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i-eren · 10 minutes ago
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you’re used to eren getting comments about his good looks or asking if he’s single, however, it doesn’t hurt any less when he ignores them. and when a certain someone pays attention.
❍ pairing. eren yaeger + f!reader
❍ genre. hurt/comfort, angst (sfw)
❍ word count. 1.8k
❍ warnings. swearing
❍ from orion. first attempt at hurt/comfort so i’m sorry if it’s not the best 😅 thank you to @snoozless for beta-reading! as always do not repost, modify or translate. reblogs are appreciated.
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The sound of Eren typing firmly on the keyboard rings in your ear as you lay languidly on the loveseat across his set up. In a brief amount of time Eren’s gaming channel grew drastically, and you’re 100% sure it’s because of his good looks. Your suspicions are proven true when his sonorous chuckle catches your attention.
“My hair looks nice today?” You smirk at the comment made, knowing fully well he wore it that way just for you. His jade eyes quickly glance your way, the tiniest smirk adoring his beautiful face. “Thanks, I like it like this, too!”
A deluge of comments shine brightly on his second monitor, most of them consisting of other girls complimenting his hair. Your eyes narrow to one in particular that’s different from the others. It’s silly for the comment to cause a stir inside of you, understanding how private Eren is to his life, which you fully supported him from the very beginning.
“Do I have a girlfriend? Uh..” It’s evident he’s tentative in his response, not wanting to give a hint into his personal life, but also stuck in not wanting to hurt your feelings. “Oh, shit! Jean, there’s a sniper on the upper right building—“
The tension in your body visibly soothes down as Eren continues on with his stream. Shaking your head at the unwanted thoughts prying your mind, you lay back down, warmth from the blanket putting you to sleep.
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“Did you see Eren’s chat last night? It was insane!”
Sasha stares at you with curious eyes while you laugh at her incredulous personality.
“Hmm, yeah, I see some of them here and there.”
“And it doesn't bother you?”
You bite the inside of your cheek, sending a smile that doesn't fully reach your face. The emotions from last night start rising slowly as you recall dozens of comments left on the chat. This is so stupid, you remind yourself.
“Some of them were a bit too much, but I think Eren handled it well.” Liar.
Historia gives you a doubtful look, opening and closing her mouth as if she’s debating to speak up on something. There’s a sudden gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach, growing consistently as your friends don’t meet your gaze.
“What? What is it?”
Sasha hastily bites into her burger, humming softly at the tenderness of the meat. Historia sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose while mumbling something about guys being idiots.
“I overheard Armin talking last night, I’m guessing you were asleep if you’re looking at me like that, but…” she sends you an apologetic smile, afraid to hurt your feelings. “He mentioned something about Mikasa wanting to do a collaboration with Eren.”
You nod your head slowly as your heart begins to ache. Eren greeted you this morning with his playful smile and teasing kisses, yet the thought of him not mentioning anything to you sent an unsettling feeling throughout your body.
“I’m sure he’s deciding on it, but I hope the collaboration goes well!”
Eren’s in his gaming room by the time you’re back. You quietly walk towards the door, peeking your head in to catch him setting up his stream. Odd, you think. Tapping on your phone, you double check to make sure the time was right. To your surprise, it’s still early in the afternoon for him to be doing a stream.
“Hey, baby, you’re back!”
His voice brings you back to reality— his bright smile never fails to make your heart melt. Whether it was in the moment, or because of what was brought up earlier, you rush into his arms, snuggling your face deep into his chest. Eren is taken aback by your sudden behavior as his thick, brown eyebrows furrow into concern.
“What’s the matter, Y/n? You don’t hug me like this unless something’s bothering you.”
Fuck. He’s too perceptive.
You scoff at his comment, pushing him back playful as you sit into his chair, eyes swiftly narrowing at a certain profile picture in Discord. “What? I can't just hug you, Yaeger?”
The words come out harsher than you intend to and within an instant Eren’s demeanor changes. When you double checked the monitor to make sure you weren’t seeing things, your heart literally aches as the names are popping up. Specifically her name.
“Oh shit! Forgot I was on a call.”
Eren leans over you to grab his head seat, pushing the keyboard to talk. The sound of Mikasa’s voice doesn’t go unnoticed, considering she’s the only female in the voice chat. Jealousy immediately pangs at you.
“Yo, sorry about that. Something came up.”
“Huh? Oh yeah, everything’s fine. It’s not important—“ he pauses, eyes looking down at yours. Eren mutes himself while he picks up the right sight of his head seat. You’re already jumping out of the chair and heading out the room, closing it slightly until there’s a compact space between the door and wall.
“Yeah I’m here, Mikasa. I’m free all week at the same time.”
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Everything becomes a blur after that day as you start to see Eren less and less to the point he ends up sleeping in his gaming room. The distance causes a hole in your heart, the sadness slowly reaching up to your throat as tears become harder to control.
It’s a new day, you remind yourself. Yet, the moment you hear Eren talking loudly, your heart stops entirely when a certain sentence comes out of his mouth.
“Fuck, that was so fucking hilarious! We definitely gotta go next time with Sasha and Connie. Oh, there’s also-“
Eren lets out a slew of curse words as you slam the door open, chest rising laboriously while you stare with burning eyes into his. You watch as Eren murmurs a ‘gotta go’ which earns a scoff in your response.
“Oh, don’t mind me. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
A teeming sigh leaves Eren, his jaw clenching while he cleans up his desk. He’s tense, the muscles in his body going rigid against the cotton, white shirt.
“Ever heard of knocking first?”
“Sorry, didn’t think you would realize my existence if I did so.”
It’s a low blow, because you see as he slowly puts his headphones down, turning his head slightly to look back at you. The tension is thick and uneasy, neither one of you daring to speak first. Whether it’s because of pride or fear of hurting the other, you’re not sure.
There’s a message that pops up on the screen, and before Eren can reach for it, you’re already by the mouse and yanking it away from it. Your eyes burn holes into the message, anger seething from your body as you visibly begin to shake.
mikamika 🕊 i’m not sure what’s going on but i hope you’re doing okay! text me if you ever need anything, you know i’m always here for you <33
Fuck. The tears you’ve been desperately holding back start falling hot and heavy down your cheeks. And before you know it your body is hunched over on the carpet floor, a choked sob burning your throat.
Within an instant Eren is rushing towards you— soft hands cradling your body as he picks you up, his breath warm against the coldness of your skin. It’s inane really, how the one person who’s causing you the most pain is the only person you want in this very moment; is the only person who can calm the uncertainty in your heart.
Eren doesn’t say anything, instead tugging you closer to the crook of his neck, swaying your bodies back and forth as you let go of all the negative emotions that have harbored deep in your heart.
The silence is heavy once you calm down, your broken sobs soothing down to soft hiccups by the time Eren attempts to move. Your nails dig deep into the shirt as you frantically yell out a hoarse ‘no!’
“Don’t— don’t go, please.”
“Woah, baby, relax. ‘M just gonna lay us down, alright? I’m not going anywhere.”
Mustering up the strength, you push yourself away from him, wiping your face with the sleeves of your sweatshirt as your breath gets shaky. You sit at the edge of the bed, the dull almost empty feeling makes you want to run out of the room.
“You saw the message.”
It’s not a question, but a statement. Eren’s voice is filled with regret– everyone was getting after him about how this looked. Spending hours upon hours with someone who isn’t his girlfriend, when he himself has mentioned that he’s taken. It was bad all around, and he’s not even sure how to explain it.
“Fuck— I’ve been complete shit to you, Y/n, I’m so sorry!”
The tears are swelling up in your eyes again, it almost burns with how hard you were crying. You take a deep breath, twirling your fingers around trying to grasp the sincerity in his voice.
“Do you like her?”
Eren holds himself back from laughing, but to his demise your ears perk up at the sound. If looks could kill, he would be meeting his maker this instant. He quickly pulls you in, the back of your body landing on his chest.
“Let go,” you growl but it’s futile. Eren is much stronger than you as he wraps his arms around your body, chuckling into the softness of your hair.
“Calm down. I wasn’t laughing at your question. I don’t like her in the way you’re thinking, dumbass.”
“You’re leaving me behind…” you pause, heart clenching at your confession, as your thoughts start coming undone. “I’m glad you’re branching out, getting recognition you deserve… but you forgot about me. Whether you meant to or not, you misplaced me for someone else.”
Unbeknownst to you, Eren is gnawing at his bottom lip, his own heart breaking at the sound of the sorrow of your voice, at his carelessness in the way he handled things. He loves you, is absolutely enamored with your whole being, and there is no excuse for how he’s been treating you as of late.
All he can do is wrap his arms tightly around you as he leaves tiny kisses along the curve of your shoulder, furiously blinking his eyes as his own set of tears come undone.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats over and over again. “I’m so sorry.”
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You’re sitting comfortably on Eren’s lap, heart beating rapidly as he sets the mic on the side of you, making sure it’ll capture both of your voices. Eren lightly tugs at your hair, smiling up at you brightly while he sets up OBS.
“Ready for your debut, baby?” he teases, biting your cheek softly.
“Ouch!” You pinch his cheek in return, watching the countdown on his stream as a hoard of comments start piling up.
Eren pecks your cheek lightly, touch the push to talk button as soon as you’re both in view.
“Yo, been a while. Meet my girlfriend– Y/n! She’s a dime, huh?”
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geminirules · 23 minutes ago
Claquette → SEVENTEEN Collab
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❝The moment you take a journey, what an act of faith. The moment that you enter into any kind of human undertaking in relationship, what an act of faith. See, you’ve given yourself up. But this is the most powerful thing that can be done: surrender. See. And love is an act of surrender to another person. Total abandonment.❞ - Alan Watts
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🎞 Details.
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🎞 The theme is K-Dramas.
🎞 You will be writing a scenario based on a K-Drama of your choice, the genre doesn’t matter as long as it fits the scene and the word count.
🎞 You can change the plot of the drama if you want as well.
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🎞 Deadline.
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🎞 The deadline is November 2022.
🎞 If you needed more time you can message me and I’ll let you take your time, but consider that you do have time to finish it, so please keep in mind the due date.
🎞 The dropout date is September 2022.
🎞 No hard feelings or questions asked if you want to dropout, just message me and you’ll be removed from the slots.
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🎞 Rules.
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🎞 First things first.
🎞 There are 12 slots open, I’ll be taking one for myself, all writers are welcomed to join! Even if you’re a beginner, feel free to enter.
🎞 If you want to join, please message me and tell me the member you want to write about and the scenario your story will be based on.
🎞 Please if I send you the Discord link to join, please join so all of the writers can discuss the ideas they’ve in mind to make sure no one makes the same scenario. Also all the updates and announcements will be there, so please join the Discord group.
🎞 You’re allowed to write fluff, angst, smut, anything that fits you.
🎞 You can choose a member and if you don’t have an idea in mind it can wait, just not after the deadline.
🎞 You can change the cliché as much as you can unless it was the deadline.
🎞 It needs to be member x reader, no member x member please.
🎞 The reader needs to be inclusive, please don’t specify race, body weight, hair, anything of the sort that would discriminate anyone.
🎞 The Minimum words: 2k
🎞 Time stamps, drabbles, headcanons and reactions ARE NOT ALLOWED. They need to be one shots (multi series are fine as well). Just need to fit in the minimum word count.
🎞 Please put all tags and trigger warnings before the actual story, so the reader knows what they’re getting themselves into.
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🎞 Slots. 8 Members Left.
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🎞 S.Coups →
🎞 Jeonghan → @treasuretaeil
🎞 Joshua → @junjungsunwoo
↳ Extraordinary You.
🎞 Jun →
🎞 Hoshi →
🎞 Wonwoo → @geminirules (me)
↳ The Tale of a Gumiho.
🎞 Woozi →
🎞 The8 → @imjustuhhvibing
↳ A Love So Beautiful.
🎞 Mingyu → @aquamoonchaii
↳ Search: WWW
🎞 DK →
🎞 Seungkwan →
🎞 Vernon →
🎞 Dino →
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© geminirules, all rights reserved 2022
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wonderful-writes · 23 minutes ago
Pine Away (Part 2)
Harry Potter x Reader (Modern AU?)
Author’s Note: Pine Away was supposed to be a stand-alone piece, but a lovely reblogger expressed that it should be a series. I’m not sure if I want to turn it into a full series since I still believe it works better as a oneshot, but here’s a sequel for those of you who wanted more. Enjoy!
Part 1
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I didn’t see Harry on Thursday. He had mysteriously come down with a fever and couldn’t attend Bill and Fleur’s dinner party. I would have found this story dubious if not for Mrs. Weasley’s confirmation that he was indeed feeling under the weather. For the next several weeks, I didn’t see him at all. Every time I went out with our friends, he was always too busy to join. And miraculously, on the days I was too busy, he was always available to meet with them. It was as if he was avoiding me, finding every excuse to be where I wouldn’t be.
But why? What reason did Harry have to be avoiding me? Was there something he didn’t want me to know? We’d been close friends since childhood, and we told each other everything. So why was he being secretive? What was he hiding? I couldn’t help but wonder if I did something wrong. Had I upset him in some way? He did seem off the last time I saw him, that day he brought flowers and coffee over to my house. Did I say something offensive when he visited?
I decided to go to Ron and Hermione for answers. Harry didn’t seem to have a problem spending time with them. It was only me that he was staying away from. Maybe they could tell me what the issue was and whether I caused it.
“I am so glad you’re here!” Hermione gushed when I entered her and Ron’s shared living room. “I just tested out a new recipe, and I need someone to try it.”
I chuckled, letting Hermione take my coat and following her to the kitchen. “What about Ron? I’m sure he’d love to try whatever you made.”
“He’s out shopping with Neville and Harry,” she replied dismissively as she reached for dishes and silverware. “Neville needed supplies for his classroom, and he invited Ron and Harry to join. They wanted to go to the shops to look at some new quidditch equipment anyway.”
“Speaking of Harry, has he been acting differently around you guys recently?”
“Not really,” Hermione answered after pausing briefly to think about the question I asked. “He’s been normal Harry to me. Why do you ask?”
“Well, for starters, he seems to be avoiding me,” I told her. “Haven’t you noticed that he never wants to hang out with the group when I’m here? You told me yourself that he came by to spend time with you guys on the days I was busy.”
