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bestgreenshope · 19 days

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How Yellow Teeth are leading to Weight Gain, Sluggishness and Brain Fog and How this Strange "Mouth Detox" Repairs this and Makes You Appear 10 Years Younger...andWhitens Teeth Up To 6 Shades In Less Than 16 Minutes..

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Scientific References:

(1) https://news.pg.com/press-release/pg-corporate-announcements/new-study-shows-whiter-teeth-can-lead-greater-success-work-

(2) http://www.theteethwhiteningcenter.com/a-white-smile-the-key-to-happiness-and-self-confidence/

(3) https://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2307430/White-teeth-make-look-younger-employable-Holly-Willoughby-envied-smile-say-dentists.html

(4) https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4113395/

(5) https://www.health.harvard.edu/diseases-and-conditions/the-aging-mouth-and-how-to-keep-it-younger

(6) https://health.howstuffworks.com/wellness/oral-care/problems/what-wears-down-tooth-enamel1.htm

(7) https://www.mayoclinic.org/healthy-lifestyle/adult-health/expert-answers/brushing-your-teeth/faq-20058193

(8) https://www.prevention.com/beauty/skin-care/a20479029/dangers-of-teeth-whitening/

(9) https://www.webmd.com/oral-health/features/oral-health-the-mouth-body-connection#1

(10) https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0891584997000166

(11) https://www.researchgate.net/profile/Saman_Warnakulasuriya/publication/40039456_Causes_of_oral_cancer_-_An_appraisal_of_controversies/links/54a06d890cf257a636021879/Causes-of-oral-cancer-An-appraisal-of-controversies.pdf

(12) https://askthedentist.com/mouthwash-risks-and-alternatives/

(13) https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/30562408

(14) https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/28157418

(15) https://www.prnewswire.com/news-releases/global-dental-consumables-market-to-be-worth-us334-billion-by-2024-dental-tourism-in-developing-countries-promises-continued-growth-says-tmr-610814045.html

(16) https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2019/04/190409135928.htm

(17) https://harvardmagazine.com/2006/01/light-blitzes-plaque.html

(18) https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4289549/

(19) https://www.bioopticsworld.com/biomedicine/article/16429351/laser-treatmenttooth-whitening-red-light-makes-teeth-white

Click Here> https://naturalteethwhitener.com/vsl2#aff=Fareeha40

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#Whiten teeth #{{brandName}}#SECURE ORDER #How Yellow Teeth are leading to Weight Gain #Sluggishness and Brain Fog and #How this Strange “Mouth Detox” Repairs this and Makes You Appear 10 Years Younger...and #Whitens Teeth Up To 6 Shades In Less Than 16 Minutes..#watch this video #The Next 60 minutes of this Video are the most important Solution to Improving Your Health.#ORDER NOW #Copyright 2022 - Primal Life Organics #LLC - Naturalteethwhiteners - All Rights Reserved #Privacy Policy | Terms of Service | Contact Us: 800-260-4946 #Scientific References:#(1) https://news.pg.com/press-release/pg-corporate-announcements/new-study-shows-whiter-teeth-can-lead-greater-success-work-#(2) http://www.theteethwhiteningcenter.com/a-white-smile-the-key-to-happiness-and-self-confidence/#(3) https://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2307430/White-teeth-make-look-younger-employable-Holly-Willoughby-envied-smile-say-dentists.#(4) https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4113395/#(5) https://www.health.harvard.edu/diseases-and-conditions/the-aging-mouth-and-how-to-keep-it-younger #(6) https://health.howstuffworks.com/wellness/oral-care/problems/what-wears-down-tooth-enamel1.htm #(7) https://www.mayoclinic.org/healthy-lifestyle/adult-health/expert-answers/brushing-your-teeth/faq-20058193 #(8) https://www.prevention.com/beauty/skin-care/a20479029/dangers-of-teeth-whitening/#(9) https://www.webmd.com/oral-health/features/oral-health-the-mouth-body-connection #1 #(10) https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0891584997000166 #(11) https://www.researchgate.net/profile/Saman_Warnakulasuriya/publication/40039456_Causes_of_oral_cancer_-_An_appraisal_of_controversies/#(12) https://askthedentist.com/mouthwash-risks-and-alternatives/#(13) https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/30562408 #(14) https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/28157418 #(15) https://www.prnewswire.com/news-releases/global-dental-consumables-market-to-be-worth-us334-billion-by-2024-dental-tourism-in-developi

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lynxalon · 1 year

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there is something to be said

days pass nights pass

but this remains

there is something to be said

it rings ceaselessly in my head

weeks pass months pass

but this doesn't change

there—where is it, why is it there—is something—something, but what? a feeling? emotion? thought? ideal? dream—to be said—how could this ambiguous amalgamation, this monstrosity of feeling both powerful and unkind, be said in any worthwhile capacity

there is something to be said

you watch it pass i feel it pass

but we won't—remain/change

#lynx speaks #quiet poems #when my head is empty and my words sluggish and i am looked at with the expectation of clarity it feels like falling #there's this rush of emotion that i have no way of handling and i plummet into their disappointment #all i can think is 'there is something to be said' but nothing worthwhile comes out #and we are both left wanting for more #brain fog #<< maybe u can relate #i think i post these poems that no one's sees in the hope that someone will read it and feel what i mean #hell maybe someone else *has* felt the same #how would i know #maybe it's okay that i don't know #but i hope that you know you're not alone #shit's hard fr. here's hoping for a few days of clarity for us 💚💚💚

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amtrak12 · 1 year

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HAHAHAHA my executive dysfunction, anxiety, and brain fog of the last two years isn’t isolation related after all -- my thyroid levels are just too low :P

I swiped some of spouse’s old hormone pills (100 units) to double up my dose this week (I’m on 175 currently). It’s only been three days but HOLY SHIT the night and day difference it has already made. My head is so clear right now! I have the drive to do things again!! IT’S AMAZING!

I will be contacting my doctor next week to be like “hey can I get a higher dose now instead of waiting for our October appointment???”.

So um PSA for those who have thyroid issues (or don’t have one at all like me), when your doctor asks how your fatigue levels are, don’t just consider physical fatigue. Brain fog, sluggish thoughts, and an inability to start tasks all fall into the energy/fatigue category.

#this took me so long to work out #(Probably due to those sluggish thoughts :P)#but then I finally remembered when I was first diagnosed with problems in college that all my symptoms were in my brain #I really didn't have any of the visible symptoms of thyroid imbalance #and then I realized my sluggish thoughts and inability to recall words and struggles to process external information might be brain fog #and pulled my little experiment with extra thyroid pills #AND LO AND BEHOLD IT IS INDEED BRAIN FOG #not a regression of social skills brought about by the pandemic #not depression or long COVID from an asymptomatic infection I never realized I had #(which is my second biggest fear currently right behind a symptomatic infection that leads to long COVID :S)#NOPE #BRAIN FOG FROM LOW THYROID LEVELS #incredible

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sprout-fics · 6 months

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Sex with Simon is intense.

Physically, emotionally, sensationally intense. Simon handles you like he would a prized rifle, tracing his fingers across your grooves and indentations. His warm breath fogs across your spine, his hands guiding you into position so he can squeeze the trigger to your desire. He knows your body like he knows the fractured web of scars across his skin. He’s taken ages to find the parts of you that will make you whimper in utter overwhelm into the mattress, will make your thighs shake with the force of your climax. He disassembles you over and over and over again, only to put you back together better than you were.

Simon is focused, completely involved in the process of defiling you- like he can’t get enough of the taste. When you first began sleeping together it was a rushed, sloppy affair. You’d catch each other after missions, in the evenings after training, getting back to the barracks after being out at the pub. Hurried hands and clashing lips, stripping each other with little regard for where the clothes landed, too eager to feel skin against skin. That had been when you were less than you were now, simply using each other to shake the anger and the fear of the world you lived in.

When things became softer, when you had cried into his arms and confessed you needed him, things changed. Simon eased at the sharp edges of him, allowed you to dip your fingers into the shallow end of his vulnerabilities while he kept himself still guarded under the surface. Each kiss, each breath, each roll of his hips against yours allowed you to drag him an inch closer to you, to sink yourself and drown in the depths of his scarcely concealed emotions for you.

Yet there’s always an ounce of control that remains in his touch, as if he refuses to allow you into the shadows with him. It comes in the way his voice purrs down at you darkly, the hand on your hip dragging you upward to him with firm insistence. It comes in the way of him hushing you through a hiccuping orgasm where your body finally reaches the extent of its endurance. Simon is a force, domineering and insistent, forcing you to bend to the gale of him like a sapling in a storm. Yet his lips trace gently over the shell of your ear, whisper filthy, torrid praises there until your cry of pleasure muffles his voice.

He handles you the way he wants, forces you to buckle onto your front as he drapes himself across your spine with his thick and heavy weight. He growls down at you when you try to hurry him on, low in warning, and then coos at your glassy, lidded eyes. He holds your hand as he sets himself to devouring your slick folds, and you clutch at him as you buck and writhe because it’s so good. He dangles your orgasms out of reach until you beg, teary eyed and desperate, only to force you over the zenith with such power it snaps the synapses in your brain. His hand catches your face when you try to turn shyly from his chuckling, dark taunts of your reedy moans and breathless please. He sucks dark bruises just below your collar with a hiss of “Mine.” that would scare you with its possessiveness had you not entrusted yourself to him long ago.

You’re his. Completely. You didn’t know when you first met, and even then he refused to admit to himself what you were to him. Now, with every rumbling moan and dirty words whispered against your skin, you have no possibility of denying it. You’ve tangled the fibers of his soul in your fingers, tug on them so he falls into you. He doesn’t try to catch himself, merely wraps his arms around you and drags you to him with fervent, dizzying kisses that leave you breathless and reeling. Simon shapes you to him in the way you both need, and after every time you spend in his bed you feel the weight of his need for you in the sated sluggishness of your limbs, blissfully tucking yourself into his side. He turns your limp form to him, cups your chin to kiss you gently, hums a note of pride there in the hazy, dreamy stare you offer him.

“Mine.” He whispers, as if to remind himself, and descends to your lips once more. You don’t need to be reminded. For you there’s only Simon. Even before you two touched for the first time, there’s never been anyone else. You’re his.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley smut #drabbles #This was written with Fix in mind but honestly?#anything goes

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mayaree-darling · 25 days

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Only in the Cover of the Night // Sung Jinwoo

pairing: sung jinwoo x reader

synopsis: your headache is not helping you remember that you have a boyfriend ready to care of you

from aree: guess who caught the dengue virus lmao i have three different sicknesses rn i wish i was joking. this was made for my bestie @fuyuu-chan coz she was dying from a headache but i needed this more apparently

content: pure fluff; no plot just vibes ngl; you have a headache and jinwoo is there to help/bother you

fic length: 1.7k~ (unedited)

There's a glass of water and some medicine on your bedside table when you reach out your hand for your phone. You're glad you didn't knock anything over - only grazing the glass with your pinkie finger and the aluminum under your palm. It would've been completely fine to have them there - welcomed even - since you did have a bad headache right now, but you shoot up in bed when you realize.

You did not put those there.

You immediately regret the sudden movement when your headache comes back swinging, pounding into your brain like a drum. You eventually fall back into your bed with a hard thump. Even when the lights are off, it feels like the room is spinning. There are stars dancing in your eyes that are just a tad too bright, but definitely more than a tad annoying.

You sit up but slowly this time, gauging whether you need to lie down and sleep the next hour away again. When you don't feel like throwing up, you open your eyes and blink at the corner of your room. You know you're seeing lights right now with the migraine treating you like a punching bag, but…

Are they supposed to be purple?

You don't quite remember if the stars in your vision are supposed to be stationary, either. You move your head this way and that, but the lights stay in one particular corner of your room, staring straight at you. Staring seems to be the right term, the lights making you think of two, purple ey-

No. No, you look away and lean on your side, taking a steady breath in before shakily exhaling.

You are not gonna get killed by some ghost when you're already facing the migraine of the century.

You ignore the lights - you can deal with the ghost when you're all better and ready to throw down with the supernatural, but not now - and turn to where you remember your bedside table was. Where was your phone?

