throb that needed to be relieved. 

He had no idea. No idea that his hands shot sparks up your spine as they closed around your waist. That his laugh turned your blood to lava, and his beautiful, smiling face made your heart skip a beat. He had no idea that he is the cause of your desperation, the reason you are torturing yourself by dangling an unknown pleasure before your face, knowing you can’t have it. 

You manage to sink your second finger in a little, but the sting is too much, and you have to pull them both out.

Broken.

The door to your apartment suddenly swings open, and you throw your sheets over your bare legs in a panic. Your eyes find the clock next to your bed-- Shit. You’d lost track of the time. 

The sound of those boots are unmistakable, and you find that praying you’re wrong is pointless when he calls out your name. 

“Y/n--?” Anakin rounds the corner to peer into your room, features lighting up when he finally finds you. Curious eyes roam over your figure, wondering why you’re in bed when it was barely evening. “Are you feeling okay?”

Your cheeks flame with heat, and you can’t find the words to explain yourself out of this situation. Mentally, you’re beating yourself up for losing track of time, especially since you knew Anakin was coming over tonight. While searching for the data log, you mentioned you had always wanted to try his favorite childhood drink-- ruby bliels-- and he promised he’d treat you tonight after you found the blueprint. It was his thank you gift to you, but now you needed to find a way to get him out of your apartment before he realized what was going on.

Your mouth hangs open like a gaping fish, and you know it’s too late. Anakin’s brain is as fast as his superhuman reflexes, and you can see the gears click into place as his eyes flit from your red cheeks, to the messy covers strewn over your legs, to the crumpled panties lying discarded on the floor. Your hand is even still frozen between your legs, your activities becoming clear as he senses the remnants of pleasure and disappointment still hanging around the room. 

“Oh…” is all he says, looking lost for a moment. You expect him to apologize and turn away, run out of the apartment and then never speak to you again. You wouldn’t blame him. Finding a friend in this position can never be a comfortable experience.

Instead a slow smirk crawls onto his face, and he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You need some help with that?”

You should have known. The smug little bastard-- of course he’d find this amusing. Your face grows impossibly redder, and you wish a black hole would just open beneath you already and swallow you up. Anakin finds your humiliation endearing, and laughs good-naturedly. 

“Alright, okay, I’m sorry. I’ll leave you to it,” he slinks out of the doorway, crooking his finger in the air to close the door after him. “I’ll be in the kitchen setting up for the bliels when you’re done--”

“Wait!”

You’re just as shocked as he is at the words that leave your mouth. He freezes in place, the door still open a crack. There’s too many thoughts running through your head right now, but the one that stands out the most has you pulling your hand away from your center, sitting up in bed so you can address him clearly. 

You never thought you’d be able to speak these words to him. For so long, you had wanted him in every way possible. But he’s a Jedi, unable to form attachments, and more than that-- a friend. A very good friend. And breaching the topic that you know you both feel for each other had the potential to ruin it all. 

But the minute he had opened that door, still dressed in that black leather armor, hair perfectly curled and messy, so tall and strong and devilishly handsome leaning against your doorframe-- he was beautiful, and you’d be a fool not to take advantage of his offering. Even if it might have been a joke. 

You had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t. 

“I… I do need help.”

There. You said it. And you’re pretty certain the only reason you could force the words past your lips is because his back is still facing you. But then he opens the door again, turns to meet your eyes, and cocks his head.

“Really?”

You’re not sure how to feel about the concern on his face. You guess it’s better than him being disgusted, or awkward, or uncomfortable. And it’s not an outright rejection. That realization gives you the push you need to explain yourself.

“I think there’s something wrong with me.”

Now he looks concerned. Walking a few steps into the room, he stops by the edge of your bed and folds his arms across his chest. He’s studying every inch of you, reaching into the force to try and gauge the nature of your words. “What do you mean?”

He’s standing so close now, you can see the blue of his eyes and the wrinkle between his furrowed brows. It does nothing to calm your sizzling nerves. However, you’re concrete on your desires now. While you would have liked to confess your feelings for him in a more… romantic way, the intensity of your need for him in this very moment overshadows rational thought. Besides, it’s not like this is a declaration of love. That could always come later. For right now, you need his help, and you’re certain that you can trust him not to make fun of you or shame you for trying in if he declines.

“I can’t…” you take a deep breath, staring at your hands in your lap. “I can’t make myself feel good.”

Your voice is so quiet, embarrassed and ashamed, but he catches the yearning under it all. His face smooths, comforted by the fact that you’re not injured or dying in some way. Deep down, something sparks alive in his veins. 

That’s the issue? Well… it’s definitely something he can help you with.

“Hmm.” His face is thoughtful as he scans your position. His hand gestures vaguely down your body. “Do you want to show me what you’re doing?”

Your blood freezes at his request. For some reason, it didn’t cross your mind how asking for his help would require him to see you… naked. 

“If you’re too embarrassed, we can just--”

You cut off his words by throwing the blanket off. There, like ripping off a bandaid. His eyes drink in the exposed skin of your legs, and although they’re closed and he can’t be seeing much more than he’s already seen before, they darken. A small twitch of his fingers, and the door clicks shut behind him. 

He takes a seat on the side of the bed, next to your legs, and rests his metal hand on your knee. Your heart beats like a hummingbird's wings at the sudden proximity, and the nerves pile up again at the thought of what’s going to happen.

“Wait-- um… actually, can you come here?” 

You reach out to take his metal hand from your knee, and pull him up the bed so that he’s hovering over you. He’s still sitting, the upper half of his body twisted toward you, caging you in with a hand on either side of you. He’s smiling softly, and his eyes twinkle with something fond.

He doesn’t need to ask to know that you’re nervous. The rigidity in your muscles, the flightyness of your eyes, the hammer of your heart-- he can feel it all, and he wants nothing more than to quell your fears. So he lifts an arm to cup your face in his large hand, smoothing a thumb over your cheekbone in a silent request for you to look at him.

Once you muster up the courage to meet his eyes, his smile grows, and he says something that steals your breath.

“Can I kiss you?”

Oh, how long you’ve wanted him to say those words to you. Countless nights, you’d run them through your head, imagining all the scenarios in which it could happen. Certainly, this was not one of them, but you definitely aren’t going to complain.

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you give him a nod, and lean forward a fraction in invitation. Your veins sing with anticipation, warmth spreading from your cheeks to every small nook and cranny of your body as he angles your face up toward his. Your eyes flutter close, and he leans down, and--

Bliss.

His lips are warm against yours, soft, applying the gentlest of pressures. You always thought he’d be a good kisser-- he was experienced, and he’d hinted at some of his more scandalous escapades a couple times in passing conversation. You’d asked him before, how he could do that when Jedi aren’t allowed to form attachments, which resulted in him going into a full lecture on how non-attachment didn’t translate to abstinence being “The Jedi Way”, even if it was supported within the Order. Really, it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anything, until he fell on the defensive position that he was almost certain Obi-Wan had done stuff as well.

Which-- great. Now you realized you were less experienced than even two Jedi. 

These thoughts are snuffed out like candles, one by one, as Anakin kisses you. In fact, your whole mind goes blank, a wave washing over all of your worries away and dragging them out to sea. You’re drifting on that wave, drowning in the heady feel of him, the warm taste of him. His slow inhale reminds you to breathe as he moves his lips against yours languidly. It’s heaven, the way he’s yours for just this moment. He might not think anything of this kiss, but to you, it’s like your deepest fantasies are coming true. With each moment that passes where he tilts his head and closes his lips over yours, you can pretend that he is yours, completely and unconditionally.

Eventually he pulls back, eyes fluttering open, and you realize you’re still lost at sea.  

“Good?” his voice is low and raspy as his gaze bores into yours. You wonder if he knows how intense his eyes can be sometimes. 

“Yes.”

He presses another quick kiss to your lips, your heart spasming at the act, before he trails kisses down your jaw, tasting the skin of your neck. Your breath picks up again, hands finding his curls as you gasp at the feeling. His teeth skim over the junction of your neck and shoulder, and he presses a kiss to your throbbing pulse. He means for the kisses to be distracting, soothing, so that you’ll be more comfortable with him, and he thinks it’s working until a faint moan leaves your mouth.

So it’s really working.

Anakin’s eyes flick up to yours, and you can feel the smirk against your skin. Embarrassment crashes down on you again but Anakin repeats the motion, nipping at your skin and then smoothing his tongue over the mark, sucking gently to try to elicit another reaction. You gift him one against your will, and suddenly he’s got lava pouring into his veins.

You’re so lost in the feeling of his mouth on you that you don’t even realize his warm hand has travelled from your face, down the middle of your body, gripping onto the pliant flesh of your thigh and pulling you toward him. You let him, rolling your body into him to try and relieve that reappearing ache in your center. 

It’s the same feeling that had built up all day, and it’s returned with a vengeance. You can feel the wetness seep out, slicking your thighs up. Your clit throbs and your pussy clenches around nothing, begging for something to satisfy the ache. You rub your thighs together to help, but Anakin slides a hand to the inside of your thigh and coaxes your legs apart. Any embarrassment you felt before has been beat out by a yearning for his touch, the need to have his fingers on you, inside you--

“Show me how you’ve been doing it,” Anakin mumbles into your neck.

You open your eyes, pulled up from the haze of pleasure he’d submerged you in. Your hand only shakes slightly as you release his hair and bring it back to your skin. He pulls back a few inches to watch, the heat of his body so close to yours causing goosebumps to erupt all over your body. 

His eyes hone in on your hand, following its descent to your warm center. You still can’t wrap your head around the fact that someone is seeing you like this, but now your veins sing with a satisfied realization that he’s the one seeing you like this. He’s the only one who ever has. And he seems to like what he’s seeing.

You don’t miss the way he inhales, the way his teeth capture a sliver of his bottom lip as your fingers finally reach your heat. You begin to do what you’ve always done-- rub your fingers back and forth over your nub, working that pleasure from it.

It feels good, different than what it felt like when you were alone. You’re sure his eyes on you, the proximity, his mere presence has something to do with that. You can still taste him on your lips and you close your eyes, licking them to relive the kiss. You focus on the warmth of his body, the dip of the bed where his arm is planted beside you, the weight of his other hand still holding your thigh open, the scent of his black leather and spice of his shampoo. It definitely feels better when he’s here, the knowledge of him watching adding to your excitement.

But still, you can only build yourself up to a certain point. The pleasure plateaus, and soon you begin to feel awkward at the fact that nothing is happening. It’s not enough to make you moan, or move, or show any reaction really. Your hand stills, and you look at him uncertainly.

Anakin blinks and brings his eyes back up. “Have you tried fingering yourself?”

You almost choke. You’re not sure why his blunt nature surprises you anymore. 

He’s looking at you curiously, completely serious, waiting for an answer. So you clear your throat and slide your finger down to your entrance, pushing in.

It goes in easier than before, and there’s no sting. But you don’t even have to move to know you’re literally going to get nothing out of it, and trying is useless.

“This is what I’m talking about,” you tell him. “It doesn’t feel like anything. And when I try two, it hurts. I think I’m broken.”

“You’re not broken,” he frowns, smoothing your hair away from your forehead and replacing it with a kiss. Your heart melts at the action that you’re sure is meant to be comforting, but only deepens your adoration of him. He sits up and you immediately miss him, although you understand he needs a better angle as he slides his hand from your thigh to the top of your pelvis. He hesitates, questioning. “Can I?”

You pull your finger out and push yourself up onto your forearms, nodding for him to go ahead. 

His touch is light as a feather as his fingertips make contact with your swollen nub. Your breath hitches in your chest, thighs immediately opening wider on their own accord to get him to increase the pressure. He watches your face as he fulfills your silent request, massaging your clit in slow, gentle circles. 

Fireworks are exploding behind your eyes, and you melt into a puddle on the bed. He’s barely even touching you, and somehow it already feels so much better than anything you’ve done to yourself. Quiet whimpers fall from your lips and the sounds make him need a steadying breath, reminding himself to go slow. Obviously, no one has ever touched you before, and he doesn’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.

The sight of your head tilted back, teeth biting at your lips to quiet your sounds, fingers clutching at the bedsheets-- a very sudden, very real desire to absolutely ruin you slams into him. 

But no. That can come later.

He brings his metal hand up to your face, thumb tracing over your bottom lip and pulling it from your teeth. “You don’t have to be quiet with me,” he tells you, the ministrations on your clit with his other hand never ceasing. Instead, he picks up the pace, increasing the pressure, drinking in the sight of your hips moving against his fingers.

You’re absolutely drenched, dripping down your thighs and puddling onto the bedsheets. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this wet before, or felt this good before, and the warmth you’ve always felt is transforming into a ball of heat in your stomach. You hone into the feeling, the heat pulsing with each pass of his fingers, each wet slide of him against you--

“You have to breathe, Y/n,” Anakin chuckles, slowing his touch. You gasp in a deep breath, whining at the loss of friction, but he appeases you by slipping his fingers from your clit to your entrance. He doesn’t push in-- instead he circles his finger around it, collecting your slick, reading your every response. 

“Please, can you…” you buck your hips up, but he doesn’t allow his finger to slide in until you finish your sentence. “Can you put it in?”

He can’t keep the tiny, darkly satisfied smile off his face. He’s always had fantasies of you like this, squirming beneath him and begging for his touch. He basks in the fulfilled wish of his, drinking in every second so he can remember it for later. Meanwhile, his finger massages your hole, dipping in with just the tip before pulling back out. 

“Fuck,” you hiss, once again surprised at your own reaction. Your head is far past the point of clouding with lust, and now you’re dizzy with pleasure and the need to just have him inside of you already. “Anakin, please.”