“Oh my Godric, you’re right!” Hermione exclaimed as the realization dawned on her. “I did mention that Harry was here on the days you were unavailable, but I didn’t even notice a connection. I didn’t realize he’s intentionally only coming over when you’re not around.”
“So you think it’s intentional?” I asked.
“Hmm, I don’t know for sure,” she admitted, handing me a plate of food and ushering me to sit down at the table. “But why wouldn’t he want to see you?”
“That’s what I want to know,” I said in between bites of food. “This is delicious, by the way. You’ve got to send me the recipe.”
“I will,” Hermione assured. “I’m glad you like it. It’s a Molly Weasley classic, but I’ve never made it myself. Anyway, I’ll ask Ron about Harry when he gets home.”
“Thanks, Hermione.”
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“He has feelings for you!” Ginny exclaimed.
After getting back from Ron and Hermione’s house, I decided to visit Ginny at her apartment. I mentioned the Harry situation to her, and she couldn’t help but share her thoughts on the matter.
“What?!” I asked incredulously. “You think Harry has feelings for me?”
“I am almost positive that he does,” she said smugly, clearly proud of her sleuthing skills. “All the signs point to that. I mean, he only wants to hang out on the days you’re not around. And he hasn’t called you in ages.”
I let her words sink in. Could one of my best friends truly have romantic feelings for me? Why hasn’t he said anything before? How long has this been going on?
“Plus, he came to check on you and brought you gifts after your breakup with Hugh,” Ginny added. “The question is, do you have feelings for him?”
I felt like I was being hit with a freight train of emotions. Did I like Harry? One of my best mates since I was a child? Now that I was taking the time to think about it, I realized that I always felt some sort of attraction to him. But I had always brushed it off as platonic, thinking we were never meant to be more than friends. But could there be a chance for more?
“Y/N? Hello?” Ginny called, snapping her fingers in front of my face.
“Oh, sorry, Gin,” I apologized. “I must have spaced out for a bit.”
“What were you thinking so deeply about?” she asked.
“I, I like Harry.”
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Later that week, I received a call from Hermione. She informed me that Ron had little success in getting information out of Harry. According to Ron, Harry didn’t feel like sharing whatever it was that was causing him to distance himself from me.
My conversation with them didn’t do anything to ease the confusion in my mind. I had come to the conclusion that I had feelings for Harry. Why else would things have felt so wrong with Hugh, who was otherwise perfect? The only explanation was that Hugh wasn’t Harry. Harry, my best friend who’s been with me through the toughest of times. How could I not fall for him? He’s helped me and stood by me for practically my entire life. He was kind, compassionate, understanding, and everything I could ever want. I didn’t know why it took me so long to realize it. But I still wasn’t convinced that he felt the same. Was he sending signals that indicated romantic interest? Or was it something else entirely?
A war was raging inside my mind. Should I express my feelings to Harry? What if he doesn’t reciprocate them? I could never live with myself if I ruined one of the best friendships in my life. But what if he does feel the same? That would make me the happiest person in the world. It was becoming easier and easier to imagine myself with him. I needed to know if the feelings that were threatening to change everything were going to be returned.
I decided to inform Ron and Hermione of Ginny’s theory, and they surprisingly agreed with her. Apparently, they all could picture Harry and I as a couple and weren’t shocked to hear that he might possibly like me as more than a friend. In fact, they were certain that he had feelings for me and even provided rationale.
They listed all the times that Harry has shown a fondness for me that he never showed with anyone else. They counted all the ways he was nicer to me and more considerate of my needs compared to the needs of his other friends. They mentioned all the inside jokes between Harry and me and all the secret looks that only the two of us seemed to understand. By the end of their lecture, I was almost entirely convinced that I should profess my emotions to Harry Potter.
The only thing stopping me was that he was still avoiding me.
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About two weeks after I made the decision to confess to Harry, Molly Weasley invited me over for a dinner party. I saw the party as an opportunity to finally speak to Harry and clear the air regarding our feelings for each other. I was still terrified of ruining our friendship, but I knew the possibility of being with him was worth the risk. Besides, Ron and Hermione had started out as friends, and they were now an unstoppable couple.
To ensure that Harry would actually attend the dinner, Ginny told him that I wouldn’t be there. She explained that I had “a doctor’s appointment” that coincided with Mrs. Weasley’s dinner party. Of course, everyone else knew that I would be in attendance. Harry was the only one kept out of the loop.
When the night of the party approached, I was a bundle of nerves. I knew I wanted to speak to Harry and settle this once and for all, but I was scared for his reaction. I was among the first few to arrive, so I busied myself with helping Mrs. Weasley prepare the food and place settings in order to take my mind off of my inevitable interaction with Harry.
Soon enough, more guests began arriving, and I was becoming increasingly anxious. Every time someone entered the house, I looked up to see if it was the man I was yearning to see. Finally, after much agonizing anticipation, the familiar head of messy hair and set of spectacled green eyes made their appearance.
I scurried to the door, intending on pulling him aside to talk before I could lose the nerve. I had to talk to him immediately and knew that if I waited any longer, all my confidence would disappear. But before I could get to him, he was being pulled into a bone-crushing hug by Mrs. Weasley. I awkwardly waved to him as he pulled away from her, and he nodded his head curtly in response.
Still giving me the silent treatment, I see, I thought to myself.
I wasn’t allowed any further contemplation, as Mrs. Weasley announced that it was time to eat shortly after letting go of Harry.
Throughout the evening, Harry and I never had a moment alone. We sat at opposite ends of the dining table and were engaged in conversation with various friends. We hardly had time to steal glances at each other in between eating and chatting with others. As the night got later and later, I saw my opportunity for a private conversation with him slipping away. It wasn’t until after dessert that I had a chance to pull him aside.
“Hey, Harry,” I greeted as I approached his slim figure. He was clearing the last of the dishes off the table. I flashed him my best smile in spite of my nerves. “Mind if we go outside for a bit?”
“Uh, sure,” he replied, grabbing his jacket and following me to the backyard.
When we reached the little bench situated not too far from the back door of the Weasleys’ house, I sat down and patted for him to sit next to me. The brisk evening air made me wrap my jacket tighter around myself.
“I was hoping we could talk,” I started. If I wasn’t so intently staring at the loose string on my shirt, I would have noticed that Harry was equally nervous and was picking at the skin on his hands.
I took a deep breath before continuing. “I, well, I have feelings for you Harry. And I have reason to believe you have feelings for me, too.”
I looked up for his reaction, eyes meeting his for the first time since I sat down on the bench. In those emerald pools, I saw a range of emotions — confusion, curiosity, apprehension, but most of all, hope.
“Well, aren’t you going to say something?” I chuckled nervously.
Snapping out of his trance, Harry opened his mouth to speak. “I, I didn’t know you like me.”
“Yeah, that’s why I just told you,” I responded with another laugh. “I’m not wrong in thinking you like me back, right?”
“N-no,” Harry stuttered. “You’re not wrong at all. I just didn’t think you felt that way. I’ve liked you for so long.”
“Then why haven’t you ever said anything?” I asked.
“I didn’t want to mess up our friendship,” he answered. “We were always such good friends, and then you were with Hugh, and I guess I never thought it was a good time.”
I nodded in understanding. I let my eyes flicker across his face, observing his chiseled jawline and striking eyes. I gulped as my gaze rested on his lips for a moment too long.
“Well, is now a good time?” I asked softly.
“I think so,” Harry whispered back, his eyes traveling to my own lips.
He leaned in as his hand moved to cup my face. I met him the rest of the way, finally closing the distance between us. When we eventually broke away, both our faces were adorned with ear-to-ear smiles.
At that moment, I forgot why I was so afraid to confess to him. If I had known that it would lead to this level of bliss, I would have told him sooner. There was no doubt in my mind that Harry and I were meant to be. What started off as friendship ended as so much more.
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plutodexay · 29 minutes ago
Neville confesses to the reader in the rain that he loves them. (angry love confession) please? Thank you!:)
Thank you for the request! I always love writing Neville, I hope you enjoy and its what you wanted, the writing definitely did not listen to me or go how I planned but I enjoyed it 
The rain was practically jumping off of my jacket as I rushed through the storm trying to make my way back home. I could barely hear the sounds surrounding me as my mind focused on the prior embarrassment leading me to run away from the bar. 
The night started out nice, everyone had shown up to the get together, Harry kept buying everyone drinks one by one to make sure nobody was forgotten. Most people split off in their own groups just like we had back in school, so most of my time was spent watching Neville tell anyone who would listen about a new plant he had gotten to grow in the greenhouse, one he had told me about at least fifty times now. 
Evidently my focus on him was my downfall, because I didn’t hear Fred yell before lighting off a firework drunkenly. The loud bang caused me to fall out of my seat and bring the table down with me, welcoming any drink on it to fall on top of me, soaking into my skin. 
At first everyone was silent, then Fred started to laugh and everyone in the bar started to follow his lead. Drunken and sober fingers pointed at me while they could barely hold still from the laughing racking through their bodies. So the moment I got up, I ran, the storm be damned.  
It wasn’t until I had gotten half way back to my home before I looked back and saw Neville running towards me, his jacket held above his head like that clique in the muggle movies, it seemed both of us were so caught up that we forgot we could use magic in a time like this. 
Something froze me in my spot, no matter how loud my mind was saying to run, my body wouldn’t move. Even as he got closer and closer the voice screamed louder yet I stayed put, only moving to look towards him as he stood in front of me. 
“Are you alright?” Nevilles voice came out rushed, obviously out of breath from following me, but it was full of the genuine concern that always seemed to follow him around. 
My body suddenly decided it was time to move, so as if ignoring his question I turned away from him and started walking towards my house once again. It was only a matter of seconds before I heard his footsteps rush to catch up with me once again, only to appear in front of me. 
His arm shot out to grab my arm causing me to look up at him, his face was covered in confusion as I felt my fist clench out of anger. Quickly I shook my arm out of his tight grip, trying to push past him before he reached out to grab me again. He started to speak before I cut him off. 
“Why do you care?!” I shouted at him causing him to flinch away from me for a split second. The shout wasn’t intentional and I could’ve sworn he realized that by the look in his eyes, but it was too late to take it back now.
“What do you mean?” Nevilles voice was barely above a whisper, concern surrounded the words. 
“You’re friends laughed at me!” Dramatizing my point, I shoved my finger into his chest.  
“But I didn’t!” His hands shot up in defense of himself. Yet he still moved to block my way as I tried to pass him once again. 
“You probably wanted to!” I yelled as I tried to push him out of my way.
“Why would I?” His voice was lanced with anger, and anyone could see he was trying to control it. 
“Why wouldn’t you!?” 
“Because I’m in love with you!” Neville finally shouted, his hands shooting up to grab my face, pulling me closer to him. 
Both of us froze for who knows how long, I could no longer feel the rain around us, all I could feel was the warmth of his hands holding my cheeks. My eyes stared into his as everything stopped. It was as if both of us were trying to figure out what was going to happen next. A clap of thunder pulled us out of the trance, both of us focusing on one another again before Neville spoke up. 
Yet again, I cut him off. This time not by shouting or pushing past him, but pulling him closer and connecting our lips finally. We barely moved yet it was almost like every emotion we had ever felt towards the other was moving through the kiss. He kept his hands on my face as his lips started to move, a move I had been waiting for him to do for years, one I never thought would happen. He pulled back ever so slightly before speaking up again. 
“It wasn’t even that funny, it was Fred being a drunken idiot and what if you had gotten hurt. This is why I tell all of them to not get drunk in public, always making fools out of themselves.” With a slight laugh I smiled at him as he spoke, mumbling the last park of his rant by pulling him against my lips once again. And I could feel the rain fall around us once again, but even that didn’t make us pull away, and I don’t think anything could have in that moment.
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steebsbabygirl · 44 minutes ago
Tastes Like Strawberries
pairing: andy barber x fem!reader
word count: 1.7k
summary: andy’s fixation on the way you’ve been eating strawberries has proven to be a heavy distraction that he attempts to solve in one way or another
warnings: 18+ ; minors DNI ; daddy kink, slight ddlg dynamics, oral fixation, praise, oral sex (f receiving), slight fingering (f receiving)
author’s note: first fic after a little over a month so yaaaay i hope you all enjoy!! likes and reblogs are always appreciated!! YOU DO NOT HAVE ANY PERMISSION TO RE-PUBLISH, TRANSLATE, OR TAKE ANY OF MY WORK.
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God. Andy never should’ve bought you those fucking strawberries.
How was he supposed to know what would’ve awakened in him from just seeing you eat them? What exactly was it about you eating strawberries that he found so irresistible? Maybe the way the red juices would coat your supple lips and paint them the same color. Maybe it was the way your tongue would come out to lick any residue left behind. Maybe it was the curiosity of how well the sweet taste of your lips could compare to the taste of your sweet, little cunt.
These were some of the thoughts that crossed Andy’s mind, and as he sat at his home office desk, work long forgotten, he couldn’t seem to settle the thoughts of every single way he could put that mouth of yours to use. Or maybe even how he could put his own to use. He ran his hands through his hair, frustration only growing with every thought he had about you because of those fucking strawberries.
Fuck. Water. Cold Water.
Andy decided for the time being that his work could be finished the moment he drank some cold water and the dirty thoughts that plagued his mind could stop for a few hours. That’s all he needed. A few hours to finish his work then, with absolutely no second thought, he could finally get his mouth on you.
Andy went into the kitchen, getting himself a tall glass of cold water and sat at the kitchen table trying to relax. He didn’t think that when the weekend finally arrived he’d end up getting so distracted, but here Andy was. Trying not to think of his cock fucking into your pretty mouth or how good you’d taste on hiss tongue. He sighed heavily and rolled his neck to find some sort of relief to the built up tension settling on his neck and shoulders. Andy then felt a weight rest on his shoulders and the smell of your perfume wrapped around him.
“Hi daddy,” your voice hummed out sweetly as you wrapped your arms around Andy’s neck from behind, “whatcha doing?”
Andy’s arms came to grab onto the ones you had rested against his neck and turned his head to press a gentle kiss to your lips. He could taste the remnants of the strawberries you had eaten earlier in the day and just wanted to pull you onto his lap and have his way with—taste just how sweet you could be, but your lips disconnected from his all too quickly.