At that moment, you hear the familiar ring of a notification going off. You squint, expecting the unwelcome bright light of your screen, but it's not coming from your table. You freeze.

It's coming from the other side of your bed.

Surely you just rolled over and left it there at some point? Right, yes, of course. You're overthinking things. Your mind is just stuck in a hazy fog made by your sickness. Your paranoia is just stemming from the inability to process common sense. You're starting to think someone is in the room with you just because you-

The bed behind you tips from a foreign weight.

You jump from the bed, but your movements are more than clumsy. You make a hasty turn, trying to face whatever is behind you, but you get caught in your blanket. It envelops the lower half of your body and before you know it you're falling. You try to hold on to the bedside table but your movements are sluggish and you miss it by centimeters. You brace yourself for the impact-

But it never comes.

You feel warm. Arms are circled around you, hands on your upper back and around your waist. A chest is pressed against your own, both heartbeats racing as if trying to catch up to one another. You're overwhelmed by a woody scent (and something… burnt? it's not much but it's there). Although you have an afterthought that it should have made your migraine worse, it ends up comforting you more than anything. So familiar. The figure in front of you leans back, pressing you closer to them as they make sure you're both kneeling safely on the bed.

You're warm. Their warmth is a welcome distraction from the migraine that threatens to make you black out. They loosen their grip ever so softly only when your heartbeat calms down. Almost as if sensing their effect on you, they pull your head to their chest, the hand on your back coming to scratch lightly at your scalp.

There's a new beating in your head, in your ear, but this one is pleasant and makes you feel like you're in a dream you don't want to wake up from. You see a pair of purple eyes in the opposite corner of the room. They blink at you once before becoming one with the dark.

"Did I scare you, sarang?" The voice is muffled. Is it because of your headache again? But you feel it numbly vibrate through your head. You barely feel soft lips against your hair, but it's there, and the knowledge that it's present calms you impossibly more. "Sorry, I should have come through the door."

You reach up and grasp the back of their, his - Jinwoo's - coat. You run your hand up and down his back, trying to bring yourself back to the present with each feel of his coat's texture. Without meaning to though, the action makes him shiver underneath your fingers and you hear him suck in a breath. You feel more awake than you've ever been as you let out a muffled laugh into his sweater.

"You definitely should have come through the door," you mumble, burying yourself further in his chest. He definitely smells burnt. "I thought someone broke in."

"That would be a stupid move on their part. Beru would have slit their throats the moment they touched the door knob," Jinwoo scoffs and you can almost see the smirk on his face.

You groan as Jinwoo shifts in position. He holds you close still, making sure you're nestled in his arms. He leans on the headboard. "It's great you're not a burglar then. I don't feel like cleaning up blood right now."

He hums, tucking your face in his neck and placing his chin over your head. "Bold of you to assume I would've let you clean that. The only thing you would have to worry about is the floor being slightly wet with hydrogen peroxide."

"Can't let them find any evidence." You breathe out a laugh.

"I can even go the extra mile and make sure no one ever looks for him if you want."

"Thanks for the offer. I'll make sure to remember it." you manage another small laugh and Jinwoo offers a small scratch to your scalp in response.

A quiet fills the room and if not for your boyfriend's overwhelmingly comforting presence, you'd think you were still alone with your thoughts and pounding headache. Thanks to him, you were able to forget about the pain for a few minutes. You would've been able to be lulled to sleep again if not for something tickling at your senses, especially now that you're so close.

"What are you doing here? You should've gone home after finishing your dungeons."

"Who said I went to any dungeons today? I could've just been lazing at home for a change and thought about checking on my wonderful significant other," Jinwoo gasps mockingly, and when you look up at him, you find purple glowing eyes looking at you mirthfully.

You laugh blankly. "You talk like I don't know you. I think you'd keel over if you stopped going to dungeons. Also, your clothes are all burnt. I can smell it clearly even with this headache."

"Oh, sorry about that." He holds your shoulders, ready to move you away from him, but he doesn't. He just holds you, not quite sure or willing to push you away. "Should… should I go take a shower first?"

"No, don't go. I was joking," you huddle yourself closer to him. "Do that later. But not right now please."

He lets out a chuckle before relenting and bringing you back in his arms. "Anything I can do to help you feel better?"

"No, no, I'm good I just-" your words are cut short with your stomach rumbling. You don't say anything, and neither does he, but you know he's looking at you like you're a liar. You can feel yourself flush. "Okay, so maybe I'm a little hungry."

"I'll get you something to eat, then. I'll make you something good." he shifts his weight, ready to either get up or sink further into the sheets.

"Don't burn my kitchen again, Sung Jinwoo, or I swear this is the last time I'm letting you into my house." you poke at his side and he winces.

He takes the hand poking him and he pulls it up to his lips, kissing your wrist. You're thankful he can't see your face right now. Or maybe he can? You're not about to test that theory. "Bold of you to think you can keep your boyfriend out."

"Bold of you to think I can't break up with you. If I break up with you then it's considered trespassing whenever you enter my house uninvited, isn't it?" you try to fight back the grin that threatens to push at your lips.

The grin disappears, however, when you're suddenly thrown onto your back. Your fall is cushioned by a soft mattress and even softer arms. Jinwoo's weight is shifted on top of you as he hugs you, head on your chest and body slotted in between your legs. He buries his head in your chest, before reaching up and putting your hand over his hair. When the initial shock has passed, you grin and scratch at his scalp, too.

Jinwoo's voice is muffled. "…Please don't do that."

You laugh, lightly pulling at his hair. "Mhm, yeah, that's what I thought."

Jinwoo lifts his head enough to see your face, purple eyes almost glittering in the dark. "I promise not to burn your well-maintained kitchen with my awful skills."

He reaches over to the bedside table to flick the night light on, but you feel him stop short. His arms return to wrap itself around you once more and he buries his head back into your chest.

"Jinwoo?"

He groans before tightening his hold on you. "Let's stay like this for a while more, is that okay?"

"Yeah. Okay. I'd like that, too."

So you stay in the dark. You think you see purple lights in the corner of your room again. Watching, curious.

✨ Masterlist ✨

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine and belong to their respective creators. Their portrayal is merely my own interpretation of them and may not be accurate to their intended characterization. I stake no claim to the original works, only to the ideas and plot of the fictitious stories I’ve written them into.

#sung jinwoo x reader #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo reader insert #solo leveling x reader #solo leveling reader insert #sung jinwoo x you #solo leveling fanfic

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denwritesandcries · 2 months

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Hug me Tighter – Sam Carpenter

Pairing: sam carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: You’re only trying to make your girlfriend take a nap with you, the fact that it’s in a hospital bed after one of the worst nights of your lives doesn't really matter.

Word count: 1,8k.

Content: post-scream VI, cursing, tooth-pudding fluff, mentions of violence, cuddling, pet names, long dialogues, REALLY soft gfs.

A/N: Damn, this might be the sweetest and cheesy thing I’ve ever written. Could also be an AU, since Anika is alive, or just Scream, if they could actually be happy.

English is not my first language.

You realized that you were waking up at a terribly slow pace, as if everything was suddenly in slow motion and even the smallest movement took hours to run and every second was longer than the previous one. Your body feels heavy and comfortably warm, resting on perhaps the best bed in which you've ever slept. You blinked slowly, failing to keep your eyes open, every movement of your eyelids almost making you fall into unconsciousness again.

Your body shudders with the feeling of a long yawn crossing you and you turn your head to bury your face back in the location and go to sleep again, only to be surprised when you come across hot skin instead of what your brain thought was a really soft pillow. It is only then that you register a movement against your back, light and constant, almost as smooth as your own sleepy state, climbing and descending your spine and enveloping you even more in this security bubble almost supernaturally.

Another weight lies between your neck and your head, right at the point of your wrist and there's another heavier resting on the top of your head, although you're sure of the mess your hair should be right now. Your hands grope and instinctively grab a handful of familiar fabric beneath you, feeling the texture of a sweater you knew very well.

“Sam,” your hoarse voice breaks the silence.

You were tempted to let the darkness and the inviting fog of sleep consume you again as you relaxed and held another yawn, but your resting place vibrated with a low laugh.

“‘M sorry, baby. Did I wake you?”

“Nah,” you denied with a satisfied sigh, sinking against her body.

The chin on your head pulled away and the hand on your back stopped and you immediately missed the contact, finally opening your eyes and lifting your head to protest.

“You're feeling better?”

Sam's question catches you off guard and you pause, staring into your girlfriend's soft brown eyes and raised eyebrow with confusion. Frowning, you finally decide to take a look at the place you are in and come across a messy white room with machines nearby. A hospital room.

The events of the last few hours come back to you in a quick, jumbled flash. The confrontation with the Ghostfaces, the deaths, the police, the ambulance... and the surgery, because of course in addition to all the terror and threats of the last few days you also ended up being stabbed.

Well, that explains why you feel so sluggish then. You're high on drugs. That is, if the IV prick in your arm is any indication.

The hand on the back of your neck moves up towards your face, fingers tracing the contour of your chin and jaw, thumb rubbing soft circles on your cheek, your body relaxes and you lean into her touch, sighing all too contentedly at the affection. The memory of waking up a lot more groggy before and convincing Sam to lay down too when you found her sitting next to the hospital bed holding your hand tightly slowly returning to your hazy mind. She was a little hesitant at first, but it wasn't that difficult to convince her to hold you with the excuse that it would only be for a few minutes. You bet it must have been a few hours already.

“Hm,” you murmured absently, stretching against her, “I’m definitely feeling much better now.”

“That's good,” your girlfriend huffed softly, “I can't feel my legs in this position anymore.”

That caught your attention.

“Am I too heavy?” You ask, lifting your head to examine her for any bruises from the previous fight, “I can move if it’s hurting you.”

“No,” She squeezes you tighter quickly, “I’m good here.”

Sam's own eyes were half-lidded, almost closing over the last few minutes you were asleep, but she refused to give in to the urge to doze off too. It would have been such a waste when she could just hug you and breathe properly for the first time since the last few hellish weeks you've all had.

The TV on the wall had long since been muted, with the image of some random animal documentary flickering in the background. Sam's head rested against the pillows and your body lay happily spread over hers – and she looked perfectly satisfied for someone who had complained and complained about your puppy dog eyes before.

Somewhere between convincing Sam to lie down and pretending to pay attention to the screen, you ended up falling asleep, one of your arms hanging lazily over the side of the bed. Sam realized this instantly, feeling your weight finally relax on her. It made her relax too. Not completely. Sam was never completely relaxed, no matter how tired she was, not anymore, especially not after a night like that. But she managed to feel good enough to enjoy the moment.

The environment was as welcoming as any hospital could be, but her embrace brought a sense of security that lulled you perfectly to sleep and the knowledge that everyone was okay and in the next room allowed Sam to let her guard down. Yet falling asleep and losing that, the feeling that nothing could happen as long as she held you tight and ran her fingers over your warm skin, seeing and hearing every sleepy sound and movement you made – from a tired sigh as you fit, to one of your hands founding the collar of her sweater and grabbing it, holding her close – it would be a waste.

“You sure?” You hesitate, searching her eyes for any hint of hidden discomfort.

Sam sighs, nodding: “You wouldn’t believe how comfortable I am right now.”

“Okay then,” you rest your ear on her chest, feeling her head nod and her heart bumping, still a little high. A yawn crosses your lips, “But let me know if you need me to move.”

She hums in response and you fall into a comfortable silence for a while, the sound of machines running and your soft breaths in the same rhythm left you trying your hardest not to fall asleep again until you felt your girlfriend's chest vibrate beneath you again in a barely contained laugh.

“You’re cute when you’re tired.”

“Huh?” you muttered, lifting your drooping head and finally refocusing your vision on her.

“I should probably get up now, let you get some rest.” Sam said, reluctantly removing her arms from you so she could move away.

You shook your head, grabbing one of her hands and letting them fall to the side of the bed, swinging freely in the air.

“No, I’m good here.” You echoed, denying nonchalantly. You let your head find a place on her neck, making her lie back against the pillows.