“Patience,” he answers teasingly, although he does mean it. You can’t rush these things. And… he does have to admit that he loves seeing you so desperate and messy for him. Your neediness has him strain against his own pants, but he pushes that aside. For now, another dip of his finger into your throbbing pussy has you arch off the bed, urging him deeper, and it’s heaven to witness.

He didn’t want to go all in just yet, but you’re gushing around his finger and taking it so well. So he lets you have it, sinking his finger all the way into you. You feel him go deeper and deeper, the never-ending length of his finger a stark contrast to your shorter ones. He’s reaching places you were never able to, and even the slide of him inside you elicits a deep, warm pleasure that spreads to the tips of your fingers.

He keeps his finger all the way inside for a moment, still as he feels your walls clench around him. Once he’s sure you’re all good, he begins pressing into you with shallow thrusts, thumb returning to your clit and rubbing in time with each push of his finger.

Curses spill from your lips, and Anakin can’t help himself. He leans down over you and captures them in his mouth, swallowing your cries of pleasure. The kiss is wet, dirty, and the muffled sounds of your moans combat the indecent slick and slide below. Soon, another finger is nudging at your opening, and you press yourself deeper into his lips in anticipation of that painful sting.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, his finger slides in a couple inches and he keeps both of them there, letting you adjust as his thumb rolls over your clit. You had never been able to use two fingers before, and your head goes fuzzy as he pushes them deeper. Your walls stretch around him pleasantly, accepting the welcome intrusion as he reaches deep inside you.

How is it fair that he can make you feel so much better than you can make yourself? It doesn’t seem right in the whole grand scheme of things, but you decide not to question it as his fingers suddenly curl inside you, searching. It feels odd, and he pulls back from your lips to concentrate for a second until-- there. Found it.

You almost knock your head into his as you shoot up, a startled cry leaving your lips as your vision whites with pleasure. Your fingers claw at his back, meeting the leather that still sits on his shoulders, and scrabbling over the smooth material for purchase. Anakin laughs at your reaction, easing you into a more comfortable position as he holds you against him with his metal arm behind your back.

You can’t find it in you to care that he’s laughing, not as long as he keeps rolling the pads of his fingers into you like this. His wrist curls, applying a harder pressure as he rubs against that spot, and your head falls back, hips pushing forward, the lewdest sounds you’ve ever heard leaving your mouth. 

“You like that,” he notes, proud smile ghosting over your lips. He kisses the corner of your mouth quick and sweet, then asks, “Is it better when I go slow or fast?”

“Both,” you gasp. “Either. All of it. Oh my--”

“Soft or hard?”

“Anakin--”

Your brain is unable to focus on much else other than the feel of his fingers coaxing that blissful heat from your center. He plays around with paces and pressures, but everything feels good, it feels great, it feels amazing, it feels euphoric. Before long, your legs are shaking and a weird feeling comes over you, and you’re crying out,

“What’s happening?”

Anakin pauses, his entire body stilling as he meets your eyes. You’re completely serious, that much he can tell by the vulnerability in your eyes. He frowns, unbelieving at this revelation.

“Why’d you stop?”

“Have you ever had an orgasm?”

You whine and shift your hips into his hand, trying to get him to keep making you feel good. If this wasn’t your first time being with someone else, Anakin would have held your hip still and forced you to talk to him no matter how much you begged and pleaded. But, it was your first time with someone else, so he was deciding to be nice. He soothes your craving, resuming his movements but at a much slower pace. A pleased sigh from you fills the silence of him waiting expectantly for your answer.

“Um..” you swallow, hips meeting his hand with every thrust. “I don’t think so. No. Nothing’s ever felt… like… this…”

It’s like a sneeze, except much, much better. The way his fingers prod into you, slick with your arousal, the tips brushing and massaging against that spot that have you careening into his body. You would have toppled over on top of him if he wasn’t so strong and rooted to the bed. He holds your shivering body against his chest with his metal arm, lips marking their way around your chin and jaw as your head falls back in ecstasy. 

He’s immensely turned on, that much is obvious from the painful straining in his pants. But it’s easy to ignore, knowing now that you’ve never fallen off that brink of pleasure before. He’s curious about it, oddly saddened by the fact, and wants nothing more than to show you the absolute highs he could help you reach. So he focuses back in on rubbing your clit with his thumb, fucking you deeply on his fingers. He allows you to clutch at his back and bury your hands in his hair, moaning in abandon.

Anakin shares you pleasure as the ball in your stomach unleashes, a blissful warmth crashing over you and invading your every cell. For a moment, your body isn’t yours-- it convulses and clenches around Anakin’s fingers, your cries bounce off the walls, your eyes squeeze closed. You hope the hands twisted into his hair don’t hurt him because you physically can’t let go as you ride that pleasure-filled haze, the feeling in your limbs abandoning you to be replaced with something much stronger. 

For a while, the only sounds in the room are your gasps of air and the blood rushing through your ears. Anakin waits until your muscles relax, and then he slides his fingers out of you, smoothing his hand around your waist to join his other behind your back. He lays you down into the pillows again, burying his face in your neck as you struggle to get your legs to stop shaking.

“Y/n,” he mouths a line up your neck. “You there?”

“Mhm,” you gulp, the shock of that intense, pleasurable feeling just beginning to fade.

He pressed his deep chuckle into the spot right under your ear. “Good. I thought I lost you for a moment.”

If you were in your right state of mind, you would have laughed at his teasing. Now, all you can do is cup his face lazily in your boneless hands, pulling his face up so that you can look at him. His cheeks are flushed the slightest pink, eyes dark and sparkling, lips so red and full and inviting…

You kiss him, and he’s yours for a moment longer. 

If only it could always be like this. If only this could be a daily experience, and afterwards you could take care of him, and you could feel that wonderful euphoria with him at the same time. If only he wouldn’t have to pull away soon, untangle himself from your still-shaking limbs, brush off what just happened, and be on his way. If only he could be yours forever.

All of this, you try to tell him through the kiss. Your lips are hot, sliding over with a wanton need. He feels your yearning, and he can tell it’s a different kind than earlier. You move to deepen the kiss, but he pulls away.

“I know what you’re thinking,” his low voice murmurs, and now he doesn’t look so playful. In fact, he looks very serious, and the rumble of his words causes your stomach to drop. “You should know, Y/n, I want you too.”

The whole room could be on fire and burning and falling to ash around you, but you wouldn’t notice. Everything pales in comparison to the flames that erupt in your heart at the sound of his words. 

“You do?”

He purses his lips, running his eyes up and down your face. You’re nervous, and hopeful, and so, so scared. And also… still shivering. Most likely due to the cold, at this point. And he’s sure the drunken affects of your orgasm are still holding sway over your mind.

“This is a conversation I think would be much better held over some ruby bliels,” he decides, and begins to unwind himself from you. You let him, that hopeful spark still searing through your veins. Before getting off the bed, he presses a kiss into your hand and then smooths over it with his thumb.

You want to say something cute or witty, but the only thing your dumb brain can come up with is, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he smiles fondly, moving toward the door. “I’ll meet you out there. Feel free to remain pantsless.”

This has you rolling your eyes, laughing lightly as you fall back against the pillows. Don’t tempt me.

The prospect of a future with Anakin is at the forefront of your brain, blood pumping thick as molasses as you struggle to convince yourself this is reality. He shuts the door behind him as you leave, and you roll onto your stomach to scream into the pillow. 

This was a dream come true.

#anakin skywalker x fem reader #anakin x fem reader #anakin skywalker fic #anakin fic #anakin x fem reader fic #anakin skywalker x fem reader fic #soft anakin #friends to lovers #star wars prequels fic

[blueskrugs]

Turning Out | Jack Hughes

long story short: I made myself extremely emotional with this song, told @nazdaddy about it, and together we made it worse. over two months later, this fic was finally born. title from the AJR song of the same name. (are we really surprised it’s a song fic at this point?)

tagging:  @marcoscandellas​ @stlbluesbrat21​ @dembenchboys​ @poltoncarayko​ @robthomissed​ @letmeplaytheblues​ @troubatrain​ @ayohockeycheck​ @blackwidowrising​ @aria253264​ @antoineroussel​ @starswin​ @glassdanse​ @ch-ristiane​ @majdoline​ @nazdaddy​ @hockey-more-like​ @thebestoffanfiction​

length: 3.6k

I thought I'd recognize when love was true But I'm confused

It was summer in Michigan, and you were laying in the hammock in the backyard with Jack. You could feel your nose getting burned, and you were sure his was already on its way to burnt, too. School was out, the summer stretching endlessly before you. 

Well. There was the matter of the draft. It was only a couple of weeks away now, and all conversations led back to it.

“I’m proud of you,” you murmured during a lull in conversation. Your head was on Jack’s chest, one arm draped around your shoulders and the other behind his head.

He laughed. “Wait until I actually get drafted by someone first, eh?”

You scoffed and twisted to look up at his face. He was blushing. “Okay, sure, whatever, Mr. Hotshot Top Prospect,” you teased, reaching up to poke Jack right beneath his arm where he was ticklish. He flinched, and the hammock swung wildly.

Jack grabbed onto your hand and wrenched it away from his side, tightening his other arm around your shoulders.

“You’re so mean to me,” he complained, but he was grinning at you. He didn’t let go of your hand. 

“I mean it, though,” you said.

“God,” Jack groaned. “Stop it.”

It wasn’t that the draft was a sore subject, exactly, but you knew Jack was getting more than a little tired of hearing about it constantly. You just couldn’t resist teasing him a bit more.

“Are you gonna forget about me once you’re off in some big city, being an NHL star?” you asked. 

Jack scoffed a little and wrinkled his nose at you. “I could never forget about you, Bug,” he said softly.

Bug. You called each other that, had for years, but you’d mostly grown out of it. It was nice to hear it again. You poked Jack again, for no real reason, just to get him to squirm, maybe.

“You mean it?” you asked, just as softly. The birds and cicadas were loud around you, but you two were in a little bubble of your own in your hammock.

Jack scoffed again. “You’re my best friend. We’re gonna be together forever,” he said.

Forever was a long time, but Jack sounded so confident, so sure of the future, that you let yourself believe him. 

Am I ready for love Or maybe just a best friend

You might’ve cried a little as you watched Jack get called first overall, but you were still in Michigan while they were all off in Vancouver, so there was no one to call you out on it. Jack texted you almost immediately, just a row of exclamation points, which made you laugh. He called you later, too, but you couldn’t hear much over Turcs and Cole yelling. 

With the craziness of it all, you ended up having to wait to have a real conversation with Jack until after he was back in Michigan, and he ended up at your front door, looking a little like he hadn’t slept since before the draft. 

“Hey, you,” you said, but Jack was already stepping forward and pulling you into a hug, burying his face in your neck, despite the fact that he was definitely taller than you. “Wanna go on a walk?” you asked him. 

Jack grinned and nodded eagerly at you, which is how you ended up strolling through the familiar streets of your neighborhood, not really talking, just a comfortable silence between you. 

Until you got to the local park and Jack flopped down in the grass with a sigh. You laid down next to him, looking up at the white clouds skidding across the blue late-June sky. 

“I thought I’d feel different for some reason, you know?” Jack said finally. “Like being drafted first would change me somehow or something.”

You laughed. “Don’t worry, you’ll always be our Jacky,” you told him, just for the way he rolled his eyes at you. Still the same Jack, same blue eyes and floppy hair, same kid you’d known for years. Jack was still looking at you, serious in a way he never was, and you just wanted him to smile again, because then everything still would be the same. “Jack,” you said, made him look at you. 

“You know I love you, right?” Jack blurted, and the words you’d been about to say died on your tongue.

You were going to say that nothing had to change, but maybe you were wrong. You’d fallen in love with your best friend a long time ago, but you’d long since resigned yourself to being nothing more than a best friend. It was easier to keep him in your life that way, rather than risk ruining everything.

“Duh, you’d be lost without me,” you joked instead. It made Jack smile, just for a moment.

Jack sat up then, leaning his weight back on his hands so he could keep looking up at the sky. “I wish you could come with me,” he said quietly.

You sat up and mirrored Jack’s pose. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” you tried to joke. It fell flat. You weren’t really sure you knew how to get through life without Jack by your side. Maybe it would be a good thing to get some distance, actually. 

Jack was staring at you. You couldn’t read his face. It turned out that you didn’t need to, because the next thing you knew, Jack was leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours. It was a quick kiss, and you’d barely had time to react before Jack was pulling away again.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, but he looked more apologetic than regretful. 

“Oh,” was all you could say. 

“It’s not fair,” Jack said, and you weren’t sure where this conversation was going anymore. “We’re gonna be so far apart, and you deserve better.”

You were at a point in your life where you were expected to be more grown up, but Jack had never looked younger. You had never felt more lost. 

“I just don’t wanna break your heart,” Jack said. It was a little late for that, you thought, but you didn’t say that. 

“Yeah,” you murmured finally, which didn’t really make sense, but Jack accepted it. 

He laid back down in the grass next to you, and after a minute of watching him yourself, you laid next to him again.

You say I turned out fine I think I'm still turning out

The first time you visited Jack in New Jersey was over Christmas his rookie year. He picked you up at the airport, wrapping you up in a hug like no time had passed at all. He took you back to his apartment, and it was like you were in high school again.

You went to the game the next night, and meeting everyone else was mostly a blur of names and faces.  It wasn’t until you were all heading down to the family room after the final buzzer that you realized that you didn’t know who Isabella, who’d been talking to you all night, was dating. You never quite got the chance to ask, either, but it didn’t matter in the end. Jack emerged from the locker room and made a beeline for you and Isabella. He gave you a quick hug before turning to Isabella and giving her a hug and a kiss.