You left Andy and made your way further into the kitchen, grabbing the container of strawberries from the fridge before hopping on the counter and flashing Andy a sickeningly sweet smile. Your lips were still stained to a gorgeous red and Andy licked his own lips just looking at you. Andy snapped himself out of his own head and lifted his eyes to meet yours.
“Hi baby girl. I’m just taking a small break from work,” Andy’s eyes flickered down to your lips quickly when he saw you take a bite from a strawberry, “Couldn’t focus.”
You stained lips pulled into a frown and you licked your lips before speaking, “Why’s that daddy? Usually you’re more focused on the weekends.”
Your tongue gave kitten licks to the fingers that had been holding the previously eaten strawberry. Andy almost rolled his eyes at the sight. You must have been joking. How could you not know what you were doing to him, you must know. But by the way your face was truly painted with concern and the pout of your lips had only been pushed out farther, it was obvious that you were completely oblivious.
Andy adjusted in his seat, trying to calm the growing tent in his pants and took a few more sips of water before he answered you. As he did that you grabbed another strawberry, one much bigger than the one before, and bit into it. Some of it’s juice rolled down your chin and dropped onto the bare skin of your thigh, but you simply paid no mind. But Andy sure did.
“I know baby, but the distractions are just getting harder and harder to ignore.” The tone of Andy’s voice had dropped an octave and the deep timber made you clench your legs and made your bites slow. You don’t know what exactly made the atmosphere in the kitchen shift, but you weren’t complaining.
“What distractions, daddy,” you asked hesitantly all while looking at Andy’s big blue eyes with yours wide and innocent. You finished your strawberry and went to give your finger kitten licks to clean the juices when suddenly Andy stood up and stalked towards you.
“You really don’t know, honey?” You shook your head and when Andy stood in front of you and leaned in close you held your breath.
Andy’s hands encased and ran across the bare skin of your thigh as he stepped between your legs. Andy’s “distraction” could only be solved by you, so he figured he’d solve it now.
“It’s you baby, and these fucking strawberries,” Andy cooed at you mockingly.
Andy’s hand went to grab the one you had been grabbing strawberries with and pressed soft kisses onto your fingers lips before one delved into his mouth that he sucked on softly while keeping eye contact with you. Your attempt to clench your legs made you squeeze them around Andy’s hips and a small whimper left your mouth.
“D-addy—,” you were cut off when Andy pulled you in for a heated kiss. His tongue delved into your mouth exploring it and moaning at the taste. It didn’t take long for you to completely sink into his touch and fall into the kiss with him. Andy’s hips then rolled against yours letting you feel exactly how worked up you had gotten him in a matter of minutes. You moaned at the feeling and pulled Andy closer to you by his shirt collar chasing any part of him that you could. Andy’s lips left yours and his hands dove under your shirt to feel you. You gasped at the contrast of his warm hands roaming your body.
“And that taste, baby? Just as distracting. How was I supposed to focus on my work?” Andy threw you a faux pout before dropping to his knees before pressing kisses against your leg.
You weren’t sure what to say. You were frozen for the most part besides the gasps and whimpers that left your lips. The only statement that seemed to tumble out of you was a breathy “I’m sorry” that Andy seemed to ignore. How could you be sorry when Andy was so happy he could finally ravish you?
Andy’s lips ghosted the inside of your thighs where he nipped lightly and his tongue licked the portion of thighs where strawberry juice had fallen on. He pressed a kiss to that spot before looking up at you.
“So sweet, honey,” his fingers then ran across your clothed cunt lightly, “I wonder if you’re sweeter here. Should I see?”
Your head shook up and down eagerly. You squirmed at your place on the counter and ran your hands through Andy’s hair, tugging at it and whimpering from your place above him. “Please, daddy. Taste me, please.”
Andy smirked and pushed your shirt to rest above your hips and pulled your panties down your legs. His smile widened when he could see you wet and dripping all for him. He looked at your glistening folds and pressed a kiss to your wet cunt and trailed them around your inner thighs leaving your slick everywhere his lips connected. Your head lolled backwards and moved along the cabinet. Your hands in Andy’s hair tightened and he groaned against your clit making your body shiver.
He blew air onto your bundle of nerves and chuckled when you audibly gasped. He licked a strip up your folds then fully engulfed your clit, sucking and licking like his life depended on it. You gasped loudly and moaned at the feeling. To get better access to you Andy threw your legs over his shoulder and pulled you closer to the edge of the counter. His tongue collected your slick from every surface as he started to finger you till you were shaking above him.
You cried out when Andy’s tongue licked faster and his lips sucked harder. Your body was pulling away from the feeling, but you were also pushing Andy’s head harder into you. The feeling was too much yet too little all at the same time. You bucked your hips into Andy’s face and shivered when he moaned at the feeling. The moment he sucked harder on your clit and the pace of his fingers went at a brutal fast pace is when you could feel the heat in your belly rise.
“Daddy, I’m gonna cum,” you called out breathlessly. All you could think at that moment is how much you needed your orgasm and how grateful you were that Andy bought you those strawberries.
Andy smirked against your cunt and sucked even harder wanting you to have your release. When your orgasm finally washed over you your hands gripped firmly into Andy’s hair and your back arched against the cabinets. You cried out and continued to buck your hips against Andy’s face to ride out your orgasm.
He pressed one last kiss to your folds and slipped your legs off of your shoulder to stand up to give you a firm, wet kiss. You moaned when you could taste yourself on his tongue, wondering and hoping that to him the taste was sweeter than anything else. When his lips left yours a wide smile was on his face as the both of you were catching your breath.
“Hmm, you did so good, baby. What do you think? As sweet as strawberries? I’d say you taste sweeter.”
“Daddy,” you whined at the teasing tone that Andy spoke with and pulled him closer to bury your head into his neck.
“I’m not kidding, baby. I’ve been wanting to taste you all day and you are the sweetest.”
The smile in Andy’s voice was evident and you couldn’t help but look up at him to return the smile. He pressed one more soft kiss to your lips before wrapping your legs around his waist and arms around his shoulders. You didn’t protest, but you were definitely confused at what Andy was doing.
“Don’t you have to go back to work now, daddy,” you asked with your eyebrows etched in confusion.
Andy started to walk towards the bedroom and looked at you with a soft smile paired with mischievous eyes. “Not yet, baby. Still have a few more distractions to settle.”
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deh-essays · an hour ago
I promise I haven't forgotten about Heaven yet
Next chapter is half done. Right now I have around 17 fics in progress that I'm really pushing to get done.
Thanks to everyone that's still stuck around :)
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maybewren · an hour ago
There is such thing as too committed to the bit. That took so many hours.
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the-antisocial-brat · an hour ago
A Tamaki Amajiki x Reader Oneshot. See more of it on my account @bratty_by_nature on Wattpad. Follow my account for more content
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escapistfantasymanual · an hour ago
[ahhhhh, thank you for the prompt @lookninjas! from this askbox list, for those who may be curious. I thought this would be harder than it was because I jump POVs every chapter with the longfic I’m currently working on, but luckily! this scene came to mind. context: Warrior Nun fandom, rewritten from chapter three of intrinsically (you knew me).]
“—so like, Bea was all fwah! But then the bitch tried to shoot her and like, nuh-uh. No way is anyone going to do that to Bea on my watch. So bam! I shock-blasted her into oblivion.” Ava does a little fistpump and it’s cute. She’s like, happy and shit? Hanging out with these badass warrior nuns. It’s cool, it’s really cool to see and JC’s genuinely happy for her.
“Nice, bro!” He lifts his hand for a high five. She swats and misses a few times but then they manage that nice thwack, the ringing sound of epic broship everywhere.
“Oh also, hey! I didn’t tell you! I can phase through walls now,” Ava says.
“Bro, you’re just making shit up now.”
“No, really, I can! Watch!” She stands up, dusts herself off, and runs at the nearest building wall. And no lie, JC almost pees his pants a little seeing her sprint at the wall like that, and he’s got himself halfway up off the ground to try and stop her when—
—she fucking disappears, man! Right through the fuckin’ wall, just like she said! He watches her left shoe disappear and then she’s gone and he lets out a whoop and jumps up and down for good measure. That! That is just! Epic, man, that’s his friend! Who he, uh, made out with and had some fun times on a ship with? Ah, but that’s sailed, bro, and it’s for the best.
She’s happy here, with these chicks who could murder him for breakfast if they wanted. 
She’s also. Been gone for a while now? Huh.
“Ava?” He says. “Dude? Can you hear through walls, too? Because if you can that’d be super cool.”
No response.
“Uh. Okay. Well, I’m going to go see if Sister Camila needs help with anything? But like, good talk, dude! Hope you have fun on the other side of the wall!”
And with that he walks off to see if there are any donuts left in the kitchen.
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blindingdutchy · 2 hours ago
lamentation | FOUR
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{peter parker x fem!reader AU}
based on All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven
word count: 3,907
warnings: angst, talk of death/tragedy, a little fluff
18+!!! minors stay away
At school the following week you were more than a little embarrassed. Peter Parker had seen you outside of school twice, and both times you'd been a crying, hysterical mess. Granted, you were a hysterical mess all the time anymore, but you usually kept that very well suppressed. Then along came Peter, and suddenly there was another person outside of your family who knew just how messed up you were.
He didn't mention it, which you were thankful for. You could see that he was concerned, though, with the way his eyes seemed to linger on you during every silence. His worry and pity only made you more resentful of the things you had shown him.
You'd shown up to school the morning after he showed up in your room, and you weren't at all surprised to see him lingering by your locker with an antsy jitter as he rocked back and forth on his feet. What had surprised you, though, was the fact that once he saw you were present he simply nodded at you and walked away. Was that his idea of a truce? An understanding?
Whatever it was, you had been thankful for it. The last thing you had wanted that morning was to talk to Peter, knowing he'd certainly want to talk about the events of the night, and you were relieved to get a little break from his constant presence. He still sat by you in classes, but he didn't pester with you his usual chatter, nor did he follow you to your locker even once.
The trend had continued for most of the week, and you had to admit you were starting to feel a little more isolated without his overbearing company. It was strange--you almost, emphasis on almost, missed him. You'd grown used to ignoring his borderline stalker-like tendencies, and now without him around to ignore, you felt lonely. Lonelier than you already had been, anyways.
At home, things were just as cold and distant. Your mother was in a slump again following your outburst at dinner, and you were beating yourself up over it endlessly. She'd been doing good, finally, and you'd just had to have gone and ruined all of her progress.
She'd been holed up in her bedroom ever since that evening. Not even your father was able to get her to let him in, and in turn he was banished to the sofa night after night. As such, you were feeling the ice from your mother and your father alike. You couldn't blame him, really, because the sofa was definitely not the most comfortable for sleeping.
It felt a little like your life was falling apart all over again since your birthday. The childish, bitter part of you wanted to blame Peter, because it would have been so easy to blame the only thing that had changed in your life, but you knew better. It was you. You were the cause for everything that was going wrong, and you didn't know how to stop it.
Why couldn't you just be better? The whole world was moving on, making progress, and yet you were stagnant. You didn't understand why you couldn't let go of all the heavy things holding you down, holding you back, but you just couldn't. Grieving her wasn't getting easier, and you didn't know how to try and make that change.
"Are you alright?"
Startled by the sudden return of Peter's voice, you jumped in your seat and blinked at him in surprise. It had been such a long week of near radio silence from him that you were shocked to be acknowledged by him, despite the fact that you'd been sitting beside him for the entirety of your Speech class. You'd almost started to wonder if maybe he was ignoring you, though you didn't exactly try to talk to him either.
Quietly, you mumbled, "Not really, but that's normal these days."
It was only then that you realized class was over, students packing up and filing out of the classroom eagerly in anticipation of the weekend. You'd been far more spaced out than you had thought--it felt like just moments ago you were sitting down and waiting for class to begin. You awkwardly began to pack up your untouched classwork and Peter did the same, neither of you quite sure what to say to the other.
Ever since she died, you had an uncanny ability to make any and every situation uncomfortable without really trying. It started with your inability to contain your emotions in response to the thousands of condolences you received over those first few days, and then the more you secluded yourself it only got worse. People looked at you strangely and whispered when they thought you couldn't hear them. They thought you were a ticking time bomb, and in a sense they were correct.
Maybe that was the reason you weren't quite as adamant about pushing Peter away as you were others. He didn't look at you that way, nor did he whisper hushed words about you that would surely make your ears burn when you overheard. Both times that he had seen you in a horrible state, he'd only looked at you with concern and worry. Not once had you seen him give you those all too familiar apprehensive stares, and you were grateful for it.
Realizing you were moving at a strangely slow pace, and Peter was anxiously waiting for you to finish, you cleared your throat and muttered, "Do you want to start the project tomorrow? Or tonight, if you're not busy."
"Um," Peter stammered, not bothering to hide his surprise at your offer, "sure. Tonight is fine if--if that's okay with you."
The two of you stared at each other in silence for a moment, neither of you quite comfortable with the sudden change in atmosphere. Zipping your backpack, you stated, "Yeah, great."
"Great!" Peter echoed, and you both turned and hurried away from each other in discomfort.
When you told your father that Peter Parker was coming over that night you weren't entirely sure what to expect. The reaction you received, however was so far off your radar it scared you a little. He'd nearly wept with joy, kissing your cheek and saying he was proud of you for making friends again, to which you retorted Peter wasn't your friend.
He could tell it was a lie, despite the fact that under normal circumstances Peter definitely wouldn't have been considered a friend. For you, now and after everything you'd been through, he was the closest thing you had to a friend, though. So, you resisted the urge to fight your father on the premise and let him run off to boast to your mother about it.
Even if you felt like you weren't making progress, it couldn't hurt to let your parents think that you were. You were trying, anyways, so you didn't feel quite as guilty about letting them read too much into things. You just hoped that they didn't get their hopes up too high, because there was still time for you to mess things up like you always did.
You spent the afternoon cleaning your room and wallowing in your anxiety. The project was something you were dreading starting, mostly because you knew it would bring up all sorts of negative memories and emotions for you, but also because you feared what Peter would think of you. Would he judge you for your opinions? Would he think you were bitter and ridiculous?
For awhile you contemplated all the ways you could try and lie to appease him, thinking of ways to keep your composure well enough to debate on behalf of superheroes. In the end, though, you knew it was impossible. Arguing against the Avengers was going to be hard enough in itself, let alone trying to pretend you were in favor of them. Was it too late to ask for an alternate assignment?