Sam sighed against you slowly, much more out of satisfaction – and relief – than annoyance at your insistence, returning to the task of running her fingers down your back until you spoke again.

“Where’s Tara?” You ask, voice muffled by the face buried in her neck, “And the twins?”

“They're watching Anika.” She responds and you get alarmed, before Sam reassures you, “She's gonna be alright, she just needs to stay in the hospital for a while longer. And also a lot of rest. Like you, by the way.”

“I am resting.”

If Sam hadn't been fighting sleep for over an hour now, she would have a wide, stupid grin plastered on her face at the sound of your indignant mumble. Since that wasn't the case, she contented herself with a small smile.

“Whatever you say, amor.”

She surrenders, completely this time, without any more false attempts to leave. Sam felt as if you were the one rocking her and not the other way around, as if nothing else could touch her, even for a little while. There were no worries about horrible jobs, breakdowns in therapy, pressure with college exams and much less paranoia about the existence of cinematic serial killers. Nothing else could exist in your – literal – white room. Just the two of you in that small bed.

Each synchronized breath of your chest next to hers pressed her own ribs, the delicate breath sending delicious shivers down her spine and making her completely aware of how close your bodies were and shocking her at how it still didn't feel close enough.

“I love you,” she says. Rasped, you barely hear it. “I love you so freaking much that sometimes I just want to drown into your chest and curl up between your ribs, with your heart.” She takes a breath, then pauses, hesitantly: “...Is that too weird?”

“...Well,” you gasp, heart completely racing against your ears, “No weirder than what we already go through on a daily basis, I guess.”

Sam groaned at your response, feeling like a lovesick teenager in one of the movies Tara and Mindy love to make fun of. Rambling poetically about her passion.

But, screw it, that's exactly what she is, right? Sam thought. Let her have it. She deserves it.

(Her therapist would definitely pat her on the back for that thought.)

Unlike what Sam thought she should feel with the realization of that thought, her heart didn't skip a beat uncomfortably, her hands didn't get sweaty and cold with the doubt of how to deal with this. It kept pounding in that same slow, steady, familiar rhythm, with one of the most precious and loved people of her life completely aware of how she felt.

“I feel like drowning into your chest all the time too.”

Her favorite place in the world was anywhere you were together and it was physically impossible to be closer than that at the moment, although she wouldn't give up trying.

It was pure and simple happiness. Warmth and security that captured her stomach and left it churning with what felt like a million bubbles popping simultaneously.

When you first came to her life and Sam realized being falling for you, she thought her love would swallow her. That it would be something she would keep to herself until it exploded. You seemed to have made it your mission to prove her otherwise.

“I didn’t say ‘all the time’ tho.”

Here you were, together and fine.

“Oh, shut up.”

Your grip on Sam's hand tightened in very bad feigned irritation and when you rose quickly to give her a kiss, your girlfriend burst into laughter and your lips hit her strong jaw instead.

“That tickles, baby.”

“I was shooting for your lips, but you moved.” You simply shrugged, leaning into her again and this time she met you on the way, a stupid smile growing between you and breaking the kiss too soon. You lay back down and Sam took a long breath, leaving one last kiss on your forehead.

This time, when her head feels heavy and droops from sleep, Sam does nothing to stop it, letting the feeling finally consume her.

Nothing, not even in her most vivid fantasies, had ever been so perfect.

And if by chance Tara ends up sending Sam a photo of the two of you napping the next day when everyone is getting ready to go home and it becomes the new wallpaper on her phone, well… that's nobody's business.

#sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter imagine #scream x reader #sam carpenter x y/n #sam carpenter #scream 6 #scream vi #melissa barrera x reader #melissa barrera #sam carpenter x you #wlw #denwrites

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mariasont · 2 months

Text

Our Minds Entwined-----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9, ch 10, ch 11, ch 12

MDNI-----------------------------------------------------------------

pairings: aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid

summary: in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest, youngest member

warnings: mentions of wet dream, fantasying of 2 guys, oral f receiving, praise, probably more im not sure

A/N: hope you beautiful humans enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

also requests are still open for aaron hotchner and spencer reid & i would love love to write more so shoot me something :)

haappppy readingggg!

chapter eleven:

With a weary slump of her shoulders, Evelyn followed in Hotch's wake, her feet dragging the ground as though shacked by invisible weights. Her eyelids were heavy, drooping in a slow cadence, fighting the lull of sleep that beckoned with each laboring blink. Her lips parted in a slow, drawn-out motion that mirrored the sluggishness of her body. The latte sat in her hand, a supposed ally against the drowsiness, but her yawns betrayed its ineffectiveness as her eyes grew heavier still. The trip had been a marathon of activity--packing, the airport, the plane--all leading to a touchdown in Somerville just as the sun began to rise.

On the way over, Hotch had briefed her on the details of the case. A couple weeks ago, a polyamorous couple--two older men, and their shared partner, a younger woman--were found dead. Then, two days ago another household with the same victimology were killed. The coincidence wasn't lost on Evelyn as her mind wandered to that god forsaken dream that had haunted her since.

And on top of that, throughout the trip, Hotch's silence was a wall between them, broken only by the case details. Despite herself, Evelyn tried to profile him knowing it was wrong. Evelyn replayed the hot tub scene in her mind, a pang of guilt twisting in her gut. She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd crossed a line, even if it was unintentional... right? Her head was a battlefield of jumbled thoughts and creeping doubts, all clamoring for attention. She blamed the fog in her brain on the lack of sleep.

Evelyn, under the weight of Hotch's intent gaze, gave way to a yawn so extravagantly drawn out it seemed less a sign of fatigue and more a playful challenge to his enduring patience.

"Stop staring; it's too early for judgment," Evelyn murmured, her eyes slits of defiance as she ambled after him towards the station. "This is just my face before the caffeine kicks in. It gets better, I promise."

Hotch offered no reply, merely casting a glance over his shoulder at her. The warmth of their close encounter in the hot tub enveloped his thoughts, an unwelcome yet intoxicating recollection. He wrestled with the memory, a guilty pleasure, even as he held the door open for her. Yet, he steeled himself, shoving those dangerous reflections to the back of his mind, all too conscious of the professional boundaries that he dared not to cross.

"Okay, Hotch, I get it, we can't all be as chatty as me with zero sleep. But come on, give me a smile, or at least a grunt," Evelyn coaxed, her laughter not quite reaching her eyes. "Anything to show you're still with us."

There was a pause, a look from Hotch that cut through her words, heavy with unvoiced thoughts, before he turned and walked away, his back a silent command to keep up. Evelyn's expression dimmed, her lips curving into a faint frown as she trailed behind him. The team's warm welcomes echoed around them as they entered the conference room. Evelyn's smile spread across her face, skillfully painted on to mask the twinge of disappointment that Hotch had left.

The moment Spencer's eyes found Evelyn, a soft blush bloomed across her face, and she offered him a smile tinged with complicity, which he mirrored back, a small but significant lift to her mood. The brief contact of Spencer's hand grazing her shoulder as she passed was enough to deepen the shade on her cheeks as she fought to maintain composure.

"How was Miami hot stuff?" Morgan questioned, as his arm sling around her shoulder with a teasing squeeze.

"Hot," Evelyn declared, her hand theatrically waving in front of her face in a mock fan, while her elbow lightly collided with Morgan's side. "Nearly had me seeing stars. Poor Hotch was this��close to performing CPR," she said, her words a deliberate prod as her eyes sought out Hotch's, hoping for any form of reaction.

"I'd say it was less about the heat and more about you neglecting to eat properly," Hotch commented dryly, his words carrying a hint of reprimand, but hey at least he was talking.

"Well, we really shouldn't dwell on the past," Evelyn said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Speaking of meals," JJ added, sliding a blueberry muffin towards her with a knowing smile.

"You're a saint, JJ," Evelyn said, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the food. "I'm this close to giving you a thank-you kiss."

"As tempting as that sounds, you can actually thank Hotch for this one," JJ laughed as she nudged her. "He made it clear--no breakfast for you means a mountain of paperwork duties for us."

Evelyn's tension eased a fraction as she shot Hotch a teasing smile, her heart fluttering at the gesture. "Well, sir, rest assured, I strictly adhere to the 'no kissing the boss' clause. It's somewhere in the fine print, right?"

Evelyn's cheeks took a shade of pink at her own words, hanging in the air, laden with the what-ifs she couldn't quite push aside. Hotch's eyes, sharp and discerning, momentarily betrayed him, darting to her lips before he caught himself.

"Agent," he cautioned, his voice low but clear. Evelyn quickly raised her hands, a silent truce, as Hotch redirected his attention to the team. "What do we have?"

"At this rate, they'll be naming the next HR workshop after you," Morgan murmured, barely containing his amusement.

"What if the unsub is part of a group like this themselves and feels wronged by it?" Rossi muses out loud, his fingers tracing thoughtful patterns against the stubble of his chin as he stands, back pressed against the brick wall.

Reid paced slowly around the table, his fingertips grazing a file as he passed. "It's possible," he began, his voice a soft murmur, eyes narrowing slightly. "The specific targeting and overkill suggest a perceived slight or trauma associated with such relationships."

Prentiss gave a firm nod. "Let's not rule out the possibility of the unsub viewing these groups as a threat to their moral or social beliefs."

"The female-centric dynamic could be important too," Evelyn tossed out, her steps halting beside the pictures of the victims.

As she pondered aloud Spencer found himself focuses intently on her face, her nose scrunching ever so slightly in thought--a gesture that drew a fleeting smile from him as he cast his gaze downwards in hopes no one else noticed how he looked at her.

"Maybe the unsub feels wronged by the idea of a woman being the main focus? Or it could be jealously. Someone who wanted into a group like this but was rejected," Evelyn continued.

"Or the opposite," Hotch contemplates, his brow furrowed in thought. "Someone who was in a group and cast out." He pauses, hands clasped as he leaned forward. "Let's dig into the background of the victims and see if there's a common thread."

The conference room was steeped in the day's fatigue, the air heavy with the tang of frustration and the stale scent of coffee. The team had returned from their respective tasks--interviews, crime scenes, and calls--all roads leading to dead ends.

The room's stillness is shattered by Garcia's voice emanating from the screen. "I've got something," she declares, the pixelated glow casting an ethereal light in the dim room. "Both triads belonged to an ultra-elite society known as 'The Labyrinth.' It's like Fort Knox meets Fight club--no one talks about it, and no one gets in without an invite. I mean, you don't even want to know the lengths I went to find this in the first place."

"I mean, if the society is as exclusive as P says," Evelyn begins, her hand sweeping through her hair in a fluid motion. "Then the unsub is likely also part of it or they have resources that could get them information on it."

Garcia's voice bursts through the speaker. "Prepare to be dazzled," she trills, the clatter of her keystrokes punctuating her excitement. "The Labyrinth is rolling out the red carpet for a gala tomorrow night at the old Whitmore Estate. And you, my darlings, are virtually invited to the ball."

Morgan hunches over the table. "So, we need a cover," he states, "We can't just show up at the doorstep and demand to look around; it'll spook the unsub."

"Evelyn and Reid could blend in," Prentiss nods. "They fit the profile of two of the victims. Maybe they can draw the unsub out." Evelyn's eyes widen as she glances towards Spencer.

JJ chimes in, "And maybe Morgan could--"

But Rossi interrupts, shaking his head. "No, the second male victim's profile is different--older, more experienced. It's more Hotch's profile."

A crease forms between Hotch's eyes, a shadow of concern etching his features as his protective instincts surge to the forefront, coupling with a deep-seated unease about the unfolding plan. A delicate warmth crept up Evelyn's cheeks, her pulse quickening at the thought. The idea of going undercover with Hotch and Reid, a scenario plucked straight from her wet dream, sends a shiver down her spine and her thoughts into a tailspin. She opens her mouth, to joke it off, but it dissolves into a muddled string of half-formed words, leaving her with a bashful silence.

Hotch's words falter, a rare hesitation flickering across his usually impassive features. "I'm not sure if this is the best course of action--,"

Emily interjected swiftly, her words slicing through Hotch's protest. "Hotch, we may not get another shot at this. Using you three as bait isn't ideal, but it might be the only way to corner our unsub."