Ah, so that’s how it was. You felt your heart stop in your chest, but you forced on a smile and let Jack wrap an arm around each of your shoulders. You’d been expecting this, you could handle it. 

You loved Jack, and he loved you, just not in the same way. He’d fall in love with someone else, and you’d get used to it eventually.

When Jack called you a few months later and told you they’d broken up, you comforted him, tried to pretend that you weren’t a tiny bit happy. You just reminded yourself that there would always be someone else.

I hope you stick around We're gonna figure it out Who can I turn to now?

Your phone was ringing. It was late, and there was only one person your phone rang for after midnight. You fumbled for it in the dark, eyes still heavy with sleep, and answered it without looking at the screen. 

“Hi,” you said, or tried to say. Your voice hadn’t quite woken up with the rest of your body yet. You rolled onto your back, blinked up at the dark ceiling.

You heard Jack let out a sigh on the other end of the line. “I woke you up,” he said. He sounded tired.

The Devils were somewhere on the West Coast, and you’d fallen asleep before the game had ended. You probably didn’t want to know.

“I hadn’t been asleep very long,” you lied. Jack made a noise like he definitely didn’t believe you. 

It was quiet for a moment. Then, “Did you watch?” 

“No,” you admitted. 

Jack huffed. It might have been a laugh, except you knew your best friend, and he was fighting to keep his voice from breaking. “Good,” he told you.

“You should stay off Twitter,” you said mildly, and this time Jack did laugh at you, but there wasn’t any humor behind it.

You’d seen the comments, the tweets, the articles. You know Jack saw them, too, stayed up too late reading them, even when you all told him not to. Jack Hughes: first overall draft pick, USNTDP scoring phenom, underdeveloped, too small, and, well, a bust. 

“What if they’re right, though?” Jack said quietly. You wondered if he was in his hotel room, curled up against his pillows, trying not to wake his roommate, or if he’d wandered out into the hall, found somewhere to be alone. 

“Oh, Bug,” you said. It slipped out really, but you heard Jack’s shaky breath. You didn’t know the last time you’d called him that. 

“I miss you,” Jack blurted. You wiped at your eyes. The Devils had hit Detroit just before healing west, and you’d made the trip down to see them. It had only been a few days. But this was more than not seeing each other for a while. It was growing up too fast, the world changing whether or not you were ready for it, not realizing that everything was different until it was too late. 

You missed Jack, missed seeing him every day, trying to help each other with homework and then laughing too hard to actually get anything done. You missed hockey games and the certainty that you’d be friends forever. Forever was a long time when you were young and naïve. 

You tried not to think too much about forever these days, or how you’d still turn to say something to Jack, even though he hadn’t been by your side in a long time. He didn’t need to know any of that.

“I miss you, too,” is what you said, feeling it aching in your chest. Your eyes burned, and it wasn’t because you were tired. 

I'm a little kid, and so are you Don't you go and grow up before I do

He was always the first person you called. When you failed a test, when you were sick, when you got your heart broken.

You hadn’t stopped to think about where Jack might be, and you panicked a little when the phone rang endlessly. You were about to hang up and give up when Jack answered, just before it went to voicemail.

“What’s up?” He sounded like he’d been laughing, and it was loud around him. You were pretty sure you could pick out P.K.’s loud voice.

He was out with his team, having fun, and you were crying alone over a broken heart. You shouldn’t have called.

“Never mind, you’re busy,” you said, already pulling the phone away from your ear to hang up. You didn’t need to bother Jack with this, not now.

“Wait, wait,” Jack stopped you. He paused, and you heard a door close, and then it was quieter. “I always have time to talk to you,” he said, and you cried harder. “Hang on, are you crying? What happened?”

You took a steadying breath. Tried one last time to get the tears under control. “He broke up with me, Jack.”

Jack swore under his breath. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he told you.

It hadn’t been a great relationship to begin with, you’d always known that. There was no real future in it, but it had been fun for a while, something to distract yourself from the fact that the guy you really wanted to be with was on the other side of the country. But it had fallen apart, just like it always did. Somehow it had still blindsided you, in spite of the missed calls and blown off dates, which is how you found yourself shattered on your bedroom floor now.

You weren’t sure how much longer you could rely on Jack to pick up the pieces.

“Talk to me,” Jack said quietly, and you choked back another sob.

“I hate this,” you murmured. Hated being so far away from your best friend, hated crying over a guy you didn’t even love. “I miss you so much,” you added. You felt like you’d been saying that more than anything since Jack had been drafted. 

Jack hummed, distracted. You could still hear his teammates yelling somewhere on the other side of the door. “You should come visit,” Jack said after a moment. 

You laughed. There was no way you’d be able to drop your life and fly out to New Jersey, no matter how badly you might’ve wanted to. It just didn’t work like that.

“I should let you get back to the guys,” you said instead of answering. Jack made a protesting noise on the other end of the line, but you hung up before he could get a word in. 

I'm a little kid with so much doubt Do you wanna be there to see how I turn out?

Your cap and gown hung on the back of your bathroom door. You stared into the mirror for a minute before you reached to tug them on. It felt strange to be graduating college. You still felt out of your depth most days, and now you were being let loose upon the world. Supposedly you were ready for it now. You weren’t sure you’d ever be ready, really.

You searched the crowd for your parents as you made your way to your seat. You had hoped Jack would’ve come, too, but he’d hit you with some excuse about how he’d still be stuck in Jersey. You tried to pretend like it hadn’t hurt. 

The graduation itself passed in a blur. You hadn’t tripped over anything when you’d gone to collect your diploma, and honestly that was all that mattered. 

You were searching for your family in the madness outside when you heard a voice yell, “Hey! Bug!”

You spun around, clutching your cap to your head so it didn’t fall off. There was only one person who’d ever called you that. Jack was making his way towards you through the crowd, hair windswept and smile bright. 

“Jack!” you yelled back, already launching yourself at him. He caught you easily, sweeping you up in a tight hug. You buried your face in his neck, no longer caring if your cap fell off. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

Jack pulled back to give you a look. “You didn’t really think I’d miss your graduation, did you?” You shrugged, and Jack frowned a little at you. He bent over to pick up your fallen cap. “You dropped something,” he said, but when you reached to take it from him, he just grinned and shoved it on his own head. It was crooked, and the tassel was falling in his face. “C’mon, your parents are over here,” he told you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and tugging you along with him. 

“I’m proud of you,” Jack said later that night, laying next to you on your bed. The TV was on, but neither of you were really watching it. 

“I’m supposed to say that about you,” you said, poking him in the ribs. The Devils had had a good season, led to the first round of the playoffs by Nico and Jack. (They’d gotten their asses kicked, but they’d made it.)

He squirmed away and grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together and resting them both on his chest. “Whatever,” he scoffed. “You’re all smart and graduated now,” he told you.

It was your turn to scoff. “That doesn’t mean I know what the fuck I’m doing.” Jack turned to look at you, one arm behind his head, and you were suddenly reminded of a moment just like this, so many years before, with the summer and the rest of your lives stretching out before you. “I have no idea what I’m doing,” you admitted. With life, but also right here, lying in bed with your best friend. 

Jack turned fully, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you. His hair flopped in his face, and you reached up absently to push it back. 

“You should come to New Jersey,” he said, face dead serious. It was far from the first time he’s said that to you. You’d always laughed or brushed it off, unwilling to admit that, while terrifying, back by Jack’s side was the only place you’d dreamed of being for years. 

“I-” you started. You didn’t know what was going to come next. Jack was still staring down at you. You reached up to poke the mole next to his mouth, just to see if you could get him to smile.

He did, but he batted your hand away before you could do it again. “I mean it,” he said. You rolled your eyes. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you said. You tried to roll away from Jack, away from this conversation, but he grabbed your wrist, settled his weight on your legs so you couldn’t escape. 

He was frowning at you. “What’s that supposed to mean? You’re my best friend.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Jack’s frown deepened, and the crease between his eyebrows was frustratingly adorable. “I’m your best friend. And that was enough while I was in school, and you were still trying to figure out the NHL.” Jack did let you roll away from this time, and you curled up against the wall, not meeting his eyes. “But I don’t think I can be in the same city as you, watching as you find some pretty girl to fall in love with until you leave me behind. I don’t think I can watch as you become everything I want for someone else.”

“There isn’t anyone else,” Jack said slowly.

You huffed out a sigh. “Not now, maybe. But there will be.” There always would be, for you and for him. 

Jack rolled his eyes at you, and that hurt a little. “There hasn’t been anyone else for me but you, not for a long time, not really,” Jack told you.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or cry. You were pretty sure he’d had a girlfriend at the beginning of the season this year. It had been years since that day he’d kissed you in the park, long enough that you nearly forgot about it. You didn’t think his feelings had really changed after all these years.

“Don’t give me that look,” Jack said, flicking you on the leg. “I mean it. It just- we were still kids and then I was off in Newark, and one of us always seemed to be dating someone else, and I could never ask you to just fucking move across the country for me-” Jack was rambling, and you cut him off by poking him with your toes. He grabbed onto your foot and looked up at you. “I’m not sure I know how to love anyone else but you,” he admitted.

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?” you asked. You reached over to grab a pillow so you could hit Jack with it. He spluttered and looked offended. “I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, Jack.”

Jack’s face softened. “Did you listen to anything I just said? I had reasons!” he tried, but he was grinning at you now.

“Please just come here and kiss me,” you said.

Jack didn’t need any convincing, and then he was leaning forward and tangling a hand in your hair to pull you in for a kiss. He pulled back and rested his forehead against yours to catch his breath; you whacked him with the pillow one more time for good measure.

“Hey! What was that one for?” Jack asked, already trying to wrestle the pillow away from you.

“Got a lot of years to make up for, Jacky,” you said.

Jack gave up on getting the pillow away from you and settled for pinning you to the bed with his hands on your wrists. You kneed him gently in the ribs. 

“I hate you,” Jack sighed, but you knew him too well for that. The look on his face was just fond. You’d seen that look a lot over the years, and now you were realizing that there was something else to it. Love.

“Nah, you don’t,” you said.

Jack smiled at you and bent down to kiss you again. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “I could never.”

#cait writes things #jack hughes fic #nhl fic #nhl imagine #jack hughes #jack hughes imagine

[beauregardlionett]

i think i might understand the concept of home

AO3 Link

Yasha’s car had broken down on the side of the road in some tiny town she only meant to pass through. She hadn’t even read the welcome sign half-a-mile back, so gods knew where she was. Thankfully, there was a shoulder and a sidewalk, so she wasn’t stuck in the middle of traffic. She had the hood popped and stared helplessly down at the tangle of mechanics she did not understand.

Nothing was smoking, so she figured that must be a good thing.

“Need a hand?”

Yasha glanced up, catching sight of a woman standing just outside the coffee shop Yasha broke down in front of. She stood defined in the sunlight, composed of sharp lines and lean muscle, contained by planes of smooth, coffee-colored skin. She had on a simple grey sports bra under denim overalls littered with stains and distressed patches torn in random places on the legs. Her hair was in a low bun sat over what looked like an undercut all tucked messily beneath a backward cap.

Damn...she was hot.

The woman cocked an expectant eyebrow, reminding Yasha she had yet to answer.

“Oh, um...yes?”

Hot Lady smirked and stepped off the curb to stand at Yasha’s shoulder, leaning over the open hood and inspecting the mess. Yasha was busy inspecting the tanned slope of neck to bare shoulder, all of her quite a sight in the midday sunlight.

Gods, was that a tattoo on her back?

With abrupt yet easy precision, Hot Lady hauled herself up onto the lip of Yasha’s truck and shoved her hand between various pieces of metal. Startled, Yasha looked down at the engine, hoping she wouldn’t have to call emergency services for a hand lost in her car engine.

“The alternator might be shot,” Hot Lady said, squinting as she moved her hand around a little.

“What does that mean?” Yasha managed, only a little strangled.

“Means you need to get your car into a shop because you aren’t going to have much luck getting far without it.” Hot Lady removed her hand and gave a little hop back down to the pavement. She wiped her hand carelessly on her overalls and shrugged a little.

“It’s not a super challenging thing to fix, but it will take a minute. I can point you to a good garage if you need.”

“That would be very helpful. Thank you...um...”

“Beauregard,” the woman said, sticking out her hand with a grin. “Call me Beau.”

After hesitating a moment, Yasha grasped Beau’s hand and gave it a tentative shake, cheeks warm. Her face flushed even warmer when Beau raised her eyebrow again, clearly waiting for Yasha’s name.

“Yasha,” she blurted, horrid awkwardness muddying her chest. “I’m Yasha.”

“Nice to meet you, Yasha,” Beau said as she slowly took her hand back. Yasha already like the way her name sounded rolling off of Beau’s tongue - perhaps far too much for someone she just met.

“You might need to shack up somewhere for the night,” Beau said, pulling her phone from her pocket and texting someone. “Depending on how long the garage takes with your car. I haven’t seen you ‘round here before. You got a place to stay?”

“Oh...no,” Yasha managed. “I’m just passing through.”

“Well, I texted my buddy over at the garage to come get your car. He’ll be here soon. There’s only one hotel in this town, and to be honest, it sucks. My buddy Caleb moved most of his stuff out of his apartment, but he hasn’t turned the lease over yet. He got a big wig job two hours from here and they had him start early, despite the fact he still had a month on the lease. You can crash there if you want. I’m pretty sure he left his mattress.”

Yasha blinked, dazed and flabbergasted at the turn this conversation had taken.

“I...what?”

Beau looked up from her phone, fingers pausing in their rapid texting. She seemed to take in Yasha’s stunned expression and grimaced slightly.