Peter Parker: hey i'm on my way
Peter Parker: if that's okay. if you're busy that's fine too
It was definitely too late to ask for an alternate assignment, and as you typed out your response you decided it was time for you to finally start trying to do better. You'd wished for things to be easier, to be better, for so long, yet you'd never put in any of the work to make it happen. It was time for that to change. You were going to do the project, fight your stance to Peter, and try your best to not ruin his opinion of you completely in the process.
You: yeah that's fine
You: my mom says you can stay for dinner
You: if you want... if not that's cool you probably have other things to do
Okay, you were definitely biting off more than you could chew. Reading over your awkward texts to Peter made you cringe in a bad way, and you felt nauseous with embarrassment. It was so, so unbelievably hard trying to be approachable after you'd spent the past year pushing everyone away. The fear of him rejecting you was sending shockwaves through your entire body, tingling your skin all the way to the tips of your toes.
To your relief, Peter responded to let you know he was okay with staying for dinner, and informed you that he was on his way. You shot off a remark about using the door this time, and then promptly threw your phone away in shame. What if he thought you were being rude instead of joking? Or worse, what if he knew you were joking and thought it was stupid? Socializing was a real drain on your energy.
By the time Peter arrived with a timid knock on your bedroom door, followed by your mother's coo, "Oh, honey, just go on in. She's never doing anything," you had successfully stressed yourself into oblivion. You were so consumed by your thoughts you almost didn't notice her throwing open your door with a beaming grin, but the sound of Peter's uncomfortable laughter snapped you out of your daze.
"Uh, hi." you squeaked, suddenly extremely self conscious of your bedroom. He'd seen it before, obviously, but this time it was actually swathed in lamp light and the evening sun. "You can sit."
Peter stood in silence, studying your room with an indecipherable look on his face for a long moment. "It's nice in here." he finally stated, dropping his backpack and letting that easy grin slip across his lips for the first time in the past week. It was incredibly relieving to see it, and you even found yourself relaxing a little.
He sat on the edge of your bed and both of you turned to your mother curiously as she continued to stand in your doorway with a tearful smile. Jumping in shock, she gasped, "Oh, right, right. I'll just be downstairs if you need anything. It was lovely to meet you, Peter."
With one last lingering gaze, your mother backed out of the room and shut the door. That was how you knew this was a special occasion in her eyes--what sane mother would ever shut her teenage daughter in a bedroom with a teenage boy willingly? It had been a long while since you'd genuinely felt embarrassed, but you couldn't help but to groan and cover your face at the whole situation.
Peter, however, seemed thoroughly amused by everything. "Your mom is a lot like my Aunt May." he mused, twinkling brown eyes trailing over every inch of your room, "Your room is huge. I think I could fit my entire bedroom in here three times and still have extra space."
"I used to share it with my sister."
He paled at your statement and stuttered, "Oh, shit, I'm so--I'm so sorry. I didn't know--"
"Peter, it's fine." you interrupted his frantic apology, and for what felt like the first time ever, you meant it.
It was fine. You didn't feel angry or bitter about the reminder of her disappearance from your life, and it was strange to you. You liked it, though, and it felt nice to talk about her without being bogged down by thousands of horrible thoughts and feelings.
Relaxing only slightly at your reassurance, Peter looked at you wearily as if he expected you to start crying or lash out at him. To his, and your own, surprise you gave a small smile. That still felt wrong; it didn't come very naturally to you anymore, but Peter seemed mesmerized by it none the less.
The sight of your permanent frown disappearing from your face gave him the confidence to move on from the uncomfortable topic, it seemed, because he grinned back and moved to unzip his backpack. "Okay, so, first thing's first--have you read the outline for the project? It's ridiculously broad and I've been struggling to think of any ideas to make our speech unique." he rambled, rifling through the crumpled mess of papers he retrieved from his bag until he finally found what he was looking for.
You slid your smooth, unwrinkled copy across the bed and asked, "Shouldn't we start with which stance we're taking?"
Peter blinked at you, and you tensed in preparation for the argument that was about to ensue. "What do you mean? I thought it was just a given that we were arguing in favor of the Avengers?" he questioned, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion, "I mean, I'm pretty sure everyone is going to."
"I wanted to argue in opposition, actually." you muttered, pursing your lips. "That could be what makes ours stand out, you know?"
His lips opened and closed like a fish for a few moments as he clearly struggled to formulate words, but eventually he sputtered, "Is that the only reason why? I don't know if I can argue against myself, considering I kind of am an Avenger."
You chewed at the inside of your cheek, already wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole. Letting Peter into your space, into your life, was already hard enough--adding conflict into the mix only made your heart rate pick up and your hands start to sweat. "I don't agree with the Avengers, no, but I have reasons. So, maybe you feel weird arguing against yourself, but I feel just as weird arguing in favor of something I don't agree with." you finally explained, and Peter's eyes widened incredulously.
"Why don't you like the Avengers?"
You nearly scoffed at the way he posed the question, as if he were asking you why you weren't a fan of a specific sports team. "I don't agree with them, there's a difference." you stated bluntly.
Peter wiped his palms on his jeans tensely, just as you did the same, and repeated, "Why, though? What's not to agree with? They--they've saved the world over and over again, isn't that impossible to not agree with?"
"At what cost, though?" you retorted, "Have you paid any mind to all the things they've destroyed? How many lives they've ended, or destroyed, in the midst of their heroic deeds?"
He seemed to get riled up by the bitter way you spat out the word heroic and scoffed, "Okay, but that doesn't just happen with the Avengers. The police do all of that and more on a much more frequent basis."
You raised your eyebrows challengingly, though you had to admit it was a fair counter argument. Clicking your tongue, you rebutted, "That's true, but at least sometimes there are consequences for that! With people like the Avengers there are no consequences. There's no justice, no opposition, nothing! They can do whatever they want, whenever they want, no matter who gets hurt in the process."
Peter stood from your bed abruptly, raking a hand through his hair and pacing around your room with red cheeks. You could tell very well that he was trying to control his temper, though he was about as intimidating as a mouse, and you took deep breathes yourself. The last thing you wanted to do was to make him angry with you, but you weren't willing to back down about how you felt.
Inhaling slowly, he turned to you once again and said, "There are consequences. Don't you remember the Sokovia Accords? That whole fiasco was because of people who felt like you do."
The Sokovia Accords were a sham in your eyes. You remembered well when they had come about, and it seemed that they had changed nothing. For awhile most of the Avengers had gone off the grid, choosing to be international fugitives rather than sign, until the world needed them again. When Thanos had tried to wipe out half of all life in the universe they'd all come out of the woodwork again to save the day, and afterward it seemed as if all was forgotten.
There was no punishment for Captain America, Black Widow, none of them. They stopped another world ending event, causing plenty of damage in the process, and in turn were regarded as godly heroes once again. You sometimes wondered if the Accords were even a thing anymore.
"They felt that way for good reason!" you snapped before clearing your throat and trying to calm down again, "The Avengers have caused just as much devastation as they've prevented, maybe even more."
Peter jumped at your loud tone and snapped back, "What would you even know about it? I see it first hand every time, remember, so I know what happens! What do you know?"
"They killed my sister, did you know that?" you shouted, and he froze in place with wide eyes and parted lips, "Yeah, you know what happens, right? Well then you should know that I know damn well the damage the Avengers can do."
He sat back down on your bed wordlessly, watching you hesitantly as you tugged at a loose thread on your blanket anxiously. "I didn't know that, (Y/N)," he sighed, "I'm really sorry."
You didn't say anything for a long while, not trusting your voice to come out steady as you tried to hold back tears and also keep your temper in line. Talking about your sister's death wasn't something you really did, mostly because you knew it would cause you to break down. It hurt too much to think of it, let alone speak the words out loud.
But, as Peter continued to watch you as if expecting you to explode, you tried your best, "It was my fault. If it weren't for me we wouldn't have been at the park, and she--and she wouldn't have had to wait for me."
Peter reached out and gripped your hand firmly in his, causing you to momentarily short circuit in shock. You internally battled the conflicting urges to pull away or cling to him, but eventually you relaxed into the contact. Gently grasping his hand back, you let out a shaky breathe you hadn't realized you'd been holding.
It was grounding having his hand in yours. You didn't feel like you were at risk of drifting away into the void like you usually did; with his hand touching you, it felt as if you had a secure connection to the world again. It was a feeling you never wanted to lose again.
"It wasn't your fault, (Y/N)," he soothed, but you shook your head stubbornly.
Your eyes burned as you continued, "It was! She wanted to go shopping but I begged her to come to the park with me instead. I wanted to take some photos, and she'd argued with me for so long until she finally caved. A little bit after we got there we heard this really loud explosion, and I just--I just froze, and I..."
The words seemed to lodge in your throat, and your voice came out hoarse as you forced them out, "I froze staring up at Iron Man blasting some alien through the air, so stupidly shocked I didn't notice the building collapsing until she pushed me out of the way. I tried to grab her, but it was too late! A bunch of bricks hit her and--"
"Hey, hey, you don't have to tell me." Peter hushed you, gripping your hand tighter and scooting so close to you that his leg was pressed up against yours. Somehow the increased contact and warmth caused you to break, and suddenly you were crying in front of Peter Parker for the third time. You were three for three on crying in his presence, a thought that made you cry harder in embarrassment.
He didn't seem to care at all, though, as he took you by surprise and hugged you. "He just flew right by us. He didn't even stop when I screamed for help." you croaked, clutching Peter's shirt tightly in your fists as he held you, "I hate them. I hate them so much because it should be their fault, but I just keep blaming myself!"
You really hoped your mother wasn't eavesdropping, because she'd surely have wanted to talk to you about everything later. In all the time that had passed since your sister's death, you hadn't once retold the events of that day. You'd never spoken a single word about it, not even to the police who questioned you following the incident.
No matter how hard your parents had urged you to talk about it, or your therapist, you hadn't ever budged. It was your burden to bear, and you had never felt the desire or the strength to impart that load unto anyone else. Peter somehow broke down all of your walls without even trying, though, and it felt like a breathe of fresh air to finally get it all off of your chest.
There was no explanation for why he seemed to get you to do all the things you swore you never would without a word. It made no sense at all, and it scared you a lot, but you liked it. You craved the connection he gave you. Already, after such a short amount of time, you needed it. It would surely have crushed you if he decided not to care.
As your crying slowly subsided, Peter rubbed your back timidly and comforted, "It wasn't your fault, (Y/N), I mean it. It was just a freak thing, and you couldn't have done anything to stop it--sometimes bad things just happen, and they're inevitable."
"But, if I had just--"
He cut you off, "No, no buts. It wasn't your fault and you couldn't have prevented it. Trust me, I know exactly how you feel, okay? It wasn't my fault, and it wasn't your fault either."
You wanted to ask him how he could possibly know what you felt, or what he meant by saying it wasn't his fault, but it wasn't the right time. Pulling away and wiping your eyes, you sniffled, "I really need to stop crying in front of you. You're like an onion, you know? I just can't stop crying when you're around me."
Peter laughed loudly at your weak joke, and you couldn't fight back the quiet giggle the escaped your lips too. You hadn't laughed, genuinely laughed, in so long. "I like your laugh," he breathed, and your stomach erupted in the strangest fluttery sensation, "I like it a lot. You should never stop laughing."
SERIEST TAGLIST {ask to be added}:
@msmimimerton @zendayasfwb @sweet-symphony
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cleoiniherit · 2 hours ago
You know I keep thinking about how Kiryu slept alone in the cold at West Park in 0. May I request a NSFW of the reader helping to keep him warm?
Kiryu only lived in the apartment above yours and you both were in the early stages of dating each other. So, when his apartment was burnt down yours was too. You saw it burn right in front of you and people around you whispered about how the yakuza were involved. In general, Kiryu was a fairly normal neighbour and he felt considerable guilt knowing his apartment burning down had affect you and your mother that you were living with at the time.
You managed to take your mother to your brother in-law’s house so she could safely stay somewhere because of how scared she was. Meanwhile, you were in Kamurocho trying to find Kiryu. On the instruction of your mother who wanted you to marry him straight away, she was devastated because initially you both thought he was home when it was burning.
“Thank god he left hours ago.” Someone exclaimed whilst watching the building burn and various people throw buckets of water at it.
“I’ve heard it’s yakuza activity.”
“Guess he wasn’t as decent as we thought.”
In Kamurocho, it was difficult to find Kiryu because he was deliberately out hiding. Through various rumours among the shadier crowd you’d heard that he was hiding in West Park, a homeless hideout. And you went to go have a proper look.
They all hesitated to see a woman roaming amongst the homeless population. Throughout the park you saw various little shacks and glimpsed through each one, eventually stopping by one near a small concrete pavement. It seemed occupied and you knew that the homeless were territorial but you opened the door nonetheless, seeing a large white figure laying on the cold floor.
Dimly lit, you faintly saw Kiryu there. Laying on the floor.
“Kazuma.” You spoke out loud, causing him to sit up and look at you.
He looked exhausted beneath the dimness, looking up at you with a tired face and somewhat dirty clothes. Immediately falling to your knees you hugged him tightly which surprised him somewhat.
“I thought you’d been killed.”
He wrapped his arms around you with a frown, eyes now closed.
Eventually you convinced him to come to a hotel where it’d be warmer. He was hesitant, he knew he was being looked for but you both used a fake name and moved as quickly as you could through the crowds of the hotel district. It was a lot warmer and at first you were going to leave but he’d convinced you to stay with him for just that night. The next morning you’d bother figure out what to do, whether you left early or Kiryu went back to the park. It rarely bothered him where he slept as long as he had somewhere to sleep, he was humble in that respect. But most people preferred a warm bed to the cold hard floor.
“He then let me stay with him.” Kiryu explained whilst drying off, having no clean clothes to change into so he stayed wrapped in his towel.
You noticed he was cold and thankfully had packed some clean clothes for him because you knew you’d find him. He changed into them swiftly and sat down on the bed with you, sighing deeply with rubbing his temples. Once again thinking of what to do the next morning.
Outside it was a dark night, the busy noise of the pleasure district below bellowing through your little square hotel room and the neon lights providing enough illumination. The lights didn’t need to be turned on. Momentarily you both felt safe beneath the cover of darkness.
“Sorry.” He apologised. “I didn’t realise I’d caused that much panic. Is your mother okay?”