Hotch's eyes settle on Spencer, who gives a firm nod. His gaze than shifts to Evelyn, and though he resists the urge to analyze, the rosy flush of her skin and the accelerated pace of her breath betray her feelings. It's a jarring contrast to the professional distance he's been striving for. Hotch's nod was there, almost imperceptible, but the frown that follows is deeply etched, a clear sign of his disapproval despite his acceptable.

The room hums with a focused energy as the team pores over digital and paper archives alike, each article detailed events like this and of the couples who frequent. Garcia curates a comprehensive collection of profiles detailing the Labyrinth and its attendees, while JJ and Morgan sift through social media for the gala's guest list. In a corner, Spencer and Rossi huddled over a cluttered desk examining the blueprint of the Whitmore Estate.

Meanwhile, in a makeshift office provided by the local police chief, Hotch and Evelyn are deep in study. The walls, now a gallery of whiteboards, are dense with the scribbled complexities of polyamorous relationships and the backgrounds of the victims.

"I've come across open relationships in case studies, but an entire society? That's a statistical outlier if I ever heard one--Spence would have a field day with those odds." Evelyn says with a soft shake of her head.

A faint arch forms in Hotch's brow, a muted signal of surprise to the informal reference of Reid. Catching the lift of Hotch's brow, Evelyn quickly adds, "You know, Hotch, the silent treatment isn't going to work when we're undercover," she started with a tilt of her head. "You've going to have to convince everyone we're together soon, remember? So, you might want to start practicing liking me now."

"I'm not giving you the silent treatment, Evelyn." Hotch remarks, his countenance flat, eyes reflecting any readability.

"Sure, if you say so," Evelyn replied, her eyes thin slits of skepticism. "But if you're not up for this, Rossi could step in. We need to be believable, or people could get hurt."

"That's not going to happen," Hotch assets, his gaze unwavering, the firm set of his jaw sending a flutter to Evelyn's core. "I've played the part before; I can do it again."

"Then what are you so worried about?"

"I just want you to remember boundaries, Evelyn." Hotch reminds. "The seriousness of this cannot be understated, and I need to know your focus will be on the right aspects of the plan."

Hotch could see the subtle crumble of her face, the faint twitch of hurt that flickered across her features. She masked it swiftly, her voice laced with feigned indifference. "Understood. I'll try to keep my inevitable swooning over your pretend affections to a minimum, sir." The lightness of her words contrasted sharply with the hurt in her eyes, and Hotch felt an immediate ache in his stomach for causing it.

"Evelyn, that's not--" Hotch's voice trailed off, the hardness in his eyes giving way to a rare vulnerability. His fingers twitched with the need to reach out, to smooth away the creases of pain from her expression, but the opportunity slipped away as Rossi emerged at the door.

"Hotch, can I see you for a second?" he asked, gesturing subtly with his head.

Hotch offered a silent nod, his gaze holding Evelyn's for a moment longer than necessary, his eyes etching a mental image of her--the tilt of her head, the unresolved tension in her shoulders, before he reluctantly turned to follow Rossi. Spencer, shadowing Rossi's steps, pauses at the threshold, his gaze fixed on the departing figures. With a soft click of the door closing, he turns, the hush of the room settling around him as he turns to Evelyn.

He steps behind her, his hands coming to rest gently upon her shoulders. Evelyn tips her head back, her eyes lifting to meet his. "You okay?" he asks, his voice low and soothing.

Evelyn's laughter bubbled up, slicing through the heavy air. "Had a moment with Hotch. Pretty sure he was subtly hinting that I keep my feelings in check as if I'm incapable of that."

Spencer's lips curled into a half-smile, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Hotch tends to get a bit tense with these high-stakes operations," he reasoned, his thumbs tracing soothing circles on her shoulders, easing the knots.

Evelyn melts into the warmth of his hands. "That feels good," she sighs, her head gently reclining in contentment. "And tell me about. I'm the one who's going to be all up on my boss and coworker. Talk about awkward."

The thought of sharing Evelyn with Hotch sent an unbidden rush of blood straight to his cock, a visceral response that caught him off caught. He clears his throat, a subtle cover for the fleeting thought that, perhaps, the idea isn't as disconcerting as it should be.

"At least with you I don't have to pretend."

"I don't know, I think additional practice might be beneficial." Reid says, his fingers edging closer to the delicate skin of Evelyn's neck, prompting an involuntary hitch in her breath. "My room tonight? Purely for preparation purposes, of course."

"Dr. Reid, w-what are you suggesting?" Evelyn managed to tease out, despite the gentle pressure of his hand on her pulse point making her senses swim and her focus waver.

He leaned in, his head tilting to plant a gentle kiss in the hollow of her neck. "You're smart enough to deduce it," he murmured softly against her skin, the words almost a sigh, "missed you."

A giggle escaped Evelyn, and she nimbly evaded his grasp. "Spencer, we're practically inviting an audience at this rate."

"Which is precisely why I'm saving it for later, just wanted you to give you a preview, sweetheart."

The remainder of the day unfolded without incident, with Evelyn buried under a towering pile of research papers, its weight causing a dull throb behind her eyes. Every detail was meticulously arranged for tomorrow--the tickets secured, the outfits chose, the escape routes mapped. However, no degree of preparation could quell the fluttering feeling in the pit of her stomach. This is precisely what led Evelyn to Spencer's hotel door, perched anxiously, her knocks rapid and insistent, her gaze sweeping the corridor for onlookers.

The door finally creaked open, and Evelyn breezed inside, her voice a soft tease, "Took you long enough." Spencer, with a quick glance over his shoulder, closed the door with a silent snap.

Spencer's laughter echoed through the room, a carefree sound that made Evelyn pause. "Sorry, I was in the shower," he said, a sheepish grin on his face.

It was then that Evelyn really looked at him--his hair damp and tousled, clinging to his forehead, chest bare, skin dotted with water beads that caught the light, the soft material of his pajama pants hanging from his hips. Her eyes lingered, almost hypnotized by the sight, and rendered mute.

Evelyn's lips parted, ready to unleash a clever comeback, yet only a soft, airy giggle escaped. Without thinking, her arms encircled him, her heart thudding erratically from the sheer nearness of him.

His fingers tenderly framed her face, his laughter a comforting hum. "Evelyn, you're going to get all wet," he teased, thumb softly grazing her cheek.

"That's what I'm counting on," Evelyn replies, a coy smile on her lips as she lets her hands wander down his chest, her fingers flirting with the edge of his pants. "I believe I was promise there would be a rehearsal on the agenda this evening."

"Mmm, is that what you want baby?" He questioned teasingly, his hand guiding her gaze to his with a soft tug at her locks. "Be the good girl I know you are, get undressed, and get on the bed."

Evelyn's eyes sparkled with anticipation, her feet barely touching the ground as she hurried to the bed. Her gaze locked with his and with deliberate care, she pinched the hem of her shirt, swiftly gathering the fabric and sending is flying across the room in a fluid motion before she attended to her pants. His eyes followed her every move as he inhaled a sharp breath, his thumb brushing against his bottom lip. Her gaze followed down to his pajama pants and the tent that was growing within them, excitement growing in her chest.

She carefully turned her back towards him as she hooked her thumbs around her pants and underwear letting them drop to the floor. She crawled on to the bed, arching her back in an exaggerated motion, giving Spencer a full glance at her glistening pussy. She turned quickly, resting on her elbows as she smiled sweetly at Spence who was all but drooling at the sight.

"You're so good sweetheart," Spencer exhaled, each step towards the bed measured, the corners of his mouth lifting at her eagerness, "so pretty."

Evelyn's legs instinctively clasped together in a silent plea for relief as a wave of warmth surged through her cheeks and pussy.

"Take this off, baby," Spencer commanded, the sound of his tongue clicking in disapproval as his fingers drummed a soft rhythm against the material of her bra, "Wanna see all of my beautiful girl."

She quickly complied, sitting up just enough to unclasp the pesky thing. His large hands splayed over the expanse of her thighs, coaxing them open as he settled between them, his gaze penetrating as her tits bounced out of the cups of the bra. "God, you're so pretty sweetheart."

A soft moan escaped Evelyn's lips as she squirmed on the mattress, "Spencer, need you."

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, his hand moving closer to her heat, fingers tracing back and forth in a tantalizing motion. "Gonna take such good care of you baby."

His thumb began to rub slow circles on her swollen clit, Evelyn's breath hitched, her hands frantically searching for something to grasp on to, landing on his wet curls. He teased her slowly, his fingers moving across her soaked folds. Evelyn felt as though she could see stars as she watched Spencer begin to plant soft kisses up her thighs, getting closer and closer to where she wanted him.

She jutted her hips off the mattress, her fingers curling around his hair as if to move him towards her throbbing cunt. "Evelyn, patience teaches us to regulate our emotions. Neurologically speaking, it's linked to serotonin levels in the brain, did you know that pretty girl?"

"Spencer, please, baby put that good mouth to use."

Spencer let out a soft laugh before placing his mouth to her clit, sucking as if it were his full-time job. The moan that released from her was loud and unrestrained, her body thrusting against his mouth. His tongue curled into her, eating her out like it was his last meal on earth.

"Need you to be quiet, baby. Hotch is on the other side of this wall, don't want him hearing you, do you?" Spencer asked, his voice muffled. "Or maybe you do? Is that what you want? You want Hotch to know how I treat this pussy?"

Evelyn's body trembled with pleasure, her hands grasping against the cool sheets as if to steady herself. His hands wrapped around her thighs, pulling her closer as if to suffocate himself between them. "I-I,"

His tongue lapped greedily through Evelyn's folds, her cunt trembling against the pressure as broken moans escaped her lips. He met her eyes, peering up from his position devouring her aching pussy.

"Spencer I-oh, fuck, I'm so close," Evelyn moaned out, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she humped against his face, his nose brushing against her clit every so often. "I can't, I'm gonna-"

A knock at the door caused Spencer's motion to freeze, a panicked gasp releasing from Evelyn's lips as her orgasm dissipated into thin air.

"Reid, are you up?" Hotch's voice, firm and unexpected, pierced the silence. Evelyn's mind was a whirlwind of foggy thoughts, her body reacting before her brain could catch up. Beside her, Spencer's limbs flailed in a hasty attempt to feign alertness, both like deer caught in headlights.

"Oh my god," Evelyn hissed, her hands flying to shield herself. She leaped from the bed, her eyes darting desperately around the room for her scattered clothes.

"Just a second!" Spencer called to Hotch. Meanwhile, Evelyn snatched the nearest shirt, one of Spencer's and yanked it over her head. It was a clumsy dance, one that nearly ended with her sprawled on the floor, tripping over the bulky obstacle of his go-bag. "Get under the bed."

"Under the bed?" Evelyn's voice was a hushed blend of disbelief and urgency. Spencer returned her gaze with an unwavering stare. "God, you're lucky you're so good with that scholarly mouth of yours."

"Radio waves... they're the longest wavelengths in the electromagnetic spectrum," Spencer began, his voice a low hum as he paced the confines of the room. "First predicted by Maxwell in 1864," he continued, more to himself than to Evelyn. Her brow furrowed in confusion. "And they--"

He was cut off as Evelyn interjected. "Spencer, why are you giving me a physics lesson right now?"

"I'm trying to, uh... calm down."

Evelyn's gaze traced the path of Spencer's, her eyes light up at the sight of the tent still evident in his pants. A soft giggle escaped her lips, a delicate sound in the quiet room. Their eyes met once more, and she exhaled a prolonged, "Oh," the syllable stretching out as brought a hand to her mouth.

"Just get under the bed."

Evelyn's laughter was a soft echo, quickly muffled as she deftly maneuvered herself under the bed. Her breath caught in her throat, the only sound the creak of the door swinging open.

Spencer was met by Hotch, his figure framed by the hallway's dim light. "Reid, can I come in?"

With a subtle clearing of his throat, Spencer managed a casual tone, "Uh, yeah, sure, of course."

He swung the door fully open, his expression carefully schooled into one of practiced composure. Hotch stepped over the threshold, his eyes sweeping over the room. Spencer's gaze flitted after his, a silent prayer of gratitude that the room bore no trace of Evelyn's clothes.