“Sorry, that was a lot all at once.” Beau tucked her phone away and crossed her arms over her chest. Yasha recognized the defensive tactic attempting to look casual with ease. She performed that move often enough herself.

“This ‘helping’ thing isn’t my forte - more Jess’ thing. But uh...yeah. If you need a place to stay, you’ve got one. Promise there're no strings attached or anything like that.”

“But...you don’t know me.”

“True,” Beau shrugged. “But it’s not like there’s anything to steal from Caleb’s place. It’s basically an empty apartment he’s not getting anything out of. Might as well put the place to good use.”

“Okay,” Yasha said after a moment of strange quiet. What else was she supposed to say?

Beau blinked up at Yasha, then grinned, wide and delighted. “Cool.”

A few minutes later, a tow truck pulled up. Beau greeted the driver enthusiastically as Yasha watched on, wondering what she had gotten herself into.

--

“This is it,” Beau said, shoving open the door with her hip as she wrestled the key out of the lock.

Yasha followed Beau in, fingers curled tightly around the strap of her meager duffle bag. The apartment was near barren, as Beau had said. It had a small living area that faded seamlessly into a kitchenette. Down a short hallway appeared to be a bedroom and bathroom, both doors open. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. The only sign someone had recently been occupying the space was the old mattress just visible through the bedroom door and the sagging sofa in the living room.

“Sorry there’s no food in the kitchen, but there’s a store about a block from here if you’re up for a walk. I’d hang around but I have to get to a class.”

Yasha twisted to look at Beau, something bubbling up in her chest that felt a lot like gratitude and a little like something indescribable. She watched as Beau fiddled with her key ring, only realizing what was happening when Beau pulled a key off and tossed it to Yasha. She just barely managed to catch it and not make a fool of herself.

“That’s the key to the door for ya. And,” Beau pulled a crumpled, folded piece of paper from her pocket, holding it out to Yasha. “My number, in case you have questions or you need anything. I’m a night owl and an early riser, so chances are I’ll answer whenever.”

“Thank you,” Yasha warbled after a long moment, clutching the key so hard the grooves of its identity imprinted into her palm. The notches stung like she would never forget their shape. “I mean it. This is...a lot.”

Beau rubbed the back of her neck, scuffing the toe of her sneaker against the worn floorboards. “It’s nothin’ really...”

“No,” Yasha insisted. “It’s a lot. Thank you.”

Beau’s gaze met Yasha’s intense stare, her bright blue eyes wide as they took in Yasha’s sincerity. A handful of seconds stretched into eternity before Beau ducked her head, rubbing at the back of her neck.

“Yeah...sure.”

Yasha was getting the impression she wasn’t the only one completely out of her depth in this situation.

“I’ll come around tomorrow with updates...bye.”

Yasha watched her duck out the door, disappearing down the hallway before she shut the door behind Beau and clicked the lock.

--

The garage had Yasha’s car fixed and ready to go after two days. Yasha was still in town three months later.

In all honesty, she’s not sure how it happened.

The night she planned to leave, Beau had swung by and insisted on seeing her off. They ended up at a diner, tucked into a booth, talking like they actually knew each other. Next thing Yasha realized, it was nearing midnight, and they were being asked to wrap up so the diner could close. The chef had called to them from the window, an older looking man with bright pink hair who gave Beau a knowing look and a wink.

Somehow, that unplanned extra night turned into months. Yasha had taken on the lease from the absent Caleb for his apartment. She found a job at the local florist, a job she quietly enjoyed. The gravity of her situation only set in after she bought sheets for the mattress.

She met Jess - real name Jester, or Genevieve, but Yasha couldn’t sure - a bubbly girl with deep blue hair and the sweetest attitude ever. Her fingertips were permanently paint stained, and she left hastily sketched dicks everywhere she went. Yasha also met the tow truck driver from the first day, a guy named Fjord. They were a weird mix of individuals, but somehow they got on just fine. They ate dinner together every Thursday night at the same bar owned by the guy who tended the bar - one of those small town things. His name was Mollymauk - Molly for short and sometimes they instead of he - with inordinately purple hair and makeup to match.

Yasha never really spent a lot of time in her apartment. She didn’t see the point, not when she had access to the florist shop, or the diner, or anywhere else with Jess, Fjord, Molly, or Beau. Especially not when Jess’ apartment she shared with Fjord was so much warmer, much more like a home.

It took three months before Beau stopped mid-sentence of a story and blinked at Yasha over their pancakes in the diner.

“This is probably a stupid question, but did you have somewhere to be?”

Yasha looked up, confused. “Right now? Uh...no? My shift at the shop doesn’t start for another three hours.”

“No, no, I meant like outside this town. You told me you were passing through, before.”

“Oh,” Yasha set down her fork and looked out the window. Her chest felt tight. That afternoon seemed like a lifetime ago - a whole other person ago. “Not really.”

“Do...uhm,” Yasha looked over at Beau to find her pushing her food around her plate awkwardly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

This was difficult for both of them. If Yasha had learned anything in her time here, it was that they both struggled to convey their emotions eloquently. But that Beau tried meant everything to Yasha. The least she could do was meet her halfway.

“I was running, and I didn’t know where or when I would stop. But I guess this place is where I’m meant to be.”

“Why were you running?” Beau stared at her, gaze intense in a way Yasha found endearing. She watched like nothing else in the world could distract her.

“I...I had a wife. And I lost her rather abruptly almost six months ago. I tried to stay for a while, to keep what we had built together, but I wasn’t strong enough. So I ran and hoped that I would find something worth staying for again before I fell off the world.”

Beau stared at Yasha openly over their half-eaten breakfast, eyes wide.

“You stayed here. Does that mean you found something here?”

Yasha looked at Beau, at her messy bun and her undercut that needed a fresh shave. She took in the puddle of syrup, slowly saturating Beau’s pancakes and the half gone pile of bacon. Beau’s cellphone sat face down on the table so her attention stayed on Yasha. She realized the baggy sweater Beau had on was one Yasha had misplaced almost a month ago. Yasha lost her breath at the butterflies that fluttered to life in her stomach.

“I think so,” Yasha breathed, tethered and unhinged all at once.

--

They didn’t talk about it, because of course they didn’t.

But two weeks after their pancake conversation, Beau invited Yasha out for a night on the town. There were only two bars with decent night life here, and Yasha had been to both of them exactly once during her time here. (The daytime trips to Molly’s bar didn’t count, of course. She had only been to their bar for the night life once.)

She met Beau in the middle, and they walked together the rest of the way.

Beau had gotten her undercut shaved tight again, but it was hidden with the way her hair spilled loose and long down her back. She had a cobalt lace crop top on - the one with the built-in bra. The way it showed off the definition of her muscles was doing things to Yasha. The black cigarette pants didn’t help either.

A few drinks and way too many EDM songs later - or maybe only a few? Yasha couldn’t tell them apart - Yasha remained upright from adrenaline alone. Somewhere between the drinks and the beat of the music, Beau pressed up against Yasha, wiry arms winding around Yasha’s neck as they danced. Yasha wasn’t much of a dancer in any regard, but she was just tipsy enough to not care.

Beau’s hips fit comfortably in the space between Yasha’s hands, and Yasha resolutely tried not to follow that train of thought. For no other reason than she didn’t want to ruin a good thing, and there was no way Beau felt the same.

Beau pushed onto her toes, shiny black boots creasing with the motion as her lace top rode up her enticing torso.

“I really want to kiss you,” Beau called over the heavy thrum of the base. Her voice nearly got lost in the din, but Yasha heard her. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t. The weight of her heart dropping into her stomach hit too heavy and real to ignore.

Fuck, she wanted to kiss Beau, too.

Yasha’s t-shirt stuck to random parts of her torso with sweat, a detail she was now hyper-aware of with how little space existed between her and Beau. The press of bodies around them was abruptly unnerving. So much so, Yasha wound an arm around Beau’s shoulders and steered them both free, ducking into the hallway that lead to the bathrooms as Yasha gasped for air.

Beau leaned her back against the wall for support, peering at Yasha with far too much clarity for someone who could barely stand upright.

“Are you okay, Yash?” Her voice was quieter now that they had moved out of the main bar, but the base still pounded like a heartbeat through the floorboards.

With more confidence than Yasha would ever possess in her life, she caged Beau in, a hand on either side of her head against the wall. As Beau stared up at her with unabashed awe, Yasha’s face warmed with flushed embarrassment.

“I want to kiss you so bad.”

“Then do it,” Beau said. It sounded like a dare, but she said it as if she were asking permission.

With a quick swoop into Beau’s space, Yasha pressed her lips to Beau’s with the barest amount of pressure. A feather-light, electric brush of a promise, a question, and an invitation. Yasha moved no closer.

Beau leaned in, and as far as kisses went, it was simple. Neither of them surged toward the other, or grappled for purchase to deepen the embrace. It was an easy press of lips, testing the waters despite the alluring tug of the tide.

Tipsy seconds later, Beau pulled back first with a soft gasp. Yasha’s eyes fluttered open, and she felt like a cheesy teenager when she realized they had closed without her knowledge.

“Do you want to do this?” Beau asked, voice soft and a little wrecked despite the chaste kiss.

Yasha, never one for many words, gave a quick nod and ducked back in. It wasn’t confidence, more like the beginning of a realization.

Beau held onto her, this time hands back around Yasha’s neck and fingers tangled deep in Yasha’s wild hair. Yasha took one hand from the wall to cup the back of Beau’s head, fingers sliding easily over the short hairs of Beau’s undercut.

It wasn’t a fireball kiss, but it tasted like the whiskey shots they had done half an hour ago. Beau’s lips were soft and a stark contrast to the way she kissed Yasha. It wasn’t falling stars and fire lit in her chest, nor was it a cosmic shift of puzzle pieces snapping into place. As before, it was a realization, a revelation of something that might have been there for a while.

Beau kissed Yasha back, and she thought about pancakes at the diner and memorizing the way Beau’s eyes scrunched when she laughed. Yasha rubbed her thumb over Beau’s jawline and Beau’s sharp grin burst to life behind her eyelids. A tug to Yasha’s hair reminded her of Beau offering to braid Yasha’s messy locks every time they all slept at Jess’ place. Beau licked into Yasha’s mouth and all at once, Yasha pictured her apartment. She saw the walls she had kept carefully bare, the sheets she had bought, but no other furniture. The echoing emptiness of a place abandoned for a better chance, and inhabited by the echo of who Yasha used to be.

And what did people say about echoes being louder in empty rooms?

Beau kissed Yasha, and Yasha realized she didn’t want to be an echo anymore.

Beau made her feel solid in a way that was undemanding. She merely held out her hand and asked for the pieces of Yasha that were real, the parts she was willing to share. She helped Yasha make them into a complete picture.

Yasha kissed Beau back with all the gentle strength she could muster through the weight of her epiphany and the whiskey.

This time, Yasha knew she found something worth staying for.

#cr #critical role #beauyasha #beauregard lionett #yasha #writing #my writing

[ipuckwithhockey]

Easier Said Than Done- M. Tkachuk

Part 1, 2

Part 3- he’s just a boy...

summary: Spending time with Matt is only making you fall harder for him but what if he isn’t on the same page?

a/n: part 3 y’all! i hope you enjoy it. let me know what you think!

warnings: cursing, smut (practice safe sex y’all)

What did you do wrong?

That’s the question that is running through your head as you stare down at your phone, hoping that it will ring or buzz with Matt’s contact. But it doesn’t. It hasn’t. It’s been over a week since you last heard from him and you’re not sure what turned him off so suddenly. For the last few weeks the two of you have spent most the day texting each other, asking about your days, sending memes, and talking about whatever comes to mind, but now it’s radio silence on his end. 

After Matt had asked you out you went on your first date and even though your best friend hadn’t been on board with it, you still went. Addy had warned you that it wasn’t a good idea, that going out with a professional athlete, especially one with a reputation was only going to end with your heart broken. You told her it was just a first date, that if it didn’t go well then there wasn’t anything to worry about. Only it did go well and after your second and third dates you knew you were starting to fall for the guy. 

He had a couple of short road trips  between your first few dates and when he was gone he never failed to call you after games or text you throughout the day. He would ask you how your studying was going and would quickly Google some of the legal jargon you would use when explaining your classes. He was polite, funny and charming, and you couldn’t resist that glimmer of mischief in his eyes or the curls that fell at the nape of his neck. 

Your five date rule was quickly thrown to the side and after sitting through a movie with a particularly steamy scene, you couldn’t help but invite him up to your apartment after your fourth official date. 

Sex with Matthew was something else. The usual awkward first time wasn’t actually that awkward, and once he was lying between your legs, any inhibitions you had before were gone. He was a little rough and sloppy and when you told him you were sure, he gave you time to adjust to his size before railing into you, only making you beg him for more. 

His confidence and smug attitude only made sex hotter. Your more quiet demeanor only made Matthew want you more, and when you whined his name for the first time, he knew he had never heard a sound so sweet. After that first night together Matt knew he was only digging a deeper whole for himself, and he was thankful for the road trip that took him away the next evening. 

He needed time to think. Time to process what he was getting himself into. The only problem was that he could only think of you, your nervous laugh when he would flirt just a little too obviously, the way you’ve already started to reach for his hand to hold it, and as much as he hates to admit it, every night of his trip the thought of you and your body, your mouth wrapped around him, or the sounds he made come from your mouth were on his mind. But the next morning when he would join the team for breakfast, he couldn’t even let himself sit across from his captain. He was ashamed that he couldn’t keep himself from you and that he was only living up to the word immature that gets thrown around too often. It’s been almost a month since your first date and Matthew knew that sneaking around, texting you during the day and scurrying off to his room after games to call you was only going to become more and more suspicious. By the last day of this trip, the day that the team would be flying home, Matt had decided he needed to end things with you. He knew that keeping something like this from Gio would only effect his playing, and that was still his number one priority. 