In a surge you felt your anger grow because the logical part of your brain was slowly shutting down. He saw his place ablaze and left to divert any attention. He simply had no time to sit and find you to tell you what had happened, time was of the essence. Slowly you were pulled onto his lap where you were now straddling him.
“I hate you.” You whined with your eyes closed and head nuzzled into his neck.
“Hate me? I’m sorry.”
“I thought you were dead.” You repeated from earlier.
You were thankful he wasn’t so you decided to show how thankful you were. You fell to your knees on the floor as he remained sat on the edge of the bed, slowly pulling his cock out through his clean boxers and sucking it.
His eyes were closed as he used his hands to hold himself up against the bed. “Uhh.” Kiryu now grunted, gently just above a vocal tone.
The noise of gentle grunts and breathless panting filled the air along with the noise of you suckling. You were so thankful he was alive, he meant so much to you and likewise you meant so much to him. You had to show him how thankful you were, you realised life was too short and you could’ve lost him. You didn’t want that, not at all. So you sucked his dick and showed him, that would show him how thankful you were.
Using your hands he were almost nearing the edge and ready to come but a knock on the hotel door interrupted you both and you pulled away reflexively.
“Kiryu?! Open up, it’s the Dojima boys.” A large but unfamiliar voice bellowed, a crowd right behind it.
“Shit.” Kiryu whispered before tucking his cock away and scrambling with you to try and hide.
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shelby-love · 2 hours ago
Introduce Me
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Requested: yes [x]
Prompts: fluff #12 & general #30 from my prompt list
Warning(s): none
Word count: 2.3k
Author's note: Ooh, scandalous! I love it!
‘All Thing Regency’ is my guide to my Bridgerton fics. Every new regency word/expression in this one shot (and past/future ones too) is linked to that masterpost, so you don’t have to google them! If a word is highlighted, but not linked that means the word can be found in the guide, only under the name of a different fic!
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The passing of minutes grew stronger the longer you stood in your place. Deep among the outskirts of the mass of the ton were you, hanging to a mother's arm, rethinking every choice you had made during your lifetime.
Words flew into one ear and came out the other, and more than ever you found yourself not up to date with a simple conversation. The whispers were muted, laced with gossip, and yet they did nothing to draw your attention toward them.
Your older sister was the loudest of the whisperers. She had long given hope of remarrying, and instead embraced the life of a Dowager Countess. Her hobby was therefore: gossip. And rightly so. She took it on with full force of her being.  
"See sister," Rosemary suddenly spoke into your ear, her breath fanning your cheek enough to bring you out of your thoughts. "Lord Stringfellow if quite the catch. Or so I have heard."
"Stringfellow?" You repeated, "He sounds quite unpropitious, don't you agree?"
"Perhaps," the widow drew solemnly, suddenly deep in thought. "Perhaps you're right sister."
You almost exhaled in relief.
Her voice was once again drowned by the crowd, and you looked around the grand ballroom, your eyes dropping from the array of candles to the chalked floor. The full moon was high in the air, and invitees seemed to be arriving every new minute.
A sudden wave of murmuring ladies, whispering the last name Bridgerton had spiked your interest. You turned to your sister, squashed between your mother and her, attempting to look over her shoulder.
"Y/N!" She hissed, quietly yet firmly. Her glittering eyes scanned the crowd, as if she feared people had seen the way you stood on your toes, craning your neck and exposing more than advised.
"I—" You tried to say something, yet the only thing your voice had produced was a high-pitched squeal.
He's here!
"Lord Bridgerton is here!"
The narrowing of her brows eased, and a new sense of sereness seemed to wash over her. She threw one look toward his way and became the only woman not interested in marrying him. "Mama."
"Yes, dear?"
You looked between the two women; one a widowed Countess, just over the spinster age of 25, and the other one a graying baroness who fought the grays of her hair the same way her eldest son was fighting war.
"I believe," Rose commenced, "we ought to introduce our Y/N to the Viscount."
If roses could speak, they would sound like your sister. She demanded elegance, screamed power and spoke opulence. She was her title through and through.
And your mother melted at her words.
The woman nodded eagerly, and you felt sweat form in your hair. Your neck was flushed no doubt and your décolleté was now more visible than ever.
You should probably calm your breathing.
"Viscount Bridgerton?" Your mother retold what she had heard with hearts in her eyes. She looked you over once, noticing (with glee) how your gown was a perfect match in color to the rake's cravat.
"Is there any other?" Rosemary asked. "But mother, they have yet to be introduced…"
Your sister's words died when a familiar pair of molten brown eyes caught your own. Her talks of how your mother was not to, under any circumstance, allowed to prevent his wish to introduce himself quickly evaporated. You could feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise. The air changed, grew heavier and warm. Heart racing, you thought he was walking toward you.
He was not.
Anthony's lips curled into a half-smile as he surrounded himself with his mother and two brothers, floating gracefully to a different end of the ballroom. He stood straight and proud, and you found yourself wanting to mimic him.
Your mother glimpsed at you, but you didn't notice. "Is that true Y/N?"
Lie. Lie. Lie! "Yes mama."
She looked you over and nodded. "Do what you must do Rose."
Ah, yes. The hostess of this ball is your sister's great friend. (Explanation in the guide: x)
As your sister scurried away, without even realizing it, the dancefloor was wiped clean, readied to be attacked by a new set of speeding dancers.
You could see your sister talk promptly to the hostess; both their gazes directed to the Viscount. There was jubilation all around them, and your sister appeared to be ready to reserve a church at any given moment.
Soon, your sister's friend was floating through the mass with poise, and you watched as she placed herself into the small circle. No one could deny her of that privilege, as this was her home and ballroom. Not even the mighty Bridgertons had the power to shoo away the hostess at her own ball.
Once again, you felt his dark eyes on your body, and it took every fiber in your body to pretend not to know that man. His touches, his mouth…
The sinful things he did to you while everyone around you thought you didn't know each other.
Just as Anthony began walking through the crowd toward you, with the hostess on his arm, did a fine lord emerge from the crowd. A small, soundless gasp escaped your mother and you immediately reached for you dance card that was tied prettily to your wrist. "Lord Arkwright…"
"Go," your mother said with sudden vehemence, but you could see the flash of irritation within her eyes. She had lost the perfect opportunity. "Lord Bridgerton will have to wait."
But you didn't want him to wait… "Go dance with the gentleman, my love."
And so, you did. With a heavy heart!
You couldn't keep your eyes off the Viscount even as you were led toward the dancefloor. Another man's arm was around yours and Anthony's jaw locked in place. There was an unspoken exchange between you, a heated promise that he would stand there and wait for you until you came, and he introduced himself.
Despite not needing that.
An hour later, you were safely tucked back into your mother's awaiting arms. Not quite awaiting, you seemed to realize, as you watched her chat idly with Violet Bridgerton. Both women wore sparkling smiles and dazzling eyes as they looked at the hostess, a beautiful blonde who carried the title of a young Viscountess. Her eyes were an emerald green, a vibrant contrast against her striking gown. Poppy is her name, or at least that's what your sister calls her.
No! Calliope! That's her name.
You made a mental reminder to remember.
At almost two heads taller stood the Viscount. Both of his brothers were set off into the night, making most of the ball, leaving the eldest to fend for himself.  
"Lady Wright," you greeted politely, coming down into a pretty curtsy.
She beamed; her bright eyes intense as she took you in. "Please Y/N. Calliope."
Yeah right. Like you knew how to pronounce it.
You gave her a tight-lipped smile that didn't go unnoticed by the rake. A sound, one that shared similarities with a stifled laugh, poured out of his mouth, and Anthony fought hard to mask it as a cough.
You felt your cheeks burn up, but you managed to politely greet the Dowager Viscountess. "Miss Y/LN," said Calliope, bringing both Anthony and you out of your trance. He straightened up immediately, your eyes widened. "I must present to you Lord Anthony Bridgerton, Viscount Bridgerton. Lord Bridgerton, Miss Y/N Y/LN. I believe you have already been well acquainted with her sister, the Dowager Countess of Dorset." (Introduction rules: x)
"Indeed," Anthony nodded, his lips curling.
"Lord Bridgerton," you said, performing a short, quite awkward curtsy. "It is a delight to make your acquaintance."
Your mother's eyes screamed Now go dance and get married!!!
You could almost hear the wedding bells ringing in your ears. "You're not engaged for this dance, are you, Miss Y/LN?"
Calliope and your mother both glanced somewhere around the crowd, searching, without a doubt, for Rose so they could telepathically inform her of the best news. "Of course not, my Lord."
You handed him your dance card on pure instinct. Like it was drilled into your brain. The action seemed very marionette like.
Anthony's hands lingered around your wrist, and electricity shot up your arm. Not being able to feel his touch was pure torture.
"I," you began after he took a respective step back. The girls in the small, enclosed circle were looking at you fondly. "I think I should like to go to the dressing room. My dress seems to be in a need for a fashion remedy."
Now for the big part. Your heartbeat quickened, and you still felt nervous despite knowing he could not resist you even if he wasn't involved with you. "Could you, perhaps, escort me, Lord Bridgerton?"
Your mother nodded proudly. Violet, who stood next to her, also nodded in similar delight.
"Of course," he smiled, extending his right arm. His attire was rough against your soft skin, and your body greeted every taut muscle with familiarity. As he led you out of the crammed room. The trail of whispers was without a doubt started by your sister.
You could almost see the front page of Whistledown's column greeting you like shimmering diamonds.
There was nothing to fix. Your dress was implacable. Not a crease on it, not a rip on it. Nothing.
It was all a play. A mean to divert unwanted attention.
So, you could be alone.
Your back hit the wall of the magnificent hallway gently, and a bigger body came over you, shielding your eyes from the view of the paintings. Anthony's hand was perched on your waist, perfectly cupping the curve of your body through a dress that was meant to hide it. No gentleman would know where to place his hands without your help. Only the one who you had truly let in would know where to look. Where to touch.
Anthony felt at home.
"I thought you wouldn't," you said in between soft groans. The Viscount's knowing mouth was roaming on all sides of your neck enough to keep you breathless and free of any taint. You took his face in your hands, bringing his dark eyes to meet yours. Anthony looked at you through a fringe of chestnut hair, eyes momentarily darting to the fallen sleeve of your dress. He leaned in and kissed the spot, marking it with his wicked mouth, but you brought him back up. "I—I thought you wouldn't come…"
"For you," he whispered, hand cupping your flushed cheek. "Anything."
It took a glance at your wanting lips to have him tasting you again. His powerful mouth explored your own, not a moment of hesitation in him. You stopped breathing, the full force of his kissable lips hitting you until you shuddered all over. Anthony followed your lead, his solid chest against your own. You didn't fit like a puzzle; it was quite the opposite. You were curvy, with dips and unevenness, shaped like a woman. He was rock solid, not a dent in his muscled form. Yet somehow, the fact didn't stop you from becoming a tangled mess of bodies, clawing for closeness with each tug.
He parted your lips, you stopped breathing, pressed yourself against him and delved your fingers into his unruly hair. You sparked alive, heart near bursting.
After months of hiding, building tension, it felt right to let go. And it was worth it.
You wanted more.
"Oi! Bagwell!"
You pushed him off instantly, alarm sparkling in your eyes. Your chest became heated with anxiety when you heard foreign voices, and what was a pleasurable encounter quickly twisted into a sinful act you didn't want to repeat. There was danger lurking in the halls, gentlemen who'd have your heads for what you were doing.
You touched your lips, feeling how swollen they were as your chest grew and fell as if you ran miles. You could only hope he didn't demolish them but seeing how you pulsed—it was unlikely.
Anthony seized your wrist, your dance card yapping around. His mouth was an inch away from your face. He looked like he wanted to kiss you, but his lips parted in a way that suggested anything but that. "Run."
You looked over your body, pulling your fallen chemise over your shoulder. "Whatever do you mean by…run?"  
Shockingly, you listened.
You turned tail and ran through the halls, feeling as if you were at the front lines of a battle. It was every woman for herself now. Your silky shoes were silent against the marble floors, and it looked like you were running on clouds. Sound wise, that’s how it looked. You unquestionably didn't feel like you were running on clouds.
Suddenly, after two swipes at the corridoes, arms were around your waist, your feet were no longer firmly planted on the ground. You almost screamed, but a deep voice cut you off. "Not so fast, love."
"A—Anthony?" You asked, once back down. Turning around immediately was your reaction. "It's you!"
The fear of being caught quickly passed. You threw your arms around him, holding tightly until you felt his own arms wrap around you. Anthony held onto you like he never planned on letting go. "Thank heavens!"
"Yes," he replied in your hair. "Thank them."
"Did they see us?"
Your face were in his hands, and his thumbs graced your cheeks that were now puffy from running. Just for taming his fire, he grazed your swollen lip with his thumb. "No. Do not worry. I believe we have lost them."
You managed to exhale in relief once before he kissed you soundlessly. The kiss wasn't as passionate, but it was toe curling nevertheless. "Let's get you inside, hm?"
You stopped him from leaving when you placed your hand on his, "I don't want to do this any longer Anthony."
"What?" His expression was hurtful. "Why?"
"I—I'm scared," you admitted. "This can happen again. If it does people—"
"I'm going to marry you."
His words were like a splash of cold water in your face. You barely caught on.
"Trust me," Anthony said. His face was an inch away. You could feel his breath on your skin.
Enchanted, you replied quietly. "I trust you."
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bookishofalder · 2 hours ago
Summary: Hotch jumps in front of a bullet for you. The pieces fall together.
Warnings: Mild violence, language, Spencer Reid being sweet, smut—fingering, PiV, praise kink, daddy kink (pretty mild). WC—+8.3k
A/N: And here we have it, another oneshot that reveals my desire for men twice my age. Sigh.
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You told yourself it was a quirk—like Reid with his obsession with Dr. Who or Penelope with her love of steamy romance novels. You just loved a good high-stakes raid; sure, if it could be avoided you weren’t bothered, but if it was necessary—well, the rush of adrenaline during the preparation, the intense focus that settled over you when you climbed out of the SUV, you were a sucker for it all.