"I just wanted to talk to you about tomorrow," Hotch stated, his voice betraying none of the scrutiny his eyes had just performed.

"Sure, what's up?" Spencer asked, the words slightly pinched at the edges, his voice climbing a register.

Hotch's arms locked across his chest like a barrier. "This undercover operation is delicate, and we can't afford any... complications."

Spencer swallows hard, his eyes darting to the bed for a fleeting second. "Of course, I understand."

With a casual lean against the desk, Hotch's features relaxed just perceptibly. "I know you understand, but it's not just about the operation. It's about perception too. Evelyn's already under a bit of scrutiny."

An awkward cough escaped Spencer, a clumsy veil over the tension he felt, knowing well that Evelyn hung on every word. "Right," he responded, an unspoken understanding that they were discussing her father.

"Gideon set a high bar, and it's clear Evelyn is rising to meet it," Hotch begins, his voice steady, a tinge of pride in his tone. "She's carved out her own space on this team, a fact we all recognize. But rumors don't always favor the truth, and any suggestion of her involvement with another agent could be damaging..."

"There's nothing unprofessional going on, Hotch," Spencer quickly countered, his voice a swift defense.

Hotch raised a hand, a gesture of pause and consideration. "I'm not accusing you of anything," he clarified, his voice firm yet fair. "I'm just asking you to exercise caution," he articulated. "For her sake. She has a bright future, and it shouldn't be jeopardized by baseless chatter."

Under the bed, Evelyn's brain was in overdrive, dissecting every word, her mouth suddenly dry.

"I understand."

"Good," Hotch affirmed with a supportive squeeze on Spencer's shoulder. "Goodnight, Reid."

"Yeah, you too."

taglist: @aceofspades190 @nonamevenus @lukesaprince @doigettokeepyou @tequilya @carley12041 @satellitelh @greatdinosaursalad @malewife-cas

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x oc x aaron hotchner #reverse harem #aaron hotchner x oc #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fic #aaron hotchner fic #Spotify #spencerreidfanfic #spencer reid x original character #aaron hotchner x original character #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch

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comatosebunny09 · 3 months

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firestarter [ pt. 2 ] | leon k.

genre(s): romance, friends to lovers, erotica, mild angst warning(s): mutual pining, explicit language, female reader, pet names summary: “you’re a shitty liar, you know that?” leon rasps against your lips. etches a sluggish triangle between your mouth and eyes, his breath fanning across your cheeks, turning your brain into a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations. the hand at your throat doesn’t help matters, squeezing with enough pressure to turn your lungs to cinder. music inspo: champagne cool - jackson wang spin bout u - drake & 21 savage notes: part 2 to this. thank you so much for reading! hope you enjoy! ❤️❤️❤️

It’s a rhythmic tapping that draws you from your catnap.

Knocking that hauls you from the softness of your couch, the news channel droning in the background as you blink away the fog. The floor is icy beneath your feet while you pad over to your front door to answer it. Not really thinking, forgoing the peephole to throw it open.

Sunlight filters in, blinding like a flashbang. You squint against its brilliance, your vision slowly wading through shapes and colors. And if you weren’t already awake before …

“Hey, stranger,” Leon Kennedy drawls from the threshold, tone brassy as if he’s just awoken himself. You feel it in your chest. Curling around you like smoke, weakening your knees.

He bears a youthful smile while he leans against the doorframe in an easy slouch, gazing down at you with such fondness. Clad in grey joggers and a black tee that does little to disguise the power of his body, a slither of abdomen peeking from beneath.

Your lids flutter, dispelling the final vestiges of sleep. Mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, throat growing dry. Your arms fall listlessly at your sides, your voice turning to ash.

He takes your silence as a welcome. Wears a somewhat guilty expression as he holds up a small, white bag, condensation beading inside. “Brought Chinese,” Leon offers, shaking it for good measure. A peace offering more than a greeting. Surprisingly good-natured, considering you’ve dodged him since you returned from your mission a week ago.

You step aside, completely on autopilot. Still dumbfounded as your partner maneuvers past you into your apartment, carrying the scent of ocean waves and teakwood with him. You flinch at the chaste kiss he presses to your cheek. At the graze of a callused palm on your hip, searing you through the fabric of your sweats.

Gaze fixated on the rail in front of your apartment, your lips twitch into a sardonic smile. Least he has food, you inwardly snort, slowly closing the door. Wait for a few beats with your head bowed and your hands frozen on the lock, preparing yourself for the unavoidable.

You square your shoulders with a sigh, trailing after his shadow towards your living room.

But, it’s surprisingly easy to fall back into tempo with him.

With you both sinking into the couch, your legs stretched across his lap. Large hands rubbing your feet, a ghostly smile rounding his lips when you giggle and squeal as he tickles them every so often. Feel at ease when he kneads the muscles of your calves. A softness to his ministrations like he’s missed this—missed you. And you catch him watching you in your peripheral as if he wants to say something. Yet, neither of you wants to break up the monotony of the moment.

Takeout lies partially eaten on your coffee table. Drinks half full. The T.V. flickers mindlessly over your bodies, the only source of light permeating the darkness of your home. Your attention is elsewhere, dispersed amongst the clouds as you chew on your lip.

Sure, you’re still a little rigid. Still guarded after you bared your thoughts. The dreams haven’t stopped. If anything, they’ve grown in intensity. More vivid, painted across the walls of your hallway, floors, bedroom, the fucking bathroom …

Warmth inhabits your cheeks at the memory. You slap a hand over your face, a muted groan burbling from your throat. You’ve had nothing but time to relive your fantasies, having taken a week off following your reconnaissance mission. Sparingly spoke to the object of your desires, your texts and phone calls brief. Made room for good mornings and good nights, fearing anything longer would result in your partner breaking off whatever this is.

His hand sears your wrist, slowly drawing it away from your mouth. “You alright?” Leon cautions, wariness dwelling in his timbre.

You nod with your stomach in knots and your heart on your sleeves. Try to ignore how his grip on you lingers and his thumb skates placatingly over the veins of your hand.

“Hey,” he husks. Insistent as ever, tugging you closer toward the safety of his body. An arm slings around your shoulders, nimble fingers creeping under your chin, coaxing you to look at him. “Hey, talk to me.” His proximity makes your head spin. The calmness of his voice squeezes something in your chest. You’re finding it increasingly difficult to breathe. And you’re looking at his mouth without thinking, entranced by how the delicate flesh trembles and parts with each breath. “What’s on your mind?”

You shake your head dismissively, averting your gaze to the side. “N-nothing.” A lie as obvious as the palpable tension between you, and he fucking knows it. He seizes your jaw again, leveling his steely blues with you.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” No. Not really. Because all you’ve wanted to do since he walked through your door was peel his shirt from his shoulders and sit on his—

His chuckle, husky and rich like chocolate, breaks through the swell of lustful thoughts. “You’re a shitty liar, you know that?” Leon says, etching a sluggish triangle between your mouth and hooded lids.

#leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon x fem reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon s kennedy x female reader #leon kennedy smut #leon x reader smut #resident evil 4 x reader #re4 x reader #kindle series

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mossmurdock · 6 months

Text

let them hear it (n.kento)

pushing away the angst i had in mind and prioritizing kissing nanami till he's on the verge of giggling while the two of you are outside in the snow.

What the two of you have is complicated; as complicated as something gets with someone as straightforward as Nanami Kento.

You vaguely knew of each other because of work before you quit, and then you found yourself taking the same commute as him to get to your new building.The familiar face was a surprise; autumn was on the cusp of tipping over and you were looking over at a man already dawned in gloves and a suspiciously thick looking coat you swear you've seen hanging on the hooks of previous office walls.

It’s what he’s wearing tonight, although it’s winter, so he’s also smothered in a wool scarf and stops to adjust his ear muffs every once in a while as the two of you walk. The action is somewhat unserious on its own; the idea of a man as serious looking as him so attentively dressed for the weather is already an easy thing to make you smile. But, you’re both a little more than tipsy.

When Nanami stops for the third time to stop the thing from falling into his eyes, you burst out into laughter as he groans to mask his own slew of giggles.

The reservation the two of you made this month was on the late side, so after too much wine and food, the streets are empty for the two of you to wander. These appointments have been something a little more than precious to you recently. You aren’t sure how it all started, but you and Nanami have both found ways to indulge in yourselves at least once a month without feeling too guilty about it for about a year now. Lately, it’s been something you look forward to more than anything else you have planned.

This isn't the first time you found yourself testing your tolerance with Kento. You quickly noted how much of a heavy drinker he was once you found yourself slipping trying to keep up with him. Every month he’ll assure you there’s no need, but you’re rather adaptable yourself; and Nanami would never admit to liking a challenge. It might be wrongfully advantageous of you, but you liked the look of him loose like this. He lets himself lean on you a little more.

It just helps that the sidewalks happen to be particularly icy tonight.

“Hold it, hold—hold on,” he says breathlessly. There’s been the hint of a smile teasing the corner of his lips since the two of you have left the restaurant doors. It’s so contagious that you’re sure your lips will be split and bleeding by the end of the night.

He’s doubled over now, earmuffs on the brink of falling once more. You snort before stepping in front of him, bending down to clumsily bring them up his forehead. He looks up to you as you do, looking a little unlike himself. His cheeks are pink, eyes are wide and nearly starry, his lips are wet because he keeps licking them to fight off the cold. It takes everything in you not to ruffle up his hair even more than it already has been. It would be different, you think; it would be your own hands doing the carnage. Maybe he wouldn't be so quick to try and fix it then.

“What is it?” your breath comes out as fog in the air. A physical thing your sluggish brain finds beautiful when you watch it mingle with Nanami’s own breath. This close, you can spot tiny snowflakes melting into his lashes.

He hesitates, as if fighting himself for wanting to speak in the first place. There’s a strange expression on his face, too old and twisted to fit his features.

“My stomach feels like it’s about to burst,” he blurts, still clutching to his middle while hunched over.

A silent beat passes before you explode into laughter loud enough to wake people, playfully slapping your hand on his shoulder.

“How crude!” you exclaim, half scolding in your tone. “You’ve seriously got a foul mouth after a few drinks.”

“I would say that was more than a few,” he notes dazedly.

You hum, trying to get him to match your pace once he straightens himself. His shoulders hunch up to his ears as he does, a slight shiver hidden in the sea of fabric he's practically being swallowed into. His chill, the same as his concealed smile, is infectious. Your body follows his, feeling every bit of the breeze that passes through your clothing. Crossing your arms over your chest, you try and steel off your body.

"Are you cold?" Nanami offers his arm for you to cling onto, giving you no time to answer him.

The buzz radiating off your skin is silenced by the fabric he wears, squashed into his figure and sticking to him like scorching asphalt. You feel cemented this close to him, letting your arm fall and feeling him interlace your fingers while still keeping it close to his. His gloves keep you from feeling his skin. Your tease about him being the coldest between the two of you dies on your tongue.

The two of you bump shoulders, a little too inebriated to be walking this close together. The surrounding snow swallows up all other sound, only leaving your heavy footsteps and gentle breathing to be heard. Nanami sighs. You feel the noise travel from the soles of your feet, tingling at the tips of your ears.

“Comfortable?” you ask cheekily, feeling the pressing weight of him melding into your shoulder as time passes by. He hums in response, another vibration you can feel dancing on your skin.

“You’re warm,” he states, squeezing your hand firmly. Still painfully gloved. “Thank you.”

The sincerity in his voice knocks the wind out of your own, the only trace of it being the small cloud that leaves your lips. It takes everything in you to not dig your fingers into his hand, until you reached the skin, until he could really feel you, until he would be able toleach all the warmth he wanted from your blood. You think he would do it gently.

Nanami stops walking first once the entrance of his apartment comes into view. The steps up to the door are covered in snow and ice, they haven't been salted yet. You’re about to tell him to be careful while walking up the steps before you feel something foreign being placed on your head. They’re his earmuffs, unbelievably warm. They smell like the shampoo he uses.