The two of you had been texting off and on over the few days that he had been away, and when you asked if everything was okay after going a day without hearing from him, he told you he was just focusing on his games. You went out on a limb, and after their last game on the road you called him before they got on the plane. You asked if he wanted to come over when he got home later that evening. Matt had told you before that he never really sleeps after games anyway, and so you figured he would probably be free to come over. At the very least, you had hoped he would be free, and as much as you hated to say it, after that night and after watching him play while he was on the road, you were more than a little wound up for him. Maybe it was selfish, but you couldn’t wait to see him again, and maybe even get him back into your bed. 

“Hey. What’s up?” Matt said as he answered your call, and even though they had won their game, his voice wasn’t as bright and energetic as it usually was. 

“Hey! Um, congrats on the win! I was thinking... maybe we can celebrate when you get back?” You asked with a flirty tone, hoping that he caught on to what you were saying, and you couldn’t see him but Matt was loosening the tie that was suddenly suffocating around his neck, and as much as he would love to have you sprawled on your back for him, he knows that he can’t let himself say yes. Instead, he tells you he’s tired and that he’s going to just head home when he gets back. 

You can’t help but feel a little sad and you answer trying to hide your disappointment, “Oh okay. Yeah, you should get some rest I’m sure you’re exhausted.” 

But Matt can hear the change in the tone of your voice and he can’t help but feel horrible for lying to you, knowing that he really isn’t that tired, and that he’ll probably just go home that night and attempt to get himself off on the thought of you. 

“Are you free Thursday?” And before he can stop himself he’s caving, asking if you’re free so that he can see you again, and you hate that it’s so easy, but it makes you smile again and that flutter in your chest is back and when you tell him Thursday would be great, he mentally curses himself for being so weak. 

But he never called after that night. He couldn’t let himself do it, and when you text him he immediately deleted the messages. He didn’t know how to handle it, but he knew that if he tried to tell you he couldn’t see you anymore that he would never be able to say it. The only way he could possibly stay away from you was if he avoided you at all costs, knowing that if he heard your voice or saw your face he would be screwed. 

You’re not sure what you did wrong and even though you and Matt had only gone out a few times, you can’t help but feel like he played you. He took you out a couple times and then got what he wanted. You didn’t want to be the crazy girl who called and texted a million times, you didn’t want to admit that he already had such a hold on you, so you refrained from texting him after trying to get in contact for a day or two. It’s day ten now, and you’ve been throwing yourself into your studies in an attempt to distract yourself from the fact that Matthew has successfully ghosted you. But tonight when you’re about to turn off your phone, you let yourself click his contact in your messages before you type out a small message. 

y/n: Hey, i haven’t heard from you in a few days, just wanted to make sure you were okay :) 

It’s a simple message and as sad and desperate as it feels trying to get his attention you send it anyway. As much as you’re hoping for a response, you’re also at half expecting him to continue to ignore you. 

Matt was laying in bed, trying to settle his mind so that he could get some decent sleep, but sleep won’t find him and when his phone vibrates on the table next to his bed, he rolls over to read the notification. He figured you had gotten over him since he hasn’t heard from you since right after he started ignoring your messages, but reading the text from you now only makes him hate himself more, and just like before he’s crumbling beneath you. 

Matt: Hey sorry for not getting back to you. Work has been crazy. 

It’s reads kind of half assed, and Matthew knows it too. He hasn’t spoken to you in almost two weeks, and you deserved more of an explanation than that, he just couldn’t muster up anything better, so he adds something that actually is true, 

Matt: I miss you. When can I see you again?

You hate that it’s so easy to forgive him, but you can’t stay mad at the guy. You know how crazy the hockey season can get from the time that you’ve spent with the Giordano’s and you and Matt weren’t actually together, so you can’t blame him for putting his career above a date with a girl he’s just getting to know. You let yourself justify his silence before texting him back. 

y/n: Is right now too soon?

If Matt didn’t have any self control before, he sure as hell didn’t have any now. It’s been at least two weeks since he felt your body against his, and he’s already half hard after reading your message. It’s almost eleven, and even though he knows he shouldn’t do it, he replies to your message and is at your apartment in fifteen minutes. 

You only have a sleep shirt and panties on and there’s no holding back when he sees you. When you answer your door, you barely have time to get out the word “hi” before his lips are attached to yours and he’s picking you up with his hands underneath your thighs as he slams your door behind him.  You don’t mind the greeting and if the smell of his freshly washed hair and cologne aren’t enough, his touch and his lips are more than intoxicating. 

He carries you through your apartment and when he gets to your room he throws you on to the mattress before stripping himself of his shirt while you do the same. When he sees your mostly naked body lying in front of him he has to control himself from going absolutely feral, but you can see the dark look in his eyes and when you move yourself to the edge of the bed you reach for the elastic waistband of his sweatpants. You can sense that you’re both hungry for each other and before he can say anything you’re on your knees in front of him and his hands are gripping through your hair.  

You lick down his already hard shaft and when you finally take him in your mouth you can hear him suck in a breath as you hollow your cheeks, letting him hit the back of your throat. 

“Fuck baby. You look so fucking good.” He tries to hold back but he can’t help but let his hands that are in your hair guide you up and down his length. Your cheeks are wet with your tears and seeing you so messy, and on your knees for him is enough to bring him closer and closer to his climax. 

Before he can spill into your mouth, he abruptly pulls you from him as he tosses you back on to the mattress behind you. His naked body is on top of yours before you can even catch your breath and his lips are attached to yours again as his hands explore your body. When he dips his head down to suck on your breasts it only makes you arch into him, and as one of his hands dips into your soaked panties you know it won’t take him long to get you off. 

His thick fingers run slowly through your folds, collecting your wetness before making small circles over your clit, “Fuck you’re so wet,” he says against the skin on your neck. When he dips two fingers into your core you instinctively clench around him and the friction between his fingers and the pressure of his thumb running over your clit are enough to bring you to your climax. 

“M-Matty, please.” You beg for him as he guides you over your climax with his fingers. When you’ve ridden out the waves of pleasure, Matt is quick to lick his fingers clean and just as he’s about to bury his face between your thighs you stop him, “No. No, I need you inside me.” And the desperation in your voice only makes him more eager to please you as he pushes inside of you with the roll of his hips.  

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t missed the way he filled you that first night you spent together, and your body is giving away just how badly you needed him as you whimper beneath him, letting him set a swift pace while he fucks you into your mattress. 

“Fuck baby.”

“F-fuck you feel so good.”

“I missed you.”

Praises fall from his mouth and you hold his eye contact as he says them. The dark blue eyes are mesmerizing, and even though they’re clouded with lust, you swear you can still see the soft, cool blue beneath that want and need. 

You continue to surprise him when you push him down and position yourself on top of him, and that look of desire in his eyes only deepens. You start to ride him toward his climax and just as you have him on the edge, that smirk you’ve come to know appears on his face as he flips you back over on to your back. All in one graceful motion he has you underneath him again where he hikes one of your legs up around himself so that he can sink further into you. The kisses and moans are sloppy and needy and his hips snap faster against yours as his thrusts move quicker and harder into you. He fucks you through your orgasm before he spills into the condom that separates the two of you and as you continue to come down from your high you can feel him gently placing open mouthed kisses along your neck.

When the two of you have steadied your breathing and cleaned yourselves up, you both climb back into your bed, and Matt pulls your naked body against his.

“Sorry I went AWOL on you.” He says as he places a tender kiss to the top of your head. He feels horrible about what he did and even though he has no idea how this is going to play out, he knows that there isn’t anywhere else he would rather be.

“It’s okay, just maybe don’t do it again.” You whisper back.

You’re head is on his chest and his arms are wrapped around you. Your legs are tangled together, and you can hear the beat of his heart as you start to fall asleep.

“I um, I really like you.” Matt is thankful that you can’t see his face right now and he doesn’t know why he’s so embarrassed to admit his feelings for you, but when he says it out loud it feels right.

You smile at his confession. “I really like you too,” you reply but you’re still not sure where this thing with him is going. As much as you don’t want to pull the “what are we” card, this feels like the time you should be asking what he wants out of this thing between the two of you.

“... I’m not expecting anything from you, but I just think we should probably be on the same page as far as what we want, you know?” You whisper against his chest, and you swear you can almost sense his heart rate pick up when you ask. You know he’s a single guy who likes living his bachelor lifestyle, but you also don’t want to end up a casualty of not being on the same page.

“Well what do you want?”

You take a deep breathe and let yourself think for moment, deciding on what to say. “I want to be honest with you and like I said, I really like you. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you and this,” you motion to the two of you laying naked in bed together, “is clearly going pretty well... But I also know that I’m more of a relationship girl, I like the commitment and the steadiness of a relationship. This is especially important to me now that I’m also focusing on law school and my career and so if you don’t think that this is going in that direction then I think we should probably call it.” It hurts to admit all of that to him. It hurts to think he’ll probably take this out and even though it would spare you from getting too attached down the road, you would still be upset knowing you had feelings that were more intense than his. But it was the truth, you needed to be serious about your life and your future, and if Matt didn’t want the same things then this wasn’t going to work. There wouldn’t be any point in dragging this out any longer.

He takes in what you’ve said, and as scared as he feels, he also thinks about what so many people in his life have been telling him. They’ve been telling and begging him to find a girl to settle down with and now he’s found you, a girl who has him so wrapped around his finger already who wants something serious and mature, and yet it’s forbidden because his captain and friend won’t have it. How bad could it be though? If you feel the same way he feels about you and being together actually works then how mad could his friends be at him for disobeying their wishes? If you’re both happy together then how could they be mad?

“I think we’re on the same page, babe” he finally says back and even though it was probably only a few seconds it felt like you had been holding your breath for forever. You let out a sigh of relief and again those butterflies are fluttering in your stomach.

You just offer him a soft, “okay.” And you think that the conversation is over so you let your eyes start to doze off before Matt speaks again.

“I think it might be a good idea if we kept this more to ourselves for right now. Media and fans on social media tend to freak out when they think I’m dating someone, so maybe we can just keep this between us for right now?” and although this this is true, he also knows he needs some time to figure out how he’s going to tell Gio about the two of you.

You didn’t think too much about that before, but you realize now that it probably is difficult for him to start a relationship with so many people watching his every move. It’s probably difficult to find someone he can trust and rely on when so many people only want him for who he is on the ice. It makes you feel kind of sad for him and you place a quick kiss on his chest before telling him that it’s absolutely fine to keep things between the two of you. You agree that it would be best to keep things between the two of you and you fall asleep to the sound of Matt’s breathing and the feeling of his thumb tracing small circles across your skin.

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #nhl fanfic #nhl fic #hockey fanfiction #hockey fanfic #hockey fic #calgary flames #flames

[hopelesshawks]

Love and Admiration Part 34- Vulnerable

18+ Bakugo x fem!pro hero reader

Summary: (Y/n) has known Bakugo since middle school, admired him since high school, and had a crush on him since the first time they met. Even now, a top pro hero in her own right, she can’t shake her school girl crush. Too bad Bakugo literally has no idea she exists. Well that’s not entirely true… He does know pro hero Mercury exists, but (y/l/n) (y/n)? Never heard of her.

Note: there’s a written part after the third screenshot so careful not to accidentally skip past it if you click into the photos to read the texts

Masterlist Help Lulu <3

You wake up slowly to the sound of your phone pinging incessantly and it takes a moment to realize why there’s another warm body beneath you. As memories of the previous night trickle in so too does a combination of hopeful excitement and dread. Bakugo Katsuki loves you, of this you can now be sure. But the uncertainty lies in whether he can forgive you for breaking his heart. Sure, he’d seemed accepting the previous night but it’s one thing to accept late at night in the heat of the moment with your lips on his, and another entirely to accept it under the harsh light of day with a clearer head. You’re brought out of your thoughts when Bakugo’s arm around you tightens in a quick squeeze. “Stop overthinking idiot,” Katsuki grumbles, voice still rough with sleep. You shift slightly so you can look at him properly before replying “How do you know I’m overthinking?” “Can just tell. Relax,” he assures you. “Ok,” you sigh, releasing with it some of the tension from your body. You notice your phone is still pinging so you reach over and grab it off the nightstand. Bakugo scowls at it, taking it from your grip and flicking it on silent before tossing it back to the nightstand before you can even check the notifications. “Uhh is there a particular reason you won’t let me look at my phone?” you asked with a raised eyebrow. “It’s just our dumbass friends. Ignore them for now,” he huffs before rolling you both over so you’re pinned beneath him and unable to reach for your phone again. “Katsuki you’re heavy,” you whine, feebly pushing at his shoulder until he shifts so his weight is better distributed on top of you. You expect him to fire some reply back and when he doesn’t you look down at where his head is now lying on your shoulder to find him staring up at you. “What?” you ask, suddenly self conscious as his gaze traces over your face. “I missed hearing you call me by my first name,” he admits quietly, your heart breaking at the words. “I’m so so-“ you start to say but Katsuki covers your mouth with his hand. “You said that already dumbass,” he tells you before getting out of the bed and pulling back on his shirt and boxers.