When you first joined the BAU it was the quickest way for you to prove yourself to your new teammates, impressing even Derek Morgan when you wrangled a man twice your size to the ground and had him in cuffs before your colleagues could assist. Once you had established trust with the team, you were able to fill your role more effectively as the expert on tracking and capturing suspects. Drawing up unique plans for each case once the person was identified and then working with your boss, Aaron Hotchner, to ensure they were organized and followed.
You had been in this role for just over two years now and the BAU was basically your family; Spencer was your best friend—you spent most of your social time outside of work with him, usually at his place or the bookstore nearby. You did girls’ nights with JJ, Emily and Penelope, some of which got so wonderfully out of hand that Spencer would pick you up, then tease you endlessly for the next few days as you suffered through a hangover. You liked training with Derek because he pushed you, made sure you worked your ass off whether it was for recertification or just a workout, and he had a calm way of talking about life, often giving you wise advice like whether you should invest in a condo as a rental unit (you did and it worked out amazingly), or if you should give in to JJ’s desire to set you up with a cop friend of Will’s.
That advice you...had not taken. He told you to go for it, that saying yes to a date one time didn’t mean you were obligated to do more than that even if the date went well. The problem was—and you’d never admit this to Derek—that you were already sort of head over heels for someone. The idea of going on a date when you just knew you’d be spending the entire time imagining, wishing it were, a different person across the table from you just didn’t feel right or fair.
So you’d told JJ no thank you. That had been over a year ago and you were in no different of a place in your life, still pining for a man you couldn’t have and whining about it over Ben and Jerry’s during movie nights at Spencer’s, the only person who knew your secret. He was such a good friend that he never stopped you from the inevitable venting that happened every month, usually after a case that had you working closely with the man in question for a few days too long. After being holed up together in a conference room planning and theorizing and then always, always pairing together in the field. You made it up to Spencer by making sure he was never interrupted while in the middle of a ramble unless he got too far off-topic.
Being in love with Aaron Hotchner was no way to live, yet you simply couldn’t help yourself. You didn’t care about the age gap, nor did you mind that he had a child; you adored Jack. But you knew that those would be barriers for Hotch, and you’d seen the last two women he’d dated. They were nearer to his age, soft and sweet and nothing like you at all. It didn’t matter that his relationships didn’t last long, you still gleaned enough information from their brief existence to understand that he wasn’t looking to date another agent, let alone his own, younger, subordinate.
When you had first started with the team, you had wondered if Hotch disliked you. You often found yourself going to Rossi; the warm veteran Profiler always had his door open for you and made sure your onboarding and first few months with the team were smooth and comfortable. It wasn’t that Hotch was rude or cold, it was more like he was wary of you—he would only make brief eye contact, take measured steps away if you happened to be standing near him, and a few times he’d seen the empty seat next to you on the jet and ended up spinning on the spot to take the lone seat at the rear of the cabin, then stand awkwardly if he needed to address the team at any point during the flight.
You tried not to read into it too much but made the mistake of mentioning it to Spencer one movie night. He’d nodded vigorously as you’d spoken and then agreed, saying he’d noticed the odd behaviour as well.
Things were like that until a case in Texas where you saved Hotch’s life.
You remembered that in the moment what you were doing didn’t feel very heroic or grand. It felt terrifying; you had breached a small cabin together on the back of a property where the rest of the team was turning over the main house after having arrested the main suspect. Hotch had gone in ahead of you, standard formation, and at first, it seemed routine and easy.
It was the ease that made the hairs on the back of your neck raise as a chill ran down your spine.
You credited spending so much time with Derek the weeks before learning about his expertise in explosives for how you were able to recognize something was off. You had halted in your tracks and told Hotch to stop and he’d glanced at you uncertainly, stilling nonetheless, and watched you as you stared around the sparse, open room. The spike in adrenaline running through you tipped you over the edge, engaged your fight or flight instincts. You think the only reason Hotch didn’t move or speak was due to the expression on your face, that he realized you were sensing something he wasn’t, and you were grateful for just how good of a profiler, a boss, that he was.
It had clicked as you heard the slow squeak of the cabin’s rickety door falling closed behind you—it had been easy to open, the hinges oiled, so why was it closing slowly and making noise? It was then that you had jumped backward, stopping the door and at the same time you had gripped the back of Hotch’s vest and tugged hard, screaming for him to retreat and he had listened, hurrying to follow you. He’d watched as you grabbed a log off the stack of firewood set just outside the cabin door, taking care to leave it propped opened and unmoving.
You had called for Morgan through the comms while rushing away from the cabin with Hotch. He was regarding you with an expression you never did understand. It was thanks to your quick thinking that you and Hotch weren’t blown to bits. The Bomb Squad had verified the door had been rigged to set off an explosion once it closed behind you.
After that day, that case, Hotch treated you differently. He was warmer, seemed to be more comfortable sitting nearer to you and holding conversations that went beyond the workplace. And in the field, you knew you’d earned his trust and he was arguably the most difficult person to win over; for good reason as he was the Unit Chief.
That trust in you had grown over these past two years working together. It had lead to a friendly relationship that went beyond the workplace, which did nothing to help with your feelings. It was usually a group setting; a party at Rossi’s or a birthday celebration at a nice restaurant. But Hotch would still spend a lot of time talking with you, always made a point of wishing you goodnight warmly when he inevitably ended up leaving first to get home to Jack. Sometimes you swore there was something else he wanted to say to you in those brief moments when he would give you a light hug, but he never did. You convinced yourself it was just your imagination.
And speaking of his son, you had met Jack more than a few times—in fact, Jack often texted you when he had a homework question that he knew his dad would pull his hair out trying to assist with (seriously, Hotch was no good with English or drama, it made you laugh), or once even to tell you he’d been broken up with (that had been a fun one to read to Hotch, who’d expressed that a fifth grader shouldn’t even have a girlfriend and you’d had to break to Hotch that kids grew up too fast for their own good). You were also the third emergency contact for Jack at his school and with any camps or sports he played, but that was because you had the lightest schedule of everyone else on the BAU team, being a homebody. That was all.
Hotch trusted you, with his life, with his sons' life—which was why you were so confused at this very moment.
The world was sideways because he had tackled you.
The unsub you had both been chasing had sprung out from behind a dumpster with a firearm neither of you was aware he’d carried pointed directly at your chest, screaming for you to halt. You were one of the quickest shots on the team, though, and considering his aim was right at your bullet-proof vest, you didn’t even flinch when you’d aimed and pulled the trigger.
Only, Hotch had jumped in front of you at the last possible moment. For one horrifying second, you thought you might shoot him but just managed to jerk the gun higher, the shot going over his outstretched arm; instead of blasting into the suspect's arm as you had intended, it pierced through his skull.
He hit the ground before you did.
Though you weren’t far behind, and fuck you were confused. One moment things were going what you would label ‘standard’ for this type of run or die suspect. Hotch had stopped next to you, joining you in telling the man to lower his weapon-and then all of the sudden he was grabbing you, twisting his body in front of yours. It was the impact to his vest that made you realize the suspect had gotten off a shot as well.
You slammed to the ground with Hotch’s full weight over you, heard him grunt in pain when your head cracked off the concrete because his hand was wrapped protectively around your head—the cracking sound was his hand, rather than your skull. Before you could do more than gasp in surprise, his weight sagged onto you and all the air left your lungs as Hotch crushed you unexpectedly.
You looked down in panic to see Hotch slumped, limp against you, his head on the front of your vest and eyes closed, the pain from the impact of the bullet on his vest having knocked him out cold. You whimpered as you struggled fruitlessly to move him, your mind reeling over what had just happened.
Hotch was a field pro, always calm and calculated and precise. He never fumbled, and yet here he had just taken a very big risk to block a shot aimed at you. You didn’t have the strength to lift him and one of your arms was trapped between your bodies, so you pulled in as much air as you could and reached for his face with your free hand, dropping your gun next to you.
“HOTCH! Jesus—fucking, Hotch wake up!” You screamed, patting his cheek desperately, relief beginning to build as you saw his eyes moving under the lids before they snapped open and you moaned aloud, “Oh god, Hotch are you okay?”
He groaned in pain before lifting his head and meeting your worried gaze with wide eyes, “S-shit, Happy, are you alright?” He gasped, surprising you further by using the nickname you’d been dubbed with by the team because you were always smiling, always quick to laugh. He never called you that in the field. The hand he had under your head curled into your hair as he gazed at you in panic mirroring your own.
You gawked up at him, his face just inches from your own, “Hotch, what the fuck—I’m fine, you just, just,” There was a hysterical note in your voice, “You jumped in front of me! What the hell were you thinking?”
You saw it in his eyes at that moment, his body tensing at your exclamation but his face revealing the surprise, the shock at his actions. Like he hadn’t been thinking at all, but rather reacting. A mixture of emotions crossed his face before he schooled his features to neutral, but you were too worked up to understand any of them. You saw enough, you read what he wasn’t saying out loud—that he’d reacted on instinct, without thought.
He grunted as he adjusted his body and you hoped he hadn’t broken a rib, before he lifted his weight off of you carefully so that he was on all fours above you, the hand cradling your head pulling gently to help you sit up. You were sucking big breaths into your now weightless lungs and came to rest on your elbows, glaring up at him. Hotch barked into his radio to call for the team, his eyes on you with a burning intensity that made your stomach turn over.
Once Morgan confirmed they were coming to your location, Hotch released his hold on your head and surveyed you as if seeking out injuries. “He—I thought he had aimed higher,” He supplied rather lamely, not meeting your eyes. You narrowed yours at him, your adrenaline still pumping, and out of nowhere, it hit you that he had been protecting you, that he was currently acting completely out of character because he was afraid.
Afraid you were going to put it all together.
It was all casual touches, mild flirtatious banter-coffees on your desk in the mornings working at Quantico or passed from his warm hand to yours in the mornings in the hotel lobby’s when on a case. And then every moment together over the last year began to replay in your mind in quick succession. Something about your expression must have given away how you were connecting the dots because he was watching you now like he was witnessing a car accident.
Just last month, you recalled, he had lost his temper on a bartender that had, not knowing you were FBI agents undercover, tried to cop a feel as you passed him in a hallway that led to the main dance floor of the club. Hotch had thrown him into the wall and growled at him not to touch you, before turning to you as the bartender scrambled away and gently touching your arm, his eyes softening as he asked if you were alright.
And back during early spring last year, when you were walking with a search party together on a missing woman case in Denver and tripped over a root in the dense brush. You had gasped and Hotch had caught you so quickly you remembered thinking he must have already been watching you, his hand grasping the back of your jacket and hauling you back up before you could hit the ground. He had brushed some locks of hair that had fallen forward over your shoulder before looking away quickly and setting off to continue searching.
And the most recent memory, just last month at Rossi’s annual Christmas party. You had been sitting with Spencer at the kitchen island, listening to your genius best friend as he rambled off facts about why Christmas trees became a thing when you saw from over his shoulder as Hotch slipped quietly out the doors to the patio area, alone. Something inside you had driven you to excuse yourself, jerking your head toward the windows you could see Hotch through, and Spencer had smirked knowingly before you walked away.
You slipped outside into the cool night and Hotch hadn’t seemed to even notice, his arms resting on the balcony railing as he gazed out into the dark, deep in thought. When you leaned your back against the railing to stand next to him, he’d started slightly before shooting you a little smirk you’d grown to adore. It was something he did only with you and every time it sent butterflies through your stomach.
“Hi, Happy,” He had looked away as he’d spoken, back out at the night sky.
You had smiled up at him, “You may need to dip into more of Garcia’s very alcoholic egg nog if you’re feeling short of Christmas spirit,” He had chuckled at that, a sound that shot heat through you and ensured you didn’t feel the chill in the air, “I only had one glass and I feel it.”
You’d been kidding, though it had been pretty strong. But the way Hotch had glanced back down at you, that brief flash of concern as he searched your face, it had surprised you. “Are you feeling alright?”
“That’s what I was going to ask you, actually.”
Hotch blinked a few times, then sighed, “I am,” His eyes were so warm, you remember thinking. “I just have trouble turning off my brain sometimes.” He’d admitted a little shyly, looking away again.
You’d reacted on instinct, your hand sliding across the railing to lay over his own comfortingly. You looked towards the windows, seeing your friends inside all laughing and cheerful, and ignored how Hotch had stiffened in surprise next to you—he could pull his hand away if he wanted to.
“You want me to help sneak you out?”
His hand turned over beneath yours, twisting to capture it in a soft hold, and you had tilted your head to peer up at him, those warm eyes gazing at you with a sudden intensity you couldn’t understand. “No, I don’t want to leave yet.”
Struggling to quell the sudden nerves within, you’d looked away before replying, “I can’t always quiet mine down either. And I have considerably less trauma in my life compared to you,” You tacked on the joke, relieved when he’d laughed fully, his deep baritone cutting through the air in a rush of joy that made your heart thud hard against your rib cage.
“You have, uh,” He broke off, still laughing, and his hand squeezed yours again, “A real way with words, honey.”
Honey. You had liked that.
At what point in the last year had you fully convinced yourself he could never feel anything toward you like you did for him? Because as you laid there on the concrete it seemed almost glaringly obvious how wrong you were. You had thought all of those moments, most little and some a bit more were just signs of a close friendship, respect for one another as both Agents and individuals. It made you work better together, you’d thought, until right now.
Before you could say anything or even think of what the hell to say to him, voices and heavy footfalls filled the alley. Hotch was looking to your team and had lifted himself completely away from you.
Spencer was the first to grab you and pull you to your feet, his features twisted in concern.
“You okay, Happy?” He asked, smoothing back your hair as his eyes roved over your body to assess the damage-or, lack thereof.
You nodded, giving him a tight smile, “I’m fine Spence. Had to take him out though, he had a gun.” You jerked your chin in the direction of the dead suspect—Emily and Derek were already standing over the man, while Rossi was helping Aaron to his feet, leading him toward the street to the paramedics for assessment.
Spencer hugged you, a rare thing for him to do, “We heard the shots, thought you—I’m so relieved you’re alright,” You smiled up at him reassuringly when he pulled back, “Let’s go see the medics.”
“Oh, no need,” You grumbled, giving him a look the silenced any argument he might have otherwise made. With a careful shrug, Spencer led you from the alley with a hand at your back. He made you sit on a nearby bench within the blocked-off area for the investigation.
“So,” Spencer began, taking a seat next to you and fixing those kind eyes on you, “What happened? You’re angry.”