He keeps his hands on the covers, an extra blanket on top of your ears. The weight makes any noise around you sound like it’s been drowned underwater. The feeling is as steady as his stare, half lidded and a little heavy, but balanced. The falling snow seems to still, as stagnant as the stars above your head. The warmth on his skin matches the mellow light seeping from people’s windows.

Your skin seers when his hand drifts to your cheek, dragging his thumb across your skin.

His face looks wind beaten and cold, cherry red at the tips of his ears, his nose, and his cheeks. The flush must run all over him, down to his knuckles and elbows, up his chest and shoulders. You wish you could see.

“You look like you’re freezing, Kento.” You lean into his touch unsubtly.

This proximity should maybe feel odd, but it’s hard to ignore all those secret moments the two of you share between meals, on commutes to work, on tipsy walks back home, now that you’re both facing each other.

And he shivers when you use his first name, when you raise your hands to fix his scarf and let the tips of your fingers graze the exposed skin of his neck. The cold teases at those that are cloaked the most, clawing at anything it can find.

“I’m fine,” he sniffles; soft and trailing and good natured. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” you chuckle. He smiles at the noise.

Something overtakes you, some kind of greed that can only be found in snow so pillowy that it wolfs down any noise, a force you can’t stop unless you step into it with your own shoes. There’s that crunch: where the only noise that life seems to need is your own. His. Yours. You’re both holding each other. The sound of his clothes are all you can hear.

You hear his movement before seeing it, feel his cold lips on your cheek long after he’s pulled away from you. It’s innocent, modest—but his hands—they cup around your entire face, shifting across your neck. His gloves are still in the way, but you can’t muster any complaints when the feeling is so intoxicating.

“Are you drunk?” he asks quietly.

“The cold sobered me up,” you answer, voice thin with the slightest shock. “You?”

“Me too,” he replies. He’s hastily taking off his gloves and the action momentarily puts some distance between the two of you.

“What—what are you doing?” you scoff confusedly.

“I can’t feel you,” he explains simply, stuffing the gloves into the pocket of his coat. “I’d like to feel you.”

Laughter ebbs past your lips for the millionth time. The happiness you’ve felt today only feels real because your cheeks are beginning to hurt from all the strain.

Kento has wrapped you in an embrace, easily picking you up from the ground by your waist. You gasp, smirking into his neck as you wrap your hands around him and try not to jostle the earmuffs too badly.

You might never know a strength like his; his hands are gentle and firm. When you press a lingering kiss to the juncture of his jaw, one coasts across the curve of your ass before settling into the meat of your thigh.

“Don’t be too quick just ‘cause you want to get out of the cold. The steps are icy.” You advise him while bombarding his face with light pecks similar to his first one, musing his hair and admiring the pliant looking smile on his face. It’s also the kind he holds when he’s holding back a laugh.

He hums deeply. You feel it intensely this time, it echoes against your own chest.

“I’m not being quick because of the weather,” he grumbles, barely hiding his urgency.

His response has you looking down at him smugly, wishing you could take a picture just so he could see his own flushed face.

this post is the culprit !! everyone please point and laugh at it, it is so embarrassing how long i thought about it.

i hope yall dont mind being tagged, but @riaki @maeby-cursed @threadbaresweater are also enablers!!! wrote this with yall in mind hope u like it

#THIS WAS BARELY EDITED LMAO #im so tired #it is five a.m. u guys #i love this man my hubby my wife #moss writes #jjk x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader

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omgreally · 2 years

Text

Comfortably Close

Joel Miller/You, E for Smut™, 2.1k You and Joel share a couch. The classic Huddling for Warmth with Joel Miller smut trope, yet another take.

It’s cold in the dilapidated old house you and Joel hunker down in, and the blizzard screams outside as if it has a personal vendetta against the two of you.

You haven’t known Joel long. The quiet, grizzled man might have struck you as scary if years of surviving hadn’t blunted you so much to the savagery of others. He’s polite enough, and he keeps his hands to himself.

Decades ago your standards might’ve been higher for the company you keep. But that was then, and this is now.

This isn’t the first time you’ve been caught out on a patrol together, and it probably won’t be the last. Joel’s had your back long enough that you trust him more than most, but that isn’t saying much; you’re one of the ones that’s had a harder time settling into this new life of safety and warmth. Maybe that’s why you get along so well. You don’t take things too seriously, and he discounts your flirting as good-natured harmlessness.

He’s wrong, of course. Your standards aren’t so high these days, after all, but he doesn’t have to know that.

Life’s too short, you tell him once - it can turn on a dime, and everything can change in a heartbeat. Or the lack of one. And Joel, with a low murmur, agrees.

You’ve both lost people. That much is evident, in the fierceness of the way he protects his girl, the wary little redhead you’re pretty sure could kill you despite appearances. You’ve seen Joel talking to her once or twice, quietly intense before leaving on a patrol, and she always looks like she wants to tell him not to go - but she holds herself back.

It’s sad how quick kids have to grow up these days.

You sigh at the dark thoughts creeping in through the cold, shifting beneath the mouldy carpet draped uselessly over your shoulders to try and keep you warm. The creaking walls don’t hold heat well, so there’s no point in starting a fire. You watch your breath gather in frosty white clouds, obscuring your face, as Joel does the same from the couch.

“Least if I freeze to death before morning that’ll save me the ride back,” you mutter. The horses are huddled together in the garage, but you can’t say you’re fond of your uppity mare. She may be just a horse, but you can tell she doesn’t like you.

“You really hate ridin’ that much?” Joel drawls, and you glance up at his hunched form.

“Horses? Yes. They’ve got minds of their own. Machines and men, on the other hand..”

Joel’s chuckle, warm and unexpected, forms a quickly-dissipating fog. You resist the urge to glance over at him. He always brushes you off, like he does most in Jackson; you’re lucky to get conversation out of him most of the time. He doesn’t talk about himself much, and he asks about other people even less. Keeps you at arms length - safer that way, you know, but it makes you curious. Only natural, you tell yourself; you tell yourself it doesn’t make him any more intriguing, any more interesting than anyone else. But there’s something about that look in his eye, sometimes, and you wonder about him, more than you should.

“You cold?” Joel asks, as a particularly nasty shiver wracks you. You look up, raising your eyebrows.

“Sweltering,” you reply, resisting the urge to roll your eyes; you’re pretty sure they’re close to frozen in their sockets. “Sure we can’t start a fire? I hear horse fat burns pretty well.”

“You sure do have a sick sense of humour when you’re cranky,” Joel obbserves, perhaps the most personal thing he’s said to you. You try not to let it sting, but maybe he means it as a compliment - you can’t tell.”C’mere.”

“You try being in a good mood when you’re freezing your tits off - what?” you add, as your freezing, sluggish brain catches up with what he said. “Where?”

Joel looks at you and lifts the edge of his threadbare blanket. “Come. Here. I ain’t gonna let you freeze to death, girl.”

“Girl? I’ve got more grays than you,” you gripe, but you don’t leave yourself to hesitate too much while your fingers and toes are busy going numb. You discard the useless carpet and climb up onto the couch. It’s a big, old, moth-bitten thing that creaks under your weight as you add it to Joel’s, but there’s enough room to curl up next to him, back to his chest. He drops the blanket unceremoniously over you and tucks an arm over your waist, far too familiar.

“I never noticed,” he murmurs in your ear, and you feel the hairs lift on the back of your neck. You shiver, but it’s not from cold this time.

It’s been a while since you’ve slept with anyone - even this near, with clothes on. Despite your propensity for flirting, the follow-through was the problem; Jackson was a small community, after all. But Joel is very warm and solid at your back. Then he starts rubbing the outside of your arms with broad palms and you suddenly realize how much you’ve missed human touch.

Joel must feel some kind of tension in you, for he stops pretty quick. “You okay?” he wonders, his chest a rumble against your spine, hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you confirm with a tight nod, pillowing your head on your folded arm. It’s too cold to be thinking like this - you have to think about conservation of body heat, about survival, like Joel is. So you breathe out and let the tension go and say, “You still wanna take first watch? I’m beat.”

“Uh-huh.”

“‘Kay.” You close your eyes, force yourself to breathe, to think of something other than the fit of Joel’s body against yours. “And Joel…Thanks.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his hand squeezes your shoulder. And eventually, your breathing evens out into sleep.

—

You wake with an arm wrapped around your torso, the sensation of breath hot against your neck. The tip of your nose is cold but the rest of you is warm with the body pressed against yours.

Sometime during the night Joel must have nodded off, wrapped himself around you like a serpent. Your ass resting firmly in the notch of his hips you can tell the very natural reaction his body’s had in sleep - the firmness pressed against your cheek definitely not that of a weapon holster.

You wonder if you should wake him, but you don’t need to pee yet and the blizzard has quieted outside and quite frankly, this is nice. You haven’t had anyone hold you quite like this for a very long time, so you close your eyes and arch back against him a little, pressing your thighs together for a little friction, a little stretch through your muscles that feels good.

His hand migrated from your shoulder to your ribcage, long fingers tucked under your arm, fanned out underneath the swell of your breast. You don’t mind it. Even as compromising as this position is he hasn’t gone for a full grope, which you appreciate. A gentleman, despite his baser natures.

Rare, these days.

Joel shifts with your stretch, his breath hitching into a wakeful rhythm, but you try not to let on that you’re already awake - to try and preserve the moment for a little longer. You resist the urge to sigh in disappointment when his hand draws back, only to flinch in surprise when you feel those long fingers move the hair away from your neck.

“Mornin’.” He doesn’t move his hips either toward or away from you, belying the fact he’s probably quite aware of his current state of arousal. The intention of the lack of movement makes something in your stomach drop in hopeful anticipation. “I know you’re awake. You ain’t snoring.”

Not very romantic, but you can work with that. “I know you’re awake, too,” you point out, shifting back against him - again, he doesn’t move, but his hand settles on your hip and your stomach swoops this time. “So much for taking watch.”

“I dozed off for a second,” he says, and you feel him shrug, “You make a nice pillow.”

“You sure know how to compliment a girl.” But your voice has no real venom in it. Not when he’s thumbing the edge of your waistband like that.

“Girl? Thought you had more grays than me?” Joel teases, and you feel the strong bridge of his nose nudge beneath your ear, beard a rasp and lips against your neck.

Then, infuriatingly, he stops. “Let me know if I’m oversteppin’ here, or readin’ things wrong…”

Such a fucking gentleman.

“Shit, Joel,” you breathe, resisting the urge to turn over to smack him, “I was beginning to wonder if you could read at all.”

“See? Cranky,” he rumbles, the chuckle you feel to your bones. He’s efficient from there - stripping your jeans and panties to your knees with one big hand. He gets his other arm beneath you, fingers under your shirt, callouses ghosting the puckering flesh of a nipple. “Glad you didn’t freeze these off,” he murmurs in your ear.

“You’re in a good mood this morning,” you observe as you arch back against him. His groan rumbles satisfyingly against your back. Then you feel him move back, and hear the quick rasp of his zipper. Your gut - and lower - flutters with powerful arousal.

“Been a while since I woke up to somethin’ nice.” A strange, warm feeling in your chest, one you’re afraid to examine, is quickly replaced by thigh-tensing anticipation as you feel the blunt head of his cock drag down squeeze in between the V of your thighs to notch against the already weeping clench of your cunt.

“Joel Miller, I definitely ain’t nice.”

“You feel nice,” he corrects, as he pushes in. He loops his arm back around your waist and pulls you close- so suddenly you struggle to adjust to the sudden intrusion of his full length inside you. “Fuck.”

You echo the sentiment as his long, clever fingers work between your legs. Two fingertips find the hood of your clit and you know you shouldn’t be surprised at how precise he is - it isn’t quite the roughness you may have expected.

No, it’s better.

You’re almost embarrassed by how good it feels.

The thick, pulsing weight of Joel’s cock as he pulls back and slides in again, much more slowly this time. Slow enough that you can feel every vein and ridge of his shaft as he drags it through you.

“Your turn to take watch,” his mouth, hot at your ear, his voice a deep buzz. You shiver even as you shove your hips back against him with the next thrust.

“Your turn to sleep, then,” you tease back. His fingers on your clitoris roll slow, lazy circles into the swollen nerve.