You watch Bakugo curiously as he digs through your drawers in search of something. Once he finds it he tosses it to you on the bed. As you unfold it you realize it’s the Dynamight hoodie you’d bought alongside the Mercury one for Katsuki. “Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen,” is the closest you get to an explanation as Katsuki leaves the room. You pull the hoodie on then go to your drawers to find underwear and a pair of pajama shorts to throw on. By the time you meet Katsuki in the kitchen he’s pouring two cups of tea and setting them down at your kitchen island so you go to take a seat there and wait for him to come sit next to you. It’s quiet for a moment as you both try to think where to start. “Look I don’t need or want another fucking apology from you got it? I wasn’t entirely blameless or whatever so,” Bakugo starts stiffly. He’s uncomfortable, you can tell. Emotional conversations have never really been his thing, at least not without a heavy dose of violence to simultaneously use as an outlet. It’s just further proof of how important getting this right must be to him. “I just need to know why,” he finally admits although he’s staring resolutely into his mug of tea instead of looking you in the eye. You nod, gathering your thoughts for a moment so you can be sure to get this right. He deserves that much. You both do.

“I’ve had a crush on you since middle school.”

Bakugo’s head snaps to look at you in disbelief so quickly you’re genuinely shocked he didn’t give himself whiplash. “Eh!? Why??” he asks. “I don’t know! You always seemed so cool and you were so determined to get into UA and I am not going to rationalize middle school (y/n)’s feelings ok?? You were a fucking gremlin but you were a gremlin I happened to like a lot,” you huff, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “Whatever brat, just finish your fucking explanation,” he scoffs but the tips of his ears and his cheeks have gone pink. “Yea well, you matured a lot in high school so the crush didn’t go away. If anything it got worse but you didn’t really know who I was so that was kinda it y’know? It just became this thing that sat in the back of my head that I ignored,” you explain. “What about that stupid extra you dated?” Bakugo asks, his grip around his mug tightening slightly. “I liked Shindo a lot. Even loved him for a bit but I don’t think he really made the crush go away, just made it ignorable y’know? My crush on you was still right there waiting after he and I broke up. At the party two weeks ago he even told me that the reason he cheated was because he was paranoid I’d leave him for you,” you admit. “That’s not a fucking excuse,” Katsuki practically growls. “I know.” “Good.”

You pause to take a sip from your tea as you continue sorting your thoughts. It’s embarrassing to admit how long you’ve been hung up on Bakugo, especially considering he had no idea who you were even if he loves you now. Even still, you resist that small, self-protective instinct that wants you to shy away. It’s what got you in this situation in the first place after all. You and Katsuki will only work if you can be vulnerable with each other. “But yea, anyway, uhm all that to say I’ve been kinda hung up on you for a really long time but it was always from a distance y’know? Until suddenly it wasn’t and we were hanging out and having sex and you made it very clear that you don’t date and I thought I was fine with that because whatever we were doing was already so much more than I ever thought I’d have with you, especially once I realized you didn’t remember me, but then Shindo kissed me,” you sigh. Katsuki tenses up beside you. “I remember. Thought you were gonna go crawling back to that idiot,” he growls. “I was,” you admit, and once again you worry Katsuki’s going to give himself whiplash with how quickly he turns his head to you. “What? After everything he did to you, why-“ “Relax ok? I couldn’t do it, even though at the time I kind of wanted to.” “Why couldn’t you?” “Because of you.”

The words hang heavy in the air as Bakugo’s eyes scan over your face searching for any indication that you’re lying or embellishing the truth. “Then why did you start avoiding me after that night?” he finally asks and you give a wry smile. “Because I’m an idiot? Kissing Shindo made me realize that the crush I’d been harboring for you for years had changed. It wasn’t just a stupid crush on the idea of you anymore, I was in love with you. I am in love with you. But I thought there was no way you’d ever want anything more than what we were doing and I couldn’t just be your fuckbuddy if I was in love with you, so I distanced myself to try and give myself time to get over you before we could continue our friendship,” you elaborate. “You should’ve just talked to me.” “I know.” “If you had I would’ve told you I’ve admired you since I first saw you fight as a pro a couple years ago,” Bakugo reveals and you can’t help but gape at him. “A couple years?” you ask incredulously. “Yea well, whatever don’t make a big deal out of it I just saw you on a bust or whatever and you fight really well so even if you weren’t the highest ranked or whatever I respected you. Then when I started seeing you around more this year I knew you’d end up top ten. Obviously,” he scoffs, his cheeks blushing an even brighter red at the admission. “I had no idea,” you say in wonder. “That’s obvious.” “Don’t ruin the moment.” “Whatever, can I finish what I was trying to fuckin say now?” “Ok, ok go for it.”

Bakugo rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t fall out as he huffs. “Look I’m... I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you since that first time in the alley, it just took you kissing that stupid, shitty extra for me to realize it. So if you’re done being a fucking idiot, I’d like it if you could be my girl,” he confesses and despite his gruff tone you can hear the hope and vulnerability in his voice. “I’d like that too,” you smile, voice soft and warm with affection. “Then c’mere,” Katsuki tells you before tugging you close to him until you’re sitting in his lap, legs straddling his waist. “I love you,” you tell him, voice filled with sincerity and joy at finally having him the way you’ve dreamed and fantasized about for years. “I love you too Princess,” he promises before pulling you into the sweetest kiss.

A/N: I wasn’t 100% sure where I wanted their talk to go I just knew that they needed to talk out exactly what happened instead of just confessing, sleeping with each other, and moving on but it felt only right they both should reveal just how long they’ve had their eyes on each other. Just a couple parts left guys ❤️

Taglist: @pixelwisp @oliviasslut @larkspyrr @heroacadema @kozukatsuki @captaincyberqueen @undead-nyx @ineedtofocusfr @i-heart-fictional-boys @theycallme-becky @superhermit @black-rose-29 @disaster-rose @fandomsgotmefucked

#hopelessla #bakugo smau #bakugo x fem!reader #bakugo x y/n #bakugo katsuki

[nastybuckybarnes]

Monsters  -  Seven

Pairing: Dark!Bucky X Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes is a man who just wants to do better. But he can’t stop the monster from coming out every now and then. As a last and hopeless attempt at calming The Winter Soldier, SHIELD finds him something they figured would help. An innocent young woman with not a lot going for her. Or, The Winter Soldiers newest victim.

Warnings: Fluff, Smut (NONCON), Minor Violence, Minor Injuries Language,

Word Count: 3K

A/n: Well.........

THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!!

Series Masterlist

~*~

You’re curled up against his side, head on his shoulder as Titanic plays on the tv. He’s got one arm around your shoulders and the other rests on your knees.

You watch intently, fingers combing gently through his hair while you watch Jack and Rose dancing below decks.

His phone dings and you lift your head curiously. When he makes no move to get it, you smile and snuggle back against him, sighing softly.

It dings again and this time he groans, reaching over to pick it up. You glance at his phone inconspicuously, frowning when you see a string of pictures of a naked woman.

He angles the phone slightly away from you and you divert your attention back to the TV, knowing he’s probably telling her he’s busy.

After a few minutes, he sets his phone down again, only to pick it up when it dings moments later.

You watch through your peripherals as his thumb swipes a passcode across the screen. For a super spy/assassin, his password is surprisingly simple.

More and more pictures of the naked woman fill his screen and you find yourself quickly getting annoyed by it. An idea pops into your mind and you grin, snuggling closer to him and dropping your hand down to his lap.

He stiffens when your palm rubs over his cock, and he quickly starts to harden beneath your touch. You look up at him innocently and he raises his eyebrows.

You push yourself up and straddle his lap, grinding down against him.

“Hi,” you whisper, lips just brushing over his cheek. He sighs softly, his free hand coming up and gripping your back. His other hand drops down to the couch, his phone still on and facing upwards. You grind your hips down harder, eyes trained on his phone as you try to make out what it says.

The contact name is ‘Natty❤️’ and there are at least six pictures of her naked.

But what really gets you, is the picture of her with a shirt on.

Because you know that shirt.

It’s Bucky’s.

You turn back to face him, determined to make him forget all about Nat.

One of your hands snakes down into his pants and you grab his cock, pumping slowly to get him harder. He moans lowly, jerking his hips up into your hand. You bit your bottom lip then climb off his lap, dropping to your knees between his legs. He watches you through hooded eyes, the phone dropped and forgotten in between the arm of the couch and one of the cushions. You unzip his pants and pull them down, eyes darkening when he kicks them off completely, his boxers following suit.

You take his cock in both of your hands and lean forward, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses on it. He watches you, his eyes dark and his chest heaving slightly. You maintain eye contact as you stick your tongue out, licking the underside of his cock and swirling around the tip.

With your mouth nice and wet and full of saliva, you slowly bring him into your mouth. The salty taste of him makes heat grow between your legs, and you can’t help but shift desperately. One of his hands comes up to your hair, not pulling, just simply resting there. A shiver runs down your spine at the thought of how strong and powerful he is, yet he’s been reduced to a moaning mess beneath you.

You take him down your throat, clenching your hands into fists on his thighs as you try not to gag. His hips buck up and you look up at him through your lashes, uncurling your fists and resting them on his thighs.

He groans at the sight of you and can’t help but thrust up into your mouth again. When you don’t pull away he does it a third time, then a fourth, until he’s fucking your face. You sit there and take it, struggling to pull in breaths as he uses your face for his own pleasure.

He pulls you off of his cock quickly, taking in shuddering breaths as he calms himself down.

“Don’t wanna cum in your mouth, babydoll, wanna cum in that tight pussy.” You climb onto his lap and position your dripping entrance above his cock, then slowly sink down onto it. The stretch makes you moan, and Bucky can't help but mimic the noise, the feeling of you too good to be true.

Your hands come up to his shoulders but he’s having none of that.

He grabs your wrists and pulls them behind your back, then reaches over and grabs the charging cord for his phone, binding your wrists tightly behind you. You tug on the restraints then whimper, wanting to touch the man beneath you.

“Nah, princess. None of that. Lemme fuck that pretty pussy how I want to, yeah?” You nod, pushing your knees into the couch to raise yourself slightly off of his cock. He nods, then starts hammering his hips upwards, each thrust sending a jolt of fire up your spine.

You moan loudly, eyes rolling back as he hits every sensitive spot inside of you, making the coil in your belly tighten.

“You gonna cum on my cock? Huh?” You nod, drool dripping down your chin as he fucks you stupid.

“Do it, baby. Cum. Cream all over my dick.” He reaches down, fingers toying with your clit.

That little action sends you falling over the edge, and you can’t help but moan, your orgasm nearly pulling you into unconsciousness.

Your vision gets dark and your body shakes, cunt squeezing his cock so hard that he shoots his load right into you. You collapse against his chest, panting hard and gasping for air, and he lets out a big breath, hands stroking your hair gently.

The two of you catch your breath and Bucky rips the makeshift rope off of your arms, tearing it and completely ruining it. You snuggle against him, keeping his cock locked inside of you as sleep tugs at your mind.

He kisses the top of your head then squeezes you tighter to his body. You relax even more and quickly fall into the comforting embrace of sleep.

~*~

He sits across from you at the table, munching on a piece of bacon and reading over a mission file for later in the day. You lean your chin into your hands, gnawing on your bottom lip as you watch him eat.

“What is it?” He asks, glancing up at you. You don’t answer right away, and he sets down the file, waiting for you to speak.

“I don't want you to get mad,” you begin, looking at him as innocently as you can. “I just... I wanna ask you something.” He nods, encouraging you to ask your question.

“I just... there are... I wanna look up some stuff. For us. I just... I don’t have anything to use. I don’t have a computer or a laptop or a phone.... and I really... last night opened my eyes to something that I wanna try but I wanna look it up more first.” He purses his lips for a moment, mulling it over before nodding.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not. My phone’s on the counter. Bring it over here and I’ll unlock it for you.” You get up quickly and grab him his phone, excitement filling you as he hands it back to you.

You open up the Google app and plop yourself down in your chair, typing away furiously as you try to figure something out.

Bucky watches you with a small smile on his lips, loving how adorable you look. Your brows are furrowed and you’ve got your bottom lip between your teeth as you focus on whatever it is that you’re reading.

A surprising thought enters his head and he suddenly finds himself losing his appetite.

He likes the way you look on the other side of the table. He likes sitting with you and eating breakfast together. He likes the domesticity of it all. It feels... natural.

After about half an hour you set the phone down and slide it over to him with a smile, having figured out what it was that you were curious about.

He unlocks his phone, brows furrowing in confusion as he sees the open tabs full of different types of knots.

“So...?” Bucky asks, waiting for you to explain it to him. You walk over to him and sit on his lap, pushing his hair out of his face and pressing kisses along his scruff.

“I want you to tie me up again,” you whisper, lips dragging gently across the skin of his throat. He swallows hard, hands coming up to grip your waist.

“You liked that, huh?” You nod, nuzzling your face against his neck and taking a deep breath of his comforting scent.

“I really liked it,” you confess. He lets out a shuddering breath and his hands drop to your ass, squeezing tightly.

He smacks your ass once and you jump, a soft moan leaving your lips.

“You gonna let me tie you up and have my way with you? Yeah? You want that?” You nod desperately then gasp as he scoops you up in his arms and brings you upstairs to his bedroom.

“Don’t you worry sweetheart. M’gonna fuck you real good.”

~*~

Natasha approaches the house, eyes darting back down to her phone to make sure she got the address right.

She re-reads the texts, bottom lip tucked between her teeth nervously.

‘I miss you so much, baby. Come over today. And wear something sexy.’ She’d complied instantly, putting on a black lace push-up bra, a leather jacket, a pair of black stilettos, and a skirt with nothing on underneath.

She pushes the door open slowly, eyes skirting around the dark house until they rest on a small post-it note stuck to the railing of the staircase. She walks to it, shutting the door softly behind herself.

‘Through the kitchen’

She follows it, going through the kitchen and smiling when she finds another note on the door of the fridge.

‘Down the stairs.’

She walks down the flight of stairs and opens the door at the bottom, her guard raised slightly as her eyes struggle to adjust to the blackness of the basement.