He knew you too well, you thought, shrugging and glancing away so that he couldn’t read you. Your eyes landed on the ambulance; Hotch was being given a once over and you found him glaring hard at the ground as he sat silently for the paramedic. Rossi was sitting next to him with a knowing expression on his face.
The anger and confusion you were feeling intensified as you replayed everything that had just occurred. Your boss had just broken basic protocol to jump in front of a fucking bullet for you, shoved you hard to ensure he caught the hit and then went so far as to protect your head when you hit the ground.
You could have shot the suspect in the shoulder, but Hotch prioritized you the moment he saw the man's gun.
You’d always had such high regard for Aaron Hotchner, even before you developed feelings for the older man. He was a storm, a man who could as easily and swiftly shift from calm and cool to harsh and powerful depending on what the situation warranted in the field and it had always impressed you. Today, he had quite literally taken your breath away but at the cost of his safety and the suspect's capture.
You were stunned.
Spencer was silent next to you, no doubt understanding from where you were looking that you weren’t going to elaborate. He knew you preferred to speak about personal matters outside of work, and being the amazing friend that he was he didn’t pressure you. A comforting arm did land around your shoulders, which you leaned into gratefully.
You weren’t sure how long you were glaring over at Hotch, but eventually, the paramedic moved away and he glanced up, his eyes finding yours. For a brief moment, he merely stared at you, though his gaze tightened after a beat as if he were annoyed.
That did it.
Without a word to Spence, you abruptly shot off the bench and stormed across the sidewalk and onto the partially cordoned-off road. A flash of understanding crossed his face and he glanced over to Rossi, speaking something quietly to him. Rossi nodded before stepping away, leaving you alone with Hotch by the time you were standing right in front of him where he sat at the back of the ambulance.
He was so much taller than you that standing before him you were only given a slight advantage now, but you allowed the fact that you were looking down your nose at him to encourage you. “Seriously, what the hell were you thinking, Hotch?” You hissed, crossing your arms.
His expression still dark, Hotch met your gaze without faltering, “I reacted out of instinct, Agent—something that we’ve all done before. I prioritized your safety over that of the suspects.”
“You mean over your own safety, Hotch!” You stepped closer, your arms squeezing your torso so that you didn’t reach out and shake him, “We both know his shot wasn’t high. It would have hit my vest. It’s happened before, I can handle it.”
Hotch sighed, running a hand through his hair in a rare display of agitation, though his stern voice didn’t waver as he replied. “I know that you can handle it, Agent. Nonetheless, what’s done is done and I won’t apologize for—”
He broke off when you leaned down so that your face was directly in front of his, your voice coming out choked as your fury reached its peak. “Don’t call me agent, Aaron, not when we both know you aren’t being honest about what that was about.” You didn’t even care that he was your boss at that moment, just like he hadn’t been thinking of you just as one of his agents back in the alley.
You spun away then, your eyes pricking with tears you desperately blinked back. When you looked around, you saw Spencer standing by one of the SUV’s and you made your way over to him. When he saw you coming, his expression fell at the pinched look on your face and he surprised you by pulling you in for another hug when you reached him.
If you had looked back at Hotch, you would have seen the pained expression flicker across his face as he watched you go to Spencer for the comfort he wished so badly he could have given you. You would have seen the way his hands clenched, his jaw ticking as he held himself back from following you, a mixed look of longing and jealousy burning in his dark eyes.
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It was a late departure from the airport that night, the team arriving at the jet well past midnight with heavy eyes, all unusually quiet. The fact that it was also a long flight made you want to cry—you could never sleep on the jet. You weren’t sure why exactly, it was as though you were cursed, you were incapable of falling asleep when on any kind of airplane. And you weren’t afraid to fly, quite the contrary you enjoyed it, even found the cabin of the BAU jet to be one of your favourite places. Regardless, as everyone else settled in with headphones or earplugs, reclining their seats, or in Spencer’s case stretching out on the couch to fall asleep, you sat alone at the back of the plane with your legs curled up on the seat, gazing out the window.
You had your headphones on, though they weren’t connected to your phone. You had gone through the motions when you first sat down, but then gazed at the Spotify app on your phone and went blank, unable to decide if you wanted to listen to music or a podcast, your brain too tired and distracted. You pocketed your phone without selecting anything, then rested your head on your hand against the wall and stared out the window.
You hadn’t even looked at Hotch since walking away from him earlier, though you think you felt his gaze on you at times as you’d wrapped up on the scene and later when you’d climbed out of the SUV to clear the security at the airport. You had determinedly avoided him as best you could, fearing what you’d see on his face if you did look. Anger, disappointment, or worse—nothing at all.
It was maybe an hour later, the cabin dark and silent, that you shifted in your seat and realized you needed to pee. You stood slowly, pulling off your headphones and dropping them onto the seat, and then slipped through to the bathroom. When you were standing at the sink washing your hands, you felt a fresh wave of exhaustion roll through you and closed your eyes, resting them as you dried your hands. You kept them closed as you took a moment to breathe and then opened the door.
When you stepped out into the small galley area that was the rear of the plane, divided by only a curtain from the cabin area, you walked directly into something solid and your eyes flew open in surprise. Hotch’s large hands grabbed your arms to steady you when you bounced off of his chest, releasing you just as quickly once he’d ensured you weren’t going to fall.
“Wha—” Your mouth snapped shut at the expression on his face; it was torn, as though he weren’t certain he should be standing so close to you, yet unable to move away. Your eyes flicked down, noting how dishevelled he looked at that moment—his tie gone, shirt partially unbuttoned, hair messy enough that you knew he was running his hands through it.
For a long minute, he didn’t speak, he just stared at you, yet the air around you felt suddenly thick with tension you couldn’t help but shift nervously, your lower lip drawing between your teeth.
Hotch’s eyes were on your lips before he glanced away from you entirely, his eyes closing as if he were attempting to draw strength or patience. Words failed you because you had no idea what he wanted, what he was doing back here. You thought he had been asleep like the others in the seat across from Rossi, that he had been happy to let you ignore him.
He took a deep breath, “We should talk.” He murmured, eyes on you again and you nodded, nervous under his intense gaze. “I need to apologize to you. What I did today...I realized in after that it was the first time in a while where we’ve been in such a close call like that, where one well-placed shot would—well,” He paused, his pinched brow and dark eyes saying what he couldn’t so much in words, “It’s not an excuse, for my behaviour. But I—I feel, protective, of you. It’s not professional, or fair, or a reflection of any distrust in your capabilities.”
Stunned as you were at his honesty, at how much he was sharing, you couldn’t help but frown, “Hotch, you scared the hell out of me,” You whispered, needing him to understand how worried you had been, “Do you think you’re the only one who doesn’t want to see someone they care about get hurt? Not to mention if there had been any witnesses, then you’d be getting in a lot of trouble for breaking protocol like that!” Unable to raise your voice, you punctuated your words by prodding his shoulder and shooting him your best glare.
He looked away, his eyes landing somewhere over your head as he seemed to consider your words. When he started to nod, his eyes fell back to meet yours and you finally saw a glimpse past that stern exterior, a brief window to his vulnerability and fear and...there was something there you didn’t understand, but it made your legs a little weaker.
“I shouldn’t—fuck,” Hotch crowded you then, quietly pushing you back into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him as he stood against you in the small, dimly lit space. Your breath caught in surprise when his hands suddenly came up to cup your cheeks gingerly, and you could see the colour rise from his neck as he struggled with himself, “I thought I could get past this. I—It’s inappropriate. It’s unfair to you, but I can’t seem to fight it anymore. Fight how I feel about—”
You felt all the air in your lungs evaporate as you realized what he was saying. With a burst of confidence you reached your hands up to take hold of Hotch by the front of his suit jacket, your voice a steady whisper as you breathed out, “I don’t want you to fight it anymore, Aaron,” He stiffened, pulling in a sharp breath as you sighed softly, “Please don’t fight it.”
And then you tilted your head, pushed up to your tiptoes, and captured his soft lips against yours in a passionate kiss.
You kept it light and brief, pulling back only slightly to meet his gaze after a minute. At first, he merely stood frozen before you, processing what had just happened. You were both keenly aware of the lines you’d both just crossed, at what was at stake, and you didn’t mind waiting for him. His eyebrows had risen high on his forehead as he gazed at you in wonder, and you had to resist the urge as you looked into his warm ochre eyes to tell him that he was beautiful.
When Hotch finally spoke, his voice shook more than you’d ever heard before, “Please know—you don’t have to pretend, I...this is so inappropriate of me and I promise you don’t have to even say—”
“Hotch,” You interjected, tugging him a little closer, “I feel the same, I really do.”
You turned your head to try and kiss along his jaw, only one of Hotch’s hands shot up and stopped you, gripping your chin, then pushing into your hair. You watched him take a steadying breath, your heart threatening to burst from your chest, and then he was everywhere—his lips on yours, his broad, muscular body pressing you into the sink counter, his other hand now trailing softly up your neck. It was almost frantic, and you matched his energy swiftly, each of you putting what you couldn’t say in words right now into the kiss.
Reaching up between your bodies, you slid your hands over his wide shoulders before pushing them into his short hair and pressing him harder against you, your tongues now dancing together as you each deepened the kiss. You were desperate for more, the heat in your belly settling low and you felt wetness pool between your thighs as Aaron Hotchner kissed the living hell out of you in the bathroom of the BAU jet.
You each pulled back at the same time, your bodies still tightly wound together, and gazed into each other’s eyes as you panted. You broke the silence first, giving a little laugh, “We sure picked the worst possible location to do this.”
Hotch chuckled, the smile that spread over his face so beautiful you felt your heart stutter in your chest. He brought the thumb of the hand on your chin to brush over your lips, “I’ve been wanting to do that for quite some time, honey,” His voice was low, the timbre of it sending heat through your veins, “I’m sorry I didn’t do it in a better location, though.” He added, laughing again.
“Don’t apologize, Hotch,” You murmured, smiling up at him, “This was perfect, I just...wish we could talk more somewhere comfortable.”
He nodded in understanding, then pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, “We should go and get some sleep, and when we land I’ll take you for coffee anywhere you want to go and we can figure this out.”
You leaned back and gave him a sheepish smile, “Hotch I...I’ve never been able to sleep on airplanes. I might be dead on my feet by the time we land,” You admitted somewhat regretfully, “And if I’m honest, I’m a little too worked up right now to even try.” Hotch’s grip on you tightened slightly at your words, his eyes now searching your face with a mixture of curiosity and desire; the latter of which you were sure he recognized in your expression.
You saw him drink in the way you were now biting your lip, the not-so-subtle clenching of your thighs and the heat flaming your cheeks. “Hey now,” He murmured, his voice so husky you nearly whimpered, “Oh, I know just what you need, sweet little thing.”
You have to admit, you almost crumbled right on the spot at his words, the heat of them shooting straight to your throbbing core and you blinked up at him in surprise. Before you could say anything, Hotch pressed his lips to yours again, his tongue sliding over them hungrily. You immediately opened your mouth, allowing him to lick into you and moaning quietly at the sudden storm of intensity that was Hotch.
His hands dropped and gripped at your waist, thumbs sliding along the band of the leggings that you had changed into back at the station. You shuddered at the slight skin-to-skin and unconsciously rolled your hips. “Shit—Hotch!” You couldn’t help but mutter, the reality of Hotch touching you so much more arousing than you could have ever imagined.
He pulled back from you by only a whisper, “Is this okay? Do you want me to stop?” His warm eyes searched your face for any signs of discomfort.
“God, no!” You whimpered, and Hotch smirked at you in a way that made your insides turn to jelly before he was sliding his dominant hand below the waist of your leggings and seeking out where you needed him most.
He ghosted his fingers over the front of your panties, and you trembled in anticipation. His eyes were on your face, and you couldn’t look away from him even as he dipped below the cotton fabric and found the dripping mess that you were, though your face flushed in embarrassment.
Hotch grunted, “Is that all for me, pretty girl? Fuck,” He’d been teasing along your folds but now pressed up and expertly found your clit with his thumb at the same moment he sunk one finger inside of you. The low, desperate moan that ripped from your chest made him growl and he brought his free hand up to grip your jaw and kiss you firmly before pulling back to give you a mock-stern look, “Quiet. Stay nice and quiet for me and I’ll give you what you need, okay?”
You nodded eagerly, biting your lip, and his expression smoothed out before he started moving his fingers again. His thumb worked little circles over your clit, but it was his thick fingers that were making it hard to keep quiet. He pushed a second inside of you now, pumping them in and out and curling them in just the right way, so expertly that you were seeing spots in your vision before long.
“Oh, oh god, Hotch,” You whispered, slamming your hands against his chest and gripping at the fabric of his suit jacket, “S-so fucking good...”
“I know, pretty girl, you just need someone to take care of you,” He was still watching your face as he fucked you with his perfect fingers. You’d never been so turned on in your life, both never wanting him to stop and wishing you were somewhere more private. His voice wavered slightly when he spoke next, “I can’t believe this is happening, I never thought—”
“What?” You interjected softly, beaming at Hotch, “Was I really that good at hiding how I felt?”
His fingers were moving slowly now, dragging you along the edge as he surveyed you with surprise, “I thought...yes, you were very good.” He didn’t elaborate, and though you think he meant to say something more, you were too distracted by his touch to clarify his meaning. You would ask him about it during that coffee. You trembled and his eyes refocused, the pupils blowing back out, “Does this feel nice, pretty girl? You like being a good girl for me?”
Shit, he was fucking hot. His words were erotic and perfect and you had no idea you had such a praise kink but here you were, getting even wetter for him every time he spoke. You nodded, sucking in a sharp breath when he suddenly picked up the pace, thrusting his fingers in and curling them exquisitely. “Fuck, I’m so close already—”
Hotch pressed his body closer to yours, making a sound in his throat of approval, but when his hips had ground against you involuntarily, you felt the hard length of him at your waist and that was what did it for you. Knowing he was enjoying this as much as you were, that he was so turned on by you coming apart at his fingers, it sent you over the edge. You felt yourself clamp down around his fingers, your hands pushing at his chest as your eyes fluttered closed and you had to bite your lip hard to prevent yourself from crying out.
He didn’t make it easy for you, though; Hotch grunted when he realized you were coming, his voice in your ear low and wrecked, “That’s it, such a good girl for m-me. So fucking sexy,” His movements slowed but didn’t stop completely, drawing out your bliss unexpectedly and making you whine quietly. “Fuck—feel how hard I am for you. Do you feel what you do to me?”