“Not til I’m done with you, darlin’.” Darlin’ - that’s a new one, you think, even as your eyes threaten to roll back next time he fills you.

There’s no words after that. Just his groans, like faint, occasional thunder - when you clench up, and your pussy starts to ripple around his cock. You gasp his name as you come, clamping down, squeezing your thighs together to cling to the feeling as it floods you, floor to scalp. You’re wrung out, sweaty and gasping as you feel Joel pull out, feel his come splash across your ass.

“Sorry,” he pants, and hearing his voice like that nearly breaks you all over again - husky and breathless, not from running from a Clicker. “Lemme get you cleaned up.”

“A gentleman to the end,” you say when you eventually turn onto your back. Joel looks good like this - cheeks flushed, jaw tight, hair and eye wild as he gets himself back under control. He raises his eyebrow at you.

“Oh, I’m not,” he assures you, after a quick check of the room. “We still got time.“ And a crease appears on his bearded cheek as he leans down and descends on you with, “I ain’t done with you yet.”

#tlou smut #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #the last of us #pedro pascal fanfic #omgreally; joel miller/reader

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sundrop-writes · 7 months

Text

Ghosting

Mike Schmidt x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Mike has been in love with you for as long as he can remember. For about as long as the two of you have been best friends. He always thought he would have more time to work up to confessing those big, dangerous feelings for you - until something more dangerous swooped in and stole any time he had left with you.

Mike Schmidt x Fem!Reader. Star-Crossed Lovers. Pure Angst. Set during the events of the movie (and features spoilers for the plot).

Word Count: 3,700

Horror Characters Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this fic contains major spoilers for the film - so if you haven't watched it yet and you're just here for Josh Hutcherson being sad and beautiful (and if you want to watch the film unspoiled) be warned; this fic does use Y/N; this fic is almost pure angst - the beginning is fluffy, but that only exists to make the angst hurt more; this fic does not have a happy ending; hurt, no comfort; this fic has mentions of Mike's past traumas and him having symptoms of PTSD; the reader is a mother figure to Abby; Mike refers to the reader as his 'wife' (in his mind, not in dialogue); Mike is in love with the reader (and it's implied that she knows this/can sense his feelings) but he doesn't get a chance to actually confess to her and they aren't in a romantic relationship at any point during this fic; (uh, kind of spoiler for the fic but this was in the prompt/request) - major character death: the reader character dies after being stabbed by Springtrap/William Afton/The Yellow Rabbit (gotta love fnaf - when a character has that many names); mentions of blood; descriptions of violence - descriptions of the fight between Afton and Mike, descriptions of the reader being stabbed by Afton; Abby is there to witness the reader's death; idk what the other warnings are aside from major angst - this will be an emotional gut punch. Anyway, please enjoy it lmao.

A/N: The title of this fic comes from the song Ghosting by Mother Mother. I was listening to different songs trying to pick a title, and I really like how this one fits. How their romantic love was like a ghost in their lives - not discussed, but felt between the both of them, and after she's gone, she becomes a ghost in his life.

...

Mike woke up to the smell of pancakes.

Typically, mornings were his least favorite time of day. Seeing as he was the kind of person who didn’t sleep well, didn’t sleep at all, or found himself consumed by nightmares when he did - most mornings, he was too tired to comprehend the world around him. Mornings were a chaotic mess for him as he tried to pull himself back from the brink of insanity while operating his sluggish body with far too little energy until he got some coffee into his system. He came to resent mornings, as for him, they existed only in a dreadful haze.

And he rarely ate a proper breakfast because of it. Most of the time, his ‘breakfast’ consisted of a large cup of coffee and a few pieces of Eggo waffle that he would snag off of Abby’s plate going out the door as he scolded her for not finishing it all.

The second that the pleasant smell of freshly cooked food reached his nose, his stomach growled.

Through the sleepy fog of his brain, hearing voices - multiple voices - coming from down the hallway, he realized that it wasn’t just Abby and some muffled cartoon characters from the TV.

“Which one?” Abby posed, her voice bright and curious as ever.

“Personally… I like the red sweater. It matches the red laces in the shoes you picked,” You replied, raising your voice slightly to be heard over the sizzling of the pan.

You were helping her pick out her clothes. Abby would have never wanted Mike’s help on the subject. So often she scoffed at him if he suggested that he could help her put her hair in a ponytail or if he told her that she should put on a jacket if it was cold outside. But she asked you for your advice about clothes because she admired you. She thought you were pretty, as she had told Mike on multiple occasions (not so subtly hinting that he should date you).

Mike heard footsteps thundering down the hallway as Abby rushed to her room to get dressed, likely carting along the clothes you had helped to pick. He distantly wondered how you had gotten into the house before he was even awake.

And then, he remembered - a few weeks ago, he had given you a key to his place.

It was something that had come after he had accidentally locked his own set of keys in the car, his mind jumbled and forgetful after not having much sleep the night before. And with the evening ticking on and the takeout you had picked up for the three of you quickly getting cold in your hands (everyone eager to simply get into the house and eat) - Mike had been hit with the realization that any solutions to unlock the car - the spare key, a metal coat hanger, a phone to call a mechanic - were all locked in the house.

So he had hoisted Abby in through her bedroom window (after scolding her for not locking it) and gotten her to unlock the front door. And shortly after that, he had given you a house key, because generally, you were better with things like that.

You were much more organized - your mind a clear, calm palace compared to the chaos that Mike often found himself swamped in. You were someone who worked incredibly well under stress, and that was why Mike valued you so much in his life. Right from a childhood where the two of you had pulled pranks together and he had been copying your homework, to the time he had leaned on you during the initial stress of Garett’s disappearance - up until now. When he was a messy, disorganized adult who still needed you far more than he was ever willing to admit.

It was just one of the many reasons he admired you so much. You took care of him in ways he couldn’t even put into words.

He smiled to himself as he heard more of your chatter with Abby. Previously, he had remarked that the key was for ‘emergencies only’ - but he couldn’t bring himself to care all too much about the breach of that rule as he tumbled out of bed. Especially when the smell of bacon also reached his nose as he walked to the bathroom.

It was when he was pulling on his pants that he glanced at the clock and realized he was already running on the late side. Not too late yet, but he had to put some urgency in his step. He had somehow forgotten to set his alarm, today of all days, when he would be meeting with a career counselor after the disastrous incident that got him fired from the mall.

He rushed down the hallway struggling with his tie, bringing his usual air of chaos with him. His heart instantly warmed at the sight of you and Abby - you had her sitting at the table, somehow so much more polite and cooperative for you, with a glass of juice beside her plate while you scooped freshly made pancakes onto it.

“You know, usually when most people break and enter, they don’t make breakfast,” Mike commented, his voice cool and jovial as he grew increasingly frustrated with his tie.

He thought he was forming the knot correctly, but it kept falling loose in his hands, causing a deep crease across his brows as he frowned at the fabric.

You giggled at this - both at his words and at his obvious struggle. You put the pan on the counter as you walked toward him, leaving Abby to pick up the bottle of syrup and begin thoroughly drowning her pancakes while you weren’t looking. You knocked Mike’s hands away in that wordless kind of care and began calmly tying his tie.

“Well, I considered going the traditional route, but there’s nothing worth stealing here.” You remarked, playing off the banter that was only built between the two of you after years of friendship. “Plus, The Breakfast Burglar has such a nice ring to it.”

“That makes it sound like you steal people’s breakfast.” Abby giggled.

“I would, if certain little girls didn’t drown their pancakes in syrup.” You replied, not bothering to look over your shoulder at her to know what she was doing. “That’s enough, Abs.”

She rolled her eyes harshly at this, but put the bottle of syrup down and picked up her knife and fork.

Mike grinned widely at this. You were more like a mom to her than their own mother ever was. And the fact that you knew her so well and took care of her without question always brought him joy.

His smile only widened when you smoothed a warm hand down the front of his chest, and he looked down to see a perfectly neat knot in the front of his tie. He felt a tingling swarm of butterflies in his stomach at your touch - something that threatened to spread through him and turn him into a dizzy, lovesick fool. Urgently, he needed to distract himself with something else.

His eyes shifted over to the side table, and he realized that his keys weren’t where he usually threw them down when he got home.

“Have you seen my-?”

Once again, you were two steps ahead of him. More organized than him.

“Keys.” You said, turning around to the counter and holding the key ring up on your fingers. “Your resume, formatted and printed.” You held up a folder that contained this as well. “Your wallet, and breakfast burrito.”

You gathered up his wallet and a warm bundle wrapped in tinfoil - his breakfast. The small notion of caring, the fact that you thought ahead to make something he could eat while rushing out the door - it caused that dangerous tingle to overtake his stomach once again. As you crossed the room and placed all the items in his hands, he had the intense urge to lean over and kiss you - he knew the domesticity was crippling.

You had been his best friend for years, you had helped him take care of Abby for as long as the little girl could remember. You felt more like a wife to him than anybody else ever would.

And yet, you had absolutely no clue how he felt about you. It would have felt like the most natural thing in the world for him to lean over and kiss you goodbye before leaving - just like a husband would do with his wife. But the two of you weren’t married. You weren’t even dating. You took care of him because you were his best friend. Because you had always taken care of him the way a best friend should.

“What would I do without you?” He said, knowing that the pure fondness in his voice could have easily given him away - if he didn’t talk to you like that all the time.

“Hmm… probably run around naked and starving,” You chuckled, shrugging as you walked back over to Abby and sat down beside her at the table. “Now get going. I’ll take Abby to school.”

“Have a good day, Abs.” Mike said, wishing his sister well - only to receive a mindless nod in reply before she went back to chatting with you about something, excitedly telling you a story involving one of her imaginary friends while you watched her with absolutely rapt attention.

He moved toward the door, but he found himself caught up in the sight of you. You were a hero in their little world as you rushed to save one of Abby’s drawings from some syrup that dripped off her plate. When you complimented the picture, she glowed with a smile he hadn’t seen in days.

That was a huge part of it, too. The love he felt for you that grew more agonizing each day. You brought out all the best parts of Abby, as well as keeping Mike himself from going truly insane.

For a single moment, he wondered if he should tell you. He wondered if he should just blurt out the words before running out the door, leaving you to simmer in it. Giving you time to think about it - to yell at him about it later.

It hovered on his tongue.

I love you. I’ve been in love with you for years.

But when you looked over and saw him still standing by the door, he locked eyes with you, and suddenly it was gone again, swallowed up inside of him like a nasty ache that would live there forever.

“Go, Mike! You’re gonna be late!” You said, your voice edging with casual laughter.

You picked up one of the couch cushions and swatted him with it as you walked by to get Abby a paper towel from the kitchen.

No. He would tell you some other time.

Perhaps he wouldn’t work up the courage to tell you at all.

…

He was going to die. He was going to be killed.

And he wasn’t going to get the chance to tell you that he was in love with you.

Strangely enough, that was the one thing Mike was thinking about as he laid on the cold, dirty floor of Freddy Fazbear’s condemned pizzeria. His stomach burned with searing pain as he received another kick from the large, intimidating monster that he knew only as the Yellow Rabbit.

He was going to die. He wouldn’t get to tell you how he felt. He would never get to see you ever again.

He was going to save Abby. He was going to make sure that she got out of here, escaped somehow. And you would take care of her. That thought was a singular comfort to him as he felt one of his ribs crack from the metal (poorly disguised by the foam and fabric around the edges of the suit) colliding with his torso.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The Rabbit mocked him. “I killed your brother, now I get to kill you. Symmetry, my friend!”

“Get away from him!”

Mike almost thought that the intense pain had caused him to hallucinate, or that he had hit his head on the floor hard when he had been thrown down - it couldn’t actually be you.

But he heard your voice, fierce and fiery as ever, defending him as you had so many times before. He struggled to get his head up to look, but he caught a glimpse of the Yellow Rabbit as the strange animal collapsed.

You had picked up one of the chairs, and brought it down over the Rabbit’s head, perfectly imitating something that would have been on Monday Night Raw. Except this was pure wood, not a collapsing chair, and all the pieces that splintered and fell in front of Mike as the Rabbit collapsed were because of the pure force of your hit. The fury of which you defended him and his life.