She hears a step behind her and just as she’s turning around to investigate, she’s knocked to the ground, something hard hitting her head and making everything go black.

~*~

When she comes to, she’s disoriented. She feels cold and the ground beneath her is hard. There’s also a piece of cloth in her mouth, silencing any attempt at calling for help. Her arms are restrained behind her back, and her legs are bound individually around her thighs and shins, knees bent as far as they can.

She tries to close her legs, feeling far too exposed in nothing more than her skirt and bra, but finds a metal bar between her ankles keeping her legs apart.

Why is she here? Where exactly is ‘here’? She looks around frantically, wincing as her head throbs.

She quickly realizes what happened: she was ambushed while looking for Bucky. Why is a whole other question.

“Well, good morning, sunshine!” She snaps her head to the sound, brows furrowing in confusion when she sees a young woman sitting on the floor across from her.

She tries to lunge at you, and you giggle when she groans. “Yeah. That handy dandy knot tying your arms together is one I learned from the king himself,” you inform, a smile on your face. She cocks her head to the side in frustration and confusion, wanting to know who you are and why you’re doing this.

“Now, I know you’re probably wondering why you’re here, right?” She doesn’t move, and you frown, snapping your fingers in front of her. “When I ask a question, I expect an answer. Are you wondering why you’re here?” The redhead nods reluctantly, and you smile.

The way your face softens and lights up looks so innocent and kind; it’s hard to believe that you’re holding her down here against her will.

“Well, I saw the pictures you were sending James.” She stiffens instantly, mind running a mile a minute trying to figure out who you are and how you’re involved with him. You nod knowingly at her reaction, your smile staying on your face but looking more psychotic with each passing moment.

“Yes. I read the texts too. You want to fuck him, you have fucked him. And I can’t blame you. But when I found out that you weren’t just fucking him to help the soldier... well... I couldn’t have that. You see, I love James.” She hates the way his name sounds on your tongue.

“You’ve been taking up far too much of his time lately. He loves me. But more than that, the soldier loves me too. They’d both be lost without me, which is why you need to be out of the way. Because with you out of the picture, I’ll have him all to myself.”

She makes a muffled noise of protest, struggling against her restraints.

You laugh, leaning forward and watching as she huffs and puffs through the gag.

“You wanna know what you’re gagged with?” You ask softly, eyes wide and dangerous. She glares daggers at you before shaking her head ‘no’.

“Well, lucky for you, I’m going to tell you anyway.” You scoot closer, almost as if you’re sharing a secret with her

“Yesterday, James was in such a hurry to fuck me, to put his fat cock right into my pussy, that he pulled my panties aside and fucked me hard. Then, after he came right inside of me, he pulled my panties back in place. And I wore them all night and all day today, getting them nice and ready for you. So every time you breathe, every time you struggle or try to talk, you’re tasting my pussy.”

The horror in her eyes makes you cackle, the sound sending a shudder down her spine.

“I love this!” You exclaim, using two fingers to push your panties farther into her mouth. She shakes her head, trying to get away, and you grab her jaw with your other hand, forcing your panties into her mouth even more.

When you decide that they’re far enough, you cradle her face gently in your hands, admiring her beauty for a moment before taking a page out of Bucky’s books. You spit right on her pretty face, grinning when she flinches.

She glares up at you, and you smile innocently, hands sliding down to tear the cups of her bra down. Her tits fall out, bouncing at the force of it, and her nipples harden in the cold air of the cellar.

“You’re pretty,” you say, eyes on her pert pink nipples. She shimmies away from you, breasts bouncing and putting on a show.

You giggle and shake your head at her, leaning down slowly while maintaining eye contact. She backs up as far as she can, heart racing in her chest when she finds herself pressed against the hard cellar wall.

You wrap your lips around her left nipple, eyes on hers as you roll it between your teeth, tongue soothing the sting. She squeezes her eyes shut, and you pull away, hand coming up and smacking her across the face.

“None of that, sweetheart. Open those pretty eyes. I want you to see what I’m going to do to you.” She obeys, only after you grip her nipples between your thumbs and forefingers, pinching hard enough to have her eyes watering.

“There you go.”

You trace your fingers up her inner thighs, and she quivers, head dropping in shame as your fingers get higher and higher.

When the tip of your middle finger brushes against her pussy she jolts away, trying to plead with you through the gag.

You grin, “you like the taste of my cunt that much? Fuck, I’ll give it to you straight from the source if you want.” That shuts her up quickly, and you wink at her, climbing between her legs and blowing cool air onto her exposed pussy.

Her hips wiggle in a futile attempt at escaping, and you can’t help but bask in the feeling of power.

One of the Avengers sits before you, bound and exposed and completely at your mercy.

You stick your tongue out and lick from her opening to her clit, smacking your lips together and nodding.

“Not bad. I can see why he liked you.” You bury your face in her cunt, eating her out with vigour like nothing she’s experienced before. Your tongue works expertly on her clit, teeth taking a turn before you suck long and hard on the bud.

A soft moan leaves her mouth, and you smile.

“You see, I’m not going to hurt you physically. No, much worse. I’m going to force you to cum over and over and over again. You’re going to see how cruel I can be. And the best part?” You glance over your shoulder and she follows your gaze, horrified as she sees the blinking red light of a camera.

“It’s going to go straight on the internet.” All the colour drains from her face and she starts thrashing again, trying to get you away from her.

You simply laugh, mouth coming back to her clit while you shove three fingers into her cunt. You fuck her hard and fast with your fingers, loving the way she tries to hold back her moans. When she finally cums, she squirts.

It splashes all over your face and makes a mess on the floor, and you pull away with a sick smile.

“Huh, never thought you’d be a squirter. But now the folks at home will know too!” You smack her pussy, giggling when she yelps. Her cheeks are flushed red and she’s panting, glossy eyes set in a heavy glare trained on your face.

You press a kiss to her cheek then grab her face and force her to look at the camera.

“You and me, Natasha,” you sneer her name, squeezing her cheeks harder and smacking her cunt twice more. “We’re going to have so much fun together.”

#bucky x reader #bucky x reader lemon #bucky x nat #dark!fic #dark!bucky barnes #dark!marvel #dark!bucky smut #dark!bucky x reader #dark!avengers #dark bucky barnes #dark bucky #dark bucky x reader #dark Bucky Barnes x reader #dark!Bucky Barnes x reader #dark!bucky x you #dark!bucky x y/n #Bucky Barnes x dark!reader #Bucky x dark!reader #dark reader #bucky x dark reader

[what-big-teeth]

Avatar of Envy (Leviathan)

Monsterlover!MC is gender neutral.

[Part 1 (intro) ; Part 2 (Lucifer) ; Part 3 (Mammon) ]

Please note this is an 18+ blog; do not follow if you’re younger than 18.

Surprisingly, your seeing Levi’s truest form was planned by the both of you. And in part, thanks to Lord Diavolo and his stunning private beach.

The opportunity first came about thanks to a video game boss you couldn’t defeat. No matter how many times you approached the battle in various ways with different equipped skillsets, weapons, and healing items, you were always taken down with just a few hits.

Feeling the tell-tale throbbing of a migraine, you hit the pause button on your portable Sintendo console and flopped onto your bed. You just had to go and take on the Dark Souls franchise, despite knowing it was literally christened “You Died: The Series” by its fanbase. You cursed your undeniable curiosity (and partial masochism). 

At least there was one person you could go to for help, even if you knew he’d decry you as a normie for not being able to defeat one of the lower-level bosses. The name-calling would be preferable to throwing your system across the room. 

So you saved your progress, got up, and left the comfort of your room. Down the hallways, bare feet falling against the plush carpeting, to stop before a familiar door. 

You gave it a series of complex knocks that sounded more like Morse Code than an announcement.

Instead of the usual TSL-related passcode, you heard the door’s lock click. Not one to miss an opportunity, you hurried inside, closing the door softly and relocking it.

As usual, Levi sat before his multi-monitor systems with his headphones on, his eyes flickering across the main screen. Disturbing him wasn’t an option you were willing to take (especially after he nearly sicced Lotan on Asmo for interrupting a rare, one-time raid). So you settled beside his bathtub and leaned against it.

Eventually, the massive boss on the massive screen died in a blaze of glory. Once Levi’s PC collected the fallen rewards, he paused the game and turned his swiveling chair to look at you.

“What’s up?”

You held up your Sintendo and gave him a sheepish grin.

“A little help, please?” You honestly needed a lot at that point, but you didn’t need to tell Levi that. 

Taking the system from you, he studied the boss on screen then lifted a brow at you.

“Really? The Hellkite Dragon is giving you problems?”

You were quick to open your mouth, a retort at the ready—

“You know it’s a skippable boss, right? You won’t be able to get to the bonfire or join the Warriors of Sunlight, but you can bypass it altogether.”

—until your mouth clicked shut with a soft snick. You honestly didn’t know, which made the smug look on Levi’s face all the more irksome. 

“I guess I could help you out...”

“I’ll buy you an extra large bufo egg tea milk in return,” you said.

His gradient eyes lighting up, Levi continued the game from where you left off. And unsurprisingly, he deftly avoided the dragon’s attacks while landing critical hits. Your eyes are glued to the screen from a slight distance.

At least, until something else caught your attention.

It was a familiar habit of Levi’s that made you remember the fact he wasn’t really human. He poked out the tip of his forked, long tongue while concentrating intensely. 

You can’t help but think back to the time he raged against you for knowing more about TSL. Hell, if he wasn’t so angry and you weren’t in danger, you would’ve happily admired his partial-true form. With you two now on better terms, you wondered if you could see what he really looked like close up...

“Done.”

You blinked down at the flickering pixels on your Sintendo screen. Your PC was sitting before the bonfire as if it didn’t just go through a major boss fight.

“Thank you!” you chimed, taking back your handheld. His chest puffed out just a bit from the praise. And since he was in a good mood... “By the way, can I see what you really look like?”

Sputtering, Levi looks at you with wide disbelieving eyes, a blush lighting up his face. 

“Wha? But why would you—”

“Because I think you’re really cool so obviously your real form is also really cool and I want to see it. So why not?”

And now, there were two dummies staring at each other with heated cheeks. Whatever courage you mustered up began fading fast and you were close to taking back your words.

“Alright.”

You almost couldn’t believe the mutter you heard. 

“B-but not here. Not enough space...”

That small admittance fanned your burning curiosity even more. But you agreed, promising to wait until the right time. Instead of tackling him into a hug, you settled on giving him a wide grin. Best to not make him blue screen so suddenly.

So, while doing your best to keep your excitement contained, you waited. Attended your usual classes, hung out with the boys at Purgatory Hall, laughed at the sudden shenanigans involving the brothers. 

When Lucifer informs his brothers and you about Diavolo’s two-day invitation to his private beach, you still. It takes all of your self-control to not look at Levi with a hopeful smile. 

But your excitement must’ve been palpable at the time. As you finished packing for the vacation, you received a text message from Levi later that day.

Come out to the shoreline on the first night. I’ll meet you there.

Once you all arrived, you did have fun with the other brothers on the first day, rather amused at how each one did what they could to spend some personal time with you. Seeing them in their swimwear was a nice bonus, too. 

But once the sun set and night fell, you couldn’t hold back your eagerness anymore. Mainly as Levi had yet to return from the beach. The moment you caught Lucifer scanning the main room for Levi, you jumped to your feet.

“I’ll see if I can find him; be right back!”

Ignoring the shouts of surprise from behind, you rush out onto the sand barefoot. 

Your eyes scan the open shoreline, looking for any sign of him. But there isn’t any sign of his purple locks anywhere. 

However, you do notice the glowing lights just beneath the water’s surface. Bright dots of citrine, deep purple, blues undulate back and forth. Dark shapes, reminiscent of massive branches breech the surface, appearing familiar to you. You soon realize they’re heading towards a stretch of flat, high rocks a stone’s throw to the east.

Your rush after the shapes, struggling somewhat due to the soft sand underfoot. You ignore the sting of the rocks’ jagged edges digging into your soles as you scrabble up to the tallest stone. The pain is worth the sight you meet.

A massive serpentine creature rises up from the water, its glowing citrine eyes pinning you in place. The dots along its scaled, black body, bioluminescence, grow and dim with each of its breaths through its parted fanged mouth. 

Its needle-like teeth and slitted pupils would put you on edge. But the familiar, coral-like horns and the soft, feathery protrusions on the side of its head put your fears to rest. 

“Levi?”

The beast lowered its head, edging its round, smooth snout closer to you. It huffed out a hot puff of air at you in reply with a soft growl. You brought up your hands, entranced at how he truly looked, but paused. As if reading your thoughts, Levi gently bridged the little space between his scales and your hand. You rested your forehead against his scales with a bright grin.

“You,” you said softly as if sharing a secret, “look amazing.”

In his current form, all Levi could do is rumble in reply, which you were more than glad for. It made denying your honest words undoable.

But when he turns back into his more humanoid form, if he has any lingering doubts about how you see him, you’ll be there to sooth them. As his Player Two.

#demon #demons #exophilia #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me leviathan #I basically see Levi as a more complex-looking axolotl #'cause they're ridiculously cute

[gasolineghuleh]

A Hurricane

Reader x Rain, who has manipulated the reader into sleeping with him. A request for @katiebeth00! 

Contains some manipulative language, as well as some degradation.

If there’s one thing in the Abbey that could be predictably dull, it’s the large feasts that the Papa’s host every weekend. Even the leaders themselves seemed bored at the large table that stretched along the front of the hall, with the recently added Papa Emeritus the Fourth. His Ghouls were stationed at the band table, one plinthe down from the high leaders. It doesn’t take a particularly keen observer to notice that most of the Ghouls were bored, flicking their food back and forth on their plates as they lean in close to talk to each other. Every so often you can catch a snippet of their conversation interspersed with some laughter.