His commanding voice was almost enough to shoot you right over the edge again. You barely managed to access enough of your brainpower to drop one hand to his pants, palming over his thick erection before gasping at not only how hard he was, but how long—Hotch was packing. Holy shit.
You leaned forward desperately, wrapping your hand behind his neck and drawing him down to kiss you again. It was messy and delicious; he tasted masculine, warm, like a fucking summer evening, and you could have stayed wrapped around him forever.
When he finally pulled back, you were both flushed and panting, the pink on Hotch’s cheeks beautiful enough to make you stare. He smiled nervously and relaxed his posture before slowly sliding his hand from within you. You watched as he raised his fingers, soaked in your essence, and gazed at them for a moment before looking you straight in the eye as he brought them to his mouth.
Your jaw dropped as he smirked at you like he just knew you’d never had a lover or partner do something so bold. You couldn’t tear your eyes away as he sucked his fingers clean, closing his eyes as if appreciating the taste. Your taste.
“Holy shit, Hotch,” You murmured when he lowered his hand. He chuckled, reaching behind you for a paper towel and wiping his hands dry before cupping your face gently.
“Do you feel okay? Was that alright?”
There was that concern again; it was never gone for long, and you were starting to feel like an idiot for not realizing how often, just how much Aaron Hotchner cared for you. You felt your pussy throb again from the expression on his face and you knew you couldn’t stand another minute without him inside of you. “More,” You reached forward, grabbing at his belt, “I need you, Aaron. I need you inside me, please.”
You started to unbuckle him, only his hands pushed yours away. You looked up, afraid you’d gone too far, only to find Hotch wide-eyed and...and feral. He looked fucking wrecked, like what you had just said was the single hottest thing he’d ever heard, and his hands only expertly worked at undoing his belt and working his fly down.
“Are-are you sure?” He gasped out, pausing as he moved to push his pants down. You answered him by shoving your leggings and panties down, kicking them away from your feet and nodding eagerly as you looked up at him.
You’d never been in such a passionate situation, where every touch and movement felt meaningful and right, and you had to work hard to keep yourself quiet. When Hotch pushed his pants down and stood up straight, his hard cock sprung up and you slapped your hand over your mouth to hold in your gasp. Fuck, was he even going to fit? You could feel the slick running down your thighs now, grateful he’d already made you cum once—nonetheless, it would be no easy feat to take all of that.
Hotch reached up over your head, grabbing a towel from the shelf and throwing it on the counter behind you before he stooped and lifted you gently, settling you on the edge. He stepped right up to you, your bodies pressed together, his thick, long erection hot on your thigh. He then looked at you closely, “This is about more than sex for me. I have feelings for you, pretty girl, this isn’t a one-time thing.”
You think he needed you to understand this as much as he needed to be sure you felt the same. “I’m yours, Aaron,” You whispered back, gazing at him softly even as your body raged with a fire he had lit, “All yours, forever.”
His eyes softened, and he kissed you again before pulling back and gripping your hips with his strong hands. You reached one hand down to grasp his length, leaning back into the mirror, and put your other hand over your mouth again. You gave him two pumps, and Hotch hissed, his eyes on your bodies below as he let you line him up and then he was slowly thrusting forward.
The stretch was immediate, you had certainly never been with someone bigger, your eyes wide as you looked down at him splitting you open. He took his time, easing back every time he sunk another inch in to ensure you experienced no pain, the expression on his face focused. It took a few minutes before he was fully inside of you, and he just let you clench around him at first, his eyes falling shut in pleasure.
The full, stretched feeling was everything, your eyes rolled in your head as you bite back your moans.
“Fuck, pretty girl, you are so tight,” He whispered, adjusting his grip on you so that one hand splayed across your lower back, pressing your body into his. “Going to make this quick, okay? So we don’t get caught.”
The way he said it suggested he intended to take his time with you again soon, the implication driving you to clamp down on him in excitement, and Hotch groaned low. He hugged you close, dropping his head into the crook of your neck, and started to fuck you, hard. He set a pace that instantly had you biting into your own hand to ensure you didn’t scream, his cock hitting you in all the right places. You felt a rumbling in your neck and realized he was using you to muffle his sounds, unable to keep himself fully quiet.
“F-fuck,” You whimpered as you pulled your hand away to grab at his hips, the feel of his muscles flexing as he pounded into you turning you on even more. You pressed your face into his shoulder as you began to see bright lights behind your eyelids. “Going t-to cum again, oh shit—”
He turned his face slightly and breathed into your ear, hot and sinful, “Cum for me, little girl, cum for daddy.”
Oh god, you’d never hurled so fucking fast over the edge in your life. Your orgasm swept over you like the wave of a tsunami; Hotch must have realized what his words had done because he frantically slammed one hand over your mouth as you arched away from him and came. Your head tilted back and mouth opened against the skin of his palm in a cry you tried to contain, the only sounds escaping pathetic little mewl’s. Hotch was panting, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he neared his peak, “Shit, I’m g-going to cum!”
You felt him begin to pull out, and even in the haze of your orgasm managed to wrap your legs around him and pull him so that he was deep inside of you. “IUD,” You murmured, desperately trying to open your eyes and watch his face. “Cum inside me, daddy, please.”
Hotch gave one last, strong thrust, his eyes wild as he started to cum, filling you deeply, “Fuck!” He hissed your name, biting his lip and then dropping both hands to your hips to pull your hips even closer against him, his eyes on where he was pumping you full of cum, yours watching his face.
The sight of Aaron coming undone for you so completely was captivating. You’d never known something could be so perfect and you soaked up every expression that crossed his handsome face like it was oxygen you needed to live by. When he stilled, the only sound was that of each of your heavy breathing. You relaxed your legs and slumped into the counter, exhausted, and he leaned over you to capture your mouth against his.
This kiss was slower, dizzying, delicious—you were blissed-out and nearly ready to pass out from it all, the intense emotions and explosive second orgasm exhausting everything you had left. “Aaron, Jesus Christ,” You giggled lightly, running your fingers over his cheeks as he smiled down at you. You could feel him beginning to soften within you, but he didn’t pull out right away and you found you liked the sensation, enjoyed keeping him warm within you as you each caught your breath in the cramped space of the bathroom.
Hotch pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his eyes gazing at you so lovingly you could have cried, and then brushed a hand across your face, pushing back some hair, “How are you? Was that too much?”
Your heart constricted again as he concerned over you, “That was amazing, Aaron. Might need you to help me down in a minute, though,” You admitted, giving him a sleepy smile, “Are you always going to worry over me so much?” You added, and he gave you a rueful smile.
“Yes pretty girl, I probably will.”
“Hmm, I think I could get used to you being so protective,” You replied, grinning and stroking your thumb over his cheek, “Just no more jumping in front of bullets, maybe?”
Hotch laughed warmly, slowly pulling away from your body and reaching for paper towels to help clean you up. “I’m making no promises there,” He paused, looking you in the eye and you stilled at the intensity there, “I love you too much.”
His confession brought tears of happiness to your tired eyes, and you let a few slip out as you sat up carefully, “I love you too, Aaron.”
You realized then that nothing in life had ever felt so thrilling and right as admitting you loved Aaron Hotchner.
You smiled warmly as he pulled you against him in a strong embrace, then let him take care of you before leading you to the seat next to him in the main cabin. Tucked into Hotch's side with your head on his chest, you slept for the first time in your life on an airplane. Surrounded by all the people you loved most while being held by the man of your dreams.
Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!
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chateautae · 2 hours ago
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seokiloquy · 2 hours ago
Warm Water - Tsukishima Kei
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Au: Regular
Tags/Warnings: GN! Reader, Implications of past self-harm but so subtle that it can be read as if not there, fluffy comfort
Word Count: 1k+
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Yamaguchi is the first one to hand you a shakeable pack of ice when you wince, grabbing your wrist gently as he places the ice pack against the inside of your forearm. You laugh slightly at how warm your skin feels, stinging and throbbing from the repetitive impact of the plastic ball.
It’s sunny out, perfect weather. You sit in the grass next to your bags, letting the tall boy with freckles crouch next to you as he softly holds the ice against your skin. He sighs, “Your skin is fragile, you didn’t have to bump any of the balls, tossing would’ve been fine.”
Your chuckle gets caught off with a hiss as Yamaguchi moves his attention to your other arm. “I’m not as good as either of you, my tosses suck.”
Tsukishima picks up the forgotten volleyball of the grass, making his way to your side with quick and long strides. “We know.” He stands there for a moment, letting you punch his shin in a flabbergasted retort, before sitting down and resting his head on his bag. He drapes his arm over his eyes and tucks his glasses into the collar of his white shirt. “But the more you practice the more resistant you’ll be and eventually,” he lifts his arm, meeting your eyes for a split second before covering them again, “it won’t even hurt.”
Yamaguchi hums next to you and pulls the ice away. You tuck your arms close to your stomach, thanking him as you scoot forward to lay down. The two boys shuffle as they reach for their respective water bottles. You smile when Tsukishima’s shadow falls over your face. 
Humming, you smile. “It’s a nice day.”
The boys give you a tired response in agreement, chucking their water before lying down in the grass. Once comfortable, the blond hisses. “The sun is almost at its peak and there aren’t any clouds. We should go inside soon.” Despite his words, he didn’t move.
Yamaguchi laughs behind his hand as you smack the blond boy jokingly, again. 
“Enjoy it, Tsukki. The nice weather won’t last forever.”
“That’s a jinx,” Yamaguchi laughs, head sinking into his bag
“That’s superstition,” Tsukishima retorts.
“You both—” Your voice stills at something landing on your forehead and the sun quickly fading. Eyes open, you look up. “Damn it, when did those clouds show up?”
Tsukishima remains flat along the grass in a blasé nature as you and Yamaguchi scramble to collect your things before a downpour starts. On your feet, you sniff at Tsukishima’s uncaring form and yank his bag from beneath his head. He curses as his head hits the ground.
“Come on, string bean! It’s gonna pour!”
You and Yamaguchi are off, turning onto the sidewalk of the park as Tsukishima sits up. On his feet, he takes quick, but unhurried steps to catch up. He’s a few metres behind you when you laugh as the warm water starts hitting your skin with more repetitive force. He sees Yamaguchi grin at your genuine reaction to the warm shower. He feels himself bristle, lips pinching as he watches you grab Yamaguchi’s wrist, dragging him to jump in the quickly forming puddles.
Tsukishima continues to walk a couple of feet behind you until Yamaguchi’s house comes into view. You stand next to the blond, waving to your friend until he ducks behind the door with a damp smile.
Both of your clothes start to cling to your sides, but you seem happy and pay it no mind while Tsukishima tries to pull the fabric off even though the rain continues to act as glue against his skin. Giving up, he steps beside you, reaching for his bag that was still in your hold.
“Give me that,” he huffs.
Smiling, you toss the red bag over. 
He catches it, looping his arm through the handles so that it hangs sideways on his shoulder, pushing against the back of his arm as it tried to distribute its weight normally. 
The two of you walked in silence, letting the pouring rain fill any pace that words would have. Tsukishima watches as you kick small puddles and swing your arms. Calmly keeping an eye out for when you might slip.
Your home shows up sooner than expected. Giving the blond a smile, you adjust your bag, ready to hop through the rain for the last few seconds before you reach your door.
Tsukishima catches your fingers at the last second, pulling you back with enough force to have you stumbling. Instead of smacking him, you get out a laugh, meeting his eyes with a joyful grin.
He paused for a moment. Words stuck in his throat as he watches the clear water roll down your cheek, catching on the edge of your grinning lip before falling off your chin. He gulps, looking at your fingers sitting delicately in his before meeting your eyes again.
“Try not to hurt your arms any further, it’ll irritate your skin,” he says, dropping your hand slowly. Letting your last finger cling to the tip of his for an extra moment before it flicks off, making water fly with the movement. “And take a shower. You don’t want to get sick.”
Your grin turns mischievous. “But if I get sick, you’ll take care of me right?”
You laugh, taking steps backwards in a drunken pattern, inconsistent as you sway in the falling rain. “Fine, fine. But I’ll take care of you. Okay?”
Tsukishima isn’t able to get a word in before you're laughing as you run up to your door.
Ironically enough, Tsukishima wakes up the next day with you hovering over him, placing a cold towel on his forehead as Yamaguchi writes in his notebook at his desk. Whether it was the fever or the contrast temperature of the towel, he feels himself burn under your smiling gaze as you take care of him.
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Wow, look at that. Present tense. That’s new coming from me. I Like it.
If you’re wondering why all the author’s notes have the same information, it’s cause when I write, I try to do like two one-shots a week. 
Soooo ya. Some of the author’s notes you read are from a few weeks prior. 
Though Kiwis are written when they edit, and vice versa….. Soooooo it’s a mess. - Bacon
It’s a biggg messs. Plus...since Bacon writes these at such a fast pace, all my comments are a long time after she’d already written them -Kiwi
All I do is watch (some) anime, writing, reading, art (LB.bacon on Instagram, shameless), and a bit of school. I have lots of time. -Bacon
Posted: 09/05/2021
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ohhmydyosfics · 2 hours ago
(Markhyuck) love made in the USA
“Hi Mountain Lions! I’m Donghyuck Lee,” he says, carefully enunciating each syllable of his name and allowing the campers to copy him, “This is my very first day as a counselor so I’ll need all the guidance I can get from you guys. And in return, I’m already cooking up some brand-new nicknames for Mark here.” He taps the side of his head with the pen, grinning at Mark when the kids naturally hurrah at earning his support.
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world-machine-os · 2 hours ago
The fact I don’t want to die anymore does not mean I particularly enjoy living.
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ohhmydyosfics · 2 hours ago
(Kunten) Maybe
Qian Kun was a busy man.
He was also a gorgeous one.
And, hours after sunset when Ten awoke, hungry and dehydrated, he realised that Kun was a talented man too. The faint music from his piano was almost pretty enough to send Ten back to sleep.
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ohhmydyosfics · 3 hours ago
(Luren) color me lovestruck
popular bullet journal youtuber huang renjun has a boyfriend that all of his fans are curious about, but it's too bad he only appears in renjun's videos by making finger hearts. is he shy?
(spoiler alert: he's definitely not.)
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