“Y/N!” Abby yelled your name from across the room.

She rushed into your arms as you stepped over the Rabbit’s prone body, and you swept her into a tight hug.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? What’s going on?” You rushed to ask, brushing her hair out of her face to inspect for any injuries.

“I’m fine.” Abby told you. “Mike-” She then turned to her brother, frantic, and pulled away from you to fall to her knees by his side.

“Mike, what the hell is going on?” You asked, on your knees at his side just as quickly.

You turned him over on his back, inspecting him for injuries now - definitely not liking what you found.

Abby held his hand and he grasped it right back, his head still dizzy from the thorough ass-kicking he had just experienced.

You gasped when you saw blood leaking through his shirt. He grunted in pain when you pressed your hand into the wound, clearly trying to lessen that bleeding.

“What - what are you doing here?” He croaked out.

As much as he was thankful for you swooping in and saving him, he wished that you were safe somewhere else. Anywhere but here.

“Abby left her jacket in my car, and when I went to return it, I saw your Aunt Jane passed out on the floor, and - and, I just had a bad feeling.” You rushed to explain. “Somehow, I figured you’d be here.”

Mike hadn’t exactly told you the details of what was going on.

As close as the two of you were, he wasn’t sure if you would be entirely receptive to the concept of Abby being ‘friends’ with robots that were controlled by ghost children, and Mike somehow feeling connected to his own missing… dead brother by being in this place. He had simply told you that his new job was a night shift at a creepy old abandoned pizza place.

But of course, you were two steps ahead of him. As always.

You pulled back your hand to inspect the bleeding, and Mike groaned again.

“Should I call an ambulance?” You asked, and Mike shook his head furiously.

“No, we have to-”

We have to leave. You have to leave. You have to get Abby out of here, to safety.

All of those words dissolved on his tongue as he watched with utter shock. He wanted to scream as a big yellow hand clasped onto your shoulder from behind, and soon, a pair of large rabbit ears rose up from the floor.

He wasn’t down for the count.

Before he could speak, before he could move, Mike’s throat became choked as he saw your expression shift from the kind concern that you had worn for him many times - to pain. A brutal shock of your own.

The Rabbit had shoved his knife into your back.

A bright pool of red began to form in the middle of your shirt as the tip of the knife just barely poked through the center of your chest.

“No!” Mike shouted, rushing to sit up despite the pain screaming in his body.

He put a shaking hand to the middle of your chest as though it mattered, as though he could save you from this. He hated how warm your blood felt underneath his fingers.

Abby let out a scream beside him. Distantly, in the back of his mind, he felt a pang of guilt that she had to see this. That she would spend the rest of her life trying to get over this.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” The Rabbit mocked him. “It always hurts more when you love them!”

The Rabbit let out a brutal laugh and then yanked his knife from your back, and you released a sharp breath as the Rabbit shoved you toward Mike, causing you to collapse into his lap in a bloody heap.

Somewhere far away, in another world, Mike heard Vanessa shouting from the doorway. Maybe he felt some sense of relief, thinking she would shoot the Rabbit down and this would all be over. But as the Rabbit’s attention was drawn away from him, he turned to where you were draped across his lap, the small pool of red on your shirt now soaked into a large puddle as you sputtered and some of that harsh bright red blood came out the corner of your lips.

“Mike-” You choked out, reaching for him.

“Tell me what to do,” Mike choked out.

His mind was miserably blank. He felt your fingers clutching at his bicep, like he held the key to saving you, like he could restore your life - but his mind was screaming and his chest collapsed in on itself.

You were always the one that guided him. He didn’t have an idea if you didn’t plant it in his head first.

“Y/N,” Abby sobbed.

“It-it’s okay.” You told her, struggling, gurgling, choking on your own blood. You took your grip off Mike, extending the hand weakly to her, and she took it. “It’s g-gonna be okay.”

She let out another harsh sob, and Mike felt his lungs fill with stone.

“Tell me what to do,” He said desperately, not realizing how thick his own voice was, how close he was to breaking down. He ran a trembling hand over your face, brushing away some stray hairs - he hated how cold you felt to his touch. “Please, tell me what to do.”

He thought you might suggest some first aid. An ambulance. Tell him where your car was so he could carry you there, cart you away, get you to safety.

“You-re g-gonna take c-care of her-r.” You told him, shifting your eyes distinctly from him toward Abby, giving her hand a squeeze. “You’re gon-na m-make it ok-ay.”

“Y/N.” Abby cried, thick tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Abby. You’re gonna b-be s-strong.” You grinned at her - your teeth were covered in blood, and it looked as menacing as it did fond. “You’re g-gonna be good for-r M-Mike, right? My little a-artist.”

Abby nodded, more tears leaking from her eyes.

And then, with some gears turning in her head, these words seemingly having triggered some line of thought, she looked up and spotted something across the room. She muttered something about the drawings and leapt up before Mike could stop her. He didn’t have the strength to chase her - he only hoped that she was leaving, escaping while the others were distracted.

When he looked back down at you, your face was falling more limp, and your shirt was somehow even more soaked in blood. His jeans were wet, and he couldn’t even process why. He pressed a hand to the front of your shirt, trying to cover the wound as you had done with him - his muscles shook even harder when blood gushed out between his fingers and seemed to leak from you harder, as if to spite him.

“Y/N,” He sobbed, leaning down. He cradled the back of your head and touched your forehead against his own.

For a moment, he dreamed about putting his lips against your own and bringing you back to life with a kiss. Like some stupid fairytale.

“Y/N, I-”

I love you.

“I - I know.” You croaked quietly, cutting him off. “D-don’t w-waste it on me now-w.”

He felt the puff of your last breath as it expelled out against his cheek - he felt you go completely limp in his arms.

“No-” He choked the word off in his throat, swallowing down sobs.

No.

He held you tighter against him, and feeling how cold you were, he let out a shuddering howl of a sob. He clasped your lifeless body against his chest - somehow believing that he could use the power of his grief to inject more life back into you.

The rest of it was a blur. The deadly snap of springlocks, Vanessa shouting at him to abandon you - to abandon your body as the building collapsed in on itself.

Mike didn’t truly break down until he was scrubbing his blood off your face in the bathroom sink that night. Seeing the red washing down the drain and knowing that it was the last traces of your life he was washing away - that was what truly did it. He collapsed onto the floor and stayed there for hours, sobbing more than he breathed, unable to move.

When his cries finally died down, Abby slowly crept in and asked him how he was feeling. He lied, telling her that he was feeling fine. She raised up a shy hand, offering him one of your sweaters that you had accidentally left on their couch a few days prior.

He thanked her and then finally peeled himself off the floor. He tried to make pancakes and Abby remarked that they weren’t as good as yours. It felt impossible, but her words made him smile. It was a small, dull smile - but it was a smile, nonetheless.

A few days later, when he finally fell asleep for the first time after you had died in his arms, it was with that sweater wrapped around his pillow, wafting your faded smell into his nostrils. It was the first time in years that he didn’t dream about Garett. The dream he had about you was just as haunting.

...

A/N: Also, I don't know if Afton's knife would actually be long enough to go through someone's back and pierce out the front of their chest but - one, it's a cool imagery, and two, the knife looks pretty large when compared to the scale of the Springtrap suit hands. Anyway, I don't actually care all too much if it's accurate or not, I had fun writing this lmao.

#sundrop writes #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt x y/n #blood tw #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf movie fanfiction

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bumblesimagines · 13 days

Note

i made breakfast.

let me just grab my things and i'll get out of here.

Love Quinn

i made breakfast.

let me just grab my things and i'll get out of here.

Pronouns: They/Them/Theirs, GN!Reader

The scent of pancakes drifting through the air filled your nose and reminded your stomach that you'd skipped dinner the night before, a gnawing feeling immediately blossoming in your stomach as your hazy, sleep-riddled mind began envisioning breakfast. Your mouth watered and you sighed, forcing your heavy eyes to open. You must've left a window open-

You blinked and blinked again and blinked one last time for good measure. You stared at the large, wall-length windows that gave a view of a neighborhood straight out of a magazine, a view you certainly never got when you looked out your shabby bedroom window and out onto the bustling, noisy streets of LA. You scrambled up, feeling the soft velvety sheets press against your palms as you took in the bedroom bigger than your apartment.

"Jesus..." You whispered, running your hand over the covers that definitely were worth more than your rent. Everything about the bed felt cozy. The size of it, the soft mattress your body sunk into, the cool pillows that kept coaxing you into slumber, the warm covers. You'd be half tempted to go back to sleep if it weren't for the worry that replaced the hunger in your stomach. Who owned the bed to begin with? Certainly not any of your friends or exes, unless one of them secretly had a fuckton of money they kept hidden away for unknown reasons.

The sleepy fog lifted from your brain, clearing away sluggish thoughts and any remaining exhaustion lingering in your body.

With a groan, you lowered the phone from your ear and pressed the bright red button, shaking your head as you made your way back to your friends. "No luck," You sighed, shoving the phone in your back pocket and picking up the dripping beer bottle. A chorus of sighs and quiet mutters followed, your friends exchanging looks and eye rolls. "Delilah's probably standing in front of a board full of pictures and little notes right now with her phone on Do Not Disturb."

"Or," Tessa began with a giggle, half her body leaning into her girlfriend's side. "She's totally getting railed by that cop. What was his name? Devin?"

"David." George corrected her with a snicker, earning a glare from you. He raised his hands in mock surrender, more snickers escaping him. "What? We all know he's been trying to get with her since you two broke up. At least he had the decency to wait, (Y/N)."

Swallowing down the beer, you shook your head. "I don't want to hear about Delilah or David or her ditching us for whatever reason. She always does this." You sighed, pressing your lips against the rim of the bottle and dropping your eyes onto the bar. A shimmer of disappointment swam with the bitterness, almost morphing into regret before Tessa leaned over, her vanilla-scented perfume invading your nostrils.

"Well," She purred. "There's a pretty brunette at the end of the bar whose been eyeing you since you walked in here. She's real pretty. I bet a little chat, some drinks here and there, and you'll forget all about Delilah by the end of the night, hm? Why don't you give it a shot?" You turned your head and sure enough, right at the end of the bar sat a vaguely familiar brunette with her eyes locked on you.

Oh, God, the pretty brunette. You squeezed your eyes shut and wracked your name for a name. Hope? Faith? Verity? Something along those lines, one of those names hippies or real rich people gave their nightmare children. You remembered her eyes, vibrant and an almost grayish blue that sparkled brightly with pure glee under the dim bar lighting. Her hair was brown, dark at the roots but lightened toward the end, her let-down strands framing her face just right. She'd been so eager to talk to you, to even listen. The second you sat beside her on that barstool, her attention never left you for more than a second. Damn. A pretty good score, if you had to be honest.

"Hey, you're awake! Good morning." A sweet voice greeted you, and there she was, standing in the doorway. She smiled widely, the bracelet wrapped around her wrist jingling with each step she took into the room. Even it looked expensive.

"Morning," You cleared your throat and eyed your neatly folded clothes on the chair by the vanity mirror. Better save your ego then take a sugar-coated blow. "Let me just grab my things and I'll get out of here." You told her, getting up from the far too comfortable bed and making a beeline for your clothes. You grabbed your shirt, and then a hand enveloped yours.

"It's alright, (Y/N). No worries, I promise." She smiled, her fingers curling around yours. "Please, use the bathroom if you need to. I put a spare toothbrush in there for you. You could take one of the robes and shower if you feel like it. I made breakfast for us. I wasn't sure what you'd like so I made pancakes with scrambled eggs and bacon."

"Oh, uhm..." You could certainly get used to her lifestyle. "That's... kind of you."

"Of course." She placed her other hand on your shoulder and leaned in, pressing her lips against your cheek. "I don't know if you remember but I'm Love. Love Quinn."

#x reader #x you #x y/n #x male reader #x female reader #x gender neutral reader #you netflix #netflix you #you netflix x reader #you x reader #you netflix x male reader #you netflix x female reader #you netflix x gender neutral reader #love quinn #love quinn x reader #love quinn x male reader #love quinn x female reader #love quinn x gender neutral reader

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