Your cell phone chimes in your pocket and, despite yourself, you feel your cheeks pinken— it’s the special ring that Rain has assigned to himself, and more often than not recently, your conversations have been becoming increasingly sexual in nature. Your friends titter amongst themselves as you take your phone from your pocket and try to keep your face neutral as you navigate to the notification. You’ve only been texting for a few weeks but there’s no doubting the fact that something is simmering beneath the surface between the two of you. When he sees you out and about in the Abbey it’s quickly followed by a text, usually commenting on your appearance. True to form, Rain opens the conversation with what’s quickly becoming his usual, with an added and subtle command.

Rain Ghoul: Well hey there gorgeous. Careful on that wine.

You: Hey Rain. What’s up tonight?

Rain Ghoul: Could be me, if that’s what you’re asking.

You: Maybe I am. What else could be?

Rain Ghoul: Weather. Ceiling. Good old Father God. Take your pick and tell me which is more interesting.

“Hey,” your friend says, snapping her fingers in front of your nose. It’s only now that you realize that your smile has spread across your face as you stare down at your phone screen. You shake your head slightly and look up, laughing nervously at your friends as they watch you. Some of them have a raised brow as their eyes move between your face and phone, smothering giggles behind napkins or wine glass rims.

“That Ghoul you’re seeing again?” one of them asks, wine glass poised at her lips and a brow delicately arched.

“No, it’s uh…” You scramble for answers, landing on one that comes out with an embarrassed wince. “My mom. She just wants to know how I’m doing up here, and all. You know. Parental stuff,” you laugh, flapping your hand in an attempt to dismiss the conversation. Your friends aren’t so quickly deterred, however. 

“Uh huh. And I’m sure you’re smiling because you just miss home that badly?” Her wine glass emptied, your friend puts it down on the table with a solid sound, accentuating her point. As you open your mouth to answer, your phone chimes again right on cue. Despite knowing that you’ll catch flak for it, you glance down at the screen and read the message quickly. 

Rain Ghoul: Lie to them. No one needs to know what we discuss. Or that we discuss anything at all.

“She sent me a picture of my dog, from back home.” Quickly, you navigate to your photos and pull up a recent picture of your dog, glad that you had indeed saved the one she sent you yesterday. Luckily, there’s a myriad of holiday decor in the background of the photo to properly date it. Your friends pass your phone around quickly, making the appropriate sounds for a pet photo. 

“Alright, that’s fair I guess. She’s cute,” your friend says, finally handing the device back to you. You smile and huff a small sigh of relief, flicking your eyes towards Rain at the Ghoul table— he’s completely disinterested in your table, picking at his food as he talks with the other band Ghouls, apparently deep in conversation. However, you can see one of his hands is under the table, gripping his phone. 

“Thanks. I miss her,” you say, attempting to sound nonchalant as your heart rate finally begins to regulate. One of your friends hums in sympathy as she nods and your other friends return to their conversation as your phone dings again.

Rain Ghoul: Good girl. Maybe I’ll give you a reward for that. Would you like that?

You: What kind of reward?

Rain Ghoul: I remember you telling me that you liked puppet shows.

Before you can respond, Papa Nihil stands from his chair in the center of the Papal table, signaling an end to the meal. The Brother beside you groans in exasperation, attempting to shovel the rest of his stew into his mouth before the serving Ghouls come to clear the tables. You stifle a grin and stand with the others, bowing towards the disinterested Papas as you leave. The Third waves a hand towards the crowd, dismissing them without ever moving his eyes away from his own plate, suspiciously stacked high with sweets. When you scan your eyes towards the band Ghoul table, you see that they’ve already left. 

“Hello?” your friend says loudly, snapping her fingers in front of your face until you bring your attention back to her. “There you are. Let’s get going, I’ve got some chocolate stashed in the dorms I’ve been looking forward to.” You nudge her with your elbow with a laugh and leave with the gaggle of Siblings.

As you pass one of the large supply closets, however, an arm wraps around the door and yanks you inside before you have the chance to make a sound. Someone wraps their arm around your chest, pinning you to them as their hand claps over your mouth. You’re able to cast your eyes around and note the tail swishing beside you and relax slightly— it’s only Rain. Soon enough, you hear one of your friends calling your name before suggesting that you’ve gotten ahead of them and are already in the dorm rooms, waiting for your portion of chocolate.

“Isn’t that convenient, then, that your friends are so quick to assume you’ve gone on ahead of them?” Rain’s forked tongue snakes forward to caress the outer shell of your ear and you shiver in his arms, goosebumps erupting along your spine from the sensation and the anticipation of finally being able to take him inside of you. This is the closest the two of you have ever come to a sexual encounter, despite the weeks of sexual texting between you; something inside of you acknowledges the shift in your relationship from metaphorical to literal, but you’re too preoccupied with the feeling of him around you to care. 

“Maybe they just know that I’m prone to disappearing when I want to… Or that I have secret liasons all over the Abbey grounds.” That did it— his arm tightens around your middle and you feel his teeth graze across your throat as he growls, predatory. You can briefly feel his claws against you before he controls himself enough to retract them, not wanting to cause harm to his latest conquest, perhaps.

“As long as I am in charge, no one will touch you again without my permission, or my hand guiding them.” As if to demonstrate, one of his hands moves confidently to the hem of your habit as he teases it up just slightly, bringing the edge of the skirt to the crease between your thigh and hip. His long fingers graze along the outside of your panties, already almost soaked through and tacky with the evidence of your arousal.

“How would you guide them? What would you tell them to do?” you ask breathlessly, allowing your eyes to slide closed as you give in to the sensation of invisible hands gliding along your body— imagining that there were other silent participants in the closet with you. You gasp when Rain’s lithe finger slides along and then beneath the hem of your panties to dip between your folds, finding your clit quickly. 

“I would tell them to watch, first. Watch as I carve your body apart until it serves me and only me.” His finger sweeps across your clit in a solid and sure movement, his arm tightening around your middle again as you buck against his hold. “Watch as my fingers slide inside of you…” Going along with his words, his middle finger slides into you fully , crooking it slightly until he finds the spot that he wants. His other hand moves upward, keeping his forearm between your breasts in a tight hold as his hand grips your throat loosely. 

“Slide… into me?” you manage to get out between deep breaths. It feels like it’s been ages since someone has taken control of your body and given you pleasure— you’re certainly not about to ask him to stop, consequences or change in your relationship be damned. Rain leans over you, his lips brushing against the delicate flesh of your neck as he speaks. 

“Make them watch as my fingers use you as a puppet. Dance for me, pet. Follow my silent commands.” All pretense of play gone, Rain’s finger twists inside of you at the same time that his thumb presses harshly against your clit. As you gasp and roll your hips against him his teeth find your neck, biting and clamping down hard. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, close to a whimper. Rain just smiles against you and you can feel the curve of his lips against your throat. It doesn’t take long for his tail to make an appearance, something the two of you suggested multiple times in your text conversations. It wraps around your thigh, pulling harshly until your leg slides to the side on the cold stone floor, giving his hand better access to you.

“How long have you wanted me? Don’t lie,” he whispers, his voice almost pleading with you as his tongue flicks against your thumping artery. “So many others wish they could be where you are right now… Tell me how long you’ve wished to be here.” 

“A- a week now.” Your eyes squeeze shut tightly against a curl of pleasure that seems to start at your toes and work its way up your body. Behind you, Rain groans his own pleasure, his hips rocking against the swell of your ass as he presses his cock against you, still trapped in the cloth of his pants. 

“I said don’t lie,” he snarls, sharp teeth biting down into your neck, pin pricks of pain alighting along the curve of his mouth. When you gasp he pulls you against him harder, grinding his hips upward to ensure that you feel every inch of his hard length. Attempting to speak again only earns you another throaty snarl as Rain presses you forward until you’re leaning heavily against a large barrel of industrial strength cleaning supplies. 

“Please-” you start, but Rain cuts you off with one hand moving from your throat to your mouth, fingers sliding between your lips roughly. His claws are thankfully retracted, leaving only the human feeling fingers dancing between your lips in an attempt to stifle your begging pleas. 

“No more speaking, pet. For now, do my dance.” It’s a struggle but you manage to nod around his fingers, even swirl your tongue around one of them for a moment— you smile when the effort is rewarded with a hiss of pleasure from behind you. Before you know it he has your habit pulled up around your waist and your panties pulled to the side savagely.

Rain pulls his finger from your panties, bringing it around your body to press against the small of your back with his palm. He presses harder and you can feel the head of his cock aligning itself with your entrance. He waits, dragging the head of his cock along your slick entrance and tapping it teasingly on your clit until your hips are attempting to buck, pushing up against his palm. You feel rather than hear him laugh to himself, low and satisfied. 

“Please,” you whisper around his fingers between your lips, laying your head on the top of the barrel as your chest heaves with deep breaths. It’s been ages since you were this aroused and the thought of finally having his cock inside of you is almost too much to bear; you feel combustible, almost like too much gunpowder stuffed inside of a small container. The nights alone in your bedroom in the upper levels of the Abbey, your hand working between your thighs was barely enough to contain the lust and need that you felt for Rain. All of your senses fail you, narrowing focus to that small point of contact on your cunt.

“I said no words,” Rain starts and you tense. “But I’ll allow it because of your manners,” he finishes. He slides his cock into you with one thrust, slow enough for you to feel the stretch but fast enough to give you almost no time to prepare. Your mouth drops open around his fingers in a long moan, hands gripping tightly to the edge of the barrel until he bottoms out inside of you. 

You remember his warning about speaking and quell the words of praise and pleasure that are attempting to bubble up to the surface, opting instead for a moan that seems to come from your core. Rain seems satisfied as his hand on the small of your back continues to pin you in place for him, setting a tempo that has the barrel rocking with each thrust. Before long Rain is grunting and moaning his own pleasure behind you, his thrusts becoming more erratic and disjointed as he starts to chase his own climax. 

“You like this, don’t you? Knew you wanted my cock ever since I texted you the first time. I played you so good,” he says to himself, pulling his hand from your lips with a loud popping sound. It doesn’t take him long to bring that hand below you, however, concentrating on your clit as he pounds into you. “You gonna cum for me? Cum on this cock like you want it?”

“Yes,” you moan out, clenching your muscles around his cock as his finger swipes and runs over your clit. The pressure is just enough and you find yourself falling over the edge of your climax sooner than you expected, your legs shaking as you clamp your lips together, attempting to keep the sounds of your pleasure quiet.

“Make some noise for me baby, moaning doesn’t count as talking. You can break that rule,” Rain says, his breathing becoming labored as he attempts to keep up the pace he’s set. Instead, he slides into you to the hilt and rocks his hips upward, grinding his cock inside of you on the spot that makes you see stars. 

“Right there, oh my God, Rain,” you chant, your words becoming unintelligible as he continues grinding against you, the calloused pad of his index finger making quick work of your clit. Your breathing quickly devolves into a mixture of panting and whining as your hands scrabble for better purchase against the rim of the barrel. When Rain’s tail comes up and presses just delicately against your asshole you cum, biting down hard on your own forearm to stifle the sound that you know would have been heard outside the closet.

“So fucking hot, holy shit. You like when I make you my own little sex toy? Use you for everything I want? Play you like a god damn fiddle- No, not like a fiddle, like a little fucking puppet,” Rain finishes, growling low in your ear as he thrusts forward twice. He stops with his cock fully sheathed inside of you, groaning deeply as he cums. You’re too tired to urge him through the climax, but you can feel his cock pulsing inside of you with each shot of cum.

After a moment he pulls out and away from you, staggering backwards to sit on the spare chair inside the broom closet. You stay resting against the barrel for another moment more before standing slowly and with a groan. It’s not much of an effort to fix your clothing, skewed only slightly out of place and rumpled up. Rain watches as you fix your panties and then smooth down the front of your habit, resting his cheek on the back of his hand, seemingly only barely interested.

“Well?” he prods finally, waving a hand towards you in a “carry on” motion.

“Well what?” you prompt, furrowing your brows slightly. You pull your phone out of your pocket and use the front facing camera to adjust your makeup, running down your face only a little. 

“Was it worth it, then? All of the teasing, I mean.” When your eyes meet his, you’re surprised to see a surprising lack of warmth in them.

“You mean the texting? What it lead to?” He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah, it was worth it. You’re good. Good enough that I wouldn’t mind a round two sometime,” you finish, sildling forward into the space between his legs and pulling gently on his tie. 

“You think you can call the shots, then, is that it?” he asks, and you can tell his face is skeptical beneath the mask. You were warned that Rain could be hot and cold with a girl after he had bedded her once, but this felt like lava to ice. “You think out of all of the girls in the Abbey that I’ve fucked, somehow you’re the one I’ll kowtow to?”

“But I thought-”

“You thought, yes.” Rain stands, swatting your hand away with ease as he straightens the legs of his pants and brushes dust off of his shoulders. “I don’t like puppets to think. Perhaps next time I use you, you’ll remember that.” 

He leaves, then, shutting the door with a final click behind him as he strides away. You’re left in the cold silence of the broom closet, your cunt aching with the memory of what had just happened; even your nipples are still hard and waiting for the possible continued affection. The thought passes you to check your phone briefly, but no— that part of the courting is over. Now you’re just another one of his toys, ready to be picked up, played with, and discarded just as easily. 

Less of a light Rain and more of a hurricane, you think to yourself snidely.

#lorraine writes #fics #ghost #the band ghost #ghost bc #rain #nameless ghouls #era 4 ghouls